text:
#### **Contents**

Title Page

Dedication

Timeline

Original Production

Characters

Act One

Act Two

Act Three

Act Four

Act Five

Afterword

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information
_To Shared Experience_

#### **Mary Shelley: A Timeline**

**1792** Mary Wollstonecraft's feminist _A Vindication of the Rights of Woman_ is published.

**1793** William Godwin's radical political treatise, _Enquiry Concerning Political Justice,_ is published.

**1797** Mary Wollstonecraft marries William Godwin in St Pancras Church, London. Wollstonecraft already has one daughter, Fanny (b. May 1794), by Gilbert Imlay.

_August_ Mary Wollstonecraft gives birth to Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin.

_September_ Mary Wollstonecraft dies – her daughter, Mary, is only eleven days old.

**1801** William Godwin marries Mary Jane Vial. Mary Jane already has a daughter, Jane Clairmont (b. 1798) aged twenty-one.

**1814** Mary Godwin meets Percy Bysshe Shelley and they embark on a relationship. Percy is twenty-two years old and married. His wife, Harriet, is pregnant with their second child.

_July_ William Godwin disapproves of the relationship. Percy leaves his wife and family and flees to Europe with Mary, just sixteen, and her stepsister, Jane.

_November_ Percy's estranged wife, Harriet Shelley, gives birth to their second child, Charles.

**1815** _February_ Mary gives birth to her first child with Percy – Clara. Clara dies at just thirteen days old.

**1816** _January_ Mary gives birth to a son, William.

_May_ Percy, Mary and their son William leave for a tour of Europe. Mary's stepsister Jane also joins them (pregnant with Lord Byron's child). The weather takes a turn for the worse and they are confined indoors. Byron challenges the group to write their own ghost stories. It is here that Mary begins to write her acclaimed novel _Frankenstein._

_October_ Mary's half-sister, Fanny Imlay, commits suicide in Swansea, aged twenty-two.

_December_ After being missing for a month, Percy's wife, Harriet Shelley, is found in the Serpentine River, Hyde Park, London. She was twenty-one years old and heavily pregnant at the time of her death.

A pregnant Mary marries Percy at St Mildred's Church in London. She is reconciled with her father.

**1818** _Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus_ is anonymously published in three volumes and to immediate success.

_May_ Mary writes her mythological drama, _Proserpine_ , written for children. Percy contributes two poems to the piece.

_September_ Mary's daughter Clara dies from dysentery in Venice.

**1819** Mary and Percy's three-year-old son William dies of cholera in Italy.

_November_ Mary gives birth to their fourth child, Percy Florence.

**1822** Percy Bysshe Shelley drowns when his boat capsizes in the Gulf of Spezia. He is cremated and buried in Rome.

**1824** Following her return to England with her son, Mary tries to publish a selection of Percy's poems but Percy's father, Sir Timothy Shelley, demands that she cease all writing and publications about his late son.

_April_ Lord Byron dies in Greece.

**1826** Mary Shelley's _The Last Man_ is published – an apocalyptic novel that tells of a future world that has been ravaged by a plague.

**1832** Mary's half-brother, William, dies (son of William Godwin and Mary Jane Vial).

**1836** Mary's father, William Godwin dies.

**1837** Mary's last novel, _Falkner_ , which charts a young woman's education under a tyrannical father figure, is published.

**1839** A collection of Percy Bysshe Shelley's poems are finally published with Sir Timothy Shelley's permission.

**1844** Sir Timothy Shelley dies. Mary's son, Percy Florence, inherits the estate and title.

**1848** Percy Florence Shelley marries Jane Gibson.

**1851** Mary Shelley dies from a brain tumour after a long illness.
_Mary Shelley_ was first performed in a co-production between Shared Experience, Nottingham Playhouse and West Yorkshire Playhouse, at the West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds, on 16 March 2012, with the following cast:

MARY

|  |

Kristin Atherton

---|---|---

FANNY

|  |

Flora Nicholson

MRS GODWIN

|  |

Sadie Shimmin

JANE

|  |

Shannon Tarbet

WILLIAM GODWIN

|  |

William Chubb

PERCY SHELLEY

|  |

Ben Lamb

_Director_

|  |

Polly Teale

_Designer_

|  |

Naomi Dawson

_Composer_

|  |

Keith Clouston

_Lighting Designer_

|  |

Chris Davey

_Sound Designer_

|  |

Drew Baumohl

_Movement Director_

|  |

Liz Ranken

The production subsequently toured to Nottingham Playhouse; Liverpool Playhouse; Hull Truck Theatre; Northern Stage, Newcastle; Oxford Playhouse; Winchester Theatre Royal and the Tricycle Theatre, London.

#### **Characters**

MARY

MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT _, as imagined by Mary_

FANNY

MRS GODWIN

JANE

WILLIAM GODWIN

PERCY SHELLEY

HARRIET

MAID

_And a_ SAILOR, CROWDS OF PEOPLE

Heartfelt thanks to Dr Mark Philp for his tireless help and advice.

_H.E._

_This text went to press before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed._

#### **ACT ONE**

**Scene One**

_March 1814. The mouth of the Thames._ MARY _is standing alone on the deck of a ship. There is a book in her hands._

MARY ( _reading_ ). 'Her first thought had led her to Battersea Bridge, but she found it too public. It was night when she arrived at Putney, and by that time it had begun to rain with great violence. The rain suggested to her the idea of walking up and down the bridge until her clothes were thoroughly drenched and heavy with the wet.'

_We are plunged into_ MARY _'s imagination. Darkness. Rain lashes down._

_We see a woman –_ MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT _– holding out her arms to the elements, drenching herself. Then she climbs onto the edge of the bridge and jumps into the water. We hear the sound of the water pounding in her ears, see her struggle to stay under, groaning and wailing with frustration. Finally she becomes senseless, giving herself to the water._

Mother...

**Scene Two**

_A wharf. London docks._ MARY _has disembarked and stands on the quay. It is noisy and crowded. People hurry past her. A_ SAILOR _puts her trunk down next to her. She gives him a penny and he leaves._

FANNY _approaches her through the crowd._

FANNY. Mary! Mary!

MARY. Fanny!

FANNY _rushes to her. They embrace._

FANNY. Oh, Mary. You're home. You're home at last.

MARY. Are you alone? Father wrote that he would come.

FANNY. He wanted to, indeed he did. But he got called to a meeting with some lawyers and...

MARY. Lawyers?

FANNY. Don't worry. But how cold you are. Why didn't you stay below?

MARY. Oh, you know I can't bear to be below. It makes me feel sicker than ever. And besides, I was reading this – ( _Holds out the book._ ) and I wanted to read it with water churning beneath me and a wild wind banging in my ears.

FANNY. What is it?

MARY. Fanny... it's Father's memoir of our mother. And I cannot tell you what a revelation it has been.

FANNY. Mary...

MARY. I've read it over and over. I feel as if I know her and love her a hundred times better than I did before. I feel as if she could be standing here right now, and I would slip my arm through hers and kiss her cheek quite naturally, for she is real to me.

FANNY. Where did you get this?

MARY. Did you know that our mother tried to kill herself? It was after your father left her. She was so desperate, broken. She threw herself into the river. This river.

FANNY. Hush.

It's against the law, Mary.

MARY. Did you know? Did you?

FANNY. I thought something like that had happened. Yes.

MARY. When I first read it, I was sitting alone on a beach in Scotland, with the waves coming towards me and coming towards me. I almost knew what was going to happen before I saw the words. They're Father's words, so they are quite measured and restrained, but I could imagine it all beneath the lines – her agony, her desire to have it all stop. I almost wished the waters had taken her, for that is what she truly wanted, but then, if they had, I would not be here upon this earth – whatever this earth might be.

FANNY. Where did you get this from?

MARY. It was on Father's shelves. He said I could take whatever I liked before I left.

FANNY. But he didn't mean this.

MARY. Why not? It's a published work. Hundreds of people have read it. He wouldn't want to hide the truth from us. Truth is omnipotent.

FANNY. Truth. I sometimes think our family speaks a great deal too much truth. I wish we could be like normal people, and keep our thoughts to ourselves.

MARY. But that would be cowardly.

Are we not normal people then?

FANNY. You know we aren't.

MARY. Oh, don't be cross, Fanny. This is a precious discovery. I mean to read it to you.

FANNY. No.

MARY. Yes. We'll read a little every night. Our mother would have wanted that. I know she would.

FANNY ( _gazing at the book_ ). 'Your real mother was only too ready to leave you behind.'

That's what Mama said. 'Your real mother didn't even think of you when she tried to end it all.'

MARY. She said that? When? How dare she say that to you?

FANNY. It doesn't matter. I didn't tell you so you would be cross with Mama.

MARY. Don't call her Mama. She's not our mama. She's just the dreadful creature who my father has the misfortune to be married to.

FANNY. Mary...

MARY. Your real mother did think about you. She must have felt that you would be better off being raised by others. She was so wretched.

FANNY. Perhaps.

MARY. Our poor mother. You could not cheer her with all your sweetness, and I... I was the cause of her death.

FANNY. Please don't make trouble with Mama – I mean, with Mrs Godwin – when we get home. You won't, will you?

MARY. No. I won't. I have come home determined to rise above the dreadful Mrs Godwin. I intend to remain completely aloof.

How are things at Skinner Street? How is dear Papa?

FANNY. He is very much occupied, but in reasonably good spirits.

MARY. And have you been lonely, with everyone away?

FANNY. I haven't had time. Mama has started another translation, so there's been a great deal of copying to do. And I've been writing letters for Papa and running errands and minding the shop. Jane arrived home from school two days ago. She was going to come with me to meet you, but then she discovered I was walking here and...

MARY. That's so like her.

FANNY. We shall get a chaise back, of course. Papa put some money by.

And we have some new friends.

MARY. Do we?

FANNY. Do you remember a young man – one of Papa's disciples – who wrote him all those elaborate letters that he used to read out to us?

MARY. Do you mean the man called Shelley?

FANNY. Yes. Well, he's in London now. He talks and talks philosophy with Papa. He says _Political Justice_ is his bible.

MARY. Isn't he a baronet or something of the sort?

FANNY. He's the heir to a baronetcy. His grandfather is Sir Bysshe Shelley of Sussex.

MARY. How grand.

FANNY. He wants to help us. He wants to invest in the bookshop.

MARY. Really?

FANNY. And he is quite... extraordinary.

MARY. In what way?

FANNY. He's... I don't know how to explain it... He's so vibrant. More vibrant than anyone I ever met. And he speaks to me so easily. I feel I could talk to him about anything.

MARY. Fanny Godwin... I do believe you are in love.

FANNY. I'm not. I'm not. He's married.

MARY. But that doesn't stop you from falling in love.

FANNY. His wife is... quite lovely. Quite a fine lady. But you shall see all this. Come now, my poor cold girl. Let's find a chaise and get you home.

**Scene Three**

_The parlour. Skinner Street. A window looks out onto the street, and from outside the noise of a crowd can be heard._

MARY _and_ FANNY _set the trunk down._ MRS GODWIN _enters._

MRS GODWIN. Move that trunk out of the way, Mary. What makes you think we want that in the middle of the parlour?

MARY. I'm a little tired. I'll move it soon.

MRS GODWIN. You went away for your health, you shouldn't have come back tired.

MARY. I'm tired from the journey, that's all.

MRS GODWIN. Well, we're all tired. Now move it.

FANNY. I'll move it.

MARY. No, leave it, Fanny. I'll do it.

MRS GODWIN. Go and help Jane with the tea things, Fanny.

FANNY. Yes, Mama.

FANNY _leaves._ MRS GODWIN _begins to set up a small table for tea._ MARY _moves the trunk._

MARY. Can't the maid see to the tea?

MRS GODWIN. The maid doesn't work today. She does three days now. We had less need of her with everyone away. Everyone has to do their bit, that's all.

( _Calling_.) Mr Godwin! Tea!

Charles is doing awfully well in Edinburgh.

MARY. Yes. He wrote to me.

MRS GODWIN. But you didn't see him, I suppose?

MARY. No.

MRS GODWIN. I would have thought you might want to visit your stepbrother, with him being so close.

MARY. It's quite some distance from Dundee to Edinburgh. We made do with letters.

MRS GODWIN. I don't know why he had to go so far away. There are plenty of apprenticeships to be had in London. Why go all the way to Scotland?

MARY. I can't imagine.

MRS GODWIN ( _calling_ ). Mr Godwin! If you don't come out, we shall come in!

Every day.

MARY. There's really no need to disturb his work. I can see him at dinner.

JANE _enters._ MARY _goes to the window and looks out._

JANE. Maman, Fanny wants to know if we should put all the sugar buns out?

MRS GODWIN. All of them? Of course not. One each. We're not elephants.

JANE _goes to the window._

JANE. Gracious, what a crowd. I wonder who they're hanging?

MRS GODWIN ( _to_ MARY). And you left the Baxters tolerably well, I hope?

MARY. I'm sorry...?

MRS GODWIN. The Baxters. You left them tolerably well?

MARY. Yes. They were fine, thank you.

MRS GODWIN. Did they send their regards to me?

MARY. To my father and to you, yes.

MRS GODWIN. Oh. Then you should pass them on. Not leave me to prise them out of you.

( _Calling._ ) Mr Godwin!

_She leaves._ JANE _and_ MARY _listen to the crowd passing by._

JANE. Isn't hanging the most awful thing? So primitive, don't you think, Mary? So utterly barbaric.

GODWIN _enters from the study._

GODWIN. What is utterly barbaric?

MARY. Hanging.

GODWIN. Ah, yes. That would qualify.

MARY. Hello, Papa.

MARY _goes to him and kisses his cheek with great affection._

GODWIN. Well, well. Hello to you too.

MRS GODWIN _enters, holding a tablecloth._

MRS GODWIN. Finally, he emerges.

GODWIN. I'm sorry, Mrs Godwin, am I horribly late? Have I missed tea?

MRS GODWIN. No. But I should have thought you might want to come out sooner when your only daughter is back from a six-month visit.

GODWIN. Mary understands.

MARY. Of course I do.

GODWIN. And I had three daughters last time I looked.

MRS GODWIN. You know very well what I mean – the only one as is the fruit of your loins.

JANE. Maman, must you? Must you use such awful words?

MRS GODWIN. Oh, don't you start that.

JANE. What?

MRS GODWIN. You've been doing it all day – making out there's some sort of coarseness in me which you don't like to be associated with.

JANE. I've done nothing of the sort.

MRS GODWIN. A few weeks at boarding school and you think you can look down on me. Well, you can't.

JANE. But...

MRS GODWIN. I'm just as good as you – ( _Pointing at_ MARY _._ ) and you, and I shan't be treated like this in my own home.

JANE. Maman, I didn't mean anything. Really...

MRS GODWIN. Loins is a perfectly respectable word. I'm sure it is in Mr Johnson's Dictionary. I'm sure everyone has loins. Do you have loins, Mr Godwin?

GODWIN. I'm rather afraid I do.

MRS GODWIN. There. And I'm sure most people would be happy to admit to it.

FANNY _enters, carrying a tray of tea things._

FANNY. I didn't get an answer, Jane.

JANE. Oh, sorry, Fanny. I forgot.

MRS GODWIN. One each. One each.

FANNY. Good. That's what I thought.

MARY. We're not elephants.

FANNY _carries the tray to the table._

MRS GODWIN. Bring your chair round, Mary. Don't just stand there.

JANE. Who are they hanging, Papa? Do you know?

GODWIN. A man called Bates. Theft of a gun.

FANNY. Shall I go down and sit in the shop?

MARY. No, Fanny.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, I've closed the shop. We shan't get any customers now with this going on. I always said this was a stupid place to open a children's bookshop. We're so close to the gallows we can almost hear the necks snap.

JANE. Maman!

MARY. At least we get passing trade.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, yes. I'm sure any number of these louts is likely to pop in for a copy of _Pilgrim's Progress._

GODWIN. I don't remember you saying this was a stupid place to open a bookshop, Mrs Godwin.

MRS GODWIN. Well, that just shows how seldom you listen to me.

Oh, do come away and sit down, Jane. Let's all just sit down nicely and have tea, like normal people.

_They sit together, and tea commences. In the street below, someone in the passing crowd is shouting, and there is a burst of laughter._ GODWIN _raises his teacup to_ MARY.

GODWIN. Welcome home, Mary.

MARY. Thank you.

JANE. Yes. Welcome home.

GODWIN. How was the dreaded voyage?

MARY. It passed quite quickly. And the weather was so beautiful this morning. I was on deck to see the sun rise.

GODWIN. You look well, at any rate. The Scottish air obviously agreed with you.

MARY. It did.

MRS GODWIN. She didn't see Charles.

GODWIN. And a new dress, eh?

MARY. Yes. Thank you for sending the money.

GODWIN. You put me in mind of one of Walter Scott's heroines.

JANE. I've never been sure about tartan. I mean, I'm sure it looks very fine in its natural... habitat, as it were. The Highlands, and the glens. Kilts, and so on.

FANNY. I think it's a very pretty dress.

JANE. Oh, so do I. In fact, I should love to have one just like it.

MRS GODWIN. You've had your new dress this season.

JANE. Yes, I know. I only meant...

_She trails off._

GODWIN. And how did you spend your days?

MARY. Walking, mostly. Bathing a little. Though the water was ferociously cold.

MRS GODWIN. The Baxters send their regards. Evidently.

MARY. I have letters for you from Mr Baxter, Papa.

MRS GODWIN. Letters. Oh. Very nice.

GODWIN. Thank you.

And I hope you did some writing.

MARY. I did. I've begun a new story.

FANNY. What's it about?

MARY. It's about... But I won't say yet. Because I'm not quite sure if it's going to take. You understand.

GODWIN. Only too well.

MARY. But when I've finished it, I'll show it to Papa, and if he thinks it's good enough, I shall read it to you all.

MRS GODWIN. I have begun a new translation – _The Swiss Family Robinson_. It is very taxing.

JANE. Did Fanny tell you about Mr Shelley, Mary?

MARY. Yes.

JANE. I can't wait for you to meet him.

MARY. You've met him already?

JANE. He was here yesterday. And he really is the most extraordinary man. Quite the most... vibrant human being I have ever met.

GODWIN. Yes. I'm afraid you will find that both your sisters are rather taken with my young friend Shelley.

FANNY. Papa, really.

JANE. Is he coming this evening?

GODWIN. Tomorrow.

MARY. He's doing some business with you – is that right?

GODWIN. Of sorts. I am helping him with a rather complicated financial transaction, and he is showing a kind interest in our little enterprise here.

JANE. He's giving Papa some money.

GODWIN. Lending me some money, Jane. Lending me some money so that I might be able to discharge one or two of the difficulties which have built up of late, and so that I might begin to concentrate on my writing again. Which is the most important thing.

MARY. Yes.

MRS GODWIN. Well, I shall believe it when I see it. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we never saw a penny of this alleged money from Mr Shelley.

JANE. Maman.

MARY. Why?

MRS GODWIN. Firstly, because he doesn't have any money. He's having to borrow it himself, against his future fortune...

GODWIN. I would rather we didn't speak of business at tea.

MRS GODWIN....at an exorbitant cost. And secondly, because the only reliable thing about Mr Shelley is that he is completely unreliable. He turns up here when he isn't invited, and then when he is invited, he doesn't turn up. I've lost count of the number of dinners I've prepared for him, only to have them wasted.

GODWIN. You cannot dismiss a man's character on the basis of a few discarded chops.

MRS GODWIN. Chops which have to be paid for, and with money we haven't got. And then there was the time he disappeared altogether. What's to stop him doing that again?

FANNY. That was a long time ago, Mama.

MRS GODWIN. And what of that?

FANNY. I... I think he's become more reliable lately. I think...

MRS GODWIN. 'Come to my hotel, Mrs Godwin. Dine with us, Mr Godwin.' And then we get there and he's gone. Packed up and left. I've never been so humiliated.

MARY. Do we need the money badly, Papa?

GODWIN. There is no question of Shelley disappearing. I have great faith in him. You cannot sit for hours with a man, discussing my _Political Justice_ without learning something of his true nature. There are certain principles upon which we disagree, yes, but he knows as well as I what constitutes just treatment of one man by another. Now can we please stop discussing business at tea.

MRS GODWIN. You are too trusting, Mr Godwin.

GODWIN. And you are too cynical, my dear.

MRS GODWIN. I'd rather be cynical than an old fool.

_There is a moment of shocked silence._

MARY. It's possible to be both. It's possible to be a cynical old fool.

FANNY. Mary...

MARY. I only said it's possible.

MRS GODWIN. Is that in some way directed at me?

( _To_ GODWIN.) Are you going to let her speak to me like that?

GODWIN. I'm sorry, I must have missed that.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, I see. Return of the selective deafness.

GODWIN. Now, now, my dear.

MARY. I also did a great deal of reading in Scotland.

GODWIN. I hope you kept a list.

MARY. I did. _Clarissa_...

GODWIN. Ah, yes.

MARY. And I read your memoir of my mother. ( _Looking at_ FANNY.) Of our mother. _Memoirs of the Author of the Rights of Woman._

GODWIN. Did you?

MRS GODWIN. You read the _Memoirs_?

GODWIN. First or second edition?

MARY. First.

MRS GODWIN. Is that all you've got to say?

MARY. It's a beautiful piece of writing, Papa. Aside from anything else. I couldn't be more proud of you. Or of my wonderful mother.

GODWIN. Yes. I see. I am gratified.

JANE. What memoir?

MARY. A memoir of Mary Wollstonecraft. Papa tells the whole story of her life. Her politics, her philosophies, her travels. Her love affairs.

MRS GODWIN. Well. I suppose I am expected to keep quiet on this occasion. But I must say, I shouldn't have thought it suitable reading at all for a sixteen-year-old girl.

MARY. Why not? I think it should be compulsory reading for all sixteen-year-old girls. To learn about such a woman. So courageous. So liberated.

MRS GODWIN. Well, I don't want Jane reading it.

JANE. Maman!

MARY. Why not?

FANNY. I think we should change the subject.

MARY. Why don't you wish Jane to read it?

MRS GODWIN. Oh, I couldn't possibly say. Because it's none of my business, is it?

MARY. No, it isn't. It isn't any of your business.

GODWIN. Mary...

MRS GODWIN. How dare you speak to me like that?

MARY. I do dare. I suppose you're going to threaten to slap my wrists? Send me to bed without any supper? I came back here determined to be civil to you but it is impossible. No one in the whole of Scotland ever spoke to me in such a rude and disrespectful way.

MRS GODWIN. Disrespectful? Huh! That's very high and mighty, I must say.

MARY. The Baxters did not even speak to their dogs in such a way!

GODWIN ( _standing_ ). Time to get back to work, everyone. I'm sure we all have things we should be doing.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, that's right, Mr Godwin – run off back to your study.

_The noise of a great roar from the nearby crowd is heard._ JANE _rushes to the window._

MARY. So rude!

GODWIN. Please attempt to control your temper, Mrs Godwin. Remember what we spoke about.

JANE _bursts into tears._

MRS GODWIN. What's the matter with you?

JANE. He's dead.

MRS GODWIN. Who is?

JANE. The poor man. All he did was steal a gun and now he's dead, dead, dead.

MRS GODWIN. Well, he was nothing to you, you silly girl.

JANE. He was a fellow creature. A fellow creature and now he's dead.

MARY ( _going to leave_ ). I've had enough of this.

MRS GODWIN. Don't you think of flouncing out. If anyone is going to flounce out, it's me!

MRS GODWIN _leaves._ JANE _sobs loudly._

GODWIN. Well. Thank you for tea.

GODWIN _exits to the study._

FANNY. Mary, did you have to?

MARY. Yes. Yes, I did.

**Scene Four**

_Evening._ GODWIN _'s study. Windows look out onto the street. Above a large fireplace there is a portrait of Mary Wollstonecraft. Books line the walls, and lie in piles on the floor. Between the windows there is an old leather sofa._ GODWIN _is working at his desk._ MARY _enters quietly. There is a small bundle of letters in her hand._

MARY. The letters from Mr Baxter, Papa.

GODWIN ( _without looking up_ ). Thank you. Place them there.

MARY _puts them on the desk. She waits, but he continues to work._

MARY. Shouldn't you stop now? It's quite late.

GODWIN. One or two things more.

MARY. What are you working on?

GODWIN. It doesn't deserve to be called work. Calculations. Business. Commercial drudgery.

MARY. All the more reason to stop.

_She goes to stand before the portrait and stares up at it._

How old was she in this portrait?

GODWIN. About thirty-eight. She was pregnant with you.

MARY. She looks content.

GODWIN. You have grown more like her.

MARY. Have I?

GODWIN. A little in your looks. A great deal in your stridency of expression.

You went away a girl, and have returned a young woman.

GODWIN _finishes his work and sets his pen down. They smile at each other._

So, am I forgiven for sending you away?

MARY. I wasn't cross. Just a little nervous, I suppose.

GODWIN. I knew it was time for you to make a foray into the outside world.

MARY. You were right.

GODWIN. Your mother was a great believer in girls experiencing life outside the home. Within reason, of course.

MARY. Papa, are there more books about my mother which I can read? Or can I read the other books she wrote?

GODWIN. Hum. I can't remember what you've read already.

_He goes to the bookshelves._

MARY. Not that much. _The Rights of Woman._ You read us that. _View of the French Revolution._

GODWIN. Her travels in Sweden?

MARY. No.

_He hands it to her._

GODWIN. I think Fanny has read that one. Of course, there's a great deal in there about Fanny, as a baby. Your mother took her with her on her travels.

MARY. Yes. Anything else?

GODWIN ( _hesitating_ ) _._ There are the letters.

MARY. The letters?

GODWIN. I edited a volume of her letters. But perhaps that's for another day.

MARY. Please let me see it. I feel as though I've been sleeping on top of buried treasure.

GODWIN ( _handing it to her_ ). Very well.

MARY. Thank you.

GODWIN. Mary...

MARY. I'm sorry I lost my temper with Mrs Godwin. But she seemed to be implying that there was something wrong about my mother – about the way she lived. And there wasn't, was there?

GODWIN. No. But, Mary, you are old enough to understand now that there are many people who cannot view the world as openly as your mother did. Or as you and I do.

MARY. You mean small-minded people. Like Mrs Godwin.

GODWIN. That is not what I mean.

MARY. But she spoke about your book as though it were contaminated.

GODWIN. Mrs Godwin has worked hard – tremendously hard, as have I, to achieve the relatively settled life which we have given you. And all our children. If she is a little alarmed, or decidedly averse to anything which seems to... veer towards scandal, then she is understandably so.

MARY. Scandal?

GODWIN. The _Memoirs_ were not well received. It is only right that you be made aware of that.

In fact, I was vilified.

MARY. But...

GODWIN. And not only in the reactionary press. Some people – friends even – thought I was wrong to write in detail about her private affairs. Some thought I was wrong to write so quickly after her death. I was only trying to make something useful out of tragedy...

MARY. Yes.

GODWIN. But I was judged – we were both judged, very harshly. The suicide attempt... the circumstances of Fanny's birth... many people thought I should have left those things unstated. It was a shock to me. I had not realised until then how entirely out of step I had become – even with radical society.

In the second edition, I tried to remedy some of the damage. Her sisters in Ireland – your aunts – had been very upset by the book. One or two of her friends...

MARY. But you don't regret writing it? Surely you don't.

GODWIN. No. Although, in hindsight, I am not at all sure that I should have had it published.

MARY. But surely for every person who balked at it, there was someone like me... who found it inspiring?

GODWIN. I simply want you to be aware that there are certain sensitivities surrounding your mother's reputation, which we must be mindful of. Not least because we are reliant upon a business. A shop which sells books for children.

MARY. Then perhaps we should not be. If it means we cannot be true to our principles and to your philosophies. If it means I cannot be openly proud of my mother.

GODWIN. Well. I'm afraid we must deal with things as they are.

Come and kiss me.

_She does so. She hugs him._

MARY. Poor Papa.

GODWIN. You even smell the way your mother used to smell. Is that possible, do you think?

MARY. I'm sure it is.

GODWIN. My dearest girl.

You are right to be proud of your mother, Mary. But we must be patient, cautious with those who do not have our capacity and strength of mind. Always remember who you are. And ask more of yourself.

Goodnight now.

MARY. Goodnight.

_She starts to go._

I wish she hadn't died. I wish we were together now. My mother and you. Fanny and I. That was how it was meant to be.

_She leaves._

**Scene Five**

_Late at night._ GODWIN _'s study._

_There is the sound of knocking on the front door of the house. It stops. After a few moments,_ GODWIN _enters, with_ SHELLEY _behind him._ GODWIN _is carrying a candle._

GODWIN. We had better come in here.

SHELLEY. I didn't realise it was so late.

GODWIN _lights a lamp._

You weren't in bed?

GODWIN. Yes. But no matter.

SHELLEY. Was I expected here this evening? I felt sure I was.

GODWIN. We expected you tomorrow, Shelley.

SHELLEY. Ah. Tomorrow. Then I'm early.

GODWIN. Yes. Early and late, it would seem. A walking challenge to the laws of physics.

SHELLEY. I went to the Fleet this afternoon. The first time I've been in a prison. It shook me rather.

GODWIN. I'm sure it did.

SHELLEY. I went for a walk by the river. I must have lost track of time. And the days are getting longer now, aren't they? Perhaps it was that. A trick of the light.

GODWIN. What took you to the Fleet? Sit down for a moment.

SHELLEY. A friend of mine was arrested for debt yesterday. He has a wife and five children to support.

GODWIN. I'm sorry to hear it.

SHELLEY. It's the perversity of it which enrages me. To confine a man, to shackle him, at the very moment he has most need to be industrious.

GODWIN. Does your friend have private rooms, at least?

SHELLEY. No, no. He shares a cell with three others. I thought I knew what it was to be in prison. But the reality... I took him a copy of _Caleb Williams._

GODWIN. Did you?

SHELLEY. He had read it, of course, but he was glad to have it with him. A lone voice of sanity amidst the madness. 'Go, go, ignorant fool and visit the scenes of our prisons, then show me the man shameless enough to rejoice and say, "England has no Bastille".'

GODWIN. Yes. Those passages were the result of bitter experience. I dare not think of the hours I have spent visiting men in prison cells. Good men. Wasted lives.

SHELLEY. I am going to take up the cry. I don't know how yet, but I shall. Godwin, when will we have the money? I have sworn that I will help him. I won't use any of your share, of course, but I shall use mine – all of it, if need be.

GODWIN. We are making progress, certainly. I saw the lawyers this afternoon.

SHELLEY. What did they say?

FANNY _enters. She is in a nightdress and dressing gown._

FANNY. Oh. Mr Shelley.

SHELLEY. Miss Godwin. Forgive me. I have come rather...

GODWIN. Early.

SHELLEY. Yes.

FANNY. Please don't worry. I only wondered if anyone had need of anything. Are you staying, Mr Shelley?

SHELLEY. Staying? Yes. Yes. Thank you. If that would be agreeable?

GODWIN. By all means, stay a while.

SHELLEY. It's true I have no wish to be alone tonight. If I could lie down amongst friends it would mean a great deal to me.

FANNY. Oh.

GODWIN. Ah. Staying.

SHELLEY. It has been a day of great emotion.

FANNY. Yes. I must see if the spare room is... Sometimes it is rather full of books and so on.

SHELLEY. But I can sleep in here. If you don't object, Godwin?

GODWIN. No.

SHELLEY. When I get tired I can sleep anywhere. I shall sleep curled up on the rug there. Or on the sofa.

FANNY. Yes.

SHELLEY. A blanket, perhaps, for the early hours? And a glass of water, please. If it isn't too much trouble.

FANNY. Not at all. I'll fetch them.

SHELLEY. Thank you.

FANNY _leaves._ GODWIN _and_ SHELLEY _sit down together._

GODWIN. I was imprisoned once. For debt. Did I tell you that?

SHELLEY. No.

GODWIN. In the early days. When I was trying to make my way. People assume that philosophers can live on air. My friends and I were completely reliant upon one another. If one of us went under, another would always try to help him out.

SHELLEY. That's how it should be.

GODWIN. Nothing has changed really. Except these days there are a great many noughts on the amounts which we owe.

SHELLEY. What did the lawyers say?

GODWIN. Yes. So. It seems the purchasers of the bond are now satisfied on the question of life insurance.

SHELLEY. Good.

GODWIN. But they have now come back with two further questions. The first concerns existing borrowing against the estate. They wish to be certain that when your grandfather dies, they will not find that there are prior and sweeping claims upon his property and land.

SHELLEY. How absurd this is.

GODWIN. Do you know if your grandfather has borrowed against the estate?

SHELLEY. I'm quite sure he hasn't.

GODWIN. And your father?

SHELLEY. No. He is entirely opposed to borrowing. It's one of the reasons why he is entirely opposed to me.

GODWIN. With your permission, I will write to your family's lawyer to ask for a statement on the subject.

SHELLEY. How long will that take?

GODWIN. I can't say exactly. We could consider a direct approach to your grandfather, but...

SHELLEY. What is the matter with these people? If they didn't want to buy the bond, why did they bid for it? They're already getting it for a lot less than it is worth. Surely they should understand that there is some risk attached to it?

GODWIN. No one was prepared to bid higher. We must remember that.

Do not be disheartened. We're drawing close now.

SHELLEY. What is the second question?

GODWIN. I think we should leave that for the morning. We can talk before breakfast, if you prefer.

SHELLEY. Please, Godwin. I am not a 'wait until the morning' sort of person.

GODWIN. As you wish. It concerns your marriage.

SHELLEY. My marriage?

GODWIN. They are not convinced that your existing certificate of marriage would stand up to scrutiny in an English court. If you were to die, and there were any challenges to the legitimacy of your heirs, their claim could stall – or be rejected completely.

SHELLEY. I don't understand.

GODWIN. You were married in Scotland, I think? In some form of chapel?

SHELLEY. Yes. We eloped.

GODWIN. Well, what they are asking is that you marry again. In an English church. In the Church of England.

Do you foresee any difficulty with that?

Will Mrs Shelley be in London at all this week?

SHELLEY. No. She is staying in Windsor with the baby.

GODWIN. Then could you arrange to be married there? Tomorrow, I can accompany you to get a certificate. You could consider a marriage the following day. And if you have need of witnesses...

SHELLEY. You know my views on marriage, Godwin. They are the same as yours. They were forged by you.

GODWIN. Yes. And yet we both sit here, married men.

SHELLEY. I married in haste. I could see no other way of protecting Harriet.

GODWIN. Precisely.

SHELLEY. I was young then.

GODWIN. Really, Shelley...

SHELLEY. It did not seem too abhorrent, to stand in a chapel and make some vows. It did not even seem like a church. To do so again – in cold blood. I don't think I can.

I'm sorry. They will have to accept my marriage as it is.

_They are quiet for a moment._

GODWIN. We must apply philosophy to this situation. Once you have the money – we have the money – the use we can make of it will far outweigh the small but necessary evil of your repeating your wedding vows. We must use convention to defeat convention.

The alternative is... what? That we lose the sale. I need not tell you, I think, the consequences that would have.

I sympathise. Believe me. Sometimes, when I look back on my own life, it seems...

SHELLEY. What?

GODWIN. One learns to live with compromise. A horrible bed-bound relative in a secret room.

_Pause._

SHELLEY. I will speak to Harriet.

GODWIN. Yes.

SHELLEY. Though I do not feel at all comfortable about doing so. Our relations at present would not naturally tend towards a renewal of vows. In fact...

MRS GODWIN _is heard from outside the door –_

MRS GODWIN ( _off_ ). Mr Godwin? What is going on?

GODWIN ( _to_ SHELLEY). Excuse me one moment?

GODWIN _leaves. There is the sound of whispering. After a moment,_ FANNY _enters. She is carrying some blankets and a glass of water._

SHELLEY. I appear to have woken the whole house.

FANNY. Don't worry.

FANNY _begins to make up a bed on the sofa._

I think you should sleep on here tonight. Please don't sleep on the floor.

SHELLEY. If anyone had told me, when I was at school, that one day I would lie down to sleep in the study of the great William Godwin – with Mary Wollstonecraft gazing down upon me – I would have thought it too much a fantasy to be believed. And to have her legendary daughter as my companion...

FANNY. I am hardly legendary.

SHELLEY. But you are. You must know you are. No child has ever been so lovingly described. Your joy in being, your inquisitiveness.

FANNY. I am glad to have those descriptions to look back upon.

SHELLEY. You know, when Harriet first discovered she was pregnant, I gave her a copy of your mother's thoughts on raising daughters. In case we had a girl. And then we did –

FANNY. Has she found it useful?

SHELLEY. Yes. Though she has not taken it to heart entirely – in the way I hoped she would. On education she is completely agreed. But she would not feed the baby herself. That I found very difficult. She hired a wet nurse. I would have snatched the child away and fed her myself if I could.

FANNY. I'm sorry. I suppose it is a very personal... It's very personal.

SHELLEY. Yes.

FANNY. But your daughter is well, isn't she?

SHELLEY. Yes. She is thriving.

FANNY. That's the most important thing. I feel sure my mother would say so.

SHELLEY. We are to have another. Harriet told me this morning.

FANNY. Oh. Another baby.

SHELLEY. Some time in the autumn.

FANNY. That's wonderful. That's wonderful news.

SHELLEY. I suppose it is.

FANNY. You aren't sure?

SHELLEY. It's very hard... this question of responsibility... to one's own children. I wish... I want to take responsibility for the whole world, and yet I am expected to reserve a vast share of my attention for one or two individual creatures, whom I had a part in creating. Do you understand what I mean?

FANNY. I think I do.

SHELLEY. Today... I saw a small boy being thrown into the river.

FANNY. Oh, no.

SHELLEY. He was on a coal barge that was passing by. He was arguing with a large man. And the man suddenly picked him up and tossed him over the side. Quite casually. As though he were emptying his piss-pot. The boy was floundering. I ran down to the edge of the water and made as much commotion as I could. I can't swim, or I would have gone in to get him.

FANNY. Yes.

SHELLEY. He was picked up and rowed to shore. I felt so much for him. I wanted to keep him.

I would have taken him home, but all he wanted was to run to catch up with the barge. I gave him all the money in my pockets. I felt so much for him, in his plight. As much as I have ever felt for my own child. Does that seem wrong?

FANNY. No. No, not at all. I have often felt quite overwhelmed with love for the children I visit in the poor schools.

SHELLEY. Have you?

FANNY. I have often thought there could be no greater vocation in life – no greater use of energy – than to rescue a whole class full of those children from the evils of poverty and ignorance.

SHELLEY. A greater vocation than motherhood?

FANNY. Yes.

SHELLEY. How right you are. How wise.

Why don't you stay with me, and talk to me all night? Really. I don't feel at all sleepy. Do you?

FANNY. No, but... I would like to, but...

SHELLEY. But what? Have you ever stayed up and talked all night?

FANNY. No...

SHELLEY. Then you must. It is one of the great pleasures of life.

FANNY. I don't think... I don't think Mama would allow it.

SHELLEY. Why not? Would you stay if I were a woman?

FANNY. Yes.

SHELLEY. Then stay. Surely your father, of all people, would not insist upon the proprieties?

Are we such animals that we cannot control our desires?

FANNY _cannot answer._ GODWIN _enters._

FANNY. I'll say goodnight.

GODWIN. Yes.

FANNY ( _to_ SHELLEY). Goodnight.

SHELLEY. If goodnight it must be.

_She leaves. He gazes after her._

**Scene Six**

_Morning._ GODWIN _'s study._ SHELLEY _is lying on the sofa under a blanket. The sounds of the busy street below are drifting into the room._

MARY _enters. She is wearing a dressing gown, and her hair is undone. She does not see_ SHELLEY. _She heads towards her father's desk, but then changes her mind and goes to the window and draws back the curtains._

SHELLEY. But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

MARY _gasps with surprise._ SHELLEY _sits up, smiling. He is in a state of half-undress._

Sorry. I couldn't resist... Oh.

MARY. I didn't realise there was anyone in here.

SHELLEY. I'm sorry. I thought you were Miss Godwin.

I stayed the night.

Shelley. Percy. Bysshe.

MARY. Ah. Of course.

SHELLEY. And you? Are you...?

MARY. Mary. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin.

SHELLEY. Mary. You're back.

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. No one told me.

_The immediate rapport between them is tangible._

MARY. I'll go and tell Mrs Godwin you're awake.

_She starts to go._

SHELLEY. But what did you come for?

MARY. Oh. It doesn't matter.

SHELLEY. A book? I would be the last person on earth to deprive you of a book.

MARY. I came for some paper.

SHELLEY ( _jumping up_ ). Paper! Let me help you find some.

MARY. It's all right. I think I know where it is. My notebook's full, and I just need a few sheets of paper, until I can get another one.

SHELLEY. Are you writing? Your sisters told me that you write. You cannot know how happy I was to hear that. What are you writing?

MARY. A story.

SHELLEY. I write poetry.

MARY. Do you?

SHELLEY. Yes. I have recently finished a poem. It's my best work. I have had several copies printed.

MARY. That's wonderful.

SHELLEY. Yes. It's a long poem. Epic, I suppose one could say. I can't put my name to it – the content is too dangerous. It's not that I'm afraid to take on the authorities. But I don't want to find myself in prison when I've only just begun.

MARY. What's it about?

SHELLEY. It is very much inspired by your father's work.

MARY. Is it really?

SHELLEY. Although I showed it to him and he was rather critical. He thinks I should stick to prose. Prose and politics.

MARY. But my father has never been fond of poetry. You ought to hear him on the subject of Lord Byron.

SHELLEY. Really? I adore Byron.

MARY. So do I. But Father likes things to be said in a... logical way. I'm sure it is not the fault of your poem.

JANE _enters._

JANE. Oh. Mary. You're here.

MARY. Good morning, Jane.

SHELLEY. Miss Jane! How sweet and fresh you look today.

JANE. Do I? I've only just woken up.

But look at you two. You've met at last.

SHELLEY. Yes.

JANE. It's not fair. It's really too unkind. I wanted to be the person to introduce you. I told him all about you, Mary. Now, is she as lovely as I said she is?

MARY. Jane.

SHELLEY. Certainly, she is.

MARY. Jane, please.

JANE. What?

MARY. Please don't say such silly things.

JANE. Oh, don't be embarrassed. Embarrassment is so petty. But, Shelley, I must tell you something quite extraordinary.

SHELLEY. That's a very promising beginning.

JANE. When Mama told me just now that you had stayed the night, I wasn't at all surprised, because I knew. Because all night... all night I had the strangest feeling that you were close by.

SHELLEY. Did you really?

JANE. I was finding it hard to sleep, you see, because I had been so upset yesterday about the poor man being hanged. Hadn't I, Mary? I was quite inconsolable. I can't bear any sort of cruelty, can I, Mary?

MARY. No.

JANE. But then I started to feel quite calm suddenly, and I started to feel that there was a presence close by – a good, strong presence – and then I realised that it was you.

SHELLEY. That's fascinating.

JANE. And then I slept quite happily. And calmly. How can I describe it? I felt very... soft. And relaxed.

SHELLEY. How extraordinary. I'm glad to have been of service.

JANE ( _laughing_ ). Did you know? I mean, were you... thinking...?

SHELLEY. I wasn't conscious of anything.

JANE. You didn't come upstairs at all?

SHELLEY. No. But who knows where our souls wander when we sleep?

GODWIN _enters and goes straight to his desk._

GODWIN. Ah, you're awake, Shelley. Good. ( _Calling._ ) Fanny! She was afraid we might disturb you, but I see we are too late for that.

JANE. He was awake when I came in, Papa.

GODWIN ( _to_ MARY _and_ SHELLEY). So you've met.

SHELLEY. Yes. We introduced ourselves.

FANNY _enters._

FANNY. Good morning.

SHELLEY. Good morning, my dear Miss Godwin.

FANNY. Rather an invasion, I'm afraid. Would you like a little privacy?

SHELLEY. No. This is the perfect start to my day.

FANNY. How are you, Mary? Rested?

MARY. Yes, thank you, dear.

GODWIN. This is the letter I wish you to copy, Fanny.

FANNY ( _crossing to the desk_ ). Jane, go down and mind the shop please.

JANE. Now?

FANNY. Yes.

JANE. But I don't want to. Surely if anyone comes they can ring the bell? No one will come anyway.

GODWIN. Will it be clear enough?

FANNY. Yes. I think so.

GODWIN. Shelley, I've ascertained where we must go for the certificate, but the office will close at midday, so we must start out as soon as you're ready.

SHELLEY. Right. Yes. What time is it now?

MARY. It's almost half-past ten.

SHELLEY. Is it really?

JANE. I'm always losing track of time.

MRS GODWIN _enters._

MRS GODWIN. What on earth is going on in here?

I do apologise, Mr Shelley. I gave orders that you were not to be disturbed.

JANE. Mary was here before I was.

SHELLEY. But it's been splendid, Mrs Godwin. Really. It reminds me of being a child again. Waking up surrounded by my sisters.

MRS GODWIN. Well, we are none of us children now. What do you say, Mr Godwin?

GODWIN. What's that, my dear?

MRS GODWIN. Come out now, girls. In fact, no. Mr Shelley, I think you should come out, if you don't mind? You may use my bedroom in which to refresh yourself, and so forth. I'm sure you must need to do that.

SHELLEY. Thank you. You're very kind.

MRS GODWIN. And who's minding the shop, may I ask?

FANNY. I was. But I'm busy now. I asked Jane to go down.

MRS GODWIN. Then go down, Jane. At once. What do you think this is? A public holiday?

JANE ( _to_ SHELLEY). Will you be coming back?

SHELLEY. I hope so. Will we come back, Godwin?

GODWIN. Back? No. Windsor.

SHELLEY. Ah, yes. A pity.

JANE. But you'll come again soon?

MRS GODWIN. Jane!

JANE. Sorry. ( _To_ SHELLEY.) Come out through the shop and say goodbye!

_She leaves._

MRS GODWIN ( _inviting him to come with her_ ). Mr Shelley?

SHELLEY ( _to_ MARY). I hope I will see you soon. You're not going away again?

MARY. No. I have no more plans to travel.

SHELLEY. I wonder if you would read my poem? Would you?

MARY. Yes. Of course. I would like that very much.

SHELLEY. I will come back as soon as I can.

_They smile deeply at each other._

Good day, Miss Godwin.

FANNY. Good day. I hope...

MRS GODWIN ( _ushering him out_ ). I have saved you a nice slice of bacon for your breakfast, Mr Shelley.

GODWIN. No time!

SHELLEY. Oh, I never eat breakfast, Mrs Godwin. Or meat.

MRS GODWIN. No? Of course you don't.

_They leave._

GODWIN. Right. Once you have finished it, I want you to deliver it. You know the office?

FANNY. Yes, Papa.

GODWIN. As soon as you can.

_He gathers his things together._

Writing today, Mary?

MARY. Yes, Papa.

GODWIN. Very good.

_He leaves._ FANNY _watches_ MARY _for a moment._ MARY _is looking shocked and flushed._

FANNY. So... That is Mr Shelley.

MARY. Yes.

I need some paper.

MARY _goes to the desk and finds the paper._

FANNY. Is something wrong?

MARY. No. Not at all.

FANNY. What did you think of him?

MARY. I thought he was... Yes. He's very pleasant.

FANNY. 'Pleasant'? What do you mean? That's the most... pale... the most insipid word I ever heard fall from your lips.

MARY. He's beautiful. There must be angels who command less light.

_Looking at_ MARY _'s impassioned face,_ FANNY _is suddenly filled with disquiet._ MARY _sees it._

You looked after him last night?

FANNY. Yes. We had a long talk.

MARY. I'm glad. Well. I'll let you get on. Tell me if I can be of any help.

FANNY. Yes. Thank you.

MARY _leaves._

**Scene Seven**

_The sisters' bedroom._ MARY _rushes in. She is full of the most staggering emotions – literally lovestruck. She feels as though the room is too small to contain her. She throws the pieces of paper up into the air._

_She sits down suddenly, hugging her knees and covering her mouth. Then she laughs._

MARY. Madness.

_She stands again. She has to move, to release the feeling._

I wonder if you would read my poem? Would you?

Yes. Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course.

I will come back as soon as I can.

Come back. Come back to me. Mr Shelley. Shelley. Like the name of a rose. Or something fragile from the sea.

**Scene Eight**

_Night. The sisters' bedroom._ MARY _, in her nightgown, pulls all the blankets and quilts from the beds into the middle of the floor. She lights candles and places them around. She takes the books she has borrowed from her father, and places them on the covers._

_She goes to the window and opens it, letting the moonlight in._

MARY. Come, gentle night; come, loving black-brow'd night.

FANNY _enters. She is in her nightgown and carries a candle. She stops in astonishment – a little thrilled by the sight._

FANNY. Mary? What...?

MARY _takes_ FANNY _'s hand and sits her on the covers._

MARY. I have more books. Love letters. More beautiful than you can imagine. Papa gave them to me, so you need not fear.

FANNY ( _looking at the little book of letters_ ). I don't know if I can.

MARY. We have to. Mother may not be here, but she can still teach us what it is to love.

_She takes the book and goes to a marked page._

Look – read this page.

FANNY _takes it and reads._

Read it aloud.

FANNY ( _reading_ ). 'I have been playing and laughing with the little girl so long, that I cannot take up my pen to address you without emotion.'

MARY. It is written to your father – do you see?

FANNY ( _reading_ ). 'Pressing her to my bosom, she looked so like you, every nerve seemed to vibrate to the touch, and you seemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my heart.' The child is me.

MARY. Yes.

JANE _enters, also dressed for bed and carrying a candle._

JANE. What are you doing?

MARY. Hush, Jane. Come away from the door.

JANE. What are you doing? Can I join in?

_She sits with them on the floor. She picks up a book._

Ah! Is this it? Is this the _Memoir_?

MARY ( _reading_ ). 'Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; I have thy honest countenance before me, relaxed by tenderness. Thy lips then feel softer than soft, and I rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.'

JANE. But that is too gorgeous!

FANNY. Is that written to my father too?

MARY. She must have loved him deeply. I'm sure, when we were younger, we were made to think it was no more than a passing fancy.

JANE. Listen to this. ( _Reading from the_ Memoirs _._ ) 'Mary rested her head upon my shoulder – the shoulder of her lover...' This is Papa speaking!

FANNY. Papa?

JANE ( _reading_ ). '...I had never loved till now; or, at least, had never nourished a passion to the same growth, or met with an object so consummately worthy.' Is that not the funniest thing?

MARY. That is Papa's way of saying that he was overwhelmed with passion!

_She throws herself onto_ JANE _, who laughs._

Abandoned to a desire that changed him utterly, that pushed him to the ground, that launched him to the winds!

FANNY ( _reading from the_ Memoirs). 'We did not marry.' I thought they did.

MARY. Eventually. But I was conceived in the first throes of their passion.

JANE. Oh, Mary!

FANNY. You don't mind, do you?

MARY. Of course not. Marriage is a nonsense. You were conceived at a tollgate, Fanny.

JANE. A tollgate?

MARY ( _taking up the_ Letters). Look here – let me see... here. She calls you her 'barrier-girl'. She would meet your father at one of the barriers into Paris.

FANNY. 'Barrier-girl'? Papa used to call me the barrier-child sometimes. Do you remember? I always thought it meant something bad. That I had been in the way somehow.

MARY. Oh, Fanny. They would spend nights together in a room in the tollgate.

JANE. How romantic!

FANNY. Is that really true?

MARY. A child of the Revolution.

JANE. And outside, all around, people were having their heads chopped off!

MARY. Look here – ( _Reading_.) '...my imagination then rather chooses to ramble back to the barrier with you, to see you coming to meet me, and my basket of grapes and wine, and with the blissful hours to come.'

JANE. I never heard of anything so romantic.

_They lie back and grow quieter._ FANNY _reads to the end of the letter._

FANNY. 'My little barrier-girl...'

JANE. I wish she was my mother. Oh, I wish she was.

I am going to change my name to hers. Jane is such a dull name. And really I was christened Mary-Jane, so...

FANNY ( _laughing_ ). But you can't take 'Mary'.

JANE. Oh, yes! Oh, no. Then I shall take her birthday! When was her birthday?

FANNY. April the twenty-seventh.

JANE. Then from now on that will be my birthday. Will you let me? And you must mark it.

You will, won't you?

MARY. All right.

JANE. But don't tell Mama, or she will laugh and think me stupid.

FANNY. Let's blow out the candles now.

_They do so, and settle down._

MARY. We cannot let our lives be small. There is no life but loving.

_Gradually, they begin to drift into sleep. In_ MARY _'s mind,_ SHELLEY _enters the room. The energy between them draws them together. They do not touch, but seem to lean and brush against each other._

_When she awakens,_ FANNY _is standing by the window, gazing out at the night sky._

( _Whispering_.) Are you all right, Fanny?

FANNY. It is too much to bear.

MARY ( _hesitantly_ ). What do you mean?

_But_ FANNY _only goes back to her bed and closes her eyes._

_End of Act One._

#### **ACT TWO**

**Scene One**

_St Pancras Churchyard. Bright sunshine filtered through trees. One large tomb – that of Mary Wollstonecraft – dominates the space._ JANE _runs up to it, and sits upon it, arranging her skirts and hair to their full advantage._

MARY _and_ SHELLEY _appear from the same direction. They are deep in discussion._

SHELLEY. All established religions work hand in hand with tyranny. They dull men's minds. They stop us from thinking we can make our own moral choices.

MARY. That I do agree with. It's what my father always taught us.

SHELLEY. By fixing men's minds on the idea of an afterlife, they make them wary – terrified even – of all forms of dissent.

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. And a crowd of privileged gentlemen called parsons get very well paid to convince their congregations that 'sinning' includes any kind of opposition to governments, or kings or landowners or the waging of wars.

JANE. I hope the vicar isn't listening to this!

MARY. But if you take faith away from people, what do you replace it with? Faith can make people feel stronger. United. And the poor must have more need of it than the rich.

SHELLEY. Because we are human, we have doubts and fears – yes. And we look for something to reassure us.

MARY. And to empower us.

SHELLEY. But imagine how much stronger we could become if we looked only to ourselves and our fellow human beings for the comfort and... philosophy we need.

_They have reached the tomb._

Is this it?

MARY. Yes. This is it.

SHELLEY _stares at the tomb. He runs his hands over the stone._

JANE. Is it how you imagined it would be?

SHELLEY. It's strong. And honest. That seems right.

MARY. This side's usually shady. This is where I sit and read.

JANE. Sometimes I even lie back, like this. ( _Lies on top of the tomb._ ) But last time I did it, one of the gravediggers came past and stared at me as though I were a lunatic.

SHELLEY ( _reading the lettering on the tomb_ ). 'Mary. Wollstonecraft.'

MARY. My mother believed in God. Her own sense of God.

SHELLEY. Perhaps that's why you want to believe.

MARY. But that's just it – I don't want to believe. I know you're right. Logically. You and my father. But then I look at the world about me, and I think – mankind did not create this. We couldn't create it. And perhaps it is only a form of weakness – arrogance, not to believe in God. Some of the greatest people have turned to God when they are really desperate and afraid. And I can't be entirely sure that I wouldn't.

SHELLEY. But we should never give in to fear.

MARY. Do you not think it would be a comfort – to know that you could one day lie down in a place like this? Safe in the shadow of the church?

SHELLEY. I think I would be happy in some woodland glade. Safe in the shadow of the trees.

Or in a giant mausoleum, on the top of a dusty hill in some Latin land.

JANE. You two are too gloomy! And on such a heavenly day.

SHELLEY. I do believe in the human spirit. Profoundly. I believe we are more than we seem to be.

MARY. Yes.

_They are staring at each other – truly connected._ JANE _gets up._

JANE. I'm going to take a turn around the churchyard. All this talk of death is making me want to run about. I suppose neither of you will come?

SHELLEY. I think we might sit here for a while. But call out if you have need of us.

JANE. I shan't be long.

_She goes._ MARY _and_ SHELLEY _are quiet for a few moments._

MARY. Your poem... _Queen Mab_... When I was reading it...

SHELLEY. What?

MARY. It's so honest. Savagely honest. And so right about the state of the world. And yet you... You seem to contain so much... joy...

SHELLEY. Because I have hope. And belief in what can be achieved. I was fourteen when I first read _Political Justice_. I wept. I suppose it was a sort of relief. To have found that there was someone with the vision and clarity of mind to be able to strip away all that is wrong and useless and present a way of living which would allow mankind to achieve its potential. To achieve perfection. I will never stop striving for that world.

Did you like it – my poem?

MARY. I loved it.

SHELLEY. Do I come close to Byron? Can I?

MARY. I think you are every bit as talented.

_He touches her face, momentarily. Then they sit quietly for a moment._

SHELLEY. Thank you for bringing me here.

MARY. It's so peaceful here. Yet we're only a few yards from the streets. The river is just beyond those willows.

Sometimes I come here to write. My thoughts seem to flow more easily when I'm here.

SHELLEY. I like to walk when I'm working, and I always try to memorise – exactly – the lines that come to me. Because I know that when I get back inside, with paper and pen, I will never find the freshness I found in the field or by the stream.

MARY. Yes. Have you started another poem?

SHELLEY. I've tried to. It's been a difficult few days.

MARY. Has it?

SHELLEY. Distracting. Harriet has come. With her sister and the baby. At first it was only to buy a new bonnet – and apparently there are only a handful of London shops that are good enough for bonnets – but now it seems she has decided to stay longer. And she says my lodgings aren't suitable, so I've been running around trying to find somewhere better.

MARY. That is difficult.

SHELLEY. Yes. Not that I'm complaining. It's only that... these domestic things... they seem so trivial sometimes. And...

MARY. I love you.

_He stops. Their hearts leap._

SHELLEY. When I get the money I'm expecting, perhaps I will buy a house. Close to here...

_He kisses her – suddenly and passionately._

Oh, Mary. Mary. I love you. I love you. From the very first moment I saw you. Can it be true? Oh, no – no – don't cry.

MARY. I can't help it.

SHELLEY. Beautiful. You are so beautiful.

_They kiss._

MARY. What are we going to do?

SHELLEY. I...

_He can't answer. After a moment, they hear_ JANE _approaching._ MARY _dries her eyes._

JANE. Two rabbits and a jay. Such a dandy in his pink and blue.

Ah. You know it's completely obvious.

MARY. What is?

JANE. I'm not such a fool as all that.

SHELLEY. Jane...

JANE. I know. I know. And it's utterly, unspeakably thrilling.

**Scene Two**

_The parlour. Skinner Street._ MARY _and_ JANE _enter._ JANE _rushes straight to the window. Voices can be heard coming from behind the closed door of the study._ JANE _suddenly waves enthusiastically._

JANE. He turned back to look. You should have waved.

MARY _is too overwhelmed with her excitement to respond._

Oh, Mary.

What did he say? I want to know everything.

MARY. It was I who spoke first.

JANE. You?

MARY. But he had already touched my face.

JANE. He touched your face? And did he... I mean, did he kiss you?

MARY. Yes.

JANE. Oh!

MARY. Yes, he did. We mustn't say anything to Papa.

JANE. No! Or to Mama.

MARY. But will you help me? Help me to meet him again?

JANE. Of course I will. Mary, I must confess, I am the tiniest bit jealous, but you will allow me that, I think?

MARY. Oh, Jane.

JANE. And deep down, I think I always knew. I always knew that he would choose you, because you are her real daughter, and Papa is your real papa. He was bound to be drawn to you.

FANNY _enters from the study. We hear the voices of_ GODWIN _and_ MRS GODWIN _, rather heated._

FANNY. Secrets?

MARY. No.

JANE. No. We were just talking.

FANNY. Where have you been?

MARY. We just went for a walk. To the churchyard.

FANNY. Well, I wish you hadn't been so long.

JANE. Are they arguing?

FANNY. I had to close the shop for an hour. I don't know why you two think you can go off to the churchyard whenever you like and just leave me to...

JANE. We had promised Mr Shelley.

FANNY. You took Shelley?

MARY. Yes. To show him Mother's grave. We said we would. Remember?

FANNY. I wish you'd asked me. I would have liked to have come. Very much.

MARY. I'm sorry. I assumed you were busy.

JANE. What are they arguing about?

FANNY. Me. About whether I should go and spend some days with my aunts. They're in Wales. By the sea. Mama thinks she cannot spare me. Judging by today, I would say she's right.

JANE. Oh, don't be so hoity-toity, Fanny.

FANNY _decides to try to let the matter rest._

FANNY. How was Shelley?

MARY. Well. Do you want to go to the seaside?

FANNY. Yes. I do. Papa thinks my aunts are going to ask me to go and work at the school in Dublin.

JANE. Really?

MARY. Would you?

FANNY. I think so. I think it would be good for me to have some new society. And proper employment. A little income of my own.

MARY. Yes.

FANNY. If I stay here always... Well... I don't suppose anything will ever happen.

MRS GODWIN _enters, shortly followed by_ GODWIN.

MRS GODWIN. One day you shall find that I am not here, Mr Godwin. I shall take myself off to the seaside.

GODWIN. We shall very soon have the maid back...

MRS GODWIN. No other woman in her right mind would put up with what I am expected to put up with.

GODWIN. I know. We are all very fortunate to have you.

MRS GODWIN. This is not what I was promised!

( _Starts to go then turns on_ FANNY.) I hope you're satisfied! Ungrateful girl!

It will kill me. That's all. Kill me.

_She rushes out._

FANNY. Papa, if it's going to cause such a deal of trouble...

GODWIN. You may write to your aunts and tell them you will accept their kind invitation.

FANNY. Very well. Thank you.

GODWIN. Go after your mother, if you please, Jane. Do something. Tea, perhaps.

JANE. Yes, Papa.

_She goes._

MARY. Are you all right, Papa?

GODWIN. Yes. Weathered worse.

_He goes back to his study._

MARY. What a performance. She acts as though she never has a holiday. Didn't she go to Kent last summer?

FANNY. I suppose that seems a long time ago now. She does work hard.

MARY. Yes, but...

FANNY. And there was an incident at lunchtime which upset her. One of Papa's creditors came to the door. Mama saw him. He was very rude. Threatening almost.

MARY. Do we owe a lot of people money?

FANNY. It will all be all right soon. The business with Shelley's bond is almost done. Mary, I don't think you and Jane should have walked out with Mr Shelley.

MARY. We didn't walk out with him. We took him to see Mother's grave.

FANNY. Seeing him here is one thing, but to be seen about the streets with him...

MARY. You said you wanted to come.

FANNY....without Mama or Papa, or his wife. I don't think you should do that.

MARY. How very conventional.

FANNY. All I am saying, is that we should all, all of us, tread a little carefully. He is a married man.

MARY _scoffs._

It means something, Mary.

MARY. Surely it would be worse if he wasn't married?

FANNY. We have to respect the fact that he is not at liberty to... he is not at liberty.

MARY _looks down._ FANNY _is silent for a moment._

Has something happened?

MARY. No.

FANNY. If you think of walking out with him again, please tell Papa.

MARY. You sound terribly old when you talk like that, Fanny.

FANNY. Don't do that.

I must get on.

_She starts to go._

MARY. Fanny, I'm sorry.

FANNY _comes back to her and kisses her hand._

I'm sorry. Our mother loved a married man. Before she even met your father.

FANNY. Yes. And she realised that nothing would come of it. Nothing except heartache, and loss.

Loving... may be beautiful, but it's complicated. Always complicated. I know that much.

_She leaves._

**Scene Three**

_Evening. St Pancras Churchyard._ SHELLEY _is waiting by Mary Wollstonecraft's tomb._ MARY _and_ JANE _appear and rush towards him. They all embrace, and then_ SHELLEY _kisses_ MARY _passionately._

JANE. Go. Go. I'll keep watch.

MARY _and_ SHELLEY _move into the shelter of the tomb, and fall into each other's arms. Their embraces become increasingly daring and sexual, until_ SHELLEY _stops for a moment, and takes hold of_ MARY _'s face, staring into her eyes._

SHELLEY. I am yours now. Only yours. Even though I must go back to her...

MARY. Don't.

SHELLEY....you must lie down tonight and know that I am with you. My heart conjoined with yours. My soul within your body.

MARY. I cannot live without you.

SHELLEY. You will not have to. We will be together. Soon. There will be no lies. No pretence. This is the truth now.

_They fall into embraces once again._

**Scene Four**

_Evening. The parlour. Skinner Street._ GODWIN _,_ MRS GODWIN _,_ MARY _,_ JANE _and_ SHELLEY _are sitting together._

MRS GODWIN _is pouring wine._

GODWIN. To the very top, Mrs Godwin. To the very top.

MRS GODWIN. That is the top! It's almost overflowing!

GODWIN. I think we need a bacchanalian flavour to our revelries tonight. What do you say, Shelley?

SHELLEY. Certainly. Let us shame the gods.

GODWIN. I'm only sorry that Fanny is not with us. She worked as hard as anyone towards this day.

JANE. We must write to her in Wales.

GODWIN. Indeed we must. ( _To_ MRS GODWIN.) That's it. That's it. Mary too.

MARY. Just a little more then.

MRS GODWIN. You will have us all inebriated.

GODWIN. And a song, Jane. Will you oblige us with a song?

SHELLEY. A song!

JANE. What shall I sing?

MRS GODWIN. She sings beautifully, Mr Shelley.

SHELLEY. Does she?

MRS GODWIN. We paid for lessons. Sing the one you were practising, Jane.

JANE. But I don't know that one properly yet.

GODWIN. Any song. Any song. I shall sing myself in a minute and then where will we be?

JANE. Oh, I know!

_She begins to sing a pretty, happy song._

SHELLEY. Ah, yes. I've heard this one.

JANE ( _faltering_ ). Oh, no... I can't remember the last bit...

MARY _joins in to help her, quickly followed by_ SHELLEY _and the_ GODWINS. _They finish the song._

MRS GODWIN. Well, that is jolly.

GODWIN. Bravo, Jane!

SHELLEY. You do sing beautifully.

JANE. Do I? Oh, thank you.

GODWIN. Now, I think a few words are in order.

MRS GODWIN. Oh yes, I should say so. Order! Order!

JANE. Oh, Maman!

GODWIN. Yes. As you know, Shelley, I set very little store by gratitude. But what I offer you this evening, is my respect. My heartfelt respect. There are many men who claim to believe in the revolution which is _Political Justice_ , but few who are prepared to put it at the very centre of the way they live their lives. Today, with the arrival of the pecuniary cavalry, shall we say, I think we have struck a small blow against the forces of reaction. Against the criminality of property rights, of inheritance, and of the land-owning class. A blow which I vow to capitalise on, to the very best of my ability, with every moment of my labour. We are liberators! Liberators, no less, of the resources of mankind!

SHELLEY. Hear! Hear!

GODWIN ( _raising his glass_ ) _._ To _Political Justice_!

ALL. _Political Justice!_

_They all drink._

MRS GODWIN. What a day! What a day for us all.

GODWIN. More wine required, Mrs Godwin.

MRS GODWIN. More wine? Good heavens above, Mr Godwin!

GODWIN. Shelley's glass is empty, look.

SHELLEY. But I've had plenty. It doesn't take very much to...

GODWIN. Can't have that. Two bottles, my dearest. In the kitchen. If you would?

MRS GODWIN _leaves._

JANE. It's so delicious, isn't it, Mary?

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. I have no wish for gratitude, Godwin. I hope you know that. And I think you know what your respect means to me.

GODWIN. Yes, my friend. I believe I do.

_Pause._

SHELLEY. I wonder if you would care for a stroll?

GODWIN. A stroll? Now?

SHELLEY. Yes. It is such a balmy evening. And I would welcome the opportunity to discuss certain things with you.

MARY. It is a lovely evening, Papa.

GODWIN. I don't think my legs would get me down the stairs tonight. No, no. Let us stay here. A Skinner Street celebration. High spirits at Skinner Street, eh?

So, the money has arrived with your bankers?

SHELLEY. Yes. They assured me I will be able to give you your share tomorrow.

GODWIN. In cash?

SHELLEY. If that's what you would like?

GODWIN. Yes, I think that would be best. No names involved. And easier to distribute, of course.

SHELLEY. But, Godwin, I must warn you... the amount... your share, will be a little less than we discussed. GODWIN. What's that?

JANE. I will go and help Mama.

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. I have decided we must split the money down the middle. One thousand, two hundred and fifty each, to be precise. The fact is, I have need of more money than I realised.

GODWIN. But I have need of the amount we agreed upon. Two thousand, Shelley. One thousand... it is enough to cover my most pressing debts, but beyond that...

SHELLEY. We can sell another bond. Soon, if you wish.

The fact is, Godwin, Mary and I are entirely in love. And we mean to be together. We plan to go abroad. We think that would make things easier for everyone. And we both have the desire to travel.

GODWIN. What are you talking about?

MARY. We love each other, Papa.

SHELLEY. We plan to go to the Continent. We shall travel down through France. I have told Harriet. Of course, I must continue to provide for her... so I will need a great deal more money than I anticipated.

GODWIN. No...

MRS GODWIN _enters with the wine._

MRS GODWIN. Now, who's for a little more?

GODWIN. Out. Please. Please leave us for a moment.

MRS GODWIN. Whatever's the matter?

GODWIN. Leave us. Please.

MRS GODWIN _leaves, reluctantly. There is a silence._

MARY. I'm sorry if we've shocked you, Papa. But we thought you would rather know the truth.

GODWIN. I will not allow this.

MARY. But...

SHELLEY. We are decided. We are inseparable. Our love is a fact which must be acted upon.

_Pause._

GODWIN. I would like to speak to Mr Shelley alone, Mary.

MARY. But I would rather... No... I would rather hear what you have to say.

GODWIN. I will speak to him alone. Kindly go to your room.

MARY. But...

SHELLEY ( _to_ MARY). It's all right. It's all right. Don't worry.

_She leaves._

It is a cause to rejoice, Godwin. I'm sure that you will come to see that.

GODWIN. I hardly know where to begin.

SHELLEY. It took us by surprise. It has been overwhelming. A revelation.

GODWIN. If you cannot see that everything about this proposal is wrong... in every possible sense...

SHELLEY. But why?

GODWIN. Why? Have you forgotten that you are a married man? That you have a wife and a child, and another on the way, from all accounts?

SHELLEY. My marriage is over. For my part, at least. And as you say in _Political Justice_ , a marriage should not be made to continue if one of the partners decides it is no longer what...

GODWIN. And if you read the second edition of _Political Justice_ , you would see that I put forward a very different opinion on what marriage must mean in...

SHELLEY. Oh, I never read second editions. You know that. Second editions are the fruits of fear. First editions with the guts ripped out.

GODWIN. You are quite wrong. Second editions allow time for reflection...

SHELLEY. You mean for qualification?

GODWIN. Ideas should always be allowed to evolve. It is imperative that they evolve. And I did not ever mean to suggest that any relationship between two people should attempt to exist outside the mores of society in its present state...

SHELLEY. I believe in what you originally wrote, Godwin. Even if you do not. And the more I live, the more I know that you were right.

GODWIN. I was speaking of an ideal world, Shelley.

SHELLEY. Then let us begin it now. For if we do not, who will? I will not be enslaved by the expectations of society. And neither will Mary.

GODWIN. Please do not assume to speak for my daughter. I know my daughter a great deal better than you.

GODWIN _fights to recover his composure._

SHELLEY. I'm sorry if we have upset you...

GODWIN. I cannot give my permission for what you propose.

I would like you to go now, Shelley. I will come and see you tomorrow afternoon about the money – if that would be acceptable?

SHELLEY. Certainly.

GODWIN. We will talk further then. I would like you to think about what I have said.

SHELLEY. It will make no difference.

GODWIN. And in the meantime, I must ask that you do not attempt to see Mary.

SHELLEY. Before tomorrow afternoon?

GODWIN. Yes. In the first instance. If you would oblige me in that?

SHELLEY. Very well. But I must say goodbye to her now.

GODWIN. No. I will say goodbye on your behalf. I think that best. I will see you tomorrow.

SHELLEY. It will make no difference.

SHELLEY _leaves._ GODWIN _stands very still, trying to process the shock. After a few moments,_ MRS GODWIN _enters._ JANE _hovers behind her in the doorway._

MRS GODWIN. Are you going to tell me what is going on?

MARY _rushes in._

MARY. Has he gone?

GODWIN. Yes.

MARY. What did you say to him?

When is he coming back? Papa?

MRS GODWIN. Oh, I see. I see now, what it is.

I might have guessed. I suppose I should just be thankful that it isn't Jane.

( _To_ MARY.) Has he touched you? Has he?

MARY. Oh, don't be so vulgar.

MRS GODWIN. You... I should flay the hide off you!

GODWIN. No! We will be civilised.

MRS GODWIN ( _to_ JANE). Did you know about this?

JANE. I...

GODWIN. He says goodbye to you, Mary. Now let us all get some rest.

MARY. What did you say to him?

GODWIN. I said what any father would say: that you are a sixteen-year-old girl, and that he is a married man.

MARY. I can't believe you're behaving like this. You're behaving like the worst kind of autocrat. Forgive me, but you are. Would you really have preferred it if we were to sneak around behind your back? Lying? Pretending that things are other than they are?

MRS GODWIN. He would have preferred it if you hadn't gone near each other in the first place! Have you any idea what this will do to us? To our reputation?

MARY. I don't care about any of that!

MRS GODWIN. Well, you should! And then there is the money. What is going to happen with...

GODWIN. We shall have the money. Now... that is enough. Enough. I will not hear another word on the subject. Not tonight. Let us put an end to this day. To bed. Everyone.

MARY _does not move._

Go to bed, Mary.

MARY. And we will talk tomorrow?

GODWIN. Yes.

_She goes._ JANE _follows her._

MRS GODWIN. I tried to warn you. But did you listen?

As you sow, so shall you reap.

GODWIN _leaves suddenly._

**Scene Five**

_Early afternoon. Two days later. The parlour. Skinner Street._ MRS GODWIN _is setting the table for tea._ JANE _rushes in. She is wearing her outdoor shawl._

JANE. Mary? Oh.

MRS GODWIN. Where have you been?

JANE. I went to get bread. You said we needed some.

MRS GODWIN. Where is it, then?

JANE. I put it in the kitchen. Really, Maman.

MRS GODWIN. Tell me next time you think of leaving this house. Do you understand?

JANE. I was only gone a few minutes. I was only trying to help.

What's going on? The best china. Is someone coming?

MRS GODWIN _glances out of the window._

MRS GODWIN. They're here.

JANE. Who are?

MRS GODWIN. Go and fetch madam from the bedroom. Tell her to come here at once. And then you can stay too. I want you to hear this.

JANE. Who is it?

MRS GODWIN. Do as I say.

JANE _hurries out._ MRS GODWIN _puts the finishing touches to the table, and straightens her skirts. After a moment,_ GODWIN _escorts_ HARRIET SHELLEY _into the room._ HARRIET _is about six months pregnant._

GODWIN. Please come in. You remember Mrs Godwin?

MRS GODWIN. Of course she does. I'm sorry we meet again under such trying circumstances. It is very upsetting for us all, I'm sure. Would you care for some tea?

HARRIET. No, thank you. I do not wish to stay any longer than I must.

JANE _appears in the doorway and stops._

GODWIN. Jane.

JANE _enters._

Jane is our youngest daughter.

MRS GODWIN. My daughter.

MARY _enters._

GODWIN. And this is Mary.

Mary, I would like you to meet Mrs Shelley.

JANE _gasps slightly._

Perhaps we had better sit down.

MARY _and_ HARRIET _remain standing._

MARY. Papa...?

GODWIN. Mrs Shelley has been made acquainted with her husband's situation regarding you, Mary. Quite naturally, she has certain things she wishes to say to you.

MARY. I cannot think that this... can be of any benefit to any of us.

HARRIET. My husband is very erratic, Miss Godwin. He becomes extremely impassioned, dedicated to something, and then he just as quickly loses interest in it. He drops it.

It is simply his nature. I am sorry for it.

His love for me... was intense. And though I accept that the nature of his love has changed somewhat of late, it is still love. He loves me. As a husband loves a wife. That is apparent, I think.

We have a daughter. Did you know? Ianthe. After the maiden in his poem. The poem he dedicated to me. She is not yet two. This baby will be born in September. I think it will be a boy. We hope it will be. I see you are not without feeling. I would like to think there is not a woman on earth who would willingly deprive a child of its father. Even animals, I believe, stay close to their young in order to protect them.

_She is becoming distressed._

GODWIN. Please do sit down.

MRS GODWIN ( _offering a chair_ ). Here.

HARRIET _sits._

HARRIET. I have been in this situation before. Hardly six months ago. He became rather too close to the wife of one of his friends. I will not name the lady. But I have made Mr Godwin aware of the details – in case he should have need of them. They do not see each other now. Her husband took her away. But you see, you are not the first.

Please don't imagine that you are.

GODWIN. Mary, Mrs Shelley and I would like you to give us your word that you will have no further contact with Shelley.

MARY _sways slightly, as though her legs will give way._

JANE. Ah!

MRS GODWIN. Leave her.

GODWIN. You can now be under no illusion as to the damage this situation could engender. Let it stop now.

Do we have your word?

Mary?

MARY ( _almost inaudibly_ ). Yes.

GODWIN. Good. Later, I shall ask you to put it in writing. But for now, that will suffice.

HARRIET ( _to_ GODWIN). Thank you.

_She stands to go._

( _To_ MARY.) Do you believe in God?

He is your witness. As well as I.

MRS GODWIN. Shall I show you out, my dear?

HARRIET. Good day.

_She leaves with_ MRS GODWIN _. In the silence,_ JANE _sobs suddenly._ GODWIN _looks at_ MARY _._

GODWIN. It needed doing. For your sake as much as anyone's. It is over, Mary. I saw Shelley earlier today, and said the same thing to him.

MARY. May I go now?

GODWIN. I have written to Fanny and asked her to come home immediately.

MARY. May I go now?

GODWIN. You are young. You will soon recover. You don't need him, Mary.

MARY _leaves._

**Scene Six**

_The bedroom. The beds and floor are littered with Mary Wollstonecraft's books._ MARY _enters. She is distressed and angry and frightened_ – _overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. She collapses to her knees._

_She takes up one of the books and clutches it to her heart._

JANE _enters, cautiously._

JANE. That was so cruel. I'm so sorry.

MARY _turns away from her touch._

MARY. Don't. Please.

JANE _takes a scrap of paper from her pocket, and gives it to_ MARY.

JANE. Here. It's from him.

MARY. You saw him?

JANE. He sent someone into the shop. I went to meet him. He is desperate. Quite desperate.

MARY _reads the note._

He wants you to go away with him, doesn't he? To elope.

MARY. Yes.

JANE. Mary, if you want to go, I will come with you. He thinks I should. I could be so useful to you. I can speak French. Think what a help that would be. And I cannot stay here. Mama is already treating me like a prisoner. Imagine what it will be like after you've gone.

MARY. She has his child. She loves him.

JANE. But he does not love her. She isn't right for him. It was a mistake.

MARY. Would you please leave me, Jane?

JANE. Oh, my poor Mary. You will answer him, won't you? He's waiting for your answer. I will find a way to take it to him.

MARY. Thank you.

JANE _starts to go, then pauses._

JANE. There is no life but loving.

JANE _leaves._

_In her mind,_ MARY _sees_ HARRIET _struggling in the river, just as her mother did._ HARRIET _is trying to hold the baby's head above the water, even as she forces her own head under._

MARY _can bear it no longer. She closes her eyes and covers her ears, and buries her face._

**Scene Seven**

_Night. The bedroom._ MARY _and_ JANE _are asleep. Raised voices can be heard downstairs, and a little screech of alarm._ MARY _awakens and sits up. She listens._

MARY. Jane. Jane. Wake up.

JANE _wakes up, slowly._

I think he's here.

JANE. Shelley?

MARY. I heard his voice. It's him. I know it is.

MARY _is on her feet._ MRS GODWIN _enters. She is in her dressing gown._

MRS GODWIN. Back into bed.

MARY. Is it Shelley? What's happening?

MRS GODWIN. Yes, it is Shelley. And I never saw a man in such a state. He's taken something – that's obvious.

JANE. What do you mean?

MRS GODWIN. Laudanum or something of the sort.

JANE. Oh, no!

MARY. I want to see him.

MRS GODWIN. His eyes are as wide as saucers. Mr Godwin is going to walk him about the streets. And try to talk some sense into him. Your poor father. At this time of night.

MARY. I can walk him round the streets. Papa doesn't have to.

MRS GODWIN. And this is the sort of man you want to throw away your life for? None of them are worth it. Let me tell you. For all their promises and their grand gestures. They're weak. Weak inside. And they leave us to pay the price for it.

MARY. You don't know him at all!

_Downstairs, a door is heard closing._ MARY _rushes to the window and starts to open it._ MRS GODWIN _rushes forward and pushes her aside, roughly and desperately._

JANE. Mary!

MRS GODWIN ( _distressed_ ). Now look what you've done. Please. Just settle down. This place has become a madhouse, and I shan't have it.

_She leaves._ MARY _is trembling._

JANE. Do you think he'll be all right?

It's frightening. Laudanum.

MARY. Find me a pen, will you?

JANE. A pen?

JANE _finds one, and_ MARY _takes up a piece of paper._ MARY _takes the pen, and begins to write._

Is it your answer?

MARY. Yes.

**Scene Eight**

_Early morning. Two days later._ GODWIN _'s study._ GODWIN _enters and opens the curtains. He goes to his desk, preparing to start work. He notices a note on the top of some books. He looks at it for a moment, before picking it up and reading it._

MRS GODWIN _rushes in._

MRS GODWIN. Where are the girls? They're not in their...

GODWIN. They've gone.

With him.

MRS GODWIN. Gone?

GODWIN. To France, I assume. Apparently they will write as soon as they arrive at their destination.

MRS GODWIN. But... But not Jane? Why? Why would she...? Oh, no. Oh, no. Jane.

GODWIN. Who would have thought they could be so quiet?

MRS GODWIN. We must get the first coach to Dover. They can't have been gone very long. We shall have to close the shop. Well, it can't be helped. If we stop them quickly, no one...

GODWIN. I will not go after them.

MRS GODWIN. Yes you will. Of course you will.

GODWIN. I will not. She gave me her word.

MRS GODWIN. Then I will!

_She rushes out._ GODWIN _is white-faced with anger and shock. He reads the note again, then crumples it in his hand._

_In another part of the stage, we see_ FANNY _, in Wales, opening_ GODWIN _'s letter containing the news about_ MARY _and_ SHELLEY _. She feels as though she has been dealt a physical blow._

FANNY. Oh, no. Mary. Mary.

_It grows dark. In a boat, on the Channel,_ MARY _,_ SHELLEY _and_ JANE _are being rowed across to France. It is cold, and the water beneath them is black and churning._ MARY _is lying with her head against_ SHELLEY _'s chest. She is thinking of her father and of_ FANNY _. But a kiss from_ SHELLEY _is enough to recall her to the relief and pleasure of being with him._

_The boat moves on, over the water._

_End of Act Two._

#### **ACT THREE**

**Scene One**

MARY _is dreaming. In her dream, it is night. She is on a mountain top. The wind is howling. Thunder crashes overhead. Ahead of her is a figure dressed in black. She clambers towards it, stumbling. She calls out in desperation._

MARY. Father!

_The figure turns and stares at her with hostility. It is_ GODWIN. _Then he turns away from her and walks on._

**Scene Two**

_Night. A lofty room, in a large dilapidated house in Switzerland._ MARY _is trying to open the shutters at the window, as quietly as she can._ SHELLEY _and_ JANE _are sleeping on a bed._ SHELLEY _awakens and comes to her._

SHELLEY. Mary?

MARY. I woke up. I can't get back to sleep.

SHELLEY. You're not feeling unwell again?

MARY. No. I didn't mean to disturb you.

_He puts his arms around her and kisses her._

I was hoping a little light might come in, but there isn't any moon tonight. I was going to write in the journal.

SHELLEY. Good idea.

MARY. That's the last of the candle.

SHELLEY. I know.

MARY. We'll have to get some more tomorrow.

SHELLEY. Yes.

MARY. Where will we get them from?

SHELLEY. I don't know. We'll have to walk down to the village and knock on people's doors. What's the French for candle?

MARY. They won't even open their doors. It's as though they're afraid of us.

Shelley, I don't like this house. I know the mountains are wonderful – and the skies, and the air. But there's something melancholy about this place.

SHELLEY. Something hostile.

MARY. Yes. I wish we hadn't taken it. Six months. Right through the winter.

SHELLEY. I tried to light the stove after you came up to bed. It doesn't work.

MARY. What?

SHELLEY. No wonder the owners were smiling when they handed over the keys.

MARY. Do we have any money left? Please tell me – I'd rather know.

SHELLEY. Not much. About twenty pounds. Just enough to get home with.

MARY. Is that what you want to do?

SHELLEY. I don't know what else we can do. My watch was the last valuable thing I had. No one's going to send us any money from England. I've left a trail of debts.

MARY. I dreamt about my father again just now.

SHELLEY. What did you dream?

MARY. Do you remember that desolate village we passed through – the one where the Cossacks had been through and taken everything?

SHELLEY. Yes.

MARY. I dreamt I was there. Alone – I mean, without you and Jane. It was night. I saw a figure emerging from between two of the houses. Moving silently. Dressed in black. And I followed him, and when I got closer, I could see that it was my father. He moved through the village, up towards the hills. I could hardly keep up, he was moving so fast. And I knew that he was making for the tower that we saw – the dark tower on the headland.

SHELLEY. Yes. I remember it.

MARY. And I wanted to stop him before he got there. I had to. And I called out to him, but the wind blew the words back into my mouth. Then he stopped suddenly, and he looked round at me. And his look was so cold. So forbidding. And he turned away. And then I woke up.

SHELLEY. You have to write that down.

MARY. When I think of him, I have this feeling of dismay, deep inside. I've disappointed him.

SHELLEY. He was shocked, that's all. He'll come to see the situation more reasonably. He probably already has. It must be hard, I know. You've been close to him.

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. My parents were always so distant from me. But I'm glad, in a way. Those family ties; they're not entirely useful. They can stop us from pursuing what's really important. Would your father – or your mother – ever have written anything if they'd stayed in their villages? Stayed with their families?

MARY. Probably not.

SHELLEY. We cannot put the needs of our loved ones before the greater good. We cannot be ruled by sentimentality.

MARY. _Political Justice._

SHELLEY. Yes. It's pure _Political Justice_. We'll re-read those chapters tomorrow. It will help.

MARY. Thank you.

I see Jane's with us again.

SHELLEY. She heard rats in her room. I couldn't turn her away.

You don't mind, do you?

MARY. I suppose I wouldn't want to sleep alone in this house.

Let's write in the journal.

SHELLEY. Yes.

MARY _places the journal next to the candle and takes up a pen._

MARY. I'll write something, and then you can write.

SHELLEY. One day people will read this journal, and they'll know that we were really living.

**Scene Three**

_The parlour. Skinner Street._ GODWIN _is sorting through a pile of books._ MRS GODWIN _is working on an inventory._ FANNY _enters carrying a small parcel of books._

FANNY. I've found a few more copies of _Lessons for Children_.

GODWIN. Ah. Where were they?

FANNY. In the spare room. Under some blankets. There are... five.

GODWIN. Very good. Add them to the inventory, Mrs Godwin.

MRS GODWIN. A fat lot of difference that will make.

FANNY. When is the valuer coming about the copyrights, Papa?

GODWIN. Tomorrow, I hope. If he can fit us in.

FANNY. Did he give any indication of what they might be worth?

GODWIN. No. But he's a good man. Thorough. He'll make sure we don't undersell ourselves.

MRS GODWIN. Undersell ourselves to whom? Mr Nobody? Nobody is going to buy this business. Nobody would be mad enough.

GODWIN. I disagree.

MRS GODWIN. And we certainly won't find a buyer in time.

GODWIN. It's a promising concern for anyone with some capital to invest.

MRS GODWIN. It's a disaster. It has been from the very start. When I think of the hours I've spent, running to and fro to the printers, standing behind that counter in the draughts, writing into the small hours. And where has it got us?

FANNY. It hasn't been a complete disaster, Mama. We've just been a little unlucky with investment and...

MRS GODWIN. Oh, you don't know anything about it. Don't pretend you do. I feel sick.

FANNY. Please don't upset yourself.

MRS GODWIN. I really think I'm going to be sick.

GODWIN. Then please do it quietly. These figures won't add themselves.

MRS GODWIN. And Charles won't even come home to help. I am abandoned by my own son.

_There is a knock on the door of the shop downstairs. They all stop dead._

Oh, my good Lord.

FANNY. Are we expecting anyone?

MRS GODWIN. What if it's the bailiffs?

GODWIN. How could it possibly be? We haven't yet heard from the court.

_The banging comes again._ FANNY _goes to the window and looks out, cautiously._

MRS GODWIN. Don't be seen, you silly girl!

FANNY. Shall I go down, Papa?

GODWIN. Yes. But check who it is before you open the door.

FANNY. I will.

_She leaves._

MRS GODWIN. What if it's the bailiffs?

GODWIN. Try to control yourself, my dear. I'm quite sure it won't be.

MRS GODWIN. I can't go to prison, Mr Godwin.

GODWIN. I know. I doubt very much that it will come to that.

MRS GODWIN. Would it help if I went to see this monstrous man who wants to ruin us?

GODWIN. I don't think that would help.

MRS GODWIN. I can be very charming when I need to be.

GODWIN. It's not personal. He has no wish to see us destitute. He simply wants his money. And he no longer cares how he gets it. If we should find ourselves in prison...

MRS GODWIN. Oh, don't...

GODWIN....my friends and my supporters will rally round, I'm sure, and...

MRS GODWIN. And what can they do? None of them has the sort of money we need. A bunch of useless old wastrels.

FANNY _enters. She has a note in her hand._

FANNY. It's a letter. I think it's from him.

MRS GODWIN. From the creditor?

FANNY. No. I think it's from Shelley. It's his handwriting.

_She hands the letter to_ GODWIN _, who opens it._

MRS GODWIN. Shelley? What does it say?

GODWIN. Hardly a letter. He thinks this a fit way to communicate.

MRS GODWIN. What does he say? Where was it posted?

GODWIN. They're back.

FANNY. Back? In England?

GODWIN. Yes.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, thank God.

FANNY. Are they safe? Well?

GODWIN. It would seem so. They've taken lodgings.

MRS GODWIN. You mean, they're not coming here?

FANNY. Whereabouts?

GODWIN. St Marylebone.

MRS GODWIN. That's miles away!

FANNY. It's not so far.

MRS GODWIN ( _to_ GODWIN). You said they would come back here. You said they would come back with their tails between their legs.

GODWIN _does not reply._

Well. I suppose I had better get dressed, if I'm going all the way to Marylebone.

GODWIN. Nobody will be going to see them.

MRS GODWIN. But...

GODWIN. Nor will they be admitted to this house. Not unless they apologise and ask to return on a permanent basis.

MRS GODWIN. But I want to see Jane. I haven't seen her for months. I can only imagine what a state she's in. What if he is keeping her against her will?

GODWIN. I think Jane made it clear to you in Dover that it is very much her will to remain with Mr Shelley. I will not have you humiliating yourself by going after her again.

MRS GODWIN. But she might have changed her mind.

GODWIN. This says she has not.

_Pause._

FANNY. I could go. I could take them any message you wish to send.

GODWIN. No one shall go. Now let us get on with our task. We have more important matters to deal with.

**Scene Four**

_Day. Outside a tavern. A noisy street._ FANNY _is waiting._ SHELLEY _arrives and rushes to her._

SHELLEY. Fanny! I wasn't sure that you would come.

Hello.

FANNY. Hello.

SHELLEY. You found it all right. Hardly the most salubrious place to meet.

FANNY. I can't stay long. If he knew where I was...

SHELLEY. How could he know? Unless he's taken to following you? Has he?

FANNY. No. But it took me an hour to walk here. He'll be wondering where I've gone. And if he asks me... you know I can't lie to him.

SHELLEY. It's his fault we have to meet like this. You know we came to the shop two days ago? We stood on the street for almost half an hour.

FANNY. Yes.

SHELLEY. Were you in?

FANNY. We were all in.

How's Mary? How's Jane?

SHELLEY. They're well. Thriving. Mary's pregnant.

FANNY. Oh.

SHELLEY. It took us an age to realise it. But it's quite obvious now.

FANNY. I see.

SHELLEY. We're overjoyed. Although I don't know quite how we will manage. Things are rather difficult – financially. In fact I've been running around all morning trying to find a friend who can lend me enough for the rent. The landlady is getting belligerent.

FANNY. I'm sorry. It's dreadful – being in debt. Crushing.

SHELLEY. Are things bad at Skinner Street?

FANNY. They've never been worse.

SHELLEY _looks down in shame._

It's not your fault.

SHELLEY. I wish I could have given him more, but...

FANNY. It's not your fault.

Will you tell Jane that I'm sure her mother would see her, if she came to the house alone. If she waited until my father went out.

SHELLEY. Yes.

FANNY. Mama is quite unwell. She's desperate to see Jane.

SHELLEY. I'll tell her. Will you tell Godwin about the baby for us?

FANNY. I can't. He has forbidden me from having any contact with you. He checks the post.

SHELLEY. Of course.

FANNY. Write to him.

SHELLEY. You think we should? We didn't want to put it in a letter.

FANNY. You must. It might make a difference. I hope it will.

_Pause._

SHELLEY. This is how it's to be then, Fanny. Two camps. Enemy lines. And you're the only one who can cross them. If anyone can bring us all together again, it's you.

FANNY. I don't know why you think that.

SHELLEY. I have faith in you. I always have had.

FANNY. Why?

MARY _enters, and approaches cautiously._

MARY. Hello, Fanny.

FANNY _looks astonished. Her face flushes._

FANNY. Mary. Mary. I'm glad... about your baby. I have to go.

MARY. But don't.

FANNY. I'm sorry. I didn't know that you would be here. I promised him.

_She rushes away._

MARY. Fanny!

FANNY _has gone._

How absurd. How ridiculous.

SHELLEY. Don't be too hard on her. We...

MARY. What does she think he can do to her? She's a grown woman. How stupid...

SHELLEY. Mary...

MARY. How stupid.

MARY _walks off._ SHELLEY _goes after her._

**Scene Five**

_Day. The parlour. Skinner Street._ JANE _is sitting with_ MRS GODWIN _and_ FANNY _._

JANE. I think we must have looked rather funny – trekking through France on an ass. And it wasn't even a very good ass. It couldn't even carry two of us. In fact there were times when we had to carry _it._ But we did see some wonderful places.

You really ought to try travelling, Fanny. I feel quite different now. Quite changed. We took a large house in a village. It was terribly dark and gloomy. Shelley and I were sure that it was haunted. And it was cold – even in August! But then the stove broke and we had to leave. I thought that was a little rash – just because the stove needed mending. Actually, I've started to think it might have had something to do with money. We certainly aren't living as I supposed a baronet would live.

MRS GODWIN. He's not a baronet. Not yet.

JANE. But then, he is so far above all things material.

MRS GODWIN. And I dare say he never will be if he carries on like this.

JANE. I must say, Fanny, France was a great deal dirtier than I'd imagined it would be.

FANNY. Oh. I suppose it's still recovering from the war...

JANE. And rough does not begin to describe some of the people we were forced to mix with. Why, one night, we were going up the stairs to bed in this horrible, filthy _pension_ , when the landlord stopped us and asked if he could join us! Can you imagine. He caught hold of my skirt. He said three wasn't a good number, and he thought I would be left out. I assured him I wouldn't be, but we had to bar the door for the whole night, just in case. And then on the way home, we travelled on a boat up the Rhine and the sailors – well, even Shelley found it hard to be civil.

MRS GODWIN. You slept in the same room?

JANE. Of course. Lots of times. Oh, don't look like that, Mama. You really are terribly 'worldly'. It's hard to define the connection the three of us have. Shelley is passionate about the idea of 'community'. He could never be happy living with just one person. That's what we want to start – a community. He wants to bring his sisters to join us in Marylebone.

FANNY. His sisters? Surely they wouldn't be allowed to...

JANE. He wants to rescue them. Like he rescued us. And he asked Harriet to come too. He wrote her such sweet letters, but she says she won't come. You heard she had the baby? Shelley's simply delighted about it. He's been grinning from ear to ear. A son and heir. And now there's Mary expecting too. He will have had two new babies in the space of six months. Think of it. Who knows how many more there will be.

MRS GODWIN. Leave us, Fanny. Please.

FANNY _stands._

JANE. Oh, Fanny, could you find my pink dress for me? And some clean stockings? I can't tell you how I need them.

FANNY. Yes. All right.

FANNY _leaves._

JANE. I'm sorry you have been unwell, Mama. You really mustn't fret on my account. I'm perfectly happy – as you see.

MRS GODWIN. I will do my very best to express myself in... ( _Cannot finish the sentence._ )

JANE. What?

MRS GODWIN....in a reasonable fashion, as Mr Godwin would say.

JANE. Really, Mama. If you're going to tell me that I should...

MRS GODWIN. When I was not much older than you are, I was seduced. Used. By a man who should have known better.

JANE. Do you mean Charles's father? My father? But he married you. You can hardly say he 'seduced' you when...

MRS GODWIN. No, he did not. And he wasn't your father. When he discovered that I was expecting your brother, he paid me to go away from him. He wanted nothing to do with me.

JANE. So... who was my father? You always made me think that...

MRS GODWIN. Your father was a country squire. Rotten through and through. He took advantage of my desperate situation – of my poverty. He treated me like so much dirt under his shoe. When you were born, he would not even accept that you were his. When you were three months old, we were in prison. You were too young to have remembered it, thank God.

JANE. In prison for what?

MRS GODWIN. Debt, of course. What else? Debt. Debt. Always debt! I did everything I could to get you out of there. Filthy, squalid place. You caught a fever and almost died. Then one of the other women was released and she took you out, and Charles, and kept you safe until I could come for you.

JANE. I don't believe this. You're making this up.

MRS GODWIN. Do you really think I would make up such a dreadful, shameful tale? I had hoped to never tell you this. It has taken me years, years to make some sort of life for myself and for you. You cannot know what I have endured. And now you are making exactly the same mistakes I made.

JANE. No, I am not. My situation is completely different.

MRS GODWIN. Another young girl whose life is ruined. Over.

JANE. Oh, don't be so ridiculous...

MRS GODWIN. You are fallen. Tainted. The one fate I prayed you would never have to suffer.

JANE. You have no idea of the delicacy, the beauty of the relationship I...

MRS GODWIN. Nobody decent will ever come near you now. You have lost all chance of a normal, decent match...

JANE. Mr Godwin married you, it seems.

MRS GODWIN. There are not many like Mr Godwin in the world. And Shelley isn't going to marry you, is he? Well, is he?

I want you to come home. Immediately. If you come now, we can say that you went with Mary in order to look after her – to try to bring her home.

JANE. Shelley said that you would do this. He said you would do anything to make me stay here.

MRS GODWIN. Shelley? 'Shelley said...' Why do you listen to him and not to me?

JANE _stands._

I'm your mother! Why would you doubt that I want what's best for you? When have I done anything which isn't best for you?

JANE. I won't be coming back, Mama.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, you silly, foolish girl!

JANE. I detest this place. I hadn't realised how much I detest it until now. I shall collect my things and then I shall go.

MRS GODWIN. Jane...

JANE. And it's not Jane any more. It's Claire. Jane is such a very dull name. Claire is romantic. Shelley thinks so.

JANE _leaves._

**Scene Six**

_Night. The living room. The lodgings in Marylebone._ JANE _is sobbing._ SHELLEY _is with her._

SHELLEY. It's all right. It's all right, now.

What did your mother say to you?

JANE _cannot answer._

You seemed so cheerful when you got back – we thought it must have gone well.

_She shakes her head._

Did Godwin come home? Did he see you?

JANE. No.

SHELLEY. It was brave of you to go. I can't imagine what your mother thinks to achieve by making you wretched.

JANE. You won't abandon me, will you?

SHELLEY. Abandon you? Is that what she said I would do?

JANE. You won't give me money to make me go away from you?

SHELLEY. Forgive me, but your mother can be very foolish sometimes. Jane...

JANE. Claire.

SHELLEY. Claire...

JANE. I don't want to be alone. I don't think I'd be very good at it.

SHELLEY. You can stay with Mary and I for as long as you like.

JANE. Can I?

SHELLEY. Oh, I don't even see it like that. We're all together because we want to be. And while we want to be, we must be together.

JANE. Yes.

SHELLEY. There are no rules. No demands. No promises. Only what we want. What we all want.

_Pause._

JANE. Do I matter?

SHELLEY. Of course you matter.

JANE. Do I matter to you?

SHELLEY. Yes.

JANE. Can I touch you?

_She reaches out and touches him._

I have always longed to touch you. Sometimes, when I've been lying on the end of your bed, my hand has fallen very close to you. Close to your skin. And I've imagined... what it would be like... to touch you. And it's like this. Touch me. Please.

_She takes hold of his hand and puts it against her body. They kiss. They stare into each other's eyes_ – _a suspended moment._ MARY _enters from the bedroom._

MARY. What's going on?

SHELLEY. I heard her crying. She's been very upset by her visit this afternoon.

JANE. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. I know you need your sleep, Mary.

_Pause._

SHELLEY. I think we all need some sleep.

JANE. Can I come in your room?

MARY. No. I think you should stay in here. It's hard enough for me to get comfortable as it is.

SHELLEY. We could probably manage, couldn't we? I could always sleep on the floor...

MARY. No. ( _Suddenly gasping with pain._ ) Ah!

SHELLEY. Mary?

MARY. Ah! Oh! That's... Ah!

SHELLEY. Mary, what it is it?

MARY. Something's... Oh!

JANE. Is it the baby?

SHELLEY. Do you need to sit...?

MARY. No. No. No. Oh, my Lord...

JANE. Is it the baby? It can't be the baby, can it? It's too soon.

MARY _takes deep breaths._

SHELLEY. Is it easing? Mary?

JANE. Perhaps you should go for the doctor?

MARY. I've never felt anything quite so... Do you think it's the baby? Could it be?

SHELLEY. I don't know. Do you think it is?

MARY. I think it might be.

JANE. Shall I do something?

MARY. Go away.

JANE. My goodness. You're very stern this evening...

MARY. Just go away! Ah! It's coming again. Shelley!

SHELLEY. That's it. I'll hold you, shall I?

JANE. Shall I go for the landlady? She might know a midwife.

MARY. It's too soon. I'm frightened.

SHELLEY. Try to keep calm. It might not come.

MARY. Shelley...

SHELLEY. Oh, my poor darling...

MARY. If I die...

SHELLEY. You won't. You won't die.

MARY. But I might. I might.

**Scene Seven**

_Day. The lodgings._ MARY _is lying on the daybed, sleeping._ FANNY _is sitting close to her, with a baby in her arms._ MARY _opens her eyes._

FANNY. Hello, clever little sister.

MARY. How long have you been here?

FANNY. Not long.

MARY. I wanted you to come. I kept asking for you.

FANNY. I know. I came as soon as we got the news.

MARY. Is Father going to come?

FANNY. No. No. But he allowed me to, and that's something, isn't it?

She's beautiful.

MARY. She's very small.

FANNY. But she's perfect.

MARY. Shelley says she's alert. It's so hard – I don't have anything to compare her with.

FANNY. She's certainly looking about. ( _To baby._ ) Aren't you, little one?

( _To_ MARY.) How are you feeling?

MARY. I'm fine. Truly. I'm certainly not going to spend another day lying down. Tomorrow we shall both be up and dressed and taking our first walk.

FANNY. Are you sure you ought to?

MARY. I don't hold with all this lying-in. Neither does Shelley. Mother didn't.

FANNY. No.

MARY. And we need some fresh air. It's damp in this place.

FANNY _passes_ MARY _a small bundle of baby clothes._

FANNY. Here. They're from Mama – Mrs Godwin. I think they must have been Jane's.

MARY _looks at the clothes._

It's kind of her, isn't it? She cares more than you think she does.

MARY. More than he does, apparently.

FANNY. Mary...

MARY. What did he say – when he heard she'd been born? He didn't say anything, did he?

FANNY. He said you'd had a girl. And then he said that I could come and see you if I wished.

That was his present, in a way.

Things are very hard for him at the moment...

MARY. You know, I really think he doesn't care. Not in a real way. All those times when he was cold and distant from us, and I used to think it didn't matter, because deep down, there was this... bedrock of love. But now I don't think there is. If I can do one thing, one thing he doesn't approve of and yet he can't forgive me.

FANNY. Perhaps we shouldn't talk about this now.

MARY. I know what he thinks: that I've betrayed my gifts – my promise – but he's so wrong. Because this is it – I'm living out my promise. I'm living the life with Shelley that he and my mother dreamt of living. Does he think I've just thrown everything up to swoon about like some lovesick girl? I'm reading and learning and thinking and writing more than I've ever done. ( _Pointing to the books beside her._ ) Look. Look at all these. I've read them all. And Shelley and I talk about them. Talk and talk like I used to do with him. I want you to tell him that. Make him see that.

FANNY. I'll try. He's... He has a lot of worries at the moment.

MARY. I don't care. She's his first grandchild.

FANNY. We have to sell the business. He's desperately trying to find a buyer. One of his creditors has taken him to court. If we can't find the money, we'll be made bankrupt. I'm sorry. I wasn't going to tell you today.

JANE _and_ SHELLEY _enter._ JANE _is carrying a cake._ SHELLEY _imitates a trumpet fanfare._

JANE. We present... the cake!

MARY _and_ FANNY _laugh._

MARY. How did you manage that?

SHELLEY. The mother of a friend. She never could resist me.

JANE. We're going to go down and make some tea, and find some plates, and...

SHELLEY. And have a party.

JANE. Shelley has written a song for Clara. It's so funny. I'm going to sing it.

SHELLEY. We won't be long. Don't even think about leaving, Fanny.

JANE _and_ SHELLEY _leave._ MARY _and_ FANNY _smile at each other._

MARY ( _of the baby_ ). She's called Clara.

FANNY. Shelley told me.

MARY. Jane has started saying that she wants to be called Claire.

FANNY. Yes.

MARY. I didn't let that put me off. She knows it's always been my favourite name. She copies everything I do. It's insufferable.

FANNY. I remember when we used to sit in the graveyard and talk about what our daughters would be called. Yours was always Clara.

MARY. And yours was Mary.

FANNY. And now look...

_She smiles down at the baby._

MARY. I'll try to do something to help Papa.

FANNY. Don't think about that now.

MARY. I'll talk to Shelley. I'll try.

**Scene Eight**

_The parlour. Skinner Street._ GODWIN _and_ MRS GODWIN _are with_ FANNY _._

MRS GODWIN. But I don't understand. How can Shelley pay our debts when he hasn't got any money himself?

FANNY. He has looked into the possibility of selling another bond – a post-obit bond. But the sums he was offered were derisory.

GODWIN. I told him we were fortunate the first time.

FANNY. So, what he is proposing is that he goes to our more serious creditors and offers to... to take on our debts. He will promise to pay them what we owe, as soon as he inherits some money. And he'll offer them a considerable sum of interest besides.

MRS GODWIN. Well... will they accept that?

GODWIN. Yes. Most likely. It would be a far better bet than a claim against a failing business.

MRS GODWIN. Then we must accept his offer.

FANNY. You would not have to do anything, Papa. You would not have to be present at any of the meetings. I can liaise with Shelley.

MRS GODWIN. Well, I think it is a very fair offer. And certainly no more than he owes us.

GODWIN. If I accept this offer, Mrs Godwin, it will not be because of anything we are 'owed'. It will be on exactly the same basis as our last arrangement. A philosophical basis. _Political Justice._

MRS GODWIN. Oh, no one really believed that in the first place. It's all over the city that you sold your daughters – one for eight hundred and the other for seven.

GODWIN. How dare you repeat that in this house?

MRS GODWIN. You must face facts, Mr Godwin. And the fact is that we have no earthly option but to accept.

_Pause._

FANNY. I'll leave you to think about it.

MRS GODWIN. There's nothing to think about. If you don't accept this offer, Mr Godwin, I shall...

GODWIN. You shall die. Yes, yes, Mrs Godwin. You have been tantalising us with the promise of your demise for several months now and yet here you are, as large as life.

MRS GODWIN. How cruel. You are a very cruel man.

_She begins to cry, and leaves._ FANNY _and_ GODWIN _are silent for a few moments._

FANNY. They really want to help.

GODWIN. You may tell Mr Shelley that I accept his offer.

FANNY. Right. Good.

GODWIN. You may also tell him that there will be no word of thanks from me. Nor will this form the basis of a reconciliation.

FANNY. As you wish.

The baby is adorable. And Mary's writing and reading a great deal. She wanted you to know...

GODWIN _walks out._

**Scene Nine**

_Night. The lodgings._ SHELLEY _and_ JANE _enter._ SHELLEY _is holding a candlestick. They do not notice, at first, that_ MARY _is kneeling in the middle of the floor._

SHELLEY. But an audience doesn't want an actor to bludgeon them about the the head like that.

JANE. He was loud, I agree, but he was very imposing. Isn't that what the character required?

SHELLEY. He certainly imposed upon me – for two and a half hours.

JANE ( _laughing_ ). You're terrible.

SHELLEY. We'd better be quiet.

JANE. Yes.

JANE _suddenly catches sight of_ MARY _and lets out a little shriek._

Oh, Mary. You gave me such a fright!

SHELLEY. What's wrong?

MARY. She's dead.

MARY _'s gaze moves to a chair, where she has left the swaddled baby._ SHELLEY _walks over to the chair, and kneeling down, touches the baby's face._

I went to wake her for her last feed, and she was like that.

SHELLEY. Oh, no.

MARY. I don't know why. She had been so happy today.

JANE ( _approaching_ SHELLEY). Are you sure she's...? I mean...?

SHELLEY. Jane, no. No. She's gone.

SHELLEY _goes to_ MARY _and puts his arms around her._

MARY. I'm sorry.

SHELLEY _sobs._

**Scene Ten**

_Late evening. The parlour. Skinner Street. Outside, a thunder storm is raging._ FANNY _arrives home. She is soaked to the skin, and exhausted._ GODWIN _enters from his study._

GODWIN. Could they not have put you in a carriage?

FANNY. I was wet when I arrived there. It made no difference. Besides, they have just as little money as we do.

GODWIN. I'm sure Shelley could run to the cost of a carriage.

FANNY. Shelley wasn't there.

GODWIN. Oh?

FANNY. He's had to stay away from the house for a few days. One of his creditors isn't prepared to wait. There's a warrant out for his arrest.

GODWIN. I see.

FANNY. He and Mary have been meeting in the cathedral.

GODWIN. Sanctuary.

FANNY. Yes. It's a terrible shame. Just when she has such need of him. I told her she should speak to the creditor and explain what's happened. Surely he would show a little compassion?

GODWIN. The world does not stop turning because of the death of one child. Nor should it.

FANNY _looks at him in dismay._ MRS GODWIN _enters._

MRS GODWIN. So, you're back then.

FANNY. Yes.

MRS GODWIN. Couldn't they have put you in a carriage?

FANNY. I didn't mind.

MRS GODWIN. I don't know why you had to go in the first place. She's got Jane to comfort her.

FANNY. She asked for me. She wanted me. I should have gone days ago.

MRS GODWIN. And how is madam?

FANNY. Oh, please don't do that!

MRS GODWIN. I beg your pardon?

FANNY. Mary is... coping. She's sad. Bereft. But she's trying very hard. She's reading Shakespeare, Papa. Just like you always do when things are... dreadful. Papa, please, please go and see her.

MRS GODWIN. Oh, you silly girl.

FANNY. It would mean so much to her. Or write to her at least. If you could only see how bewildered she is... how shocked...

MRS GODWIN. And that's supposed to be our fault, is it?

FANNY. They have done so much to make amends. Taken on our debts...

GODWIN. Please be quiet.

FANNY. I'm sorry. It's just...

FANNY _does not dare to go on._

MRS GODWIN. Of course, there are some would say that they brought this on themselves. With their sinfulness.

FANNY. Who would say that?

MRS GODWIN. Some would say it is God's punishment.

GODWIN. Please do not introduce hocus-pocus into the equation.

MRS GODWIN. I'm only saying what others will say.

GODWIN. Go and change out of those wet things, Fanny. The last thing we need is for you to catch a cold.

FANNY _leaves._

**Scene Eleven**

_Night. The lodgings. The storm is still overhead._ MARY _, alone on the daybed, is dreaming. The book she was reading has fallen from her hands._

_She dreams that_ SHELLEY _is there, with the baby's body in his arms._

SHELLEY. Quickly, Mary. Come closer to the fire. We must make her warm.

MARY _goes to him. They crouch by the fire._

We can bring her back to life.

MARY. Can we?

SHELLEY. We can breathe the life back into her. Breathe on her, like this.

_They begin to breathe over the baby's body._

Look – she's stirring. Life and death are nothing, Mary. They are the same.

MARY. She's breathing. Clara? Clara? Clara?

MARY _wakes up suddenly._

Clara?

_She realises that she has been dreaming. She begins to cry._ JANE _comes out of the bedroom and sees her._

_She goes to her and puts her arms around her._

JANE. Oh, don't, Mary. Don't cry.

**Scene Twelve**

_A graveyard. It's snowing._ MARY _and_ SHELLEY _are muffled up against the cold. They stand, hand in hand, looking down at the baby's grave. It is marked by a small, simple headstone._

MARY ( _reading_ ). 'Clara Shelley.'

SHELLEY. It's all I could afford. Is it all right?

MARY. Yes. Yes. Of course it is. What else is there to say?

_Pause._

SHELLEY. Mary, I got a letter from my father's lawyer today. It seems my grandfather has died.

MARY. Your grandfather? I'm so sorry.

SHELLEY. My father inherits the estate, of course. But he wants to come to an arrangement with me – a financial arrangement. Mary, it means we will soon have money. As much money as we need.

MARY. I see.

SHELLEY. And I can help so many people. Do so much good.

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. I can help your father. And Harriet – she needs more money for the children.

MARY. Yes.

SHELLEY. I've been thinking: we should go abroad. Leave England. Or at least make plans to. It will be some time before the money is mine.

MARY. How long?

SHELLEY. Two months? Three? But as soon as we have it, we should go and live somewhere beautiful. Somewhere inspiring. Away from all the distractions and the disapproval.

MARY. Somewhere we can write.

SHELLEY. Yes. Yes.

MARY. What about Jane?

SHELLEY. I thought Jane could come with us. Mary darling, it isn't good for two people to be always together. Forced in upon each other...

MARY. You make it sound like a form of torture.

SHELLEY. We should take whoever wants to come. And we will meet people there, I'm sure. We will form a community of like-minded people.

MARY. Then tell Jane your heart is mine. Your heart is mine alone. Make her understand that.

SHELLEY. I will then. Because it's true.

Let's walk home through the snow.

MARY. Yes.

_They leave the graveyard._ GODWIN _suddenly walks into view._ MARY _sees him and turns pale._

( _Quietly_.) My father.

GODWIN _, closer now, sees them and stops._

SHELLEY. Godwin. This is a fortuitous...

GODWIN _walks past them, without looking at them. He is gone._

MARY. My father...

_End of Act Three._

#### **ACT FOUR**

**Scene One**

_A hot, late-summer's day._ GODWIN _'s study. Skinner Street. Sun is pouring through the windows._ GODWIN _enters. He has been out, and is very hot and exhausted. He sits down and puts down the newspaper he is carrying. He loosens his collar, wipes the sweat from his brow._ FANNY _hurries in._

FANNY. Papa?

GODWIN. This summer seems to be going on forever.

FANNY. Are you unwell?

GODWIN. A little, perhaps.

FANNY _pours him a glass of water from a carafe._

Thank you.

It seems I am a radical designed for moderate climates.

FANNY _waits until he has recovered a little._

FANNY. Did you see my aunts?

GODWIN. Yes. We had an hour together.

FANNY. Are they going to come here?

GODWIN. Sit down, Fanny.

_She does so. She stares at him, expectantly._

Fanny... your aunts are no longer prepared to have you at the school in Dublin.

FANNY. Why?

GODWIN. I'm sure you can imagine why. They read the newspapers like everybody else. They have read about your sisters' latest exploits with Lord Byron in Switzerland. They are very angry. They believe, with some justification, that the family connection is damaging their school's reputation.

FANNY. But surely they don't believe those reports? You don't believe them?

GODWIN. I don't know what to believe.

FANNY. I have had several letters from Mary. They have made Lord Byron's acquaintance – that much is true. They happen to have taken villas close to each other. It would be strange if they had not become friends. But anything else is simply scurrilous gossip. The newspapers will say anything about Lord Byron...

GODWIN. And about Shelley. And about your sisters, it appears. ( _Taking up the newspaper._ ) There is another tale in here today. A gentleman has returned from travelling in the Alps, to say that 'he saw Lord Byron being rowed across a lake in Geneva, dressed in flowing robes, like a latter-day Caesar, and with those two wicked women dancing attendance upon him.' They do not give your sisters' names. They content themselves with saying that they are my daughters – 'daughters of the infamous radical, William Godwin.'

FANNY. But it's nonsense. It must be. They probably simply went for a row on the lake. People see what they want to see.

GODWIN. Your aunts have accepted that Mary has entered into a liaison, albeit unconventional, with Shelley. They seem more concerned about Jane. Her position is certainly more spurious. They wanted an assurance that I would never allow Jane to return to this house.

FANNY. But why would Jane return here? Even if she does, it won't be for months – years perhaps.

GODWIN. On the contrary, I think they will return to England in the very near future. According to my lawyer, Shelley is being urgently petitioned to return. He needs to be here to conclude the dealings with his father. It was madness for them to leave when they did. If Jane were to ask to return here, I would not be able to refuse her. For Mrs Godwin's sake.

_Pause._

Your aunts' is not the only school. We could consider placing you elsewhere.

FANNY. Where? Who would have me?

GODWIN. I will make enquiries. Please give it some consideration.

FANNY. I know I must find the means to pay my way. As Mama says, you cannot support me forever.

GODWIN. I will support you for as long as it takes.

Now. Shall we have some tea?

FANNY _stands._

New dress, is it?

FANNY. It's one of Mary's old ones. I wanted to look tidy – for my aunts.

GODWIN. It looks very well on you.

FANNY. It suited Mary better.

**Scene Two**

_Two months later. The drawing room of_ SHELLEY _'s house in Bath. It is a bright, airy room, filled with fine furniture._ MARY _is sitting at a desk, writing._

SHELLEY ( _off_ ). Mary!

MARY. Here!

SHELLEY _rushes in._

SHELLEY. Mary...

MARY. You're back. And sooner than I'd hoped.

SHELLEY ( _kissing her_ ). Hello, my darling.

MARY. How did you fare? What did the lawyer say?

SHELLEY. I'll tell you all about it soon. But first I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.

MARY. What sort of a surprise?

SHELLEY. Close your eyes. Something I found on the street.

MARY _closes her eyes._ SHELLEY _beckons to_ FANNY _to enter. She does so. She is dressed for travelling and carries a small bag._

MARY. Oh, no. It's not a dog, or a cat, is it? We can't...

SHELLEY. Open them.

MARY _opens her eyes and sees_ FANNY _._

MARY. Fanny! Fanny...

FANNY. Hello, Mary dear.

MARY _rushes to her and they embrace._

MARY. My darling, darling girl. But what are you doing in Bath?

FANNY. I hope you don't mind. You said I should come and visit.

MARY. How did you get here?

FANNY. The stagecoach. I travelled overnight. It's not so very far from London.

SHELLEY. I was on my way home in the carriage, and I saw this figure standing in the square by the Pump House, looking about as though she had landed on a distant planet. And then I thought – that's a very familiar figure.

FANNY. I would have found the right street eventually.

MARY. My dear girl. Sit down, you must be exhausted.

SHELLEY. If only I'd known – you could have travelled with me.

FANNY. I didn't know you were in London.

MARY. He's there far too often at the moment.

FANNY. Where's the new baby? I'm longing to see him.

MARY. He's asleep. We can't wake him. Nurse would be livid. It took her an age to get him down. He hates to sleep.

SHELLEY. You shall see him as soon as he's awake. He's beautiful.

MARY. He looks like his father.

SHELLEY. Like his mother.

MARY. We call him Wilmouse. Did I tell you that in my letter?

FANNY. No.

SHELLEY. He's a soft, downy, curious creature.

MARY. You'll adore him. And he'll adore you.

FANNY. And he's well? Quite well?

MARY. Yes. He is.

FANNY. I'm so glad for you.

MARY _takes her hand._

MARY. I can't believe you're real.

FANNY. What a lovely house this is.

SHELLEY. We were lucky to find it at short notice. We've taken it for three months.

MARY. We have servants, can you believe it?

SHELLEY. Well-paid servants, I should add, who have two days off a week.

FANNY. Of course.

MARY. And we brought William's nurse with us from Switzerland. And I'm managing to get lots of work done.

SHELLEY. Mary's writing a novel.

FANNY. Good.

SHELLEY. It's exceptional. It's going to astonish the world.

MARY. There's still a lot of work to do.

SHELLEY. And I'm writing another poem. It's almost finished.

FANNY. I'm glad you're both writing. It's what you ought to do.

So you don't mean to stay in Bath for long?

MARY. No. We shall go back to Geneva as soon as we can. We love it there.

FANNY. Yes. Your letters have been making me quite jealous.

SHELLEY. A few more meetings with the lawyers and we shall be gone. I hope your father got the cheque I sent to him last week?

FANNY. Yes. He did. Thank you.

SHELLEY. Once things have been properly settled, I will be able to give him a more substantial sum.

FANNY. I'm afraid he couldn't cash the cheque.

SHELLEY. Oh?

FANNY. You... made it out to him. His name. Perhaps you've forgotten – he can't be seen to be accepting money from you. Not with...

SHELLEY. Ah.

FANNY. If you could make a cheque out to his lawyer, then he...

SHELLEY. Yes. Of course.

MARY. So much for honest transactions.

FANNY. I'm sorry. We do really need the money...

SHELLEY. I shall send a cheque to his lawyer.

FANNY. Thank you.

MARY. So how are things at Skinner Street?

FANNY. I don't want to talk about Skinner Street. Not now. If you don't mind?

How's Jane? Where is she?

MARY _and_ SHELLEY _glance at each other._

SHELLEY. I... think...

MARY. She's lying down.

SHELLEY. I'll go and fetch her, shall I, Mary?

MARY. Yes. She'll want to know that Fanny's here.

SHELLEY. And I'll look in on William. I'll make as much noise as I can.

_He leaves._

FANNY. It's wonderful to see you so happy.

MARY. There's something I should tell you about Claire – Jane. She's having a baby. That's partly why we came to Bath and not to London. No one must know. Not yet, at least.

FANNY. You aren't serious?

MARY. There's no need for anyone to make a fuss about it. It's perfectly natural.

FANNY. Whose is it? Is it his? Is it Shelley's?

MARY. Shelley's? No. Why on earth would you say that? The father is...

FANNY. Is it Lord Byron?

MARY. Yes.

FANNY. Oh, my God...

MARY. It was... unexpected. But it has happened. It's happening. We're glad. Another addition to our family.

FANNY. When... will it be born?

MARY. Around Christmas time, we think.

She met Lord Byron in London. Before we even went to Geneva. I don't know what possessed her – well, I do. She wrote to him at Drury Lane. His play was being performed there. She said she wanted to become an actress – as though she isn't an actress already. She begged him to help her. She went to see him. Met him in one of the dressing rooms. Anyway... she introduced us to him. He adores Shelley, as you can imagine. They argue – but they love to argue. When Byron said he was going to Geneva, we decided to go too. We had been planning to go abroad.

It's sad, in a way. When he found out about the baby, he was horrified. He doesn't care for Claire. He doesn't even like her. He treats her with contempt. Plays tricks on her. Makes her a fool.

JANE _enters._

JANE. Fanny! Dearest sister! What a wonderful surprise.

FANNY. Hello...

JANE. And now you know my surprise. Isn't it thrilling? Has Mary told you who the father is?

FANNY. Yes.

JANE. You see – she has her poet and now I have mine. Isn't it funny? And mine is the most notorious poet in the whole world! But you mustn't tell Mama. Or Papa. We shall tell them when the time is right. Shan't we, Mary? How is Mama? As dreadful as ever, I suppose?

FANNY. I... I don't know.

JANE. You don't know? Haven't you come from Skinner Street?

FANNY ( _standing_ ). I think I should go.

JANE. Go? But...

MARY. Don't be silly, Fanny. Sit down.

FANNY. I... There's a coach on the hour. I should be able to catch it if I leave now.

JANE. But you've only just arrived.

FANNY. Yes. But... it was a mistake... for me to come.

JANE. Why? Fanny...?

MARY. Let her go. She clearly can't bear to spend another moment in this house of iniquity.

FANNY. That isn't what...

MARY. Yes, it is. She has spent too long with Mrs Godwin.

FANNY. I'm not judging you.

MARY. Yes you are. You're judging Jane and you're judging me. You always have done.

JANE. Really, Fanny. Surely you're not so 'worldly' that you object to having babies out of wedlock? You were born out of wedlock. Or have you forgotten that?

FANNY. That's not what...

MARY. What then? Just say it. Say what it is you wish to say.

FANNY. I just wish you would... think about others a little before you act. Think about the effect on others.

FANNY _has tears in her eyes._ MARY _can see her distress._

JANE. We can't spend all our lives thinking about everybody else! In my opinion, the greatest sin in this world is sitting around your whole life and waiting for things to happen. Far too many women do that. Waiting, waiting, hour after hour and day after day.

FANNY. And that's what you think I do, I suppose?

JANE. Yes. Yes, I do.

FANNY. You don't think I have dreams and ambitions like you do? You don't think I want to walk in the sunlight, and write or... paint, or...

JANE. Well, it doesn't seem so. Because you don't do anything.

MARY. Don't, Jane. That's enough.

JANE. You're too busy running about, doing as you're told, trying to keep everyone happy, happy, happy. Well, life isn't like that.

FANNY _stares down at the floor._

MARY. Please sit down, Fanny. At least stay tonight. Stay and meet William.

JANE. You're Mary Wollstonecraft's daughter. Doesn't that mean anything to you?

FANNY. It means a great deal.

MARY. Fanny...

JANE. Well, she wouldn't look down her nose at us. She wouldn't judge us. She'd be proud of the way we're living. Wouldn't she, Mary?

SHELLEY _enters. He looks at them all with bewildered concern._

FANNY. I think I should go.

_She takes up her bag and leaves the room._

**Scene Three**

_A street, Bath._ FANNY _and_ SHELLEY _arrive at the place where the coach stops._

SHELLEY. Ten minutes to spare.

FANNY. Thank you for walking with me. You should go back now.

SHELLEY. No. I'll wait for the coach.

FANNY. I'd rather be alone. Please.

SHELLEY. I'm not going to leave you like this.

FANNY. I'm not fit company. For anyone.

SHELLEY. Fanny. Fanny, this is madness. Why don't you come and live with us? Come back to Geneva with us. Whole new worlds, new vistas would open up to you. You don't realise... I don't think you realise how trapped you are.

FANNY. Oh, I do.

SHELLEY. Then come to us. Leave Godwin and come to us.

_Pause._

FANNY. In here – ( _Shows him her bag._ ) I have a nightdress, and a hairbrush and a change of clothes. I wanted to stay.

SHELLEY. Then stay.

FANNY. In all my letters to Geneva, I tried to make it clear... how much I wanted to come to you, to be with you all. It frightened me a little, the thought of it, but I decided to put my fears aside. And every time Mary wrote to me I would hope, hope to see those words – 'come to us'.

SHELLEY. And I'm saying them now. Dear Fanny, come to us.

FANNY. I can't. Even if I thought that Mary wanted it, I can't come to you. I can't live the way you live. I realise that now. Because I don't think it's right. There. I've said it. You can put me in a box with the reactionaries and the cowards and push us out to sea. People get hurt. Children get hurt. Children grow up feeling unloved, unvalued. Out of place.

SHELLEY. William won't feel unloved.

FANNY. I know that...

SHELLEY. I will love and care for all my children. I've asked Harriet for custody of our son.

FANNY. And what of Ianthe? Have you asked for her?

SHELLEY. I...

FANNY. And why should Harriet have to give up her child?

SHELLEY. I ask her, repeatedly, to come and join us...

FANNY. This isn't... I'm not judging you. I just know that I cannot live as you live. I want you all to be happy.

SHELLEY. We only have one life, Fanny. We must make use of every second. The powers that be – the rich, the government, society – they do everything they can to close us down, to shackle us... We have to live bravely. We have to strive towards enlightenment. You have so much to offer to the world...

FANNY. Don't. Please. I can't bear any more.

SHELLEY. Fanny...

FANNY. I'm tired. Will you go now? Please?

SHELLEY. What if I went to sit on those steps over there...?

FANNY. No.

SHELLEY _resigns himself to leaving._

SHELLEY. I'll write to you.

FANNY _nods._

_He kisses her hand. He leaves._ FANNY _remains, staring at the ground, for some time. Then she suddenly picks up her bag, and walks away into the streets._

**Scene Four**

_Bath._ MARY _dreams of_ FANNY _._ FANNY _is climbing onto the edge of a bridge over a river_ – _just as her mother did. She jumps. She is overwhelmed by the water._

MARY ( _calling out_ ). Give me your hand! I'm here! Reach out to me! Reach out to me!

**Scene Five**

_A room at an inn in Swansea. Night. A_ MAID _, carrying a candle, shows_ FANNY _into the room._ FANNY _takes in the simple bed, the small table beside it. She puts her bag down._

MAID. Will there be anything else, miss?

FANNY. No, thank you. I shall see to the candle myself.

MAID ( _handing her the candle_ ). I'll bid you goodnight then, miss.

FANNY _hands the_ MAID _a coin._

Oh. Thank you, miss.

FANNY. Goodnight.

_The_ MAID _leaves._ FANNY _stands still._

_In_ GODWIN _'s study at Skinner Street,_ GODWIN _is trying to immerse himself in Shakespeare._ MRS GODWIN _rushes in. She is holding a letter in her hand._

MRS GODWIN. A letter from Fanny.

GODWIN. Are you sure?

_He jumps up and takes the letter._

Thank heavens.

_He opens it._

MRS GODWIN. Posted in Bristol.

GODWIN. Then she isn't with them.

MRS GODWIN. What is she doing in Bristol? Do we know anyone in Bristol?

GODWIN _is reading the letter. His legs almost give way beneath him._

What is it? What does it say?

GODWIN. No. No.

_In the room at the inn,_ FANNY _places the candle on the small table. She sits down on the bed. She takes off her hat and her jacket, and places them neatly on the end of the bed. She unpins her hair and lets it down._

_In the drawing room in Bath,_ MARY _opens a letter from_ FANNY _. She gasps._ SHELLEY _enters and goes to her._

SHELLEY. Mary?

MARY. Oh, my God. Oh, my God...

_He takes the letter from her and reads._

SHELLEY. I'll leave at once.

MARY. I'm coming with you.

SHELLEY. No. It will take too long in the carriage. I'll ride. Help me get my things together.

_He rushes to the door._ MARY _is rooted to the spot._

Mary!

_She goes after him._

_In the room at the inn,_ FANNY _opens her bag and takes out a bottle of laudanum. She puts it in her lap. Then she takes out a folded note, and opening it out, reads it quietly._

FANNY. 'I have long determined that the best thing I could do was to put an end to the existence of a being whose birth was unfortunate, and whose life has only been a series of pain to those persons who have hurt their health in endeavouring to promote her welfare. Perhaps to hear of my death will give you pain, but you will soon have the blessing of forgetting that such a creature ever existed as Fanny.'

_She stares at the note for a moment, then folds it again, and places it on the table. Then she takes up the bottle of laudanum, opens it, and drinks from it, in longer and longer draughts._

_She puts it on the table. She blows out the candle. She lies down on the bed, and closes her eyes._

**Scene Six**

_Day. The inn at Swansea. The_ MAID _leads_ SHELLEY _to the bedroom._

MAID. This is the room, sir. The coroner said he would take the body to the poor house if we needed it, but we didn't like to send her there. She seemed a very sweet lady.

SHELLEY. Can we go in?

_The_ MAID _leads him into the room._ FANNY _'s body is on the bed._ SHELLEY _stares at her._

MAID. Do you know her, sir? Is she the one you're looking for?

SHELLEY _picks up the note from the table, and reads it._

SHELLEY. Who else has seen this note?

MAID. The coroner. The man from the newspaper.

SHELLEY _tears off the name from it._

Sir – the coroner said we should leave things just as they are until he comes back...

SHELLEY _gives her a sovereign._

SHELLEY. I don't want anyone else to know this name.

MAID. But it'll be in the paper tomorrow most likely.

SHELLEY. I'll speak to the paper. And to the coroner.

MAID. Yes, sir. No use in adding to her shame. You know her then? I don't mean to speak out of turn, sir, but if you do, you should claim her body. Else it'll be a pauper's grave. And she'll not be long in the ground before the robbers come. They always take the ones who no one misses.

SHELLEY _touches_ FANNY _'s face. Then he hurries from the room._

**Scene Seven**

_The parlour. Skinner Street._ MRS GODWIN _accompanies_ GODWIN _into the room._ GODWIN _has just arrived home. He is ashen-faced and exhausted. He slumps into a chair. He looks up at_ MRS GODWIN _, and shakes his head._

GODWIN. Too late.

I got to Bristol and made enquiries. But she'd already left. She'd gone on to Swansea. She went there with her aunts once, do you remember?

MRS GODWIN. Yes.

GODWIN. I was going to follow her, but then someone came in on the coach from Swansea with a newspaper. It said the body of a fair-haired young woman had been found.

She'd left a note. There was no name.

MRS GODWIN ( _upset_ ). The stupid girl. Why would she do such a thing?

GODWIN. I must write to Mary and Shelley.

MRS GODWIN ( _surprised_ ) _._ Write to them?

GODWIN. Yes. I must tell them not to go to Swansea. If this gets out... the scandal would be catastrophic. We must all stay away from Swansea.

How I wish... she had told me... how she was feeling.

MRS GODWIN. She was her mother's daughter. It was in the blood.

GODWIN. She was a dear... dear girl. Fanny.

_He breaks down in tears._ MRS GODWIN _kneels beside him and holds him._

MRS GODWIN. Oh, Mr Godwin. Don't. Oh, my poor, poor love. My poor love.

_In Bath,_ MARY _is waiting, with the baby in her arms._ JANE _is standing close by._ SHELLEY _enters and walks towards_ MARY _. He puts his arms around her._ JANE _begins to cry._

SHELLEY. She was buried in a churchyard. It's a peaceful spot. It was the least that I could do for her.

JANE _comes to them and puts her arms around them as best she can. They are locked in grief._

_End of Act Four._

#### **ACT FIVE**

**Scene One**

_The parlour. Skinner Street._ MRS GODWIN _leads_ SHELLEY _into the room._ SHELLEY _looks pale and serious._

MRS GODWIN. Please come in.

Please sit down. Would you care for some tea?

SHELLEY. No, thank you.

SHELLEY _looks about the room. It is over two years since he has been here._ FANNY _'s shawl is lying on the back of a chair._

MRS GODWIN. I was very sorry to hear about your wife, Mr Shelley. A terrible affair. And coming so soon after Fanny.

SHELLEY. Yes.

MRS GODWIN. The Serpentine. A public park. Such a strange place to drown oneself. I said to Mr Godwin, I wouldn't have thought there would be sufficient water.

And she was pregnant, they say.

SHELLEY. Yes. I believe so.

MRS GODWIN. Do you know who the father was?

SHELLEY. No. She was living with an army officer, I believe. Or had been.

MRS GODWIN. Well. It doesn't matter now, does it? Another feckless young man, I dare say, who thought nothing of... She must have been quite desperate. Very sad.

SHELLEY. Is Mr Godwin going to see me?

MRS GODWIN. Yes. Yes, I believe he is. I'll ask him to come through. ( _Going towards the study._ ) He's writing another novel, you know? We have high hopes of it.

( _Pausing_.) How's my Jane?

SHELLEY. She's... she's well. She's quite well.

MRS GODWIN _goes into the study._ SHELLEY _takes a deep breath to steady himself. He stands and moves about the room. He goes to the chair, and runs his hand over_ FANNY _'s shawl._

GODWIN _enters with_ MRS GODWIN _. The two men look at each other for some time._

Godwin.

GODWIN. Shelley.

_Pause._

SHELLEY. I hardly know what to say. It's been a long time.

GODWIN. Yes.

I was sorry to hear about your wife. About Harriet.

SHELLEY. Thank you.

MRS GODWIN. We have just been discussing that. He doesn't know who the father was.

GODWIN. Shelley, I want to thank you, for the letter you wrote to me after Fanny's death. I know I replied rather harshly at the time. I know I said that I could not use your sympathy, but... on reflection... your words meant a great deal to me.

And I want to thank you for your discretion. And for seeing her buried.

SHELLEY. She asked me to bury her. In the letter she sent before she died.

GODWIN. Did she?

SHELLEY. It was all done anonymously.

GODWIN. Yes. No one else knows what happened. If people ask after her, I say that she died of a fever, on her way to see her aunts in Ireland. I think that is best.

SHELLEY. I understand.

Godwin, I've come to tell you that I have asked Mary... to marry me.

MRS GODWIN. Oh! Oh, that is good news. Isn't it, Mr Godwin? And after everything that's happened.

SHELLEY. My views on marriage have not altered. But I am fighting for custody of my two children by Harriet. Her family wish to keep them. I stand little chance of prevailing, if my situation with Mary remains unchanged. And financially, our marriage offers her greater assurance. It is what the law demands, it seems, and so I have decided that I must...

GODWIN. Compromise.

SHELLEY. Yes. On this occasion. Until the law catches up with mankind.

_Pause._

MRS GODWIN. Well, that's very good news. Not quite romantic, perhaps, but we are all realists here, I think. Isn't it good news, Mr Godwin?

GODWIN. When shall you be married?

SHELLEY. Soon. At Christmas. We can see no advantage in delay.

Godwin, will you consider attending our wedding?

GODWIN. Yes. I should be delighted.

**Scene Two**

_Day. The vestry of a church._ MARY _is waiting._ SHELLEY _enters._

SHELLEY. He's here.

_She nods._

Shall we go through?

MARY. No. I have to talk to him. I can't just go in there and take his hand and speak my vows in front of him. Will you ask him to come to me?

SHELLEY. Yes.

MARY. I'm sorry. If you could wait...?

SHELLEY. Of course. I will always be waiting for you, Mary.

_He kisses her and leaves._ MARY _waits anxiously. After a moment,_ GODWIN _enters. Their eyes meet._

GODWIN. New dress?

MARY. Yes.

GODWIN. Very pretty.

_He approaches her. When he reaches her, he isn't sure what to do. He taps her arm, awkwardly, and then moves some distance away from her._

Quite a day, then.

MARY. Yes.

GODWIN. I've just been introduced to my grandson. William. Named for me, I assume?

MARY. Yes. Who else?

GODWIN. He's a fine little chap. Looks like an angel, truth be told.

MARY. He's not an angel. He can be diabolical at times. But we forgive him. We always forgive him.

GODWIN. Yes. I hope you will allow me to become acquainted with him.

MARY. I hope you will.

_Pause._

GODWIN. How is your work coming along?

MARY. Very well. I've written a novel. It's almost finished.

GODWIN. A novel, eh?

MARY. I'm going to start looking for a publisher.

GODWIN. And what is your novel about?

MARY. It's about... about a man who is... driven, consumed by the desire to explore the very limits of his powers... of science, of knowledge. He creates a creature... from the parts of other humans. A living being. But when he has created it, he finds he cannot countenance its needs – its need for love, companionship, respect, its whole monstrous reality. It pursues him, across mountains and seas. Across the wide world. They come to hate each other.

I thought of you a lot, while I was writing. All your ideas about... humanity, they have all been there to draw upon. If I ever doubted how much I've learned from you, I do not doubt it now.

GODWIN. And I am the monstrous creator, I suppose?

MARY. I don't know. Perhaps. And which am I?

GODWIN. I should like to read it.

MARY. I'd like that.

GODWIN. I cannot promise to be kind, of course.

MARY. Of course.

_Pause._

GODWIN. I've missed you, Mary.

_Pause._

MARY. Do you ever think it is a curse – this passion of the mind? This inability to leave the world unfathomed? Because I fear it might be. When I think of Fanny... of how little time I gave to her... how little account I took of her...

GODWIN. Fanny was not strong. She was exceptionally sensitive. I doubt she...

MARY. Then we should have made her strong. Shouldn't we? Or at least protected her. Surely one life, made happy, is worth more than all the philosophy, all the theorising in the world? If it is our calling, to help in the advancement of mankind, surely we must acknowledge what it is to be human? And if that means sensitivity, or weakness, or rashness, then so be it. People are not gods. And there is nothing to be gained in trying to make them so.

GODWIN. I cannot agree with you.

MARY. No. I don't suppose you can.

GODWIN. That is an apology for complacency. For indolence. For stupification...

MARY. Why can our humanity not be our strength?

GODWIN. We must seek to analyse the frailties of our nature, and then to reach beyond them...

MARY. I think that is a dangerous philosophy.

_Pause._

GODWIN. It is a privilege – to be amongst the legislators of mankind. And you will be, Mary. As your mother was, as I am. And as Shelley will be too.

We are keeping him waiting.

MARY. Yes.

GODWIN. If I were going to lose you to anyone, it were best to him. I see that now.

MARY. You haven't lost me.

GODWIN. Come then. Society demands its pound of flesh.

_He holds out his hand to her. She goes to him and puts her hand in his. He hugs her suddenly._

A privilege.

_They leave._

_End._

#### **Afterword**

This play began with a question: how did Mary Shelley, aged only eighteen, come to write a novel of such weight and power as _Frankenstein_? I knew the story of the Villa Diodati, and the external impetus for her sitting down to write, but where did the thoughts come from? The themes? For _Frankenstein_ is clearly more than a spine-chiller; it is a novel of ideas.

She dedicated the story to her father, William Godwin, the radical political philosopher. Much has been said about Shelley's influence on Mary at this time (some have even suggested that he had a hand in writing _Frankenstein_ ), but as I began my research, I quickly discovered that Shelley's own ideas and preoccupations had been inspired to a large degree by Godwinian philosophy. He and Mary shared a passion for her father's work, and I started to understand that it was this passion more than anything that had equipped her to write so brilliantly about such ideas as the consequences of treating men like beasts.

But there was more. Mary was writing _Frankenstein_ at a time when her relationship with her father was under great strain – when he had refused all contact with her for almost two years. The novel is more than a homage to his philosophies; it is a criticism of his nature and his choices, a warning, a reprimand and a huge cry for understanding. It is these elements, I think, that give _Frankenstein_ its heartfelt urgency and power. I decided to place this complex relationship at the centre of the play, and to see where it took me.

The research I undertook was enormously absorbing and inspiring. Each of the principal characters could be the subject of a play in their own right. I loved delving into Skinner Street – into Mary's troubled family, patched together from bits and pieces of different relationships, crudely stitched – like the monster himself – into a clumsy, dysfunctional form. I loved discovering her sisters, each of whose fate was so bound up with Mary's, and learning about the daring and vision of Shelley's early socialism. It was a pleasure to imagine these people back to life.

And whilst I felt compelled (as Mary did) to depict the very real and awful dangers of putting principles before emotional need, I hope I have not painted too harsh a picture of idealism. For there is something courageous, surely, in striving to break new ground in the perilous business of living. In deciding to deal with the pain, the guilt, the disapproval this entails, in the belief and hope that, ultimately, humanity will be the richer for your efforts.

_Helen Edmundson_

_February 2012_
HELEN EDMUNDSON

Helen Edmundson's first play, _Flying_ , was presented at the National Theatre Studio in 1990. In 1992, she adapted Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina_ for Shared Experience, for whom she also adapted _The Mill on the Floss_ in 1994. Both won awards – the TMA and the Time Out Awards respectively – and both productions were twice revived and extensively toured. Shared Experience also staged the original adaptation of _War and Peace_ at the National Theatre in 1996, and toured her adaptations of Mary Webb's _Gone to Earth_ in 2004, Euripides' _Orestes_ in 2006, the two-part version of _War and Peace_ in 2008 and her original play _Mary Shelley_ in 2012. Her play _The Clearing_ was first staged at the Bush Theatre in 1993, winning John Whiting and Time Out Awards, and _Mother Teresa is Dead_ was premiered at the Royal Court Theatre in 2002. Her adaptation of Jamila Gavin's _Coram Boy_ premiered at the National Theatre to critical acclaim in 2005, receiving a Time Out Award. It was subsequently revived in 2006, and produced on Broadway in 2007. She adapted Calderón's _Life is a Dream_ for the Donmar Warehouse in 2009, and her play _The Heresy of Love_ was produced by the Royal Shakespeare Company in 2012.
**A Nick Hern Book**

_Mary Shelley_ first published in Great Britain as a paperback original in 2012 by Nick Hern Books Limited, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP, in association with Shared Experience, Nottingham Playhouse and West Yorkshire Playhouse

This ebook edition first published in 2012

_Mary Shelley_ copyright © 2012 Helen Edmundson

Helen Edmundson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover photograph by Robert Day with Kristin Atherton as Mary Shelley

Cover design by Ned Hoste, 2H

Typeset by Nick Hern Books, London

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978 1 78001 099 1 (ebook edition)
ISBN 978 1 84842 257 5 (print edition)

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