All language subtitles for Lovejoy s04e05 The Mary.eng

"Former world champion Murray McNally
is taking a break from competitive snooker

"to embark on a year-long exhibition tour."

Wise fellow. What's he going to visit?

No, no, no.
He's not going to visit anything, Tinker.

An exhibition
is when you play all your trick shots.

- Lovejoy might be able to get us free tickets.
- No, not for me.

I've had no interest in the game
since it ceased to be played by gentlemen.

- And when was that?
- About 1840.

You must remember McNally.
The people's champion.

I mean, the others play it safe.

But McNally, I mean, he takes shots
that the other players don't even see are there.

From what I hear,
he sees a lot of things that aren't there.

Yeah, well, not any more.

Cos it says here,
"He has overcome his drinking problem..."

Poor fellow.

"...and is fighting his way back up to the top
under new management."

I wonder who that could be.

Oh, aye, I want an antique all right.

A very special kind of antique, the kind
that naebody would ever dream even existed.

- Can you think what it is?
- Snooker table?

Billiard table.
Snooker's not old enough to be antique.

Billiards has been around since 1450.

The question is, whose billiard table?

I know even less about billiards players
than I do about snooker players.

- All I do know is they're all called Davis.
- I wouldnae buy a table off him.

The one I want
was owned by somebody wi' character.

So, who was the billiards player
full of character?

Mary, Queen of Scots.

Well, this new manager
must have the gift of the gab.

After the last championships, McNally swore
he wasn't going to tour any more.

- Said it was destroying his game.
- Well, he's destroyed everything else.

Cos there's a big difference
between match play and exhibition, Tinker.

I mean, McNally's a world champion. All this
stage stuff's more your Dennis Taylor type.

I thought Dennis Taylor was a world champion.

No, it's a disaster.

Ow!

Thank you, Eric.

No, McNally's touring because he doesn't think
he's good enough to compete any more.

I mean, it's as if I was to pack in the antiques
business and start lecturing on it.

Oh, now, that would be a disaster.

No, it's not as crazy as it sounds.

She brought a table back wi' her from France
in 1561.

It went everywhere wi' her,
right up to the day she died.

Years ago, I was offered that exact same table
by a guy called Willy Kinross.

- Did you ever see the table?
- Did I, hell.

No, it was a wild wee game in them days.
Know what I mean?

A hard man. Just won my first world
championship. I wasnae interested in history.

Now I'm at an age where... Well, career's
not quite what it was, let's put it that way.

Hmm. And you think Mary's table
will bring you luck?

Something's got to, that's for sure.

You know, to read the papers,
you'd think I brought it on myself.

They say I courted disaster.

Too bloody right I did. Then I married it.

So you're asking me to find
Mary, Queen of Scots' billiard table,

which has had no documented history
since the 16th century?

- That could be a lot of work.
- Listen, pal. Never try and hustle a hustler.

Now, I'll pay you what's fair, and that's it.

You can sort out the details wi' my manager.
Come on.

Hey.

- Lovejoy.
- Charlie?

- Gimbert?
- Where?

No, no, no. In the paper.
Charlie Gimbert is Murray McNally's manager.

- Is that all?
- This is serious, Tinker.

He'll ruin his game.

It could be a blessing. Anything that keeps
Charlie Gimbert out of the antique trade.

The man is an insufferable vulgarian.

Oh, and I suppose it would be all right
if he was English.

A vulgarian, Eric, is a philistine with money.

I thought that was a customer.

I adore Prague, don't you?
The Hradcany, the Debrice.

I tell you, the view from the Public Prosecutor's
office is simply spellbinding.

They even gave me a job.
Export Advisor to the Antiquities Division.

That's like putting Nero
in charge of the fire brigade.

Yes, I loved it out there.

Eastern Europe's stuffed full of antiques
there's barely a market for.

In any factory worker's home
you can pick up a vase

or a set of chairs that's been handed down
through four generations.

If only I'd kept my contacts up over here,
I could have been a rich man.

So, what took you out of Czechoslovakia?

Misplaced faith.
The trouble was, it was me who misplaced it.

Yes, I was moving some religious art.

The Communists have always hated it,
so of course it was undervalued.

I set up a little business running
rococo Madonnas from Bratislava to Frankfurt.

Unfortunately, I was advised
that I didn't need an export license.

(Jane splutters)

They stopped me at the Austrian border
in a lorry marked "Budweiser",

carrying seven tons of stolen icons.

Cost me two years' profits
to buy my way out of the country.

- I won't have lager in the house to this day.
- I'm out for a bar of chocolate. Want anything?

Oh, let's go mad, Murray.
I'll send out for one.

That's what management's all about, isn't it?

Chocolate, bars, antiques,
whatever Murray wants, Murray shall have.

Aye, everything except
an end to this bloody tour.

Did he show you the picture in his wallet?

Completely cuckoo.

Charlie Gimbert
managing a clapped-out snooker player?

That's not like him.

No, there must be more to it than that.

I'll bet that's why they've got Lovejoy involved.

Oh, no.

I mean it, Lovejoy. If you're working for
Charlie Gimbert, you can walk home.

The man's slime. You know his history.

Even if he bought every ticket in a church raffle,
he'd still load the tombola.

When I think of all the times
I've had to bail you out

after that man cheated you or swindled you
or... or swindled me...

And it wasn't cheap either, I can tell you.
Oh, no!

And now he swans back here,
all cigars and schnapps!

Are you working for Gimbert?

Then get him to give you a lift home!

Charlie Gimbert is a thief and a charlatan.

That's right. I could be making myself
an accessory just by listening to this.

I suppose he's enticed you
to do something fraudulent.

- We don't want you ending up his fall guy.
- Look, it's perfectly simple.

He's paid me a retainer to find out all I can
about Mary, Queen of Scots' billiard table.

Then when McNally's tour finishes,
I get a bonus, whether I've found it or not.

Sounds fishy to me.

He wants to keep McNally happy.
What's fishy about that?

He'll suck you in, Lovejoy.

Before you know it, you'll be so enmeshed in
his web of deceit, you won't be able to escape.

Tink, do you know a dealer called Willy Kinross?

AKA Tartan Willy.
Sells claymores to the Yanks. Beautiful things.

Their own tartan, own battle history,
made in Taiwan.

Hang on a minute. Whose billiard table?

Lovejoy! These days, every article in my shop
is a genuine Scottish antique.

But a few years ago,
I wasn't quite so particular.

I must have sold half the rockeries in London
as the Stone of Scone.

- We've all done it, Willy.
- How else do you get started in this business?

- Or finished.
- We Scots are an easy con.

We like to think we're a canny race,

but after a couple of bevvies
we become maudlin romantics.

That's when I hit them
with Mary, Queen of Scots.

Something about her betrayal by the Sassenachs
strikes a chord.

They're crazy for a relic of the woman.

It's just a question of finding the right object.
With Murray McNally, it was obvious.

I offered him her billiard table.

I suppose Rod Stewart wanted her football.

And the provenances, Willy?
How did you square them?

That was the icing on the cake.

I used this old buffer called Sir Reginald Drury.

Reg claimed his ancestor was Sir Dru Drury,
Mary, Queen of Scots' last jailer.

For a few bob,
Reg would authenticate his granny.

Worth talking to?

If you have a spiritualist handy.

He died not long ago.
But you'd be wasting your time anyway.

Mary had a billiard table, all right.
She might even have had a football.

But after Sir Dru Drury cut off her head,

he burned everything she owned.

So there was never any chance
of the real thing turning up?

Exactly. That's what made
the con... the transaction... so simple.

No, but I've got a soft spot for Steve.
I really have.

Somewhere at the bottom of Loch Ness.

So anyway,
they take the referee away to the hospital.

(Laughter)

So there's a wee bit of a lull, you know.

Is this yours? Do you mind?

Oh! It's as good as a kiss.

No, it's not. Gi' us one!

So, it's me and Steve
standing there in our dinner suits.

His is Moss Bros, medium lapel, nice stripe.

Mine's bright green, pocket stuffed full of fags,
wee hipflask tucked in the sock.

- (Laughter)
- At this point...

I want you to keep looking for it.

You'll pay me
to look for something that isn't there?

I've no choice.

I'll not hear three bad words against him.

Two? One?

What do you mean, you've got no choice?

These are for you, Mr. Gimbert.
From the house manager.

McNally walked off the tour last week.

Finding the table's
the only way I could get him back.

Mary, Queen of Scots' billiard table is a fantasy,
Charlie.

He's a fanatic. He wants to believe.

Well, I told him I knew
this man in the antiques business, a divvy,

uncanny knack
for turning up the most elusive pieces.

- That's very kind, Charlie.
- Here you are, fiver. Murray's autograph.

Look, take all the time you want, Lovejoy.
Blind him with history.

Right, come on, fiver. Yours.

I don't care what you tell him, Lovejoy,
as long as he doesn't walk out on me.

Oh, that's because you don't have to pay
my bonus until the tour ends, hmm?

It'll be worth it, believe me.

Now, come on. Who owes me a fiver?

The problem was, I didnae know
whether to go for the brown or the pink.

(Laughter)

"Well, Murray," says Steve,
"now you may be getting away with it now.

"But do you ever wonder what
you're going to be doing in ten years?"

I said, "The rate you play, I'll still be waiting
for the end of this bloody frame!"

Anyway, here we are, ten years later.

I'm still the people's champion.

Where's he? Advertising baked beans.

OK, let's go!

What happens when McNally finds out
you've been stringing him along?

The tour'll be over by then,
and he'll be too grateful to hate me.

Instead of boozing himself sick at home,
he's had work.

I've given him back his self-respect.

Charlie, what was in this envelope?

His bar bills.

Janey, technically,
I'm not working for Gimbert at all.

Something you have in common
with your pickup truck, I suppose.

I'm just working for McNally.

And Gimbert's paying you a bonus
if you don't find what you're looking for.

Well, right. Because if I find the table,
McNally stops touring.

Huh. I see.

You're working for McNally by lying to him.
I think Gimbert's using you.

As soon as you find the table,
he'll muscle in and sell it himself.

Janey, there is no table.

Then why have I brought you to Drury Hall?

Association. Mary's last jailer was a Drury.

I may learn something
that'll keep McNally on the hook.

You'll have to excuse the clutter. I'm having
the contents catalogued for a house sale.

What did you say your name was, again?

- Lovejoy.
- That's right.

I'm having to clear out Drury Hall
to pay the debts. This way.

Not my idea, you understand.

Janey?

(Gasps) Rosemary?

- Are you doing this one?
- Yes, Friday, yeah.

- Why don't we have lunch after?
- That'd be lovely.

Where did you say you met my father?

Oh, a friend of a friend.

If he owed you money, you know you'll have
to wait until the death duties are paid.

We're here to pursue an interest of mine,
Mary, Queen of Scots.

Right. Well, the letter books are through here.

Oh!

Do they cover the times
that Drew spent as Mary's jailer?

- Erm... Yes, I think so.
- So they'd describe some of her possessions?

- Yes, of course. There's a complete inventory.
- Fascinating.

Is it? What about the other 50 years of his life?
Hmm?

This family's more than just a footnote
to a Scots adultress, you know.

Willy Kinross said your father
was quite a character in his own right.

Willy Kinross.

My father, Sir Reginald Drury,

died in disgrace
because of Willy bloody Kinross.

He'd never have been convicted of fraud
if Willy Kinross hadn't shown him how.

Erm... Willy never mentioned that.

No. He got away scot-free, while the police
painted my father to be an arch criminal.

Every good family has to have a black sheep.

The people I blame are the stupid peasants
who were gullible enough to be taken in.

It's common knowledge that Mary, Queen of
Scots' belongings were burned after her death.

So everyone keeps telling me.

Yes, well, I'm telling you
that these books are going back on the shelf.

No friend of Willy Kinross's
is going to exploit this family again.

Thurstons was established in 1799.

This, of course, is pre-Thurston.

Oh, it's lovely.
Classic barleytwist leg with stretchers.

Lovely.

I was looking for something earlier though.
Much earlier.

Well, before Thurstons,
you wouldn't really recognize the game.

There was no rubber cushions,
no felt baize, no slate.

It was more like indoor croquet.
You didn't have any pockets...

Ah. You're in the trade, Tinker.

I paid £500 for that Victorian desk.

What do you think?

(Lovejoy) You were right, Tink. I checked it out.

It's an 18th century kneehole desk,
worth at least five grand.

All that crap it's covered in is probably
the reason why Stevens thinks it's Victorian.

I didn't want to look too interested,

but I reckon he'd happily settle
for seven hundred, just to get it off his hands.

I'll go back. Listen, about the billiard table.

Willy Kinross is not the first
to try the Mary, Queen of Scots fraud.

Her artefacts are big business.

You couldn't count the number of fake pieces
of embroidery, lace and jewelry

that have slipped onto the market
over the years.

- And fetched a good price.
- Yeah. And he was right about one thing.

She did have a billiard table,

one of the first in Britain.

She was introduced to the game in France
as a child.

Her brother-in-law, Henry III, was a keen
player. She picked up the bug from him.

What, when she was made queen,
she brought a table back with her to Scotland?

That's right. And she still has it 20 years later.

It's in every inventory of her belongings
while in prison in England.

Like in Sir Dru Drury's letter books?

Oh, if we could get a look at those, you could
keep McNally on the leash for months.

Yeah, well, Sir Anthony won't let anyone
see them until they're placed with a museum.

So why did they chop her head off?

Oh, because she was beautiful.

Queen Elizabeth I wasn't.

Well, good looks doesn't seem like
a good reason to execute someone.

I'm glad I didn't live in them days.

Why? You'd have been the safest man
in the kingdom.

(Splutters)

Janey, would you just pull over a minute?
I want to find the best way onto the A1.

- I thought you said you'd worked it all out.
- Janey, please! Huh?

Thank you.

(Horn toots)

I hope you're not moonlighting at my expense,
Lovejoy.

McNally's getting impatient.
He wants his table.

You told me not to find his table.

It's like a mystery tour.

I don't want him to arrive,
but I do want him to travel hopefully,

for as long as possible.

Lady Felsham.

Look, get me something
I can take back to McNally.

Have to be ashes.
Table was burnt 400 years ago.

I can't tell him that.

Then tell him to expect a souvenir
from Fotheringhay Castle.

Fotheringhay Castle
is the obvious next place to research.

- Mary was executed there.
- While playing billiards?

No, she probably tired of it
after the first 20 years in prison.

Why this sudden interest?

I've always had a passion
for the Tudors and Stuarts.

Mary was the milestone between them.

If you're going to take McNally on a mystery
tour, you should at least know the landmarks.

You call this a landmark?

What did they do with the castle?

Fotheringhay Castle was pulled down by James I
as a mark of respect to his mother.

All that's left now is this plaque
marking the spot where Mary was executed.

They cut the woman's head off.
Why pull her castle down too?

Guilt.

Mary's only crime was that she was Scottish,
Catholic and heir to the English throne.

By killing her, Parliament ensured the succession
passed to her Protestant son.

And burn her belongings?

Well, the Pope was threatening
to make her a saint.

The last thing the English wanted
was a flood of holy relics.

So Fotheringhay was scrubbed clean
of every last stain of blood,

and everything she had was fired.

I can't seen anyone genuflecting to a billiard
table. You might as well burn her commode.

They did. But they would have been sure
to burn the table first.

Yes, it was here where she was executed.

Dressed entirely in red,
Mary walks into the great hall of Fotheringhay,

commends her soul to God,

and kneels down here
to wait for the ax to fall.

The first blow misses her neck completely
and cuts into the back of her head.

She murmurs, "Sweet Jesus."

The executioner swings again,
but fails to sever the neck.

Casting aside the ax,
he finishes the job with a saw.

Holding aloft the bleeding head,
he notices the lips are still moving.

Then, from under the dead Queen's skirts,

Mary's sky terrier crawls out
and howls piteously at the body on the block.

Desperate to end the gruesome scene,

the axman crosses to Mary's billiard table,

rips off the woolen baize and uses the cloth
to cover the dead Queen's stump.

Had it survived,
the table would be the most prized relic of all.

This is new. Exquisite. Wonderful.

- Perfect.
- You like it?

Like it? I love it. It's the finest example
of a Victorian hat stand I've ever seen.

It's certainly of a standard
higher than anything one would expect to find

next to a piece of varnished old junk like this.

Padauk, is it?

Erm... Quite, quite possibly.

Fifteen hundred pounds
is way beyond my means at the moment.

Fi... Fi... Fifteen hundred pounds, did you say?

Well, no serious dealer would be foolish enough
to consider letting it go for any less.

- Would he?
- Oh, absolutely not.

- Hey, Lovejoy, McNally wants a word with you.
- Are you following me?

Would it do me any good?
Where did the castle lead?

It did not lead to a castle.

McNally thinks you should have made
some progress by now. I'm inclined to agree.

- We need something to whet his appetite.
- Try a crate of vodka.

He's had one. The only thing he's prepared
to sink at the moment is another bottle.

The promoters want their money back
and I'm carrying him.

I've always admired
a man who can hold his drunk.

It's only a question of time
before he turns on his wife, beats her to a pulp

and winds up all over the tabloids.

But until then, I'm even paying for publicity.

It's a bad day when you can't count on an
irredeemable slob to be an irredeemable slob.

- Then why do you put up with him?
- I inherited him as part of a bad debt.

When the management company went bust,
McNally was their only asset.

Appointed myself as receiver.

And that's what you intend to do. Receive.

He'll have plenty of time to pay me back.
I've booked him into another tour.

But I was hoping for at least a divorce by now.

Just a second, Charlie.

What about my bonus?

I'll tell you what, Lovejoy.

If you can't string him along with the table,
give his missus a ring.

From what I hear about you and Lady Jane,
you're very good at wrecking marriages.

I'll have him.

God, I hate tours.

Did you see that sucker that came up
for the audience challenge?

I walked all over the wee creep.

Not bad for a man that can hardly stand up, eh?

- Where's my table?
- I came to tell you your manager's a crook.

I sincerely hope so. I want these suckers
screwed for every penny I can get.

Gimbert's stringing you along. Do you know
what the chances are of finding Mary's table?

No. Do you know what the chances are of a
17-year-old boy beating the world champion?

You know the odds against coming
from nineteen to four behind to win a match?

Nineteen to four! A living chance, my friend.

- That's snooker. Antiques aren't your game.
- Is that a fact?

- I just don't want to see you stuffed.
- Charlie was right. You've lost your touch.

- I should see a professional.
- Carry on drinking like that, you soon will.

Hey! I'm paying you to get me a table,
not advice.

The advice was free. The table won't be.

I don't give a Donald!

You know the difference between you and me,
pal? I know what I want.

I know what you want, too, Murray.

Fake Mary's billiard table?

You just said you were being paid not to find it.

No, I am, but Gimbert's going to keep McNally
on the road for ever.

And the longer he does,
the longer he avoids having to pay me,

so this way I get to screw both of them.

You might have tempted me a few years ago,
but not now. It's too difficult.

Willy, Willy, Willy,
I can take care of the billiard table.

I need you for the Mary connection.

Like a 16th century bolt of Scottish wool.

What if the letter books show up in a museum?
They could describe what the real table was like.

No, we make the deal with McNally
before Drury gets a chance to sell the letters.

If we could only see what they say.

Sir Anthony's not even looking for a buyer
until his house sale's over.

Then he'll know
exactly what father Reginald's debts are.

Ach! Poor Reg.
They're awfully hard on fraud these days.

Willy, don't panic. There's a big difference
between fraud and association.

- Tell that to the judge.
- I did.

Fraud is when we tell McNally
about the Mary, Queen of Scots connection.

- Association is when McNally tells us.
- And prison's when he tells the police.

So Stevens still thinks that the desk
is just a piece of Victoriana?

Yes, I hooked him
with the old Ugly Sisters routine.

What old Ugly Sisters routine?

Everybody wants to go out with Cinderella.

You make it too obvious,
Cinderella plays hard to get.

So you flatter the ugly sister.
That gets you an invite to the house,

where everybody's so busy praising the sister,
nobody gives Cinderella a second glance, hmm?

- What?
- I told Stevens

that his worthless hat stand, the "ugly sister",

was in fact a masterpiece, made with Padauk.

Padook?

Very fine wood, Eric.

When Lovejoy comes back and overpraises it,

he establishes his credentials
as an honest man.

And when he undervalues the desk, "Cinderella",

Stevens is only too pleased
to get it off his hands.

Oh, very good!

I get it. Very clever.

Tinker, do you think this is what
Mary's billiard table might have looked like?

Without seeing the letter books,
I don't know what it looked like.

But I do know how they played the game.

Once you got through the two hoops,
the arch and the port,

the idea was to hit the pin,
also known as the king.

But you didn't strike the ball with a cue,
like you do nowadays.

You pushed it
with a sort of thing called a mace.

We haven't got one, so I've been using this.
Here, have a go. Try it.

Bit like indoor croquet. What about the pockets,
the cushions?

They didn't have 'em. If you wanted
to play a few frames in those days,

you picked yourself any old table, you banged in
the hoops and the spike, and Bob's your uncle.

Any old table?

You had to cut your woolen baize to fit it.

Tink, about Stevens.

I can't go back and see him.
He knows who I am.

- Also, I've got a table to find.
- Well, I certainly can't go back.

- So, who else is there?
- Wem-ber-ley!

Good, this, innit?

This takes me back.

Used to play clubs like this when I was a boy.

Boulevard Apostle Park,
and the only way was up.

The only interest these guys had in snooker
was the side bets.

They'd flick ash
and if you complained you were dead meat.

Sixty James Cagney impersonators,
all carving each other up for gambling debts.

Sixty wee hairies wi' knuckledusters and
sharpened steel combs stuffed in their knickers.

120 mixed doubles lined up round the table,

and me wi' a long shot to put in
off three cushions, and if I spilled a drop,

some big tear-arse would rip off my ears
and stuff them where the sun doesnae shine.

Sobering thought, innit?

Cheers.

Now, Tinker,

have I got this right?

The piece I really want isn't the hat stand
that I say I want.

- It's the desk next to it that I say I don't want.
- Yes!

So I say that I don't want
the piece that I do want,

in order not to buy the piece that I say I want.

No, no, no, you've got it backwards.

So I do buy the piece that I don't want?

Oh, give me strength, Eric!

All right, all right. They way you're carrying on,
anybody'd think I was a novice.

I don't need your help to run a scam.
I'm perfectly capable of running my own.

You must be. It's the only way to explain why
Lovejoy would employ you in the first place.

(Hammering)

This is a copy of Mary, Queen of Scots' seal.

You see, it's distinctive.

That's the mistake Sir Reginald made.
Look where it got him.

All right, here's the alternative.

Mary was addicted to anagrams
of her own name.

Instead of signing herself Mary Stuart,
she'd choose an anagram,

like Tu As Martyr.

Tu As Martyr. You have a martyr?
That's a horrible premonition.

What do you think?
We could inscribe it on the forgery.

Look, McNally only learned to read so it would
give him something to do while his lips moved.

If you want something he'll understand,
try writing "Mary woz 'ere".

For God's sake, I can see why you need one
piece of old Scots wool to cover a billiard table,

but I can't see why you need two,

and I certainly can't see why you want
to nail one of them to a piece of chipboard.

How else am I going to rip it off again?

The threads are still attached to the nails.

You know they said that
they ripped the baize off the table,

and draped it across Mary's shoulders.

That's ridiculous.
No queen would wear a tatty bit of old felt.

- She'd have more choice.
- Not if she'd just had her head cut off.

We're going to buy the cheapest, but genuine,
Elizabethan table we can find,

and then we're going to hammer
some hoops into it.

We're going to hammer a cloth around it,

and then I'm going to rip the cloth off it
and present it to McNally.

And claim it belonged to Mary.

No, no, not at all. No.
As far as I'm concerned,

this will have no connection
with Mary, Queen of Scots whatsoever.

But he will see the threads, hmm?

And make his own conclusions.

Not fraud, but association.

And he can hardly accuse us
of pulling the wool over his eyes, can he?

Now, this...

This is a piece of work.

It's a hat stand!

Well, of course it's a hat stand.
But what a hat stand.

It's pure Victorian craftsmanship, this is.
They don't make hat stands like this any more.

It's fifteen hundred pounds.

Well, if there was any justice,
we'd be talking twice that.

I mean, look at the line.
Look at the curl of the hook, hmm?

Oh, ho ho ho ho!

- Don't tell me you've got one of these, too!
- One of what?

You know, it's a funny old game,
the antique business, eh?

You do a bit of this, a bit of that,
you build up some experience.

And just when you think you're on top of it all,
somebody drops a desk like this right on you.

What a knock back!

Do you want to hear the funniest part?
I paid five hundred quid for mine.

- So did I.
- Oh.

Well, your drawers are nicer than mine.

Well... Are they?

Actually, you know, looking at it, I think
these desks might work better as a pair.

- Why don't you take this one?
- What for?

Well, like you said, a pair.

Or the drawers.
Maybe you could have it for the drawers.

Nah. Just throwing good money after bad, innit?

A hundred. You can have it for a hundred.

Hmm, well, erm...

I'll think about it.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Dennis Taylor!

(Cheering)

Dennis, you see the line of kids
standing outside?

Now, there's your fans and there's my fans.

- You know how you tell the difference?
- Go on.

My fans have got an autograph book
and yours have got a bucket and squeegee.

No, listen. See those glasses?

Now, they're insured by Lloyds of London.
That's a fact. For everything except theft.

Well, you wouldnae get too far
if you nicked them, would you?

"Excuse me, Officer. There's a man over here
with Dennis Taylor's glasses on.

"Either that or his face is upside down."

- Nice to see you, Dennis. How are you doing?
- I'm fine.

- I must apologize for the wee gags, eh?
- It's all right.

You're used to apologizing.
You've had plenty of practice.

Oh! Hey? Hey!

- Infectious, eh? This is my boy's home crowd.
- You know, Dennis was telling me...

In Harlow?

...at his last tournament
he reckons he potted 1,500 balls.

I thought to myself,
"Well, that's a load of... snooker!"

- (Man) A cracker!
- A cracker, innit? I don't need your sympathy.

Dennis, I believe you're going to show us
your famous teeing-off shot?

That's right, Murray. But I need a volunteer
to help me with this one.

- I'll do it.
- No, Murray, you'd spill.

- (Audience shouting)
- There we go, plenty of volunteers.

I've got one here that'll help me out.

Right, well, what happens here,
we put all the lights out...

(Laughter)

I've got the white ball on a block of chalk,
on the bottom cushion here.

And as you can see,
the black's in a fairly tricky position as well.

Right, now, here we go.

Black ball, corner pocket.

False teeth, middle pocket!

(Cheering)

(Sniffs)

(Cheering)

Have I got this right?

Over the reds, through the triangle,
black ball in the top pocket.

Hasnae got a prayer.

Come on, let's see it.

(Cheering)

Black ball in the centre pocket.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

No, no, no, no, no!

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Oh! Paul Newman, eat your heart out!

(Audience) Ooh! Yay!

Now, ladies and gentlemen,
I think that's my bottle gone for the evening.

Dennis, thanks a million.

Ladies and gentlemen, Dennis Taylor!

(Cheering)

That management style's all right
for the more mechanical player,

but let's face it,
Romford's a long way from Las Vegas.

An individual player like yourself
needs a more human face.

- (McNally) Cut the crap and give me a voddy!
- Excuse me. Murray's having a heart attack.

- Sign there, next to Steve's. I got him in '85.
- Are you telling me there's nae more vodka?

Erm... Sir Anthony Drury, Lovejoy. Lady Felsham.
We met at Drury Hall.

- Yes. Hello.
- You're a snooker fan, Sir Anthony?

Yes, I've got all the world champions now.

Except Murray McNally's.
He's a rather difficult man to approach.

- You want McNally's autograph?
- I don't think he's signing any this evening.

Excuse us, Janey. Follow me.

Well, of course Murray can see
the letter books. I'd be honored.

- Do you think he's interested?
- Don't worry.

I'll check them over first, just to make sure.

Well, I'll have to unpack some chairs.
When shall I expect you?

- Tonight.
- I'm finished!

Go back in a minute. I want to see you two.

- (McNally shouting)
- Won't be a moment, Sir Anthony, OK?

- Just a moment.
- (McNally) I've had enough of this.

- Just shut up, will you?
- Murray!

(Lovejoy whispering)

(McNally) Aye, aye. All right, all right.

Sir Anthony? Charles Gimbert.

Murray McNally, Sir Anthony.

We'd be delighted to join you at Drury Hall.

I'd be honored.
I'm a great admirer of yours, Mr. McNally.

(Eric) I have got Stevens
in the palm of my hand.

By the time I've finished with him, he'll be lucky
to get a hundred quid for that bureau.

You see, that is the advantage of letting me
screw him with the old Ugly Sister scam.

Eric, in the antique trade we don't have scams.

- We have judicious acquisitions.
- Well, all right, then.

That's the advantage of letting me screw him
with the old judicious acquisition.

- I can add my own twist to it, you see.
- Twist?

Now, this one here is Sir Walter Drury.
He was with Nelson at Copenhagen.

And next door to him is Sir Jack Drury,
the hero of Malpleckay.

Exemplary men.

You've sold one already.

Erm... no, that was my father.

- My late father.
- What did he die of? Thirst?

Mary herself might have touched these letters.

Come off it. These are not hers.

They're just glorified tax returns.

You can learn a lot from a tax return...

...I imagine.

This is all a pose.
I think you've faked the table.

Well, let's see if there's a description of it,
Charlie.

Look, after the execution,

all of Mary's belongings
were divided amongst her guards.

Her axman got her jewelry,

and Sir Dru retained for himself
"some smalle billyarde table".

- Where?
- Oh, I get it.

You haven't faked one at all.
You're planning to fake one.

And this is how you make your fake foolproof,

by designing it to match the description
in the Dru Drury letters.

Smart, Lovejoy. Very smart. I want 50 per cent.

So read the description of it.

- There isn't one.
- Mmm.

Just a furious letter from Elizabeth,

commanding Sir Dru to get back
all of Mary's belongings, on pain of his life.

Yeah, and there's one here from Sir Dru,

groveling profusely for his mistake,

and saying to his mistress that everything has
been recovered and "by mine own hand burned."

Proof the table was destroyed.

There's no description of it in here.
What about the other books?

His correspondence from his time as Keeper
of the Royal Wardrobe, not a mention of Mary.

That's just page after page of accounts
from the Master of the Wardrobe.

What a life of drudgery, eh?

Apart from his spell as Mary, Queen of Scots'
jailer, nothing ever happened to Sir Dru...

...until he was executed for selling
Elizabeth's ermine in Bermondsey market.

Sir Dru Drury was a crook.

Tu...

...as...

...martyr.

It's her table, Charlie.

Whoo!

(Eric) Relax.
(Tinker) Relax? How can I relax?

You sit there smirking. That Queen Anne desk
may well have found another buyer.

Stevens thinks I'm doing him a favor
just by taking it off his hands.

I've already got him down to a hundred quid.

But he paid five hundred for it.
I can't see him taking a loss of four.

Well, that's because you rely on the old scams,
sorry, acquisitions, like the Ugly Sisters routine.

That's like entering a card school
and playing Happy Families.

Now, me, I'm more of a poker man.

And when you play poker,
you want to see your opponent sweat.

Well, the only person
who's sweating around here is me.

You get Stevens on the phone, tell him you're
prepared to take it off his hands for a hundred.

Hello, Mr. Stevens. It's Catchpole here.
I've been thinking about that Victorian desk.

- (Whispers)
- Hello, you two.

Thank you, Eric.

If anyone wants me,
I'll be at the Drury Hall auction.

- With Lovejoy?
- Apparently not.

And I've been thinking
a hundred pounds is too much.

- Eric!
- Listen to him. He's practically on his knees.

Whatever the deal is, take it!

Mr. Stevens, you do realize
that if I were to take the desk,

it's only really the drawers I'm interested in.

Look, you have to turn the screw.

Ye... Eighty pounds?

Oh, right, well, I think
you have yourself a deal there, Mr. Stevens.

Yeah, great. OK, I'll see you tomorrow, then.
Bye.

- Ha!
- Haa!

Nine hundred pounds. Thank you.
Nine hundred pounds.

One thousand. One thousand pounds.

Eleven hundred. Eleven hundred pounds.

Twelve hundred. Twelve hundred at the front,
against you, sir.

Twelve hundred pounds at the front.

Twelve hundred once.

Twelve hundred twice.

Sold for twelve hundred. Thank you.

- Thank you very much, Charlie.
- I hate paying finder's fees.

You hate missing out on a bargain even more.

Everyone will think
it's a perfectly ordinary Elizabethan table,

providing I keep my mouth shut.

They will, won't they?
What a shame you couldn't afford it yourself.

I half expected you to drag Lady Jane down here
to bid for you.

I couldn't do that, Charlie.
I've got far too much respect for her.

(Auctioneer) We turn now to lot 54...

Here it comes, Charlie.

...a charming Elizabethan table,
sadly damaged by the passage of time.

Three holes in the middle
and extensive nail marks.

Who'll start me off at five thousand pounds?

Four thousand?

Three thousand?

Come on, gentlemen, three thousand pounds,
the reserve price.

Two thousand pounds.

Thank you, sir. Two thousand pounds.
Two thousand I have. Two thousand pounds.

Two thousand pounds.

Three thousand.
Three thousand pounds against you, sir.

- Three thousand.
- Who the hell's that?

- No idea.
- Four thousand.

Five thousand. Six thousand. Thank you, sir.

Seven thousand. Against you, sir.
Seven thousand.

Eight thousand. Eight thousand pounds.

Nine thousand.

Ten thousand.

Ten thousand pounds at the back there.

Ten thousand pounds.

Ten thousand once.

Ten thousand twice... Eleven thousand.

Eleven thousand against you, sir.

- Fifteen thousand.
- (Excited murmuring)

Fifteen thousand.

Fifteen thousand once.

Fifteen thousand twice.

Still here at fifteen thousand pounds.

Sold, fifteen thousand pounds, to Mr?

- Gimbert.
- Mr. Gimbert.

I don't know what stroke you pulled in there,
Lovejoy, but I'm going to see you regret it.

Fifteen thousand's a bargain
for any piece of Elizabethan furniture,

let alone Mary, Queen of Scots' billiard table.

Awesome, isn't it?

It's at times like these that I feel the influence
of my patron saint, Elizabeth of Hungary.

Of lost souls?

Her husband was a 14th century robber baron
who specialized in torturing peasants.

Oh, sort of a medieval personal manager,
eh, Charlie?

Saint Elizabeth was carrying an apron of bread
to the poor when her husband caught her.

"What have you got there?" he said.

"Roses," she lied. "Show me," he said.

Saint Elizabeth showed him,
and her apron was full of roses.

♪ Everything's coming up...

I don't mind telling you, Lovejoy,

I've got big plans for this piece.

Yeah, of course you have.
You're going to sell it to McNally for a fortune.

What a stupid idea!
No wonder you're a penniless oik.

Ah, good luck. Well done, Mr. Gimbert.

- Sir Anthony.
- We're off for a spot of lunch, Lovejoy.

Nice job, Rosemary.

I'm going to take this table
on tour with McNally and make it famous.

Every game he plays on it
adds thousands to the value.

Then I sell it for a fortune.

Certainly not to McNally. He couldn't afford it.

Drop it off for me at the club tomorrow, Lovejoy,
there's a good chap.

Thanks, fellas.

There's your table, Charlie.

Excuse me!

- Your table?
- It's just a technicality.

I wanted to relieve him
of the burden of ownership,

let him concentrate on his game.

So uh... it's not my table?

No, but you're free to lease it
for the duration of the tour.

Oh, I see. Aye, aye, aye, aye.
So it's your table, Charlie?

Financial dynamo. Not even his field.

There you are, Murray.

If you really believe Mary, Queen of Scots'
billiard table is going to improve your game,

now is the time to find out.

So here it is.

She was our last real queen, you know.

Scotland was independent in them days.
She brought the game back wi' her from France.

Before that it was like boules.
Naebody played it across here.

If it wasn't for this table,
there might be nae billiards in Britain.

There'd be nae snooker, nae robots,
nae... Murray McNally.

You never asked me what I wanted it for
in the first place, did you, Charlie?

No, Murray, I never did.

Show us.

I hate snooker!

- (Yells)
- No!

I'm going to turn you to matchwood,
ya bastard table!

That's for the times I had after school!

That's for every time of your hustle...

- No!
...just to keep ourselves going.

I hate snooker!

- Ya bastard!
- Murray! Murray, stop it!

Take that! And that!

I hate you! I hate you!

(Knock at garage door)

(Tinker) It's us.

Lovejoy. The desk.

Well, I told him I only wanted it for the drawers.

Stevens sold the rest of it
for seven hundred quid to another dealer.

Even without the drawers, it was still a bargain.

I didn't expect the stupid pillock
to take me literally, did I?

So you paid eighty quid for drawers?

- Lovejoy.
- Willy.

- What do you want me to do with them?
- You'd better put them on that table in there.

- Lovejoy?
- Hmm?

- This is?
- Oh, erm...

Repair and Synchronization by
Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0