The Murder Room - Mrs. Lottie Molloy Lines

Mrs. Lottie Molloy’s lines from Jack Sharkey’s “The Murder Room"

Open Act 1, Scene 2

Coming! I’m coming! Good morning, sir. Can I help you?

J: My name is Crandall. I believe Mrs. Hollister is expecting me.

Are you sure, sir? The missus didn’t mention any Mr. Crandall to me.

J: She wouldn’t know me by name. But she is expecting me. My card.

Oh, it’s Inspector Crandall! Oh, yes, sir, she is expecting you! She’s been ever so upset with the master not returning home last night! Please have a chair, and I’ll tell her you’re here. Can I get you anything—a cup of tea—?

J: Nothing, thank you, Miss—?

Molloy. Lottie Molloy. And it’s “Mrs.” I’ve been the Hollisters’ housekeeper for over thirty years.

J: Then perhaps you can tell me—is it usual for Mr. Hollister to absent himself from home without warning?

Oh, no, sir. Never, sir. He was never one to give worry to folks. If he wasn’t going to return home, he would say so. I only hope he hasn’t had an accident.

J: Just where was he going last night?

I’m sure I have no idea, sir. Never said a word to me, he didn’t. He was still home when I went to bed.

J: Ah, then, you live on the premises, Lottie—?

Yes, sir. I have a bedroom just off the kitchen, in the back.

J: And you didn’t hear him go out?

No, sir. Or hear Mrs. Hollister come in, either.

J: Mrs. Hollister was out last night?

Oh, yes, sir. I thought you knew.

J: No. No, I didn’t. Of course, she may have said so when she rang up the station, and it simply got left out of the report.

Yes, that’s probably what happened, sir.

J: Is that Mrs. Hollister—?

Oh, no, sir—that is to say—not the one who rang up the police. That is the first Mrs. Hollister. Master Edgar brought her here to Bynewood Cottage as a bride, twenty-four years ago. She died, poor soul, nearly five years ago, just after Miss Susan went off to America.

J: Miss Susan?

Master Edgar’s only child.

J: A daughter, I presume?

Yes, sir.

J: Why did she go to America?

Well, you see, sir, her mother—that’s the first Mrs. Hollister—was an American, and she wanted Susan to attend the same university where she had gone, before she’d married Master Edgar. Miss Susan only just graduated last month. A terrible shame her dear mother wasn’t here to see it. Of course, if she were here, she wouldn’t see it, since it happened over there.

J: Yes, yes, of course. but you said—last month? And she’s not home yet?

No, but I suppose she’s expected, fairly shortly, sir.

J: Why do you suppose that, Lottie?

Because I heard them arguing about it, at afternoon tea, yesterday.

J: Arguing?

Well—perhaps I’m putting that too strongly, sir. Let’s just say they were having a difference of opinion.

J: About what?

About Miss Susan living here when she returned to England. Miss Templeton—excuse me, I’m still not used to her being married to the master—Mrs. Hollister was quite put out when she heard Master Edgar intended to have his child by his first wife under their roof. If you ask me—

J: Ask you what, Lottie?

Excuse me, sir, but I think I hear the missus coming now…

J: They would, ordinarily, but—you see—your husband is a rather important man.

Or was!

M: Lottie!

It’s not like the master to stay away like this, Missus! I just know something awful’s happened to him!

J: Then—why did you summon the police?

Yes, why?

M: Well, of course, it might not be a joke.

Of course it isn’t!

M: Yes, he is.

No, he’s not.

M: Is!

Isn’t!

J: I didn’t!

Did so!

J: Didn’t!

Did!

M: Mrs. Molloy, please!

Well, he wasn’t a tease!

J: Wasn’t?

Isn’t!

J: You said “wasn’t”!

Didn’t!

J: Come, now, which is it?

You mean, which was it!

J: It!

What?

J: When?

Earlier.

J: Quite.

Will there be anything else, Missus?

M: Oh, sorry.

That’s all right.

Not you!

Oh, sorry.

J: Let me see—where were we?

When?

M: I’m not sure.

Why don’t we start over?

M: Yes, indeed.

Inspector, why don’t you start?

J: Now, Lottie, you say you did not hear your master go out?

No, sir, I did not.

J: No-no, of course it doesn’t.

I was just stating the facts, Missus.

J: As you prefer. Lottie—?

It’s this way, sir. Oh! Maybe it’s Master Edgar!

M: It can’t be! I mean—why would he ring up? Why wouldn’t he simply come home?

Perhaps he can’t come home. He might have had a motor accident.

J: If you had the car—and your husband is missing—how did he leave?

Yes! I hadn’t thought of that! How did the master leave?

M: He might have gone on foot—!

A man his age—in the night air—on foot?

M: Edgar was an unlikely person. Isn’t anybody going to answer that?!

You’re closest.

J:…And what exactly were the terms of the new will—?

New will? New will?

J:…Yes, not a word to anybody, I promise…Ta-ta!

What did he say?!

M: Oh, this is madness! Madness!

Don’t mind her, Inspector, what did Sir Charles say?

J: Ah. Yes. Your master rang him up and said he was going to change his will!

Aha! And in whose favor?

M: And even if it were he, his opinion is no more than just that. After all, a husband is far more likely to be a tease to his wife than to his family solicitor. 

I hate to admit it, but that makes a lot of sense, Inspector. (1)

J: Yes, I’m afraid it does, Lottie. Ah, well, back to the business at hand. Will you kindly point me the way to the cellar?

Certainly, inspector. It’s this way.

J: I see that you’re a bit of a tease, yourself, Lottie.

Can’t be spit-and-polish every single moment, I always say.

M: When did you ever say that? You’ve never said that in your life!

That’s all you know!

J: Now-now, ladies—ladies—! Ah! We have a caller!

Perhaps it’s the master!

M: Edgar had a latchkey. There would be no need for him to ring the bell.

I hate to admit it, but that makes a lot of sense, Inspector. (2)

J: Didn’t you just say that?

It’s a handy phrase. Can’t I use it more than once?

A: Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Inspector!

What?

A: Right!

Make up your mind, young man!

J: Found?

Found who?

A: Rather more than that, I’m afraid Ma’am. We have reason to believe your cat met with foul play.

Oh, no!

M: You mean—?!

Murder?!

J: Constable, are you quite sure?

Yes, who would want to murder a cat? It’s a very deep cellar.

M: No! Of course not! I’m sure he would have mentioned it! Edgar and I had no secrets from one another.

Wait! Cocoa did you say? Why, when I got up this morning, there was a pan of cocoa still on the stove!

M: Mrs. Molloy, how dare you say such a thing! You are discharged!

After more than thirty years?!

A: In just a moment, Ma’am, but first I have to ask her a question. Mrs. Molloy—what did you do with the cocoa on the stove?

Why, I poured it down the sink, washed the pan, and put it away.

M: Why, how very efficient of you, Mrs. Molloy! Consider yourself re-hired!

Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hollister!

J: While I’m gone, Constable, would you be so kind as to investigate the cellar, in case Edgar Hollister is lying about the place?

But the is a cellar. Why would he lie about it?

J: And I’m off to interrogate Sir Charles!

And I’ll just go to the kitchen and see about some luncheon!

J: Cheer-o!

Cheer-o!

A: Cheer-o!

Mind the steps, they’re slippery!

Open Act 1, Scene 3

Constable—?

A: Right-ho!

Wouldn’t you like some breakfast?

A: What time is it?

Nearly noon. You must be absolutely ravenous!

A: By Jove, You’re right! I am!

Well, why don’t you start on up? I should have it ready by the time you get here. If you don’t slide back.

A: Right-ho! I’ll watch my step!

Now who in the world can that be? Miss Susan! Heaven be praised, it’s really you!

S: …Oh but homecomings are so utterly delicious, aren’t they! Where’s father?

Oh, Miss Susan, I hardly know how to begin! Your father’s vanished!

B: What did you say, Lettie?

Lottie.

B: Lottie.

Miss Susan’s father has vanished.

S: Yes, I daresay you do, but that’s the function of a fiance, after all, so it scarcely counts.

Miss Susan! “Fiance,” did you say?

S: No, that’s true, so perhaps it’s just as well Lottie wasn’t there, my dearest darling. Ah, but we’re deviating from the principal topic, aren’t we! “Vanished,” you say? Father?

So it would seem, Miss Susan. We certainly have been unable to find him.

S: Father! Oh, Father, you had us all so terribly worried, but now you’re here, and all’s well again, and I simply have to introduce you to my fiance, Barry Draper, who is a charming American I met on the boat ride home!

Miss Susan, that is not your father. That is Abel Howard, a member of the Harrogate constabulary, who has been searching for your father.

S: I say, do you suppose Miss Templeton knows where Father is at? The last letter I had from him, she and he were getting on just splendidly, and it occurs to me that perhaps they might have gone off for a holiday.

Oh, my dear! Then you don’t know? Oh, of course you don’t! You were on the boat when it happened.

B: When what happened, Lettie?

Lottie.

S: When what happened?

Oh, Miss Susan, I hardly know how to begin! Your Father’s remarried!

B: When?

Just two days ago. Friday morning, it was.

A: What, the very day he vanished?

The very day. Married that morning, vanished that night.

B: With or without the former Miss Templeton?

Without.

S: I don’t remember. Oh, but I say, Lottie—he’d only met this Miss Templeton when he wrote me, two weeks ago. Wasn’t this marriage just a bit sudden?

A bit too sudden, if you ask me, miss!

A; From the look of the back of these cartridges, there have been just three shots fired…

Three?

A: Yes. Doesn’t it strike you all as a peculiar coincidence?

You mean—a missing man—?

S: And three shots fired from it?

No, not particularly.

B: Darling, I think he means fingerprints besides your father’s.

But nobody ever handled that pistol except master. Nobody.

A: Still and all—if somebody did fire this pistol the other night—I wonder why no one heard any shots?

Oh, I heard shots.

O: What? When?

Friday night, just after Miss Templeton—excuse me, Mrs. Hollister—came home.

A: But—Lottie—if you heard shots—why didn’t you tell somebody?

I didn’t know it was important. Is it?

A: Not necessarily, of course, but—well, every little clue helps. How many shots did you hear?

Three. Exactly three. No more, no less.

B: But how can you be so certain it was just after Mrs. Hollister returned?

The driveway curves right past my bedroom window, before it comes around to the front of the house. The headlights flash into my room something fierce.

A: Can you give us the exact time, Lottie?

It’s just six minutes past noon!

M: Well, now, let’s all sit down and get to know one another, shall we? Lottie, would you see to some lunch?

Yes, Mrs. Hollister!