Free Belle Moral: A Natural History by Ann-marie MacDonald Page A

Pearl. I think I’m allergic to this house.
[Sniffs, will he sneeze?]
So I’ll take me chances. Besides, all the best artists have fits. If I can’t have the talent, at least I’ll have the temperament.
    P EARL . Where will you go?
    V ICTOR . Australia? Canada? A lot of worthless young men do quite well out there.
    P EARL
[fierce]
. Victor, this is my house and I damn well give you half. Don’t go.
    V ICTOR . I love you, Pearl. [a
beat]
Good luck with the natural history. And the unnatural history. Thank you for the puppy. Sorry about the ear.
    P EARL . So it was you.
    V ICTOR . It wasn’t, but I’m willing to sign a blank cheque of apology.
    P EARL . Well if it wasn’t you, then who –?
    D R R EID
enters, carrying a bouquet of red flowers
.
    D R R EID . Good morning, Pearl, good morning Victor.
    V ICTOR
[congenial]
. Good morning, Dr Jekyll.
    P EARL
sits up, attempting to straighten her hair
.
    D R R EID. Don’t get up, my dear.
    P EARL . I must look a fright.
    D R R EID. You look lovely.
    V ICTOR . She looks like a dog’s breakfast.
    D R R EID. Did you take the powders this morning as I prescribed?
    V ICTOR . I sold them to an itinerant drug fiend.
    D R R EID . How’s the nausea?
    P EARL . The nausea’s fine, excellent.
    D R R EID . Good. No … cravings?
    P EARL . None.
    V ICTOR . Shall I fetch a haggis with the brioches?
    D R R EID
[handing her the bouquet]
. These are for you.
    P EARL . Oh, Dr Reid, they’re lovely.
    V ICTOR . They’re poppies.
    D R R EID. From my own garden.
    F LORA
enters with a cup of herbal tea for
P EARL .
    F LORA . This brew always restored your mother when she was –
[sees the others]
.
    V ICTOR . Auntie, farewell.
    F LORA . You’re never leaving us?
    V ICTOR . Duty calls, I’ve taken a commission in the Queen’s Own Rifles.
    D R R EID. You have?
    V ICTOR . I’ve done no such thing.
    P EARL
fends off nausea
.
    F LORA . What is it, Pearl? Do you smell something? Is it the painting again?
    V ICTOR
sniffs the painting
.
    P EARL . I’m perfectly well, if a tad forfochen; that woman kept me up half the nicht. Night.
    F LORA . What woman?
    P EARL . The woman weeping. I looked out my window but couldn’t get a glimpse of her. A woman from the estate, no doubt; drunk and disorderly.
    F LORA . I didna hear a woman.
    P EARL . You must have.
    V ICTOR . You heard my dream, Pearl.
    F LORA . You heard the banshee.
    P EARL . The banshee?
    F LORA . The banshee only sings to a chosen one.
    V ICTOR . chosen for what?
    F LORA . To receive a warnin’ of the great change.
    A beat
.
    P EARL . Menopause?
    F LORA . When the banshee wails, it means that someone will soon cross over to the other side.
    V ICTOR . I dreamt it was your dream, Pearl.
    P EARL . Shutup, Victor.
    F LORA . Your ancestors are tryin’ to tell you something.
    V ICTOR [to F LORA] . That’s ‘cause
you
never tell us
anything
.
    D R R EID. Pearl, a degree of correspondence in dreams is not unheard of. You are siblings, after all, and have recently shared the ordeal of your father’s death, and the aftershock of his will.
    P EARL . Thank you, Seamus.
    V ICTOR . It’s “Seamus” now, is it? Since when?
    P EARL . Victor. Doctor Reid has asked me to marry him.
    A beat
.
    V ICTOR [to D R R EID] . I didn’t hear you ask my permission.
    P EARL . Don’t be ridiculous, Victor.
    V ICTOR
[alarmed]
. Don’t marry him, Pearl.
    P EARL . I’ll marry whom I please.
    V ICTOR . He’s tryin’ to creep into Father’s shoes and your bed besides.
    P EARL . You’re disgusting.
    V ICTOR . He wants to wrap you in his formaldehyde embrace and put you in a jar on his laboratory shelf.
    P EARL . If it wasn’t for Dr Reid, you’d be walking about dead right now, he’s your best friend in the world!
    V ICTOR . He’s a corp-liftin’ ghoul and he’s bullied Auntie Flora into league with him! Has he given you a ring? Or has he got a different gift tucked away for you in his bag of tricks? Perhaps one of his magic potions he’s been