All language subtitles for Savage.House.2026.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264

Help!

The Bennetts
are nearly here, sir.

I've been poisoned!

You've been
on a three-day drunk, sir.

I did warn you.

You did
nothing of the sort.

My innards are festering
with rot.

Call the doctor!

I have a bowl
of peasant soup, raw eel,

a half loaf of pumpernickel,

and a glass of owl yolk
with vinegar,

and a splash of whisky.

Sir George Chauncey Savage

- was an insolent Welsh upstart.
- Oh, yes.

A low-bred ruffian
and opportunist...

Oh, yeah.

...who,
through unsavoury efforts,

shameless swindles,
and social climbing

managed to coax and court
a well-born wife,

Lady Savage
of the Yorkshire Savages,

only to squander what little
was left of her family estate

on garish clothing,

boozing, whores, and of course,
his poison of choice, gambling.

Those.

He agreed to take
the "Savage" name

in order to marry up,
and purchased his title of "Sir"

with the ill-advised sale
of several paintings

and parcels of land.

But despite appearances,

he was nothing more than
the son of a penniless peddler.

An outsider among
the ruling class,

Chauncey never felt as if
he was good enough for her,

or them, and most would agree.

I simply loathe the Bennetts.
Snobbish, paralytic bores.

Do you see the way
he looks at me,

with that probing sneer?
And his boorish wife.

She has all the charm
of a septic cyst.

I heard
a particularly vile story

from a footman the other day,

involving Mr Bennett
and a syphilitic whore.

Oh, pray tell.

Born in the slums of St Giles,

Chauncey's valet
was a lowbred ruffian

and opportunist
in his own right.

Stay where you are!

If you'll empty your pockets

and kindly deliver
your valuables.

There's a newly implemented tax
on nobles in the area.

Thank you kindly.

The... Queen of Hearts!

To maintain
his life of leisure

and quell his mounting debts...

...Chauncey was quick
to include his loyal footman

on trips to brothels,

gambling halls...

...and wherever
he thought it beneficial.

- Hurry.
- Stop him! Thief!

Come back here!

Don't shoot! She's lying!

Thieving brigands!

- A rake on the make.
- Come back here!

Come on, sir.

Slow down,
I'm wearing heels!

Chauncey had
various tricks and deceptions

on how best to achieve
his desired outcome.

He would masterfully
palm and replace his dice

with an altered pair...

that he had
meticulously melted...

Double, bubble,
toil and trouble.

Passions burn,
the bets are double.

...so that they almost always
landed on sixes.

I do not know how, Savage,

but you have cheated me,
ungentlemanly and odiously,

and on such grounds,
I demand satisfaction!

How dare you.

Reginald was often tasked...

- Erm. Ready!
- ...with settling Chauncey's various financial squabbles

and disagreements
by duel of sword or pistol.

Fire!

As well as assist in evading

the increasingly frequent
visits of his vexed collectors.

Where is he?

I'm afraid Sir Chauncey is away
on business in Hamburg.

Last month it was Paris,

the month before that,
the West Indies.

Don't meddle with me, boy!

I've heard rumour my parcel
has been sold twice,

possibly thrice.

Chauncey had been slowly siphoning off

parcels of their peerage.

A rather reckless
and intricate scheme

of over-leveraging
and double-dealing.

If the matter isn't sorted
appropriately and with haste,

I shall be forced
to call upon the authorities.

I'll pass along the message.

How is
Her Ladyship this morning?

Seems she'll only speak to me
at social gatherings

or at meals.

Well, I'm sure
it's just a rough patch, sir.

She hasn't touched me in months.

You're an acquired taste, sir.

Er. What shall I do
about our Mr Black?

He did seem a little...
perturbed earlier.

Ah, yes, parcel 11.

A glorious swath of birch
and pine.

Not to worry.
I've got it under control.

I'm not about to let some
greedy banker seize our home

and sully our name.
Is that blood?

- Er. Pheasant, sir.
- Oh, delicious. My favourite.

I know, sir.

I don't know
what I'd do without you.

Your loyalty and valour,
your skill of shot.

Well, you are many things, sir,

but a good shot
is not one of them.

Oh, it's not my fault.

Spectacles make me look
bookish and fat.

- Hmm.
- I don't tell you enough, but...

I care for you like a son, or...

...an affectionate dog.

Lady Savage had come

from a disgraced family
of nobility.

Though she still carried
a distinguished title

and the bluest of blood,

the Savages of Yorkshire
had fallen on hard times...

...and were merely a name
at this point.

This financial standing
was not helped

by her marriage to Chauncey,

but the heart is a mercurial muscle.

She fell
under his spell quite quickly,

and against all opposition and criticism...

...married him in a fortnight.

She had never met anyone
quite like Chauncey.

But of course,
good times have a price.

Oh, Chauncey.

Their reckless spending

and misadventures

had left them
on the precipice of peril.

As gossips would say,
"They deserved each other."

I've never met a more
lifeless pair than the Bennetts.

Tiresome teacups, they are.

Porcelain, painted,
and empty from ear to ear.

Then why must you always
invite them over?

Well, beggars can't be choosers.

If one doesn't have
dinner guests,

albeit dim and dull,

then one could wonder
if they ever ate at all.

But we are here, ma'am.

Oh, I know it's true,
but you're a servant,

you're always here.

And a paid guest,
however dear, doesn't count.

Indeed.

The only persons who are eager
to visit us these days

are my husband's lenders
and dubious debt collectors.

That man has never
met a ruffled coat

or a well-bosomed cunny
he hasn't lusted.

Maybe the gossips are right
and we deserve each other.

You speak too harshly
of yourself, ma'am.

You're the only one
who understands me, Dorothy.

Are you sure
that this isn't too much?

Not at all, ma'am. I think
it shows great restraint.

- Oh, shit!
- Not again.

Oh, get that ribbon
from over there.

- There you go.
- That'll do.

"For the first time
in 500 years,

a total solar eclipse
is approaching London

in less than a fortnight."

"Such an eclipse occurs

when a new moon drifts
between the sun and Earth

like a lid,
smothering the sun black

and casting its shadow
over the Earth's surface."

"Halley's eclipse
is the first of its kind,

predicted on Newtonian theory,
and thus,

a detailed map of its path
is illustrated below."

How is my little troublemaker
and her mischief of mice?

Papa, promise you'll come play
after the Bennetts.

Only if Wolly promises
not to bite this time.

Oh, can't promise that.

- No footmen, of course.
- No, of course not.

I just hope the pheasant...

...isn't as vomit
as it was last time.

Oh, my goodness.
I was on the pot for days.

I know. Squitting.

Mr and Mrs Bennett,
how lovely to see you.

Right this way.

Were you invited to the ball

at Cumberland Castle?

-It sounds splendid.
-We were not.

Or that interminable dinner for the new Earl of Gloucester?

Sadly not, no.

-Oh...
-I'm sure it was a servant's error.

Error, yes.

Mm.

Mm!

Lord Marlow told me the most
extraordinary tale this morning.

Something called an "eclipse."

Apparently, there's rumour
from reliable sources,

evil spirits will pour out

like an open spigot
from the sky.

The Devil's doing
for this wretched king.

- Reliable sources, you say?
- Oh, it's true.

Yes, evil is afoot.

- Hmm.
- First a German monarch.

- Then the pox.
- Pox.

- And now there's a hole in the sky?
- Hmm.

Whatever's next?

However problematic
you find Georgey's ascension,

the bloody Jacobites
are sullying the streets

with violence and mayhem...

...like snobbish children
whose toys have been taken.

Long live the king!

I'm sorry, but they're nothing
but seditious imbeciles

masquerading as revolutionaries.

You can't be serious?

I've been accused
of many things, Mr B,

but seriousness
isn't one of them.

A Hanover? Here?

It's an affront for any
self-respecting Englishman.

The dismantling of the Tories...

...the Whigs'
cloak-and-dagger ascent.

It's disgraceful. A vile coup.

This is our land.

- Yes. Yes. Yes.
- Our crown. Our birthright.

And I'm not about to let
some filthy German

- snatch it away from us.
- He's right.

If we're not careful,

we'll be eating schnitzel
for breakfast.

Guten nacht. Guten tag.

- Guten poppycock.
- Indeed.

George Augustus?

-Oh, I don't trust an Augustus.
-No, no, no.

But James Edward Stuart...

-There you are. See?
-Now, that's a king's name.

Mm! And this Johann Bach fellow
sounds suspicious too.

Everyone we've spoken to

-considers the ascension illegitimate.
-Illegitimate.

Seriously, Humphrey,
are you really worried

that some wily Whig
is going to come

and seize your land
while you're on the pot?

-Sir, do you mock me?
-By no means.

Simply a disagreement
between dearest friends

exchanging thoughts and ideas
on politics of the day.

You, sir,

have an astute, agile mind
on such matters.

I'm not much
of a political animal.

More of a peacock.

- Mm!
- Who wants cake?

Only two servants.
It's barbaric.

And did you see,
they've sold their Van Goyen?

It's gambling debts, obviously.

Oh, Humphrey.

Oh, shit!

I've never seen
so much shit in my life!

From the Duke
and Duchess of Devonshire.

Urgent.

Er. Sir!

I saw
that telescope you got her.

How much did that cost?

I don't know
what you're talking about?

Sir!

"D."

It's a request...

from the Duke and Duchess
of Devonshire.

They're to begin
their yearly Yorkshire tour,

and one of their hosts,
Lord Vernon,

has apparently succumbed
to a grisly bout of the pox.

- And...
- What? What? What? What is it?

They need a place to dine
and sleep in ten days' time,

and are curious if we can...

...accommodate.

No.

- No.
- Yes!

Shit, shit, shit, shit!
Shit, shit, shit!

- Please, please. Please, please, please?
- No! No!

-I'm sorry, no, we can't. No.
-Please.

Is this a prank?
A spiteful jest?

I assure you, it's quite real.

Look at the penmanship.
It's remarkable!

Do you think
he wrote it himself?

We have neither the means

nor the staff to accommodate
such a noble request.

I'm sorry,
but I will not be humiliated.

Wouldn't rejecting
such a request

be equally humiliating,
if not more?

Er. We could lie.

We could respond
with lurid accounts

-of sickness ourselves.
-My darling, my love, please.

Can't you see the opportunity?

A Yorkshire tour
during an outbreak and uprising.

We are the beneficiaries
of miraculous circumstance!

Chauncey, please.

In candour, we were probably
fifth or sixth on the list,

but that's neither
here nor there.

Don't you see? We were chosen.

This is our chance
to restore your family name.

To put us back on top.

To rewrite history
without anyone being the wiser,

save for a few nosy neighbours
and debt collectors.

You are the company you keep.

Ah, imagine our lives
after such a revered dinner.

The invitations
to balls and galas

in various royal courts.

Wah!

Filled with duelling wits
and platters of pineapple.

And maybe, maybe...

...an 'oliday in old Paris with the Duke and Duchess.

Oh, My Lady Savage, you look
particularly ravishing ce soir!

Why, thank you, Your Grace.
This is madness.

I know. But isn't it fun?

Your birth was brutal
and without distinction.

You've had to claw
and scratch your way every inch

to pull yourself
out of the muck.

And look where you are now.

Lord of the bloody manor!

A duke and duchess
to dine at my table.

You're an inspiration
to low-born ruffians everywhere.

After we befriend
the Duke, our vexed collectors

will be forced
to forgive their loans.

Or ask for interest.

Oh! Ah!
You little shit!

- Fuck!
- Sorry, sir. It was an accident.

- I'll show you an accident!
- Oh, fuck!

Come here, you fuck!

Seems like a rather
large waste of money, no?

You worry too much.

You'll give yourself
irritable bowels.

Look, nothing's set
in stone, my love.

But if we do accept,

think of it as an investment
in our future.

I imagine, one day,
you're going to marry well

and save us all from ruin.

You speak of me
as if I were property

to be sold
to the highest bidder.

Tragic as it might seem,
you are.

Fertile land
to be nurtured, gardened,

and, on occasion,
drunkenly ploughed in the night

without adequate satisfaction.

But, Mama,
you married Papa for love.

He was nothing more
than a charming rogue.

Yes, and look where
that foolishness has left us.

Oh, you're a fantasist, my love.
Just like your father.

Lost in the stars.
Now, get some rest.

Say goodnight to the mice.

-No. I'll do no such thing.
-Please.

You're a disturbed child,
but I love you.

Miss Neville!

How curious
to see you in the cellar.

Oh, I--
I must be lost, me laird.

If you're not too busy,

perhaps you could help me
butter my biscuit

with a little clotted cream
and gooseberry jam?

Why, of course, me laird.

Dirty little piggy.

LADY SAVAGE You're a gifted
swordsman, Mr Halifax.

It's all in the wrist,
My Ladyship.

For what it's worth...

I implore you to accept
the Duke's request

and to reply with haste.

This is your chance
to rebuild Savage House

and finally return your name
to its rightful place.

You deserve to shine, my love.

To be the golden beacon
you were born to be,

before the men in your life

sullied and squandered
your good fortune.

Hold me.

Don't touch me!

I think I love you.

In the sweet-smelling
sheets of her young lover,

Lady Savage finally agreed

to host the Duke and Duchess
for dinner,

a responsibility
she did not take lightly.

And so,
our march of folly begins.

Knowing my husband
is prone to indulgence,

I have taken it upon myself
to guide the process

of restoring our home
to its former glory

in ten days' time,

and I've made a detailed list
of all expected duties

to eradicate any confusion
or negligence.

Mr Halifax, you are to handle
all manual labour,

including, but not exclusive to, gardening, carpentry...

...and general restoration.

Miss Neville, in addition
to your usual cleaning duties,

you are to work with Mr Walcot
in conceiving and procuring

the necessary items
for our menu,

as well as notifying
the finest tradesmen

in their various fields.

Art dealer, jewel merchant,
dressmaker, et al.

This is a duke's dinner,
ladies and gentlemen.

It's a great honour.

No expense shall be spared.

Now, the clock is ticking. So...

Chop chop!

I've been thinking
about dinner guests.

We should invite
Lord Cumberland and Earl...

so-and-so.
And add a little culture.

Perhaps that witty Dubliner,
Dean Swift?

At short notice
and during an outbreak,

it'll be tough.

- But we can try.
- What?

It's not my fault.

I'm a nervous eater,
you know that.

Up, up, up, up, up!

Sir! Please! Please!

Climbing the social ladder
can be perilous,

- if you're not careful.
- Sir!

Stop horsing around, darling.

No need to cry about it. Wuss.

Perhaps after you've finished,
Miss Neville,

you can unearth
my mother's china

from whatever dusty cabinet
you've hidden it in.

Can't seem to find it anywhere.

Yes, ma'am.

Oh, yes, yes, just like that.

I'd help,

but I'm utterly useless
with a hammer.

There's so much
that needs to be done.

The pressure's unimaginable! Mm.

I don't know
what I'd do without you.

I was thinking of possibly
selling off another parcel

to bankroll the necessary
additions for the dinner.

You've already sold or loaned
against every parcel, sir.

Some twice. Need I remind you
of our Mr Black?

Oh. Yes, yes, of course.

Parcel 11. I--
I was merely musing.

No self-respecting gentleman
knows his bank balance.

Well, if you're
not careful, sir,

we'll end up in Fleet,
or worse, Bedlam.

Never mind the particulars.
We'll think of something.

What a fine collection,

Your Ladyship.

Your family's impeccable taste
is well known

and without exception.

This item, in particular,
is of great interest.

No, I'm afraid
I can't, Mr Brimsby.

My Aunt Elsa gave me that.

But, darling, you never wear it.

Only the pearls and the garnets.
I won't sell my jewels.

And so, Lady Savage...

...sadly sold
her mother's pearls,

her aunt's earrings,

and a slew of Venetian trinkets
to Mr Brimsby

for a rather large pouch
of coin.

There was a great deal left

to acquire
for the Duke's dinner,

and now, they had
the requisite means.

First and foremost,

with three notable paintings
missing in the parlour room,

Chauncey decided it was prudent
to purchase lesser works

of equal size to replace them.

The large empty squares marked
by dust and sun damage

were a garish sight
to any learned eye,

particularly,
a duke and duchess.

This comes from Giacomo Adolfi,

an incredible talent
and a disciple of Caravaggio.

His work isn't as known,

but he is held
in the highest regard

- in the essential circles.
- Hmm.

I-- I sold one last month
to the Earl of Leicester.

All very hush-hush, of course.

Of course. Er...

Yes, I see now.

Quite magnificent. Brilliant.

Er, what may I ask is the price?

You have impeccable taste,
Sir Chauncey.

I'm sure we can come to a fair
and equitable understanding.

Of course,

not understanding
the finer things,

Chauncey painfully overpaid
the nobleman, Lord Wilbury.

These are Jacobean
with a rattan back.

Er. These are Queen Anne
with a cabriole leg.

This is the latest fashion.

It's Italian silk damask
with a ball-and-claw foot.

Er. This fabric was woven
by blind nuns in Holland.

They're lovely.
They have tiny fingers.

Now, these feet look like gold.
They aren't, actually.

And these are our chairs.

-Yes, Duke.
-No, of course, Duke.

-Did you hear, Duke?
-Yoo-hoo!

Chauncey and Lady Savage

had agreed not to tell anyone

of their illustrious
dinner guests,

but quickly abandoned
such secrecy

and proceeded to inform everyone

that passed through their home
or would listen.

Of course, they did so
with great discretion.

-And pigs can fly!
-Oh, no, it's true.

Then you must have these.

For a duke and duchess,

the curtains must always
match the sheets.

- Duchess, your chariot awaits!
- Get up.

What's the occasion,
Your Ladyship?

Don't tell a soul,

but the Duke
and Duchess of Devonshire

-are coming for dinner.
-Oh!

You must have this then.

Lady Lennox wore it
to the Cumberland Ball.

Everyone at the Royal Court is wearing it.

- Oh, it's stunning!
- You're too modest.

-Oh!
-With a figure like yours, Your Ladyship,

it'll be perfection.

I'll tuck it here,
here, and here.

Just you see.

Do I have to wear this?

Yes, you do.

Darling...

you're like a beautifully
wrapped candy

that, once bitten,
is laced with lye and hemlock.

And you, dearest husband, are like a provenance rose.

A charming
and colourful creature

that, on closer inspection,
is actually quite thorny

and grown in manure.

-Sir...
-I know, I know.

I'll pay the rest next month.
I promise.

-Sir...
-Ah!

A duke's dinner could be
invaluable for business.

Especially during
such a wretched outbreak. Hmm?

They'll be ready
before the dinner.

- Darling.
- With mischievous glee,

the two continued
to dig themselves into debt.

- Hmm!
- For ambition,

like any sweet elixir,
can be a blinding thing.

They even commissioned
a family portrait

to colour them
in a more lavish light

than their circumstance
suggested.

For perception is everything,

especially among
the ruling class.

Why are you holding
a pheasant, Papa?

You don't hunt.

Nobody wants to see reality,
my love.

- They only want the fantasy.
- Don't move.

I know you think
you are not moving,

but you are.

- Pardon the costumes.
- Hmm!

I know
this may sound rather peculiar,

but you are to impersonate
the Duke and Duchess

so we may rehearse
the fashionable

dance of the day,

whilst dearest Fanny
can practise her harpsichord.

If anyone should be playing
the Duke and Duchess

in this game, it should be us.

Then they'd be you and I, dear.
That's not particularly helpful.

- What about the eclipse?
- What about it?

Some fear it's going to create
a black mirror in the sky

for dark spirits
to funnel through.

If you don't start playing,
I'll show you a dark spirit

in the form of a birch paddle,

or perhaps
those wretched mice of yours

would like a little arsenic with their breakfast.

Or perhaps I should shave them

and make myself
a fashionable pair of eyebrows.

-You wouldn't!
-I most certainly would.

Now, this is the Duke
and Duchess.

We must be at our very best.

Duke, may I have this dance?

Of course, Your Ladyship.

If I may say,
you are a vision this evening.

-You may not, Mr Halifax.
-Why, thank you, Your Grace.

Duchess.

Fanny!

How's it going
with Her Ladyship?

We're nearly there, my love.
We are nearly there, I promise.

And the moment,
I'm sure of her affections,

Chauncey will be plagued
by tragedy.

Perhaps the poisoning
of a teacake or wine.

Or a hunting accident
while fowling.

Or drunkenly tumbling
from his window sill.

I will ascend
to lord of the manor

and shower you with the riches
you so richly deserve.

Hmm.

He's a sad old man,
and uncharitable lover, but...

-he's not without his charms.
-Hmm.

While we're in
the murderous spirit,

why not kill off
Her Ladyship as well?

A drowning at daybreak,

or an errant slip
on a soapy floor.

No, that's too suspicious.

Them both dying of unnatural
and curious causes.

Not to mention little Fanny.

Who cares about that
snivelling little snob?

Those mice of hers
eat better than I do.

We have to think
of the long game here.

After the dinner,
after the dust settles,

we'll make our move.

Hmm, hmm.

Good day, sir!

How may I help you?

Er. Higher, ma'am?

Ma'am?

Ma'am?

Lower. And a little to the left.

Oh!

Who the hell?

Don't argue, just...

Mr and Mrs Bennett.
To what do we owe the honour?

We were just taking
our morning stroll

and thought we'd stop by.
Are the Savages in, by chance?

Of course.

We don't mean to impose,
but we--

-You most certainly do.
-Beg your pardon?

Whenever someone
begins a sentence with,

"We don't mean to impose,"

followed by the word "but,"
they most certainly mean it.

Don't apologise, Mr Bennett. Simply continue your imposition.

- We're all friends here.
- No, no, no, no, no!

-No, really--
-It's not like that at all. Well, we were just--

- ...strolling.
- ...strolling.

Well, you see, we really
don't mean to impose, but, er...

we did hear that the Duke
and Duchess of Devonshire

were coming for dinner.

- It's true.
- Oh!

- How magnificent!
- Truly.

It's all the gossip!

Er, we heard
Lord Vernon's illness

had taken a terrible turn
for the worse.

One man's tragedy
is another's treasure.

-Indeed.
-Mm.

Is that a Caravaggio?

- A gentleman never boasts.
- Mm-hmm.

You two look simply glowing.

- That dress. Your hair.
- Er.

Er. Your complexion.
I mean, it's...

It is remarkable.

- Er. Mm-hmm. Hmm.
- Oh, you're too kind.

Would it be too much
to enquire our standing?

To that,
I mean our invitation.

Oh!

Mm.

Dearest friends.

I'm afraid that every seat
is spoken for.

Hmm.

But rest assured,
that if anyone should drop out,

you are firmly in consideration.

Of course. Of course.

- Yes. Yes. We wouldn't want to impose.
- Want to impose.

It's no imposition at all.

Gosh, look at the time.

If you'll excuse us,
we have a great deal to prepare.

We're very busy.

If anything should change,
don't forget...

Oh, are you all right, my love?

It's fine, it's nothing.
It's nothing.

No, let me get a doctor
to take a look.

Oh, don't be so dramatic.

I've more than enough wine
to quell the pain.

Oh!

Now, show me
the bloody flower options again!

Don't you raise your voice
with me.

You're acting
like a petulant child.

I'm sorry, darling.

I'd simply like to see
the flower options again,

-if that's not too much to ask.
-You wouldn't know the difference

between peonies
and bloody daffodils,

-but very well.
-I have a keen eye

and a sharp nose...
...I'll have you know.

-Don't forget a limp leg.
-You're relentless.

Thank you.
Are you quite finished?

Good.

Because we need two more footmen
for tomorrow's rehearsal.

One for either side
of the table.

Where am I supposed to find
two footmen,

in the middle of nowhere?

I don't care
if you have to dress up a donkey

and a bloody Jacobite!
Just do it.

We've got auditions
this afternoon

and they cannot be rescheduled!

You're relentless!

Dorothy!

What the hell are you doing,
big toe?

Oh, shit!

Hey! Look who's here!

Oh, morning, Beryl. Myfanwy.

Gather round!
Gather round, everybody.

Jacob, Jacob.
Well done. Well done.

Got some good news.
All gather round. Don't be shy.

I need two fine men for an assignment in the main house.

You'll be more
than fairly compensated

for your time.

Chauncey had sympathy
for his workers' plight,

for he was once one of them.

They were an unfortunate
and painful reminder

of his humble beginnings.

Though he would never admit it,

this was the reason Chauncey

rarely, if ever,
visited the stables.

Now, who here
has all their limbs,

including their fingers?
Hands up.

Ah.

You. And you.

Excellent.
You two, come this way.

Chauncey even paid them

a handsome stipend

from his dwindling pouch,
far more than was warranted,

and expressly against
Her Ladyship's wishes.

Don't tell Her Ladyship.
This is our little secret.

Yes, sir.

-What's your name, my good man?
-James, sir.

-James Darby.
-Ooh, strong name. Very English.

-And yours?
-Leslie.

Not as strong.
A little feminine. Now...

I'm going to call you Horace.

It's a strong name.
My father was a Horace.

Come along. Come along.

I'll leave you fine men

in the care of my valet,
Mr Halifax.

Check them for all signs
of pox, pimples,

malodorous breath,
foetid sweat and foul urine.

Then boil their clothes...

...perfume their limbs...

...clean them up...

...show them the basics.
Chop chop.

This is
the only warning

you're going to get,
so, heed it well.

Do not take advantage
of Sir Chauncey's charity.

He may be a kind and magnanimous man,

but I assure you, I am not.

To even ponder pinching a pastry

would be to meet
an untimely end.

Am I understood?

Good.

Oh, not bad! Not bad at all!

Well done, Reginald.

-Fine work.
-Thank you, sir.

How does it feel
to be a footman?

-To be out of the muck?
-Like a new man, sir. Thank you.

Brilliant. Less smiling.
But brilliant.

Well done. Well done.

Yeah, that's it.
Hurry up. Pull it out.

That's it. Yeah. Yeah, come on.

I would help, but I'm utterly
useless with a hammer.

I don't like that.

Ooh!

Salmay, Dalmay, Adonay!

Oh, he's good,
isn't he?

Very.

What do you think
of the new footmen?

-Very respectable.
-Hmm.

What do you think
of our performers?

-Oh, quite riveting.
-Yes.

All the world's a stage...

I could do this.
I've tread the boards,

played the Bard.

And all the men and women...

-Merely players.
-...merely players.

- They have their exits...
- They have their exits...

and entrances.

And one man in his time...

- Plays many parts.
- ...plays many parts.

- Oh, yeah!
- Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!

Jesus...
...put me on the rack.

If you don't
behave yourself,

I'll have you severed
and fed to the mice!

You fucker!

Mm.

Oh!

Fuck!

Dorothy?

Where are you? The rehearsal!

Dorothy!

Tighter.

Tighter!

Ow! Be careful!

Sorry, ma'am.

The rehearsal dinner
is nearly ready, sir.

Darling, we're going
to have to get the carpenter

to raise the ceilings,
if your wigs get any larger.

I can hear the complaints
of vexed theatregoers already.

Oh, it's not that bad.

It's a mountainous rodent.

Oh.

Oh, Duke,
what do you think of my gown?

Is it too much?

Oh, Your Grace, you're too kind!

-What did he say?
-A woman never tells.

You're both mad as a hatter.

She's such a card. (CHUCKLES

-Oh, this looks divine!
-Oh.

Ah!

- Hmm!
- Mm!

I'd like to thank you all
for your generous attendance

and decorous gifts.

We are humbled and honoured
to host the Duke and Duchess

on such a glorious evening.

I'll finish the rest later.

Cin-cin, and bon appétit.

Mm!

What the hell is this?
Send it back!

Well, it's a little undercooked,
but... it's not that bad.

It's foul, positively rancid!

And certainly not fit
for a bloody duke.

We'll be sent to the gallows!

Next course!

I'm so sorry, Duke.

After a long day
of endless eating and drinking,

Chauncey finally succumbed
to his considerable pain.

Darling?

- What is it?
- Ow, my toe!

Get the doctor.

Oh, darling.

Dorothy, help!

Yes, it appears you have
a touch of the King's disease,

-as they say.
-King's disease?

It feels like the bloody thing
is going to explode!

I assure you,
it will not explode.

The Duke is coming
in less than a week.

I cannot be hobbling about
like some village idiot!

Take this three times a day.

It's the very latest.

A peculiar,
though effective combination

of laxatives, liquorice
and coriander.

- Liquorice?
- If it worsens, let me know at once,

and I'll apply
the necessary leeches.

I must advise the strict avoidance...

...of all red meat and drink

until the swelling
and pain pass.

You have my word, Doctor.

I'll not drink a droplet
till the Duke's dinner, I swear.

Duke and Duchess
are only days away.

- Would you like some more, sir?
- Hmm.

Up, up, up! Careful!

With five days
till the Duke's dinner,

as was custom,
they sent their luggage ahead

with strict instructions
on how best to prepare.

Whoa.

From the precise fold
of a precious garment,

to the herbs with which
to scent their pillow.

I know movement
isn't your first instinct.

Should we try a little urgency?

Through to the back!

Savage!

Savage!

Why, Mr Black,
to what do we owe the honour?

Enough tomfoolery, boy.

I see our traveller
has returned.

I need a word
with Mr Savage, at once!

It's true, he has,
but I'm afraid

-he's fallen gravely ill, possibly the pox.
-Last week it was Hamburg,

now it's the bloody pox!
You're shameless.

This is Mr Loughton,
the gentleman

to whom your employer sold

the same parcel of land
as he did to me.

Next time you see us,

we shall be accompanied
by the authorities. Good day!

Good day, sir.

Come on, Darby!

With the
Duke's arrival imminent,

Lady Savage called
upon Mr Brimsby once more.

Against her better judgement,

she sold a slew
of family heirlooms

to help pay
for their mounting bills.

She even conceded to sell

her grandmother's
cherished ring,

that she had sworn she wouldn't.

Stunning specimen,
Your Ladyship...

-truly.
-Thank you, Mr Brimsby.

Mama, you're going to send us

to the poor house
if you keep this up.

Not now, Fanny. I'm in no mood.

Hurry!

Hurry.

So much needs to be done, I--

My Lord, please.
Remember what the doctor said!

I don't care
what the bloody doctor says!

What does he know?

Liquorice and laxatives?

I've been shitting
in a bloody pan all night!

I need
to check on preparations!

You're not going anywhere,
per doctor's orders!

Perhaps Mrs Bennett was right.

Evil is afoot.

These Jacobites
and wretched revolutionaries

are stirring up the masses.

Cholera and typhus

-preying upon the poor.
-Huh?

And now pox creeping
its way to the countryside

and lurking at our doorstep.

Not to mention
my bloody toe!

Just relax, My Lord.

Everything's going
to be all right.

Oh, you're a divine creature.

A celestial being
with sanguine skin

- and supple thighs.
- I must confess,

I want nothing more
than to bear you a son.

The gift Her Ladyship has never been able to give.

To be your actual mistress.

I promise, darling, it'll happen in due time.

Now, do you have any
clotted cream, perchance?

Erm...

hypothetically speaking,
could you ever envision me

as an adequate replacement
for Chauncey,

if his gout were to worsen,

or something unforeseen
were to happen to him?

What a perfectly absurd idea,
Mr Halifax. You jest.

For if your insinuations
were designs,

I'd have to have you sent
to the gallows.

Now, resume licking my bum

-before I give it another thought.
-Of course, My Ladyship.

Oh!

-Did you poison him?
-Of course not. Did you?

Of course not!

Oh, he's probably
just being dramatic.

-He doesn't handle pain very well.
-Hmm.

- Is she any closer?
- She's playing coy, but coming around. You'll see.

By the time the Devonshires leave...

Leslie.

You didn't happen to hear anything, did you?

You weren't
eavesdropping, were you?

Spying like a weaselly knave?

Hmm?

Come here! You little shit! Come here!

Leslie!

- Help! Help!
- Horace!

Leslie, come here!

They're all rejection letters.
Every one of them.

- What, Dean Swift?
- No.

-Lord Cumberland?
-No.

They're all very genteel,

but they're rejections
nonetheless.

It appears that no one
wants to attend the dinner

for fear of having to travel
during an outbreak.

Er. "We regret to inform you..."

"We cordially have to..."

"It is with a heavy heart

that I must decline
your invitation."

It was as if,
with each rejection,

he could hear them snickering.

He wasn't noble enough.

Gentlemanly enough.
Smart enough.

No matter what he did,
or how much he spent,

what paintings
adorned his walls,

or clothes his person,

Chauncey could never escape
the simple fact

he was born
with the wrong last name.

Yes.
Move your hand to the right.

Bottom corner--
Yeah, that's it, and then up.

Up, up, up, up, up.
Higher, higher, higher.

Up, up, up.

No, no, now you've gone too far.
Come down.

Up on the left.

That's it. Keep going,
keep going, keep going,

keep going,
keep going, keep going,

keep... keep--
No, keep going, keep going.

No, no, no, no, no! Careful!
Careful, careful, careful!

Now down a little.

Yes, yes, yes. No, stop.
What do you think, darling?

Look, darling, they match there!

In her husband's absence,

Lady Savage had commanded
the ship quite admirably.

Leaving no stone unturned,
she had led her listless staff

the way a great general
might stage a siege...

Er. Mr Darby, those vases
don't belong there,

-they live in the parlour room.
-..or dramatist his opening night.

Mr Walcot.

Darling,
doesn't this look wonderful?

Mm!

Mm!

Mr Walcot,
you've improved enormously.

That pear is tart and delicious.

We'll have this,
this, this, this, and this.

Er, of course, ma'am.

Er.

-Miss Neville.
-Hmm?

-Is that a stain?
-Sorry, ma'am.

What if the Duke were to see it?

In his fragile state,

Chauncey could no longer see
the beauty of their home,

only its warts.

He became transfixed
by a minuscule crack

on a distant wall, the corner
of a painting slightly askew,

a sliver of dust on the mantel.
Nothing was right.

A sort of madness
had begun to sink in

that could not be hindered
or halted.

Like an undercooked soufflé,
he was collapsing into himself.

Would you like
some wine, sir?

No.
No, he would not.

Would you, darling?

Darling?

What happened to...
What's his name?

- Who?
- The toothless fellow.

-I haven't seen him all day.
-Er, Leslie?

Er. Yes, that's it.
Horace. Where's Horace?

He must have disappeared.

-Sir, please.
-People don't just disappear.

Perhaps he quit
or joined the Jacobites.

Horace wouldn't that.
We had a connection.

-Darling, can this wait?
-It can't. Have you seen him?

-No, sir.
-Well, where the hell is he?

I don't know, sir.
Maybe he fell ill with the pox,

-or ran off with a barmaid.
-Well, find him, goddamn it!

Do I have to do
everything myself?

The Duke's dinner
is any day now,

and I'm surrounded
by idiocy and ineptitude!

Please, sir, stand still!

If you ever want me to finish this expeditious...

...hackneyed portrait
of familial forgery

and counterfeit love,

then you will do me the kindness
to stand bloody still!

I'm sorry, sir.
I-- I-- I-- I spoke out of turn.

I-- I did not mean any offence.

I-- I-- I have been under
a great deal of stress

and I am simply trying
to illuminate--

"Familial forgery
and counterfeit love"?

You, Mr Roos...

...have the tact, taste, and artistic acumen

of a blind infant

painting with his own faeces,
you little shit!

I've never heard such abrasive...

...brushstrokes in my life.

May I remind you
that it is you who works for me?

-You've been paid handsomely for your rapidity.
-Well...

And if I hear any more grumbling
or grievance,

I shall have no choice

but to carve up your hands
with a hatchet.

Am I understood, hmm?

And you, dearest Reginald,
mutinous dissident,

are you trying to thwart...

-Oh...
-...and undermine this glorious dinner

with your incessant
incompetence, hmm?

Not only can you
not lead your staff,

apparently,
you cannot find them.

And you, you're no better,

with your sympathetic ear,
your generous bosom,

your callous cunt
and clotted cream.

You're a
chocolate-covered spider!

And where's Angus, hmm?

Angus Walcot,
the only man in England

who can cook a cow
that even I cannot eat!

You see this?
What would the Duke say?

This entire house is covered
in a film of filth and poverty!

Our food is wretched.
Our flowers stale.

Our staff missing.

It has to be perfect!
I will not be mocked!

Nothing is right!
Where's Horace?

-Where is Horace?!
-Who?

Your father's dead, my darling, and he has been for many years.

- Just... just breathe.
- What will the Duke think of us?

I'm a monstrous sight.
Look at us!

A hunchback of Yorkshire
in this house of horrors.

No, no,
be calm, my love. Be calm.

I am calm!

Papa!

Someone should sort out
that crack.

Your condition
has worsened precipitously.

Have you been taking
your medication,

following my
strict instructions?

I've fallen gravely ill, Doctor.

Can't you feel my fever?

You have no fever, sir.

Perhaps it's pox, or...
or the sweating sickness then.

Or those
wretched Bennetts have...

have poisoned me
for my position!

I can assure you, you have not been poisoned, sir.

It is merely gout.
You just need rest.

There's no time to rest!
The Duke and Duchess are coming!

Search the Bennetts' house
at once! I demand it!

Odious butchers!
This is negligence!

Wickedness!

Yes, er, why don't we try
a little laudanum

to ease the pain?

Now, stick your tongue out,
and say, "Ah."

Ah...

- Now...
- Opium.

...I shall apply the leeches.

- One.
- That's ticklish.

It's ticklish.

Two.

Slimy...

leech.

Three.

Oh!

Yes, this one is the clever one.

And my favourite, four.

My best leech.

Now, they will help.

But you must follow
my dietary instructions

if you are to heal in time
for your dinner.

- You have my word.
- Hmm.

- Opium, opium.
- Yes.

Opium. Opium. More opium.

Opium. More opium.

More opium.

Dinner's tonight,
I'm going to be late.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

Where's my wig?

What if somebody sees me?

What if the Duke
sees me?

They're going to be here
in a moment.

The Duke is coming.
The Duke is coming.

The Duke is coming. The Duke is coming.

Is anyone there?

Reginald?

Dorothy?

Georgina?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Reginald?

Darling?

What's that sound?

Erm. Hello?

Hello?

It can't be.

Oh, s... sorry.

Reginald, how could you?

-He's, er...
-I...

er, wonder whether we might...

...just go back to the way
things were a moment ago,

and pretend this never happened?

Your cock is inside my wife!

Yes...

Oh!

I... is that my wig?

Er, please, sir,
let's not do anything brash.

You swine!

-You've left me no choice in the matter, I'm afraid.
-Er...

-I must!
-You mustn't.

- I must...
- You mustn't.

-..demand...
-Please don't.

-...satisfaction!
-Oh, fuck, really?

Chauncey found himself
in a moral quandary

of the most complex nature...

Double, bubble,
toil and trouble.

Passions burn
and bets are double.

...to defend his honour
and adopted family name...

-Yes!
-...or to possibly kill

his best and, frankly, only friend.

I've never duelled
without Reginald.

Frankly, he usually
defended my honour.

I don't know what to do.

-Perhaps I should use the other footman as my second?
-My love.

He doesn't even know
how to load a proper pistol,

let alone the rules of duelling.

No, as much as it pains me,

you'll be foolish to select
anyone other than Mr Bennett.

But then we'd have
to invite him to the dinner.

Well, it's the lesser of evils,
given the circumstances.

Besides, no one else has confirmed yet.

How is your foot, my love?

The leeches have helped.

Why...

Why did you have
to fornicate with him?

Why now?

Erm, well, it's actually
been going on for quite a while,

but that's neither here
nor there.

Why did you
have to demand satisfaction?

I had no choice.
I'm a gentleman!

Oh! Well, you've picked
a funny time

to start acting like one.

I beg you. I beg you, my love.

-Please don't go through with this.
-I must.

But why? Why can't it wait
until after the dinner?

I can't have him

serving the Duke and Duchess
in front of me.

It'll be humiliating.

- But no one will know.
- I'll know.

But it's suicide.

I need not
remind you of all people

that Reginald
is a marvellous shot.

-Not to mention the blatant hypocrisy of it all.
-What? Hypocrisy?

I was simply trying
to make you jealous

and have a little fun.

Whereas you, my darling,
have a plethora of lovers,

-including my own Lady's maid.
-But I'm allowed to, I'm a man.

Whereas you, my love,
however glorious, are a woman.

By law, my property.

Oh! I'm well aware, husband.

But everything that you own
has been handed down

and procured through my family.
So, let's not mince words.

-It's hypocrisy of the highest order.
-I never knew you cared.

You're my husband.
Of course I do.

But you never said a word.

A wife doesn't.

Well, I can't go back now.
It's too late.

I'll look weak
and indecisive.

Oh. Oh!

Hurry!

This wasn't the plan.
How could you be so careless?

Everything's
under control, my love.

The man couldn't shoot
a tree in a forest.

- This is our moment.
- Trust me.

Hmm?

Everyone knows
there's a vast chasm

- in our ability of shot.
- Mm-hmm.

I'm a far taller target to hit.

Not to mention,
I have a much bigger head.

As daunting as it might seem,
you must go through with it.

It's the only noble thing to do.

You can't be made a cuckold
by your bloody valet!

I can hear the gossips already.

It'd be a stain
you'd never be able to rub out.

-You simply must!
-Of course. I wouldn't think of it.

As your second,
I can't help but ask,

how is our invitation looking?

Well, there's been an enormous
amount of interest...

Mm-hmm.
- ...but it simply wouldn't be the same

without you and Mrs Bennett.

I can't tell you
how happy this makes me.

I've heard,
from reliable sources,

the Duke and Duchess
are quite excited.

Your wife's wit. Your keen eye with the cards.

Oh, it's gonna be
an absolute riot!

Indeed!

Look, I know this might sound
crude or indelicate,

cart-before-horse as 'twere,
but may I... We...

receive the Duke, if you happen
to perish in the duel?

-What?
-You know, just in case.

As a precautionary measure.

"I hope this finds you well,

and that you have
a lovely dinner."

"I also hope to never
see you again. Hans Roos."

I love the pheasant.

Did anyone see you?

Will this suffice?

I don't understand.

For a momentary lapse in shot.

You want me to spare him?

Yes.

Why?

I c... I can replace him.

He's a dim and selfish man,
and a poor shot, I know, but...

-I love him.
-Do you?

But you... you are a woman
of profound wisdom and strength.

-He's a petty opportunist who flogs your lady's maid.
-Oh...

I'm readily aware of how we look
from the outside...

but we love each other...

in our peculiar way.

I know of the rumours that
he swindled me for my fortune,

but that wasn't the case
at all.

I chose him...

his ambition...

his zeal.

He wasn't some stuffy suitor,
inbred and idle.

He was... Oh, he was fun.

Life would be many things,
but it would never be dull.

-I--
-No. I refused to marry well

and find myself
in the enviable position

of being nothing more
than an elegant rug

decorating my husband's
drawing room.

It's a virtuous life, I'm sure.

Duty over desire.
Obligation over happiness.

But that's not the life
that I chose to live.

I chose him.

And I know this sounds odd,
but I truly believe

that it's all been leading
to this moment...

to this dinner.

And I refuse to let some...

lustful tryst...

as pleasurable
as it might have been...

destroy it.

Please don't kill him.

Please.

Reginald!

Come on, Darby.

- Psst!
- Hmm?

Aim for the head, the heart,
the throat. I really don't care.

But shoot straight

and you'll have
a handsome promotion

-on the other side.
-Why is everyone trying to bribe me?

I've heard tales
of your marksmanship

and dubious dealings.

You're a killer, my boy.

I assure you,
your compensation is kind.

At least wear
your spectacles.

They make me look
bookish and fat.

If I'm going to die...

I'm going to look bloody good
while doing it.

I love you.

I'm sorry I was so cruel
the other night.

I wasn't myself.

I love you, you know.

More than anything in the whole world.

And I'm not just saying that
because I'm at death's door.

How could you?

You've put me
in an impossible position.

It was you who demanded
satisfaction, sir.

- Let's not point fingers.
- I'm sorry, sir.

Perhaps we can
resolve this matter

by merely nicking one another
in a fleshy thigh

or... or-- Er. Losing a pinkie?

No one need lose their life
this evening.

We're nearly there, gentlemen.

I love duels.

Sir Chauncey, as the assailed,

-you may call.
-Heads.

Heads it is.

Sir Chauncey
has won the toss

and shall fire first.

Mr Halifax,
you must stand your ground.

Gentlemen...

ten paces.

One, two,

three, four,

five, six, seven, eight,

nine, ten.

I'm sorry.

It was the wind.

Didn't you feel
that gust of wind?

Mr Bennett,
there must be a technicality

for such an occurrence.

I should have another shot,
shouldn't I?

Sir Chauncey,
I'm afraid...

...you must stand your ground and receive Mr Halifax's fire.

Then, and only then,
may you return shot.

You fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

Have you received satisfaction?

Do I look fucking satisfied,
you insipid bore?

Jesus!

I thought
you were just gonna nick me.

You nearly ripped
my bloody arm off!

Well, you challenged me
to a duel, sir.

You should be grateful
I didn't rip your head off.

You ungrateful little cunt!

Gentlemen, you must stand
your ground once more.

Sir Chauncey, it is your turn
to return fire.

Allez au diable!

Allez au diable!

Get the doctor!

Even though
the shot was sheer luck,

Chauncey was consumed
with guilt.

It ate away at his gut
like hemlock.

Get the doctor!

In the end,
Reginald Halifax perished

in the very place
he had been birthed.

In the muck.

Good shot, old boy.

What time should we arrive
for dinner?

Make sure you leave enough
for the... for the head there.

Sir.

I'm certain you will not listen,
but you must not drink...

...for it thins the blood, and your wound is deep.

Do you understand?

Oh, you're alive!

- Gentler, darling.
- Oh!

-My arm is shattered.
-Oh, I'm sorry, my love.

Er. Where's Reginald?

I flayed him on the battlefield.
Took his head right off.

What?

Why do you look so surprised?

Is it he you wish
returned in victory?

Er. No, no, no.
I-- I-- I don't--

Let's not overdo it now.
Better him than me.

-I'm your husband.
-No, shut up! He's...

Dead? It's true.

He's currently lying headless
in a ditch near the pond.

I'm sorry to be so blunt,
but what's done is done.

He was a good friend,

excluding the incidents
where he sullied my wife.

Nonetheless, he'll be missed.

I know I've been a wretched fool
these past few days, but...

you've all done a remarkable job
with the place.

Now, fetch a bottle of bubbly
so we can celebrate. Chop chop.

♪ One, two, three
One, two, three ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

- ♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪
- Darling.

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

- ♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪
- Calm down.

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

- Chauncey, darling, stop.
- ♪ Darby, Darby, Darby, dah! ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

- ♪ The Duke and Duchess Are coming for dinner ♪
- Stop, darling.

♪ The Duke and Duchess... ♪

You're scaring me. Stop.

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner ♪

♪ The Duke and Duchess
Are coming for dinner! ♪

Reginald! Reginald!
Come and see!

Oh, shit!

Right. Of course.

That's odd.

(DOOR OPENING

Darling...

Does this
look a little funny?

My love,
it's gangrenous.

You need to see
a doctor immediately.

It's nothing, really.
Just a little burn.

There's too much to do
for the dinner this evening.

Has this all been worth it?

Digging ourselves into ruin,
felling your best friend,

your gout,
and your gangrenous arm?

This is the only thing
I was ever really good at.

And with you, my love,
I found my partner in crime.

This is my chance
to finally prove that I belong.

You do belong, my love.

We both know
I carry the odious stench

of an outsider.

One that no perfume,
however floral,

can eradicate or quell.

Oh.

It's not how you were born,

it's how you live that shows
the depth of your character.

Tonight's going to be perfect.

I promise.

-Is that the arm?
-Mm. Mm.

- I'll have it re-wrapped.
- Er...

Excuse me.
Shit! It fucking stinks!

Ooh!

Shit!

Mr Black,
how dear of you to visit!

Mr Loughton, it's been too long!

Officer, what... what seems
to be the problem?

Don't play aloof
with me, Savage.

Your shameful trickery is over.

We have a warrant
for your arrest.

Trickery? Arrest?

- I see your pox has healed well.
- Indeed.

- Hamburg, was it?
- Hmm?

The West Indies, perhaps?
Your valet...

Ah, I see. My valet.

Course. I thought
this might concern him.

Concern him?

There's been
a grave misunderstanding.

You see, my valet, Mr Halifax,
apparently was running

a duplicitous scheme
to fleece my family

and trusted associates,
such as these fine men.

Poppycock! The man's a liar
and a scoundrel.

Sir, sir, now where might
we find this Mr Halifax?

Reginald Stanley Halifax.

Unfortunately,
he fled in the night

after I confronted him.

I'd like to file a report
at once.

Oh, of course.

This is ludicrous!
I don't believe a word of it.

Er. What are your plans
for this evening, gentlemen?

I beg your pardon?

We're receiving the Duke
and Duchess of Devonshire

for dinner, and thought
you might like to attend.

We can discuss
this sordid little affair

over a good bottle of wine,
like gentlemen.

Really? The Duke and Duchess
of Devonshire? Tonight?

It's settled then?

We'd be honoured. Honoured.

After poor Leslie's
disappearance

and Reginald's death,

it seems you are now
my longest-tenured footman.

And thus, promoted to valet.
Congratulations.

Thank you, sir.

Oh. Considering your
predecessor's digressions,

I thought it best
to lay some ground rules.

Namely, do not fuck my wife!

'Course, sir.

You have risen quick

due to miraculous circumstance.

You and I are not dissimilar.
What's your name again?

- James, sir. James Darby.
- Right, right.

Strong name. Now...

we need to find
two replacements, quick,

for this evening's dinner.

- We don't have much time.
- Course, sir.

- Darby, do you smell that?
- Smell what, sir?

Oh, never mind.

Look at those two fine men. Stop! Stop at once!

Yes, you two.
You're not Jacobites, are you?

Do you have all your limbs?
Including fingers?

Show me. Come closer.

How about your teeth? Top?

Bottom?

Mm, good enough. Splendid.

- I don't like the look of them.
- Behave, Darby.

You didn't look much better
when I first found you.

What about the eye-patch, sir?

Oh, I quite like it. Nice touch.

War wound
from the battlefield, eh?

Syphilis, sir.

Well, looks heroic, nonetheless.

I've been looking for two
fine men such as yourselves.

I'd like to offer you each
a decent job

and meal for the evening.

Deal?

Excellent!

Tally-ho! Trot on.

This is the only warning
you're gonna get,

so heed it well.

Do not take advantage
of Sir Savage's charity.

He may be a kind
and magnanimous man,

but I can assure you I am not.

Tonight is of great importance.

No mistakes will be tolerated.

Am I understood?

Good. Now clean up.

And scrub hard or I'll do it for you.

This is it.

The reason and reflection
for all our tireless work.

The Duke and Duchess
shall be joining us

for dinner this evening.

So, let's be our very best.

When one looks back on one's...

tedious,
and often aimless life...

...these are the days,

the moments,
that one shall remember.

So, chop chop.

Couldn't have
said it better myself.

Everything all right?

Oh, it's perfection.

Good.

Unknowingly,
and rather ironically,

Chauncey had invited
two Jacobites into his home.

They weren't especially
politically minded,

but they did, however,
enjoy their looting

and occasional pillaging.

Down with the rump.

And to make matters worse,

Mr Darby had discovered
an unfortunate bout of the pox.

He knew full well
the potential ramifications.

Losing his life,

infecting
his charitable employers,

perhaps even
the Duke and Duchess,

but feared losing
his stately new post as valet.

He wasn't about to let
this opportunity

slip through his fingers, or fingernails, for that matter.

However miraculous
or inevitable,

Jacobites and the pox
had infiltrated Savage House

without anyone being the wiser.

Underneath its shimmering shell,

a darkness had slipped
through the cracks.

In the words
of Mrs Bennett,

"Evil was afoot."

And do you swallow
the swords as well?

Papa, it's...
it's coming!

It's coming!
Mama, Papa, it's... it's coming!

What the...

What the hell?

Darling.

-Hmm?
-Get the doctor.

What?

I'm going to have
to cut off your arm

or you're going to die.

-Try to stay calm.
-Can't it wait till tomorrow?

I'm afraid not, sir.

But the Duke and Duchess
are coming!

-Sir!
-Please!

You're going to die!

Oh, arm.

"I'd like
to thank you all

for your generous
attendance and..."

Oh.

"I'd like to thank you all
for your generous attendance

and decorous gifts."

"We are humbled and honoured

to host the Duke and Duchess

- on such a glorious...
- ...evening."

Such a glorious...
Such a glorious...

Oh, courage, mon frère.

No ears.

"Host the Duke and Duchess
on such a... glorious evening."

Shit!

Need help, sir?

Not now, Darby.
Just give me a moment.

Oh, not bad, old boy.
Not bad at all.

Now for the final touch.

C'est magnifique.

I know you were quite fond
of Mr Halifax.

I hope you don't hold
his unfortunate passing

against me,

and that we can continue
working together as we were.

Put this whole sordid mess
behind us.

If tonight goes as planned,

then we all stand to gain
immeasurably.

But...

Well, I hope you can forgive me,

as I have forgiven you.

Yes, ma'am.

The moon passed
in front of the sun

for exactly three minutes
and 33 seconds,

precisely as Mr Halley
had predicted.

You're
a radiant creature, my love.

I don't know how
or when it happened,

but you're all grown up.

-But I loathe grown-ups, Mama.
-I know.

Now, no talk of eclipses
and Mr Halley at the dinner.

And certainly no mice.

I don't know
what's wrong with them.

Guinevere and Wolly
are acting terribly bizarre.

They keep walking in circles

and making
the strangest of sounds.

Oh...

Doesn't sound good, does it?

- Stand still.
- I'm trying.

-Does it hurt?
-Unfathomably.

Do you think anyone will notice?

Er...

- Compliments to the chef.
- Ma'am.

You've outdone yourself,
Mr Walcot. Well done.

Thank you, sir.

-Must be the Duke.
-They're early.

No, you stay here,
my love. Darby.

Is your arm all right?

No, no, no, no.

Oh, it's you.

-How lovely to see you.
-Are they here yet?

- Not yet.
- Oh, splendid.

I hope you don't mind,
we, erm, came a little early.

No, no. Not at all.

- Oh!
- Yeah. Oh, oh!

As a precautionary measure,
I feel I should warn you

that there were certain
complications after the duel

and, er, Chauncey's arm
had to be amputated.

- Erm. Is he all right?
- Er...

No, he's in perfect health,
excluding the missing limb.

But I implore you
not to speak of

or look at his arm,
or lack thereof.

-Not a word. Yeah?
-Hmm.

Lady Savage,
I hope we're not intruding.

Oh, no, not at all.
You must be Mr Black.

What a pleasure to meet you.

As a precautionary measure,
I feel I should warn you...

The syphilitic whore
was so advanced

that she collapsed
and died beneath him.

He had penile warts,
and she did too!

Well, we're here.

Should have been with us,
of course,

but the best laid plans...

Yes, but you can't host a dinner
with half an arm, can you?

- It's grotesque.
- I suppose

they've made
a decent fist of it.

Mm. Had to sell

all the family heirlooms,
apparently

-Really?
-Mother's earrings.

Hmm.

Darling, however did you procure
such an invitation?

Mr Savage is a very,
er, dear colleague.

Oh, darling.
When the time comes,

would you like me
to cut up your food for you,

so as not to draw attention?

I love you.

Where are they?

As the hours
began to slip away,

an unsettling dread
washed over the room.

Fanny fed her sickly mouse beneath the table...

...as Chauncey's nub bled through its bandage.

Darling.

Darling,
I think you're bleeding.

Whispers and glances of suspicion spread.

Parched throats cleared.

Darling, do you think
they're coming?

I don't know.

- It's getting late.
- I know.

Darling.

They're not coming, are they?

They're coming.
They're coming.

Perhaps
they're fashionably late.

Fashionably?

I knew it.

Everyone perched
perilously still,

as if posing for a portrait,

when the one-eyed Jacobite's knees...

...began to grow flimsy.

Don't even think of it!

-But, sir...
-But nothing.

You've been fed,
bathed, and paid handsomely

to stand your ground

till the completion
of our dinner,

whenever that might take place.

No one is to move!

Not an inch,
not an errant cough...

or flared nostril.

Am I understood, hmm? Hmm?

What are you all
bloody looking at?

How dare you!

Don't look at me.
I'm hideous!

Papa, may I be excused?

Everyone is to remain
as they are!

They could be here any second!

Darling, be calm.

Be calm.

Reginald!

Reginald, answer the door.
It's them!

Darby, quickly, answer the door!

Yes, sir.

It's them!

It's them!

I knew they'd come.

From the Duke and Duchess
of Devonshire.

Good day.

Hmm?

"We hope this letter
finds you well."

"It has come to our attention

that Lord Vernon
and his family...

...didn't have pox after all."

"They're doing quite well now,
and in good spirits."

"And thus...

the Duke and Duchess
will sadly not be joining you."

"We hope our indecision
has not brought you

any inconvenience or harm,

and hope to meet you
on our next tour."

"Our footmen
shall arrive tomorrow

to retrieve our luggage."

"Sincerely,
the House of Devonshire."

The Duke and Duchess would,

of course, never come.

And the Savages would fall

precipitously into ruin.

Their reckless spending
and careless behaviour

would leave
their once-illustrious home

nothing more
than a poisonous plot.

A crippling burden
for young Fanny

and generations to come.

When one consumes at such a perilous pace...

...purchasing and devouring
everything around them,

inevitably,
they'll devour themselves

from limb to limb.

A rake's progress
is one of descent

and degradation.

For the social ladder
can be precarious...

if you're not careful.

Unhand me!

Mr Black!

To Fleet!

Georgina!

I'm sorry!

Georgina!

Sit still!

Finally, Savage.