All language subtitles for Upstairs Downstairs S02E03 Married Love WEB-DL DDP2 0 H 264-squalor (1)_track3_[eng]

[chamber music]

- What's this?

- Bootlaces, silly.

What did you think
they was, licorice?

- Are you sauteeing them?

- That's right.

- Not the first of April, is it?

- Where was you before
you come here?

A gentleman always has
his bootlaces ironed.

- No wonder we're in
for a revolution.

- Oh, use a cloth, silly.

When you've done that,
don't forget to iron

the newspapers.

- You wouldn't like me to do
the bacon as well, would you?

- Sugar bowl's empty again.

- Oh, about as much
room in this kitchen

as the black hole of Calcutta.

- Perhaps you wouldn't mind
handing me down the sugar

Mrs. Fellows.

- Can't do more than
one thing at a time,

not with my leg.

Never been anywhere without
a kitchen maid before.

It's not as if they
were poor people.

I've told lady Marjorie once,

I've told her a dozen times,

I wasn't used to heavy work.

- Here you are.

I'll do the papers later,

along with the postage stamps.

- Oh, Mrs. Fellows,

did you remember to order
any more thick-cut marmalade?

- No, I can't remember
everything.

- Not with my leg.

[yells]

- Rose!

That's your fault!

- Then I will just have
to do them again,

then, won't I?

- When, Lawrence?

- Later on.

When we're more settled.

I'm sure it shouldn't.

- What?

What shouldn't what?

- Shouldn't worry you so much.

- We're husband and wife.

At least everybody
thinks we are.

- Oh, perhaps we should
have stayed just two people.

- Two children, I'm
afraid you mean, Lawrence.

- You said yourself, Elizabeth,

that marriage is an
out of date shibboleth.

- But darling, if we'd
simply lived together,

I would still have wanted you

to make, make a woman of me.

- Oh, what a fatuous expression.

- I don't know any other
way to say it.

- Well, I should think not.

Something positively unhealthy
with your preoccupation

with this, this...

- Goodness gracious,

is this really Lawrence
Kirbridge, the Fabian poet?

What about you and
Evelyn Lockett?

- That was not as you imagine,

and I prefer not to
compare you with Evelyn.

- Why not?

- Because a pure woman
is not supposed to care

for such, such...

- So, neither of our
mothers is a pure woman.

- Oh, now, please, don't
try to be clever.

We have no way of knowing
what our mothers

may or may not have felt,

and I for one prefer not
to contemplate anything so

bizarre.

- Lawrence, Lawrence, if
you could hear yourself.

- Of course I can hear myself.

- In Vienna, you said:

"When we get home, when
we're in our own house,

"I'll marry you."

- Elizabeth, weren't
you happy in Vienna?

- What's that got to do with it?

- A great deal, weren't you?

- Most of the time.

- I thought it was idyllic.

- I suppose so.

- Wasn't that enough for you?

- Enough?

- Holding your precious
hands all night,

reciting poetry to
you, kissing you.

I love you too tenderly,
too chastely,

to,

to submit you to anything...

Crude.

For me, it's bliss enough just,

just...

What's the matter, don't
you want me to?

- Of course I do,
darling, but it,

it makes me want...

- Well perhaps you're not well.

- Oh, it just gives out on me

when I'm least expecting it.

The doctor at my last place
said I was lucky to be walking.

- Hey, that smells good.

- Yeah, you've had
your breakfast.

- Ey, well I never say
no to second helpings.

- Get on with you.

- Takes me back to my
old Mam's kitchen

in Abergavenny, that.

- Thomas, I'll do that.

You get your master dressed,

or all my nice breakfast
will spoil.

- What about your
leg, Mrs. Fellows?

- I can lift an iron.

- Mrs. Fellows I right.

You must get them dressed,
I'm all behind hand.

Wake up, handsome.

- Oh, it's a lovely
bit of linen, that.

[sniffs]

- Oh my God!

Ooh!

[gasps]

- I've laid out the town coat,
sir, and the lilac cravat.

- Tre just.

- There's a train to
London Bridge at 9:57 sir,

or a boat from the pier--

- No, no, not the boat.

Something terribly hoi
polloi about those boats.

More suited to a day
trip to South End

than a descent on
one's publisher.

- Yes sir.

I draw the bath sir.

Will there be anything else?

- No, not just for the
moment, thank you.

Oh yes, you might come
scrub my back.

- I'm sorry I'm a bit
behind, Miss Lizzy.

Mrs. Fellows had an
accident with the eggs.

Are you alright?

- Yes of course, why
shouldn't I be?

- We better get you dressed.

- Why?

- Well, for breakfast.

- I'm not hungry.

- Oh.

Would you like me to bring you
a little something on a tray.

- You can bring me a little
appetite to eat it with.

Oh, don't worry Rose,
I'll go down like this.

- Oh.

- What's wrong?

- None of my business, Madame.

- We shall need the brown
smoking jacket clean, Thomas.

There's ink on my
writing sleeve.

- I'll see to it this
afternoon, sir.

- I'm having a little
soiree on Friday week,

in the evening.

Just a few brother
poets, men of the world.

- Right you are, sir.

- You may scrub with
a will, Thomas,

I'm not made of porcelain.

- I was just a bit
afraid of you, uh,

cutting your throat, sir.

- Yes, well I'll look
after this end.

- Right you are, sir.

- Ah, that's better.

Stimulates the circulation.

- Yes sir.

This, this soiree, sir?

- Champagne, I think,
Thomas, pink champagne.

And have Mrs. Fellows
provide a few little things

for a light supper
roundabout eleven.

- Right you are, sir.

- I didn't ask you to stop.

- No, no, I was just
thinkin' about the time, sir.

- Oh, good Lord, what
time's the train

after the nine-fifty-whatever?

- Well, there isn't one sir,

not to get you to Sir
Edwin's office by eleven.

- Damn.

I daren't keep him waiting,
it's only my first book.

- You, uh,

ever thought about a
little motor-car, sir?

- A little ostentatious,
don't you think, Thomas?

Rather bourgeois?

- Well, sir, Mr. Bellamy,
you know.

- He's a politician!

Be most unseemly for a
poet to proceed everywhere

by a series of explosions.

- Yes sir.

I was just thinking you wouldn't
have to trouble yourself

about train timetables, sir.

- Yes I dare say a
little motor-car

brings its own troubles.

- Not when you have a man
that understands them, though.

- Yes, well you are a
very modern valet, Thomas,

but even you should
realize that a poet

- Has wings.

I know, you're gonna need
'em this morning, sir.

- I was going to say that a poet

cannot afford the
same extravagances

as a politician.

- No sir, not even when
he's married to

a politician's daughter?

- Don't overreach
yourself, Thomas.

- Oh, I only try to
give satisfaction, sir.

- Well, mostly you succeed.

-[Lawrence] Good God,

what on Earth's happened
to the newspaper?

-[Thomas] Very sorry,
sir, bit of an accident.

Won't happen again.

Mrs. Fellows' leg, you see.

- I don't begin to understand.

- Good morning, Sir.

- Good morning, Rose.

There's nothing wrong
with your leg, I trust.

- No sir, thank-you, sir.

- Are you going out
again, Lawrence?

- Yes, Sir Edwin wants to see me

about the collected edition.

- Again?

- As a matter of fact, poets
work better on the move.

I get some of my best rhythms
from the railway track.

- When am I to have
the pleasure?

- Hmm?

- Of meeting this
famous Sir Edwin?

- Oh, next week, possibly,
if he accepts.

We're giving a little soiree
to herald the publication.

- Are we?

I'll speak to Mrs.
Fellows about it.

- Well, I've already
spoken to Thomas.

- Thank you.

When will you be requiring
me again?

- Hmm?

- Perhaps I phrased it wrongly.

Will you be requiring me again?

- Now, please, Elizabeth,

don't be childish.

- No, we must be very
grown-up people, mustn't we?

Have you any idea, Lawrence,
why we got married?

- This is a bad moment to
examine our consciences.

I've got a train to catch
at nine-fifty-whatever.

- It's always a bad moment.

At night you're too
busy writing,

in the morning you're
hurrying up to London,

the weekends you spend
with the Ansties.

Could I have an appointment,
please?

- You cannot expect married life

to be all daisies, you know.

- Haven't seen a single
daisy so far.

Well say something, do.

Leave me with some poetic gem

that I can meditate on all day.

- I wish you'd dress
for breakfast.

- Is that the best you can do.

- It is if you want to
behave like a poule deluxe.

- No, Lawrence, I'd
much rather behave

as a wife and mother.

Is that so extraordinary?

- It's something we
never discussed.

- I know.

I must have taken
it for granted.

What on earth did we
talk about, Lawrence?

I have the impression
we talked incessantly.

What was it all about?

- I'm sorry Elizabeth,

but I'm really gonna
have to dash.

- And leave all that
delectable nourishment?

- A man must work?

- And woman must weep.

- It doesn't necessarily follow.

- I'm afraid you don't
love me, Lawrence.

- Oh bosh, utter bosh.

- Then why?

- Why what?

- Why shouldn't you want
just to make something

of our very own that
we could share?

- You cannot love little
lumps of flesh

and what are babies else?

Doctor Johnson.

- Don't be patronizing.

Anyway, I believe it
not absolutely essential

to have babies at first,

if we,

if one is careful.

- Oh God, Elizabeth,
not at breakfast!

- You won't talk
about it in bed.

- You should see a doctor.

- Whatever for?

- You seem to be out of sorts.

- What a stunning observation!

- Elizabeth, I do
detest sarcasm.

- And I detest being relegated

to the position of
a decorative doll.

Especially since I don't
feel particularly decorative.

- I'm sorry to have to say this,

but you seem to me to
be developing a wayward,

morbid disposition.

Restiveness I am accustomed
to regard

as an unwelcome quality,
whether in women

or horses.

- Oh!

- You dwell constantly on
your own selfish desires

without a thought for the
enormous responsibilities

that I have to face
with the publication

of my first book.

You're content to send
me out of the house late

and with mounting
blood-pressure...

I am afraid that you've been
spoiled by a doting father

but I for one, Elizabeth,
I for one am not

going to encourage you.

- You accuse me of selfishness?

Not once have you give
into my wishes, not once!

I am fast becoming your
doormat, Lawrence,

for you to wipe your shoes on.

- Silence, Elizabeth!

The servants'll hear you.

- You afraid of witnesses!

Go on, trample on me,
you might as well.

Raise your fists to me

like any common collier!

At least to express
some feeling!

- Oh yes, yes, yes, you'd
like that, wouldn't you?

Physical violence, that
would really please you.

You're ill, Elizabeth.

- And you, Lawrence?

Is there nothing wrong with you?

- Nine thirty precisely, sir,

and fifteen minutes'
walk to the station

should just about do it

if you put your best
foot forward.

Might I ask what time you'll
be back for dinner, sir?

- Frankly, I have no idea.

- Well the clouds burst
up there, alright.

- What do you mean?

- "Silence, Elizabeth!"

- What?

- That was him, like my old
Dad it was Saturday night,

and she'll yelling back
like a bally fishwife,

called him a common collier.

- Well I never.

- What was you doin'?

Standin' listenin'?

- Nothing of the sort,

I was on my way to tell
'im time was getting on.

You're ill Elizabeth, he said.

She burst into tears
and run upstairs,

she nearly knocked me over.

[bell rings]

I wouldn't be in
your shoes, Rose.

- Don't talk such nonsense,

and stop your gossiping.

It's none of our affair
what goes on upstairs.

Like Mr. Hudson always says,

we've got our own
business to mind.

Probably just a lovers' tiff.

You'd do best to get about
your work the pair of you.

- I don't take all this
from you, my girl.

- And I don't take part in
kitchen gossip, neither.

- Ooh, milady high and mighty.

- Now, Rose talks
enough good sense.

- Where have you been?

- Coming upstairs, Miss Lizzy.

- You're getting as
slow as an elephant.

- Sorry, Madame.

- And I hate you calling
me Madame.

- Yes, Miss Lizzy.

- We better get dressed.

- Cream day dress, Miss Lizzy?

- No, the orange one.

- Oh.

Are you going out, Miss Lizzy?

- No, I just feel
like dressing up.

Might make me feel as if
I have something to do.

- Why not trot up to London?

See Miss Winchmore?

- Trot?

- Do you good.

You could get a river bus.

- Yech.

- Thomas was only saying
that what you and master need

is a nice little motor-car

so he could chauffer Mr.
Kirbridge to the station

in the morning, then take
you for a little spin

in the afternoon.

- We can't afford one.

- Thomas says that your
father would appreciate

the advantages to his daughter

of being able to get
out and see your family.

- Thomas says, does he?

- Hmm.

He knows ever such a
lot about motor-cars.

- There are heavy
running expenses, surely.

- Oh, well Thomas says

that you tax the vehicle
for a pound,

take out a road license
for two guineas,

a license to drive
for five shillings,

and Bob's your uncle.

- And Thomas is your chauffeur.

He's a shrewd young
man, I believe.

- Oh, there's no harm in him.

He says you'd look a treat
in a motoring bonnet.

- Does he?

- Bowling along in the
breeze'd soon put the roses

back in your cheeks, Miss Lizzy.

Master'd be sure to like that.

- Would he?

Perhaps you're right.

I have rather gone to seed.

I shall have to speak
to him about it.

- To Thomas?

- No, silly, to Mr. Kirbridge.

- Ah.

- Rose?

- Hm?

- When I caught you
the other night,

you and Thomas...

- I have apologized for
that, Miss Lizzy.

It won't occur again.

- It's alright, I'm
not going to scold you.

Although, if I hadn't
come down when I did...

- It was only a bit of fun.

I wouldn't do anything not
proper, not before I was
married.

You ought to know that.

- Ah.

So you haven't ever...

- Never, Miss Lizzy,
of course not.

What're you thinking of?

- I don't know.

I thought perhaps you
might be able to help me.

- Help you?

- Don't you think men are
difficult to understand?

Oh, I don't mean fathers
and brothers and family,

but men!

Just men.

- Well, I wouldn't
know, Miss Lizzy.

Gentlemen is different
to servants.

- Don't you believe it, Rose.

- Oh, stands to reason.

I mean, men what haven't
been educated

all just want one thing.

That's what my aunty
used to say.

We have to suffer it.

- Do you think it would
be such suffering, Rose?

- Well I wouldn't know, Miss
Lizzy, I'm not a married woman.

- Your aunty

thought all men were the same?

- All working men.

- Well men are men,

whether they wear a clean shirt
once a day or once a week.

- Well that's what
my aunty said.

Why don't you ask your mother?

- Unfortunately Rose,

such things are not thought a
proper subject of conversation

between a mother
and her daughter.

That's why I'm asking you.

- Well.

My uncle was brutal,
my aunty used to say,

especially when he'd had a drop.

- I don't think that will ever
be Mr. Kirbridge's problem.

- Oh, I didn't mean.

What have you got me saying?

We shouldn't be talking
like this.

I've got a pile of ironing
to do in the kitchen.

- And Thomas will be there.

- I expect so.

- And he will tease,
he will make you laugh.

- And nothing, Miss Elizabeth.

He's got his work to
do, I've got mine.

- It would all be
so easy, so easy.

- I don't understand you.

- No, of course you don't.

Oh, I want...

I wish...

I'm sorry Rose, dear,
I'm behaving very badly.

I think we must forget
the whole conversation.

- Nothing like first
page proofs, hm?

- I feel like a father.

[laughs]

- In that case, I suppose
I am the midwife, hmm.

Will you have a glass
of Madeira?

- Oh, thank you.

- But we simply must make room

for some of these new,
Viennese ones you sent me.

There's a completely new voice,

a deeper sounding of experience.

Marriage agrees with
you, my dear.

There are some things
I don't understand.

There you are.

For instance, um, this,

in Sonnet of Grinzing,

which by the way is
not a sonnet at all.

- Well I didn't mean
it technically.

- Well never mind,

but now, these lines, now,

pray elucidate my dear,

"When we come near
enough to touch

"all beauty flies away.

"And when we draw
to nigh the fount,

"The string of life's decay."

Well now, is that descriptive

of the fount, or what?

- No, no, it's a verb.

The spring of life is decay.

- Oh, I see.

Sour thoughts for a young
man on his honeymoon, hm.

And then there's this curiosity.

[chuckles]

Well, this we'll definitely
leave out.

- Which?

- Venus arising from a zinc tub.

Oh.

Very Degas my dear,

but I don't think the
public is quite ready

for this sort of thing.

"Bright botted cherry never saw

"such vegetable stew,"

now Lawrence, that's naughty.

Venus arising from her bath

is not a vegetable stew.

- I meant the flesh,

all overcooked.

- It's sad stuff, my dear.

- One day, you'll be able
to print such things.

- Oh, I can print them alright,

but nobody would buy them.

Were you in your cups
when you wrote it

or was it meant to be funny?

- Neither.

- Well, my genius,

you must learn to hoard
all such aperçus

until you're in the
sere and yellow.

A young man

with, they tell me, a
ravishingly beautiful young
wife,

can do without such
bilious thoughts.

His public won't appreciate it.

- I must write as I feel.

Sir Edwin, I was thinking
of holding a little soiree

on Friday week,

and I was wondering if
you'd do me the honor...

- Delighted, I should
like nothing better.

Let me just consult
my book of penance.

I'm most anxious to
meet your bride.

- I thought about asking
a few of the fellows,

Monroe, perhaps, Wolf,
if he'd come.

Abercrombie.

- My great good fortune,
I find I have

no other engagements.

Um, may I suggest
we ask Thompkins

of the Morning Post, mm?

He has dandruff, but a
great deal of influence.

And that precious young creature

from the Saturday Review, hm?

- Now, am I to correct these?

- Naturally.

Take them home and
share the pleasure

with your proud lady.

- May I do it here?

I promise I won't disturb you.

- I dare say we can
find you a corner.

Lawrence, is something wrong?

You know I'm unofficial
godfather to all my proteges.

Sometimes a few words
with an older man...

- I wouldn't want to
burden you, sir.

- But that's one of my
functions, burden bearer

to the muse, hm?

- Oh, I don't know.

- No, there is something.

Come, I insist, please.

- I sometimes think

that I'm not the sort of man

who should have ever
have gotten married.

- Ah.

Yes, I must say I suspected
something of the sort

from these.

- You said marriage
seemed to agree with me.

- Oh, I was probing my dear.

Gently, I hope.

And from a publisher's
point of view,

anything which makes a
poet write better poetry

is agreeable.

But that's far too cruel an
attitude for me to maintain

with a young man for whom
I have a high regard.

- I like Elizabeth so very much,

it only makes me feel
more of a cad.

- Well what is the nature
of the problem, exactly?

I mean it can't just
be that she has

a bath-water too hot?

Oh, forgive the levity.

Have some more medicine, hmm.

- I suppose...

Oh, I don't know.

I suppose one's just too
poetical about life altogether.

It's all in the mind,
in visions.

Like Swinburne.

Anything practical revolts me.

- So the honeymoon was
a bit of a shock to you.

- More or less.

- But if you love each other

you may reach a modus
vivendi in time.

- No, I don't think so.

Elizabeth has a very,

well, a very physical nature.

I don't think she'd
ever be happy

with a platonic arrangement.

- Oh.

- In fact, I think it may
be making her rather ill.

- Oh, my dear.

You've talked about it.

- A little, yes.

- Brave.

- And the worst part
of it is I cannot work.

I haven't written a
line worth repeating

since we've been to Greenwich.

Everything's just
gone out of me.

I see those great
reproachful eyes

and,

if only a,

it's no good.

That side of her nature
revolts me.

- I deeply sympathize.

Although thank God I
do not share your,

well,

to borrow a phrase
from friend Freud,

the Swinburne Complex.

- What can I do?

- Oh, for the moment, nothing.

And certainly nothing
that disgusts you.

That will only succeed
in disgusting her,

and then we shall have two
sad youngsters on our hands.

It'll be a thousand pities

if she were to sacrifice
her warm nature.

Fond as I am of you, my dear,

I am torn for the two of you.

- I have no wish to
keep her from her

well, I suppose her needs.

I just know that it's
not in me to,

I cannot,

I cannot see her in that light.

I love and respect
her far too much.

You have befriended me.

Could you?

- Befriend her?

[whistling]

- Oh Thomas, did your
master say what time

he would be home?

- Uh, no marm.

- I think we better wait dinner.

- It's only cold meats.

- We had cold meats last night.

I thought we agreed
that you'd make it

into some nice little pie.

- Well I can't always
keep things hot, Madame,

they spoil.

Spoiled a good joint of beef

the day before yesterday.

- Mister Kirbridge particularly
detests cold meats.

If we are to have cold,

what is the matter with
a lobster salad?

- Well I have to keep
within my budget, Madame.

You wouldn't like it
at the end of the week.

- You have absolutely no right

to alter the menus without
consulting me.

It's unheard of.

Mister Kirbridge has a
particularly sensitive palate.

A diet of cold meat and potatoes

will end up by driving
him to dine at his club

every night of the week.

- If Mister Kirbridge is
going to be very late,

well, perhaps there will be time

to make it into something nice.

- Who's askin' you, Rose?

- We don't know for certain

that he's going to
be late at all.

- Well there you
are then, Madame.

What am I to do?

- Oh, use some imagination
Mrs. Fellows.

I'm sure Mrs. Bridges
would've had a solution.

- I don't stand for
no comparisons.

I was engaged for good plain
cooking, nothing fancy.

- For heaven's sake, is
nobody going to listen to me,

upstairs or down?

Thomas you can come
and make up the fire

when your master comes in.

- Yes marm.

Oh, that'll be him now, marm.

- It's alright, I'll let him in.

- Elizabeth.

Where are the servants?

- I wanted to welcome
you home myself.

Don't you think a day might come

when ladies open their
own front doors

as a matter of course?

- Dangerous socialism.

- Your coat, sir?

Lawrence.

I'm sorry about this morning.

- Oh, that's alright.

So am I, really.

- It was just the thought
of your being out all day.

- Oh, most husbands
go out every day.

Presumably their wives
occupy themselves somehow.

Now, you've got a household
to manage.

- Oh, that.

Lawrence.

- Hm?

- Do want us to share
things, still.

The books, your poems.

- Of course, dear.

- We seem to be slipping
into the very trap

we wanted to avoid.

We're becoming a dull
suburban couple

with about as much interest
in Mr. Welles'

modern utopia as
a couple of mice.

- Mr. Welles doesn't have
all the answers, you know.

- We no longer even discuss
the questions.

I see nobody.

- But you shall, I promise you.

To begin with, Sir Edwin
is coming to our party.

- Oh good.

- I'm sure you'll like him.

- I mean to, if you do.

- He's an incredibly
understanding man.

Elegant and wise and
oh, man of the world.

- Don't frighten me.

- Oh, you couldn't be
frightened of Edwin.

He's asked me to drop
the sir, by the way.

- Lawrence, I was thinking,

if we had a little motor-car.

[laughs]

- You mean Thomas was thinking

if we had a little motor-car.

We cannot afford it.

- Perhaps Papa.

After all, my allowance
is not ungenerous,

and I may spend it how I like.

- But they're such beastly,
vulgar things.

- Do you think so?

- Oh, don't you?

- Oh, Thomas,

Mr. Kirbridge and I were
just discussing motor cars.

Do you know something
about them?

- Many fashionable people
consider them amusing, marm.

- Really?

- Yes, I daresay we'll
see one or two

roll up for the soiree
next week.

- I'm sure Sir Edwin has one.

- Oh, perhaps, I don't know.

He's a very rich man.

- We're not exactly
paupers, darling.

- If I might add, sir,

there's a saving
on railway fares,

and you're free to go where
you like, when you like.

- If you like.

Provided the beastly thing
doesn't break down on the way.

- Oh, they're getting more
reliable every year, sir.

A friend of mine
who deals in them

was showing me this little
Dennis Tourer the other day,

sir, 18 horsepower.

- 18 horsepower.

Fancy!

- You seem to be becoming a
very knowledgeable mechanic,

all of a sudden, Elizabeth.

- Lawrence, anyone can
imagine horsepower.

It's the most evocative phrase.

As I would expect
you to appreciate.

- Well I appreciate the fact
that horses don't puncture.

- Horses need a great
deal of care, sir.

- And you can't pretend
they don't smell.

- Well, it's a more natural
smell than petrol gas.

- But hardly more attractive.

- It's the uh,

the coming thing,
I'm afraid, sir.

In a few years time,

nobody'll remember how
to harness a horse.

Why, there's already as many
motor-buses as horse-buses,

motor taxis as hansoms,

only three years ago there
was only two in the whole

of London, sir,

I mean you'd think the
tram or the tube

will have taken over.

- Yes.

Yes, thank you, Thomas.

- Yes sir.

- I should like a motor-car,
Lawrence.

- That will be all, Thomas.

- And I shall pay for it
out of my own allowance,

I know father will advance
me what I need.

- Thomas.

- And Thomas will make
an excellent chauffeur.

- Oh, only to oblige, marm.

- If I wanted a chauffeur,
I'd have advertised for one.

- Very sorry, sir, only
thinking for the best.

And it'd do Mrs. Kirbridge
good to get out

and about sir.

- I cannot fight a conspiracy.

Alright.

Let her have her toys.

[honks]

[honks]

- My turn!

- What was that, marm?

- My turn to drive!

- You think you can do it, marm?

- Of course, I've been
studying your every move.

That little pedal makes it go.

You do funny things
with that little stick.

- Little stick, that's
the gear lever, yes marm.

- But I can almost hear
the point of it.

And when the seems fit
to burst it's sides,

you dab on this little
thing with your foot.

- Clutch.

- And give the little
stick a jerk,

and the whole thing quiets down

as if it had had a dose
of smelling salts.

- Yes, well, it's not
a very mechanical

description, is it marm?

- Come on, change over!

- Now look marm, whatever
would the master say?

- The master won't know.

- Now when I turn her over,

push that little lever
forward, right?

- Right.

[motor starts]

- Now you want to
go careful, marm,

cause you've got the power of
18 horses under there, see?

- Stunning!

Now, what do I do first?

- Right, foot on the clutch,

all the way down,

now then, into first gear,

with the gear lever.

That's it.

And foot off the clutch,
now, there you are, you see?

Slowly!

Sorry!

- I just need to master
the steering.

Such a little movement
makes it go such a long way.

- Yes, yes, marm.

- Are you alright, Thomas?

You weren't nervous were you?

Oh, I thought it
was exhilarating.

- Exhilarating.

Yes.

Oh yes, that's the word.

It'll be a flying machine
next, I shouldn't wonder.

[laughs]

- So you don't regret leaving
Eden Place for a while?

- Oh I'm always happy
wherever I'm busy, milady.

- You're a good girl, Rose.

And it's so important
for Mrs. Kirbridge

at such a happy time in her life

to have a happy staff round her.

- Yes, Milady.

- Hello Pierce, I'm late!

Her Ladyship's not been ten
minutes, Mrs. Kirbridge.

- Good!

What do you think of
my new motor-car?

- Very handle little
conveyance, Ma'am!

- Goes like the wind!

- Ah.

- Oh, that'll be Mrs.
Kirbridge now, Milady.

Would you excuse me
while I answer the door?

- Yes, Rose.

- Mama!

What a lovely surprise!

I shan't be two minutes,

I must just remove these things,

I'm covered in dust.

- You look like a Valkyrie.

- I shan't be long.

Rose!

Oh Rose, come help me
off with this armor

and ask Thomas to
bring the kettle.

- Thomas,

you're to take the kettle
up to the drawing room!

[door slams]

- Excuse my attire, Milady.

Mrs. Kirbridge has just
been for a drive.

- That's alright.

Thomas, isn't it.

- Yes, Milady.

- How was the drive?

- Oh, very satisfactory, Milady.

Though, not I dare say,
so smooth as the Renault.

- Oh, you think highly
of the Renault?

- Oh, it's a beautiful
piece of craftsmanship.

- Would you put it above
an English model?

- Well, we're catching
up, Milady,

but there's no denying the
foreigners lead the way.

- But you advised Mrs.
Kirbridge to buy a Dennis,

I believe.

- Oh, well, because it's
a first-rate little tool,

Milady, it's well-adapted
to the usage Mrs. Kirbridge

had in mind.

- But a Renault is something
different?

- The Renault?

A Renault is a princess, Milady.

It should be handled
with love and reverence.

- It's a pity Pierce
can't hear you.

He drives it as if it
were a team of horses.

And unfortunately a tired
carburetor will not respond

to the whip.

- Your ladyship obviously
has a great feeling

for the internal combustion
engine.

- Oh, not so much.

- Mrs. Kirbridge, too.

- Oh has Mrs. Kirbridge...

- Mrs. Kirbridge will make
an excellent mechanic.

- Oh, Thomas, that
was wonderful!

- It's done you good, Marm.

- Darling, I hear you've
been risking life and limb.

- It was exhilarating.

And quite safe, with Thomas.

- Oh, kitchen fire needs coals.

What's up with you?

Look like you've seen a vision.

- I have.

- Go on, where?

- It's parked outside
the front door.

- Oh, you and your blooming
motor-cars.

Why can't you be satisfied
with the one you've got.

- Oh, that perambulator?

- Oh, look at you.

It was the last word
on wheels this mornin'.

- Never heard of divine
discontent, Rose?

- What's that?

- Plenty of scope in
a place like that.

- Good evening, sir.

- Good evening.

- Edwin!

You found us then in our
little suburban hideaway.

- My chauffeur has a
nose like a compass.

- Well there's beer for
him at the Green Man.

- I daresay he'll locate
that too at the moment.

He's engaged in a delicate
stabling maneuver.

It's like a motor-show
out there.

- Yes, alas, single-handedly

I've been unable to stem
the tide of progress.

- Now, Lawrence my dear,

you mustn't become an old Whig.

William Morris is dead,
it's no longer de rigeur

to weave our own winding sheets.

Herbert!

Nice to see you.

Charlie, heart, how's
your poor mother?

Oh, God, really?

Thompkins!

Good to see a man of your taste

patronizing the avant garde.

I shall renew my subscription
to the Morning Post tomorrow.

Oh, thank you my dear.

- As yet, poetry has
not come to grips

with the ordinary life of
the working classes, but...

Excuse me.

- Elizabeth, let me introduce
my friend and publisher,

Sir Edwin Partridge.

- And not only Lawrence's
friend, I hope, Mrs. Kirbridge.

- It was good of you
to come, Sir Edwin.

- No, no, Edwin.

Please, if you can bear it.

I think the reason most children
howl at their christening

is they can't bear the
names they've been given,

don't you?

[all laugh]

Although I'd be very
surprised to hear

that you misbehaved at yours.

Elizabeth suits you perfectly.

- Thank you.

- And please, don't think
I'm one of those boring

men who can't meet a woman
without paying a compliment.

I am the plain dealer
to my very soul,

and when I say Lawrence
is one of the brightest

new poets since Bridges
and his wife a vision

of loveliness, please understand

I am being no more than
crudely factual.

- You overwhelm us, Sir Edwin.

- No, no, Edwin, I insist.

Or, you must invent
a name for me.

Hm?

Invented names are
all the fashion.

To be even plainer with
you, Elizabeth,

I owe my knighthood to the fact

that I lent the liberal
party a large printing press

before the last election,

it has no pedigree at all.

But it's useful for
impressing head waiters.

[laughs]

Um, Lawrence, far be it
for me to deny myself

your company, but I think
the more you accommodate

brother Thompkins, the
better to my sales

and your royalties.

- You see, I told you he
had our interests at heart.

- Evidently.

- Yes.

Shall we sit this one
out, Elizabeth?

- Why not?

- You seem to be the lone woman

in a sea of masculinity.

- I'm afraid so, wasn't my idea.

- There are women writers,
of course,

but they generally turn
out to be governesses

or spinster companions

or dull company of some sort.

- What about Mrs. Browning?

- Oh, what indeed?

- The Brontes.

- Oh, yes, I was thinking
of poets.

- Emma L?

- Yes, the exception
to every rule, yes.

Don't you uh,

don't you find hers a very
masculine talent, Elizabeth?

- I admit no difference
between the sexes

in matters of talent.

- Do you?

Oh, you surprise me.

I find the greatest charm
is in their difference.

Now please don't
misunderstand me.

I'm in no sense undervaluing
the woman's role in life

and affairs.

Hm, no.

Without women, I doubt if we men

would do any of the
things we do.

Govern, make wars, build,
write, compose, no, no, no.

Woman is the lodestar to whom
man in his darkness turns.

Where would Lawrence's
verse be without you?

- Pretty much where it was
before he met me, I expect.

- Oh, no.

You undervalue yourself,
Elizabeth.

The poems he's written
since his honeymoon

show an entirely new
depth, don't you agree?

- I.

- Well?

- I didn't know he'd
written any.

- Oh.

He hasn't shown them to you.

- No.

- Well, one can understand that,

when one is fishing in
one's troubled soul.

There it is.

You bear a great
responsibility, Elizabeth,

like Dante's Beatrice or
Shakespeare's dark lady.

- They were not married.

I fear the wife has to be
content with the second respite.

- Oh, witty!

How could he fail to
marry you, poor chap,

when you pile wit and
knowledge on top of beauty?

- Here, who's he?

- Sir Edwin Partridge,
the master's publisher.

- I think he's lovely.

- Aye, well he's an old fox.

You take Rose, he'll
have your chickens

if you're not careful.

- Oh, you're all wicked.

- Aye, so is he, you
mark my words.

[party noise and piano]

- Give us a little
Debussy, Marcus.

- Oh, rot that modernistic
stuff,

let's have the Merry
Widow Waltz.

[laughs]

[piano music]

- No, no, such seductiveness
as yours

is sheer cruelty to
poets, Elizabeth.

And ought to be put down
by an act of Parliament.

- I don't care much for
being teased, Sir Edwin.

And I'm afraid light
banter is not my forte,

I shall bore you.

Excuse me.

- Mine neither, Elizabeth.

It's a performance I've acquired

to compensate for a
hideous bashfulness.

Beneath the peacock
is a partridge

and a very humble one.

If I let him out too
often, he'll be shot.

Try to understand.

And tell me about Vienna.

- Vienna is glorious,
but somehow.

You will think me very earnest.

- Somehow poised for a decline.

There's a smell of
death in the air.

- Something like that.

How did you know?

- I was there last season.

- You felt it too?

- What sensitive person
could fail to?

- I don't think Lawrence did?

- Ah, Lawrence, no doubt,
had other preoccupations,

interior ones.

- Does he tell you about
his preoccupations?

- He doesn't need to.

He speaks in his verse.

Isn't this an atrocious melody?

No lean meat, only fat, it
sums up our year, I'm afraid.

Confess, you didn't expect
me to be a critic of the age.

- No.

- You must learn to ignore
appearances, Elizabeth.

Your honest Iago is
very often Iago.

And your fool may be
as wise as Lear is.

Now please, say something,

to stop me talking so much.

With a woman of your character,

I'm always afraid of
making an idiot of myself.

- Are you going to
give us a foretaste

of these new verses.

- When I've had a
few more of these.

[laugh]

- We're gonna need the
[inaudible] another

wedding breakfast before
this night's out, Rose.

- I've never known
such a thirsty lot.

- Ah, well, they're
artists, you see.

They see life true,

so they can't face it sober.

- Miss Lizzy's already had
more than is good for her.

I never known her so tiddly.

- Yeah, the Master ought
to take more care of her.

I'd allow no man to
flirt with my wife

under my very nose.

There you are, that's the
next installment of gaiety.

Hang on, hang on a minute.

Oughtta taste it first,

make sure it's not corked.

♪ Over and over

♪ Quick to fly

♪ Over and over quick

- Sh, sh, sh, sh, lady present.

- Lady present and preoccupied.

Sir Edwin seems to be in
love [inaudible] your wife,

Lawrence.

- Oh, they both have an
excellent taste in people.

- It's all in dreamy
white porcelain.

Head of a child,

it's the divinest thing
you ever saw.

I fell in love with it,

so lovely Lawrence
bought it for me.

Hello, lovely Lawrence.

- Lawrence my dear,
come and join us.

Elizabeth was just telling me

of a piece of Capodimonte
you picked up in Vienna.

- Picked up, yes, that's
rather an understatement.

- It's too heavenly.

I've discovered Sir Edwin is
a connoisseur of porcelain.

- Sir Edwin's a connoisseur
of everything.

- I should simply
adore to see it.

- Unfortunately, it's
in our bedroom,

and I hardly dare to
fetch it down here.

- Come my children,
lead me the way,

I have not come all
the way to Greenwich

to be denied the sight of
a piece of Capodimonte.

- Lawrence could show you.

- No, no, I must have it
displayed by its owner.

Lawrence, like so many poets,
has no visual sense at all.

Isn't it sad how an
overdevelopment of one sense

can so often lead to an
undernourishment of another?

Did you know that Swinburne
was tone deaf?

But that is where we
connoisseurs come into our own.

All our sensibilities are
equally well-nourished.

- Thomas, keep the
champagne in circulation,

I shall be back directly.

- Yes sir.

- There.

- Oh.

May I touch?

- Of course.

- Oh, it's exquisite.

But I think a Bernard
Cavalier, almost certainly,

you know.

It's innocence takes
one's breath away.

Eh, Lawrence?

- Oh, Lawrence doesn't
like children.

- Heaven lies about us
in our infancy, Lawrence.

- I don't disapprove of
childhood, only children.

- That's beautiful.

I, I almost feel,

Elizabeth, don't you
sometimes think,

in the half-light?

- How could you guess?

- Oh, what an exquisite dream

for an exquisite dreamer.

- Why suffer still
more muddy birth,

each pululating spring,

why water so the turning earth,

while peasants stamp and sing?

Let's close the book of life,

he said, let lovers
breed no more.

Let's laugh until
we all are dead,

and lie on caerwyn's shore.

[applause]

- Encore, peace, peace.

- If you want any more,
you'll have to buy the book.

- What'd you think of
them Mr. Thompkins?

- Too gloomy, negative,
won't do.

- I thought they had a
pleasant swing to them.

- So does the hangman's rope.

[laughter]

- Very glad you could drop by.

Goodbye.

- Bye, bye.

- Oh, my dear chap, you're
not going too?

- Time's winged chariot,
old man.

Herbert, race you back
to London-town.

- You're on for twenty.

- Done!

- I haven't said goodbye
to your wife.

- She was feeling rather tired,

uh, she begged to be excused.

- The boy has a new
voice, Thompkins,

don't you agree?

- It may be new.

- Now, now, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,

don't go wrong about this one.

Remember posterity always
has the last laugh.

- When's he coming out?

- In time for Christmas, I hope.

- Goodbye.

- Goodnight, Kirbdrige.

- Bye Mr. Thompkins.

- Interesting, interesting.

- Thank you, Lawrence,
for a delightful evening.

And please thank Elizabeth, too.

A woman of exquisite
sensibility, Lawrence.

You are to be envied.

- Am I, Edwin?

- Be tender.

Be gentle.

Be tolerant.

- That sounds like a poem.

- Life is a poem, Lawrence.

That is my credo.

Goodnight, my dear.

- Goodnight.

- Oh, my feet are killing me.

I feel as if I've walked to
land's end and back again.

Do you fancy a cup of cocoa?

- After champagne?

- Oh, I do.

Don't suppose I could
persuade you

to put the milk on the hob?

- No.

- Oh, that's nice.

Still, I don't suppose
I should have expected

a gentleman's gentleman
to demean himself.

You've gone quiet
all of a sudden.

- Aye, well there's been
enough babble in this house

to last a week in Babylon.

I'm not jokin'!

Your precious mistress!

- Well, what about her?

- Never you mind.

I got my eyes open, at any rate.

- What you on about?

- Our respected employers.

- What about them?

- They're like a couple of
children, playing with fire.

- Cause they drank
a lot of champagne

and spoke some rhymes out loud?

- You're too innocent, Rose.

- Pooh.

It's half past five.

Half past one.

We've got to get up
at half past five.

Hardly seems worth
what going to bed.

- I think they'll lie
in tomorrow, Rose.

- If wishes were horses.

- Ask young Lawrence to lay
out my dark suit, will you?

I'm going to his funeral.

- Your funeral, more like.

Ey, you might wait til
I've gone to bed.

- Good servants shouldn't
see such things, Rose.

- Wait a tick.

I'll take me cocoa up with me.

- Rose!

- What?

- Do you want to be a
servant all your life, love?

- I never thought about it.

- You got no ambition.

- I got a good enough place.

- If only you had a bit
of ambition, Rose.

You're not a bad looker,

if you let your hair down.

I seen worse in the corners
in the corners of the Empire.

- Yeah, you mind your manners.

- Don't you like me
just a little bit, Rose?

- As long as we've got
to work together.

- I don't fancy lingering
much longer in this place,

and that's a fact.

- Whyever not?

- There are places and places.

We ought to mind
our differences.

- You explain yourself
Tom Watkins,

you explain what you mean.

- Them as has ears to hear,

let 'em hear.

Goodnight, Rose.

- I don't understand you.

- Well give us a kiss, then.

- Not sure I want to.

- It'll take stronger than you

to hold my ropes, love.

- Oh!

[marching music]