THE COTTAGE

BY SANDY RUSTIN

A DPS ACTING EDITION PUBLISHED BY

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 THE COTTAGE
Copyright © 2023, Sandy Rustin

All Rights Reserved

THE COTTAGE is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of
America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union
(including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth),
and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright Convention, the
Universal Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of all countries with
which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. No part of this
publication may be reproduced in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise), or stored in any retrieval system in any
way (electronic or mechanical) without written permission of the publisher.

The English language stock and amateur stage performance rights throughout the
world for THE COTTAGE are controlled exclusively by controlled exclusively by
Broadway Licensing, www.BroadwayLicensing.com. No professional or nonpro-
fessional performance of the Play may be given without obtaining in advance
the written permission of Broadway Licensing and paying the requisite fee.

All other rights, including without limitation motion picture, recitation, lecturing,
public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording, and the
rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved.

Inquiries concerning all other rights should be addressed to A3 Artists Agency, 350
Fifth Avenue, 38th Floor, New York, NY 10118. Attn: Max Grossman.

NOTE ON BILLING
Anyone receiving permission to produce THE COTTAGE is required to give credit
to the Author as sole and exclusive Author of the Play on the title page of all
programs distributed in connection with performances of the Play and in all
instances in which the title of the Play appears, including printed or digital materials
for advertising, publicizing or otherwise exploiting the Play and/or a production
thereof. Please see your production license for font size and typeface requirements.

Be advised that there may be additional credits required in all programs and
promotional material. Such language will be listed under the “Additional Billing”
section of production licenses. It is the licensee’s responsibility to ensure any and all
required billing is included in the requisite places, per the terms of the license.

SPECIAL NOTE ON SONGS/RECORDINGS

Broadway Licensing neither holds the rights to nor grants permission to use any
songs or recordings mentioned in the Play. Permission for performances of
copyrighted songs, arrangements or recordings mentioned in this Play is not included
in our license agreement. The permission of the copyright owner(s) must be
obtained for any such use. For any songs and/or recordings mentioned in the Play,
other songs, arrangements, or recordings may be substituted provided permission
from the copyright owner(s) of such songs, arrangements or recordings is obtained;
or songs, arrangements or recordings in the public domain may be substituted.

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 The original Broadway production of THE COTTAGE was pro-
duced by Broadway & Beyond Theatricals, Cornice Productions,
Martian Entertainment, Paige Price, Scott Mauro, Malcolm Gosling/
Dan Gottfried, Gayle Seay/Tony Nation, Cornice Productions
Fund 1, Michael Saperstein, Rick Costello, Jonathan Demar, Paul
Jungquist, Tom & Judy Kleinman, Marjorie Morrissey, Mark
Reardon, Shapiro Jensen Productions, Nina Tassler, Dale & James
Young, and 7Sennotts LLC, opening in July 2023. It was directed by
Jason Alexander, the scenic design was by Paul Tate dePoo III, the
costume design was by Sydney Maresca, the lighting design was
by Jiyoun Chang, the sound design was by Justin Ellington, the
wig and hair design was by Tommy Kurzman, the dialect coach
was Jerome Butler, and the production stage manager was lark
hackshaw. The cast was as follows:

SYLVIA ..................................................................... Laura Bell Bundy

BEAU ........................................................................ Eric McCormack
MARJORIE ....................................................................... Lilli Cooper
CLARKE ............................................................................. Alex Moffat
DIERDRE ..................................................................... Dana Steingold
RICHARD .......................................................................... Nehal Joshi
UNDERSTUDIES ............ Michelle Federer, Matthew Floyd Miller,
Tony Roach, Jamie Ann Romero

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 CHARACTERS

SYLVIA
A lovely and rash romantic.
BEAU
Perhaps the best-looking man in Britain.
MARJORIE
Eight months pregnant, pragmatic, and a tad spicy.
CLARKE
A distinguished gent with a lover’s spirit.
DIERDRE
An awfully pretty, sometimes wise, nincompoop.
RICHARD
A murderous, yet gentle soul.
THE COTTAGE companies should strive to support a cast and
crew of diverse theater workers. This diversity includes, but is not
limited to, gender identities, ethnic and racial backgrounds, sexual
orientations, body types, ages, and ability.

TIME

The play begins just before 9 a.m. Monday, June 4, 1923.

PLACE

A quaint family-owned cottage in the English countryside, about

ninety minutes outside of London.

SET

The interior of the cottage.

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 NOTES

THE COTTAGE is a romantic and (not quite) murderous comedy

of manners. The pacing is intended to be very swift. This script maps
out suggested physicality in some cases, but casts are encouraged to
embrace the style and find their own moments of doors swinging,
cigarette lighting, and a general air of farce, while maintaining a
truthful intention throughout.

Characters are often on separate wavelengths, experiencing the

same moment in dramatically different ways. Discovering the
abrupt beat changes is all part of the fun. Some are clearly marked,
others are to be found as you go.

In this script, only the drawing room and staircase are visible.
Designers should, however, feel free to imagine a visible foyer,
bedroom, guest room, upstairs hall, kitchen and bathroom doors,
etc. Space can be defined by budget and imagination.

Standard British dialect should be adhered to. Actresses playing

Dierdre (Deer-drah) have the liberty of slowly descending into a
lower-class dialect (Deer-dree). The words “Mama” and “Papa”
should be pronounced per the French pronunciation, with accent
over the final “a.”

THE COTTAGE may be performed without an intermission,

however no cuts may be made to the script.

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 “It is discouraging how many people are shocked by honesty
and how few by deceit.”
—Noël Coward

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 THE COTTAGE
ACT ONE

It’s a glorious Monday morning in June 1923. Lights rise on a

lovely cottage in the English countryside. Sunlight streams
through the large bay windows. Remnants from an obviously
passionate, desperately romantic evening (articles of clothing)
are scattered across the set. Music plays on the Victrola.
Sylvia enters with a breakfast tray and sets it perfectly. Beneath
her flowing, dramatic robe, she wears a glamorous negligee.
The sound of water running is heard from the bathroom
offstage.

SYLVIA. (Calling up hopefully.) Beau, are you nearly through?

No answer.
No matter.
Sylvia continues to ready the breakfast and herself.
She notices the window boxes and gets an idea. She quickly
crosses and plucks a small yellow tulip. She fixes it behind
her ear. Yes! Now she looks quite perfect!
The water shuts off.
Quickly, she finds a romantic posture and lies intentionally
draped and gorgeous on the sofa. Perhaps she even dangles
some grapes from the fruit basket above her mouth.
Moments pass. It becomes difficult to hold her pose.
The water turns back on.
Frustrated, Sylvia breaks her pose…
(Calling up.) Beau are you nearly through?

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 BEAU. (From the bathroom.) What?
Buoyed, now that he’s responded, she runs to the bottom of the
stairs (or to the wing) and calls off to him more pointedly.
SYLVIA. I say (Water shuts off—less loudly.) are you nearly through?
BEAU. (From off.) Quite.
SYLVIA. Good.
Hopeful that his entrance is imminent, she races back to her
pose as she calls off romantically…
(As the water turns back on.) I miss you!
Just as she gets back to her pose…
BEAU. (From off.) What?
He can’t hear her at all! She starts back to the bottom of the
stairs…
SYLVIA. (Calling off, loudly.) I say (Water shuts off—less loudly.) I
miss you!
The sound of a door shutting is heard. He’s on his way!
In seemingly one leap, Sylvia lands miraculously back on the
sofa in her original pose, grapes and all, albeit slightly less
perfect than originally intended.
Just missing Sylvia’s perfect leap and return to casual elegance,
Beau appears. He is tall, charming, and handsome. He wears
a deep red silk robe and towels his hair.
BEAU. Ah—just as I left you. Gorgeous. My gorgeous tulip.
SYLVIA. (Regaining composure.) Am I?
Beau enters fully now.
BEAU. You know you are, darling. Why just now you’ve set yourself
up perfectly to look coy and lovely, so that it would be exceedingly
difficult for me to get properly dressed without distraction.
SYLVIA. Ah, darling. How well you know me.
BEAU. Do I?
SYLVIA. I love it when you call me Tulip.
BEAU. (Oozing sex.) Tulip.
SYLVIA. (Euphorically.) Ahhh.

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 He turns to go. Sylvia quickly shifts from orgasmic to desperate.
(Pleading.) Don’t.
BEAU. Don’t what?
SYLVIA. (With renewed come-hitherness.) Please don’t get dressed.
We’ve only just begun.
BEAU. Just begun? Good Lord, Sylvia, if that was just the beginning
I’m afraid I’m not quite up to the task of making it to the end.
SYLVIA. Let’s test you and find out.
They kiss passionately.
I wish you were my husband.
BEAU. No you don’t.
SYLVIA. Yes I do.
He kisses her (neck, ears, etc.), continuing foreplay through-
out their dialogue.
BEAU. If I were your husband you would despise me just as you
despise Clarke and you would spend your evenings wishing to
make love to him and not me.
SYLVIA. Do you really think so?
BEAU. I do.
SYLVIA. Well that’s not very romantic, is it?
BEAU. Romance, my dear, is for fairy tales. This is not a romance.
(Getting sexier.) This is sex.
SYLVIA. Passionate, wildly erotic sex.
BEAU. (Sexier still.) Un-wifely sex.
SYLVIA. Haven’t you ever had wild sex with Marjorie?
The moment’s now ruined. He breaks out of her embrace,
releasing her haphazardly.
BEAU. Marjorie’s not in the mood for wild sex.
SYLVIA. Ever?
BEAU. Well, I suppose once when we were in the South of France,
she let me…
SYLVIA. (Interrupting.) Never mind, darling, I don’t want to know.
(Then.) Do you feel guilty?

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 BEAU. For sleeping with you?
SYLVIA. Yes.
BEAU. No.
SYLVIA. (Elated.) Neither do I! I feel like I deserve to make love
like I make love to you. And Clarke certainly doesn’t do it, so I have
no other choice but to turn to you.
BEAU. Is that a compliment?
SYLVIA. I’d say. If I really want to be made love to, Beau, I must
come to you. And so I have—for one night, every summer, for seven
summers.
BEAU. Has it been seven already? (Distracted by the food.) This
looks lovely. Thank you Sylvie.
SYLVIA. Coffee?
BEAU. Please.
Sylvia pours and sugars the coffee demonstratively. Beau
goes about his breakfast.
SYLVIA. Somehow it lasts me, you know? This one night of
spectacular (Raises the spout spectacularly.) lovemaking will see me
through another year of rare and mediocre sex with Clarke.
She plops a sugar cube in the cup.
BEAU. I don’t take sugar.
SYLVIA. Don’t you?
BEAU. ’Fraid not.
SYLVIA. (As she quickly removes the sugar from his cup, putting
it back—now wet—in the sugar bowl.) Of course. Sorry. It’s been
so long.
She hands him the coffee, sans sugar.
BEAU. You were saying?
SYLVIA. (Back on track.) Ah, yes. That our one night together will
make up for all our nights apart.
BEAU. Will it?
SYLVIA. Of course. When I’ve no choice but to lie in bed with

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 Clarke, I simply close my eyes and imagine us—here, at this perfect
cottage. My most favorite place in all the world.
BEAU. You sound like Mama.
SYLVIA. Do I? (Then.) Oh, I love it here. I always feel like I belong.
BEAU. As do I.
SYLVIA. I picture us in that bed of satin sheets, with window
boxes of tulips; and that alone will bring me to climax.
BEAU. Will it?
SYLVIA. (Dropping the sexy playfulness.) Will you stop saying
“will it” like that? You make me feel foolish.
BEAU. Not at all. You’re not a bit foolish. You’re wonderful and
beautiful. When did you put that flower in your hair?
SYLVIA. (Restoring the sexy playfulness.) While you were washing
up. I thought it would make me look fetching.
BEAU. It does. What else do you do while I’m washing up?
Spinning on a dime, brandishing a cigarette, Sylvia deflects
the question without missing a beat.
SYLVIA. Ciggy?
Note: Cigarettes, lighters, and ashtrays are always found
throughout the cottage in the most unexpected places.
(Think of a flower vase that’s actually a cigarette holder, or a
ceramic statue of David that’s actually a cigarette holder—
with a removable penis that’s actually a lighter.) People are
always taking one puff and then putting their cigarettes out
to make a point.
Note about the note: It isn’t that cigarettes are hidden in
unusual places, but rather, that typical objects have been
unusually fashioned into cigarette holders.
BEAU. No thank you, darling, I’m through with smoking.
SYLVIA. But you smoked last night.
BEAU. I know, but this morning I’m through with it. It’s exhausting
as a practice.
Beau lights Sylvia’s cigarette.

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 SYLVIA. Exhausting how?
BEAU. Just the planning of it all. Do I want one now or later—or
now and later? Have I brought enough with me? Will they have
them where I’m going? Do I have enough lighter fluid?
Sylvia laughs.
God, I love it when you laugh.
Sylvia laughs more pointedly.
No, my sweet, I love it when you really laugh. A sincere laugh.
Without pretense.
SYLVIA. (Defeated.) Good Lord, Beau, you make me self-conscious.
BEAU. Sorry, sweetheart.
SYLVIA. (Ever hopeful once more.) Am I?
BEAU. What?
SYLVIA. Am I your sweetheart?
BEAU. Indeed.
They kiss. The music that has been quietly playing on the
Victrola has petered out.
SYLVIA. Do you ever wonder what would have happened had I
met you first?
BEAU. I don’t need to wonder. I know.
SYLVIA. Oh good! I’m so curious! Tell me.
BEAU. We would have married.
SYLVIA. I knew it! If we had married, we’d be the picture of
happiness!
They are snuggled side by side and look the very picture.
BEAU. (After a thought.) I don’t know.
SYLVIA. (Hurt, though hard-pressed to break the tableau.) Don’t
you?
Church bells ring to claim the hour. Nine a.m. As the distant
bells ring, dialogue continues.
BEAU. Well, it could be that if we’d married, you’d be here now
having this conversation with Clarke instead of me.
SYLVIA. You think I was destined to have a lover?

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 BEAU. Anything’s possible I suppose, though I’m not one to speak
of destiny; too magical a topic for the likes of me.
As they speak, Beau gathers up articles of clothing that are
strewn about.
SYLVIA. But isn’t that what we’re discussing now? Destiny? Fate?
BEAU. Ah, my lovely Tulip, I haven’t a clue about fate, really. I do
however, (Referencing the last bell.) know about late.
SYLVIA. Late?
Beau tosses Sylvia one of her unmentionables found draped
across the set. (A brazier, a stocking, etc.)
BEAU. Yes, darling, you’re late.
SYLVIA. Oh!
BEAU. You were supposed to be aboard the train half an hour ago.
Sooner or later, I’ve got to get to work.
SYLVIA. But I don’t want our night to end!
BEAU. And yet it has, darling.
SYLVIA. I’ve been having such fun pretending to be your wife.
BEAU. Is that what you’re doing?
As she speaks, she flips the record over and begins the quiet
underscore of music again, with a romantic flourish.
SYLVIA. I’ve been imagining us forever happy in this cottage,
making love every night like husbands and wives.
BEAU. (Genuine.) Do you make love to Clarke every night?
SYLVIA. Heavens no! I mean happy husbands and wives.
BEAU. Ah. I see. You’re sweet Sylvie. Come here.
He drops his pile of clothing deliberately. They embrace and
kiss passionately.
SYLVIA. Oh, what a perfect Monday!
Beau releases Sylvia haphazardly once more.
BEAU. I really must get dressed.
SYLVIA. (Recovering.) Alas. So you must.
Beau collects his clothing, towel, etc., and exits to get dressed.
Sylvia finds confidence.

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 (Calling off with gusto.) Beau, I’ve made a decision, darling.
BEAU. (From offstage.) Mmmm?
SYLVIA. (As she stops the music.) A decision about us.
BEAU. (Popping his head back in.) Is it so serious we must have
silence?
SYLVIA. (A joyful declaration.) I’m leaving Clarke!
Beau chuckles and moves to exit again.
Don’t laugh. I’m leaving him, Beau. I can’t bear it another moment.
BEAU. Oh, Sylvie. You are adorable.
He exits.
SYLVIA. (Calling off passionately.) I love you, Beau!
His door slams shut.
Sylvia drops her robe and calls off with great expectation.
I’ve sent him a telegram.
He’s back.
BEAU. (With sudden real interest.) Sorry?
SYLVIA. Last night, after supper, you went to take a bath.
BEAU. Yes.
SYLVIA. I sent a wire.
BEAU. You really are busy while I’m in the loo.
SYLVIA. Kiss me!
She runs to him! He pecks her cautiously.
BEAU. Saying what, precisely?
SYLVIA. What?
BEAU. The telegram?
SYLVIA. Ah yes. I said, “Clarke. Stop. In love with Beau. Stop. I’m
leaving. Stop. Sorry, darling. Stop.”
BEAU. What?
SYLVIA. (Repeating her action precisely.) It said, “Clarke. Stop. In
love with Beau…”
BEAU and SYLVIA. (She’s reciting, he is not.) Stop.

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 BEAU. (Continuing on—cutting her off from continued recitation.)
No, no, I heard you the first time I just…
SYLVIA. (On her own track.) I feel so free! Haven’t you noticed
how free I’ve been? Last night? (Coquettishly.) And this morning?
BEAU. Yes, but I attributed that to my new cologne.
SYLVIA. (Inhaling him.) It is rather divine.
BEAU. Thank you. A telegram?
SYLVIA. (Still breathing him in.) Mmm-hmm.
BEAU. Really?
SYLVIA. (Unable to get enough of him.) It’s true.
BEAU. You know, I think I will take a cigarette.
He breaks away from her and lights himself a cigarette. They
are on opposite ends of an emotional spectrum.
SYLVIA. (Adoringly.) I love it when you smoke. You look the
picture of health.
BEAU. What time was it when I took that bath?
SYLVIA. Nearly ten, I’d say.
BEAU. So you think Clarke’s received the telegram by now?
SYLVIA. I’d say so.
BEAU. He’ll see red, Sylvia.
SYLVIA. Will he?
BEAU. A Baldwin Conservative. A believer in convention, finance,
and God…
SYLVIA. I’m not sure he’ll really mind.
BEAU. You’re rather apathetic.
SYLVIA. No. I don’t feel apathetic. I feel alive!
BEAU. You don’t think your husband will mind that you’ve declared
your love for another man—his brother?
A slight beat.
SYLVIA. Well, when you put it like that.
BEAU. Is there another way to put it?

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 SYLVIA. Look, he might be a bit miffed, I’ll give you that. But I
doubt he’ll truly mind.
BEAU. Doesn’t he love you at all?
SYLVIA. Isn’t it all or nothing?
BEAU. (Turning away.) I’m not sure.
SYLVIA. (Turning away.) Well then neither am I.
BEAU. (Back into her.) Still, darling…a telegram?
She goes to him. They’re on different emotional tracks.
SYLVIA. I can’t live without you, Beau. I don’t want to go another
three hundred and sixty-four days dreaming of you, only to have
one short-lived night over all too soon.
BEAU. How poetic.
SYLVIA. I know you want more than just one day with me per year.
BEAU. How well you know me.
SYLVIA. Beau, darling, you and I have been stuck in the wrong
marriages.
BEAU. That may be so, Sylvie, but they are marriages nonetheless.
SYLVIA. True, but they needn’t be an obstacle.
BEAU. You seem so sure.
SYLVIA. We’re in love! What could be surer than that?
BEAU. Even still, a telegram’s a rather cold way to make such an
announcement, Sylvie.
SYLVIA. Oh I could never face Clarke. He gets all sweaty and
pathetic-looking when he’s upset.
BEAU. Ah! So you admit, he’ll be upset.
SYLVIA. Perhaps a trifle. But darling, really it’s you I can’t bear to
see upset.
Beau begins to clear the table, Sylvia at his heels. (If there’s a
swinging kitchen door, they are back and forth through the
door. If no door, then they are back and forth through the
exit as dialogue swiftly continues.)
BEAU. Well, darling, then perhaps you could have mentioned this
telegram to me before you’d sent it.

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 SYLVIA. You told me last night you like it when I “take charge.”
BEAU. Context darling.
SYLVIA. This is perfect context! I’m taking charge of my life! I’m
starting our lives anew!
BEAU. I’d argue that when Clarke arrives, our lives will be quite
ended.
SYLVIA. But Clarke won’t come here.
BEAU. Won’t he?
SYLVIA. How could he? He’s no idea where we are.
BEAU. Hasn’t he?
SYLVIA. (Smartly.) I told him I was going to my aunt’s in London.
BEAU. Ah. Did it occur to you that perhaps I speak to Clarke
occasionally.
SYLVIA. (THis has not occurred to her.) Sorry?
BEAU. I speak to my brother, occasionally. For example, Friday.
He phoned to tell me about Mama’s condition…
SYLVIA. Poor dear…
BEAU. (Nearly an aside.) Awful. (Immediately moving on.) And as
we were hanging up he inquired about my weekend plans.
SYLVIA. Well surely, you didn’t…
BEAU. “I’ll be at the cottage,” I told him. I assume he assumed I
meant with Marjorie.
SYLVIA. I see. So you think that means he’ll…
A knock at the door. Sylvia and Beau look out.
BEAU. I do.
SYLVIA. Oh dear.
BEAU. And the pair of us still in our skivvies.
Sylvia desperately looks for a nook. Beau, tense, lights another
cigarette.
SYLVIA. (And now a panic.) Hide me! Where shall I hide?
BEAU. But why should he be upset if he doesn’t love you?
SYLVIA. Because he’s a man!

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 BEAU. I thought you said he won’t mind.
SYLVIA. I thought you stopped smoking!
Beau extinguishes his cigarette. More knocking.
MARJORIE. (From off.) Beau?
Beau and Sylvia both look to the door.
(From off.) Beau, I know you’re in there. Let me in.
BEAU. (Whispered and unhinged.) Marjorie? But how is she here?!
SYLVIA. (Sheepishly.) I may have sent a telegram to her as well.
BEAU. Oh, Sylvia.
SYLVIA. As your mother always says: “Best to kill two birds with
one stone.”
BEAU. My mother says a lot of things, Sylvia!
SYLVIA. Yes, but I’m the only one who listens.
BEAU. You’ve really upset the apple cart, haven’t you?
SYLVIA. (Dramatically.) It needed upsetting, Beau.
MARJORIE. (Cross knocking.) Beau?! Open this door!
SYLVIA. (Gently.) Do you think she’s cross?
BEAU. It’s quite possible.
SYLVIA. I do hate confrontation.
BEAU. Love sending telegrams though, is that it?
More violent knocking interrupts.
MARJORIE. (Over her knocking.) I say, open this door!!!
SYLVIA. (Desperate.) Where shall I go?!
BEAU. Upstairs.
SYLVIA. So far away?
BEAU. The kitchen then.
SYLVIA. I won’t be able to hear!
BEAU. Fine!
Beau opens the window seat to reveal a perfect hiding spot.
SYLVIA. Oh! How convenient!
BEAU. In you go.

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 Beau shoves her in gracelessly.
SYLVIA. Thank you, darling. (Just before being closed in.) Be brave!
The window seat cover slams shut. More knocking.
MARJORIE. (From off.) Beau!
More knocking.
Open this door. The charade is over.
BEAU. (Calling off—perhaps pretending to be farther away than he
is.) Coming dear.
SYLVIA. (Muffled, but clear, from within the window seat.) I love
you, Beau!
Beau deliberately places his wedding band (from his robe
pocket) back on his finger, then opens the door. Wind blows,
birds chirp. Marjorie enters. She is hugely pregnant.
MARJORIE. Thank you.
BEAU. Pleasure.
MARJORIE. Good morning.
BEAU. You’re looking well.
MARJORIE. I feel well. What a smart robe.
BEAU. Thank you.
MARJORIE. (Taking off her hat and gloves.) I thought I’d find you
here. This place always looks cheerful in the summer.
BEAU. Indeed it does. Did you walk here from the train?
MARJORIE. I hired a cab.
BEAU. Ah.
MARJORIE. (Handing Beau her things.) I always love it here.
BEAU. As do I.
MARJORIE. (Touching her belly.) It’s a perfect family home.
BEAU. It is.
MARJORIE. Reminds me of our wedding day.
BEAU. Mmm.
MARJORIE. Now that was a beautiful day at the cottage, wasn’t it?
BEAU. Indeed.

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 MARJORIE. S’pose that’s all water under the bridge now.
BEAU. Is it?
MARJORIE. (Finding Sylvia’s undergarment.) I’d say.
BEAU. (Grabbing it from Marjorie—perhaps dusting off the seat
with it.) Have a seat.
MARJORIE. (Pointed.) I think I’ll stand.
BEAU. Right. (Tosses it—perhaps even into the crowd. Then.) So, I
understand you’ve received a telegram.
MARJORIE. Indeed.
A British moment.
BEAU. Would you care for a cup of tea?
MARJORIE. Lovely.
Beau starts to go.
Where is Mrs. Lorrey?
BEAU. Considering my guest, I couldn’t very well have the servants
here, now could I darling?
MARJORIE. Of course. (Noticing Sylvia’s robe.) And where is…
your guest?
BEAU. (A moment and then a choice.) Hiding in the window nook.
SYLVIA. (Strained from within the nook.) Beau?!!
BEAU. (Loudly.) Might as well come out and kill the first bird,
Sylvie.
Marjorie opens the window seat and peers down.
MARJORIE. Yes, Sylvie, please do come out.
Marjorie allows the seat cover to slam. Sylvia harrumphs
from within. (“Ouch!”) Beau helps Sylvia out.
BEAU. Careful, darling.
MARJORIE. Good morning, Sylvie.
SYLVIA. (Sheepishly as she climbs out.) Good morning.
Sylvia, once out, notices and AUDIBLY GASPS at Marjorie’s
belly!
MARJORIE. Quite.

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 SYLVIA. You’re expecting?!
MARJORIE. July.
SYLVIA. Next month?!
MARJORIE. July is the very next month, yes.
SYLVIA. Beau! Did you know about this?!
BEAU. I should say so!
SYLVIA. But I never knew!
BEAU. You never asked.
SYLVIA. I…
MARJORIE. You should come for tea when I invite you.
SYLVIA. I suppose I should, but I worried it might be awkward.
MARJORIE. How sensitive of you.
SYLVIA. Does your mother know?!
BEAU. Hard to know what she knows these days.
MARJORIE. (Handing her the robe.) Lovely negligee darling.
SYLVIA. (Putting her robe back on.) It is, isn’t it?
BEAU. Will you take tea, Sylvie?
SYLVIA. (Still shocked.) Yes, please.
As Beau exits to get tea…
MARJORIE. Your telegram was rather startling, Sylvia.
SYLVIA. I’d say we’re both a bit startled this morning.
MARJORIE. “I love Beau. Stop. Beau loves me. Stop. Sorry Marji.”
MARJORIE and SYLVIA. (With opposing intentions.) “Stop.”
Beau pops his head back in.
BEAU. Milk? Sugar?
The ladies respond intensely and then resume conversation.
MARJORIE and SYLVIA. Black.
BEAU. Of course.
Beau retreats to the kitchen.
SYLVIA. Well, I wanted to get to the point.
MARJORIE. (Pointedly.) So you did.

23

COTTAGE, THE.indd 23 12/1/2023 2:34:34 PM

 SYLVIA. I didn’t know you were pregnant!
MARJORIE. (A bit of a confession.) Not to worry, dear, this is
actually quite convenient.
On the heels of the word “convenient,” Beau enters with a tea
tray from the kitchen AND there’s a knock at the door. They
all look out.
Who’s that?
Beau sets the tray down. More knocking.
CLARKE. (From off.) Sylvie?
They all look at the door.
MARJORIE. (Gobsmacked.) Clarke?
CLARKE. (From off.) Beau, I know you’re in there. Open the door.
SYLVIA. Perhaps telegrams weren’t such a grand idea after all.
BEAU. Delayed logic is consistently disappointing.
Beau wipes his brow with his hanky, then opens the door.
Wind blows, birds chirp. Clarke enters.
Good morning, Clarke.
CLARKE. Morning.
BEAU. How was your walk?
CLARKE. Lovely. (Genuine.) What a smart robe.
BEAU. It’s from China.
CLARKE. (Handing Beau his hat/umbrella.) I didn’t see any robes
like that when I was in China.
BEAU. Well, next time you go I’ll give you the name of the tailor.
CLARKE. Yes, please, I’d like that (Feeling it.) —silky, smooth…
(Noticing Marjorie and Sylvia.) Darling?!
MARJORIE. Clarke! SYLVIA. Clarke.
CLARKE. Darling, what are you doing here?
SYLVIA. Darling, you knew I was here. You came looking for me.
CLARKE. No, not you, darling. (To Marjorie.) You, darling.
MARJORIE. Did you get a telegram from Sylvie too then, darling?
We must have been on the same train. What a relief, isn’t it, dear?

24

COTTAGE, THE.indd 24 12/1/2023 2:34:34 PM

 CLARKE. Quite!
Sylvia and Beau look at each other, then back to Clarke and
Marjorie.
SYLVIA and BEAU. Sorry?
CLARKE. We haven’t known how to tell you.
SYLVIA. Tell us what?
CLARKE. (Genuine.) That’s a lovely negligee, Sylvie.
SYLVIA. Thank you, Clarke.
BEAU. Tell us what, Clarke?
CLARKE. (Soaking in the place.) I always love it here.
BEAU. As do I.
CLARKE. It’s so tidy and well kept.
BEAU. Mother wouldn’t have it any other way.
CLARKE. That’s what I’m saying.
SYLVIA. Tell us what, Clarke?
CLARKE. Ah, yes. Simply put… (Not at all simply.) Marjorie and
I are in love!
Clarke and Marjorie revel in their love.
Note: Wherever Marjorie and Clarke can steal a kiss, a look,
a grab, they ought to. There’s nothing “mediocre” about what
they have together.
BEAU. With each other?
MARJORIE. Quite. In fact, Beau, darling, well, I suppose con-
sidering your news it will come as a comfort to you now. This
child is not yours!
CLARKE. (With enormous pride.) I’m the father, Beau! (Breathes
deeply, now joyous.) God, it feels good to get that off my chest! I was
dreading having to act the uncle to my son.
MARJORIE. Or daughter.
CLARKE. (A throwaway.) Right. (Now a proclamation.) I want the
child to call me Papa!
MARJORIE. What a favor you’ve done us, Sylvie! I know tonight,

25

COTTAGE, THE.indd 25 12/1/2023 2:34:34 PM

 I shall sleep well for once. It’s been awful. Sneaking away at every
chance we could. Loving in secret these long seven years.
SYLVIA and BEAU. Seven years?!
BEAU. (Keeping a lid on it.) I’m getting some ice.
Beau moves toward the kitchen.
MARJORIE. Why?
BEAU. I think I’ll have a scotch. Sylvie?
SYLVIA. (Truly in need of one.) Yes, please.
Beau exits.
MARJORIE. At nine in the morning? How daring! (Calling off.)
You know, I think I’ll have one too!
CLARKE. (Calling off.) Make that four. (Nuzzling Marjorie.) It’s a
bit of a celebration isn’t it?
SYLVIA. Seems debatable. (To Marjorie.) Sneaking away at every
chance you could? As in—often?!
MARJORIE. No more often than you and Beau, I’m sure.
SYLVIA. We limit ourselves to one night per year.
A beat and then Clarke and Marjorie burst out laughing.
MARJORIE. One night?!
CLARKE. That’s quite disciplined!
SYLVIA. (With seething incredulousness.) Yes, well, we’re married,
you see, so we felt the impropriety was best handled in a moderated
capacity!
Beau enters with ice.
BEAU. (Still heated.) Ice!
Beau fixes drinks at the bar.
MARJORIE. (With a twinkle in her eye.) We weren’t able to have
that kind of self-control.
SYLVIA. Weren’t you?
MARJORIE. I’ve never felt so alive as I do when I’m with Clarke.
BEAU. Lovely.
CLARKE. It has been rather exciting.

26

COTTAGE, THE.indd 26 12/1/2023 2:34:34 PM

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