All language subtitles for A.Very.British.Scandal.S01E03.480p.x264-mSD-eng

Are you going to tell
your father about money?

Congratulations, George!

Daddy is a sly old dog.

Your new stepmother's
younger than you.

Please, don't ask
me to bail Ian out again.

I'll not throw
good money after bad.

What is the point of you?!
What are you for?!

You are? Peter Combe.

What's on the menu tonight?
Drinking or dancing?

Both.

What is it?
It's Louise's handwriting.

It's a crank.
You're not to brood on it.

I've never stayed at
L'Hotel Saint Mariette.

I've never even heard of it.

I think we can make
it work between us.

But we have to stop doing
terrible things to each other.

What terrible things have you done?

Nothing, just...

We'll be all right.

Ugh.

He's here.

What?

Where is he? In the drawing room.

You and your disappearing acts.

My God, how beautiful you are.

You love me.

I must do, mustn't I?

And you want this marriage to work?

We both want this marriage
to work, Ian, we agreed to that.

Then there are certain
particular assurances I need.

What are they?

My God, it's ridiculous really.

I know it was you.

I knew it.

I know you forged those letters.

What?

Louise swore on our son's lives.

Well, then you're a fool, Ian.

You're a poor fool.

Of course she swore!
She swore, and I believed you.

And the only person it could
possibly be is me, of course it is.

I'm the culprit, of course I am.

Margaret, you will
go to court... No!

..and you will submit
to an injunction

that forbids you forever talking
about my sons or their mother again.

I won't go to court, and
I won't submit to anything!

Yes, you are. You will. No, I won't!

Of all the things you've
ever done to me, Ian,

this has to be the absolute worst!

I cannot believe you
believe this about me.

I want you to leave.

But you will submit
to that injunction.

I've got the proof.

Dora!

The date for the
hearing has been set.

This goes against all our advice.

If you submit to this injunction,

it is an admission of liability.

Mr Jauncey, I know that I
pay you for your advice,

but the Duke requires me to do this,

so I will do it.

You're not going to like it.

What is it?

Shall I tell Cheeseman
to bring the... Yes!

Ugh!

Ah!

What are you doing, Ian?
I did what you asked.

I've had you banned from
Inveraray and its environs.

Over here is environs.

Over there's the
whole rest of the world,

you stay in the rest of the world,

and you won't be
in breach of the law.

You've breached the law.

You broke into my home,
and you stole private property.

As your husband, I have every right
to enter our shared domicile.

And I have every right to enter the
castle that I bloody well paid for!

No, you don't.

I had you banned.

Please, Margaret, if you're
concerned for the whereabouts

of certain private properties,

just give a
description of said items

to that friendly bobby there.

No?

Don't want to talk to
the nice policeman?

We had a deal, Ian.

Caveat emptor, darling.
I have children.

So do I.

What do you want?

I want peace and quiet.

I want... time to think.

I believe I'm owed that.

When do I get my things back?

Let's talk when I'm ready. Yep?

Oh, and, um...

..everything's locked
away from prying eyes,

so you can stop sweating about that,

at least for the time being.

I'm only showing you this
because you're my barrister.

Is this you?

Of course it's not bloody me,

I wouldn't be showing
it to you if it were me.

It is her.

She does photograph well,
doesn't she?

So, there we are.

Divorce on the basis of
multiple adulteries, cut and dry.

Actually, no.

I'm afraid you need more.

What the hell are you talking about?
How could I possibly need more?

I brought you all of this.

You have a photograph
for god's sake,

you have love letters,
you have a diary full of men,

and then there's the V.

You know what that is?

That's her sign.

That's her bare-forked
animal legs open

for her legion of lovers.

"V", I mean, it's everywhere.
You say I need more.

The letters, the diaries,
the, uh... image,

they're not recent.

You continued living with her,

presumably
enjoying... conjugal relations.

Only when I couldn't fight her off.
She's like a wolf,

hold you down and strip
the meat from your bones.

But the law can therefore decide
that you condoned her behaviour.

We need to prove that
she was adulterous

and continued to be so
after you'd separated.

Spit it out, Emslie,
I'm getting old and dying here.

What do we need?

We need evidence that
she's still at it.

We need the diary she uses now.

Papa. Shh, shh.

Where will it be?

By her bed. By her bed?

Papa, I don't want to.

Come on.

Jeanne, this is going to be fun.

We're like cat burglars.

Raffles the Gentleman Thief.

Ah! Get it!

I don't know where it is! Get it!

I don't know where it is!

In the bedside table! Middle drawer,
look in middle drawer!

Ah!

Stop it! I've got it. Stop it.

I've got it. Sure? Yes, I've got it!

Ian!

Ian!

Ian! Stop!

Oh!

Ian!

Ian!

My Lord, I present Ian
Campbell, the Duke of Argyll's,

petition for divorce from
Margaret, Duchess of Argyll

on the ground of
her multiple adulteries.

The Duke, the pursuer in this case,

is fully aware that
a petition brought

by the husband against
his wife is unusual,

but the evidence we will present at
a date given by the court

is unequivocal, highly intimate
and, frankly... utterly damning.

You all right? Mm.

There are reporters
outside the house.

They come in the garden,
knock on the windows,

shout through the door,
questions about you,

about you and men.

They're lies, Daddy.

It's all lies, Ian's lies.

He's trying to turn
everyone against me.

That Judge Wheatley, who
banned me from Inveraray,

I've heard that he's
a member of Clan Campbell.

That's the same clan as Ian, Daddy.

But nobody reports on that, do they?

But how can that be allowed?

His doctor, Petro,
saying that I'm mad.

There are things that
I could say about him too, Daddy

but I don't, but he just makes
it all about me, my fault.

I'm getting too old for this.

You have to warn me, warn us.

I don't want to learn
it from the newspaper

or have some pimply youth
scream at me over the garden wall.

What does Ian have?

Nothing... Nothing,
Daddy, I promise you.

Bloody man.

I got collateral for you from Ian,

so if anything were to happen,
you wouldn't be left empty-handed.

This is a deed of
gift from him to you,

paintings, silver, antiques,

Argyll heirlooms inherited
with the title, with the castle.

All valued.

But I'm not allowed to
go back to the castle.

You've a right to
remove what's yours.

Would you excise me for a moment?

He looks so tired.

You exhaust him, the mess you make.

The mess that I make?

Well, nobody else
makes it, do they?

Well, I think it's clear whose
side you're on, isn't it, Jane?

It is entirely
reasonable that the Duchess

be granted access
to Inveraray Castle.

She must be allowed to
identify articles she claims

as personal possessions.

I'll allow a day, dawn till dusk.

It's dawn. Let's go.

Hello, Satan.

You fucker, Ian.

What?

I'm going to chop
your fucking hands off!

Jesus, fucking hell.

You think I'm unhinged?
I'll show you unhinged,

you fucking piece of absolute shit!

I'm sorry! Ah!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Ah!

That's definitely mine. That's mine.

That bedraggled thing,
I'll cheerfully leave behind.

Oh, my charming wife.

That reminds me,
I must move my bowels.

I want all of my
clothes, Dora, everything,

and if he tries to
stop you, kick him.

That's mine.

Shouldn't you have brought a van?

I don't remove things, Ian.
I pay for people to remove things.

They'll be coming later.

Keep up please, Mr Jauncey.

So I'm going to have to put up with
your burly labourers as well, am I?

Oh, wonderful clipboard,
very debonair.

Both of those are mine,
each of those.

Those are mine. That's mine.

And that tray there, mine. Right.

That furniture's mine.

Those are mine, those blue ones.

That picture is... me,
it's mine. Yes, of course.

Those two, that stag. That table.

No, in fact those boxes are mine.

That dog bed's mine.

The desk is mine.
You know the desk is mine.

Ashtray's mine.

Ma'am, we should be
thinking about leaving.

Dawn till dusk the judge said.
It's not dusk.

Um... I'm never going
to be allowed here again.

Just let me sit here.

Please.

Let me sit here.

What is it?

Your Grace, Malcolm Kerr,

Chair of the Board of
Trustees to the Argyll Estate.

Yes, I know who you are.

Your Grace...

Everything in there is mine,
gifted to me by the Duke.

But your husband had already
used all these heirlooms

to secure a personal loan.

Yes.

To my father.

No, to another lender.

This was before the Duke inherited,

while he was still
with his previous wife.

Sorry, I don't
understand what he's saying.

He signed that to my father,
it's his signature.

Yes, I thought you said your father
had taken legal advice on this?

Your Grace, what we
are trying to say is

that your husband cannot use these
heirlooms to secure collateral

for a personal loan from your father

when they've already been accepted
as collateral from another lender.

This Deed of Gift is
entirely meaningless.

It's, um, it's dusk.

We have to go.

Now.

We can plan our next
move back in London.

Thank you gentlemen, thank you.

I have been
instructed by the Duchess

to file her counter
petition against the Duke

for divorce on the
grounds of his adultery.

Who with?

Who's the other woman?

Margaret, who, was it?

It's my step-mother.

What?! Blimey!

There will be no, uh, further
comments at this stage.

Thank you, gentlemen.

George, are you out of your mind?

None of it's true. None of it!

He doesn't need you any more.

You'd say anything to get him
all to yourself, wouldn't you?

You'd say absolutely anything.

Jane.

You know what you did.

You have a witness to your husband's
adultery with your stepmother?

Yes, of course.
They're abroad at the moment.

They're difficult to reach.

It would be useful to speak to
them sooner rather than later.

Mm-hm, of course.

Your husband has cited Peter Combe
as one of the correspondents.

Peter's a friend, a good friend.

There's never been anything
of that nature between us.

And the other names?

Mr Fraser, I dine with men.

I meet men, I converse with men.

It doesn't follow
that I have affairs

with every single man that I meet.

There are only so
many hours in a day.

And the image?

The gentleman in the polaroid
photographs? Who is he?

You're sure that nothing
that is said in court

can be reported by the newspapers?

Divorce is a private matter
between individuals.

There's no public interest in the
painful dissolution of a marriage.

Obviously press
interest will be high.

Mm.

Because my father is very unwell,

and my children have their own lives
and I don't want to cause anybody...

The details of the case and
individual testimonies

cannot be reported, at least
not in the British press.

They can report the judgment,

though that's usually very dry.

Not fodder for the front pages.

He doesn't get to divorce me.

I get to divorce him
for cruelty... ..neglect...

..well, for basically being himself.

This could go my way, couldn't it?

There's a real chance
this could go my way.

He's stolen my private property.

He shouldn't be allowed
to use that against me.

As evidence, the diaries and
letters are easily contested.

Even the polaroid
photographs of the gentleman alone

are not evidence of your adultery.

However there is
the irrefutable fact of

the gentleman with
you... ..in your bathroom.

Yes, but the gentleman in
the photograph is my husband...

the Duke of Argyll.

He'll have to be examined
to prove he's not the man.

Oh, no. How terrible for him.

Help! I need help!

Daddy!

Call Dr Griffiths! Oh, Daddy.

It's nothing. It's just a wee
tumble, and my legs went,

that's all.

It's all right. It's all right.

I'm so sorry, Margaret.

I'll come and see him later.

Hello, Margaret.

Poor George.

I always liked him.

Lovely service.

Gorgeous hymns.

I stayed at the back,
I... I didn't want to intrude.

You're introducing now, Maureen.

It's not the best timing,
but this just won't wait.

You have to stop this
ridiculous charade with Ian,

that's my advice as a friend,

and if you've an ounce of sense,
you'll take it.

I thought all my
friends had deserted me.

Do you blame them?

The show that you're making
of yourself, my dear, I could weep.

Didn't know you cared.

I don't.

But it's not just your yawning
fanny being shown to the world,

it's all of ours, isn't it?

Plastered all over the papers,

being thumbed by every
shop girl and grocer.

All nudge, nudge, wink, wink
and sniggering speculation

about our class.

You're breaking the rules.

Our private lives stay
behind closed doors.

It's why the little people
in their grubby pits

look up to us because
we are not them,

but you are dragging us down
so we look just like them,

all bare arses and flapping cocks.

Perhaps we should be dragged down.

You are going to give
Ian what he wants.

Give him everything.

You think you're friendless now,

your life will be a howling
wasteland if you don't stop,

so stop.

I fell 40 feet down a lift shaft.

I thought I was going to die.

I thought I was going
to be crushed to death.

But I didn't die.

Then I was told I'd
never walk again,

but I walked.

So don't tell me
what to do, Maureen,

because I won't be told,
not by you, or Ian, or anyone.

You are a Duchess.

There are photographs of you with
a man's erect penis in your mouth.

Did you think it was a secret?

Never mind what the
scandal's doing to you,

consider what it's doing to us.

Floodgates open, nothing sacred.

You won't be forgiven Margaret.

We will close ranks
and we have ranks to close.

You dear, do not.

Oh, Christ, she doesn't half
choose her movements, doesn't she?

Bloody freezing out there.

Oh, Margaret.

I'm sorry.

Let's get drunk, shall we? Hey?

You know about
the photograph, don't you?

You don't look very
surprised or shocked.

You know how the rumour mill works.

People are betting on who they think
it is and who you're protecting.

I'm not telling you.

I'm not asking.

You should know me better than that.

One tiny moment,
a click of a camera.

That's what's on trial, really.

It's not a trial, Margaret.

But I got on my knees
and enjoyed it.

It is a trial.

And I have to be sorry, cos the law
doesn't like women who aren't sorry.

Then pretend.

Ian's pretending he's a sad
and wronged noble husband.

You could pretend
to be good and nice.

I'll have to school
my face in remorse.

Go on.

Let's see it.

Yes, that might need some work.Mm.

Do you still love him?

Does he still love you?

Do you think he wants us to go?

Nightcap at mine.

I'm sorry for dragging you into
all this, darling, I really am.

I'm grown up.

I can look after myself, remember?

Mm.

Thank you for being my friend.

Hey, don't be soft.

Always.

Bye, darling. Bye. Love you!

Public hair is fascinating.

Idiosyncratic as a fingerprint.

I can tell my regular
clients apart by a mere clump

of the downstairs fuzz.

The photograph, if you please.

Mm.

It's not that clear, is it?

Come.

What the fuck are you doing here?

We are obliged to be present
in all matters

pertaining to our client's defence.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Well, then, Your Grace.

Release the beast.

Do you see now, you see?

That's why I call her Satan.

I want you to tear her to shreds.

Apologies.

A little tangle.

Sir, I want to remind you that
the evidence for your case

is circumstantial and flimsy at best

and excessively punitive
and spiteful at worst.

Your wife has endured
a lot during your marriage,

and I'm confident that
the way will be far kinder

to her than you've been.

Well, that all depends
on the view of the judge.

Your wife's in pain, Your Grace.

Yes?

It's me.

Sorry to hear about your father.
He was a good man.

I've seen you look better, Margaret.

Rode hard, put away wet.

That's how you look.

What'd you want, Ian?

I thought you and I should
have a civil conversation.

As fun as all this has been,
it's gone far enough.

Fun?

God.

Do you know I think you died
in that prisoner of war camp?

You died...

..and this is just a corpse
that you drag around.

Because you don't feel
anything at all, do you?

No.

I don't know if it's the
war but you're right,

I don't feel anything, really.
I never have.

This...

..this battle between you and I...

..makes the blood bang.

It's the closest I
ever got to feeling alive.

Sir.

You cheated my father, Ian.

He trusted you, and you cheated him.

He wanted you to be a Duchess.
You're a Duchess.

Couldn't see anything beyond that.

All you ever wanted was
his money, my money,

and now you've spent it all,
and you need another rich wife.

I expect you've
already got one lined up.

That's what this is really about.

Maybe.

But for the public, this will
always be about your innumerable,

flagrant infidelities.

Who's the chap in the
photograph by the way?

I'd like to buy him a drink
and congratulate him on the...

You were never faithful to me, Ian,

so let's not pretend
that's who we are.

Who were my mistresses?

Jane, for one.

Can you prove it?

Do you have love letters,
diaries, a photograph?

Because I do.

Here's the situation as I see it,

my case can be heard by a judge,

at which point details I think you
would prefer to remain private

will become a
matter of legal record.

Or?

Pay me £250,000, clear my debts,

pay my lawyers, and agree
to be divorced for adultery,

and then all of this
unpleasantness just goes away.

You want to shame
me into submission?

Yes.

But at least it will be all over.

But it won't be over, will it, Ian?

Because there'll
just be something else,

then something else,

and you'll hold it over me forever.

I think that that's a
risk you'll have to take.

Well?

See you in court.

How can it be Judge Wheatley again?

Let's forget Wheatley for one
second, you have bigger issues.

The photograph of you
and Peter Combe... God.

I should've known that
Ian would have me watched.

You said there was nothing
between you and Mr Combe.

And there isn't.
Peter will swear to it.

How is Ian allowed
to spy on me like that?

All parties in Argyll
versus Argyll. All parties.

You have to drop the
counter-claim against him.

We have no evidence
about your step-mother.

I know that Jane and
Ian had an affair.

Without evidence,
it's just speculation.

You have to drop it. You have to.
Before we start.

Court rise.

Dr Tulloch, a material piece of
evidence against the Duchess

is a polaroid photograph.
You've seen this photograph?

I have. I studied it for
professional comparison.

My Lord, the Defender claims
that the man in the photograph

is her husband.

Dr Tulloch, you examined the Duke
to establish if this was so.

I did.

I observed all the distributions

of the suprapubic hair formation.

The man in the polaroid
photograph has a thick,

bushy growth that extends
towards the umbilicus.

The Duke, in contrast,
has a very thin and fine

suprapubic distribution.

So what did you
conclude from this clearly

experienced
professional examination?

That the person in the photograph
was different from the Duke.

Different.

Not her husband.

Thank you, Dr Tulloch.

How would you describe your
relationship with the Defender?

The Duchess and I are friends.

We go for dinner, walk our dogs
together, go to the cinema.

I make her laugh.

She's needed that during her
marriage, someone to make her laugh.

The pursuer has a photograph of you
and the Defender

embracing on her doorstep in
the early hours of the morning.

Yes, he does.

Have you at any time
in your friendship

been intimately
involved with the Defender?

Never.

No, we've never once
been adulterous.

It's not even a remote possibility.

We're friends.

That embrace is the embrace that
friends give each other.

My lord, I have a letter from
the Duke's physician declaring that

the Duke suffers from a condition
that requires him to sit.

I will allow.

Yes, my wife frequently went out in
London unaccompanied by me.

Sometimes she returned at midnight,

sometimes at three or four o'clock
in the morning.

She said she was with friends.

And were you entirely happy
about that?

No.

All of her friends were men.

She assured me it was all
completely innocent.

And you believed her?

Of course.

But then my suspicions
became overwhelming.

I moved out of our London home
into Claridge's Hotel,

then after that I discovered
her letters,

diaries and other things
that she kept secretly.

And did you notice anything
in her diaries that took your

attention particularly?

A list of names and
dates, names of men.

And the letter V.

And what does the Defender signify
with the use of the letter V?

She... She signifies...

..that intercourse occurred.

How can you be so sure?

Because it appears next
to my own name,

in the early years of our marriage,

when we were happy.

You had intercourse with
the Defender when you were married

to your previous wife.

You committed adultery.

I did so for the purposes
of obtaining a divorce.

I see.

You are practised in
calculation when it comes

to obtaining a divorce.

You say you left the London home
and took a suite at Claridge's,

but you were reconciled with
the Defender in Paris.

You shared the same room,
the same bed.

Briefly.

Briefly or not,

at that time you condoned
what you suspected.

My wife is very persuasive.

There were nights at Inveraray
when I had to lock myself in

the library in order
to get some sleep,

and even then she would batter
on the door.

But you seemed prepared
to accept all that

when the Defender paid for
your scheme to salvage

a shipwreck from Tobermory Bay

and the restoration of
Inveraray Castle.

I put it to you that you only
began to care about

the Defender's London lifestyle when
her money began to dry up.

No, not at all.

You weren't angry when the Defender
refused you money?

No.

You didn't physically attack her?

There were no occasions of violence?

No, and no.

You didn't, with the help of
your daughter,

terrorise the Defender by
holding her down in her bed

and stealing her diary?

I didn't terrorise her.

I merely took her diary from her
bedside table as she reached for

the telephone to call the police.

My daughter Lady Jeanne will agree.

I'm sure.

You drink, don't you?

You drink to excess.

I drink the usual amount.

I put it to you that you drink to
a degree that would influence

a man's behaviour, his judgment,
his state of mind

and would cause his wife to stress
even as she did everything

in her power... My wife...
..to care and support.

My wife, the
Defender, is unfaithful.

And I drink the usual amount.

You're scum! Slut!

In the matter of Argyll
versus Argyll,

the court now calls
Margaret, Duchess of Argyll.

What purpose do your diaries serve?

They're a record of
my social engagements.

People who've written dinner
invitations. Parties.

The letter V your husband
alleges is a symbol

for intercourse...

..is a shorthand for these social
engagements, an aide-memoire?

Yes. People who sent flowers,
for example.

And the love letters?

Those are from before my marriage.

Many women keep such letters.

They can be comforting,

especially if one's unhappy.

You were unhappy with your husband?

I wanted very much to be happy.

I tried to make my husband happy,

but he was volatile and neglectful

and I was very lonely.

I must ask you about an explicit
polaroid photograph.

You said the man was your husband.

I thought it must be.

He did keep material of that nature.

It was his fetish.

And the woman in the image,
is that you?

Might I see it?

Of course.

Sorry, but this image is so faded

it's impossible for me
to say who that woman is.

Your Grace,

you husband alleges that you have
had adulterous liaisons

with over 80 men.

Have you ever been unfaithful
to your husband?

No, never.

M'lord, the Defender has been
standing for hours.

Might she be perhaps
permitted a chair?

The Defender will remain standing.

Mr Emslie.

My husband was allowed to sit.

The Defender will restrict
her remarks to what is germane.

Mr Emslie, please proceed.

Your Grace,

I would like to ask you about
the love letters.

You say they were innocent?

I say they were sent
before my marriage.

And you kept them because
they were...

..comforting?

Yes.

My Lord, a letter to the Defender.

"My love."

"My tongue feels dry and violent
upsurges shake my body."

"I can hardly wait,"

"so much am I filled with
visions of you,"

"memories and others which
will become truth soon."

Well, goodness me,

are violent upsurges comforting?

Comforting for most women
would be a...

Well, a kind word.

Not a violent upsurge.

That letter was sent to me before
I married the Duke.

Yes, the court heard you say that.

The court also heard that
Peter Combe is just a friend.

He is.

Well, then I would like
your explanation for this,

the photograph of Peter Combe
leaving your house in

the early hours of the morning,

and you embrace very lovingly,
in public.

M'lord, Mr Combe has already
testified with respect

to his friendship with
the Defender.

I'll allow.

What was Peter Combe doing
with you until the early hours of

the morning that should occasion
such a, erm...

..warm embrace?

We were talking.

That's all.

We played music, we talked.

And I embraced him because
he's my good friend.

What is V?

I've already said.

It's a record of my social
engagements, an aide-memoire.

V is your cypher for
intercourse, isn't it?

You like to keep trophies
of your conquests -

letters, photographs.

V is sexual conquest.

And it is everywhere
in your diaries.

No, no, no.

It's nothing to do with that.

Well, then what is it?

Because it isn't, erm...

..flowers.

It's private.

Private?

Innocent, like the violent upsurges?

Do you know the difference
between the truth and a lie?

Yes, I do.

And I've heard my husband lie
in this court.

This action brought by my husband,
it's not merely about divorce.

He doesn't care about infidelities,
he doesn't care about affairs.

The only thing he cares about
is destroying me.

He wants nothing less than
my total ruination

and all I've ever tried
to do is help him.

And yet you lied constantly
throughout your marriage.

You lied about the paternity
of your husband's sons

and, for what I can only imagine
is good measure, defamed

the moral character of their mother.

You lied about your own stepmother,

the most egregious lies.

You claimed that she and your
husband were "having an affair."

You are a liar, aren't you?

You're lying now about your lovers
and you are lying about

the polaroid photograph because,
as this court has shown,

the man in the photograph is not
your husband, as you claimed.

But the woman in the photograph,
that is you, isn't it?

Yes, it's me.

Those are my pearls. That's my ring.

That's my bathroom.

That woman is me.

Well, well.

There we are, then.

I believe I'm not the only one
to have no further questions.

The Defender may step down.

In this application for divorce on
the grounds of adultery,

I have considered the evidence
and testimonies of both

Pursuer, Ian Campbell,
Duke of Argyll,

and the Defender, Margaret Campbell,
Duchess of Argyll.

Concerning the Duchess,

I consider her to be
a highly-sexed woman, who had

ceased to be satisfied with
normal relations

and had started to indulge
in disgusting sexual activities

to gratify a debased
sexual appetite.

Evidence was supplied in
the form of diaries,

letters and Polaroid photographs.

The man or men depicted cannot be
identified as the angle

of the images exclude the head.

And that the Defender and the man or
men depicted were indulging in

a gross form of
sexual relationship.

There is enough in her own
few admissions and proven facts

to establish that she was
a completely promiscuous woman,

whose sexual appetite could only
be satisfied with a number of men,

whose promiscuity had led to
a queer form of perversion

and whose attitude to the sanctity
of marriage was what

the moderns might call sophisticated
but what in plain language

could only be described
as wholly immoral.

I find that the Duchess
has committed adultery

with several men,

including the man or men in
the Polaroid photographs.

But I grant the Duke his divorce on
the grounds of his wife's adultery

with Peter Combe.

The Duke will pay one eighth
of the expense,

the Duchess to pay the rest.

Did he marry you for love
or for money?

I... I don't know.

I simply don't know.

I knew I loved him.

I knew I wanted to save Inveraray,

desperately badly.

What he felt, I don't know.

You're The Top
by Jeanne Aubert & Jack Whiting