All language subtitles for Kind Hearts and Coronets

(BELL RINGING)

(GATE UNLOCKING)

- Evening, Mr Elliott.
- Good evening.

Brr.

- Just sign the book, if you will?
- Yes.

- Been keeping you busy, Mr Elliott?
- Oh, just nicely.

Went up to Manchester on Monday,
a poisoner.

Baby-farmer at Holloway this morning.
Very ordinary crimes, both of them.

This one we've got for you tomorrow
is something special.

Yes, very much so.

Even after all my years
in the profession,

I'm quite looking forward to him.

- Well, I must be getting along.
- Good night, Mr Elliott.

- Good night.
- Usual cup of tea at 7:00?

Oh, please.

Even my lamented master,
the great Mr Barry himself

never had the privilege
of hanging a duke.

Yes.

What a finale to a lifetime
in the public service.

- "Finale"?
- Yes, I intend to retire.

After using the silken rope,

never again be content with hemp.

- Quite. Well, here we are.
- Oh, thank you.

How will he approach it?

I should think
as the calmest you've ever known.

Noblesse oblige, doubtless.

A difficult client can make things
most distressing.

Some of them tend
to be very hysterical.

So inconsiderate.

Well, Colonel, considering
the importance of the occasion,

I shall retire early.

The last execution of a duke in this country
was very badly bungled.

That was in the old days of the axe,
of course.

Yes.

Oh, I... I almost forgot.

Um, you must forgive my ignorance

but when we meet in the morning,

what is the correct form of address?

- Your Lordship?
- Your Grace.

"Your Grace"? Oh.

Thank you.

Good morning, Your Grace.

- All right. Sit down.
- Ah, good evening, Colonel. Glass of wine?

Good evening, Your Grace.
Uh, thank you, no.

I, uh, I called to inquire whether
you had any special wishes for breakfast.

(EXHALES)
Just coffee and a slice of toast, thank you.

Oh, and perhaps a few grapes.

I hate to disappoint
the newspaper-reading public

but it'll be too early
for the conventional hearty breakfast.

The appointment is at 8:00,
is it not?

At 8:00, uh, yes.

If I may venture to say so,
I am amazed at your calmness.

Dr Johnson was, as always, right,

when he observed,
"Depend upon it, sir.

"When a man knows that he's going
to be hanged in a few hours,

"it concentrates his mind wonderfully."

Yes. Well, if there is nothing further
I can do for you...

Nothing, thank you, Colonel.

We shall have the opportunity of making
our adieus in the morning, I presume.

I regret to say, yes.

- Good night, Your Grace.
- Good night, Colonel.

LOUIS: A brief history
of the events leading thereto

written on the eve of his execution

by Louis D'Ascoyne Mazzini,
10th Duke of Chalfont

who ventures to hope
that it may prove not uninteresting

to those who remain to read it.

(GUARD SNORES)

(SNORES)

My good man, it is not by my choice
that you keep me company.

If you wish to sleep, pray do me
the courtesy of sleeping quietly.

With so little time
remaining to complete my story,

it is difficult to choose
where to begin it.

Perhaps I should begin
at the beginning.

(BABY CRYING)

I was a healthy baby,
born of an English mother and Italian father,

(GASPS)

Who succumbed to a heart attack
at the moment of first setting eyes on me.

In the circumstances, it will be understood
that I have but slight memory of him.

The little I know comes
from what Mama told me.

Your father was a very handsome man.

(SINGING IN ITALIAN)

Mama was the daughter
of the seventh duke of Chalfont

of Chalfont Castle.

She eloped with her handsome singer

and exchanged the medieval splendours
of Chalfont Castle

for the modern conveniences

of No 73, Balaclava Avenue, SW.

(SINGING IN ITALIAN)

They were poor, but they had
five happy and harmonious years

before my arrival sent Papa off
to join the heavenly choir.

Reduced to even deeper poverty
by my father's death,

Mama swallowed her pride

and made an effort at reconciliation
with her family.

They did not even reply to her letter.

In order to keep us both alive,
she was reduced

to the horrible expedient
of taking in a lodger.

For him, she had to perform
the most menial tasks.

She felt that her family had conspired
to cheat me of my birthright,

and I passed
from infancy to childhood

in an atmosphere
of family history and genealogies.

The dukedom had been bestowed

by Charles II
on Colonel Henry D'Ascoyne

for services rendered to His Majesty
during his exile.

Later, for services rendered
to His Majesty

after his restoration by the Duchess,

the title was granted
the unique privilege

of descending by the female
as well as the male line.

Louis.

It was therefore theoretically possible

that via Mama I might inherit the dukedom.

Mama scraped and saved

and sent me to the best school
she could afford.

One little incident of my school days
occurs to me as amusing

in relation to my present situation.

Lionel Holland.

What is the Sixth Commandment?

Come, come now.

Someone else then.

I know, please, Miss Waterman.

Louis Mazzini. Tell him.

- Thou shalt not kill.
- Quite right, Louis.

The Sixth Commandment is,
"Thou shalt not kill."

LOUIS: No, in those days,

I never had any trouble
with the Sixth Commandment.

As to the Seventh, I was hardly of an age
to concern myself with it.

Although I was old enough
to be in love.

So Sibella enters my story.

Sibella and her brother, Graham,
were my only close friends

and we grew up together.

In their case, Mama relaxed her objection
to my associating with the local children.

At least their father, Dr Halworth,
was a professional man.

Louis, we must think very carefully
about your future.

Well, it should be quite easy
to get a job.

Not a job, dear. A career.

I had hoped for Cambridge for you.

The D'Ascoynes always go to Trinity.

And then, perhaps, the diplomatic.

But I'm afraid it's no use
looking as high as that.

However, when you've
passed your examination

that should equip you for a start
in one of the professions.

People of quite good family go into
the professions nowadays, I understand.

Now, who do we know
who could help us?

We don't really know anyone,
except the family, and they don't know us.

The least we can do
is try once more.

I shall write
to Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.

He can surely do something
in that bank of his.

Bank, Mama? Is that a profession?

This is a private bank, Louis, dear.

They don't pass money over the counter.

LOUIS: The letter was duly dispatched

and this time we did get an answer.

"Madam, I am instructed
by Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne

"to inform you that he is not aware
of your son's existence

"as a member
of the D'Ascoyne family."

Signed by his secretary.

It's very stupid of him, of them all,
not to admit your existence

when one day you might be
duke of Chalfont.

It's a very big "might," Mama.

There must be at least 12 people
before me

to say nothing of the ones
who haven't been born yet.

Stranger things have happened.

I don't wish to be unchristian,
but in view of their attitude,

I could almost wish those 12 people
should all die tomorrow.

All except one, Mama.

Because you must be duchess
of Chalfont before I'm duke.

It will have to be a job, not a career,
after all, Mama.

I'm afraid so, Louis.

(SOBBING) A D'Ascoyne in trade.

LOUIS: Did poor Mama's silly dreaming

plant in my brain some seed
which was afterwards to grow

into the most sensational
criminal endeavour of the century?

If so, I was not conscious of it
at the time

for there were things
of more immediate concern.

Even potential dukes have to eat.

Mr Perkins,
our lodger for nearly 15 years,

did his best to be helpful.

He was employed as shop walker
in a local drapery store

and found employment for me there.

The possible future duke of Chalfont

became what was known
as a general assistant at the drapery.

This humiliation continued
for two dispiriting years.

And then one day, Mama,
who had broken her glasses

and could not afford
to have them mended,

was knocked down by a tram
near Clapham Junction

and fatally injured.

- (WEAKLY) Louis.
- Yes, Mama.

I should like to be buried
at Chalfont,

in the family vault.

Yes, Mama.

I wrote to the Duke
informing him of Mama's dying wish.

His reply
was the curtest possible refusal.

Standing by Mama's poor little grave
in that hideous suburban cemetery,

I made an oath that I would revenge
the wrongs her family had done her.

It was no more than
a piece of youthful bravado

but it was one of those acorns
from which great oaks are destined to grow.

Even then I went so far
as to examine the family tree

and prune it
to just the living members.

But what could I do to hurt them?

What could I take from them,

except, perhaps, their lives?

I indulged for a moment
in a fantasy of all 12 of them

being wiped out simultaneously
at a family reunion

by my unseen hand.

Of the penniless boy from Clapham being
miraculously transplanted to his birthright.

I even speculated
as to how I might contrive it.

But there were
other more urgent problems.

Mama's tiny income came from an annuity
and had died with her.

The problem of how to live
on 25 shillings a week was solved for me

by an invitation from Dr Halworth
to lodge with them.

It was galling to accept the status
of a poor relation

but the certainty of seeing Sibella every day
was too tempting to be refused.

Louis, I'm so glad you accepted.

It was my idea, you know.

- I've brought you something.
- Oh, Louis, you shouldn't have.

You can't possibly afford it.

(CAR HONKING)

Oh, what a bother. There's Lionel.

See you at supper.

(DOOR CLOSING)

(CAR DRIVING AWAY)

The next few years
brought many such heartbreaks,

but they also brought promotion.

Laces and ribbons
at 30 shillings a week,

fabrics at 32 and six.

Finally, ladies' underwear at 35.

(DOOR OPENING)

I decided that
if I was to be a draper,

at least I would not be
a suburban draper.

So I migrated to a large modern store which
had just been opened in the West End,

at the gigantic salary of £2 a week.

Every lunchtime I went to see
how my inheritance was proceeding.

Sometimes the deaths column
brought good news.

Sometimes,
the births column brought bad.

The advent of twin sons to the Duke
was a terrible blow.

Fortunately, an epidemic of diphtheria

restored the status quo almost immediately

and even brought me a bonus
in the shape of the Duchess.

That summer, the Halworths gave a party.

(PIANO PLAYING)

(PEOPLE CHATTERING)

- Good evening, Sibella.
- Hello, Louis.

- You do look nice.
- So do you.

- Doesn't he, Lionel?
- Very.

(LIONEL CLEARS THROAT)

Emboldened by her kindness to me,

I made a decision
I'd been toying with for some time.

Well, that's the last of them,
thank heaven.

- What an evening.
- I thought it was a very nice evening.

It may have been for you. Oh!

It's awful being a woman,
having to dance with a lot of dull men,

laugh at their jokes
while they're treading on your feet.

- I didn't tread on your feet.
- You're not dull.

- And your jokes are funny.
- Thank you.

- Sibella?
- Mmm-hmm?

Sibella, will you marry me?

(LAUGHS)

Louis, of course not. Do get up.

You may be half Italian,
but even so,

you do look silly
playing the stage lover like that.

- Oh, I look silly, do I?
- Yes. Very.

Do I still look silly?

Now, will you marry me?

No.

- Why not?
- Because I just said I'd marry Lionel.

- You can't.
- Why not?

Well, he's a clod.
He's not a gentleman.

Listen to who's talking.

Whoever heard of a gentleman
blacking the lodger's boots?

That's a wicked thing to say.
Just because Mama was poor.

Lionel will be very rich one day.

- I might be a duke one day.
- Pigs might fly.

No, I might. Really, I might.
You see, Mama was the daughter...

(YAWNING) Oh, yes. I know.

Well, when you are a duke,

you just come and show me your crown,
or whatever it's called

and then I'll feel awfully silly,
won't I?

Yes, you will.

Anyhow, I'm going to marry Lionel
and now I'm going to bed.

- LOUIS: You will.
- (SIBELLA LAUGHING)

LOUIS: If there was a precise moment

at which my insubstantial dreaming
took on solid purpose

that was it.

The D'Ascoynes had not only
wronged my mother,

they were the obstacle between me
and all that I wanted.

The more I thought of them,
these people whom I had studied

until I knew their names and histories
as well as I knew my own,

the more they became monsters
of arrogance and cruelty

whose only function in the world
was to deprive me of my birthright.

I had seen Chalfont
only as Mama had painted it.

To pass in through
that magnificent gateway,

on Visitors Day at a cost of sixpence
was a humiliating experience,

but I forced myself to undergo it.

I wanted a closer view of the target
at which I had determined to aim.

(INAUDIBLE)

I little expected to catch
a glimpse of the bull's-eye.

Excuse me, sir.

There were then some eight people
between me and the dukedom

all seemingly equally out of reach.

It is so difficult to make a neat job
of killing people

with whom one is not
on friendly terms.

I was almost resigned
to its being an impossibility

when one afternoon, at a moment when
my thoughts were furthest from the subject

fate took a hand.

If you've nothing better,
those will have to do.

These London shops
are so far behind Paris.

Parcel them up quickly,
and we'll take them with us.

- Charge them to my account.
- Yes, sir. What is the name?

Mr Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.

At last, I was face to face with one of them.

This was the son
of Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne, the banker,

whose refusal to help me
towards a more dignified career

had led to my present
ignominious occupation.

What right had this arrogant puppy

to be standing on the other side
of the counter ordering me about?

In my excitement and anger,
I listened openly to their conversation.

I've booked rooms
at Cruickshanks' at Maidenhead.

We'll go down late
on Friday afternoon.

Are you sure it's safe?

It's the most discreet place.
In fact, anonymous.

Hey, you. Get on with that parcel,
and never mind what we're talking about.

Don't you dare touch me like that!

I'm not interested
in your idiotic conversation.

If you want to add impertinence
to your eavesdropping

we'll soon see about that.

The upshot was
that I was dismissed on the spot.

I decided to repay him in kind

by dismissing him with equal
suddenness from this world.

His conversation had told me where I could
probably find the opportunity to kill him.

Dr Halworth's dispensary
had provided me with a means.

With the week's wages
I had received in lieu of notice,

I invested in suitable apparel
for a weekend at Maidenhead.

It was possible
they might remember me

but I thought it unlikely,

shop assistants being commonly
regarded as an inferior race

who never emerged
from the other side of the counter.

I decided
to take the bull by the horns.

Forgive me. I wonder if you could
oblige me with a match.

- Certainly.
- Thank you.

- Haven't we met before somewhere?
- I don't think so.

Funny, 'cause I could have sworn
I knew your face.

- Were you at Monte last year?
- The year before.

Ah, that must be it.
Won't you join me?

Thank you. Not this evening.

We are rather tired.

I deprecated their retiring so early,

but it was hard to blame them,

for weekends, like life, are short.

The next morning,
I waited for them to come down

and the next afternoon.

They didn't appear the whole day.

Nor the morning after.

I no longer felt sentimental.

The weekend was nearly over,
and I could hardly expect providence

to offer me
so promising a chance again.

I was in a state of desperation

and I followed them,
hoping for I knew not what.

I had the poison with me, but they
hadn't even taken a picnic basket.

It was possible, however, that they might
stop somewhere for refreshment.

They did stop shortly afterwards,

but not for that.

Judging by past experience,
they would be there for hours.

The rest followed automatically.

I had fortunately learned to swim
at the Clapham Municipal Baths

though I never had occasion
to try it underwater.

I had no wish to surface
under their noses,

though I doubt if they would have
noticed me even if I had.

It was beautifully timed.

(BELL RINGING)

I was sorry about the girl,

but found some relief in the reflection
that she had presumably,

during the weekend, already undergone
a fate worse than death.

I decided to defer consideration
of where and how I should next strike

until my nerves
were thoroughly restored.

It must be remembered
that I was very young

and, furthermore,
I am not naturally callous.

I suddenly conceived a brilliant idea.

I would write a carefully phrased letter
of condolence to old Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.

It would be an agreeable feeling of revenge
for his cruelty to Mama.

And, further, it had not failed to occur to me
that there was, at the moment,

a vacancy in the banking house.

Ascoyne D'Ascoyne duly rose to the bait.

Please be seated, Mr Mazzini.

How do you do?

My late son.

A great loss.

He was young and foolish

but I believe had he been spared
until his maturity...

It was my consciousness of that which led me
to presume to tender you my sympathy.

I am glad that you did so.

A loss so tragic serves to put lesser matters
in their proper perspective.

If I remember rightly, Mr Mazzini,

some years ago
I received a communication

from your mother.

My late mother.

Hello, Louis.
You look very pleased with yourself.

- So do you.
- I have news.

- So have I.
- What is it?

No, yours first.

Lionel and I have fixed a date
for our wedding, in two months' time.

My congratulations.

No, I should congratulate him.
I compliment you.

- Now yours.
- Nothing as exciting as yours.

I went today to see Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne,
my cousin, you know.

He has a private banking house
in the city.

He offered me employment at once
at £5 a week

with excellent prospects
for promotion.

Louis, I'm so glad for you.

- Louis, do you remember?
- What?

Once, in this room,

after my party...

- I kissed you.
- Yes.

And you were horrible to me.

Yes.

I made fun about you
being related to the D'Ascoynes.

I'm sorry.

You'll take it more seriously now?

Yes.

Louis, kiss me,

to show you've forgiven me.

No, it would be wrong.
You're pledged to Lionel.

I behaved like a cad that night.

I like you when you behave
like a cad.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

You're a person who must dance
through life, Sibella,

and I hope Lionel won't tread
on your feet too often.

LOUIS: My new employment
was humble enough

but I had to test the rungs of the ladder
before I could climb it.

- That's very nice.
- (LOUIS CLEARS THROAT)

The next candidate for removal
seemed to be young Henry D'Ascoyne,

24 years old, recently married,

as yet, without issue.

I had quite an accumulation by now
of D'Ascoyne data

culled from newspapers and periodicals,

and I looked through it
for a possible approach to Henry.

I found one.

I bought the necessary equipment,
second hand,

and bicycled down
the following weekend.

I had studied a couple of photographic
manuals during the week,

and found that, in practice,
the mysteries of the camera

demand a little more
than ordinary intelligence,

plus the ability to judge
the subject upside-down.

It was thus, indeed,
that I first saw Henry D'Ascoyne.

My method of approach proved
an instantaneous success.

Excuse me.
Isn't that a Thornton Pickard?

Yes. Are you a photographer?

Dabble in it. Got a Sanger Shepherd.

- A Sanger Shepherd?
- Nice little camera.

Focal plane shutter,
rapid rectilinear and all that.

Look here. Why not come up
to my house and I'll show it to you?

Well, I'd be most interested.

- My name's D'Ascoyne, by the way.
- Mine is Mazzini.

LOUIS: He seemed a very pleasant fellow

and I regretted that our acquaintanceship
must be so short.

Had one of the potting sheds
fixed up as a darkroom.

Couldn't have suited better
if it had been built for it.

Had the equipment
sent down from town.

And I must say the results
have been absolutely top-hole.

I'll show you some quarter-plates
I've taken about the village.

There we are.
Absolutely lightproof, except for this.

Everything to hand, developing dishes here,
toning bath here, whole-plate enlarger.

- Perfect.
- Not too bad, is it?

Talking of the village, by the by,
I don't know if you're thinking

of sending any of your efforts here
to some periodical,

but there's just one thing.

I'm sure you're a good fellow,
or I wouldn't like to ask.

Ask what?

I'd be most grateful if you'd keep back
that last plate you exposed.

- The inn? But it was delightful.
- Yes.

The fact is, my wife has views
about such places,

so I never go in them,
you understand?

Naturally, I wouldn't dream
of embarrassing you.

I knew you were a good fellow.
Suppose we drink on it?

Unless you have views yourself,
of course.

- None.
- Splendid.

What shall it be?
Sherry? Whisky?

(LOUIS CHUCKLES)

I think a small developer.

LOUIS: The mental picture of his wife
that I had formed from Henry's words

left me unprepared for the charm
of the woman I was to meet.

She was as tall and slender as a lily
and as beautiful.

My dear, this is Mr Mazzini.
He has a Thornton Pickard.

Mr Mazzini, my wife.

I'm no photographer myself,
Mr Mazzini,

but I share my husband's pleasure
in welcoming a fellow enthusiast.

- You'll take some sherry?
- Well, thank you, I...

My husband and I never touch alcohol,
but we see no reason, on that account

to enforce our views on our guests.

Glass of sherry, Harwood.

I have some printing frames
out in the sun.

If you don't mind,
I'll just run out and see to them.

Have you been in the neighbourhood long,
Mr Mazzini?

A few hours only.

I was cycling through the village

and felt compelled to stop
and make a study or two of the inn.

- It looked so charming.
- It does look charming.

But I'm afraid it's, by no means,

an influence for good
in the lives of our people here.

The landlord
is a former coachman of ours.

I have spoken to him several times about
the amount of drinking that goes on there

but he continues to allow it.

It is, after all, I suppose, his livelihood.

I do not consider he has the right
to make a livelihood

by exploiting the weaknesses
of his fellow men.

Put as you put it,
it does sound deplorable.

It is deplorable.
Will you excuse me a moment?

Harwood.

LOUIS: I could well understand
Henry's visits to the village inn

and his stock of refreshments
in the darkroom.

Mrs D'Ascoyne was beautiful,
but what a prig she was.

I wondered how
to ingratiate myself with her,

and decided to attack on her own ground
and with her own weapons.

I'm afraid we can offer you
only a simple luncheon, Mr Mazzini.

You are most kind,
but I feel I should not intrude.

- It is no intrusion.
- I'm afraid it is.

- May I explain?
- Please do.

It was only when your husband
told me his name

that I realised that I'd come by chance
into the most embarrassing situation.

My mother was a member
of the D'Ascoyne family.

She married,
as they thought, beneath her.

And from that day,
they refused to recognise her

or my existence.

I feel that, although in the circumstances
you might hesitate to say so to my face,

you and your husband would prefer
not to receive me at your table.

Perhaps you would be good enough
to explain matters to your husband for me.

I shall, naturally,
leave the neighbourhood at once.

Mr Mazzini, please sit down.

Oh.

You have exhibited
the most delicate feelings.

I know nothing of the history
to which you refer,

but I have often felt that the attitude
of my husband's family

has failed to move with the times,

that they think too much
of the rights of nobility

and too little of its duties.

The very honesty of your behaviour
would appear to me to prove them wrong.

Was Lord Tennyson far from the mark
when he wrote,

"Kind hearts are more than coronets

"and simple faith than Norman blood"?

I hope you will stay to luncheon.

Oh, in that case,
I shall be delighted and honoured.

LOUIS: My impersonation
of a man of sterling character

was such a resounding success

that Mrs D'Ascoyne invited me to spend
the following Saturday-to-Monday with them.

When I returned to the somewhat
contrasting atmosphere of Clapham,

I found the house in a whirl with preparation
for Sibella's wedding to Lionel

which was to take place next day.

Before going to bed that evening,
I wandered into the old nursery

to fetch a book I'd left there.

LOUIS: Penny for them.

(SADLY) Oh, hello, Louis.

You're not looking as radiantly happy
as young females in your situation

are supposed to look.

I was just thinking of all the fun
we've had in this room.

- You and I and Graham.
- And Lionel.

Yes, and Lionel.

(CRYING) Oh, Louis,
I don't want to marry Lionel!

- Why not?
- He's so dull!

I must admit he exhibits the most
extraordinary capacity for middle age

that I've ever encountered
in a young man of 24.

However, it's a bit late in the day
to think of that, isn't it?

I know. That only makes it worse.

- I always told you you should marry me.
- I know.

That makes it worse too.

(PEOPLE CHATTERING)

You look more lovely today
than I've ever seen you.

You're a lucky man, Lionel.
Take my word for it.

LOUIS: I could not helo feeling
that even Sibella's capacity for lying

was going to be taxed to the utmost.

Time had brought me revenge on Lionel.

And as the Italian proverb says,

"Revenge is a dish which people of taste
prefer to eat cold."

The following Saturday I left London
in the middle of the night

and reached Henry's house just before dawn.

(OWL HOOTING)

It took a mere three minutes
to substitute petrol

for the paraffin in the darkroom lamp.

And I then repaired to a meadow
and took a few hours' sleep

while awaiting the hour at which
I could reasonably arrive at the house.

The day dragged by
in an agony of suspense for me.

Henry took photograph after photograph,

but seemed to have no urge whatever
to follow it up with a visit to the darkroom.

Bravo, Edith!

LOUIS: I began to fear
that he had suddenly taken the pledge.

I think I'll just go and develop these
before tea. Care to come?

I would, indeed, but I have a slight headache.
The sun, I think.

And I'm afraid the chemicals
wouldn't improve it.

Mr Mazzini and I will have tea
under the tulip tree.

I've always found that
most beneficial for a headache.

I'm afraid Henry
will think me a poor enthusiast.

I sometimes think that he is too great a one.

In a way, I am to blame for it.

Before we were married, he had few interests.

He used to spend the greater part
of each day at his club.

(SOFT EXPLOSION)

I felt that such a life was unhealthy

and persuaded him to come
and live here in the country.

I hoped
that perhaps he would interest himself

in the welfare of our tenantry, as I do.

But he became interested in photography
on our honeymoon

and since then it has become
the major preoccupation of his life.

- Mr Mazzini...
- Yes?

I hope you will forgive my speaking to you
on a personal matter,

but it worries me that Henry
should spend so much time on his hobby

that he has little left
for any more useful activity.

Am I right to let him go on like this?

LOUIS: I could hardly point out
that Henry now had no time left

for any kind of activity,

so I continued to discuss his future.

He has never shown any wish
for a career in politics?

- None.
- Nor any other ambitions?

One only. To win a prize
at the Salon Photography in Brussels.

What is it?

Oh, they're just burning some leaves
at the bottom of the garden.

But they can't be at this time of year.

- Henry!
- No. You stay here.

LOUIS: Needless to say, I was too late.

(BELL TOLLING)

The funeral service was held
in the village church at Chalfont,

prior to interment in the family vault.

Mrs D'Ascoyne, who had discerned in me

a man of delicate sensibility
and high purpose

asked me to accompany her
on the cross-country journey.

"To everything there is a season

"and a time to every purpose
under the heaven.

"A time to be born, and a time to die."

LOUIS: The occasion was interesting,
in that it provided me

with my first sight
of the D'Ascoynes en masse.

Interesting and somewhat depressing

for it emphasised how far I had yet to travel.

There was the Duke.

There was my employer,
Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.

There was Admiral Lord Horatio D'Ascoyne.

There was General Lord Rufus D'Ascoyne.

(SNORING)

- There was Lady Agatha D'Ascoyne.
- (SNORING CONTINUES)

(SHUSHING)

And in the pulpit,
talking interminable nonsense

the Reverend Lord Henry D'Ascoyne.

The life cut short

was one rich in achievement and promise

of service to humanity.

LOUIS: The D'Ascoynes
certainly appeared to have accorded

with the tradition of the landed gentry

and sent the fool of the family
into the church.

Well, goodbye, my dear.

- Goodbye.
- No fretting now.

After all, one thing to be said,
we all have to come to it.

Great thing, you know, family vault like ours.
Constant reminder of one's heritage.

Now, take this new cremation nonsense.

Who wants to see his nearest and dearest
put in an incinerator?

I think, sir, Mrs D'Ascoyne should leave.
The wind is turning cold.

As Mrs D'Ascoyne thinks best.

Glad we had Cousin Henry
to take the service.

Boring old ass,
but it keeps the thing in the family.

People getting strange ideas these days.

Had a fellow write to me not so long ago,

wanted to bury his mother here
from Tooting or somewhere.

Start letting strangers in,
the place will be full up.

No room for us, eh?

LOUIS: I privately promised him
that I would make it my business

to see there was room for him.

Uncle Ethelred is not the most tactful of men.

I could gladly have struck him.

Thank you for intervening when you did.

The house will be so empty

and yet he will be in it everywhere.

I find the thought of life there hard to face.

Must you stay there? A new environment...

I must,

for one reason if no other.

They would say I was running away,
that there was truth in all these rumours.

- Rumours?
- In the village.

There's been gossip.

They say that Henry drank in secret.

They even say that
that was the cause of the accident.

I'm sure that Henry would never have
professed one thing and practised another.

I, too, am sure.

Otherwise, I think I could not survive.

We have a long way to go.
Try to sleep a little.

Sleep does not come easily.

Please try.

Allow me.

LOUIS: I was conscious that a new obsession

was about to join the one that I should wear
the coronet of the duke of Chalfont,

that Edith D'Ascoyne should wear that
of the duchess beside me.

Her dignity of bearing
at the worst moments of her grief

had impressed me with the feeling
that here was a woman

whose quality matched her beauty.

I resolved to embark upon her courtship

as soon as a decent period of mourning
should have elapsed.

Sibella? Yes, Sibella was pretty enough
in her suburban way.

And, indeed, there was no reason
why we shouldn't continue

to meet on friendly terms.

But her face would have looked
rather out of place under a coronet.

That, sir, is a list of bills
due for redemption this week.

I've marked in red those asking for renewal.

Aitcheson, yes.
Pole and Carter, I suppose so.

Knollis Limited, oh, no.

Redbank and Holland...

You have a friend there, have you not?

An acquaintance. I know Lionel Holland.

Would you say that he's sound?

I wouldn't say not, sir.

Hmm. Thank you.

- Mazzini.
- Yes, sir?

I've watched your progress here
with great care

and have been gratified to note
that it has fully justified my judgement

in inviting you into the firm.

In view of that, and in order that
you may be able to adopt a style of living

befitting a member of the D'Ascoyne family,

I have decided
to appoint you my private secretary

at a salary of £500 per annum.

- Sir, I cannot begin to...
- Oh, please do not try.

I had intended
that my son should occupy the position.

I can only say that I will try
to make my occupancy of it

worthy of his memory.

LOUIS: I left the Halworths' house

and took a bachelor apartment in St James's.

Clapham no longer held Sibella's presence
to compensate me

for the tedious journey
between the suburbs and the city.

(DOORBELL CHIMING)

Anyhow, it would be vastly more convenient
for her to visit me here.

Now, let me have a look
at the beautiful Mrs Holland.

- No, I think I prefer Miss Halworth.
- So do I.

Louis, it's very wrong of me to visit you here.

- Why?
- A married woman calling on a bachelor?

A dangerous bachelor

in his apartment.

I? Dangerous?

These things only become wrong
when people know about them.

This is a very discreet apartment.
That's why I chose it.

So that young women
could call on you in safety?

So that one young woman could.

How did you know she'd want to?

I hoped.

- How did you enjoy your honeymoon?
- Not at all.

Not at all?

Not at all.

- And how was Italy?
- Oh, impossible!

Every time I wanted to go shopping,
Lionel dragged me off to a church

or picture gallery.

- Said he wanted to improve his mind.
- He has room to do so.

I should reprove you
for saying unkind things about him

but I can't.

Louis, I think I've married
the most boring man in London.

- In England.
- In Europe!

Oh, the Italian men are so handsome,

but I could never get away
from Lionel for a moment.

But I was forgetting, you're Italian.

Half.

Louis...

I can speak frankly to you?

Well, if not to me, to whom?

I shall go mad.

Already when he touches me,
I want to scream.

What am I doing?

You know very well.

You're playing with fire.

At least it warms me.

I must go.

Lionel's dining at home tonight.

Where is Lionel dining tomorrow night?

With some business acquaintances.

And where are you dining tomorrow night?

Here?

Here.

LOUIS: Poor little imprisoned bird.

Well, she was welcome to come
and flutter her wings with me.

I could think of many more
disagreeable ways of killing time

pending the arrival of the moment

when the conventional decencies
would permit me

to make my declaration to Edith.

As to the other undertaking,
I had not forgotten or forgiven

the boredom of the sermon
at young Henry's funeral

and I decided to promote
the Reverend Lord Henry D'Ascoyne

to next place on the list.

I therefore assumed the garb and character
of a colonial bishop

spending his vacation making a collection
of brass rubbings from country churches.

Good evening, my lord.

LOUIS: It was, for a moment,
a shock to be addressed

by my ecclesiastical title,
but I recovered quickly.

Good evening. I was just taking a rubbing
of this most interesting brass.

An ancestress of my dear late wife.

Allow me to introduce myself.

Henry D'Ascoyne, rector of this parish.

Septimus Wilkinson, bishop of Matabeleland.

I was spending my vacation taking a cycling
tour around your beautiful country churches.

- Ah! Have you noticed our clerestory?
- Cle...

Ah, exquisite!

- The corbels are very fine.
- Hmm.

Perhaps Your Lordship would permit me
to show you one or two other things

in which we take a pride.

I should be most interested.

Our most notable features, of course,

are the D'Ascoyne memorials.

Every member of the family

to a cadet branch
of which I have the honour to belong

is buried here in the family vault.

Here you will see
the first duke and his duchess.

The dead watching, as it were,
over the living.

The church is exceptionally endowed also

with items of architectural interest.

You will note that our chantry

displays the crocketed and finialed ogee

which marks it as very early Perpendicular.

The bosses to the pendant are typical.

And I always say

that my west window

has all the exuberance of Chaucer

without, happily, any of
the concomitant crudities of his period.

Hmm.

Now we approach the font.

LOUIS: At last he did as I had hoped
and invited me to dinner.

The Reverend Lord Henry was not
one of those newfangled parsons

who carry the principles of their vocation
uncomfortably into private life.

However, he exhibited a polite interest

in the progress of the Christian faith
in Matabeleland

which I was at some difficulty to satisfy.

The SPCK have provided us

with a large number of copies
of the Good Book

translated into Matabele.

But as none of the natives can read
even their own language...

- You speak Matabele yourself?
- Not as a native.

It would be most interesting

to hear a sample of the language.

I'm afraid my Matabele is a little rusty.

Oh, come, my lord.

Daniel cast into the lions' den, for example.

(SPEAKING GIBBERISH)

It is a colloquial rendering, of course.

Most interesting.

My lord, the port is with you.

Oh.

- How do you find the wine?
- Admirable.

- Courban '69.
- Oh.

No finer year, in my view.

My doctor, though, is of a different opinion.

And what does he favour?

Abstinence.

(LAUGHING)

Would you care for a cigar?

Thank you.

Yes.

He's continually warning me
about the state of my arteries.

But I say to him,

"What possible harm can there be

"in one glass of an evening

"or even two?"

What harm, indeed.

- You do not condemn me then?
- Not in the least.

If I may say so,

without disrespect to my superiors,

your visit has brought me something

which I could not expect
from any churchman in this country.

LOUIS: I surmised, correctly, as it proved

that Lord Henry's doctor would assume
that he had succumbed to a surfeit of port

and would politely ascribe death
to a heart attack.

On my return to London,
I decided to proceed methodically

with the elimination of
the remaining minor obstacles.

Lady Agatha D'Ascoyne was a pioneer
in the campaign for women's suffrage.

(GLASS SHATTERING)

With the inconvenient consequence
that her public appearances

were invariably made under
the watchful eyes of the metropolitan police.

When she was not making
public appearances,

she was in prison
and still more inaccessible.

In fact, before I could learn
of a favourable opportunity,

I had to join the movement myself.

Secret plans had been made for Lady Agatha

to celebrate her latest release from Holloway

by a shower of leaflets over Whitehall
and the West End.

(PEOPLE CLAMOURING)

I shot an arrow in the air,

she fell to Earth in Berkeley Square.

Admiral Lord Horatio D'Ascoyne
presented a more difficult problem.

He scarcely ever set foot ashore

and I was beginning to feel that this task
was beyond even my ingenuity.

When he was conveniently
involved in a naval disaster

which arose from a combination
of natural obstinacy

- and a certain confusion of mind.
- (WIND HOWLING)

Unfortunate in one of his rank.

Bring her to port.

- Surely you mean starboard, sir.
- Port!

(HORN BLARING)

(CRASHING)

LOUIS: Both ships sank almost immediately.

Though, fortunately,
all hands were saved, save one.

Admiral Lord Horatio, obstinate to the last

insisted on going down with his ship.

General Lord Rufus D'Ascoyne,
on the other hand,

who never tired of demonstrating
how he had fought

the most calamitous campaign
of the South African War

was a fairly easy proposition.

At that moment, the concealed enemy
emerged from behind the kopje.

I held our guns' fire until
we could see the whites of their eyes.

Then I gave the order. "Fire!"

Boom, boom, boom.

LOUIS: It seemed appropriate that
he who had lived amidst the cannon's roar

should die explosively.

I therefore concealed in a pot of caviar
a simple but powerful homemade bomb

and through the post,
I sent the caviar to the general.

HORATIO: I pretended
to be deceived by the feint

and sent our horse to meet it.

At that moment, the concealed enemy
emerged from behind the kopje.

I held our guns' fire

till we could see the whites of their eyes.

Used to get a lot of this stuff in the Crimea.

One thing the Russkies do really well.

(EXPLOSION)

LOUIS: Not an atom of him was left.

One could almost believe there was a curse
on our unfortunate family, Mazzini.

Indeed, sir, one could.

I don't know if you realise
how close this series of tragedies

has brought you to the succession.

I had not actually given the matter
any thought, sir.

Then it's time that you did.

Do you not realise that you are
heir presumptive to the dukedom?

That is to say, in the event of
the present duke dying without issue,

I alone intervene between you and the title.

And I am an old man.

I've never really recovered
from the first of these calamities.

You mean I might become Duke of Chalfont?

I mean that you almost certainly will.

In view of that, I feel it would be more fitting

that you should cease to be
an employee here.

- Oh.
- And become instead my partner.

I am most deeply grateful and honoured.

If you'll come round here,
I will make everything very clear to you.

Uh, had she lived, your mother, of course,
would have succeeded before you.

LOUIS: One of my first tasks as partner

was to interview Lionel, who came cap...

Or rather, silk hat in hand.

To save time, I presume you have called
to ask for renewal of your bill?

The fact is, old boy, we sold short

and the market hasn't
dropped as we expected.

I feel entitled to point out
that we here regard our function

as the encouragement
of constructive investment

and not the financing
of mere gambling transactions.

Now...

LOUIS: It would have delighted me
to refuse him.

However, a bankrupt Lionel
could hardly have continued

to support Sibella in her extravagances

and I had no wish to do so myself.

Very well. We will renew
at three and a half percent.

I judged that the time was now ripe
to make a move

in the matter of Edith D'Ascoyne.

It's becoming cold. Shall we go in?

I know why you shivered just now.

It was not because you were cold.

No.

I couldn't help remembering.

I know. But do you try to forget?

- I may sound harsh, but believe me...
- Please.

Not there.

Because it was Henry's chair.

It hasn't been used since that day.

Nothing of his.

Everything is just as he left it,
his writing desk, his clothes.

I cannot bear that it should be otherwise.

You want this house to be a shrine.

You're wrong.
Shrines are not meant to house the living.

I have always respected you,
your principles, your courage,

above any woman I've ever met.

It is your duty to yourself and to others,

to Henry even,

to live again in the present, in the future.

What future is there for me?

I am now going to say
something presumptuous.

You must order me
from your house if you wish.

It is this...

If you should ever feel that
the constant support of a devoted admirer

would be of assistance to you,

I should be most honoured
if you would permit me

to offer you my hand in marriage.

Mr Mazzini...

This is a shock.

I'm most touched.

Most grateful,

but I could not consider
even the possibility of remarrying.

I have spoken too boldly and too soon.

Please regard what I have said merely
as something to draw upon

should you ever feel so inclined.

LOUIS: Sibella was waiting for me
when I got back.

I was pleased to see her,
for while I never admired Edith

as much as when I was with Sibella,

I never longed for Sibella
as much as when I was with Edith.

(DOOR OPENS)

I'm afraid I'm late. Have you been bored?

No.

I've been looking into the fire and thinking.

- What about?
- Oh.

How we used to roast chestnuts
round the other fire

and what a lot has happened since.

Such as?

How you told me not to marry Lionel
because you might be a duke one day

and how I laughed at you.

And how I married Lionel

and now you very nearly are a duke.

We're much better off as we are, you and I.

It's all very well for you to say that.
You're not married to Lionel.

We see each other when we want to.

We're not obliged to see each other
when we don't want to.

We don't see each other as often as I'd like to.

- You've been away the whole weekend.
- I had to go.

- Where?
- To see Mrs D'Ascoyne,

the widow of that cousin of mine
who was killed.

All your cousins seem to get killed.

I really wouldn't be in the least surprised
if you'd murdered them all.

- Oh.
- How clumsy of me.

- Whatever made you say that?
- Just silliness.

Well, if you promise not to tell anyone,
I'll let you in to my guilty secret.

I did murder them all.

(CHUCKLES)

I've suspected it for a long time.

- What's she like?
- Who?

- Mrs D'Ascoyne.
- Oh, she's tall, slender...

Beautiful?

Yes, I suppose some people
would call her beautiful.

Would you?

I suppose so.
I never really thought about that.

What would you say
if she asked you about me?

I'd say that you were
a perfect combination of imperfections.

I'd say that your nose
was just a little too short,

your mouth just a little too wide,

but that yours was a face
that a man could see in his dreams

for the whole of his life.

I'd say that you were vain, selfish,

cruel, deceitful.

I'd say that you were adorable.

I'd say that you were Sibella.

What a pretty speech.

I mean it.

Come and say it to me again.

I'd say your nose was just a little too short,

and your mouth, yes,
your mouth just a little too wide.

LOUIS: Shortly afterwards,
my employer had a stroke.

There was little that could be done

and the doctor gave him a month,
at the most, to live.

I was glad, after all his kindness to me

that I should not have to kill the old man.

Soon the only obstacle
between me and my inheritance

would be the Duke himself.

I could lay no plan for disposing of him

as the life he led within those great
stone walls was a closed book to me.

I was gloomily examining the problem
for the hundredth time

as I awaited one day the expected arrival
of Sibella at my apartments.

(DOORBELL CHIMING)

- Good afternoon, Mr Mazzini.
- Mrs D'Ascoyne.

I was passing through St James's

and thought I would take the opportunity
to call on you.

Was that wise? Discreet, I mean?

There are some conventions which must be
governed by individual circumstance.

Surely it is safe for a woman
to visit a man of your reputation.

It is of your reputation that I'm thinking.

Without being inhospitable, I would be
happier if your visit were not a long one.

I appreciate the scrupulousness
of your motives.

I have, anyhow,
only one important matter to speak of.

That is?

I have thought a great deal about
what you said at our last meeting

and I have tried to think
what Henry's wishes would be.

I remember he said to me once,

"You have too much good in you, Edith,
for one man.

"I sometimes wish
that others could have a share of it."

I have reconsidered the offer you made to me.

Thank you again for it, and accept it gladly.

You rob me of words.

I think, however, we should make
no announcement for three months, at least.

As you think best.

In these new circumstances

I think it more than ever desirable
that your unconventional,

though in its purpose delightful visit
should be cut short.

If your attention as a husband is equal
of your consideration as a friend,

I shall have made a most fortunate decision.

Do you not think, though,
that perhaps Uncle Ethelred,

as head of the family,
should be told at once?

Perhaps so. Yes, I'll write to him.

Goodbye, Louis.

Goodbye, Edith.

You leave behind you
the happiest man in London.

LOUIS: This was not a piece of news

which I was looking forward
to breaking to Sibella.

She had no rights in the matter,

but women have a disconcerting ability
to make scenes out of nothing

and to prove themselves injured
when they themselves are at fault.

(DOORBELL CHIMING)

Anyhow, I had three months' grace
before I need face that storm.

Have you taken to using attar of roses?

- No. Why?
- Thought I could smell it.

I met such a beautiful woman
on the stairs just now.

I expect that would be Mrs D'Ascoyne.

- What was she doing here?
- She called in to see me.

- What about?
- Business. Family business.

Let me get you a glass of sherry.

LOUIS: A day or so later,
I received a letter from Lionel.

He requested an interview with me
at his house on a matter of some delicacy.

I was somewhat perturbed,
for nine times out of 10

what is referred to
as a matter of some delicacy

is, in point of fact, one of extreme indelicacy.

Two days later,
I made the tedious journey to Bayswater.

It was typical of Lionel that he should
live on the wrong side of the park.

(SLURRING) Hello, old boy. Have a drink.

No, thank you. Never during the day.

You don't mind if I do? Keep out the cold.

I was about to remark
on the warmth of the day.

- Just a joke, old boy.
- Ah, yes.

- Sit down, old boy.
- No, thank you. I would rather stand.

A warm day, isn't it?
For the time of the year, I mean.

Distinctly. It's also a very busy day.

May we proceed to the matter
about which you wished to see me?

Right. A matter of some delicacy,
actually, old boy.

But I said to myself,
"Louis is a sport and a man of the world.

- "Always been a sport."
- Thank you.

Always admired the sporting way in which
you took to Sibella marrying me and not you.

Some fellows would have
taken it very differently.

But "May the best man win," you said.

And when I won,
you behaved like a gentleman.

So I thought as you being keen on Sibella
at one time

and you and I are old friends,
I... I'd ask you to help us.

Help you?

I told you some time back
business hasn't been going so well.

Since then, it's gone worse. I'm bankrupt.

So I say to myself,
"Why not talk to my old pal, Louis Mazzini

"who we used to have such jolly times with
round the old nursery fire

"roasting chestnuts."

I'm afraid your memory is deceiving you.

By no stretch of imagination could you and I
be described as ever having been "pals".

If I remember correctly,
we detested each other cordially

from the first day we met,

with a detestation
which increased with our years.

Always thought of you as a pal.
Always have done.

That's why I said to myself...

It's only fair to warn you
that any further expense of breath

on this subject would be a waste.

You know what you're doing?

- Condemning me to death.
- What do you mean?

Only one way out for me,
do away with myself.

If you knew how absurd
these histrionics sounded...

I'm insured. At least the little woman
will be provided for.

- Oh, don't be ridiculous.
- Louis, I appeal to you.

Not for my sake,
but for the sake of the little woman.

Please rise from that absurd position.

(SNIFFLING)

All I can say is
I think you're a cad.

A selfish cad.

Let me remind you
of a little not-so-ancient history.

When I was a draper's assistant and you
a rich father's son,

you showed me no kindness.

Now our positions are reversed,
and you come whining to me for favours.

Draper's assistant. That's right.

Rotten little counterjumper. That's all you are.

Very high and mighty now

but your mother married
an Italian organ-grinder.

- Stand up.
- Huh?

I said stand up.

I will not tolerate hearing
my mother's name on your coarse tongue.

If you take my advice, you'll go
and put your head under a cold tap.

I refuse to demean myself
by fighting with a drunken oaf.

There seemed no point
in prolonging this vulgar brawl

so I returned to my apartment.

I took a bath and decided to relax
for half an hour

and efface this disagreeable scene
from my memory.

(DOORBELL CHIMING)

I was not allowed to relax for long.

Sibella.

Louis, I'm sorry to worry you
when you must be so busy

but I have a piece
of important news.

Bad news.

(CRYING) I thought
you ought to know it at once.

Lionel has found out about us.

About me coming here.

- Really?
- Yes.

Oh.

I had the most dreadful scene
with him last night.

Well, I suppose even Lionel isn't
stupid enough to be deceived forever.

You won't take it so calmly
when you hear.

He's going to start
divorce proceedings.

How very unsophisticated of him.

There's only one possible
way out that I can see.

- And that is?
- Lionel is still in love with me.

My happiness
is all he cares about.

He might do the gentlemanly thing
and let me divorce him.

If?

If I were in a position to explain to him

that otherwise he will be jeopardizing
the social position

not only of the future duke,

but also the future duchess of Chalfont.

I see.

You're a clever little thing, Sibella,
but not quite clever enough.

What do you mean?

I mean that not only do I know
that you're blackmailing me,

an ugly word,
but the only appropriate one,

but I also know
that you're bluffing me.

Call my bluff and see.

I will.

Let me explain.

It must have seemed to you
that you hold a very strong hand.

But... A very important "but",

it so happens that I hold a card which
you did not even know to be in the pack.

Who's bluffing now?

It so happens that I was with Lionel
less than an hour ago.

And it was transparently clear
from his demeanour and conversation

that he had not the faintest suspicion
that you and I had any relationship

other than that of,
as he would probably put it,

old pals who used to roast chestnuts
together round the jolly old nursery fire.

So, while thanking you
for the honour that you've done me,

I must decline your offer
because I have other arrangements

which make it impossible for me
to accept it.

Namely?

I'm shortly going to announce
my engagement to Mrs D'Ascoyne.

May I say that I think
you've behaved despicably?

Has it ever occurred to you, Sibella,
that we serve each other right, you and I?

Would it be asking too much of your manners
to escort me to the door?

LOUIS: I had suspected
that to confide our secret to the Duke

might be an adroit manoeuvre,
and I was proved correct

for it produced an invitation for Edith and me
to spend a few days at the castle.

I must confess that I could not suppress
an agreeable sensation of triumph

as I approached
the castle gateway

in circumstances so different
from those in which I had last done so.

It was just an informal
little house party.

Our fellow guests were Lady Redpole
and her daughter Maud

who most suitably resembled
nothing so much as a red poll cow

and had little more
conversational ability.

- Did you go to the opera this season?
- No.

In the afternoon,
Ethelred invited me to inspect the castle.

It was pleasant to stand
on the battlements

and know that the acres
which stretched as far as the eye could see

would soon be mine.

And it amused me to cover much the same
ground as that of my sixpenny tour.

I had never been in a building
so lavishly equipped

with the instruments
of violent death.

Feel the weight of that.

Our ancestors must have
been fine men, Louis.

They seemed, however, ill-adapted

to the discreet requirements
of 20th-century homicide.

And the end of the day found my host
still intact and myself still without a plan.

Beautiful woman, Edith.

You're a lucky fellow, Louis.

I never cease to be conscious of that.

- Thank you.
- What do you think of Maud?

A charming girl,

though perhaps at times her conversation
is a little lacking in sparkle.

Dullest woman I ever met in my life.

Plain too.

But good breeding stock.

Good breeding stock, the Redpoles.

And they litter a very high proportion of boys.

Do I gather you to mean...

Spoke to old Lady Redpole this afternoon.
Only too glad to get the girl off her hands.

My congratulations.

Duty to the family, really.

And when does the union take place?

Very soon.
I'm not growing any younger.

Might not get a son the first time.
Quiet wedding, I thought.

Maud's hardly the type for St Margaret's.

We shall honeymoon on the Riviera
and then go on to Italy afterwards.

No sense inflicting her on one's friends.

When she's got a family,
that'll keep her out of the way.

LOUIS: This news threw me
into such distress of mind

that had I had poison
in my possession

I would probably have administered it
to Ethelred there and then

and chanced the consequent inquiries.

One thing was clear,
If I did not succeed in disposing of him

during this present visit
to the castle

I was likely to see the ruin
of my whole campaign.

My best wishes
for a successful outcome.

The next morning
I went out shooting with Ethelred

or rather,
to watch Ethelred shooting

for my principles will not allow me
to take a direct part in blood sports.

- Been round the traps this morning, Hoskins?
- Not yet, Your Grace.

Sounds as if we've bagged one there.

Ah. Been losing so much game lately,
we've started setting the mantraps again.

Hoskins is now going to thrash you.
Then he'll let you go.

Let this be a lesson to you
not to poach on my land.

(BEATING)

That'll do.

Keep moving them around, Hoskins,
or they'll tell each other where they are.

Yes, Your Grace.

- I thought mantraps were illegal.
- They are.

What happens if he tells the police?

He comes up before the bench for poaching,
gets six months in jail.

If he keeps his mouth shut,
he just gets a few days in bed.

Which would you choose?

Only way to deal with these ruffians,
I assure you.

Oh. I must have dropped my cigarette case
back there. I'll catch you up.

- Find it?
- Yes, thanks.

Might have another walk round this afternoon,
if you feel like it.

That would be most pleasant.

LOUIS: After luncheon we went out
to massacre a few more unfortunate birds.

- Listen.
- What is it?

I thought I heard something,
like someone running through the bracken.

Another poaching ruffian! Come on!

There was someone here. Look.

- (MANTRAP CLOSING)
- Blast!

Louis, get me out of this. Hurry up, man.

- Have you gone mad?
- Be quiet, Ethelred.

I want to talk to you for a minute.

If you make a noise,
I shall blow your head off at once.

By the time anyone has heard the shot

I shall be running back toward the castle,
shouting for help.

I shall say that you stepped on the trap

and that your gun went off
accidentally as it fell.

So be quiet.

To spare you as much pain as possible

I'll be brief.

When I've finished, I shall kill you.

You'll be the sixth D'Ascoyne that I've killed.

You want to know why?

In return for what
the D'Ascoynes did to my mother.

Because she married for love
instead of for rank or money or land,

they condemned her to a life
of poverty and slavery

in a world with which
they had not equipped her to deal.

You yourself refused to grant
her dying wish

which was to be buried here at Chalfont.

When I saw her poor little coffin
slide underground,

saw her exiled in death
as she'd been in life,

I swore to have my revenge
on your intolerable pride.

That revenge
I am just about to complete.

It's clear that you are insane.

Give me that gun at once.

No.

From here, I think, the wound should look
consistent with the story that I shall tell.

(BIRDS SQUAWKING)

Help!

(CHURCH BELLS TOLLING)

LOUIS: And so Ethelred,
Eighth Duke of Chalfont,

duly came to his place in the family vault.

There were few D'Ascoynes
left to mourn him.

My employer, who was Ninth Duke of Chalfont
for the shortest possible period,

having expired of shock on hearing
that he had succeeded to the title.

And so, I became
the 10th Duke of Chalfont.

Fortunately, the Ninth Duke
had found time before he expired

to make a will bequeathing to me
his interests in the business.

You may remove that.

A day or two later,
an affecting little feudal ceremony took place

to welcome me into residence at the castle.

And I promise you
that my first consideration,

and that of Mrs D'Ascoyne, who has done me
the honour to consent to be my bride,

will be the welfare of the estate
and of the people who live on it.

God bless you all.

(ALL CHEERING)

MAN: Long live His Grace!

WOMAN: Long live His Grace.

Pennyman, Your Grace,
from Sprockett's Farm.

Mrs Pennyman.

My son, Tom, from Sprockett's Farm.

Mr Wyvold, from Sprockett's Farm.

Sprockett's Farm?

No, Your Grace. From Scotland Yard.

Scotland Yard?

A matter of some delicacy.

(INAUDIBLE)

Follow me, please.

LOUIS: The blow was so sudden
that I found it hard to collect my thoughts.

Which of them could it be?

Young Ascoyne? Henry? Ethelred?

The parson? The general?

Lady Agatha?

Or could it be all of them?

Now.

You are, I take it,
His Grace, the Duke of Chalfont?

I am.

I am Detective Inspector Burgoyne
of the Criminal Investigation Department.

And I hold a warrant for your arrest
on a charge of murder.

Murder?

Of murdering Mr Lionel Holland at...

Murdering whom?

Mr Lionel Holland

at number 242 Connaught Square,
Bayswater

on the 17th of October last.

(ALL CLAMOURING)

LOUIS: Utterly bewildered,
I tried to fathom what series of events

could conceivably have led
to this not-very-amusing irony.

I could only suppose that Lionel
had actually carried out

that drunken threat of suicide.

But how then had the blame fallen on me?

Time alone, and the trial,
would reveal the answer.

Seeing no reason to forego any of
the available privileges of my rank...

I exercised my right to be tried
before the House of Lords.

Louis D'Ascoyne Mazzini, Duke of Chalfont,

you, as a peer of England,
are indicted for murder.

How say you, Your Grace?

Are you guilty of the felony with which
you are charged or not guilty?

- Not guilty.
- How will you be tried?

- By God and my peers.
- God send Your Grace a good deliverance.

It shall be the truth, the whole truth
and nothing but the truth

so help me God.

Mrs Holland, will you tell
Their Lordships in your own words

the substance of the conversation
you had with your husband

the evening before his death?

He told me that Louis... the prisoner,

was coming to see him the next day
on a rather delicate matter.

Did he indicate what that matter was?

He had discovered that
the prisoner and I had been...

Had been on terms of intimacy?

- Yes.
- And what was his attitude?

He felt that the correct thing to do
was to tell him to his face

that he intended to start
proceedings for divorce.

From your knowledge of the prisoner

how would you expect him
to receive that news?

I should expect him to be very angry.

Now he was heir to a dukedom,
he had no more use for me.

I see. He was trying to discard you.

Yes.

Mrs Holland, I apologise for submitting you
to this ordeal

but will you tell Their Lordships
how you found your husband's body?

I came back about 4:30.

(SOBBING)

Their Lordships have no objection
to the witness being seated.

Yes, Mrs Holland?

I came back about 4:30.

I went into my husband's study.

He was lying on the floor

with a dagger stuck in his chest.

One last question, Mrs Holland.

Had your husband ever, at any time,
threatened suicide?

- Never.
- Thank you, Mrs Holland.

My client craves
Their Lordships' permission

to cross-examine the witness himself.

Their Lordships grant their permission.

Mrs Holland, you understand
the meaning of being on oath?

Of course.

You realise that a life may depend upon
the truthfulness of your evidence?

Yes.

I put it to you that your story
of your conversation with your husband

on the night before his death
is a complete fabrication.

It is not.

I put it to you
that your husband committed suicide.

He would never have done that
without leaving a message for me.

Can you swear that he did not?

The police searched the room
very thoroughly.

They didn't find anything.

I suggest that your evidence is a tissue of lies
dictated by motives of revenge.

(CRYING) It is not.

It is not.

I presume that the prisoner has some
purpose in these submissions

other than that of distressing the witness.

My purpose, my lord,
is to determine the truth.

That, Your Grace,
is the whole purpose of this assembly.

...the whole truth and nothing but the truth,
so help me God.

You're Edith D'Ascoyne Mazzini,
Duchess of Chalfont?

I am.

When and where did you become
the wife of the accused?

Yesterday morning, in Pentonville Prison.

(ALL MURMURING)

I wanted to publish irrevocably
before the whole world

my faith in his innocence.

I wanted to show by my marriage

that though he was led astray,
as I believe

by that innate kindliness
and courtesy of his

which made it so hard for him to rebuff
the advances of a woman,

I nevertheless regard him as a man

to whom I can happily entrust
the remainder of my life.

I am not alone
in these opinions of him.

My late husband, Henry,

and his late Uncle Ethelred,
the Eighth Duke

both unfortunately
unable to testify today...

These and other members
of the D'Ascoyne family, had they been alive

would, I know, have echoed
every word that I have said.

Thank you, Your Grace.

The deceased was a client
of the banking house

of which you are chairman
and managing director.

He was.

In the normal course of business transactions
he would have come to see you at your office.

Yes.

Instead of which,
he asked you to go to his house.

Yes.

He invited you to his house
to discuss business.

Yes.

And you ask Their Lordships
to believe that?

Yes.

In the course of this, business discussion

he burst into tears, fell on his knees
and threatened suicide.

- Yes.
- Is that usual in business discussions?

- Not usual. No.
- But it happened on this occasion.

- Yes.
- And you ask Their Lordships to believe that?

Yes.

Then this, business discussion
became so heated

that blows were exchanged
and he made a murderous attack on you.

Yes.

- Is that usual in business discussion?
- No.

- But it happened on this occasion.
- Yes.

- And you ask Their Lordships to believe that?
- Yes.

Very well.

You've heard of cases of a jealous husband
and his wife's lover coming to blows?

- Yes.
- Frequently?

It is one of the clichés
of the cheaper kind of fiction.

(ALL LAUGHING)

I put it to you that, in this case,
it happened not in fiction,

but in fact.

- I put it to you that it did not.
- I put it to you further

that being unaware at that time
of your future wife's forgiving nature

you assumed that if you were cited
in a divorce suit

it would ruin your chances
of making this advantageous match

with a wealthy and beautiful woman.

No. Not at all.

Still, you were proposing
to discard Mrs Holland.

No.

Even though you were
about to be married to the other lady?

I must confess to feeling
quite intrigued as to their decision.

My lords, the question
for Your Lordships is this...

Is the prisoner guilty

of the felony whereof
he stands indicted

or not guilty?

Guilty, upon mine honour.

I considered it both seemly and touching
that my dear wife should visit me

as she did this morning,
to make her farewells.

Your arrival, on the other hand,
appears to me unseemly

and tasteless in the extreme.

I couldn't bear my last sight of you
to be that look of hatred you gave me

as you went out from the trial.

In view of the fact that your evidence
had put the rope round my neck

you could hardly expect
a glance of warm affection.

- Isn't there any hope?
- What hope could there be?

I was only thinking.

That question you asked at the trial

about Lionel leaving a suicide note...

Suppose he did?
Suppose that one were found

even now, this last evening?

- It would savour of a miracle.
- Miracles can happen.

Miracles could happen.

I see.

Oh, strange, isn't it, how things turn out?

Now, if you had married me,
instead of Edith...

Or you had married me,
instead of Lionel.

He would still be alive,

and you wouldn't be going
to be hanged tomorrow morning.

Unless, of course,
you've murdered somebody else.

All of which is rather beside the point,
isn't it?

Is it?

Do you remember in the old days

how we used to play
Eeny, meeny, miny, mo?

- Catch a nigger by his toe.
- If he hollers, let him go. Out goes he.

Quite a lot of little niggers have gone out,
haven't they, one way or another?

And every one of them a D'Ascoyne.

We do seem to be
a very short-lived family.

Of course, Edith is only
a D'Ascoyne by marriage

so I suppose
her prospects are better.

Except for a miracle.

Like the other one
we were talking about.

LOUIS: So there it was.
She would find the suicide note

if I, in return, would murder Edith.

So we now have two miracles in mind, do we?

Yes.

I wonder if they are, in any way,
dependent on each other?

I suppose perhaps they might be.

What do you think?

Time's up.

What do you think?

Poor Edith. I'm afraid all this is going
to take years off her life.

- Au revoir, Louis.
- Au revoir.

LOUIS: What could I do but accept?

After all, I could always decide afterwards

which of these two little niggers
would finally have to go.

Dear Edith.

Captivating Sibella.

How different they were,
and how well I knew each of them.

Or so I thought.

But the night has gone by
and nothing has happened.

It is now but a few minutes to 8:00.

And I realise that Sibella
came yesterday merely to tantalise,

to raise my hopes
in order to dash them again.

How unlike me not to have guessed.

But, after all, how very like Sibella.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Already?

I'll tell you who time gallops withal.

"With a thief to the gallows,

"for though he tread as softly as foot can fall,
he thinks himself too soon there."

If you have any last instructions...

I think, Colonel, it only remains
to thank you for your many kindnesses.

Won't you introduce our friend?

Mr Elliott, His Grace, the Duke of Chalfont.

Good morning, Your Grace.

This won't take a moment.

First, if Your Grace will pardon the liberty

I should like to read some verses

composed by myself for use
on these melancholy occasions.

- Your Grace permits?
- With pleasure.

"My friend, reflect.

Oh. Pardon.

"Your Grace, reflect.

"While yet of mortal breath,
some span however short, is left to thee

"how brief the total span twixt birth and death

"how long thy coming tenure of eternity.

"Your Grace, prepare..."

(FOOTSTEPS RUNNING)

Colonel.

Your Grace,

I am happy to inform you
that a telephone communication

has just been received from the Home Office.

A note has been found,
undoubtedly in Mr Holland's handwriting

expressing his intention to commit suicide.

It is a miracle.

Yes. It is like a miracle.

Pending receipt of further instructions

I will try to make you reasonably
comfortable in my quarters.

- Good morning.
- Good morning, Your Grace, sir.

I assure you I have never been
more happy to be relieved of an official duty.

Poor Elliott.

If he had not insisted
on reading that abominable poem

he would have had me neatly dangling
at the end of his rope before the news arrived.

He was so looking forward to it.

I understand, Your Grace,
from the men on duty outside

that a large crowd awaits your leaving.

Having robbed them
of the pleasure of my death

the least I can do is to let them see me alive.

Including, by the way,
not only Her Grace, the duchess

but also Mrs Holland.

Oh.

How does the song go?

"How happy could I be with either
were t'other dear charmer away."

Well, good-bye.

Good-bye, Your Grace.

(PEOPLE CHEERING)

"How happy could I be with either

"were t'other dear charmer away."

- Your Grace.
- Yes?

I represent the magazine Titbits

by whom I'm commissioned
to approach you

for the publication rights
of your memoirs.

My memoirs?

My memoirs.