All language subtitles for Pink.String.And.Sealing.Wax.1945.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

www.titlovi.com

"Brighton week by week.

"Great public interest has been aroused
by the forthcoming trial at Lewes

"of Mrs Hilda Jackson,
charged with the crime...

"with the atrocious crime of murder."

Paragraph.

"It is interesting to note
that this trial will mark

"the first public appearance
in his official capacity

"of Mr Edward Sutton,

"recently appointed public analyst
for the county of Sussex."

And I find that I have a sensation
of fullness after meals,

in the abdomen.

I unhesitatingly recommend
Dr Weekes's pill of health

from the recipe
of the late Dr Hampton Weekes.

A most excellent remedy, madam,

for bilious complaints, fevers,
disorders of the stomach and bowels,

habitual costiveness,
indigestion and flatulency.

Very well, I'll take it.

How much?

Two shillings, please, madam.

The dose is one pill
three times a day before meals.

You will not find them
difficult to swallow.

- How very neat that looks.
- Thank you, madam.

- Good night, madam.
- Good night, Mr Sutton.

Gentlemen of the jury,
are you agreed upon your verdict?

We are.

Do you find the prisoner
guilty or not guilty?

Guilty.

- And that is the verdict of you all?
- It is.

Oyez!

Oyez!

Hilda Jackson,

you have been found guilty
of a callous and cold-blooded murder.

For this offence your life is forfeit.

You must therefore prepare to die.

And I trust that you will,
by repentance of your crimes,

seek to obtain mercy from Almighty God.

The sentence of the law is
that you be taken hence

to the place from which you came

and thence to a place of lawful execution

and be there hanged by the neck
until you be dead,

and that your body be afterwards
buried within the precincts of the jail

in which you were last confined.

And may the Lord have mercy
upon your soul.

Amen.

There, I think that's everything.

We'll have tea as soon as Papa comes back.

Oh, I do hope they've decided
to hang Mrs Jackson.

Victoria, what a dreadful thing to say!

Well, if they have,
he'll be in a good mood

and I particularly want him to be

because I'm going to ask him
to show me my school report.

You'll spoil your tea
if you pick at things like that.

What do you want to see it for?

Because I know
why he hasn't shown it to me.

Mr Harding said he ought to let me
take up singing as a career.

Here is Papa now.

Guilty or not guilty?

Guilty.

Good afternoon, Papa.

- What happened?
- A verdict of guilty.

His Lordship was gracious enough
to compliment me on my share

in bringing the criminal to justice.

- Will they hang her?
- Naturally.

Are those your notes
on the properties of the alkalis?

Well, I...

Official note-taking is the key
to success in all examinations.

- Let me see them.
- They're... they're just a rough draft.

Nevertheless I should like to see them.

"To Mary."

Verses?

I was just trying my hand
at writing a few verses.

- You see...
- Read them to me, please.

Oh, I... I can't.

Read them.

"Amid my drab, diurnal quest

"My senseless round from place to place

"One vision soothes my weary breast

"'Tis that of your adored face

"For in my restless sleep I seem

"To hold your beauty in my arms

"And till the cruel day I dream

"Of eyes as grey as mountain tarns"

Lord Tennyson will have
to look to his laurels.

Am I correct in supposing
this rubbish is addressed

to Victoria's friend, Mary Truscott?

Yes, Papa.

Miss Truscott is in London.

You write to her?

Yes, Papa.

And she replies?

Answer me!

Yes, Papa.

I wonder what Sir George would think

of his daughter's
clandestine correspondence.

Papa, can I speak to you for a moment?

Yes, Victoria? What is it?

It's about my voice.

Mr Harding told me
what he was going to say in my report.

Then Mr Harding acted
in a most unprofessional manner.

Oh, Papa, please let me train as a singer.

That's enough, Victoria.

Singing as a female
social accomplishment is one thing,

professional singing is another.

Professional singers are invariably
persons of dissolute life and habit

and, unless they have outstanding merit,
rarely make an adequate livelihood.

But, Papa, perhaps I have
outstanding merit.

Perhaps, my dear.

Now, I don't want to hear
any more about this, Victoria.

In order that the money already invested
in your training shall not be wasted

I'm arranging for you
to give piano lessons

to the children of some of my customers.

Yes, Papa.

Tea's ready. And, oh, Papa,
thanks for the darling little guinea pigs.

- Guinea pigs?
- The carrier's just brought them.

- What a lovely present!
- They're not a present.

You've already received
a dozen linen handkerchiefs from me.

The guinea pigs are
for the purpose of my experiments.

You're not going to do horrible things
to them, not like the frogs?

Scientific experiments
for the benefit of humanity

are not horrible, Margaret.

It will all come right somehow.
You mustn't cry.

Dear Peggy, now your birthday's here,
we hope you'll have a prosperous...

Oh, Papa's going to cut them up alive!

The darling little guinea pigs,
he's going to cut them up alive!

Silence!

Virtue's treasure

Is a pleasure

Cheerful

Even amid distress

Here relying

Suffering

Dying

Honest souls

Find all

Redress

What a sad little song, Victoria.

I feel sad.

What's the matter?
You know, if there's anything I can do...

I'm afraid there isn't, John.

It's just that I want to go
to Paris and Vienna and Milan

and sing an opera

and Papa says I can give piano lessons
to the children of his customers.

- Perhaps he'll change his mind.
- Never.

I shall have to live and die in Brighton.

In that case you might as well
decide to marry me.

- No, John, I'm sorry.
- I'll keep on asking, you know.

Hm.

- Evening, John.
- Good evening, sir.

Well, I'm afraid I must be going.
Good night, Miss Victoria.

- I'll see you out.
- Please don't bother.

I should know my way by now.

My respects to your father.

- Thank you, sir. Good night, sir.
- Good night, John.

I take it you've refused
young Bevan again, Victoria?

- Yes, Papa.
- You're extremely foolish.

I hope you realise you're not likely
to get a better offer.

Yes, Papa.

- Tell David I wish to speak to him.
- Yes, Papa.

Come in, David, and shut the door.

I've been to see Sir George Truscott.

It's a parent's duty, David,
to look after his children.

And when he finds them behaving
as you've been behaving,

it's his duty to put a stop to it.

As I expected,
Sir George was extremely angry.

He holds strong views upon
correspondence between young people

unless they are actually
engaged to be married.

But, Papa, I love Mary.
I want to marry her.

Have you any idea what you're saying?

A boy of your age
to talk about love and marriage?

When you're capable
of earning your own living

and are not dependent upon me
for the meals you eat,

the clothes you wear
and every penny you spend,

then it will be time enough
for you to think of such things.

Is anything the matter, David?

No, Mama.

- Good night.
- Good night, dear.

What is the matter with David?

Nothing you need bother
your head about, my dear.

Poor David, he looked so unhappy.

He has very little cause for unhappiness.

At his age I should have regarded

a comfortable home
and three substantial meals a day

as an earthly paradise,

not to speak of a secured livelihood
in a respected profession.

Your father was a poor man

and a harsh man, Edward.

But is that any reason

why you should treat
your children harshly?

I, treat them harshly?

What are you talking about, Ellen?

Why do you not try to make them
love you rather than fear you?

Love and fear are inseparable.

God is love,
but we are taught to fear him.

Oh, I know you believe
that your methods are right, but...

I'm afraid that continually
crushing the children as you do

will make them lose their trust in us.

Every day they withdraw
more and more into themselves.

Even the little ones have secrets
that I'm not allowed to share.

Yes?

- Whisky, please, miss.
- Whisky.

- How much?
- Tuppence.

Oh, so you're back, Miss Porter?

This morning. Everyone was
charming to me, quite charming.

When I left, they all said they were
looking forward to seeing me again.

It was so nice of them.

- I'll have a penn'orth, please, Maudie.
- Right.

- Evening, Louise.
- Back again, eh?

This morning.

A most enjoyable visit.

- Your 46th conviction, wasn't it?
- No, dear, 47th.

It will be your 48th
if you're not careful.

Evening, Maudie. Whisky.

Er, another whisky, please, miss.

- Where's Dan this evening?
- I don't know.

- Well, fancy that.
- And what's more, I don't care.

Oh?

I wonder where our Pearl is this evening.

- Are you insinuating they're together?
- Well, dear,

Dan isn't here and Pearl isn't here
and knowing that they're always...

Knowing what?

Well, I can't quite call to mind
what I was saying.

You were saying something
about my wife and I don't like it.

See?

He's been on the booze for days.
You'd better be careful.

I'll have a penn'orth, please, Maudie.

I must say, when I compare
the charming company I was in last week

to what I'm in now,

- I wish I were back again.
- You will be.

Well, I'm just warning you.
Keep your mouth shut about Pearl.

Hello, Dan.

Oh, hello, Pearl.
What are you doing out here?

Just came out for a breath of fresh air.

Joe see you come out?

He's too drunk to see anything.

- Anyone else see you?
- Her?

Much I care whether she did or not.

- Let go of me, will you? I'm late.
- Where are you going?

Inside.

- Louise will be waiting.
- Louise!

- She's all right, Louise is.
- She's a fool.

Go on. I'm a fool too.

Both of us making fools of ourselves
over a dirty, cheating swine.

- Anything for Lewes, Dan?
- Nothing I'm telling you about, mate.

- Good evening.
- Good evening.

- Good evening, Doctor.
- I made out that prescription for you.

All right, I'll be back in a minute.

- You're late.
- I was busy.

Two whiskies, Maudie.

- Good evening, Mr Powell.
- Well, well. So you're out again, eh?

Maudie?

- And a gin.
- Thank you.

- Good evening, Louise.
- Evening.

- Well, stranger.
- Good evening.

I was only asking Louise earlier
where you were. Louise, I said...

- Have a drink, Pearl?
- Thanks, I'd like a whisky.

- Maudie, another whisky.
- Right.

Er, Mrs Bond, the guvnor
wants you in the parlour.

I'll have it when I come back.

- Oh, I'm so sorry.
- Oh, no harm done.

Come over here.

I'm not asking you where you've been
because I know.

And I don't care for it, see?

- You're drunk.
- Yeah.

But not too drunk to tell you
this business with Dan's got to stop.

- And who's going to stop it?
- I am.

Little runt of a warned-off jockey!
I'll break every bone in his body.

I'll be back.

There you are.

- You've forgotten something.
- Oh?

You've forgotten to tell me the name
of the horse you're gonna give it to.

- What'll you have?
- A penn'orth.

- And what's yours?
- I'm not drinking with you.

Please yourself.

Why can't you stick to your own man
instead of running after mine?

Hark at her! Yours indeed?

The only thing you ever got out of Dan
was that pretty scar on your face.

You dirty slut!

Nark it!

Most unladylike.

Excuse me.

I hope I didn't
inconvenience you just now.

What?

Oh, no, not at all.

I've been drinking.

- Whisky.
- Really?

- I've never drunk it before.
- You're lucky.

Do you go there often?

I live there.

In the public house?

- Any objection?
- Oh, no, of course not. I...

It's the first time I've ever been there.

You're lucky again.

It won't be the last, though,
now I've met you.

Charmed, I'm sure.

I was thinking,
it's a nice night for a walk.

A very nice night.

Why don't you go home to your ma?

- Good night, Maud.
- Good night.

Oh, I shouldn't have said that, should I?

I don't suppose it will do any harm
to take a little stroll.

You know, you're ever such a nice boy,

the sort of boy
a girl could really get friendly with.

Oh, good night, Dan.

I'm afraid that's all,
you poor little darlings.

I'll buy you some more as soon as I can.

- David, what on earth...
- Shh.

What on earth are you two up to?

I went down to feed the guinea pigs.
David's been out.

Have you been drinking?

- Yes.
- Oh, what would Papa say?

I don't care what Papa would say.

You'd better go to bed, my boy.

I will.

Good night.

So had you.

Fancy David taking to the bottle!

Don't be silly, Peggy.

I expect he's drowning his sorrows
because Mary's gone to London.

Oh, dear. We all seem
to have our problems, don't we?

David's is love, yours is singing
and mine is guinea pigs.

Go to sleep, Peggy.

- Vicky?
- Mm?

Wouldn't it be wonderful
if Papa was the sort of Papa

who understood what one was like
and what one wanted?

Yes, wouldn't it?

Good night.

- I want some cabbages, please.
- Yes, miss. How many?

How many do you think
would be enough for six guinea pigs?

Oh, I should think one would be plenty.

- How much?
- Three halfpence each.

- I'll take one.
- Thank you.

- Good morning, Peggy.
- Oh, it's you.

There you are, miss.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

- Good morning.
- Good morning, John.

- Can I help you carry anything?
- No, thank you. It's very light.

What are you doing
out of the office at this time?

I've been doing a valuation
at Rottingdean.

- Are you sure I can't carry that for you?
- Quite sure, thank you.

Come on, we must be getting home.
See you in church on Sunday, John.

- You are beastly to John sometimes.
- I know. I can't help it.

He's always there somehow
and it gets on my nerves.

If only he were like Mr Rochester.

Peggy! What do you know
about Mr Rochester?

Nora Dale had a copy of Jane Eyre

and she lent it to me
during scripture preparation.

Oh, Mr Rochester was wonderful, Vicky.
He was tall, dark and...

Papa would be very displeased
if he knew you'd read that book.

- Yes, Vicky.
- You must never look at it again.

No, Vicky.

- Who did you say had a copy?
- Nora Dale, Vicky.

Oh, Peggy, look! Madame Patti.
If only I could hear her.

Seats two guineas, one guinea,
12 and six, and seven and six.

- What a hope!
- Yes.

If only she could hear you.

She's awfully famous
and perhaps if she said

you ought to take it up professionally,
Papa would listen.

Oh, she'd never see me.

- We'd like to see Madame Patti, please.
- Have you an appointment?

Well... well, not exactly. You see...

I'm sorry, miss, not a hope.

The fact is,
I want my sister to sing to her.

You've got it the wrong way round, miss.
It's Madame Patti that sings.

Oh, I do think you're mean.
You could easily let us in.

You don't know how important it is to us.

You don't know how important
it is to me to keep my job.

If you was to hang about
till after the concert,

- you'd be able to see her come out.
- Oh, thank you. We will.

- That's her.
- May thy charms no stranger prove

But bloom forever like my love

Oh, may thy charms

No stranger prove

But bloom forever

Like my love

Hush every breeze

Let nothing move

My Delia

Sings

And sings

Of love

Go on, Vicky, sing.

- What here?
- Yes, here.

- Go on, sing.
- Oh, I can't.

It's your only chance
that she'll hear you. You must sing.

Oh, but, Peggy, I can't.

Oh, do you want to be a singer
or don't you?

Mid pleasures and palaces

Though we may roam

Be it ever so humble

There's no place like home

A charm from the skies

Seems to hallow us there

Which seek thro' the world

Is ne'er met with elsewhere

Home

Sweet, sweet home

There's no place like home

There's no place

Like home

- Come here, child.
- Go on, Vicky.

Come with me.

- Where did you learn to sing like that?
- At school, madam.

And do you usually sing
in the street at night?

Oh, no, madam, it was just that...

Well, you see, I...

Suppose you have supper with me
and tell me all about it?

After all, you've sung for it.

Oh, madam!

Peggy, darling,
whatever are you crying about?

I'm not crying, I'm laughing.

What made the whole thing perfect

was Papa asking
how we enjoyed the missionary lecture.

- I nearly died.
- It's very wrong of us to deceive Papa.

Papas like Papa force their children
to deceive them.

It's the most wonderful thing ever.
I still can't believe it's true.

Aren't you terrifically excited?

It will be jolly frightening
to go up to London

and sing to a lot of old fogeys,
but when you get the scholarship...

Oh, Vicky, what on earth's the matter?

It's no good, Peggy.

I can't go.

I've just realised I haven't the money
for the fare to London.

It's seven and six and I spent
all my money on a new bonnet.

- Well, we'll borrow it.
- Oh, who from?

Well, Papa's no good
and I know David hasn't got any.

Mama would give it to you, but...
if Papa found out he'd be beastly to her.

And Lucy gives all hers to her sister
who's on the parish.

I know, John.

- Oh, I can't borrow from John.
- Why ever not?

Well, young ladies don't borrow
from young gentlemen.

How jolly silly.

There isn't anything we can pawn either.

There's that coral necklace
Grandma gave you.

Oh, it's not real coral.

The old cheat!

Oh, don't cry, Vicky darling.
I'll think of some way.

Papa owes me two weeks' pocket money.

That's a shilling to start with.

Thank you.

"Grant, we beseech Thee, Almighty God,

"that we, who for our evil deeds
do worthily deserve to be punished,

"by the comfort of Thy grace
may mercifully be relieved

"through our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ, amen."

Word perfect.

I have noticed a marked improvement
in your conduct

during the past few days, Victoria.

Thank you, Papa.

Mrs Ellis reports very favourably
on your piano lessons to her children.

The Ellis children are
such little darlings, Papa,

it's a pleasure to teach them.

Mrs Ellis' recommendation should result
in your obtaining other pupils.

Yes, Papa.

You are beginning to realise

that your father is the best judge
of your ultimate happiness.

Well, we'll say no more
about our recent differences of opinion.

- You are entirely forgiven.
- Thank you, Papa.

Now I will hear Margaret
repeat her Collect.

- Yes, Papa. I'll go and tell her.
- Thank you.

Huh! Little darlings!

"Grant, we beseech Thee,

"that we, who for our evil deeds
do deserve to be punished,

"by the comfort of Thy grace may..."

- Papa's waiting for you.
- Oh, dear! I don't know it yet.

Well, you're very silly.
It's the shortest one in Lent.

Do you recognise this, Margaret?

It looks like a cabbage leaf.

Your powers of observation do you credit.

Can you, by any chance, explain

how I came to find it
in the guinea pigs' cage?

No, Papa, unless perhaps they were hungry.

Do you suggest that they went
and fetched this from the kitchen?

No, Papa.

- You have been feeding them, Margaret.
- Yes, Papa.

You have disobeyed my explicit orders.

I had explained to you
that for my experiments it was essential

that they should be kept
on the border of starvation.

It's just beastly cruelty,
that's what it is,

and you make us learn Collects
and talk about Christian kindness!

That will do, Margaret.

I will not have you speak to me
in that manner.

And as you're so interested
in Christian kindness,

I will give your two week's pocket money
to the society

for the propagation of the Gospel
among the unenlightened heathen.

Now repeat your Collect.

Repeat the Collect!

"Grant, we beseech Thee,
Almighty God, that we..."

Portrait of a man about town.

I can't think what's come
over you lately, David.

You do nothing but fiddle with your tie
and look in mirrors.

I do not.

Are we all ready? Ellen?

Coming, Edward.

Here, hold these.

Here's your collection money.

Sorry, Edward.

At last we appear to be ready.

To Elijah

Angels came

Steeds of fire

And car of flame

So was Daniel

Meet to gaze

On the sight

Of latter days

And the Baptist...

Oh, Vicky,

do you think the unenlightened heathen
would miss seven and six?

Peggy!

Papa is giving them
a shilling of my pocket money

so it's all right for me
to take threepence back.

Canon Jones was very brief today.

I deplore this modern tendency
towards short sermons.

When I was a boy
they used to go on for hours.

Personally, I think 45 minutes
quite long enough.

Will you excuse me, Papa?

I ought to take old Mrs Hunter
her medicine.

Good boy, David.

Hello. What are you doing here?

I happened to be going this way and...
I thought I might see you again.

You can't see much of me.
I've got an appointment.

Perhaps I might walk along with you.

All right.

I've been wondering if you might care
to come with me to the West Pier.

They have a band, you know.

I'm afraid I can't promise.
It depends on my husband.

Oh, I'm so sorry.
I didn't know you were married.

- Please forgive me.
- What for?

- Well, asking you to come out with me.
- Don't be soft.

What I mean is, if he's on the booze
I can go out. If he isn't, I can't.

Does he drink a lot, then?

Hardly ever stops.

It's terrible when he's on the drink.

- He knocks me about like anything.
- He doesn't!

Oh, I'm used to it.

Well, come along if you're coming.
I don't want to keep my friend waiting.

Been for a walk with such a nice chap.

Oh?

Seems to have taken quite a fancy to me.

That's fine.

Said he'd be on the front tonight
on the off-chance of seeing me.

I expect I'll have no end of a time
keeping him in his place.

Why bother?

Because I'm not that kind.

No?

Perhaps I was once, but I'm not now,
and you know the reason why.

Oh, Dan!

Thank you, Mrs Webster.

Fancy Mrs Webster, don't you?

She's all right.

She must have been quite a good looker.

She is a good looker.

I suppose any woman with
as much money as she has would be.

But you're a much better looker.

I'd never notice Mrs Webster
when I was with you...

if you were a wealthy widow too.

For what we have received
may the Lord make us truly thankful.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Can I get down, Papa?

I've no doubt you can get down.

Whether you may get down
is another matter.

- May I get down, then?
- You may, Margaret.

Kindly see that James and Nicholas
are not late for Sunday school.

Yes, Papa. Come on, you two.

Where is Lucy?

- It's her afternoon off, Edward.
- What, again?

It's only once a month, Edward.

I don't pay her 12 pounds a year
to have you do the washing up.

You spoil the girl, Ellen.

Where is the parish magazine?

I put it in the parlour for you, dear.

I don't care what you said.

I don't care if I am taking it
the wrong way.

I just don't care for you, see?
So you'd better get out.

All right, all right.
I just asked after your missus.

It's a free country, ain't it?

- Mr Bond seems put out tonight.
- He's sober.

Well, if you ask me,
he has enough to make him sober.

Meaning Pearl?

Stop chattering and get on with your work.

Evening.

- Seen Dan?
- Not for several hours.

Whisky, Maudie.

Where did you see him last?

- Oysters.
- What?

- I said oysters.
- What do you mean? Where was he?

- Are you looking for Dan as usual?
- None of your business, Joe Bond.

As a matter of fact,
Dan Powell is my business.

As a matter of fact,
I got a message for him.

Next time he comes through that door
he'll go out feet first.

- Dan, don't want to come here.
- Why does he, then?

Because your wife won't leave him alone.

Chasing him all over the place
with her "Dan this" and "Dan that"

and making sheep's eyes at him.

That's it!

Sheep's eyes.

Sheep's eyes and oysters.

What was that, you old witch?

With her "Dan this" and her "Dan that",

making sheep's eyes in the oyster bar.

I've seen 'em.

I've seen 'em.

- Where is Pearl, anyway?
- My wife's in the parlour.

Pity you can't keep her there.

- Get out.
- I'm getting.

Remember what I told you would happen
if you didn't stop seeing Dan Powell?

Remember?

Well, after I've beaten him into a pulp
I'll see to you, my girl.

Why should Louise be the only one
of Dan's fancy women

with a scar on her face?

I'll mark you for life
if you don't stop it, see?

Next time it won't be an accident.
And it won't be your hand.

Pearl.

Oh, it's you.

Pearl, what is it?

Oh, how did that happen?

We met, 'twas in a crowd

- And I thought he would shun me...
- You still here?

Penn'orth, please, landlord.

He came, I could not breathe

For his eye was upon me

You've cut your hand.

No, I haven't. Pearl cut herself.

Very careless.

Very careless young woman, your wife.

Now, will you go home?

Good night, Mr Bond.

A most enjoyable evening.

What if your pa wasn't in bed?

He'd have something to say,
you bringing me home.

He'd have to put up with it.

Grown up a bit, haven't you?

Maybe.

Come into the laboratory.

Sit down, please.

Now, let's look at that hand.

Mm, nasty.

- Might lead to tetanus.
- Tetanus?

- What's that?
- Lockjaw, then.

I'll clean it with a strong disinfectant.

- What's in all those bottles?
- Chemicals of various kinds.

These are poisons.

Arsenic, digitalis,
belladonna, strychnine.

There's enough in that one
to kill half Brighton.

Just imagine that.

Wouldn't do to quarrel
with a chap like you, would it?

Give me your hand.

I suppose I'd know all about it
if I got... what you said?

Tetanus? You certainly would.

It ties people up in knots

as if they'd taken
some of that strychnine up there.

Really?

Even experts find it hard
to tell the effect of one from the other.

William Palmer nearly got off
because the doctors disagreed,

but the man he poisoned had been ill
for less than three days.

Anyhow, there was no cut
where the germs could have entered

so it couldn't have been tetanus.

Don't you know a lot?

There, that's all I can do for you.

Well, thanks very much.

It isn't often
a chap's as nice to me as you are.

That's no way for a doctor
to look at his patient.

- I'm sorry.
- Are you?

Oh, I could do with a drink.

I'm afraid Papa doesn't keep
any spirits in the house.

I could get you a glass of milk.

That would do all right.

I won't be a minute.

- Here you are.
- Thanks.

Well, good night, and thanks.

Oh, it was nothing.

A present for a good boy.

- Well!
- Pearl, I...

Good night.

Give me a whisky, Frank.

- Thanks.
- Anything more?

No, thanks.

- Where's the guvnor?
- Back on the booze.

Took a bottle upstairs with him.
Good night.

Good night.

You?

Another, another couple.

Light is my heart
as the bird of the morning

Or rosy clouds yonder bright east adorning

Light is my heart
as the bird of the morning

Or clouds so rosy

Yon east adorning

Light is my heart

Light is my heart

Within me singing

While upward winging

Light is my heart

In earthly sorrows

It hath no part

Ha-ah-ha-ah, ha-ah-ha-ah

Ha-ah-ha-ah

Ha-ah-ha-ah, ha-ah...

Ha-ah...

It hath no part

No pa-a-a-art

Ha-ah

Thank you, Miss Sutton.

Thank you, Miss Sutton.

Penn'orth, please, Maudie.

Penn'orth, please, Maudie.

For the third time,
a penn'orth, please, Maudie.

Sorry. Ever so busy tonight
with the guvnor still being off.

- It's days since I've seen him.
- Days since anyone has.

He's locked himself in his room.

Well, look who's here!

Good evening, Doctor.

Good evening, ladies. What are you taking?

You know my friend Mrs Webster.

Good evening.

- I'll have a glass of gin.
- Mrs Webster?

- I'd like a port, Mr Powell.
- And a whisky for me, Maudie.

- And your own.
- Thank you.

Well, where's our Joe tonight?

You know perfectly well
Mr Bond is having one of his turns

or you wouldn't be here.

Is Mr Bond ill, then?

Oh, yes. He's in a bad way, Joe Bond is.

- Your health, Mrs Webster.
- Best respects.

Well, what a pleasant surprise,
Mrs Webster.

You've never been here before, have you?

No.

- Good evening, Dan.
- Good evening.

You ought to have brought
Mrs Webster here before, Dan.

I'm sorry to hear
your husband's poorly, Mrs Bond.

Oh, he's not poorly, Mrs Webster.
I'm afraid he's on the drink.

Though, I must say,

I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't
working up for a nasty illness.

I haven't liked the looks of him lately.

He's sort of tired
and puffy about the eyes.

- Door still locked?
- Yes.

He's locked himself in.
He's never done that before.

I can hear him
shouting to himself all night.

- It's ever so upsetting.
- Perhaps he's seeing pink elephants.

Now, there's no need
to be unkind about Joe.

He may drink, but there are
a lot of worse things than that.

- Having a drink, Pearl?
- No, thanks. I'm just off to bed.

Another port, Mrs W?

Well, really, I...
I don't know if I should.

- A port and a whisky, Maudie.
- Right.

On the house, Maudie.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

Well, good night, Mrs Webster.

I hope we shall see you here again soon.

- Good night.
- Good night, Dan.

Lock up for me in about an hour,
will you, dear?

Poor thing.

I must say, I shouldn't like a husband
who went on like that.

The late Mr Webster may have taken
a drop too much now and again

but nothing serious.

Perhaps Mr Webster hadn't troubles
like Joe Bond has.

Troubles?

Best respects.

Pour a drink.

Pour a drink.

Been alone all my life, really.

Mum and Dad dying when I was little.

Never known what it was to have a home.

Oh, Mr Powell, how sad for you.

Joe! Joe, let me in!

Help! Help!

Joe! Joe!

- What's the matter?
- He won't let me in.

I heard him groaning
and then a thud as if he'd fallen.

Oh, I'm frightened.

- Joe! Joe, let me in!
- Maudie, go and fetch the doctor.

We'd better break the door down.

I'm afraid he's dead, Mrs Bond.

All right, all right.

The guvnor's dead.

I'm closing.

Drink up, everybody.

Oh, Dan, it was horrible.

- And Mr Powell?
- He's looking after Mrs Bond.

I suppose you've no idea what he died of?

I would diagnose tetanus,

popularly known as lockjaw.

Oh, yes.

He did cut his hand
on a broken glass, Sunday night,

same time as I cut mine.

I tried to bandage it for him,
but he wouldn't let me.

That might quite easily account for it.

These unattended cuts are very dangerous.

Well, I'll call again in the morning,
Mrs Bond,

to sign the certificate.

- Can you keep a secret, John?
- Try me.

I gave an audition for a scholarship
at the Royal College of Music.

- If I've got it, they'll send a telegram.
- How wonderful.

- Of course I won't get it.
- Of course you will.

- Wouldn't it be wonderful?
- Paris, Vienna, Milan.

Paris, Vienna, Milan.

And I'll be able to say
I was in the secret all the time.

Oh, John, you're very sweet.

So are you, Victoria.

- In fact, you're so sweet...
- Oh, John, no!

Victoria, will you marry me?

No, John.

That's better.

For the first time
there was a note of doubt in your voice.

When I ask you in Paris
there'll be more doubt,

and in Vienna still more,

and in Milan you'll say yes.

- Will I?
- Yes.

John, you're very masterful
all of a sudden.

I've been taking lessons
from Mr Rochester.

John, your father's just leaving.

- Well, goodbye, Miss Victoria.
- Au revoir, Mr Rochester.

- Mr Rochester?
- Oh, just a silly joke.

Vicky, oh!

You should be in the shop, David.
You know I don't like it to be unattended.

- They've given me the scholarship!
- I knew they would.

Who's given you the what?

Look.

"The Royal College of Music
is pleased to inform you

"that you have been awarded
a three-year scholarship

"of 30 pounds per annum."

- Do you know about this, Ellen?
- No, she didn't. I didn't tell anybody.

You entered for this scholarship
behind my back?

After I'd clearly expressed my views
about your absurd ambitions?

Well, Madame Patti thought
my voice was promising.

Madame Patti?

And on what occasion, pray,
did you encounter Madame Patti?

It was after her concert at the Pavilion.

Vicky sang to her at the stage door.

She took us back to supper at her hotel.

We emptied our money boxes
to pay the fare to London with.

Leave the room, both of you.
I'll deal with you later.

Don't go, Vicky.

You must let her
take the scholarship, Father.

She's won it and she has a right to it.
It's not fair to stand in her way.

- Mind your own business.
- It is my business.

She's just as much my sister
as she's your daughter.

And how do you propose
your gifted sister should support herself

for this period of three years?

There's a scholarship.

That will cover the fees
and the train fares.

I said support herself.

She would receive neither board
nor lodging in this house

and 30 pounds a year
would scarcely cover both.

- You'd turn Vicky from the house?
- Without an instant's hesitation.

And now perhaps you'd kindly retire,
the three of you.

And may I remind you, David, again
that the shop is unattended?

For what we are about to receive,
may the Lord make us truly thankful.

Amen.

There's that little bit of money
of mine, Edward.

- Vicky can have that.
- Ellen!

You, too, in favour
of this idiotic scheme?

I'm sorry, Edward.
I only want Vicky to be happy.

And I can see nothing wrong
in being a professional singer,

of the concert sort.

I must ask you not to encourage
the children to flout my authority.

I would like Victoria
to have that money, Edward.

Maybe you are unaware
that under the law of this land

a married woman possesses
no property of her own.

It belongs wholly and entirely
to her husband.

And you propose
to take advantage of that fact?

In the circumstances, yes.

If you could find it
in your heart, Edward,

to turn your daughter from your house,

well, I could find it in my heart
to leave your house.

And if it weren't for the children,
I would.

- Shall I make you a cup of tea?
- Thanks, Maudie, I would like one.

Oh, hello. What do you want?

I have been wanting to come round
ever since I heard what happened.

- Thanks.
- It must have been a dreadful shock.

Oh, yes, it was.

Poor Joe.

He wasn't always
the best of husbands, but...

After all, there is something about death
that makes a difference.

Yes, there is. Well, thanks for calling.

- Oh, but, Pearl...
- Yes?

Pearl, I...

I know this isn't the time
or the place to say it,

- but...
- But what?

But when all this is behind you
and forgotten,

do you think that you and I could...

Don't make me laugh!

Well, well. I didn't know
you had company, Mrs Bond.

I haven't.

One of the nicest funerals
I've ever attended.

Most enjoyable.

All the nicest people,
such lovely floral tributes.

There was a most handsome wreath
from the brewery.

- Pint, please.
- Dan there?

Mr Powell was present.

I'm afraid, dear, you've lost
your Mr Powell for good this time.

Our Pearl's a rich woman now, you know.

I know all right.

I only hope Joe Bond doesn't know
who's living on his money.

Poor Joe Bond.

I must have been one
of the last people to see him alive.

I can see him now, wiping the blood
from those ugly great hands of his.

- You must have seen the cut, then.
- What cut, dear?

Well, the cut on his hand
that gave him the lockjaw.

It was in the paper. She said
he did it on the Sunday night.

There was no cut on Joe Bond's hand
on Sunday night.

There was blood, yes,
but he said it was her who'd cut herself.

Then he wiped his hand
and there wasn't any sign of any cut.

But she said...

She must have been telling
an untruth, dear.

Wait a minute.

If there wasn't any cut

how did the lockjaw germ get into him?

You'd better ask the doctor that, dear.

No.

I think I'll ask the police.

Same again, Frank.

- Is Mrs Pearl Bond in?
- I think so.

- I'd like to have a word with her.
- I'm her manager. What is it?

I'm afraid it's personal business
with Mrs Bond, sir.

This way.

Someone to see you, Mrs Bond.

- Mrs Pearl Bond?
- Yes.

I'm afraid I have
some very distressing news for you.

The Home Office has ordered
the exhumation of the body

- of your late husband.
- Why?

So that a post mortem examination
may be performed.

- Why?
- I'm afraid I can't tell you that.

My instructions were
to inform you of the order.

It's disgraceful, that's what it is.
Digging up poor Joe!

The doctor said he died of lockjaw.
Everyone knows he died of lockjaw.

Yes, Mrs Bond. Good morning.

So you did do it?

- I don't know what you mean.
- Oh, yes, you do.

I did it for you, Dan. I did it for you.

- Flattered, I'm sure.
- Oh, Dan!

Here, steady.

It's all your fault,
carrying on with that Mrs Webster.

It was more than flesh and blood
could stand.

Drink that.

What did you use?

Strychnine.

- Where did you get it?
- Young Sutton.

That Sunday he took me to his home
to bandage my hand.

I got him out of the room
and took the stuff.

He's sweet on you, isn't he?

Yes.

And his pa's the public analyst, isn't he?

Yes, it's Mr Sutton who'll have
to find out what poor Joe died of.

Well, what are you laughing for?

Because you're on velvet, my girl,
if you box clever.

- Mr Sutton.
- Madam.

I'm Mrs Joe Bond.

I want to talk to you, privately.

I'm afraid in the circumstances, madam,

it would be professionally improper
for me to talk to you.

I said I wanted to talk to you privately.

This way.

Well, Mrs Bond?

Well, I don't know how to begin.
It's all so dreadful.

You see, it's about your son.

David? You know David?

Oh, we've been friendly
for quite some time.

He came to the pub one evening.
We got talking. You know how it is.

I'm thankful to say
I do not know how it is.

- Why have you come to see me?
- There's no need to talk like that.

I've come to help you.

I've come to help you
save your son from the gallows.

I can only suppose that you're insane.

You see, David was ever so sorry for me

because Joe used to drink
and knock me about.

I didn't know what to do,

so David said he'd give me
some stuff to put Joe off the drink.

Go on.

One evening he brought me in here
and gave me some white stuff,

out of a bottle there.

He told me to take it home
and put it in Joe's whisky,

so I did and Joe died.

And now they've dug him up
to try and find out what he died of.

Well,

I've been putting two and two together.

What was that white stuff David gave me?

What are you suggesting
that it was, Mrs Bond?

Well, it seems to me
as if the police think it's poison.

And why should my son wish
to poison your husband?

Well, I didn't realise it at the time.
I thought he was just sorry for me.

But I've found out since
that he's ever so sweet on me.

And perhaps he thought
with Joe out of the way...

- Why have you come to tell me this?
- Because you can save him.

You're the public analyst.

If you find any poison in Joe's insides
you can keep your mouth shut, see?

You can say he died natural.

Are you attempting
to blackmail me, Mrs Bond?

- I'm doing you a good turn.
- I doubt your motives as I do your story.

However, let us pay this story
the compliment

of supposing it be worthy of examination.

Do I understand you administered
this remedy to your husband?

Yes. He was on the booze again,
so I put it in his drink.

- When?
- When?

Well, just before he died.

According to the rumours
I've heard about this sordid business,

your husband had been locked
in his room for several days.

So he had, but he let me in for a minute.

I put the stuff in his glass of whisky
and gave it to him.

- Did you see him drink it?
- Yes.

Then he started throwing himself about.

So what did you do?

Well, I... I didn't know what to do.

You made no effort to go for help?
You suspected nothing?

No, Joe was always so violent
when he was on the drink

I just thought it was DTs
so I got frightened and ran out.

I see. And then this man,
in the agonies of strychnine poisoning,

walked to the door and locked it
so that no help could reach him.

No, Mrs Bond. Your story is a lie.

And a childish, incompetent lie at that.

Yes, it's a lie.

I see I'll have to tell you the truth.

I thought I might be able
to keep myself out of it, but...

you're too clever for me.

Of course I knew it was poison.

David told me it was
when he gave it to me.

That my son should be morally weak enough

to consort with a woman of your type,
I can believe.

But that he connived with you
in a premeditated murder, I cannot believe.

It's not a question of what you believe.

It's what the jury believes.

When my son comes back,
I shall ask him what is the truth.

All right, you ask him.

You ask him if he didn't tell me about
strychnine being mistaken for lockjaw.

You ask him if he didn't tell me
that lockjaw took three days.

You ask him if he didn't tell me
about there having to be a cut.

You ask him.

Is that you, David?

Yes, Papa.

Papa, why have you shut the shop?

Are you ill?

Come in, David, and shut the door.

Sit down.

David, I'm going to ask you
some questions.

It's vital that you answer them correctly.

Yes, Papa.

Do you know a Mrs Joseph Bond?

Yes.

Do you know her well?

I'm not going to upbraid you
for associating with her.

It was after you'd found those verses.

I felt awful.

You didn't understand and I...

Well...

Did you bring her here?

David, please, I beg you
to answer my questions.

Did you bring her here?

Yes.

She'd had a quarrel with her husband
and cut her hand.

I took her into the laboratory
and dressed it for her.

Did you by any chance show her
where the poisons were kept?

Yes, I believe I did.

Did you tell her about the symptoms
of strychnine poisoning?

- Yes.
- Why?

I was just talking,
showing off, I suppose.

Was she at any time
left alone in the laboratory?

Think very carefully.

Yes, she was.

She asked me for a drink and I went
and I fetched her a glass of milk.

I see. She asked you to go.

Gentleman to see you, ma'am.

Well, Mr Sutton?

I've come to tell you, Mrs Bond,

that when you came to see me
you overlooked one vital point.

What do you mean?

If you succeed
in involving my son in this case

you will automatically defeat
your own attempt to blackmail me.

I cannot falsify an analysis
performed by somebody else.

The police will obviously decide
that I'm not the proper person to do it.

What are you up to?

I told you, the police needn't know
if you did what I said.

The police already know.

- David has gone to them.
- The little fool.

He's gone to tell them that you had
an opportunity to steal strychnine

when he left you in the laboratory
to fetch you a glass of milk,

at your request.

All right, that's his story.
You wait till they hear mine.

They will then have to choose
which to believe.

If they think it necessary,
David will stand his trial with you,

and then, as you so rightly said,

it will be a question
of what the jury believes.

You won't have a chance with the jury.

They'll see David as what he is,
a romantic, impressionable boy.

They'll see you as what you are,
a murderess.

You condemned your husband
to a death of unspeakable suffering,

but if I had to choose between
his suffering and that awaiting you,

I wouldn't hesitate for one moment,

for you, Mrs Bond, will be hanged.

You can try and frighten me
as much as you like, but it won't work.

Your husband suffered for a few seconds.

You will suffer those long weeks
in the condemned cell

with the dreadful knowledge
that the morning will inevitably come

when the door will open
and the hangman will come in

to take you for your last walk,
your walk to the scaffold.

If I swing, he swings as well.

I'll take him with me
if it's the last thing I do.

But before that last walk
there are those long weeks

with every moment echoing in your mind.

"The sentence of the law is

"that you be taken hence
to the place from which you came

"and thence to a place of lawful execution

"and be there hanged by the neck
until you be dead

"and that your body be afterwards buried

"within the precincts of the jail
in which you were last confined."

Stop, blast you! Stop!

"And may the Lord have mercy
upon your soul."

What's the matter? You made a mess of it?

He says he won't do it.

Oh, won't he?

- Where are you going?
- None of your business.

You can't leave me! Don't you realise
what they're going to do to me?

You should have thought of that
a bit earlier, shouldn't you?

You never loved me.

Never said I did, did I?

"Brighton week by week.

"Amongst the social highlights
of the week,

"pride of place must be accorded
to the elegant reception

"given by Sir George and Lady Truscott

"to celebrate the marriage
of their daughter Mary

"to Mr David Sutton."

Paragraph.

"The occasion was graced
by the dainty presence

"of the bridegroom's sister,
Miss Victoria Sutton,

"who, our readers need
scarcely be reminded,

"has already made her mark
in the world of music.

"Their numerous friends
will wish the bridal pair

"all prosperity and happiness
in the years to come."

Preuzeto sa www.titlovi.com