Original subtitles

I'm not the other woman. She is.

I shan't leave you again.

Perhaps you were drunk when you were driving that gig

when Henry Hard castle lost his leg.

Miss Lister and Miss Walker, they were

kissing, like married people kiss.

I'll write to Elizabeth

about dividing the estate.

It's probably something we should've done before now.

It's all going to come to Sackville at the end of it all anyway.

Fairly certain we're heading towards an election

- at abominable speed. - Mm.

Not another one.

Welcoming Mr James Stuart-Wortley,

Tory Party candidate for Halifax!

Gentlemen!

Gentlemen!

I have been invited by a body of your constituency

here in Halifax

far exceeding in number those who supported me on a former occasion.

Down with Wortley, down with t'Tories!

For the hon our of representing you in Parliament.

Get off the stage!

And

as it has been attempted by an unprincipled coalition

to dictate to the town,

- and to exclude... - Get off!

Of private interest or inconvenience

would justify me from withholding my services...

Get off, you Tory scumbag!

Show us your arse!

It'll be an improvement on your face!

- Twat! - Sorry.

I said, "Sorry."

Posh boy.

You'll have to keep still.

What did Mr Wortley actually say, Matthew, in his speech?

I couldn't hear him, ma'am. It were too noisy.

And there were a band playing on, purposely,

a Yellow band, so no-one could hear him.

These Radicals!

Apparently, when Mr Protheroe was speaking, though,

a band made up of Blues did exactly the same thing, though.

- No, they didn't. - No, they did.

No, they didn't.

The Blues wouldn't sink to such low tactics.

I don't want to hear that repeated.

- Ah, Booth. - What's happened?

I want you to go out to Brierley Hill and give

John Bottomley a message.

Tell him I've had a note from Mr Holroyd,

on behalf of Mr Wortley's election committee, asking him

to give both his votes for Mr Wortley

first thing tomorrow morning.

Now, ma'am?

No. Next week, after the election's over.

Yes, now. Go!

Mr Abbott will be here this evening,

for an hour or so, in the drawing room.

If anyone would like to join us, you'd all be more than welcome.

Father?

Right.

Aunt?

Yes.

Anne?

Miss Walker?

Adney and I will have a good fire in our little sitting room upstairs,

so if anyone would like to join us, you would be, equally,

more than welcome there, Aunt, Father.

Mr Abbott is a staunch Blue.

I would've thought that, if nothing else, would encourage

a more favourable opinion from you.

I'm still reeling at the fact that he had the temerity

to come up and greet me the way he did at the Navigation meeting.

He was holding out an olive branch.

Yes, well, he needn't have bothered. It was an embarrassment.

He's a... chump.

A chump who dumped you.

Yes, well, that is, unfortunately, my objection to him too.

Sorry. Hold on...

He had you on.

You shamelessly attend a meeting full of men...

He left you open to humiliation.

And the thing that embarrasses you is that someone politely

comes up and says hello?

I barely knew where to look.

And he didn't... dump me.

What Mr Rawson said about Miss Greenwood of Field House

was nonsense. I've already explained this about 15 times!

He didn't visit you for weeks on end,

and you were upset.

Hm? Did he ever explain that?

Well, only that whenever he visited he was always ignored.

That's not fair.

Your father and I had to have

had tea with him on several occasions,

and his mother.

Oh, not ignored by you, Aunt.

Ma'am.

Ah, John.

I don't want to disturb you at table...

No, come in.

John Bottomley wasn't at home, but his wife says

he'll definitely be in by nine o'clock

and she'll send him down to speak to you

- the minute he gets in. - Why?

I... I don't know.

You were only delivering a message.

Well, that's just what she said.

Oh, except that he's already had two letters

from Mr Wortley's committee, she said.

One telling him to go to the Talbot first thing

and another to the White Swan.

That's clear enough,

if he goes to one place or the other.

Why's she sending him here?

It's just what she said.

Perhaps he doesn't want to vote for Mr Wortley.

Yes, thank you, John.

That isn't the attitude, Father.

We can't just let the Whigs waltz back into power unchallenged.

We must do what we can, whether we have a vote or not.

If I have to write to Lady Stuart and tell her that

the right-minded people of Halifax have failed

to secure her nephew a seat in the House of Commons,

I shall be sick.

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Hmm.

Nine o'clock, and no John Bottomley.

Yeah... No, I'm with Robert Peel. Moderation.

Bringing people together.

That's how you run a government.

It's certainly how you run a country.

Sometimes, I think the Ultras are as bad as the Radicals.

Worse, in fact, because they should know better.

Of course, I'd never say that out loud in front of anyone

who mattered, but...

No, we've a lot in common, me and Robert Peel.

He's a self-made man.

Well, his father is, so he's got the common touch

and that goes a long way.

He's united the party, which the Whigs'll never do,

and he'll unite the country, I've no doubt about that.

Is that your sister?

Is it?

Anne?

She's an Ultra.

- George. - Oh!

No, don't get up, Elizabeth. It's gone nine.

Run up the hill and see where John Bottomley's got to,

and if he's still not at home go and tell your brother

to get over to him again at five o'clock in the morning

before he sets off to work and to take care he gets down

into Halifax to give a plumper for Mr Wortley.

Both his votes for Mr Wortley.

Yes, ma'am.

Hip bad, Elizabeth?

It's this cold spell, ma'am.

Always makes it worse.

Mr Sunderland's here tomorrow to see my aunt.

Do you want to ask him to look in on you?

Oh, no. No, I don't want anybody put to any trouble.

Nonsense.

We can't expect a good day's work from you if you're in pain.

There'll be nowt he can do.

And then what?

Happen she'll take me outside and shoot me,

like she did Percy.

Don't. Don't!

I said don't.

Miss Lister!

Mr Abbott. We meet again.

Ah, yes, I was just saying to Marian... To, ah, Miss Marian...

Would you excuse me? A thousand things to do.

Yes, I was just saying I hope I didn't speak out of turn at the...

Goodbye, Mr Abbott.

The Navigation meeting? Oh, yes. Sorry!

Busy, busy. Same as me.

Excellent.

Have you, erm

told her?

No.

No, no.

Not yet.

Ah, Joe... George.

- Is Miss Walker about? - Yes, sir.

Mr Washington, ma'am.

Ah. Well, Mr Washington...

Miss Lister. Miss Walker.

Polling is under way, down in Halifax at least.

- Yes, ma'am. - And we've done our bit.

We got John Bottomley down to the White Swan

at five o'clock this morning,

and we've badgered the fence-sitters and the non-promisers.

George, fetch another cup and saucer.

Oh, not for me. Thank you.

Ah, I, erm...

Sit down, Mr Washington.

Erm...

Have you had a letter from your sister in Scotland at all, ma'am?

No.

Ah.

She said she'd written to you separately.

Happen it'll come today.

Ah, she's

sent instruction for distresses to be made on 25 of your tenants,

all for rent arrears.

Some are to claim goods to the value owed, but

more than half are evictions.

Shall I read you the letter, ma'am?

Yes.

Ah...

"Dear Mr Washington."

"Since my sister has now requested

"a formal division of the joint property,

"it strikes me as an opportune moment

"to put our house in order.

"From the latest accounts you forwarded,"

"it is clear that a number of tenancies"

"have fallen into significant arrears."

Really? How?

Ah...

"I enclose a list of names, properties and actions

"to be taken, and would be grateful if you could undertake"

"the necessary steps to employ a bailiff"

"who will carry out those actions."

How have these tenancies fallen into arrears, Mr Washington?

They do their best, ma'am,

and I do keep on at them, those that owe, but

folk can't always find work, not without moving to the towns,

which they don't all want to do. Or can't do.

Some of them are elderly.

And none of them are bad people.

I'd rather write 25 letters back to Scotland

on behalf of them all than serve any one of these distresses.

Well

if that's what Mrs Sutherland wants,

if she believes that's the best way of going about it...

And there will be new tenants to find, of course.

Yes, of course.

And we'll have to seek references to ascertain that they can pay.

Shall I wait till you've heard from her as well, then, ma'am?

Or shall I speak to a bailiff?

Well, yes.

If... Mrs Sutherland thinks that's the right way forward,

then we should respect that and get on with it.

Right.

Is that everything?

Yes, ma'am.

Shall I see you tomorrow at the Stag's Head, ma'am?

Christmas rent collection.

I'll be there at noon.

Why has she done that?

She doesn't write to me.

She writes to everyone except me, and then she's done that!

Mm.

On the other hand, she's clearly got the message.

And perhaps that's why Washington didn't want to get involved

- and write to Elizabeth... - Mm.

Because he suspected this might follow.

Oh...

That's Mr Sunderland.

Very unpleasant.

Odious, in fact.

And have you heard the reports set afloat by the Whigs?

Of Mr Wortley singing and drinking in public houses

- late into the night? - Good Lord.

Are there no depths to which they won't plummet?

But I remain optimistic.

Good. Well said, Mr Sunderland. So do I.

Don't we, Aunt?

Not least because Mr Wortley's committee

has worked so tirelessly,

Mr Rawson, Mr Norris, Mr Water house...

Yes, well, we've all done our bit, one way or another.

I'm going to put a new dressing on this, Miss Lister,

and I'm going to leave you with a little more laudanum.

Well?

The sore is getting larger.

And her pulse.

I'm happy enough with.

If she gets through the rest of the winter,

I'm confident she'll be with us a little while longer yet.

Is Captain Lister...?

No... Ah, no. He's out,

in that... britzka he bought.

He's going to kill Marian.

Oh, well.

Would you mind taking a look at Mrs Cordingley's hip instead?

Ah! The perennial hip.

Elizabeth, Mr Sunderland's here to look at your hip.

Oh...

Oh, it's fine. I don't... I don't need...

Nonsense, Mrs Cordingley. We can't see you suffering.

It's... Really, I'd rather not.

Walk towards me.

Well, Dr Kenny looked at it last winter and he said,

just before you came home from Copenhagen, ma'am,

and he said there's nothing to be done, so...

And it gets easier when the weather gets warmer, so...

Come and sit here.

Oh, I'd only have to stand up again.

Well, walk towards me, then.

Hmm.

You see, sometimes, just a bit of manipulation

in exactly the right spot can...

No! I don't like being poked!

And a bad hip's a bad hip.

I've seen it with other folks. There's nowt you can do,

and some of us just can't lie in bed all day!

So

It's better just to leave it as it is.

Let me see you out, Mr Sunderland.

Castor oil, Mrs Cordingley, if you have any.

A teaspoonful once a day.

But it'll only help if taken consistently

over a period of at least a month.

I'll call in again on Thursday. And send for me again

if I'm needed sooner.

- Good morning, Miss Lister. - Au revoir.

I didn't mean...

I think the world of your aunt. You know I do.

Why don't you go and stay with your sister for a few days

in Bingley, have a bit of a rest?

Who'll cook?

I'm sure I can find someone to step in,

temporarily.

Write to her. See what she says.

Someone can drive you over to Bingley in the britzka.

I'll think about it, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.

Sorry, ma'am.

It came in the postbag while you were upstairs.

It's perfectly affectionate, in some ways,

and then oddly pragmatic in others.

She's saying that dividing the estate is something

we should've done long before now.

It's only odd that it's taken her so long to reach that conclusion.

And a letter from a lawyer.

Well, let's not quibble.

It's a step in the right direction, at least.

At last.

I wonder what time we'll hear anything about the polling today.

Power to the people!

Up with the Radicals!

Power to the people!

Mind yersen, lad!

Oh!

- Joseph. - Mr Whitley.

Do you know when they might publish the state of the poll?

Miss Lister's sent me to find out.

Anne...

Oh, seriously.

You get over one ridiculous injury and then you take

the damnable thing out again.

Well, it'll be me that has to sort out doctors and valets

and one thing and another when he breaks his neck.

Some sympathy might not go amiss

actually, lady.

For a self-inflicted injury?

When we have real illness in the house to contend with!

Ma'am?

I bumped into Mr Whitley, ma'am,

and he said not to despair.

Read it out.

"Mr Wortley, Tory party, 260 votes." Mm.

"Mr Wood, Whig, 294 votes."

"Protheroe, the Radical party, 273."

He's right. We mustn't despair.

The poll continues all day tomorrow,

and we knew Wood would get back in.

As long as Wortley can pip Protheroe to the post

for the second borough seat, we'll be all right. Hm?

- We must keep our nerve. - And he might well, ma'am.

Mr Whitley said the committee itself hasn't even voted yet,

they've been that busy getting people to the polling.

So Mr Wortley has a good number of votes still to come in.

Thank you, Joseph... George.

Are you all right, lad?

Yeah. Just...

There was a lot of Blue flags torn down,

and Halifax was all lit up and there were drunk people everywhere,

men and women, even, singing and shouting and giving it some.

Go and get your dinner.

What tawdry times we live in.

Are you coming with me to collect the rents tomorrow, Father?

I can do.

If you can stand up.

I worry about Elizabeth.

Why?

I'll never forget that look on her face the last time

I was in Scotland.

She was terrified.

I bet there were consequences after I left.

Hm.

And if you read the letter closely,

you can feel his influence right through it.

Little expressions I know she'd never use.

And the ridiculous delay in responding,

that's him.

And the distresses,

to not even discuss it with me before sending an order like that

it's him.

He's trying to undermine me.

He's trying to make me worry I've asked for something unreasonable,

and these are the consequences.

Hm.

Well, if it is, that puts to rest any anxiety

that he and Washington would collude with one another.

And at such a volatile time too, with the election.

If the vote does swing Mr Wortley's way tomorrow,

people are saying there's going to be unrest.

And it won't be him people will point at, will it?

No, he's 400 miles away.

It'll be me.

It's very cunning and unpleasant

if he's purposely done it to coincide with the election here.

We'll ride the storm together.

As long as you get what you want from it

at the end of it, it'll all be worth it.

It is still what you want, isn't it?

You know it is.

You've been so attentive since you came back from Law ton Hall.

Aren't I always?

What made you say,

"I shan't leave you again,"

the moment you came in?

When?

When you came back from Law ton.

It was the first thing you said.

Was it?

Hm.

Only that I'd missed you.

I didn't realise quite how much

until my eyes fell upon you.

It just struck me when you said it,

and then you've not talked about Mrs Law ton since.

Not once.

You are the only person that matters to me now.

You know that.

This is the future,

our future.

Here.

You and me.

I'd better go and say goodnight to my aunt and my father, and

Marian said she needs me for a few minutes.

Ah!

Goodnight, Father.

Sleep tight.

Night-night.

Ah.

I thought you'd forgotten.

If this is about what I think it's about

need we put one another through it?

Do you want to sit down?

I don't need to sit down.

I shouldn't wish to deceive you any longer,

and of course you're free to tell Miss Walker,

as she is now, to all intents and purposes,

part of the family.

And Father knows too.

I told him this afternoon.

I have made up my mind to marry Mr Abbott.

He has about 2,000 a year,

as far as I can make out, before you ask, from

wool, which, if we were to have children,

which we would both very much like,

wouldn't be quite as much as we would hope to live on,

and so his intention is to continue

to develop his businesses here, in Halifax.

Well...

You know what I think.

And you know what I'm going to say. I've been saying it all along.

I think you're making a grave mistake.

So I have just one request,

that you should not marry from here, from Shibden,

and that you send the news yourself to the papers in Halifax,

Leeds and York, styling yourself as Marian,

daughter of Jeremy Lister Esquire of Skelfler House

in East Yorkshire.

If that's what you want.

He does know that you have nothing to expect from here,

doesn't he? You have been clear about it?

Yes.

He understands that there are no circumstances

under which you would ever inherit Shibden, doesn't he?

Yes!

Even if you have children,

he understands that if he has visions of himself

being lord and master here one day,

then those visions are going to be sadly frustrated.

We've not actually talked about it, but I think he...

Then I suggest you do.

I suggest that you are unambiguously clear to him

that if and when I die...

If?

This house

may go to another,

but it won't be you or him,

and then it's entailed to the Listers of Swansea.

I can make it clear to him if you think it's important.

It won't change anything.

Oh, you're naive.

He's a good soul.

That's irrelevant!

What isn't irrelevant is the fact that you would be

marrying so far beneath you, Marian!

You are a Lister.

Our family is one of the oldest, if not the oldest,

in Halifax, and if you insist on this social mismatch

then you must understand that there can be no further

communication between us

and all ties with here must be permanently severed.

Miss Walker and I would not attend the wedding.

Indeed, you needn't tell us about it at all.

It would be enough for us to see it in the paper.

Your best friend would be that person who mentioned me

to you seldomest.

And as for Adney and I

your name would never again pass our lips.

My only fear

is that the mortification of your reduced circumstances

may be far greater than you anticipate.

The great sadness of the thing, Marian,

is that there's really no need for it.

I've always made it abundantly clear

that there will always be a knife and fork for you here.

But I want to marry him.

I have no wish to persuade anyone against anything

they have very much at heart.

All I ask is that you think long and hard

about what you would gain,

and what you would lose.

Status is so hard to win,

and so very easy to throw away.

And for what?

A wool-stapler.

People will be amazed.

It's inconceivable.

I suppose I don't feel that I am marrying

so very far beneath me.

Oh, Marian!

He's in all the right societies and institutions in the town.

He's very well regarded...

Well enough regarded.

He's very capable and hard-working and ambitious

and more than likely to do extraordinarily well for himself

- by and by. - None of which matters.

None of which changes the fact that you are a Lister.

He is... a wool-stapler.

No-one else has ever asked me.

That's no reason to marry someone, Marian.

I like him.

Enough to ostracise yourself from everything you've ever known?

I'd like to be a mother.

Does Aunt Anne know?

No.

Not yet.

Could you

not tell her?

It would cause her so much hurt.

Lord knows, she has enough to contend with at the moment.

And so many things happen between the cup and the lip.

It might all go off again,

and then she need never have been troubled with it. Hm?

Go!

It won't make any difference.

It won't cure it.

Just go.

I'll just get used to not doing owt much

and then it'll be time to come back again.

And? Go!

And then it'll be twice as hard to get back into the rhythm

of everything here than if I'd never gone in the first place.

Shall I go?

I'll go.

I'll pretend to be you.

Your sister won't notice.

I suppose our Nancy would be pleased to see me.

- Mm. - And it'd be nice to have a rest.

There you are.

I wish I could just find a nice fella

and just have him to look after.

Tory scum!

Tory scum!

Go on, have it all!

Come here. Give it here, give it here!

- Get his fucking bollocks off! - Help!

You Tory!

That away!

- Get yersen back off home. - Is that Dick?

Is he all right?

They were attacking Mr Atkinson, the wine merchant,

so we waded in. And he's an invalid, you know?

And his wife were there trying to shoo 'em off, so we sorted

the little bastards out, and they were nowt but lads.

And we got Mr and Mrs Atkinson safe upstairs,

but this lad had his hair parted.

What's happened?

Wortley!

He beat Protheroe by one vote, so they're smashing t'town up.

You want to get yersen back up that hill and off home,

cos that's what we're doing. Come on!

Move yourself. Move!

What a hard-won race.

I shall write to Lady Stuart and tell her.

Oh, but the town, ma'am!

You've never seen anything like it.

All the shop fronts smashed in and raided.

All the inns... Well, all those identified as Blue.

Really?

I didn't see it with my own eyes but, apparently,

both front doors of the vicarage broken down,

and one fella said up at Mr Norris's house

there was glass and furniture and paintings

all shattered and ripped and strewn across his garden.

Then they'd gone over to Hope Hall,

where they were hellbent on smashing that up.

And if they'd got hold of Mr Christopher Rawson,

they'd drag him outside by his bootstraps and...

And...?

And what?

Hang him.

Oh, I don't think you understand the strength of feeling

in the town, ma'am, against the Blues.

I don't think I did.

Do you think the mob will come up the hill?

Oh, I think it's unlikely, ma'am.

They seem more focused on attacking Mr Wortley's committee

than anybody else.

I just thought you should know.

I've never seen anything like it in my life.

Did you speak to Mr Goodall?

Yes. Yes.

I gave him Mrs Sutherland's list.

The bailiff.

And he can take care of everything for you, ma'am,

the distresses.

When... will he do it?

Within the week.

Mr Sunderland...

What are you doing?

- Going down into Halifax. - Why?

To finish paying for St a ups.

The final payment's due today,

and then it'll all be part of Shibden.

A note.

From Mr Sunderland.

He can't visit Aunt Anne today because he isn't feeling himself

but he can ask Dr Jubb to come instead.

Is it wise?

To go into Halifax?

- I think it would be... - Yes, I know!

"Unwise not to"! Of course. Silly me!

I'll write and tell Mr Sunderland we'll only ask Dr Jubb

to come if we need him.

Perhaps you can take the note, if it's no trouble.

If you can wait long enough for me to write it!

Is she one of us?

Are you a Yellow?

- Is she a Yellow? - Ask her.

- Are you a Yellow? - Oi, you're being spoke to.

Are you a Yellow?

She's Blue, her.

Are you a Yellow, mister?

Missus.

No. I'm not Yellow.

I'm black.

I'm in mourning for all the damage that's been done.

I hardly expected to see you.

I thought you might not have wanted to have ventured out.

When I saw the sad turmoil the town was in,

I hardly expected to find you here.

Well, like you, Miss Lister,

although people might not imagine it in the same way,

I'm made of stern stuff.

I didn't know you had dealings with my friend,

Miss Walker's brother-in-law, Captain Sutherland.

Oh, yes.

When John Walker died

on his honeymoon, poor fellow.

Mm. What do you make of him?

Sutherland?

Oh, well, it's a good few...

It's five years now but, erm, yes, he...

Yes. He's amiable and fastidious,

in matters of business.

Devoted to his wife.

Why?

Miss Walker has requested a division of the estate

between herself and Mrs Sutherland,

but he seems... determined to frustrate the process,

whilst it's clear that she, Mrs Sutherland,

agrees that the whole thing should have been done a while since.

Hm.

Hm.

I've got £525 in Bank of England notes,

255 in country notes and 170 in sovereigns.

That's 950.

You have the 1,000 I took at 4.5% from Mr Wainhouse,

plus the other 1,000 he's furnishing me with until Miss Walker's

administration money comes through and I can repay him.

I paid a £330 deposit on 23rd May,

so the total owed by me today stands at £3,225, five shillings

and thruppence, minus £6, 17 shillings and sixpence,

that being the last half-year's rent received from two tenants,

Moore and Oates, which takes us to £3,218, eight shillings

and 11 pence.

Correct.

Well, I've had a note from the other party, the vendor, Mrs Barton.

A vulgar set.

They're all ready for the handover, all waiting round

at Messrs Stead and Dyson,

all very intrigued to meet you.

Shall we set off?

Good Lord, no.

I'll be over at Whitley's.

But I'll be back in an hour, when the thing's done.

Ah.

Stay there.

You all right, lad?

Yep. Yep.

I half imagined the things Washington told us last night

might have been exaggerated, but...

No.

People are estimating the damage to be more than £10,000.

2,000 alone at Mr Norris's house.

They were baying for his blood last night,

chanting for him to come outside.

Of course, he'd fled by then.

They broke in, and

the lower floor was destroyed.

Defiled.

The same as Shay House.

You know, they broke down the front door,

smashed up the furniture.

Jeremiah Rawson's carriage and his gig

were dragged out of his carriage house and into the street

and ripped asunder.

The same at Hope Hall.

And, apparently

they were intending to come to us next,

- at Well Head. - No...

But Protheroe persuaded them against it.

Thank the Lord.

Well, he sent his servant to persuade them against it.

He knows how ill Catherine is.

You... You know my daughter's in the final stages

of consumption, Miss Lister?

Yes, I do. I'm sorry.

Can you imagine

if they'd broken in?

See, I...

I had no idea there was such anger.

And it's not just Halifax.

It's York, Rochdale, Blackburn,

Stock port, Salford, Birmingham.

Have we been blind not to see it?

Nothing justifies terror.

Hunger?

Poverty?

The misery some people must feel in this bitter weather?

Maybe it does.

Perhaps the Radicals have a point when they say that

our time-honoured institutions and ways of doing things

don't suit such fast-moving times,

and the ravages on such a big population.

I don't know.

When you say, "The same at Hope Hall,"

do you mean Mr Christopher Rawson's carriages were destroyed too?

Smashed to pieces and burnt.

Miss Lister.

Miss Lister!

Mr Hinscliffe.

Ah, you're braver than some, coming into town on a day like today.

I have business to transact.

I won't be diverted from my purpose by a few ne'er-do-wells

who don't like their own so-called democracy.

Did you know...

Do you know that the Rawsons have now had between

four and five acres of your coal?

Why aren't you taking care of 'em, eh?

It's robbery. It's daylight robbery.

How could you know a thing like that?

Because people talk. People go down there regularly.

He commands no loyalty.

Yes, well, perhaps I will take care of him, by and by.

Yeah? Well, why don't you?

Any number of men would have offered you a fair price for those beds

and you're just letting him pillage it off you.

I'm sorry, but it's...

Well, it's sickening for them of us

that are trying to make an honest living from it, and...

Well, there it is.

I've said it.

I will take care of him.

Who's advising you?

James Holt?

A second opinion on our strategy might not be unwelcome.

I'll be a friend to anyone who'll be a friend to me.

I mean, he used us both... badly,

with that business up at Willy Hill pit.

Come and visit me at Shibden one day.

We'll discuss it.

Ah!

Well, it all went off very agreeably.

The other party were only sorry not to see you.

Mrs Barton said how much

she'd like to have made your acquaintance.

A lucky and a narrow escape.

And St a ups is now part of the Shibden Hall estate.

Congratulations. I'm glad you got it. It makes sense.

It's a very good purchase.

So let's get some hand bills printed and advertise

for bids for the tenancy of the Stump Cross Inn.

Certainly.

There's been no shortage of enquiries

and it should command a good rent. I am anxious, however...

How can I put this?

In light of our narrow victory last night,

that it should go to someone of... my own persuasion.

Your own...?

Someone who I can rely on to vote the right way

in a dead lift.

We must, after all, do what we can in these volatile times.

Yes...

Er...

Yes.

Well, that would...

Would what?

There will be a scrutiny of the vote, with it being so close.

They'll send someone up from London.

No doubt.

And what you're suggesting

could be, um, thought of as... as

- corruption. - Mm.

Except I wouldn't suggest it to anyone except you.

We understand each other.

And then I've got this Mr Bradley,

this architect from Elland,

coming to take a look at North gate House with an eye

to seeing what work needs to be done

- to turn it into a good hotel. - Ah. That's still a plan?

Oh, yes. And then, with the right tenant,

come the next election,

that'd be another vote for the Blues in the borough.

Hard castle!

Have you been into Halifax recently?

- No, ma'am. - When was the last time you were there?

Oh, week before last, I think. Week before that.

The town's been smashed to pieces by the mob.

Had you heard?

Because of the voting?

Hope Hall was broken into.

Christopher Rawson's carriages

were dragged from his carriage house,

smashed to atoms and burnt.

Jeremiah Rawson's carriages too, at the Shay.

Other houses were broken into,

windows smashed, paintings and furniture destroyed.

It's a rum do.

But only at Hope Hall and the Shay were carriages destroyed.

Look, I didn't tell you this at the time,

because I couldn't prove it.

I tried...

I didn't want to give you and Mrs Hard castle false hope.

But I believe

it was Christopher Rawson who was driving the gig

that caused the accident when Henry lost his leg.

Miss Walker's footman recognised him.

He refused to testify.

Some of his family work for the Rawsons

and he feared repercussions.

I had Mr Rawson at the Hall.

I accused him to his face, but he denied it, of course.

But it was him.

He got rid of the gig just after the accident.

Why would he do that? Hmm?

Anyway, the point is.

I did my best, as I always will for my tenants,

good tenants like you.

- But I failed you. - Er...

Then... it struck me.

Today.

Poetic justice of sorts.

- The hand of God. - Mm.

I wouldn't tell your wife.

It won't bring Henry's leg back, and it'll upset her all over again.

- Mm. - But I don't know. I just...

I thought you should know.

Thank you, ma'am.

Apparently, it's going to snow again.

I'm not convinced.

Thank you, ma'am.

Oh... It's her.

She took her pistols into Halifax with her.

Only me!

Ah! George, I need you to run down into Halifax for me

when I've written a note.

Could you put this copy of the Halifax Guardian

in the post to Lady Stuart?

Matthew

you'll have to wait on us at dinner.

And wrap up. It's just started snowing!

So, Mrs Oddy will come and cook for us

while Cordingley's at her sister's.

And, Father, I said you might drive her to her sister's,

- if you'd be so kind, in the britzka. - Where does she live?

Bingley. If it's too far for you,

one of the lads can do it. Or... or I could.

And then fetch her back again when she's ready.

We should raise our glasses.

Ooh, yes. Mrs Oddy. I prefer her cooking.

No, Aunt. To St a ups.

Oh, yes.

- Oh, I see. - My new acquisition.

St a ups.

- St a ups. - St a ups.

What's the matter, Marian?

St a ups.

And to Mr Wortley

for his hard-won victory in the polls.

When all the results are in,

let's hope there's even more reason to celebrate.

And then

where there is discord, may we bring harmony.

Where there is error, may we bring truth.

Where there is doubt, may we bring faith.

And where there is despair, may we bring hope.

Did you just say that?

Well, you saw her mouth open and the words come out.

No, I mean...

Did she just invent it?

No, Aunt, sadly not.

It was St Francis of Assisi.

Oh!

Ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.

Sorry to interrupt your meal.

I know I was expected earlier,

but the snow's slowed everything down.

- Shall I come back later? - No, no, no.

I could wait half an hour if...

If you'd like to go through to the drawing room,

you could take coffee with us. But would you not rather get off home?

Er... ideally, yes.

I just brought your Bailey Hall rents, Miss Walker. Shall I...?

- Yes, um, anywhere. - Here?

Thank you.

You need to get yourself home, Mr Washington,

and settle in front of a good fire.

I do, ma'am. I will.

No. There was just, um...

Yes?

One other, er...

What?

Did you...?

Have you seen today's Leeds Mercury?

No. Just the Guardian.

- Ah. - Why?

What's the matter?

It's, er

in the marriage announcements.

Marriage announcements?

Is it?

I thought you ought to see it.

- What is it? - What's it say?

In the marriages of Wednesday last...

"The same day at the parish church in Halifax,"

"Captain Tom Lister of Shibden Hall"

"to Miss Ann Walker of Crow Nest, near the same place."

What?

It's a joke, it's a skit.

Who would have put that in the Leeds Mercury?

I have no idea.

What does it mean?

- It's a send-up. - Is it funny?

Well... I... I suppose it's quite amusing.

Well, who's Captain Tom Lister?

Surely, they don't think you've married Miss Walker, Father?

Or if they do, they've got your name wrong.

They don't mean me.

It's very good.

It's very funny.

Um, you'll have to let us have it, Mr Washington,

when you've finished with it,

- so we can laugh at it some more. - Oh!

Well, if... if you like, just take that one, keep it.

If only the person who'd spent good money placing it in the paper

could see that what was meant to irritate and annoy

is in fact taken quietly and with such mere amusement.

Thank you, Washington, for bringing it to us.

Ma'am.

You'd better get off, before the roads become impassable.

Goodnight, ma'am.

Sir. Miss Walker.

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