Cast

Lord Byron

John Pigot

Mrs. Spooney - Inn Landlady

Mademoiselle Coquette

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​​SCENE 1

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Harrowgate, 1806 - the friends are taking a mini-break, away from the machinations of various Southwell maidens, to rehearse their forthcoming theatrical productions 

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P: My word Byron! - I didn't expect Harrowgate to be so thick with yokels of a Wednesday evening (frowns) - the quietude we seek will not easily be found (P's horse rears amid the racket) - down Pegasus!! 

B: It's quite unendurably Metropolitan - Ah! (points whip) - there is your answer Pigot (reads sign)

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Landlady Mrs. Spooney greets her guests

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Mrs. S: Welcome gentlemen - I see ye've notice of tonight's Ball - by the stars! the beauties and beaus it attracts! the finest spinsters and bachelors from one end of t' High Street to t'other (is puffed with Harrowgatian pride) -now, let me look (a surveying eye is cast) ye're both fine men! (B and P gasp violently)  I could well find a nice little housekeeping wife for each of ye - that will be £3. 1. 0 for the week

B: Good woman - kindly see to our horses! - my own - yclept Brighton - requires warm milk and roasted oats, Mr. Pigot's Pegasus is skittish - a hefty measure of dark rum in his straw will suffice - if you'd please - and bring Boatswain to our room 

Mrs. S: Very well my Lord, my what a handsome mid-sized bear he is (pats head) - now, to business - the Ball commences at midnight (B attempts to close door) - a word of advice - 'twould seem the gentlemen this year are returning to skin-tight satin breeches - you understand, it will hurry on the preliminaries - ladies will be in pre-drenched fine muslin - you get the picture (keeps foot in door) if you'd fancy white soup and plovers eggs for a light supper my Lord,  just pull the tail of the complimentary parrot and I shall consider myself summoned

B(forcefully): Good day Madam

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B closes door and brings forth copies of   ‘The Wheel of Fortune'

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P(looking out window): Why 'tis a bucolic bacchanal! 'Twould seem marriage may be an unnecessary encumbrance for some - thanks be to God we left Elizabeth in Southwell!

B(also stares out window): Holy fires! - such antics render the Covent Garden lobby nigh on monastic - for the sake of our peace, we can but hope the satin trews and wet muslin will work their charms in jig time  - now Pigot - to rehearse! I can say all my part - and you?

P: I? - most of mine - yea, you certainly act it inimitably - I fear I have not sufficient presence to command the suspension of disbelief 

B: My dear Pigot, the audience will - one hopes - be fried to the tonsils - simply remembering the lines will suffice (B observes that P seems distracted) - as we are here a week, there is no urgency - perhaps we shall dash off some poesy? I have had a surfeit of inspiration lately via a beautiful Quaker I but met in passing - oh her eyes..

P: You are very good in trying to amuse, but I'm afraid no such inspiration is afforded me​​​ (looks out window, again) - er, I meditate perchance going to the Ball - although I am by no means fond of strange faces - for an hour this evening I may shake it off - if but to show Mrs. Spooney our good graces

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B, already in smoking & staring at the ceiling mode, will not be moved

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B: Good man - your time is your own - well I know that it is not in your nature to be without female society - off to the ball! - your plain nankeens will mark you as a man of learning and sobriety 

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P heads to what he hopes is a cauldron of vice - the Harrowgate Assembly Rooms

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SCENE 2​

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Dawn - P tiptoes in ​

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​​P(whispers): Byron? Byron? - are you awake?

B: 'Tis but 4 am Pigot - I have barely consumed my white soup! - my, you are somewhat flustered - what ails you?

P: Oh - it has happened - at last Byron - I am in love! Deucedly, damnably, devilishly in love!

B: How can that be?! We are here to escape such distractions

P: I was clinging to the perimeter of the dance floor, when I spied a voluminous creature looking my way - I found courage and asked to be introduced - Byron - she is French!

B: Damned if she is!

P: I guessed she may have been - she was, unlike the other Belles, dressed plainly without ornamentation and excessive rouging - that quiet restraint so typical of the French - she, too, noticed the plainness of my attire and thence the bond was struck

B: Bond?

P: Yes - we are to elope to Scotland (places candle in window)

B: Rash Pigot - very rash - the Scots add a scalding premium to solemnise inter-continental nuptials

P: Humph! - for all your “putting it about" - as your London acquaintance have it (both wince) - it can't be denied you know nothing of lasting love

B: ‘Tis true, I am given to range - if I rightly remember, I’ve loved a good number (contemplates arithmetic) - while my blood is thus warm I ne’er shall reform, and mix in the Platonists’ school (shudders)

P: Of this l am sure - but my passion is pure - and my mistress would think you a fool!

B: So I should shun every woman for one, whose image must fill my whole breast? - whom I must prefer, and sigh but for her? - what an insult ‘twould be to the rest!

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Candle-light appears at an Inn window opposite

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P: There! - there is the sign - can you see her Byron? - see her auburn tresses? Oh! the haunting delicacy of her small cloathes! Oh, my beautiful maid, my flame has repaid!

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The shadowy figure disrobes - P gasps, B frowns - C blows out the candle

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B: Pigot - your fair Mademoiselle is devilish reserved indeed!

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The candle re-lights

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P: She returns - oh! for the baim-breathing kiss of my magical miss - what? what is this?

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Another figure appears in the candlelight - one with mustachios and a Hussar's dress uniform

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P(slumps in despair): ‘Twould seem you were right - my passion appears most absurd - such love as I plead is pure love indeed, for it only consists in the word! - though - in sooth (sighs) of kissing I was never so fond, as to make me believe that there was - yet - something beyond 

B: Ah, Pigot - your pain seems great - in truth, I do pity your fate - since the world we forget, when lips once have met - but there's not a Frenchwoman alive who'd want the life (pats shoulder) of an honest country doctor's wife - 'ere boredom is latent - she'd soon depart with your best-paying patient ​

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​​​SCENE 3​​

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Midday in Harrowgate - the Constabulary and the Bishop have come to set the town to rights

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B(listening to the ruckus outside): We'll hold our whisht awhile Pigot - the stocks and sermons are being utilised at an alarming rate

P(bashfully): For shame, Byron - I did pen a dirge to Mlle. Coquette in my sleep

B: Oh, indeed I know what it is to be seized with a poetic mania - rhyming away at three lines per hour 

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A knock on the door - in walks Mrs. Spooney

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S: Good day gentlemen - I have some fresh herrings for you - now, a word of warning - there is a dangerous revolutionary Frenchwoman at large - as yet unearthed by the Constable - responsible for the brain-damage of one of our fine officers of the Kings Own Hussars

P(brightens): Good god! - is the man dead?

S: Not at all - but his feathers and frogging have taken a fair beating

B: That will be all Mrs. Spooney - Boatswain will have those herring bones - see to it! (Spooney bows and leaves) Pigot! - your pardon, my friend, if my words did offend - your pardon a thousand times o'er - from friendship I strove your pangs to remove - but I swear I will do so no more

P(clutches B): No more my folly I regret - she is now most divine - and I bow at the shrine - of my deucedly heroic Coquette!

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​​As the lads prepare for a gallop through the misused sylvan groves of Harrowgate, Pigot notices upon his saddle a lock of auburn hair tied with a ribboned cockade of the Revolutionary stripe

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P: Mon dieu! - she loves me yet!

B: Pigot - my horse is missing - has he been vandalised? (stable is inspected) Sweet lord above, what is this! (removes a lucid item pinned to hay bale) - is it a garment? - a vaporous, mystical garment? (holds same to the light, where it shimmers and sparkles)

P: Hoy! - there is a note for you - “Cher ami of Pigot - I could not steal the horse of my beloved Jean Pigot to make my escape from the déshonorante English officer - therefore, I exchange the latest in French lingerie as payment for yours - mes excuses, Coquette"

 

P understandably feels short-changed

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B: In truth, Pigot, I would not advance - by the rules of romance - to humour a whimsical fair - yet - be damned to it! - 'twas my curse (pockets magical small cloathes) - not to have encountered that under-dressed - nay - dashing Coquette first!

 

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