Act Seven, Chrysalis and Catharsis
Gutridge had planned to examine the papers that Bucky Malone had delivered to him the evening before, but after that disagreeable display by Mary Jane he had gone straight to his bed, disgruntled and attacked by indigestion, and had not so much as glanced at the sheets.
Now, the next morning, he had arrived in the dining room, folded papers clutched in his meaty hand, to find a meal laid out and waiting, with Ernest Pratt himself sitting at the table. When he saw Gutridge at the foot of the stairs, he rose to greet him with a loud, cheerful, "Good morning, Sir Franklin!"
Gutridge grunted. All the other tables were occupied or he might have made a scene of refusing to sit with the man. He was too hungry to forgo breakfast altogether. So he sat down, believing he could intimidate Pratt into leaving quickly. "It's rather early in the day for you to be up and abroad, isn't it, Pratt? I figured that you would still be belly-down in the gutter behind the saloon until at least seven-thirty."
Pratt laughed in a good-natured way. "Actually, I haven't made it as far as the gutter yet. Been up all night. May I...?" Pratt proceeded to pour coffee into Sir Franklin's cup and then into his own. He paused over the third setting. "Will your niece be joining us this morning?"
Gutridge gave another grunt for an answer. He stirred a vast amount of sugar into the coffee before raising it to his lips. He stopped before drinking, suddenly suspicious. Pratt had set his cup in front of himself untouched. "What are you doing here, Pratt?" Gutridge asked bluntly. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that I had no inclination to socialize with the likes of a dime-novel writer."
"Oh, you did make that abundantly clear, Sir Franklin," Pratt said, leaning forward to light the candle in the middle of the elaborate centerpiece. "But as long as your here, I thought that I might impose on you for your valuable opinion. E. C. Allen expects my newest manuscript, but I wanted you to read it through first. Maybe give me a few tips?" he added hopefully.
Gutridge was teetering between a crushing desire to embarrass Pratt and the weight of his own monstrous ego. "Well... I don't normally waste my time with such nonsense, but as a favor to Allen..."
"I really appreciate this, Sir Franklin!" Ernest fairly gushed with gratitude. Gutridge felt a touch of embarrassment on behalf of the man. He was acting like a fool, and everyone in the dining room was staring at them.
"Why don't you bring the papers to my room later this morning," Gutridge said, hoping to get rid of the man so he could enjoy his breakfast. He forgot to be suspicious and drank his coffee, his appetite getting the better of his paranoia. He began dishing food onto his plate. It occurred to him then that Pratt must not realize that his manuscript had been stolen. A sly smile cut his round face as he imagined the writer's frustration when he discovered that the papers were missing. "Yes, do bring them by later," he said again.
"I have the papers right here, Sir Franklin," announced Pratt, pulling a thick, folded sheaf from his pocket. "Like I said, I was up all night, writing. This book is going to be the best one ever! Much, much better than the one I just finished for Mr. Allen."
Gutridge choked on his coffee. "You... wrote another one? Already?"
Pratt nodded as if accepting a great compliment. "When the Muse speaks, we cannot but listen. How 'bout I read over the highlights while you eat breakfast? Then you can give me some pointers for the part where I am stuck." Without waiting for an answer, Pratt launched into the story. Gutridge's mouth was still open to object, but his words when unheard.
"The story is about a noble, honorable man-- who is a writer like your self-- and he has a lovely daughter that travels with him to the wilds of the West. A disreputable man tries to lure the noble man's daughter away with false promises, finally kidnapping her and stealing the man's new book. The noble man turns to Legend for help. Now, the problem I have is this: how should Legend rescue the girl and get the book away from the bad guy?"
Gutridge thought he was going to lose his appetite when Pratt began to outline the story. He could feel his face reddening and sought to hide behind his coffee cup. Then when he realized how stupid Pratt was, so oblivious and ignorant, he laughed loudly and began shoveling food into his mouth.
Ernest looked up and smiled. To Gutridge, it may have appeared that Pratt was flattered and foolish, but the real reason that he was smiling was because Mary Jane had just descended the stairs behind Gutridge. The sheaf of papers slipped out of Ernest's numbed fingers and fanned out on the floor.
The change that had come over Mary Jane was tangible. Her face was aglow, full of healthy color, complimented by her robin-red overdress. A blouse and underskirt of light green satin brought out her hazel eyes, which were sparkling and clear. Pratt wasn't even aware that he had stood up as she floated gracefully to the table, escorted by Skeeter. He released the lady's arm, nodded discreetly to Pratt, and made his way into the kitchen.
Pratt took her hand and dropped a kiss on her fingers. Gutridge didn't even look up from his meal. "It's about time you brought yourself down..." his voice dropped away when he finally raised his eyes and saw her. He choked again, groping for a glass of water.
Ernest thumped Gutridge on the back just as he took a drink. "Are you alright, Sir Franklin? Miss Plane, what a pleasure it is to see you again. May I say that you look absolutely radiant this morning?" All thoughts of intrigue faded from Ernest's mind as he looked upon the pretty lady.
"Thank you, Mr. Pratt. You may say so." Mary Jane blushed modestly and allowed him to seat her. "I'm sorry that I interrupted you. Please go on with what you were saying."
Gutridge was still trying to clear his throat. Pratt happily gathered up the pile of papers he had dropped earlier. "I was just asking your uncle his advice on my new story." Gutridge coughed, and Ernest slapped him on the back again. "But as he has said before, fiction isn't really his area of expertise. Perhaps you could help me?"
As they were speaking, Ramos emerged from the kitchen, carrying a carafe of coffee. Bartok was with him, bearing a tray covered with cloth. They both stopped behind Gutridge, who was still incapable of speech.
"I overheard your reading to Sir Franklin as I was coming downstairs," Mary Jane prompted Ernest.
xxx
Mary Jane hoped that she was managing to hide how much she was terrified. Since the small hours of the morning, when Ernest Pratt and his friends had come scratching on her windowpane to tell her the plan, she had been terribly frightened and excited. One way or the other, by the end of the day she would be free of Sir Franklin Gutridge. She had carefully selected the best dress from her wardrobe and taken time to fix her hair. When she was done, she felt like she did before her first play in college, when she had understudied the leading lady and had been called for her first performance. She had found the strength then to face that crowd of strangers, and she called on that buried strength again now.
xxx
Outwardly, she maintained a gently detached, amused attitude. She nodded regally to Ramos, who hastened forward to serve her. "It sounds fascinating, Mr. Pratt. Please continue."
"You're too kind, Miss Plain. I was just wondering, what would be the best way for the hero of the story to rescue the lady and put the bad guy in his place?"
Gutridge had managed to quit choking, but was now staring stunned at Mary Jane; he had never seen her looking so fair, nor so confident. He settled back in confusion, wondering if there really had been something added to his coffee to make him hallucinate.
"Let me see if I understand correctly," Mary Jane said after taking a small sip from her cup. "The bad man has stolen Legend's latest unpublished manuscript and is holding the girl against her will... am I right?"
"That is essentially correct."
"Well, Legend must live up to his name! He must go up to the bad man and confront him, demand the return of his property and the freedom of the lady."
"Go right up to his face and confront him?" Pratt pulled a thin book from his pocket and began to take hasty notes. "But won't the bad guy just shoot him? Or worse… hurt the lady?"
"No, Mr. Pratt. Oh, he will try to hurt them, but Legend will use his fantastic scientific inventions to stop the man, and with his cunning intellect he will trick him into turning over the book and confessing all of his crimes to the authorities. Of course, the bad man will put up a terrible fight, and Nicodemus might be injured, but he won't give up. Legend never gives up."
Gutridge was watching the two of them talk like a man watching a lawn-tennis match, and his face was changing colors like a salamander on a calico dress. When Pratt first outlined his story he had gone a bit pale, and then when Mary Jane had appeared he had flushed quite red. Now his face was darkening to a more dangerous shade, and finally he could sit quiet no more.
"This is rubbish!" Sir Franklin bellowed, throwing the full force of his anger at Pratt, hoping to cow him as he had in the saloon when they had first met. "You don't honestly think that you could get me...ah-hem, I mean... get the bad guy to confess what he had done in front of a room full of people just by walking up and confronting him? Delusional! Ridiculous! This is a waste of my time!"
Pratt merely sat, unmoved by Gutridge's outburst. "Ego notwithstanding, Sir Franklin, you are contractually bound to E. C. Allen, and he has sent you here to assist me. I would appreciate your input."
Gutridge swelled, his burning anger settling inside him like cold poison. "Really, Mr. Pratt? Very well, here's my input. Legend should confront the bad man and insist on the return of his property and the girl's freedom. But this time, the bad guy is too smart for him and he refuses to give Legend what he wants. He take the book and the girl and goes far away, and Legend has to live with the reality of failure." Gutridge stood up and threw down his napkin onto his unfinished breakfast. "The End. Come, Mary Jane! We have a stagecoach to catch."
"No."
Sir Franklin turned to her, the look on his face one of incredulous disbelief. "What did you say to me?" he rumbled, the purple hue returning to his cheeks and forehead.
Mary Jane elegantly sipped her coffee before saying quietly, "I said 'no'. I'm not going with you."
"Mary Jane. You are my niece and you will do as I say."
"No, I am not your niece and you are not my uncle. I will no longer do anything you say."
Gutridge leaned toward her said, in a savage whisper, "Am I to take it that you don't mean to hold up your end of the contract? Do you know the damage I can do to your future?"
Mary Jane replied in a loud, clear voice that carried to every corner of the dinning hall. "You can't do anything to me that is worse than the way I have allowed you to treat me so far. I'm ending our association now and you can... well, you can take that contract and stick it in your... ear!"
Gutridge rocked back in his chair, nearly upsetting Janos Bartok, who was standing quietly behind him, holding a covered tray. Bartok deftly balanced the tray with the help of Ramos, who was close by.
Pratt gazed proudly at Mary Jane. He turned an insolent look at Gutridge, who was standing at the end of the table blustering like a gaffed fish. "Looks like the damsel is going to rescue herself. This could bode ill for fictional heroes... " He captured Mary Jane's hand and gave her fingers another chaste kiss. "...But it sounds just fine to me."
"This is an outrage. How dare you do this to me, after everything I've done for you, taking you under my wing... protecting you... well! No more! You're on your own from now on, young lady. And don't come crawling back to me when the world doesn't turn out to be like one of Mr. Pratt's fairy tales! We are through!" When his browbeating failed to ruffle Mary Jane's newfound self-confidence, he narrowed his eyes and turned his venomous gaze upon Pratt. "And you, sitting there feeling so full of yourself... well, this is what I think of your stupid dime novels..." He shoved his hand inside his coat and came out with the folded papers that Bucky Malone had given him. He dipped the corner of the sheets into the bright flame of the candle.
"This will be one less waste of ink and paper! Say goodbye to your book, Mr. Legend!" The fire greedily devoured the dry papers, and Gutridge dropped the flaming mess onto the empty plate in front of Pratt.