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1931.

England and the Empire

are in the grips of the Great Depression,

But the British aristocracy
keeps calm and carries on.

None more so than the Davenports,

lords of Fackham Hall for over 400 years.

The sheer grandeur of Fackham Hall

was a testament to splendor,

and an enduring family legacy.

Its hallowed rooms have witnessed so much.

Life and death, laughter and tragedy,

heartbreak and romance.

But England was a nation divided by class.

The below-stair staff
obediently served their masters,

and prepared sumptuous feasts.

Pheasant, caviar, venison.

Whatever a guest desired,
they would supply it.

And whilst this winter
would prove particularly bleak,

the tireless work
of those staff below stairs

ensured that Lord and Lady Davenport
wanted for nothing.

They led a decadent life
of unimaginable luxury,

and barely had to lift a finger.

So, finally,
one of our children is to be wed

and shall soon fly the nest.

I'm just delighted

that our beloved home
shall remain in the family.

I'm just delighted that
after so many years of courting,

she's finally found the right cousin.

At least Poppy's got our interests
at heart, unlike Rose.

Rose may yet marry.

Oh, come on, Humphrey.
Who'd want old Rose?

She's 23. A dried-up husk of a woman.

Barren, desiccated.

A wizened old walnut of a spinster.

Rose, darling, would you pass the milk?

Mama, Archibald is ghastly.

It's unfair to force Poppy so.

Why can't she simply marry for love?

Oh, how can you be so naive, child?

Do you think that I married
your father out of love?

Because I found him attractive?

Liked his personality? His micro penis?

No, I married him out of duty.

And we couldn't be happier.

But Mama's right, my darling.

This is about the future of Fackham Hall.

Of our family.

We thought, having produced four sons,

that the Davenport line
of succession was assured.

What cursed luck to lose all four of them.

And in four completely separate incidents.

I console myself knowing

that at least they died
doing the thing they loved.

But does this not make you realize

that such an archaic system of succession,

that only recognizes male heirs
is, pardon my French,

a massive crock of shit?

Rose, we must be realistic.

Your father's not going to live forever.

Come on. Father has
the constitution of an ox.

So long as we keep a close eye on him,

- he'll remain that way.
- How can you be so blind

to the circumstances?

Unless your sister marries Archibald,
we will be evicted.

Forced to live in Central London.

Then I'll find myself a profession.

A Davenport working for money?

Are you trying to send
your father to an early grave?

All I ever think of
is Father's well-being.

Well, you evidently care less
for this family

than your beautiful sister.

Humphrey! Shield your mouth when coughing.

My sincerest apologies, Prudence.

My lord, ladies.

The dressing bell has been rung.

Drinks will shortly be served
in the drawing room.

- Thank you, Cyril.
- I do so hope

it will be sunny
for the wedding. Hey, Cyri.

- Mm-hm.
- What's the weather tomorrow?

Expect partly cloudy skies
in Fackham tomorrow,

with a 40 percent chance of snow.

Do you ever worry that Cyri

is always listening in
to our conversations?

Oh, now, come. Not this again, darling.

We've already had
to get rid of poor old Alexa.

That's true.

London, birthplace of emphysema,

child exploitation,

and a charming
young pickpocket called Eric.

National ink shortage!

Read all about it! National ink shortage!

- You there. Here.
- National ink shortage!

Blast and botheration!

Excuse me, sir. You dropped your wallet.

- Ah.
- Eric couldn't be more different

from the Davenports at Fackham Hall.

He doesn't have any land,
titles, underwear,

or vitamin D.

But what he lacks in bone density,

he more than makes up for in guile...

Here you go, darling.

- ...charm...
- Thank you.

- She's got my watch!
- ...and boyish good looks.

- Come here
- I didn't steal it.

Honest to God, sir, I didn't.

Eric was amongst the thousands
of young boys orphaned after the war.

- Morning.
- With only his quick wits,

street smarts,

and the watchful eyes
of the Sisters of Mercy

keeping him from penury.

Morning, Sister Jude.

What can I be doing for you today?

Nothing for me. But this gentleman
wishes to speak with you.

And of course, our door
is always open to unknown men

with an interest in specific children.

Yes. He seems like
just the lad for the job.

I need a letter delivered here.

To the manor house
owned by the Davenports.

An obscenely rich family of aristocrats.

Fuck 'em all.

That's right.

Fackham Hall.

The most lavish manor house
in all of Shropceistershershire.

Well, I'm not doing it
for any less than five shillings.

I'll pay you a pound.

Pleasure doing business with you, mister.

Good luck.

Eric.

You're the smartest child
we've ever had at this orphanage.

If only you directed
your talents down the righteous path,

you could really
make something of yourself.

"I may do some good before I am dead."

It's Thomas Hardy.

Here's another quote for you.

"Thou shalt not steal."

Ah.

Your watch, sir.

Oh.

And your trousers.

But I'm wearing my trou--

And so begins Eric's adventure,

as he sets off to deliver
that precious letter to Lord Davenport.

A chance to change his future.

And nothing was going to get in his way.

Whoa.

Shout out to Rachmaninoff.
Big up on themself.

New track from Carl Ravell
and his orchestra just dropped.

Straight-up banger. Check it.

Oh.

Are you all right?

I've never been better.

Sorry I scratched your car.

Don't worry about it.
It was like that before.

I'm sorry about your bike.

Don't worry. It was like that before.

I don't know what happened.
I think I was...

...momentarily distracted.

Yes. I only took my eyes
off the road for a second.

I think I was captivated by the sight...

...of an incredibly beautiful woman

with the kind of carefree essence
that makes a man glad to be alive!

Well, it was nice to meet you.

Eric.

It's Rose, actually.

It was lovely to make your acquaintance.

And from now on, I'll pay more
attention to where I'm going.

Ms. Davenport! Ms. Davenport!

The lord and lady is wondering
where you is be, they do.

- What did you tell them?
- I spared your blushes, m'lady.

Said you were wrestling
with a tricky dump.

Oh, thank you, Patricia.
I just needed to clear my head

before watching my darling sister, Poppy,
marry that odious Archie.

There. Good as new.

Wonderful to see you, Viscount Wolsey.

So good of you
to join us, Lord Lucan.

Welcome to our home, Lady Gaga.

Where on earth have you been?

Please don't say reading or thinking.

As you well know, that's men's work.

Humpty!

Ah! If it isn't J.R.R. Tolkien,
the writer.

Poppy, dear old friend of mine
from Oxford, John.

Please. Call me J.R.R. Tolkien,
the writer.

It's a pleasure to meet you.

Would I know anything you've written?

I doubt it.
He's not had anything published.

Well, not yet.

But I have spent the last 15 years

coming up with an alphabet for orcs.

May your firstborn thrive

or die by the hand of Sauron.

What a delightful language.

Remember, Fifi,

the Davenports are one of the most
eminent families in the whole of England.

So, please, try not to be too American.

Oh, please, honey. They'll barely notice.

- Lord Davenport.
- You remember Bert?

- Archibald's best man.
- Good to see you.

Thank you for having me.

What a quaint little cottage.

Oh, my.

Richard, do hurry up.

Gladys, is that really all you can carry?

As the orphan lad approached,

he sensed this must be Fackham Hall.

He could tell by its grandeur, presence,

and its sign saying "Fackham Hall."

- Excuse me, mister.
- Oh.

Ah, you're here for the position
of hall boy. Is that right?

- Actually, I just wanted to--
- There will be no negotiation.

The wage is four pounds a week.
Take it or leave it.

- I'll take it.
- Edna.

I have procured you a new hall boy.

Heaven forfend I get a say
in who works for me.

Do let us hope he's up to it, Cyril.

Hut. Follow me, laddie.

As hall boy, you are
the lowest-ranked member of staff.

Every afternoon,
you must polish the silverware.

Silverware is any utensil made of silver.

Then it is dinner. Dinner is a meal
partaken in the evening.

After which you must
clear the plates from the table.

The table is an item of furniture
with a flat top and four legs.

Finally, you must mop the floor.

The floor is the bottom surface of a room.

A room is any space
enclosed by a number of walls.

A wall

is like a floor that's sideways.
Do you understand?

Yes, miss.
I won't disappoint you. I promise.

Get out of my sight.

Excuse me, sir.

Who do I speak to about the hall boy job?

I'm afraid that vacancy has been filled.

Ms. Davenport.

Allow me to introduce myself.

I'm Darvesh Khaled,
your father's lawyer and old friend.

Oh, yes. From the trenches.
You fought with my father.

No, we were on the same side.

Oh. Oh, Mr. Khaled,

may I introduce you
to Great Aunt Bonaparte?

A pleasure, ma'am.

Bonaparte.

Are you related to Napoleon?

Yes. He's my nephew.

Oh.

Mrs. McAllister, I've done
everything you asked me to.

- Really? Already?
- Yes, ma'am.

You've brought all the wine
up from the cellar?

Yes, ma'am.

- And taken it to the drawing room?
- Yes, ma'am.

And closed the cellar hatch?

I'll do that now, ma'am.

Where is Richard?

He's supposed to be serving the champagne.

You'll have to do it,
and not looking like that.

Get a move on.

You've got the castle, the cathedral,
the chocolate factory.

I simply don't understand
why anyone would want a new York.

Here's £10 to stop talking.

Now, I have a business proposal,
Mr. Davenport.

I'm expanding my fashion empire,

and I need a small pied-à-terre
in England.

How much to buy Fackham Hall?

I'm not sure you could afford it
on the wage of a seamstress.

I'll pay double its value.

And I promise to keep its integrity.

All I'd do is add a jazz bar,
a small casino, and 30 stories.

I appreciate that this may be the way

you conduct your business in the Americas,

but Fackham Hall simply isn't for sale.

Well, we'll see about that.

A word of warning, Mr. Davenport.

I have a habit of getting what I want.

About half the size of a human.

Oh.

- Champagne?
- Yes, please.

Ladies and gentlemen.

Please welcome the bride- and groom-to-be,

Mr. Archibald Davenport
and Ms. Poppy Davenport, his fiancée.

And first cousin.

My word, Mary, a man.

Oh, Constance. He's so good-looking
I can barely breathe.

I can't wait till I marry a man.

It is only then
that my life will be of any worth.

Ms. Valentine, have you met
the Bechdel Sisters?

Ladies and gentlemen,

it is very rare
you find someone so beautiful,

someone so intelligent,

someone that you would move
heaven and earth for.

But after years of searching,
Poppy found me.

I just feel so lucky.

I mean, after all,
we have so much in common.

For example, our grandparents.

- Yes.
- Yeah.

Please, enjoy the festivities.

I'm sorry. You may never
host a party like this for me.

My dear.

There are many here

who believe that marriage
validates one's existence.

I'm not among them.

I'm just so very proud of the intelligent,

kind, and elegant young woman
you have become.

Deviled egg, ma'am?

Stop gawping and do your job.

So, wrong side
of Mrs. McAllister on day one.

That's a record.

So, you know your music, sir.

Is that your name?

Eric Noone.

Pronounced "no one," sir.

So, which bedroom's yours then?

Oh, I never sleep.

It interferes with my duties.

Here we are.

Your quarters.

You'll be sharing with Tom, Fred, Harry,

Richard, and Alexander.

Jammy bastard. They've put you
straight in the big room.

All's well
that ends better, Humpty.

Are you bride or groom, sir?

No, I'm a guest.

Whew!

My darling Poppy.

Now, before you embark on this new life,

I want to give you something

that my mother gave Prudence
on our wedding day.

It's a necklace box.

Oh, wow.

Oh, Daddy, thank you.

Alexander.

Are you ready?

Mm-hm.

Oh.

Daddy.

Oh.

Please be seated.

Welcome, friends and family,
and of course, Archibald and Poppy.

Let us pray you never marry.

Let us pray. You never marry without love.

You never love without God.
God is almighty. God is everywhere.

God is touching you all
in your private places.

God is touching you all.

In your private places,
in your darkest times,

God is there shining a light.

And today he's shining a light
for these two arseholes.

And today he's shining
a light for these two.

Our souls are eternally in his debt. Amen.

Amen.

Does anyone have a reason
why Archibald and Poppy

should not be bound together
in holy matrimony?

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

No one? Good.

Stop.

I know a reason why we shouldn't marry.

I don't love him.

I love another.

I'm sorry, Archie, but I cannot
spend the rest of my life living a lie.

Lionel.

Get up.

Pop... Poppy.

Poppy.

Now this is a fucking wedding.

Lionel? Lionel.

I love you.
I want us to be together forever.

Okay. Okay.

Goodbye!

Your attention, please.

Your attention, please.

Shh.

Shh.

Despite today's unpleasantness,

you must all remain at Fackham Hall.

To spare Archibald's blushes,

I would appreciate it
if from this moment on,

nobody mentioned this morning's... hiccup.

Specifically, the disastrous wedding,

Archibald being humiliated at the altar,

the enthusiasm with which the bride
fled from her jilted fiancé.

And please, no mention

of Archibald's animalistic
wailing from the vestry,

which we all pretended we couldn't hear.

Thank you, Lord Davenport.

That's very thoughtful of you.

Please all have a wonderful weekend.

I knew it about
Lionel and Poppy, I does, I did.

Oftens I saw her
sneaking back late at night.

Never not said nothing
to her ladyship. If she asked,

I said Poppy was in the woodshed
whittling a dildo.

That's quite enough
tittle-tattle from you two.

Ms. Rose will take tea in her room.

Yes, Mrs. McAllister, ma'am, m'lady.

You? What? Why didn't you tell me
you worked here?

Why didn't you tell me you lived here?

This is a big house for a chauffeur.

Yes.

I'd rather appreciate it
if you didn't tell anyone

you saw me driving Father's car.

Don't worry. You can trust me.

I'm good with secrets.

To this day, I never told a soul

about Sister Mary stealing
from the collection plate,

or Sister Jude's sex holidays
in Amsterdam,

or the time Father Jessop
tricked four choir boys into--

It's good to know I can trust you.

You certainly can, Ms. Rose.

Excuse me for asking.

What is that you're reading?

This?

It's a tale of forbidden love.

Ah.

I'd love to borrow that
when you're done with it.

You read?

I forget who coined the phrase,

but reading brings us to unknown friends.

- That's Balzac's.
- No, it's true.

I think it was a French novelist.

Where shall I put your tea?

I'd best take that. Having a gentleman

enter my private quarters would be...

Forbidden?

Hall boy.

Eric. You leave us no choice.

Your employment is terminated.

- My lady.
- I just wanted to make sure

the new hall boy
doesn't get into any trouble

as a result of my asking him
to bring me my tea.

- You asked him?
- Yes.

To give Patricia a break.

Well, I'll leave you to your meeting.

Oh.

I meant to ask for some sugar.

And you don't have to stand up
every time I enter the room.

Well, it seems my hand is forced, laddie.

You stay.

For now.

I truly thought

that this would be where I would live out
the remainder of my days.

But there's little we can do.

The law is clear.

Archibald is the rightful heir
to Fackham Hall.

Why did it have to be him of all people?

If only George hadn't died.

Or John.

Or Paul.

Or little Ringo.

Or our eldest nephew.

Humphrey.

I never dare ask Phyllis.

What actually happened
to Archibald's older brother?

- Ah, Nathaniel?
- Mm.

He went to fight the war at a young age.

To defend the freedoms
of this great country.

Hm.

He was just a child.

Officer Davenport. Are you ready
to make the ultimate sacrifice?

Give those Jerries hell.
For king and country!

I've often tried to discover

what happened to the poor boy,
but to no avail.

And now her surviving son,

jilted at the altar by our feral
little egg-brained daughter.

Even if Poppy did recant,

it seems inconceivable
that Archibald's wounded pride

would permit him to marry her now.

What about Rose?

It's illegal for sisters to marry.

Pity. But what if Rose
were to marry Archibald?

An intriguing proposition.

Hmm.

Archibald? I don't know if--

Archibald? I don't know if--

Archibald,
I don't know if I mentioned,

but Rose is very well-read.

That comes as no surprise.

I mean, what else is a woman to do
when she is without a husband?

Shit just got real.

Now that your honeymoon
has been canceled,

you shall have more time to read.

Perhaps I could direct you
to a tome on manners.

Sick burn, bitch.

Maybe the next time
you find yourself in a library,

perhaps you could seek out some texts

to explain how a lady should behave, hm?

Maybe then you'll have a better
chance of finding a husband.

Yes. It is unfortunate

to have not had a partner.

But is it not more careless
to procure one,

only to then lose her?

Wasteman just got merked.

Rose, may I speak with you outside?

Rose, darling,
do you not see our predicament?

Thanks to your sister's selfish behavior,

if we are to remain in Fackham Hall,

another lady in our family
must wed Archibald.

No. You can't. You're married to Father.

Darling. I'm talking about you.

Oh.

No! You think I would choose

to spend the rest of my life
with that pig?

No, I shall not, and I shwill not.

Enough. Mr. Tolkien.

- The writer.
- Indeed.

Being contrary is the main cause
of brain degeneration in women.

Ask any male scientist.

From this moment onwards,
you must make Archibald fall for you.

For the good of the family.

Rose.

Rose!

So sorry. It's her time of the month,
where she menstruates.

I'm so sorry.

Rose? Are you all right?

It's nothing you need to be burdened with.

Please. It's no burden at all.

You can tell me anything.

It will stay strictly between us.

Mother wants me to marry Archibald,

but I do not love him.

I see.

You prefer to wait for your Heathcliff.

You've read Wuthering Heights?

Eric, you are a rare creature.

Do you think it foolish of a lady
to listen to her heart?

I believe that when the heart aches,

that's when we should listen the most.

How does anyone know when they're in love?

Maybe there's just something in the air.

I should go.

♪ An invite to Buckingham Palace ♪

♪ Arrived at my home in Belgravia ♪

♪ When meeting the king
And meeting the queen ♪

♪ One must be on one's best behavior ♪

♪ But I went to the palace
With my willy hanging out ♪

♪ And nobody thought to tell me ♪

♪ They were too polite
It was hanging out all night ♪

♪ And no one stopped to tell me
That my pecker was in sight ♪

♪ I had a tiny hunch
When it dangled in the punch ♪

♪ And my johnson went all chilly ♪

♪ The Duke of Norwich
He thought it was a sausage ♪

♪ When he had
A little nibble on my willy ♪

♪ Silly ♪

♪ I went to the palace
With my willy hanging out ♪

♪ I don't think that
His Highness will forget me ♪

♪ The king, he saw my bell ♪

♪ But did the night go swell? ♪

♪ Well, they asked me to the palace
Next week as well ♪

And look, there it is. Such wit.

Your mother thought it would be prudent

if you were to join us for the hunt.

Perhaps Archibald
may get to know you better.

Right now, I'd gladly
swap places with the pheasant.

I've always felt that
women do not belong on hunts.

Don't be so utterly ridiculous.

Ridiculous? It's science.

Their petticoats get tangled
in the undergrowth.

Their perfumes scare the pheasants,

and their feminine giggles,
they rust the bullets.

Mr. Khaled, are you okay?

Yes. It's just...

the sound of guns being primed for action.

It takes me back
to my time in the trenches.

If you don't mind my asking,
is that how you got your limp?

The war is over! The war is over!

The war is over!

War's over!

I'd rather not talk about it,
Ms. Davenport.

I understand.

Thank you for your service.

Ha!

Bloody good shot.

Bugger it.

Well done, Father.

Fuck it.

Not having much luck today, Archibald?

Just familiarizing myself

with this new weapon.

Bloody good shot, old bean.

Yeah.

Sir, shall I take him back
to the house and call a doctor?

No, no. Just chop his legs off
and roast him for dinner.

What about Richard, sir?

Oh, yes. Tragic.
Without a beater,

we must curtail the hunt.

- Sad day for us all.
- Father, wait.

There's a fellow back at the house
who might be able to step up.

Bugger it.

Father. No.

Rose.

You're the most wonderful daughter
a father could ever wish to have.

Tell Poppy I forgive her.

But more importantly,
tell your mother that

I... I...

shall not be attending tea this evening.

I'll never forgive you for this.

Excuse me, Ms. Davenport.

There's no blood.

Oh.

Blow me.

Looks like my old pocket watch

must have saved my life. I'm alive.

- Ah!
- Well, I have learned

a very valuable lesson.
Be careful where you point.

I can see a light.

I can see my sons.

John,

Paul, George, Ringo.

Let's come together.

I wanna hold your hands.

Oh, dear Prudence.

Dear, dear Prudence.

I am the walrus.

His mind's turned fevered.

Daddy's coming, boys.

Ah!

My Bloody Mary.

Of course.

Bloody Mary.

Oh, bad luck, old chap.

Ah, I really thought
you'd bagged your first kill.

Bloody Mary.

Thank you for stepping in to save Father.

Ah, well.
Anybody would've done the same.

But they didn't.

Rose.

I wanted to just say

sorry for shooting your father
in the heart... twice.

I'm usually a much better marksman.

It's this faulty gun they've given me.

It's wonky barreled.
It doesn't shoot straight.

Um... May I?

Be my guest.

As I said.

Beginner's luck.

Young man, I've been reflecting

on your swift thinking
during this morning's shoot.

You're a good sort to have close by, Eric.

How would you like to be my new valet?

It would be an honor, sir.

Excellent. This calls for a cigar.

Here they are, in my secret
cigar and money drawer.

Thank you, sir.

Alexander, pen yourself a letter
with news of your demotion.

It'd be my pleasure, sir.

What do you keep writing
in that little book of yours?

Ideas. For my novel.

I'm always listening out for inspiration.

Oh, darling,
have you seen my cigar cutter?

In your trousers, my precious.

Wait. Say that again.

Uh...

In your trousers, my precious?

In your trousers.

Rose, I just wanted you to know

that I was in the library earlier,

and I chanced upon a poem
that reminded me of you.

Would you mind if I read it now?

Very well.

Such a beautiful poem.

- Mm.
- It appears your Archie

is rather smitten with Rose.

It's nice to see him
temporarily distracted

from the Grim Reaper's inevitable grasp.

Indeed.

I'm a lot more fun than
you probably first thought, hm?

I'm sure you are.

- Enjoy the rest of your evening.
- Uh--

- Cyri?
- Mm-hm.

Play dance music.

Playing dance music on the gramophone.

Hm?

- Dance with me, Rose.
- I'd rather not.

Um...

Don't embarrass me. People are watching.

Let go of me.

Just dance. It's fun.

Archibald, let go of me.

Ms. Davenport asked you to let go.

Oof.

Mr. Davenport, I apologize that my face
interrupted the flight of your hand.

- Yes.
- And I deeply regret

the behavior of my junior colleague.

As you should.

When I inherit this place,
I'll sack the lot of you.

You impertinent morons.

- Very good, sir.
- Yes.

Eric?

You have put
all our jobs at risk.

You are here to serve, and serve alone.

Us lowly downstairs folk

must never become romantically entangled
with those above stairs.

Mark my words, it never ends well.

If we are to see out
our days at Fackham Hall,

then Rose must marry Archibald.

And you are obstructing that.

Now, for all our sakes,
first thing tomorrow,

you must pack up your bags and leave.

To save any upset,

I shall simply inform his lordship

that you have contracted rabies,

found employment elsewhere, died,

fallen pregnant, and run away.

Now, go.

Rose. What are you doing here?

I came to find you. What did they say?

They fired me. I leave tomorrow.

No. No, they cannot, and they shall not.

They shwill not and they shwell not.

I'll speak to Father.

Rose. No, it's fine. It's done now.

- Oh, no.
- This place isn't for me anyway.

- Fackham Hall?
- Yeah, fuck 'em all.

Well...

Well, if this is to be
our last night together,

let's go somewhere.
Somewhere we can be ourselves.

Just like when we first met.

I know. Let's go to a pub.

What about the Dog & Drake?
I've driven past it many a time,

but never dared go in.

Yeah, why not.

But they're not really the biggest fans
of you Davenports in there.

So, you can't really go in
dressed like that.

Then I shall just have to blend in.

- Evening.
- Evening.

- And stay out.
- But I'm the landlord.

After you.

Follow me.

I'll have two of my usual, please, Karl.

Who's this?

Don't you remember me?

My name is, um...

Rose...

Devon...

Port.

Rose Devonport.

Good. 'Cause for a moment,

you looked like one of them
Fackham Hall lot.

And we hate those stuck-up bastards.

Well, I can assure you,
I'm apples and pears not.

Spoken like a true Cockney.

Thanks, Karl.

- Ow!
- Bulls-eye.

Come here.

Are all pubs like this?

Oh, no, no. This is a posh one.

Follow me.

Perfect. My lady.

One...

Rose for the lady?

Thank you, but I have a beautiful rose
of my very own right here.

Suit yourself, love.

It's so thrilling being here with you.

No more pretending,
no more holding back my feelings.

I can be myself.

Tell me your dreams.

Well, I have this dream
where my penis falls off,

but I can't go to the doctor
because I'm late for school.

Same.

Really?

Do you have any other dreams?

I dream of one day escaping
to the most romantic place on earth.

The city of love.

The city of art.

The city of poets.

Blackpool.

Wow.

Maybe we could go there one day. Together.

Yes.

Oh, no. It's a Cockney knees-up.

Join in. You'll definitely
all know the words

'cause we're all genuine
Cockneys here, aren't we?

Yeah!

Just follow along, you'll be all right.

♪ Little Jack Steel strangled an eel ♪

♪ Sold it at the Camden market ♪

♪ Brixton Billy went to Piccadilly ♪

♪ Choked on a whelk and carked it ♪

♪ Cockney air, Trafalgar Square ♪

♪ Do a Jimmy Riddle on Nelson's pole ♪

♪ London's my favorite ♪

♪ Shit hole ♪

Oh, well, he made it to seven.

To London's oldest ever chimney sweep.

Yeah!

♪ Greasy spoon
Wank at the moon ♪

♪ Waterloo blinkin' station ♪

♪ Causing a fuss
Double-decker bus ♪

♪ Football altercation ♪

♪ Deadly smog
Bollocks of a dog ♪

♪ Jack the Ripper
And a sausage roll ♪

♪ London's my favorite
London's my favorite ♪

♪ London's my favorite ♪

♪ Shit hole ♪

♪ One more time ♪

♪ London's my favorite
London's my favorite ♪

♪ London's my favorite ♪

Uh...

Capital city?

For a minute there,
I thought she didn't know it.

Yeah!

You cold?

But unbeknownst
to our star-crossed lovers,

life at Fackham Hall was about
to take a turn for the worse.

Especially for Lord Davenport.

Humphrey, open a window.

Something smells ghastly in here.

Humphrey.

Inspector Robert Watt.

I'm here regarding the murder
of Lord Davenport.

I'm afraid you're too late.
Someone's already done it.

But come in anyway.

Follow me.

Hmm.

Uh-huh.

Oh, yeah.

Cyril, who was the last person
to see Lord Davenport alive?

The murderer.

Just as I thought.

Now, would you be so kind
as to pour me a glass of that whiskey?

Certainly.

Wait. This is poison.

Precisely.

So, Lord Davenport was poisoned.

Not necessarily.

- Do you see this?
- Yes.

Tiny holes in the lapel.

Whoever did this had access
to some form of caustic chemical.

And do you smell that?

Whew, yes.

An intense sulfurous odor
that stings the eyes.

My apologies.

That happens when I crouch.

Oh.

Specks of blood.

Hm.

What did you wish
to speak to us about, Mr. Khaled?

No, no, no, no. Please, call me Darvesh.

As you know, Humphrey entrusted
his affairs to my legal firm.

He may have been my client,

but more than that, he was a dear friend
and an honorable soldier.

I just wish I could have been there
last night to save his life

just as he saved mine in the war.

Incoming!

You really should
get that mole checked out.

Poppy.

I'm so glad to see you.

Hello, Mother.

Poppy.

Am I welcome here?

Of course you are.
Fackham Hall will always be your home.

Fackham Hall is no longer your home.

On the death of the lord,

the title and estate
passed to the next male heir.

Therefore, Archibald Davenport
is now lord of Fackham.

But we're aristocracy.
Surely laws don't apply to us.

Is there nothing that can be done?

The only respite I can offer is

the title cannot legally pass to Archibald

until the investigation
into Humphrey's murder is concluded.

So, if, say, Rose were to marry
Archibald before that?

Then you can all remain here.

The inspector would like
your presence in the drawing room.

What if we haven't got him a present?

Oh, very well.

Poppy, what should I do?

I don't want our family to be evicted.

But what is a life devoid of love?

My dear Rose.

You know, I too was once blinded by love.

In those early blooms of passion,

I didn't care a jot that Lionel
wasn't an aristocrat,

that he had no money,

that he didn't wash.

I didn't care that he wasn't handsome

or kind, or monogamous,
or allowed near schools.

But if I were to have my time again,

maybe, just maybe

I wouldn't have
given all of this up for Lionel.

It appears you no longer
need to pack, young Eric.

The inspector says no one can leave.

Apparently, we are all suspects now.

I'm sorry, I don't finance novels.

Well, Lord Davenport

shouldn't be on your list
because he's dead.

But otherwise, everyone's here.

Thank you, Cyril. I shall erase him.

Good.

My lady, esteemed guests.

This is Inspector Watt.

Well, I don't know. Inspector Phillips?

- Hole.
- Wan-Bissaka.

- Esposito.
- Drew.

- Gadget?
- Aragorn.

- Spector.
- No, no.

His surname is Watt.

I don't know. Inspector Deck?

- Inspector Thoroughly.
- Clouseau.

- Two-Bissaka.
- Bush.

- Branagh.
- Spectacles.

- Treebeard.
- No, no, no, no.

His surname is Watt,

spelled W-A-T-T.

A-ha. I see. "Watt" is his name.

- Robert.
- Robert what?

- Exactly.
- Then what's his surname?

- Yes.
- I'm so sorry,

but I still don't understand.

What don't you understand?

No, I understand perfectly.

Now...

After examining the evidence,

I believe Lord Davenport's murderer

to be somebody in this room.

What reason would anyone here
have for killing my husband?

Maybe they were fed up of
waiting to inherit this mansion.

Or angry at being demoted.

Or humiliated

after their attempts to buy
the hall were rebuffed.

Or maybe it's a failed police inspector

desperate for a case to solve.

I mean, where was I
on the night of the murder?

- Exactly.
- Indeed.

Be warned. I shall be
watching you all very closely.

And if there's anything
out of the ordinary,

anything at all,

you can be damn sure I'll notice it.

Truly a beautiful service.

Oh, thank you. Although in hindsight,

I probably should
have attended the funeral.

Truly beautiful ceremony.

It was just as Humphrey wanted.

Never did like the idea of a burial.

Always thought the alternative
was somehow more dignified.

Indeed.

Excuse me.

You do it, and you do it now.

Emotions running high?

Not at all. Just a minor disagreement.

Before you jump to conclusions,

our discussion was not about Humphrey.

It was about Rose.

Mother is keen for us to marry.

I'd wager your mother
can't wait to move in here

and leave your crumbling family home.

Hm. Who told you
our house was falling apart?

You just did.

Come on. If you want a real suspect,

try looking into that orphan boy, hm?

He viciously assaulted me last night.

Who's to say that
his violent tendencies ended there?

I'm so sorry.

I can't imagine what you're going through.

It's so hard.

Thanks. I've been working out.

Anyone could see
just how proud your father was of you.

May I have a word with you... inside?

Hm?

Rose, you are an angel
sent in my hour of need.

The first flower of spring.

But more than that,
you are the most beautiful

Davenport sister currently available.

- Archibald.
- No, I promise to listen to you.

- But, I--
- I will never,

ever interrupt you.

Please make me the happiest man alive.

Rose, will you marry me?

Mm-hm?

I...

I...

I...

Rose?

I need time to think about it.

Of course. I completely understand.

Take as much time as you need.

- Now?
- Still undecided.

Okay. Well, you have till Friday.

Otherwise, I will propose
to one of the Bechdel sisters.

I don't care which one.

A man looked at us.

Dear Lord, I pray for your forgiveness.

The woman I love is being made
to marry a man she hates.

And I felt powerless to stop it.

So, I strayed from the righteous path.

That money, he didn't earn it.

So, Lord, please forgive me.

And I promise that after this,
I will never, ever steal again.

Amen.

If you've been murdered
by a candlestick, dial seven.

If you've been murdered by a rope...

What?

Rose, you don't have to marry Archibald.

What do you mean?

I've withdrawn my savings.
Let's run away together.

- Let's start a new life.
- In Blackpool.

Blackpool, Clacton, Skegness.
The world is our oyster.

Skegness. That sounds rather nice.
Where's that?

I don't know. But we can find out.

Together.

But we have to go now.

I can't believe we're doing this.

Well, it's happening.
And no one can stop us.

What on God's flat earth is going on?

I received an anonymous tip-off
from Mrs. McAllister

that these two were absconding

with money stolen from Lord Davenport.

Look, Rose had nothing to do with it.

I lied. I said the money was mine.

I told you, Cyril, didn't I?

- Oh, yes, yes, you did, yes.
- I told you one of the staff

would fall for our eldest daughter,

find an envelope full of
Humphrey's money in a drawer,

steal it, coax Rose out
by throwing stones at her window,

and attempt to drive away,
only to be thwarted

by a police investigator
who has trouble holding things.

So, you didn't get everything right.

Oh.

So, what else are you hiding, young man?

Nothing. Nothing. I swear.

No. None of this is mine.

Your roommates told me you were home late

on the night of Lord Davenport's murder.

So, where were you, and who were you with?

Well, if he won't tell you, I will.

- That night we were--
- Completely separate.

No. No, we were in--

Our nightwear, in our own rooms
because it was bedtime.

No.

- We were together in the pub...
- ...licly-held view

that ladies and staff should never mix.

Well, Eric Noone.

In that case,
I am arresting you for murder.

And in that case
are my toothbrush and pajamas.

Just tell them you were with me.

I can't.

Why?

You're a lady. You've got
your whole life ahead of you.

If I damage your reputation,
then that life is over.

I'm a no one.
No ones go to prison all the time.

Eric.

I know that one day,
we will be together again.

But in those intervening years,

as I await that wonderful moment,

I swear to you with all my heart,

I will arrange for the gardener
to have an eye test.

I don't get it.

Eric never seemed like the murdering sort.

He wouldn't have stopped
until he'd taken all our jobs.

Aren't I right, Mom?

I mean, Mrs. McAllister.

Sometimes I accidentally
call people "Mom."

Do it all the time. Don't I, Mrs. Mom?

Mrs. McAllimom.

Mrs. McAllimommy.

McAllister.

Mrs. McAllister.

Poppy?

Poppy, whatever's the matter?

Lionel left.
He said he doesn't love me anymore.

He probably just said that
in the heat of the moment.

He said, "This is not
a heat-of-the-moment thing.

I've been thinking about this for days."

Well, just give him some
time to calm down.

He said, "I don't need time to calm down.

I'm actually really calm,
and this is the calmest I've ever been."

Well, it's his loss.

Then he said,

"I stole all of your jewelry
and I sold it.

So, it's very much a win for me
and your loss."

I fear that, as you both inexplicably

refuse to wed a member of your own family,

we shall all soon be homeless.

Oh, ladies.

I have lived through many difficult times.

Those times have taught me a lot.

So, I can honestly say
you are a bunch of whiny cun...

Sorry.

Dearest Eric.

My heart is broken.

I didn't mean for any of this to happen.

The image of you reading this letter
alone in your prison cell

is something I cannot bear.

Every night when I fall asleep,

I relive the moment
you saved me from ignominy,

and I scream.

Every morning, I awaken in tears

and reach for a handkerchief
to give my eyes a dab.

I hope that one day you can forgive me
for what I'm about to do.

I shall accept Archibald's proposal.

These will be the last words
you receive from me.

All my love, Rose.

XOXOXOX.

Ah, Rose. How did you sleep?

By lying on my bed and closing my eyes.

Oh, right.

- Archibald?
- Yes.

I have something to say.

Two days ago, you asked me to marry you.

And since that moment,
I've thought of little else.

This morning,
I've come to a firm conclusion.

My answer is...

Yes.

Hm.

She said yes.

Huzzah!

I know that look.
Your heart's been broken.

I, too, have tasted true love and lost it.

"You shouldn't be together," they said.

"You're from two different worlds."

So, we ran away. But we got caught.

It's like we've lived the same lives.

Here.

This is Mildred. Isn't she beautiful?

- Mm.
- Do you have a photo of your love?

Um...

I nicked one before I left.

I was meant to give this
to Lord Davenport.

Well, open it.

What are they gonna do?
Lock you up?

"Yours sincerely, Austin Blaine."

What could it mean?

Try the other side.

Ah.

"Dear Lord Davenport.

Years ago, you tasked me
with investigating

what happened to your nephew,
Nathaniel, in the war.

After months of backbreaking work

and ingenious sleuthing on my part,

I finally managed to unearth
Nathaniel's army records,

and discovered
that on returning from service,

he was mistaken
for a war orphan and raised by nuns."

"With no clue as to his real identity,

the sisters renamed him.

Nevertheless, I tracked him down.

Nathaniel Davenport,

eldest son
of your deceased brother, William,

now goes by the name of Eric Noone.

The very boy delivering
this letter to you.

Dope reveal, right?

The dope reveal
will cost you an extra farthing.

Yours sincerely, Austin Blaine."

Blimey. I can't believe it.

I'm only sharing a cell
with the aristocracy.

What difference does it make now?

I'm stuck here in this prison,

and the love of my life
is about to marry Archibald.

Yeah. Your brother.

- What?
- Your brother.

If you're Lord Davenport's
long-lost nephew,

that makes you Archibald's older brother.

Which means...?

I'm the rightful heir to Fackham Hall.

You had sex with your cousin.

Guard. I'm the rightful heir
to Fackham Hall.

Really? That's amazing.
Then I'll let you out immediately.

- You will?
- Of course I fucking won't.

I can't let Rose ruin her life

by marrying that horrible bastard.

I've got to get out of here.

Well, you could always tunnel out.

If only you had something to dig with.

Oi...

Yes.

I hope Rose isn't going
to disappoint us like Poppy did.

- She won't.
- Well, you say that.

But my William married me
and then he died.

Just as Humphrey married you and died.

And one day, Rose will die.

We're just particles heading
towards a cold, dark entropy.

But it's a lovely day for it.

Fellas. I've brought a cake to celebrate

30 years without any escapes.

All right?

Oi.

Nice try, son.

Let's get you back to your cell, eh?

- In here, pass them through.
- Here, 'gis it.

Hang on.

I know you. You're that lad from the pub

with the bird who's definitely a Cockney.

What are you doing in here?

They think I murdered
Lord Davenport that night.

No, impossible. You was with me.

Go on. Quick.

He went that way.

♪ War and death and poverty ♪

♪ Measles, violent brawls ♪

♪ Cancer and dictatorships ♪

♪ The Lord God made them all ♪

You may be seated.

God is with you all, and Jesus is gay.

God is with you all, and Jesus is.

Gay as we are on this joyous day,

we must take a moment to offer thanks.

Clergymen such as myself
are given a power.

And that power is to prey on children.

And that power is to pray.

On children, God bestows a future.

On man, God bestows wisdom,

for God is strong and mighty,
and made us all hard.

And made us all.

Hard as life may be,
he is there to show the way.

Somebody stop that fugitive.

I'm innocent. And now I know the truth.

The truth? But how?

I'm going to the church.
I'm gonna tell them everything.

Stop. Stop.

What's up, darling?

Helmet.

Get back here.

Hey!

Move.

Trampolines.
Get your trampolines.

Crash mats. Get your crash mats.

Didn't think
he was gonna make that.

Crushed my clementines.

Does anyone have a reason
why Archibald and Rose should...

Move.

In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Now, Rose, repeat after me.

- I, Rose Davenport.
- I, Rose Davenport.

I, Rose Davenport.

Hello.

Why are you doing this?

I can't have you telling
everyone I killed Humphrey.

What? What?

Humphrey and I kept our secret this long,

and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you

tell all of them about our affair.

Or what I did to him.

- What you did to him?
- It was an accident.

Just another one of our wee tiffs.

That boy Eric
is ruining all of our lives.

First, he injures Richard
and steals his duties.

And then you give him Alexander's job.

It's not fair on the boys, Humph.

They are our sons!

Keep your damn voice down.

That's all
you want from me, isn't it?

To keep quiet and carry on.

Get rid of him.

Or I'll tell everyone about our affair.

Edna.

My darling.

Come now.

No.

Be sensible.

No.

Humphrey?

Oh, my God.

Don't... Don't touch it.

- I'll call for help.
- What? No time.

Shoot it out.

Yes, yes.

- It didn't work.
- It's okay.

We just need to get the bullets out.
Grab that acid.

We can dissolve them.

Wait, wait.

I just need to steady my nerve.

Ah!

Okay. Do it.

- It's burning.
- You're still bleeding.

Quick. You've got to stop the blood
leaving my brain.

Use your belt as a tourniquet on my neck.

It's not working.

That's when I decided to frame you.

Nobody cares if a wee orphan boy
ends up in jail.

Or dead.

Watt?

I'm not gonna say all again.

No.

Inspector Watt.

Did you hear that?

I certainly did.

Madam, you are under arrest.
For manslaughter.

Ah.

In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Until death do us part.

Stop the wedding.

What the fuck is going on? Eric?

You don't have to marry Archibald.

Get this murderous scum out of here.

He's not the murderer.

It was Mrs. McAllister.

And Archibald is not the rightful heir
to Fackham Hall.

What?

I have a letter here
that explains everything.

Mom.

It's me. Nathaniel.

My son. You're alive.

So, does that mean...?

That we can be together.

And you and your family
can live in Fackham Hall

for the rest of your lives.

Well, I've always rather liked
being the only

- child.
- No.

You truly are a terrible shot.

- Well, I...
- You're nicked.

- What?
- It's Inspector Watt to you.

- Get your dirty hands off me.
- Would it be possible

to pick up where we left off?
Except with this gentleman?

Yes. Yes, well, where were we?

- Let go of me, I say.
- Rose Davenport,

do you take Eric Noone,
aka Nathaniel Davenport,

- to be your husband?
- I do.

And do you, Eric Noone,

aka Nathaniel Davenport,
take Rose Davenport

- to be your wife?
- I do.

Well, then, I pronounce you man and wife.

You may kiss the choirboys.

You may kiss.
The choirboys will now sing Ave Maria.

Fackham Hall is saved.

Bravo.

I don't think we've met.
J.R.R. Tolkien, the writer.

Oh. Bill. Bill Bobaggins.

What a wonderful name.

Bilbo Baggins.

And this is the donkey I'm fucking.

Well, I've written it down now.

Love. It can transcend boundaries.

There is nothing more powerful.

Other than, in this case, birthright.

You may wonder how I was privy

to so much of what
took place in Fackham Hall...

- Move a little to your right.
- ...that fateful week.

- Excellent.
- That, dear friends,

- is because I was there.
- Three, two, one...

- Fackham Hall.
- And who am I? I'm no one.

- Rose Davenport Noone.
- Three, two, one.

Fackham Hall.

And this...

...is my story.