All language subtitles for Mansfield.Park.1983.E05

Marry Fanny Price?!

Why, Henry!
So this was your business.

This took you to London.
You chose to consult the admiral.

No, Mary, you are quite mistaken there.

Though when Fanny is known to him

our uncle will dote on her,
however he despises marriage.

But Fanny Price!

It's wonderful.

Quite wonderful that Mansfield
should have done so much for you.

That you should have
found your fate at Mansfield.

But you are quite right -
there is not a better girl in the world.

And her connections are more than good.

She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram,
that will be enough for the world.

But what are your plans?
Does she know her happiness?

- No.
- What are you waiting for?

For very little more than opportunity.

Mary, she is not like her cousins...

But I think that I shall not ask in vain.

Oh, no, you cannot.

Though from my soul, I do not think
she would marry you without love -

if there is a girl in the world
capable of being uninfluenced by ambition.

But ask her to love you
and she will never have the heart to refuse.

I could so wholly and absolutely
confide in her. And that is what I want.

The more I think of it, the more
I am convinced that you are doing right.

I am quite persuaded. Fanny Price
is the very girl to make you happy.

Your wicked project upon her
turns out a clever thought indeed.

It was bad,
very bad in me against such a creature.

But I didn't know her then.

And I will make her happy, Mary,

happier than she has ever yet been herself,
or ever seen anybody else.

My dearest Henry.

How glad I am to see you so much in love.
It quite delights me.

But what will Mrs Rushworth and Julia say?

Oh, I care neither what they say or feel.

They will now see what sort of woman it is
that can attach me.

And they will see their cousin treated
as she ought to be.

I hope they may be heartily ashamed
of their own abominable neglect.

They will be angry.
Mrs Rushworth will be very angry.

It will be a bitter pill to her.

But, like other bitter pills,
it will be swallowed and forgotten.

I am not such a coxcomb as to suppose
her feelings more lasting than other women's.

Though I was the object of them.

Yes, Mary.

My Fanny will feel a difference in the behaviour
of every being who approaches her.

Daily... hourly.

And it will be the completion of my happiness
to know that I am the doer of it.

Come this way, sir. I believe the lady
and Miss Price are still at breakfast.

It may be I am a trifle early.

- Ah, Mr Crawford.
- Good morning, Lady Bertram.

So you are come.
I am glad to see you well.

Since I have risen from the table,
I think you will excuse me from doing so again.

- You know I am waited for.
- Indeed.

Hm. And here is Fanny to entertain you.

Baddeley, pray tell Sir Thomas
that Mr Crawford is come.

My dear Miss Price.

I am infinitely obliged to any creature
who gives me an opportunity of seeing you alone.

- You will allow me?
- Mr Crawford.

Knowing your feelings as a sister,
I could hardly have borne

that anyone should share
in the first knowledge of the news I bring.

He is made!

Your brother is a lieutenant.

I have the satisfaction
of congratulating you on William's promotion.

Here are the letters which announce it,
this moment come to hand.

You will perhaps like to see them?

Here, you may read.

The Secretary of the First Lord
writes to my uncle,

delighted to have such an opportunity
of proving his regard.

This is a note from His Lordship himself.

All this tells you
that you must be assured...

Mr William Price's commission as second
lieutenant of His Majesty's sloop Thrush

has spread the greatest joy
to a vast circle of people.

- Is it true?
- My uncle has exerted himself.

As I knew he would,
after seeing your brother.

He was delighted with him.

This was my object in asking William
to go with me to town.

Well... Is all this your doing, then?

Good heaven! How very, very kind.

Is it really by your desire?

Oh, no, I beg your pardon,
but... I'm bewildered.

Oh!

Oh, Mr Crawford!

How very, very kind.

We are infinitely obliged to you.

Oh, dearest William!

Oh, I must go to my uncle.
My uncle ought to know...

Pray do not.
You must allow me a moment longer.

Forgive me,
but I must speak a little of what I feel.

If you are grateful,

believe me when I say to you
it was not done for William alone.

Not for William?

It must be... It cannot be that you
are wholly unaware of what I feel for you?

- Since we led the dance...
- Pray, Mr Crawford...

All that I have done, all that I feel
is for you and you alone.

And so I offer you my heart...

No, don't! Pray don't. I beg you would not.

This is a sort of talking
which is very unpleasant to me.

- No, I cannot bear it.
- Cannot bear?

Can you offer nothing
in return for what I bring you?

Have pity.

Do you understand? I offer up myself -

hand, fortune, everything -
to your acceptance.

- And with it all my heart...
- No! No, no, no, no.

- This is all nonsense. I can hear no more.
- But, Miss Price...

Your kindness to William makes me obliged
to you, but I cannot bear...

- No, I must not listen.
- Stay, I beg you.

But you're not thinking of me!
I know it's all nothing.

- Mr Crawford is in the breakfast room?
- Indeed, Sir Thomas.

- Ah, Mr Crawford.
- Good day, Sir Thomas.

I was told Fanny was here.

Yes, sir, she was.
Miss Price has just now left me.

I fear she was a little overwhelmed.
I brought her some happy news.

- News?
- Indeed, Sir Thomas.

Of her brother... William.

(KNOCKING)

Fanny?

Oh, you're here. May I come in?

Yes, sir, I pray you.

What's this? Have you no fire today?

I'm not cold, sir.
I never sit here long this time of year.

How comes this about?
Well, here must be some mistake.

It is unfit for you to sit,
be it only half an hour, without fire.

You are not strong.
Your aunt cannot be aware of this.

I think, sir...
My Aunt Norris, I think it was.

Ah, yes, yes, I understand.

Your Aunt Norris has always
been an advocate

for young people being brought up
without unnecessary indulgences.

It was well meant, I'm sure,
but there should be moderation in all things.

She is herself exceptionally hardy.
I'm sure you understand.

Now, my dear, sit down.
I wish to speak to you for a few minutes.

I will not detain you long.

You are not, I believe, unaware

that I have been speaking
to your visitor this morning.

Mr Crawford returns with very welcome news.

Yes, indeed, sir.

And a proposal
which I believe he has made to you.

And which, I assure you,
has my entire approval.

And now, Fanny, having done my part,
I will no longer impose myself upon you,

but take you to one whom you are sure
of finding better worth listening to.

Mr Crawford is yet in the house.
He's in my room.

- We're hoping to see you there.
- No, no, no, no, sir, no.

I cannot indeed go down to him.

Mr Crawford ought to know.
I told him without disguise.

He must know. It is quite out of my power
to return his good opinion.

How?

Out of your power to return
his good opinion? What is all this?

He told me he had received
as much encouragement

as a young woman should give.

No, sir, you're quite mistaken.
How could Mr Crawford say such a thing?

On the contrary, I told him...

I cannot recollect my words but I am sure
I told him I would not listen to him

and would have said more if I had been
certain of his meaning anything seriously.

I did not think, sir, he intended it.

I thought it might all pass for nothing with him.

Am I to understand
that you refuse Mr Crawford?

Yes, sir.

You refuse him?
Upon what plea? For what reason?

I...

I cannot like him, sir,
well enough to marry him.

This is very strange.

You must have been aware,
you must some time have been aware

of Mr Crawford's attentions to you.

I always thought you received them
very properly.

I'm half inclined to think, Fanny,

that you do not quite know
your own feelings.

Oh, yes, sir, indeed I do.

His attentions were always
what I did not like.

This is beyond me.
This requires some explanation.

You are young, you scarcely see anyone.

It is hardly possible
your affections have...

No, no, no,
No, I know that is out of the question.

Have you any reason, child,
to think ill of Mr Crawford's temper?

No, sir.

Well, what, then?

Give me some answer, Fanny.

Sir... you will excuse me.

We had better put an end
to this most mortifying conference.

Mr Crawford must not be longer kept waiting.

I will, therefore, only add

that you have disappointed
every expectation that I had formed of you.

I had formed a very favourable impression
of you since my return to England.

I thought you peculiarly free
from wilfulness, self-conceit

and every tendency
towards that independence of spirit

which prevails so much in modern days

and which in young women is offensive
beyond all common offence.

You can be wilful and perverse.

The advantage or disadvantage
of your parents,

your own brothers and sisters,
has no place in your thoughts.

Here is a young man of sense,
of character, of temper and of fortune

seeking your hand
in the most handsome way.

And let me tell you, Fanny, you may live
another eighteen years in the world

without being addressed by a man of half
Mr Crawford's estate or a tenth of his merits.

Had Mr Crawford sought Julia's hand,

I would have given it more joyously
than I gave Maria's to Mr Rushworth.

And if either of my daughters
had refused him,

I would have been much surprised and hurt.

I would have thought it a violation
of duty and respect.

You cannot be so judged.
You do not owe me the duty of a child.

But, Fanny, if your heart
can acquit you of ingratitude...

Oh, sir...

I'm sorry.

- I'm... I'm sorry, very sorry.
- Sorry, yes. I hope you are sorry.

You will have cause to be long sorry
for this day's transactions.

If it were at all possible
for me to do otherwise...

But I'm so perfectly convinced
that I could never make him happy...

...and that I should be miserable myself.

There, there, child.

Dry up these tears.

There is no use in these tears.

They can do no good.

I must return to Mr Crawford.

For the present, calm yourself...

...and think over what I have said to you.

When your spirits are composed, it may be
that Mr Crawford would speak to you again.

Now I advise you to go out.

The air will do you good.
Go out for an hour.

You will have the shrubbery to yourself.

And you will be better
for the air and the exercise.

And, Fanny...

...I will say nothing as yet
to your aunts of this matter

until some convenient moment.

And say nothing yourself.

I thank you, sir.

So...

...take your walk.

(DOOR CLOSES)

Oh, heaven defend me from being ungrateful.

Ah, Fanny. A word with you, my dear.

- My Aunt Bertram sent me for her shawl...
- It will take but a moment.

I have spoken again to Mr Crawford

and he understands, I believe,
how matters rest between you.

For his part, he tells me
his feelings are unchanged

and asks only to be allowed
to continue in the hope

that time may bring about
some alteration in yours for him.

But I'm so perfectly convinced...

My dear, there is no occasion for this.

Mr Crawford proceeds at his own risk.

You are on safe ground.

If he calls, you will see him with the rest of us
and in the same manner as before.

He is to leave with his sister for London
very soon,

so this can scarcely be a burden to you.

There is nothing more to be said, nor done.

Now, my dear Fanny,
the subject is closed between us.

I thank you, sir.

But one thing more...

I found that Mr Crawford has already spoken
of his proposal at the parsonage

to his sister and to Mrs Grant.

I have therefore informed your aunts briefly
of the business.

I am sure you may count
on their forbearance.

I cannot say, sir, how grateful
I should be for all such kindness.

My dear, there is no need.

Go to your aunts.

(LADY BERTRAM)
So, Fanny, you are come again.

Here is your shawl, Aunt.
I was detained a little.

Yes, my dear, we know what you were about.

Thank you.

I am satisfied
that Fanny can be of some use.

If I had known she was to take her walk
in the shrubbery this morning,

I should have asked her to go to my house
and fetch the preserves you wanted.

I was obliged to carry them myself.
It was a great inconvenience.

You know, Sister, it was Sir Thomas himself
who advised Fanny to walk in the shrubbery.

And it was very kind
of Sir Thomas, I am sure.

But Fanny could have let us know
she was going.

She would have had as good a walk
to my house, I can assure you.

But there is something about Fanny.
I have often observed it.

She likes to go her own way to work.
She does not like to be dictated to.

She takes her own independent walk
whenever she can.

She certainly has a little spirit of secrecy
and independence and nonsense about her,

which I would advise her
to get the better of...

...if she is able.

Well, Fanny...
I have had an agreeable surprise

and I must speak of it once.

I told Sir Thomas I must, once,
and then I shall have done.

Hmm.

We certainly are a handsome family.

I hope, Aunt, you don't reproach me.

Oh, no, my dear.

You cannot want me to marry...
for you would miss me.

Yes, I'm sure,
you would miss me too much for that.

No, my dear, I should not think of missing you
when such an offer comes in your way,

if you were married to a man
of such good estate as Mr Crawford.

And you must be aware, Fanny,

it is every young woman's duty
to accept such an offer as that.

I'm sure it must seem so, Aunt.
I know it must.

- (PUG GROANS)
- There.

And I will tell you what, Fanny,
which is more than I did for Maria

or that I may do for Julia...

the next time Pug has a litter...

Yes. You shall have a puppy.

Why, Henry, do you not see?
Look who is here.

Bertram, how do you, sir?

Miss Crawford. Mr Crawford.
I'm glad to see you well.

- Have you ridden from Peterborough?
- I left this morning.

How did you part from the Miss Owens?
With much tenderness, I am sure.

You're ordained, Bertram.
One sees it immediately.

Am I so changed?

Why, no. Henry, I do not think so.

But much is changed in Mansfield.
You have been too long away.

My brother and I will soon be gone.

I am invited to a friend's in London
and Henry will convey me.

Had you delayed by one week more,
you would not have found us.

And you would not have had to see me
return a clergyman.

- What else is altered since I was gone?
- Ah... no.

For that you must apply to others.

- And to Miss Price, first of all.
- To Fanny?

Yes, indeed, to Fanny, as I may now call her.

I shall see you again this evening, Bertram.
Sir Thomas invites me to dine.

Yet I shall not be there.

Good day to you, Mr Bertram.

"Farewell.
A long farewell to all my greatness..."

(EDMUND) And William's lieutenancy,
which was your doing, Crawford.

Lady Bertram.

Miss Price.

We are to join you.

My father begs to be excused
for a little while. He has a letter to write.

And you are peacefully employed,
I see, ma'am, very silent.

We have not been silent for long.

Fanny has been reading to me.

She was in the middle of a very fine speech
of that man's...

Oh... What was his name?

Was it Cardinal Wolsey
Your Ladyship means?

Why, yes, it was indeed.
That was the very speech. Wasn't it, Fanny?

Mr Crawford, you quite astonish me.

Pray, read it for us, do.
I am sure you will speak it well.

If you'll allow me?

"Farewell. A long farewell
to all my greatness.

"This is the state of man.

"Today he puts forth
the tender leaves of hope,

"tomorrow blossoms and bears
his blushing honours thick upon him.

"The third day comes a frost,
a killing frost...

"And then he falls as I do.

"Vain pomp and glory of this world,
I hate ye.

"I feel my heart new open'd.

"Oh, how wretched is that poor man
that hangs on princes' favours.

"There is betwixt that smile
we would aspire to,

"that sweet aspect
of princes and their ruin,

"more pangs and fears
than wars or women have.

"And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer.

"Never to rise again."

That was quite beautiful.
It was really like being at a theatre.

I thank Your Ladyship.

That play must be a favourite with you.
You seem to know it well.

It will be a favourite,
I believe, from this hour.

But I do not know that I have had a volume
of Shakespeare in my hand since I was fifteen.

Shakespeare one gets acquainted with
without knowing how.

Perhaps, Crawford, it is you
who should have chosen my profession.

The art of reading
and good delivery are to be attended to.

I feel sometimes
I should like to be a clergyman,

but then I do not know
I should be fond of preaching often.

Now and then, perhaps, but not half a dozen
Sundays together. Not for a constancy.

It would not do for a constancy.

You shake your head.
What does that mean?

Disapprobation, I fear. But of what?

- Only tell me if I displease you.
- Pray, sir, don't.

Nay, I entreat you. For one moment,
put down your work and tell me.

What did that shake of the head mean?

How can you, sir?

You quite astonish me.

Do I astonish you?

I will explain to you all that gives me
an interest in what you look and do.

I will not leave you to wonder long.

You shook your head
when I said I should not like to engage

in the duties of a clergyman
for a constancy.

Yes, that was the word. Constancy.

I am not afraid of it.
I see nothing alarming in it.

Did you think I ought?

Perhaps, sir...

...perhaps I thought it was a great pity

you did not always know yourself
as well as you seemed to do at that moment.

Well...

I am happier than I was, because I know
more clearly your opinion of me.

You think me unsteady,

easily swayed by a whim,

easily tempted, easily put aside.

No wonder, then.

But we shall see.

My conduct shall speak for me.

Absence, distance, time shall speak for me.

They shall prove that as far as you can
be deserved of anybody, I do deserve you.

You are infinitely my superior, that I know.

You have some touches of the angel in you.

But I'm not frightened.

For it is not by quality of merit
that you can be won,

but by him who loves you most devotedly.

By that right, I do and will deserve you.

- Are you alone?
- Miss Crawford...

I must speak to you for a moment.

Sad, sad girl.

I do not know
when I shall have done scolding you.

Am I here again? Once only was I
in this room before. Do you remember?

I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too.

You were our audience and our prompter.

A delightful scene.

Exactly here, in this part of the room.

Here were the chairs.

Here was I. Here was your cousin.

Oh, why will such things ever pass away?

I have had a little fit, as you may see,
but it's over now,

so let us sit down and be comfortable.

For as to scolding you, Fanny,
which I came here fully intending to do,

I have not the heart for it.

It is quite impossible to do anything
but love you.

When I think that this is the last time
of seeing you for I do not know how long...

Oh, but you are going to friends,
a particular friend.

True, Mrs Fraser has been
my intimate friend for years.

But I have not the least inclination
to go near her.

I can think only
of the friends I am leaving.

Of my excellent sister,
of you and the Bertrams.

You have all so much more heart among you
than one finds in the rest of the world.

Oh, how perfectly I remember it...

...resolving to look for you upstairs,

looking in and seeing you here at this table
with your needle and thread,

and your cousin's astonishment
when he walked in the door.

Why, Fanny, you are
in an absolute reverie...

...thinking, I hope,
of one who is always thinking of you.

Oh, that I could
transport you to London.

If you could see how he is courted...
How I am courted for his sake...

Were I to tell you of all the girls
in love with him, I should never have done.

It is only you - you, insensible Fanny -

who can think of him
with anything like indifference.

But... are you really as insensible as you profess?

- Miss Crawford...
- No, I see you are not.

Excellent creature.
I shall not tease you.

Everything will take its course.

But, my dear Fanny, you must allow
that you were not so absolutely unprepared

as your cousin believes.

You must have seen that
he was trying to please you at the ball.

And before the ball, the necklace...

Oh, you received it just as it was meant.
I remember it perfectly.

Do you mean that your brother
knew of the necklace beforehand?

Oh, Miss Crawford, that was not fair.

Knew of it?

It was his own thought entirely,
his own doing.

I'm ashamed to say
the thought never entered my head.

I was half afraid
at the time of its being so.

There was something in your look
that frightened me.

But not at first.

Indeed, I did not.

It is as true as I sit here.

If I had suspected it, nothing would
have induced me to accept the necklace.

Fanny!

I shall believe you.

As to your brother's attentions,
I put it down simply to being his way.

I am not blind
and I have seen in this family

what Mr Crawford allowed himself
in gallantries which did mean nothing.

I cannot deny
he has been a sad flirt.

I have often scolded him for it.

But very few young ladies
have any affections worth caring for.

I cannot think well of a man
who sports with any woman's feelings.

Oh, I do not defend him.
I leave him entirely at your mercy.

When he has got you at Everingham,

you may lecture him as much as you please.

But this I will say...

That his liking to make girls
a little in love with him

is not half so dangerous
to a wife's happiness

as a tendency to fall in love himself,
which he has never been addicted to.

And I do seriously and truly believe
that Henry loves you

and will love you with all his heart.

If any man ever loved a woman forever,
I'm sure Henry will do as much for you.

And so goodbye, my dear,
my sweet, my excellent Fanny.

I expect to see your cousin in town.
He talks of being there.

And the Rushworths and Julia
I am sure of meeting again and again.

And all but you.

So I have but one favour to ask.

- You must write to me.
- Yes, indeed.

I know you to be an excellent correspondent.
Were not you writing a letter?

- It's to William.
- Our newest lieutenant!

Henry was quite overjoyed
at getting William's commission.

Oh, yes, how very, very kind.
I hope they'll meet again.

William doesn't sail until the spring

and he hopes to be in Mansfield again
before he leaves.

Then you will miss me not at all.

So farewell, dear Fanny.

Remember me with kindness.

And my dear brother with something more.

My dearest William,
I have your letter by this morning's post.

And you may well suppose how eagerly
I shall count the weeks until I see you again.

Miss Crawford and Mr Crawford
left the parsonage this morning, early.

I know how much you would like
to thank him in person.

And yet I am not sorry to see him go.

Which, despite all that he has done for you,

knowing my reasons, William,
I hope you will forgive.

Excellent sport.
We shall have six brace between us.

I never saw Mansfield
so full of pheasants.

Yet I think we've taken enough for today.

I've been reflecting on your cousin...

- I mean Fanny.
- Yes, sir?

When William comes from Portsmouth,

I've conceived a notion
that Fanny should return with him.

Stay a little with her family,
perhaps until Easter. What say you?

Well, sir, it seems very fitting that Fanny
should see her family again after so long.

- And I suppose...
- Yes?

She needs some further opportunity
to consult her heart.

The thing is good in itself, sir,
and could not be done at a better time.

Yes, so it seemed to me.

I felt it right and desirable,
and wanted only your opinion.

Perhaps in her father's house,
she will consider in a more sober light

the value of Mr Crawford's feelings.
So it shall be.

Well, Sir Thomas,
and what does Fanny say?

She shed some tears at first,
then seemed in raptures.

- I've sent Edmund to her.
- But can I do without her?

My dear, I think you may.

And since I shall be here,
Fanny will scarcely be wanted or missed.

How will the young people travel,
Sir Thomas?

They shall travel post.

At your expense?
It would be too generous.

There will be room for twice their number
in the chaise.

I might go with them.

After twenty years,
to see my poor dear Sister Price again.

It's such an opportunity!
I have half a mind to go with them.

But, then, you know, Sister, you must make
the journey home at your own expense...

...for Fanny stays till Easter.

Why, yes, indeed, that's true.
I had not rightly considered it.

And as you say, Lady Bertram,
you will need me here.

I must sacrifice every pleasure
where I may be of use.

Dear Sister Price must wait.

I dare say you are right, Sister.

It may be as you tell me.

Yet I am sure I shall miss Fanny...

...very much.

Fanny?

My father has spoken to you.

- And are you happy in this plan?
- Oh, yes.

I'm to see them again - my family...

...the places I knew...

...almost half my life since.

But I shall be sorry
to leave Mansfield Park.

I shall say farewell
to every room in the house.

You will come back soon. It is not for long.

Fanny.

And I shall write to you
when I have anything worth writing of.

Something from London
of a certain person you will like to hear.

And you will be with William till the last moment
before he leaves the shore.

Oh, yes. Dearest William.

Hey, Fanny.

To think, you are to see
the Thrush sail out of Spithead.

I tell you, she is the finest sloop
in the British fleet.

Anybody in England would take her
for an eight and twenty.

And you, William... in your uniform.

Yes, and that, to be sure.

I wish I could have shown it
at Mansfield Park.

It's a cruel custom
that it may be worn only to go aboard.

Yes. How long before you see a change in it?

For I may tell you, I have some doubts
of our first lieutenant, Fanny.

I think he may be carried off.

Aye. In our first engagement too.

Poor fellow. I shall be sorry for it.

But I shall like to see you at home.

And they have need of you.

I do not know how it is,

but we seem to want some of your nice ways
and orderliness at my father's.

The house is always... in confusion.

You will set things going in a better way.
You will tell my mother how it ought to be.

- No, William!
- Oh, she will not mind it.

And you will be useful to Susan
and teach Betsey,

and make the boys love and mind you.

How right and comfortable it will all be.

Indeed I hope it will.
I hope they will love me.

(DRUMMING)

(PIPER PLAYS JAUNTY TUNE)

(GIRL) Sir, the Thrush
has gone out of harbour.

(BOY) You're just in time, William.
We've been looking for you this half-hour.

The Thrush went out of harbour this morning.

- Fanny, here is Sam.
- Glad you're come, Sister.

It was a beautiful sight. She'll have
her orders soon. I am to sail with you.

And Mr Campbell's been here at four o'clock
to ask for you.

He's got one of the Thrush's boats
and is going at six.

He hoped you'd be here to go with us.

Here we are. They're here.

- Here we are, mistress,
- It's Fanny.

I declare.

Do you know your sisters?
Betsey and Susan.

Oh, but you're grown.

I'll help the driver. Where's Rebecca?

My dear William, how glad I am to see you.
But have you heard about the Thrush?

- Here's the parlour, Fanny.
- The parlour?

- Do you like our home?
- Three days before we had thought of it.

Sam's things will never be ready.
It takes me quite unawares.

Now you must be off too.
Everything comes at once.

I had rather she'd stayed in harbour,
but if there's a boat ashore, we must be off.

But come, Mother... Mother.

You've hardly looked at our dear Fanny yet.

You've grown a woman.
Poor dears. How tired you both must be.

- Betsey and I have been watching for you.
- From the window.

- When did you eat? Shall you want meat?
- Some tea, Mama.

There's no time to dress a steak,
but if you would like some tea...

Betsey, run into the kitchen
and tell Rebecca to put the water on.

I wish we could get the bell mended,
but Betsey is a handy messenger.

Dear me, what a sad fire we have got
and I dare say you are both starved and cold.

Draw up a chair, my dear.

I cannot think
what Rebecca has been about.

I am sure I told her to bring some coals
some half an hour ago.

- Susan, you should have taken care of it.
- I was upstairs, Mama, moving my things.

You had but just then settled that my sister Fanny
and I should have the other room

and Rebecca would give me no help.

- (MAN) What's here, damn it?
- Higher, I tell you.

(WILLIAM LAUGHS)

Are you come? Welcome back, my boy.

- Have you heard?
- Father, I have.

The Thrush went out of harbour,
sharp's the word, you see this morning.

By God, you're just in time.

She was a fine sight. I wouldn't have been
out of the way for a thousand pounds.

And there she lays at Spithead -
a perfect beauty.

Close by the Endymion,
just between her and the Cleopatra.

Just where I'd have put her.
It's the best berth at Spithead.

I was on the platform two hours this morning
just looking at her.

Here is my sister, sir.
It's so dark, you don't see her.

Here is Fanny.

By God, had I quite forgot!

Fanny, is it?

- You see how the girl has grown?
- Yes, indeed.

Mr Campbell has been here inquiring for you.

He has one of the boats. I must be off.

I've been to Turner's about your mess.

I shouldn't wonder
if you had your orders tomorrow.

- Tomorrow.
- But you cannot sail with this wind.

(CHILDREN SQUABBLING)

Captain Walsh thinks you will have a cruise
westward with the Elephant.

The devil take these young dogs.
How they sing out!

Hold your confounded pipe, boys,
or I'll be after you!

- Do you hear your father?
- It's mine and he shan't give it up!

Goodbye, Fanny.

You've seen me a lieutenant
and not a scrubby midshipman any more.

- Yes, goodbye, Mother.
- (MR PRICE) Come, lads.

We'll come tomorrow
if there's a boat going ashore.

(SAM) Or write from the West Indies.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye, William.

Goodbye.

Did you find it, Betsey my dear?
I am sure it is in the drawer.

Yes, Mama.

What shall I do?
If you have needlework...

No, Fanny, to be sure,
it will confuse me. I know what I am about.

What have you there, my love?
Show it to me.

Mama, she has taken it again!
It is my knife.

Sister Mary gave it to me on her deathbed
and Betsey will only spoil it.

You promised me
Betsey should not have it in her hand.

Why, Susan, why must you be so cross?
Come, Betsey. How cross Susan is to you.

But you know you should not have taken it,
my dear, when I sent you to the drawer.

Poor Mary never thought
how you would quarrel

when she gave it to me to keep for you
before she died.

Poor little soul.
She was so fond of it, Fanny,

she would have it by her bed
all through her illness.

Well, I must hide it another time.
Her silver knife...

Now poor Mary is dead. Do you remember her,
Fanny? How fond she was?

Yes, Mama.

I think if you have no use for me, Mama,
I shall unpack my trunk now.

Oh, yes, there's nothing here for you to do.
Susan and I will manage.

Though how this shirt will ever
be got ready, I do not know.

Indeed, tomorrow.

I hope, Mama, that you will hide it.

Her silver knife was meant for me
and Sister Mary said so!