All language subtitles for The Paradise 2012 S01E03 en.BBC

It came to me deep in the
night, as it so often does.

We shall be as a meadow!

Clara - the landing.

Denise - Haberdashery.

From Miss Audrey.

Inspiration came
to her in the night.

Inspiration must be blind.

Like love! And
justice. And worms.

Oh, I wish I could do that,
though. Arrange things. Don't you?

These days, I think I could
do anything I set my mind to.

Really? Anything?

What is there to stop me?

I know. She scares me, too.

Clara!

Sorry, Ma'am. Customer.

You weren't back.

Ladies, please take a seat.

Denise! Le salon d'essayage.

We have searched cellar to roof.

A female could get in and
out and no-one any the wiser.

We are vulnerable.

My department has always
adhered to the highest standards!

Miss Audrey, no one supposes
this a reflection on you or your staff.

He belongs in
the police station.

No. I don't want him
at the police station.

I want him here.
Dudley, you know infants.

When Alice was sick last winter
and couldn't nurse the baby,

what did you do?

Mellin's Infant Food. Able's
across the street will have it.

Arthur!

Infant food. Able's. Yes, sir!

Jonas, get a message
to Peter Adler.

Tell him I wish to speak to
him, on a matter of urgency.

Dudley - the newspapers.

Yesterday we were paying a
guinea a line for advertising space,

tomorrow they'll give us
the front pages for free.

But Mr Moray, sir.
Who is to look after him?

Why - us.

The Paradise!

They wish to donate
money for the baby.

If we had a box, or a tin?

Yes! Yes! I will see
to it. But make haste.

The Misses Felmingham
are asking for you.

Miss Audrey. My name
is at the top of the list.

I see that, but they
have asked for Denise.

All the morning customers
have been asking for Denise!

Indeed. She is quite
the cause celebre -

the girl who found
the Paradise Baby.

I believe it will be
a new sales record.

I shouldn't worry.

With all the fuss
being made of this one,

we'll have every unwanted brat
in the city dumped at our door.

Plenty of bastards
to go round, then.

Oh, I know! What
business have I?

But I heard and I
had to see for myself.

Allow me to introduce
Mr Peter Adler.

Peter, Miss Katherine
Glendenning.

I see you have already
met my other guest.

Oh, he is quite the
most beautiful thing.

A heartbreaker, in the lair
of a shameless opportunist.

Oh, come on, Adler!

This is an opportunity
that may serve us both.

Poor Miss Glendenning must
be wondering what devilish pact

we have in hand.

I am the patron of a Foundling
Home, Miss Glendenning.

Moray is hoping we will be able to
find room for his unexpected guest.

Though not quite yet.

I want him in my store
a day or two longer.

A baby? Here? Moray,
what can you be thinking of?

The publicity.

You wanted me, Mr Moray, sir?

Yes. Take him into the Paradise.

I want him seen.

I want him loved.

Understand?

Yes, sir!

Our friend has a reputation as
a man of innovation and drive.

Perhaps he is also
hoping to demonstrate

that there is a
softer side to him -

the human face of the
all-conquering capitalist.

Hmm, you have my measure.

Do I have your support?

We will take him.
On one condition.

A donation?

And a visit. Our
foundlings to your store.

We do our best to fit them
for work, give them a future.

Well, who knows?

If one of them impresses,

you may even be moved
to extend the offer of a job.

Supposing the press were still
on hand to report the gesture.

Miss Glendenning. Moray.

Adler.

You must let me know
when this visit is to take place.

Your Foundlings
interest me, Mr Adler,

I should like very
much to be here.

Of course.

Miss Glendenning.

You're wasting your time, you
know. He's far too high-minded.

Now I wonder, is that meant
as a warning or a challenge?

Seriously, watch your back,

she'd do anything for the kind
of money you earned today.

Isn't that right, Sam?

Who - Clara?

Ay, she'd kill her own grandmother
to get commission on the hide.

Oh! Can I hold him?
Please can I hold him!

It won't last. People
want to tell their friends

they bought something from the
girl who found the Paradise baby.

But he isn't! He isn't
the Paradise baby!

He wasn't born here
- he was just dumped.

In Miss Audrey's stupid saloon!

It's not funny! No, come on, come
here. They're just being childish.

Everywhere I've took him they've
called him that - the Paradise baby.

But I was born here in the

loading bays.

And when you're rich and famous,
there'll be a plaque out there.

Saying what?

His mam was the drayman's tart.

She dropped him like a turd
then fell down dead of the shame.

God, you're full of spite!
Don't take it out on him.

What? I was just
saying what I've heard.

What? What you
heard? Where, from who?

Oh, you know - people.

Oh, come on! She's
just got it wrong.

Your ma was the drayman's
daughter, she died of a fever.

Your pa was lost at Sebastopol

and you were brought up by
the men who worked in the bays.

You told me the story, yourself.

But what if that's
all it is - a story?

Last week, Moray bestrode
the narrow world like a colossus,

this week he's Florence
Nightingale in pantaloons.

The man's a genius.

What do you know about
a man called Peter Adler?

Apart from his market value.

His market value is
not to be sniffed at.

They call him Saint Peter
at the club. Rich as Croesus.

Full-time philanthropist. Why?

I thought I might invite him
to dine. Would you object?

Not at all.

But I don't imagine
it's my displeasure

you're hoping to provoke.

Every front page bar one!

"City foundling finds
new, celestial home",

"An angel in Paradise",
"Cherub among the chinaware".

We are paying for
your front pages -

Adler's brats trooping
through at any moment.

I doubt the wheels of commerce
will grind to a halt because

a few children pay us a visit.

Not children -
foundlings, begotten in sin,

abandoned while God
looked the other way.

They remind us of everything
that's foul in ourselves.

If ever I feel despondent,

I need only a minute in the
company of Jonas and Io!

The clouds lift.

Where's the baby?

Haberdashery got hold of him
yesterday and hasn't let go since.

Well, warn haberdashery
not to become too attached.

We have him on loan only.

People are starting
to speculate.

As to why the
child was left here.

And? What do they conclude?

That he is yours.

You should read the editorial
in the Chronicle, Dudley.

"Once, such a child would have
been left on the church steps.

"Today, the populace puts its
trust not in God, but in commerce."

We are the new church. I
slipped once. 18 months ago.

I have not done so since.

It is not - could not be mine.

Mr Dudley, sir.

Mr Moray, Mr Dudley.

It's private. A list.

A list with only two names.

They worked here,
when it was Emmerson's.

No-one else left who did.

They tell tales in the bays,
about how I came to lose my arm.

Ever heard any?

No. A story for
every day of the year,

most of them not
fit to be repeated.

None of them even
close to the truth.

Why don't you put them right?

Because the story
can change all it likes.

This never will.

Arthur?

Good luck.

They're on their way!

Moray! You've
shown us all the way.

Everybody trusts a
man holding a baby!

I hear you're throwing your
doors open too, very charitable.

Mr Adler!

Children.

Welcome to the Paradise.

Go on, Grace.

I'm holding a party later
- destitutes, vagrants,

gentlemen of the
press, all welcome!

Keep holding hands.

Thank you.

After you, Peter.

Come on girls!

Hurry! Hurry! They are on
their way. Remember, girls.

We must not judge.

Suffer the little children,
as the good Lord said.

Where are you
going? Er, stock room.

I can see the crawlers in their
hair from here. Filthy little things!

Don't let them touch anything.

And this is the
Ladieswear department,

in which Miss Audrey is Queen.

Nonsense. I am
not. Ridiculous child!

Why, what a beautiful curtsey!

But you know, Mr Moray meant
only that Miss Audrey is in charge here.

Indeed, she is very
fearsome and awfully elegant,

sometimes I quite feel
like curtseying to her myself.

Miss Audrey,

may I have your permission
to show the girls the gowns?

I feel sure they
would like to see them.

And maybe touch.

Just a little.

Perhaps I could help.

Our very finest
gowns are so precious

that only Miss Audrey
may touch them,

even Mr Moray is forbidden.

But if we may beg some silk
samples from the Great Hall,

you could feel for yourselves

how taffeta is so stiff
it almost stands up

on its own and chiffon so soft
that it runs over your skin like water.

After which, Mr Moray has
put on a luncheon for us.

Well, if you think
you might be hungry.

Luncheon - splendid!

Shall we have a look around?

Yes!

Only, do you know - I was
vain enough to put on new shoes

for this visit, they are
pinching me horribly.

I think I may need
some help with the stairs.

I've got new shoes too.

New to her.

She means new to her.

Come on, Grace.

It was kind of you, earlier -
to take the trouble with Grace.

Such a taking little thing.

Hmm. What's her story?

Grace is one of our
"wanted" children.

Her bed and board are paid
for - probably by a parent,

who hopes to reclaim her
when their circumstances change.

It means she cannot
be put up for adoption.

I'm glad. Everyone needs
to know they are wanted,

don't you think?

Just as everyone needs
clothes and shoes that fit.

Moray! I have an idea.

40 foundlings to be clothed
and shod at her expense?

It'll cost a fortune!

Lucky she has one.

She's just playing games.

Trying to make Moray jealous,
by setting her cap at that Adler.

Anyone can see.

What would you know? You spent
the whole time in the stock room.

Hey, think of the commission!
Who do you think will get it?

"A store that expanded in stages,
And paid all its staff paltry wages,

"Saw fit to employ
A sweet baby boy,

"And got itself on the front
pages!" What do you think?

You won't leave that? Why not?

It's funny.

He's laughing.

You mustn't. You can't!

Don't let him scare you, Denise.

He pays your wages,

doesn't mean he owns you.

I'm not speaking for him!
I'm speaking for myself.

And the only thing I'm scared
of is the whole city finding out

how childish you
are. "Childish"?

Denise. I often take a night cap
at this time, in my private parlour.

I wonder, would
you care to join me?

You like ratafia?

Yes.

Something else
we have in common.

I saw it in your face
today, with the child -

that a babe in your
arms was not fulfillment.

There is too much else first.

Perhaps there will be
too much else always.

I received several offers
of marriage in my youth.

One in particular - we
were fond, very fond.

But a married woman may
not be employed in a shop.

And after every offer, I
would return to my work,

and the answer would come to me

before I had even asked
myself the question.

"I choose this, over him."

Over everything, I choose this.

I have never
regretted my choice.

I have loved my
work and cherished it

and forsaken all
others to cleave to it.

I will never let it
be taken from me.

Miss Audrey,

if you are seeking assurance that I
will not take my ideas to Mr Moray.

Even if the ideas come from me,

he will know they are yours.

There is a difference in
the order of our minds.

I see that, now.

My notions are small, insular.
We shall be as a meadow.

Yours are as quick and as vital

as the world to which
they are a response.

So.

I have decided.

There will be no more ideas.

No more thoughts.

I am to stop thinking?

If you wish to remain
at the Paradise.

There are things, Denise, he will
not tolerate, even from a favourite.

You must make certain you
never stand accused of them.

Don't mistake me. I
have no wish to lose you.

But I refuse to lose this.

Now...

Run along.

Between Pauline's
snoring, the baby's crying

and embarrassment over
your uncle's ridiculous antics,

you are like to have
an unsettled night.

You say you don't
regret your choice.

But what if you did
not have to choose?

What if you could have had both?

No more thoughts, Denise.

No ideas, no
questions, no what-ifs.

Just willing hands
and an empty mind.

Will Peter Adler be accompanying
Miss Glendenning today,

do you think?

How else would I be
able to see them together?

I'm glad you take it so lightly.

She is playing a game, Dudley.
A very old, very simple game.

It's called "the other man".

You know her better than I.

Well enough to know she'll have
tired of Saint Peter and his foundlings

by the time the week's out.

If I had not been taken in by
the bays, not known by the bays,

and not taken in by you when you
turned Emmerson's into the Paradise,

I should be a foundling too.

My ma, she was the
drayman's daughter,

she was unloading cloth with her
father when her pains came on...

Arthur, Arthur!
We know all this.

But how? How do you know it?

I mean, you weren't
there, at the bays.

So, who told you the story?

Helene. Yes.

But she wasn't present. She
heard it from Miss Audrey.

Girl! What are
you doing in here?

Oh, erm, please, Miss Audrey,

I thought he would
like to see the birds,

on the wallpaper, before
the customers come.

Birds? Nonsense! Shoo! Go on!
Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo!

Miss Audrey. And
you boy! Stop lurking!

No good ever came of a lurker.

Mr Adler, the velvet
or the delaine wool?

Above all, I wish them to look
like children, rather than foundlings.

The velvet is very popular
with the better class of family.

But the wool is less
formal, more comfortable.

And considerably cheaper.
Then I say the wool has it.

Seconded! And now undergarments.

Well done. That's half a
crown each you just cost us.

Don't you ever think
about anything but money?

60 yards of the delaine wool
and they're making their way

to ladieswear for undergarments.

Girl, you are having
an idea. I have told you.

There will be no
more. No more, I say!

Yes, Miss Audrey. I understand.

Miss Audrey, I fear we have
quite stripped your shelves.

Stripped? Oh no! Not stripped.
I assure you. Never, stripped.

The seamstresses are already
hard at work on the wool.

Preliminary
fittings this evening.

Denise and Clara will
be on hand to assist.

The children will arrive, as
soon as the store is closed.

I will pass on the
message, myself.

Miss Audrey! I cannot help
with the fittings this evening.

I have pains. Women's trouble.

Indeed?

Terrible cramps,
ma'am. I can barely stand.

And yet you did so whilst
there was commission to be had.

You will assist with
the fittings, Clara,

or I will consider
your job half-finished

and your commission
forfeit. Miss Audrey!

Not now. And stop lurking!

Thank you. You have
been most helpful.

Perhaps Mr Moray should think of
opening a department for children.

So many of his
customers are mothers.

And it would have made your
task today so very much easier.

Don't you think?

We are grateful to Miss Glendenning,
of course. Who could not be?

But my ambition is to make the home
independent of anyone's generosity.

If my name is to be
remembered at all,

I should like it
to be as the man

who made the home

autonomous of any benefactor.

Well, you may soon find
yourself with a new benefactor.

The collection started

by our customers has
grown beyond all expectation.

The baby comes with a dowry.

Then the fund requires
proper administration.

A patron. Give a
public face to the giving

and the people will give more.

You raise a sufficient
amount, you invest it wisely

and then Adler's home

may yet achieve the
independence he hopes for.

Why a patron?

Why not a patroness?

You offer yourself,
Miss Glendenning?

I do, Mr Adler.

And what a delightful
figurehead you would make.

Though, perhaps, more
for decoration than use.

You doubt my capability? You
are, an exquisite confection of froth,

frivolity and fashion, who
gives delight wherever she goes.

Hear, hear. And that is,
that is your glory and your gift.

Why seek to stray into areas for
which you are so wholly unfitted?

Judging by your profits,

your customers seem a
pretty deep-pocketed lot,

why should their giving
come as a surprise?

It's the extent of it that's
unexpected. How so?

The majority of them
are women - mothers.

An unwanted child
touches something in them.

I would have
thought that obvious.

You are quite the
expert on my customers.

Hardly that,

but I do feel you are
missing an opportunity.

Indeed?

Naturally, my own experience
is of the froth and frivolity variety.

But having spent the day
attempting to outfit 40 infants,

I can assure you,

a department supplying
ready-made items for the young

would be a godsend
for their carers

and a goldmine for you.

A children's department?

Splendid notion, Moray.

What can have
brought it to mind?

Though, in good conscience,
I can't claim credit for the idea.

One of your shop girls
was talking about it.

I feel sure you would
have caught up with her,

at some point.

Aren't you the pretty one?

Yes.

I bet there's not a princess
in the land bonnier than you.

Well. That's another one done.

What are you doing?

Same as you, just clearing up.

All done. Goodnight.

Mr Adler! I thought
you had gone.

Well, unfortunately, without
this. Hence my return.

Would you share your thoughts
for the customary penny?

Oh, they are not worth so much.

I was thinking about a dress.

Thus proving Moray right.

I think Moray likes to vex you.

And you him.

Was it a nice dress?

Exquisite. My first,
truly grown-up gown.

Black silk crepe,
buttoned high to the throat.

Black? You were in mourning?

For my mother.

They hadn't told
me she would die.

I was...

..lost.

I could neither be
what I had been before,

nor see what I must become.

And then they put
the dress on me.

And I knew exactly who I was.

I was sorrow incarnate.

I was grief.

I was my father's solace.

Ever since then,

I have used clothes
to declare who I am.

And if, on a particular day, who
I am is not who I've a mind to be,

why, then, I use clothes
to transform myself.

And these last
days, in my company,

who have you been, then?

These last days...

..I have been...

..someone I rather liked...

..someone I would
like to be more often.

Well.

I am glad that provoking Moray's
jealousy has not been my only value.

Miss Glendenning.

Katherine.

I have seen your kindness, I
know you would not wish me pain.

If my attentions
would be unwelcome,

if your affections
are already engaged.

I would ask you, in
kindness, to speak now.

Thief! You thief! Give
it back or I'll kill you.

I swear, I'll kill you.

It was a nightmare.
Clara had a nightmare.

It was the baby crying
worked into her dream. Yes.

I'm sorry for waking you,
Miss Audrey. I'm all right now.

I don't know what it
is you think I've taken.

The money! You saw
me, you knew I had it.

What money?

You knew I wouldn't be able
to go to anyone. What money?

From the collecting tin.

You stole money
from the foundlings?

It was given for a child! What
does it matter whose child?

She's yours. Isn't she?

That little girl, Grace.

She's yours.

I pay bed and board.

She can't be adopted
if she's paid for.

But my commission's gone down
since you came, and the money's due.

Clara, I swear to
you. I didn't take it.

Then who did?

I don't know.

Well, then I've lost her.

I've lost her.

Denise. The collecting
tin is full again.

When you have finished,
take it down to the office.

Yes, Miss Audrey.

Girl! Miss Audrey.

You are dallying with a baby.

Oh, he likes the
pretty glass. Enough!

I have had enough!

He cries, he disrupts.

There are nightmares
and birds and glass.

It is not for us to understand what
he likes, but the other way around!

Infants are as wax-to be imprinted
with the proper way of things.

What is needed is method.

Now, then, master...

..baby.

Let us see.

Nine pounds, seven
shillings and ten pence.

And still they give.

Bank it with the rest.

He has that effect on all of us.

I sometimes think if I were
left alone with him too long,

I would find myself
confessing to murder.

By the way, Mr Moray
would like to see you.

Do you know why?

There is to be a
public presentation.

Our baby and the
money collected for him,

are to be given over
the Foundling home.

I presume Mr Moray wants
you to finish what you started.

A children's department, Denise?

How dare you?

How dare you move behind
my back, using my connections,

laying me open to ridicule.

How dare you manipulate me!

No, sir. I... I gave
you encouragement.

I gave you licence -

too much, it seems.

You may be clever,

but know this -

I am not to be played.

I am never to be played.

Do you understand?

Yes?

Miss Glendenning.
She asks for you.

Tell her...

..I am on my way.

I'm sorry.

Can we talk?

Not here.

Peter Adler wishes
to pay court to me.

I told him that his attentions
would not be unwelcome.

I see.

I wished you to hear it from me.

Well.

Why allow someone
else the pleasure?

Oh, you are impossible!

I offer you honesty and you
turn it into something - tainted.

You make me feel
like something tainted.

And you wonder why I am
choosing Adler over you.

Hello, darling. Hello, baby.

Miss Audrey!

Oh, Arthur. Lurking! Again!

I am not lurking. I'm waiting!

I've been waiting hours
to talk to you - days!

When I was born, you
told Mr Moray's wife.

But how did you know?

Know what?

About me! Were you there?

All I've got is a story!

I want to talk to someone
who was actually there.

It's yours.

He must remember
his mother's face, still.

But he will forget.

He will be like you.

I was not present at your birth.

I was told of it.

By someone who
knew your grandfather.

Come!

You were right. Sorry?

Miss Glendenning and Adler.

And what are you going to do?

Nothing. Wish them well.

Oh, what would
you... Pistols at dawn?

If she wants him,
let her have him!

And if you are
worrying about the effect

this will have on my
relationship with her father...

I am worried about what
effect it will have on you!

When I asked you,
about the baby,

whether it could be yours,
you said you had "slipped".

You knew that! I
told you at the time.

"Slipped", Moray?

It is not a crime.

Why do you punish
yourself for it?

Because...

..it... it felt like infidelity!

That time, with Clara.

It felt like infidelity.

And is it for the same reason that
you refuse to fight for the comfort

and companionship of a woman

any man would feel
proud to call his wife?

Helene is three
years gone, Moray.

You are still here.

Clinging to your grief
as if it were a lifeline.

And if Alice died?

Would you grieve?

Three years. It...

It is nothing!

It is yesterday.

It is not.

Forgive me, but...

I sometimes think you cleave
to her memory with more passion

than you ever
felt for her living.

A man who would so
wed himself to the past,

is either ready for
the grave himself,

or looking for a way to
escape the pain of the present.

And I don't think you
are ready for the grave.

What would you have me do?

I would have you be happy.

Mister Lovett knew
my grandfather?

I'm sure your grandfather
deserved better.

But what should I do? Ask.

It is time for you
to take your turn.

The longer one has been holding
him, the emptier one's arms.

For this reason, if no other,
do not give him back to Pauline.

'And I was taken in, '

by one of the yard-men's
families and then another,

until Mister Moray turned
Emmerson's into the Paradise

and gave me a place for life.

Well, the story had a
happy ending then, didn't it?

But I want to know how it began!

My ma, she was the
drayman's daughter.

She was.

And she died in the epidemic,
along with my grandad.

She did.

And my father, he was a soldier.

No.

He was a drayman.

But, if he wasn't killed, then
why didn't he want to know me?

Well, there wasn't
a lot left of him

when your grandfather
had finished with him.

Big men, as a whole, draymen,
all that lifting and shifting.

And your grandfather
was the biggest.

It was on account of your
mother being so young.

How old was she?

About the age you
are now. Give or take.

And my pa?

Older.

She couldn't fight
him off, you see.

He wanted to give you
away, your grandfather.

But the lass was
having none of it.

She said the situation
was none of your doing.

Pretty little thing, she was.

You favour her, you know.

Anyone who'd seen her would
know you belonged to her.

I heard a noise. I
didn't know it was...

He sleeps when I hold him.

When I put him down, he wakes.

Sorry.

Denise!

Why a go-between?

Of all people, Miss Glendenning?

I told you to come to me.

I gave you licence
- an invitation.

But Miss Audrey is my every day.

You are only my high
days and holidays.

I think I see.

You find yourself in
a difficult situation -

conflicting demands, loyalties,
pulling you this way and that.

But, you are Denise.

You are resourceful.

You find a way and then

I crush you for it.

Yes?

Yes.

It must have
seemed... very unfair.

I wish I had half your ingenuity
to apply to my own predicaments.

I am sorry if you
are troubled, sir.

My uncle always said, the only
thing that matters, really matters,

is that you can meet
your eyes in the mirror

each day and know
you've been true to yourself.

Your uncle is a wise man

and a shockingly bad poet.

Well. Good...
goodnight. Goodnight.

By the way...

..Adler has asked that
we might name the baby.

Since they both share an
early start in the Paradise,

I thought perhaps "Arthur".

What do you think?

Arthur. Yes.

Arthur, Arthur. Arthur.

Did you do something to Clara
cos of what she said about your ma?

Did you take something from her?

You have to give it back.
You know that, don't you?

I don't have it any more.

I only took it to pay her out.

I didn't want to keep it!

So, I put it in the tin -

for the foundlings.

Don't ask.

From the staff and
customers of the Paradise,

with our best wishes,
now and for the future.

Thank you very much.

I also wish to announce
that as from next month,

the Paradise will be the
first and only store in Europe

to provide its customers with a
dedicated children's department.

An innovation for
which I must thank

Miss Katherine Glendenning.

Arthur?

Bye, little Arthur. Be
good. Don't forget us.

Thank you, Arthur.

Sir? We've all
written things in it.

Things he might want to know -
when he's older, about his time here.

Pauline, she's done ten pages!

But some of it's hard to
read because of all the crying.

And if he ever does want
to visit, could he ask for me?

I could show him
where he was found!

Cos I'll still be here.
I'll always be here.

I shall be sure to let him
know, Arthur. Thank you.

Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'm finding
this all a little heartbreaking.

Oh! Not on this
little chap's account.

He won't be with us long.

We've already had enquiries.

No, break your heart
for children like Grace.

We could have found her a
loving home many times over,

were we free to do so.

But she is wanted!

You told me when circumstances
change she will be reclaimed.

99 times out of 100,
circumstances do not change.

And in the meantime,
she is denied everything,

because someone, somewhere
would rather hold to a fantasy

than look the truth in the face.

Filthy little things.

I saw you in the street earlier.

Standing at my door.

Gave me quite a turn.

Made me think that these
last years were a dream.

That you had said "yes"
that last time I asked you.

That you were my wife,

coming home with our children.

I came to tell you,

that if you've had enough
of making yourself ridiculous

with your dolls and your verses,
you can take them down now.

The child's gone to
the foundling home.

It was only ever meant to
be the joke of a moment.

It was Denise, the
way she looked at me.

It made me realise
where her heart lies,

even if she does
not know it herself.

And it is not here.

It's for her I have
fought on, only for her

and now I don't know whether
there's any fight left in me. Enough!

Denise, Denise, Denise!

She cannot stop herself.

I see that now, ideas flow
from her like water from a spring.

And the longer it goes on,

the more he will see the
difference between us.

Your niece and her ideas will
be the death of me, in the end.

But the end is not yet come,

for either of us.

Your standards are slipping.

I needed someone
to keep me in line.

Someone I could
write real verses for.

As I recall, you were prevented
from versifying as you wished

by your inability to find anything
other than the word "tawdry"

to rhyme with my name.

Don't delude yourself, Edmund.

We wouldn't have suited.

Well.

We'll never know now, will we?

Clara!

Where have you been?

Out.

What happened to the money?

Oh, a lot of drinks.
A lot of friends.

I hate you.

Not just saying
it cos I'm drunk.

I really, really hate you.

Miss Audrey? Are you
unwell? You look afflicted.

Miss Audrey?

I'm so glad that we've come through
the bad times and we can be friends.

I am glad, as well.

You'll make no effort
to tempt Catherine back

into some sort
of reconciliation.

Denise will be in charge
until further notice.

I will not let you undermine me.

You will face who you are and
what you do to people who love you.