Belle Moral: A Natural History Read Free

So?
    F LORA . That’s Faery hair.
    P EARL . Auntie, I’m a redhead, Father was a redhead, are we fairies?
    F LORA . No, no, dear, but …
    P EARL . But what?
    F LORA . You might have a gift.
    P EARL . And what’s wrong with that?
    F LORA . The gifts of the Faery can be … queer.
    P EARL . Well this ear is certainly a gift, if not of “the Faery”, then of Nature.
    F LORA . Nature makes mistakes. And tisna’ wise to gaze too long upon them. You might look at something and find you can never look away again.
    P EARL
peers at the jar through her magnifying glass
.
    The evil eye dwells in that which is unnatural. Just say a little prayer and put it down, there’s a good lass.
    P EARL . Make up your mind, Auntie, are you Pagan or Protestant, you can’t be both you know. Or rather you can, in which case you’re Catholic.
    F LORA
[scandalized]
. I’m no’ Catholic –!
    P EARL . I shall contemplate this ear to my heart’s content, for it is an aberration; one of Nature’s exceptions by which we divine Her rules.
    F LORA . Look to your own ears, my dear. Thank God He shaped you in His image and do not dwell upon the margin He left to the divil.
    P EARL . Auntie Flora, the “divil’s margin” is merely a necessary factor of chance by which all life on Earth has evolved.
    F LORA . There’s that evil word again.
    P EARL . There’s nothing evil about evolution, Auntie; it’s just a lot of hit and miss in the struggle for reproductive success.
    F LORA . Pearl … isn’t there any young man you think of more than another?
    P EARL . In what sense?
    F LORA . Have you heard from Mr Abbott lately?
    P EARL . I should think Mr Abbott is waiting to hear from us. He can’t very well read Father’s will with half the family still off gallivanting.
    F LORA . I meant, have you heard from him … socially?
    P EARL
[suddenly]
. Auntie. I dreamt I was wearing Mother’s wedding gown.
    F LORA
[delighted]
. Ach, did you, lass, and were you by chance able to glimpse the groom?
    P EARL . Auntie Flora, I’m going to buy a dog.
    F LORA . What? Oh no, pet, now don’t you go buyin’ a dog.
    P EARL . Why not?
    F LORA . Why … your father could never abide a slaverin’ cur.
    P EARL . I shall select a non-slavering breed. Besides. Father is dead. And the dog is for Victor. Why are you dressed?
    F LORA . I was waiting up … 
[prevaricating]
in case your brother should arrive. His letter said today.
    P EARL . And the letter before that said last week. I’d not lose sleep over Victor, Auntie, he’ll turn up when he pleases, in three days or three months. Depending on who’s standing him drinks.
    F LORA . Don’t worry, pet.
    P EARL . I’m not worried, I’m vexed.
    F LORA . You’re hungry.
    P EARL . Peckish.
    F LORA . What about a nice pickled egg? Or, Young Farleigh’s fixed a lovely finan haddie.
    P EARL . Any herring?
    F LORA . There’s bloater paste. And a dollop of marmite on toast.
    P EARL . Mmmm.
    F LORA . I’ll go heap a plate. Now you get back to your stones and snails and puppy-dog tails and … forget about that ear. Especially at this hour.
    P EARL . What hour is that, Auntie? “The hour of the Faery”?
    F LORA . The hour of the wolf.
    Sound of carriage wheels on gravel
.
    P EARL . Ha! The prodigal returns
[rising, delighted in spite of herself]
. Let’s have a right midnight feast with silly old Victor, shall we Auntie?
    F LORA
[urgent]
. Stay, Pearl!
[covering]
It mightn’t be him.
    P EARL . Well who might it be “at this hour”?
    F LORA
[thinking quickly]
. Young Farleigh.
    P EARL . Young Farleigh? What’s he doing out about?
    F LORA . I sent him down to the shore for winkles.
    P EARL . Ugh, I can’t abide winkles.
    F LORA . Your brother loves them.
    P EARL . He can have them [sitting]. Along with everything else.
    F LORA . Hush now, this will a’ways be your haim. Our haim.
    P EARL . Don’t console me, Auntie, I am quite steeled to my fate. In fact I relish the prospect of Victor