Original subtitles

[MATCH STRIKES, FLAME CRACKLES]

[NOBLE ORCHESTRAL FANFARE PLAYS]

[SLOW, GENTLE THEME PLAYS]

♪

[BRUSH CLINKS LIGHTLY AGAINST GLASS]

♪

♪

[BIRDS TWITTERING]

WOMAN [VOICE-OVER]: There's something delicious

about writing the first words of a story.

You can never quite tell where they'll take you.

Mine took me here.

[MEN CONVERSING, HORSE HOOVES CLOPPING]

Looking back, the city and I never much liked each other.

An unmarried woman, after all, was expected to behave

in very particular ways,

which did not include traipsing from publisher to publisher

with a gaggle of friends.

[SIGHS]

Now, listen to me.

You must not be afraid.

And don't talk too much.

[MAN SOFTLY CLICKING TONGUE]

Friends who, sadly, others were not so keen to meet.

Mm...

Hmm...

I've been selling my drawings

for greeting cards, place cards,

etcetera, for seven years.

Uh-huh.

[SLOW, EXTENDED GROAN]

Mm...

Mm.

Mm.

Bunnies in jackets with brass buttons.

However do you imagine such things?

I don't imagine them; they're quite real.

They're my friends.

Uh, you base the animal characters on your friends?

No.

The animals are my friends.

Before Peter Rabbit, there was Benjamin Bunny

and then Sir Isaac the Newt...

I have their drawings, as well, if you'd like to see them.

That won't be necessary.

Unfortunately, Miss Potter... it is "Miss" Potter,

is it not?

Yes, of course. Silly of me.

Unfortunately, the market for children's books...

Yes, of course.

I-I completely understand.

It was silly of me.

No experience...

Warne and Company would like

to publish your little book, Miss Potter.

But best not to get overly hopeful.

I know publishing... your book will not sell

a great number of copies, but I think we can

turn a small profit.

My dear Mr. Warne...

Well, I'm pleased.

Very pleased, indeed.

I shall do everything possible to ensure

that you've not made a mistake.

[CLEARS THROAT QUIETLY]

Miss Wiggin,

I believe we can go.

Thank you very much, indeed,

Messrs. Warne, for your time.

Our pleasure.

My brother always knows what he's doing.

Oh...

I'm quite particular about book size and price,

and I'd like to avoid that dreadful gothic type face

your children's books usually have.

I'm sure everything will be to your satisfaction.

Uh, Miss Potter...

Your...

[GASPS QUIETLY]

[CHUCKLING]: Of course.

My portfolio.

[CHUCKLES]

Come along, Peter.

Sir Isaac the Newt.

You can't be serious, Fruing.

That book won't sell ten copies!

Of course not.

However, the thought did occur to me...

Norman.

We promised our little brother a project.

If he makes a muck of it, what will it matter?

I think Miss Potter may turn out to be a godsend.

Home, Miss Potter?

No, Saunders.

Drive me through the park.

Through all the parks.

I beg your pardon, Miss Potter?

Drive!

Whoa, go on.

We did it.

Did you hear my heart?

It was a kettledrum!

You see, we cannot stay home all our lives.

We must present ourselves

to the world, and we must look upon it

as an adventure.

[CARRIAGE WHEELS RATTLING OVER COBBLESTONES]

[INHALING DEEPLY]

Faster, Saunders!

Faster, Saunders, if you please!

No, Miss Beatrix. No.

- Fast as you can, old boy. - Right.

Oh. I say.

[INHALING DEEPLY]

Whoa.

[HORSE WHINNIES]

Saunders.

[DOOR OPENING]

Beatrix, where have you been?

It's after 4:00.

I'm not a child.

I can do things without my mother's permission.

I was hoping to use

the carriage myself this afternoon.

Where were you?

I took a drive.

With my friends.

♪

You don't have any friends.

Yes, I do, Mother...

every time I draw.

You know, some of your paintings are quite

pretty, Beatrix,

but I'm not going to deceive you

as your father does and call them great art.

Well, my friend, when I'm a published author,

then we shall see.

[FOOTFALLS APPROACHING]

Beatrix, Bertram, time for good-nights.

But I haven't finished yet.

Come on, hurry up.

Bertram.

BERTRAM: There, I've got him.

Bertram, you're barbaric.

Come on, you two.

Hurry up. Down you go.

Slowly.

Hurry, Rupert.

It won't do

to be late to the Hydes.

Doesn't Mama

look beautiful, Beatrix?

Being in a temper puts such a rose into her cheeks.

When you grow up, Beatrix, and have to run a household,

plan parties, keep a social calendar

and put up with a man who's never been introduced

to a clock,

your cheeks will glow, too.

Look at this ribbon. That's unsightly.

Change her into something decent.

Dear, oh, dear. Give this nightdress away.

Oh, this will never do. I'm just all fingers and thumbs.

You're impossible, Rupert.

We are so late.

What have you drawn today, Beatrix?

Benjamin Bunny having a rest.

Oh, his ears are getting better and better.

And this shading here is very good, Beatrix.

Rupert...

Say your good-nights now, children.

- Good night, Mother. - Good night, Beatrix.

- Good night, Father. - Good night, Beatrix.

- Good night, Mother. - Good night, Bertram.

- Good night, Father. - Good night, Bertram.

Now hurry upstairs.

Come on, mustn't make Mama and Papa...

- Later than they are. - Oh, children.

What now?

On my way home, I happened to walk down

Picadilly, and what do you think jumped into my pockets?

Something very special

for the young entomologist.

[IMITATES BUZZING] Oh!

[LAUGHING] And something very suitable

for the young lady who's very soon to grow up

to run a fine home, just like her mother.

We'll open them upstairs. Come on.

Thank you, Father. Yeah.

Thank you, Father.

Come on.

MRS. POTTER: Late, late, late.

We are not late.

We'll never be invited to the Hydes again.

Oh, for heaven's sake, Helen.

It's polite to be a little late.

Now, get in the cab.

This isn't polite late;

this is late-late.

All right, wee ones.

One story and then bed.

BERTRAM: I want Beatrix to tell a story.

Hers are funny.

Oh. Indeed they are,

and I know exactly what it'll be about.

Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca!

Precisely. [MOUSE SQUEAKING]

Tom, Hunca, are you ready to play in a story?

[HIGH VOICE]: Oh, yes, we're excellent actors.

Well, we shall see about that.

This will be your test.

Over there.

Once upon a time, those two excellent housekeepers,

Lucinda and Jane,

bought some shiny new porcelain food,

which they set out

on their perfectly-appointed dining room table.

Then, they decide to go for a walk.

[HUMMING HAPPILY]

Suddenly, there came a scuffling noise from the kitchen.

Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca crept out.

The two mice saw that the dining table was set for dinner.

Tom Thumb leapt up and took a big bite from the first plate

and broke his tooth.

[HIGH VOICE]: Ow.

[DOOR KNOCKER TAPPING] HELEN: Are we expecting someone?

It's my publishers.

Oh.

It's not a social call.

In fact, I'm rather dreading it.

I wish you wouldn't invite tradespeople into the house.

They carry dust.

Well, next time, I shall go to their office.

Mm.

Mr. Norman Warne.

Miss Potter. Oh.

I hope you will forgive

my intrusion into your daily routine.

I was expecting one of the...

Ah, yes, I am Harold and Fruing's brother.

I've recently joined the firm,

and they have done me the great honor

of assigning your book to me.

Thank you. Uh...

It was most gracious of you to invite me to...

Tea?

Yes, I would love some.

Yes, thank you.

Uh... lemon.

Thank you.

[SOFTLY]: Extraordinary.

Oh, and funny.

[LAUGHS]

Delightful and magical and so beautifully drawn.

I am utterly, utterly speechless.

Perhaps we should discuss our business, Mr. Warne.

I put your drawings aside with the greatest reluctance.

Your brothers' letter makes two proposals

which I find quite unacceptable.

First, they'd like the drawings to be in color.

I'm adamant they be in black and white.

But Peter Rabbit's blue jacket and the red radishes.

Surely, you would like your enchanting drawings

reproduced as they are.

Well, of course I would prefer color,

but color will make the book cost far more

than little rabbits can afford.

I'm adamant.

Which brings us to your brothers' second point:

They wish to reduce the number of drawings by nearly a third.

Totally unacceptable.

Let me explain.

The idea of reducing the number of drawings

was not my brothers' but my own.

If we can reduce the number to 31 precisely,

then the illustrations for the entire book

could be printed on a single sheet of paper,

by using what we call the three-color process

that you desire

and at a relatively low level of, um, cost, yes?

Oh.

I've given your book a great deal of attention.

Truly, uh, I would like it to look colorful on the shelf,

so that it stands out from ordinary books.

Why, you have given it some thought.

Which other books have you supervised, Mr. Warne?

- Personally? - Yes.

This will be my first.

Ah.

Miss Potter, I have recently informed my brothers

and my mother that I am no longer content to stay at home

and play nursemaid, solely because I am the youngest son.

No, I would like a proper job working for my family's firm.

And they have assigned me you.

Does that make things clearer?

In other words, you have no experience whatsoever,

but because you've made a nuisance of yourself,

demanding a chance, they've fobbed you off on me.

Miss Potter, I know all too well what my brothers intended,

giving me your... your "bunny book," as they call it,

but I find your book quite enchanting, delightful.

And if they intended to "fob me off," as you say,

then we shall show them.

We shall give them a bunny book to conjure with, in colors,

mixed to your satisfaction,

in front of your very eyes at the printer.

BEATRIX: At the printer?

Oh, I could never.

I will escort you there myself...

if you will allow me the honor.

BEATRIX: Why, would I never?

Of course I'll go.

I'm a grown woman; Miss Wiggin will be there.

I see absolutely no reason

why an artist shouldn't visit her printer.

Excellent, Miss Potter.

Jolly good.

Thank you.

I shall make all the arrangements,

and I am in every way, my dear lady, at your service.

Oh. Oh.

You and rabbits... extraordinary.

Excuse me.

[BIRD SCREECHING]

HELEN: Johnson, come and get the trunks, would you?

JOHNSON: Yes, ma'am.

HELEN: Slowly, slowly, slowly.

Put it there

JOHNSON: I will be careful, ma'am.

HELEN: One, two, three, four,

five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

BEATRIX: When I was ten, my mother badgered my father

into spending a summer in the Lake District,

as did other fashionable families.

Like an animal released from its cage,

I fell under its spell.

Mind your frocks now.

Come here.

The woods are full of fairies and little folk

that look for children that get their clothes dirty,

and when they find them, they send the fairy beasts at night

with sharp teeth and a ready appetite for young flesh.

BERTRAM: I'm coming to get you, Bea.

No!

Oh.

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

[SOLID TAP]

[GRUNTS]

[BOY SHOUTING]

Hello.

Bertram, Bertram.

Don't, Beatrix.

Farmer's children, they're hands... germs.

Come on.

Bertram. Bertram.

[BOY SHOUTING]

[BIRDS TWITTERING]

Catch him, Bea!

BEATRIX: There he is.

Oh, yes.

Come on.

Ouch...

Out of the way.

BEATRIX: There.

There he is.

Shh.

Ooh.

[SNICKERS]

NANNY: I don't think a thrashing will be necessary.

I'll just leave the window in the nursery unlatched tonight.

The fairy beasts will take care of the rest.

BERTRAM: No! I'll stay clean. [LAUGHING]

Bertram.

Really, Beatrix, what young man

is ever going to marry a girl with a face full of mud?

Well, I shan't marry, so it doesn't matter.

Of course you shall marry.

All girls marry.

I did; your grandmother did.

Even Fiona will, one day.

Well, I shan't; I shall draw.

Oh, those silly drawings.

Then who will love you?

My art and my animals.

I won't need more love than that.

Perhaps not at 11, but let's see

if you still feel the same way at 18.

I drew Mama when we first met,

and she married me.

And, Fiona, doesn't mud wash off?

Bertram, come with me.

Go on.

Die, you little devil.

Ugh.

Right.

Prince Charming himself couldn't resist such a bonny wee girl.

Not when he meets my brother, Vlad the Impaler.

Got you.

FIONA: Bedtime, my young reprobates.

Now, shall I leave

a window open or...?

No!

I don't like fairy beasts.

Well, it is a well-known fact that fairy beasts

never eat a child when he's tucked up in his own bed.

The fairies have been

in the north country for hundreds of years

and have had many adventures.

Have I told you about the changeling child?

No.

Yes. Several times.

I want to hear it.

Oh, go ahead, Fiona.

I'll tell myself a story.

Right.

Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen.

Once upon a time, there were four little rabbits.

Their names were...

Flopsy, Mopsy...

Cotton-tail and Peter.

"Now, my dears,"

said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning,

"you may go into the fields or down the lane,

but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden."

"Why not, Mother?"

"Because your father had an accident there.

He was put in a pie

by Mrs. McGregor."

Yes.

GROWN BEATRIX: Peter, who was very naughty,

ran straightaway to Mr. McGregor's garden...

And squeezed under the gate.

I like it.

[MECHANICAL CLANKING, MEN SHOUTING]

But round the end of the cucumber frame,

whom should he meet

but Mr. McGregor.

Peter was out of breath and trembling with fright,

and he had not the least idea which way to go.

It's muddy, actually.

One more, Mr. Mortimer. Lighten it up, hmm?

Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner,

but Peter did not care.

He slipped underneath the gate

and was safe at last in the wood outside.

Not quite.

See here,

it's still a bit...

When Peter came home, his mother put him to bed

with a tablespoonful of chamomile tea.

But Flopsy, Mopsy

and Cotton-tail had bread and milk

and blackberries for supper.

This book, it's changed things for me, Mr. Warne.

How so?

Well...

for one thing, it's given me the chance to prove to my mother

that an unmarried woman of 32 can do more than

attend tea parties and smile at dull conversations.

Yes, indeed.

You know, my family never wanted me

to get into publishing, either.

We do make rather a good team, don't you think?

Hmm.

Provided, of course, we prove them wrong.

Mother, this is Miss Potter.

Ah, at last,

we poor forgotten folk in Bedford Square

get to share some of Norman's excitement.

Mrs. Warne, it's so kind of you to invite me.

Nonsense.

It was the desperate act of a woman

who was beginning to forget what her son looked like.

Mother. And this is my sister, Amelia.

Hello.

Norman allowed us a peek at Peter Rabbit, Miss Potter.

We found it utterly charming,

so we wheedled, cajoled

and absolutely insisted that Norman bring you round for tea.

I have decided that you and I are going to be friends.

Have you?

Well, Norman tells me that you're unmarried, as am I,

and that you're not unhappy about it.

And I can't tell you how much that pleases me.

Why can't you talk about the weather like other girls?

Well, all the other unmarried daughters in our circle...

and believe me, there are many... they sit around all day

gossiping and unaccountably bursting into tears.

But you have done something.

You've written a book.

I warn you, I am prepared to like you very much.

Well, in that case, I shall have to like you, too, Miss Warne.

Call me Millie, and that's to be

the last of Miss Potter, too, I'm afraid.

Absolutely.

Beatrix, by all means.

MRS. WARNE: Thank goodness, the tea.

I'm beginning to feel quite ill with all this bonhomie.

Oh, do let's have tea in the garden, Mother.

It's too beautiful a day in every way

not to share it with the flowers.

MILLIE: Well, I love to garden.

Mother disapproves, but I can't help myself.

I love flowers, shockingly.

That's why you have the hands of a greengrocer.

I do not.

Thank heavens Norman sometimes

deigns to read to me.

If I had to rely on you for companionship,

I should expire of loneliness.

My mother's taste in books,

Miss Potter, and, I'm afraid,

in life, runs to the, um... melodramatic.

[CHUCKLING]: Oh, nonsense.

I like good

English biographies,

and you know it.

I loathe silly romances, such as the ones your brothers publish.

My brothers and I, Mother.

I am part of the firm now, too, you know.

Oh, a sweet-natured boy like you

does not need to work.

Your brothers provide

quite well for all of us,

and I need your smile here.

But then no one listens

to a crotchety old lady

in a wheelchair.

NORMAN: Indeed they don't, Mother.

My mother may be crotchety, Miss Potter,

but she does have an eye for beautiful things.

She was fascinated by your drawings.

[CHUCKLING]: Oh. Oh.

- Utterly unique. - Oh.

Yes, well, when I see something unusual,

I, I'm not content just to look at it.

I must capture it.

Last summer, in the farmyard,

I was drawing something that was quite lovely in the sun,

and suddenly, I realized

I was drawing the pigs' swill bucket.

[LAUGHTER]

I had to laugh at myself.

[LAUGHS]

I feel a bit of a chill, Norman.

Can you take me inside? Of course.

Please excuse me.

It was delightful meeting you, Miss Potter.

And you.

Do stay longer, and teach Millie how to behave.

NORMAN: Mummy.

I think that means she likes you.

Did she say she likes to draw swill buckets?

Indeed, she did, Mother.

Indeed, she did.

Now, I think by Wednesday

you could hang the lace curtains upstairs.

Then at least it will look like summer,

even if it doesn't feel like it.

Yes, Madam. Oh, Beatrix.

What is this stain on your blouse?

Jane says it won't wash out, and she's tried everything.

Oh, it's ink.

Ink?

I must have brushed against

something at the printer's.

Jane, I'm very sorry for causing you extra work.

Jane, take the blouse away... give it to the poor.

This behavior shows scant regard

for your father's money.

Well, one day, I shall make enough money

to buy my own clothes.

I'm far too old to be living off the generosity

of my father.

You're too old to be spending so much time

in the company of a man who takes you to printers.

Your father does not approve, and neither do I.

Mr. Warne is publishing my book.

[LAUGHING]: That book.

I can hardly wait till it's finished and forgotten.

I don't understand you, Beatrix.

Your father and I have introduced you

to so many suitable young men

of your class, young men of fortune

and impeccably good family.

[CHUCKLING]: Oh, certainly.

Like that charming fellow,

Lionel Stokely.

Lionel is a particular favorite of his uncle, the earl,

whom we visit every summer at Stokely Court.

BEATRIX: Oh, and I do regret terribly Yes.

That I didn't accept Harry Haddon-Bell.

Harry's great-grandfather went to Sandhurst,

Harry's grandfather went to Sandhurst,

Harry's father went to Sandhurst...

And so I went to Sandhurst.

[HARRY SNORTING, LAUGHING]

Father and I and the gamekeeper

often go out riding in the morning and shoot breakfast.

Ashton's a crack shot.

[WHINNYING LAUGH]

But, no, you're just a pig-headed girl.

MAID: Mr. Warne is asking for you at the door, Miss.

Mr. Warne?

He's not expected.

Unannounced.

Perfection.

Come on. Here.

NORMAN [VOICE-OVER]: Two sold while we were at the bookseller's.

That amounts to 40 in a week.

BEATRIX: Forty?

Which is 160 in a month. Good gracious.

And I'm trying to remember my 12-times table.

1,920 in a year.

I can't breathe.

And that's just in one shop.

My dear Miss Potter, you are an author.

We have achieved what we set out to do.

We have created a book.

Yes.

What's the matter?

A cloud just passed across your face.

You've been very generous with your time, Mr. Warne.

Shown me things that I never would have seen.

Printing houses.

[CHUCKLES]

I shall miss your company.

Are you losing my company?

Well, it just occurred to me that the book is out,

and our association is coming to an end.

Miss Potter... I...

I had hoped that you might have other stories.

Really? Really?

Do you know, uh, I recently remembered one...

I thought I'd forgotten it... um, about a duck.

[CHUCKLES]

A very stupid duck.

Based on one of your friends?

[CHUCKLING]: It's based on myself, I think.

It's a story I told a friend once.

Yes?

My family summers in the Lake District,

and there was someone there,

the groundsman's son,

who was always interested in my stories.

Oh, Miss Beatrix.

Are you skulking?

No such thing, Willie Heelis.

No, I was drying off my sketchbook.

Not bad, Miss Beatrix.

Do you have any animal stories for me today?

I don't. Sorry.

Nothing new.

Oh. That's Jemima.

She doesn't have a story yet,

not a proper one.

Jemima Duck?

Jemima Puddle-Duck.

And a stupider duck

the world has never seen.

[LAUGHS]

She goes looking for a safe place to lay her eggs

and meets a charming gentleman with a long bushy tail

and very sharp teeth.

Aha.

[GROWLS]

Precisely.

The gentleman offers her his shed,

and Jemima is surprised to find

that there are so many feathers in it.

But then, as I told you, she is a very stupid duck.

I like it.

BEATRIX: I'd love to paint every view in this valley,

but I'm not very good at landscapes.

Wait too long and it won't be here to paint, Miss Beatrix.

Really? That's ridiculous.

No, I'm serious.

The large farms are being broken up

into small plots and sold off.

Well, you can't stand in the way of progress.

So they say.

But I say beauty's worth preserving.

I know you do, Willie.

But nobody could disagree with you about that.

[CHUCKLES]

Well, I'll see you soon, then.

Perhaps not, Miss Beatrix.

I'm leaving for Manchester next week.

To study the law?

Yes, indeed.

I have to better meself somehow.

Good luck.

Send me some drawings.

I will.

BEATRIX: He encouraged me to take my writing seriously.

We must get started on the new story straightaway.

Jemima Puddle-Duck.

I think the public should like that.

And Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca.

W-What do you think?

Well, if you, if you think.

Your book has been very important

in my life.

You have been very important in my life.

And you in mine, Mr. Warne.

Then we must do it again and again.

And again.

I promise you, I intend to be a nuisance.

MILLIE: When did you decide you wouldn't marry?

BEATRIX: Just before my 20th birthday.

Mother came to my room and announced

that Lionel Stokely was to marry Gwendolyn Alcott,

and they were to live at Stokely Court,

which Lionel had just inherited from the earl.

And I knew, right then,

that she would bring me no more suitors

and that I would never marry.

And that shocked me.

Hmm.

But I felt relieved.

And thatshocked me.

[CHUCKLES]

So I went into the garden

and filled an entire notebook with sketches.

Men are bores.

They're useful for only two things in life:

financial support and procreation.

Millie.

You say outrageous things.

[CHUCKLES]

Ah, but the price.

What price?

Domestic enslavement,

childbirth... terrifying.

No, unmarried women have a better life.

I swear it's true.

No, no houses, no babies,

no husbands demanding things all the time.

As long as one's lucky enough in life to have a good friend.

I'm so glad Norman found you, Beatrix.

I was missing something I didn't even know.

NORMAN: "Dear Miss Potter,

"I enclose with great pleasure

"the latest in what I hope will be a long line of tales.

Yours affably, Norman Warne."

BEATRIX: Mr. Warne.

Would you and Millie like to come to a Christmas party?

My parents hold one every year,

and I think it's high time that I invited someone.

Yes, we'd be delighted to attend.

Thrilled, in fact.

[GROANS]

Be still, little imps.

Peter, you naughty boy.

Look what an example you're setting.

[DOOR OPENING]

That's better.

Any more of that,

and I'll paint you out.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Your father is home.

How was your day at the club, Father?

Interesting, as always.

Rupert, we seem to have a situation.

We need your resolution.

I want to invite Norman Warne and his sister

to our Christmas party.

With Lady Armitage, with Sir Nigel and Sybil.

A tradesman, Rupert.

How will anyone have fun?

He's the gentleman who publishes my books, Father.

Rupert.

I have something here, Beatrix.

I went into Hatchard's

bookshop and I purchased this

with good money.

Old Hugh Whitteford bearded me in the club

and rattled on for hours... you know old Hugh,

jowls all aflutter.

Wife's bought three of your girls' books

for her granddaughter's nursery.

Sending more by ship to chums in Bombay.

And very soon, the whole club was telling me

of some purchase that they had made

of our daughter's creation.

So I thought it was time that I bought one.

So I went straight into Hatchard's,

put my shilling onto the counter.

I would have given you one.

But I wanted to buy one,

like everyone else.

Now, I owe you an apology, Beatrix.

When you showed me your books, all I saw was my little girl

bringing me clever drawings for me to comment on.

You're not a little girl anymore.

You're an artist.

The genuine article.

I would have been proud to use that word

about myself,

and now, I'm proud of you, Beatrix.

Thank you, Father.

So I don't see

any reason why we cannot make a little social effort

to welcome the gentleman responsible

for this blessing into our home.

Thank you, Father.

Thank you.

I think it will be good for all of us.

Merry Christmas, Rupert.

Yes.

Glenys, don't serve Sir Nigel the punch

with brandy unless he demands it.

Yes, madam.

And after dinner, he'll take port.

Come and give me a little signal

after he's had four glasses.

- All right? - Yes, madam.

The house shimmers, my darling.

You've done it again.

[DOOR KNOCKER TAPPING]

- JANE: Good evening, sir. - Good evening.

Good evening, ma'am. Good evening.

Mr. Warne, Millie.

How wonderful.

Thank you, Jane.

Thank you... thank you.

Mother, Father, I would like you to meet

Miss Amelia and Mr. Norman Warne.

How charming of you to be so... punctual.

[GUESTS CHATTING]

[CLASSICAL VERSION OF "DECK THE HALLS" PLAYING]

[CHUCKLING]

[LAUGHTER]

Go on, one wouldn't hurt.

[LAUGHS]

I think Wiggin

is under strict orders never to leave our side.

How festive.

[GUESTS CHATTING]

[CLASSICAL VERSION OF "WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS" PLAYING]

Such scintillating conversation.

Oh, mine as well.

The weather in Amsterdam

in July.

Could I interest you ladies in an after-dinner coffee?

Some of the gentlemen would like to play

a few hands of cards, but they're short of a fourth.

I don't suppose you play whist, Mr. Warne?

I'm afraid I've never had much aptitude for cards.

Oh, that is a pity. I play.

This is to play with Sir Nigel, Miss Warne.

Sir Nigel takes his whist very seriously.

I play rather well, actually.

Do you, Millie?

Well, I'm sure you two have plenty

to talk about without me, and...

if they can't play without a fourth...

Come along, Miss Warne.

LADY SYBIL: Carols in the music room,

my dears.

Perhaps I could show you your Christmas present.

Yes.

It's upstairs.

I will bring the coffee.

[CHATTER, LAUGHTER IN DISTANCE]

[CLEARS THROAT]

Mrs. Wiggin.

Miss.

Miss Wiggin. I have taken the liberty

of adding a splash of brandy to our coffees.

Oh? Well, it is Christmas.

Is this where you paint, Miss Potter?

Yes, and it's where we shall find your Christmas present.

Oh, my.

I think, other than Bertram and Father,

you are the first man ever to set foot in this room.

Would you like me to leave? No, no, no.

Wiggin is here.

And if this is the best I can do

for scandal at my age,

I'm hardly worthy of my reputation for creativity.

[LAUGHS]

Here.

My, but it's beautiful.

Is it the new story?

Miss Potter,

is it the new story? Is it?

I'm not going to tell you.

Come over here.

Ah, it's Jemima Puddle-Duck.

Mm, it's the first drawing I ever did of Jemima.

Mm. I was, uh, eight, I think.

Jemima, stop that.

Stop what?

Just some silliness.

And what's this?

Oh, it's a music box.

My father gave it to me for my sixth birthday.

He did the painting himself.

Oh, so your father is an artist, too?

No, he always wanted to be an artist,

but the family disapproved,

so he took up law. Hmm.

The joke is I've never once heard him discuss a case.

He goes to his club every day and never his office.

So I don't really know what he does.

[LAUGHS]

[MUSIC BOX PLAYS SWEET MELODY]

Oh, dear.

Oh. Wiggin is fallible.

I'm afraid, Miss Potter, your reputation

is now officially dented.

Ah, "Let Me Teach You How to Dance."

Do you dance, Miss Potter?

No. Well, not well.

I make a terrible hash of it too when I try,

but the words are very sweet.

You know the words?

Will you sing the words?

Well, uh...

♪ Let me teach you how to dance ♪

♪ Let me lead you to the floor ♪

♪ Simply place your hand in mine ♪

♪ And then think of nothing more ♪

♪ Let the music cast its spell ♪

♪ Give the atmosphere a chance ♪

♪ Simply follow where I lead ♪

♪ Let me teach you how to dance. ♪

Miss Potter...

...I know you have decided not to marry.

All my life, I thought that I would not marry, either,

but something has happened that has caused me

to change my mind. Mr. Warne...

No, please, let me go on, for if I do not say what I have

to say now, I fear I never will.

Miss Potter, I would like you to consider...

Mr. Warne...

doing me the honor,

and I do not expect an immediate answer...

HELEN: Beatrix?

I was just showing Mr. Warne his Christmas present.

I'm an impeccably genteel, unmarried lady, Mother.

I haven't begun to invite men to my room.

Mr. Warne?

[WHISPERS]: Wiggin.

[CHAIR SCRAPES]

[GUESTS ENGAGING IN LIVELY CONVERSATION]

What is the picture, Beatrix?

Oh, uh, uh...

I've written and drawn little children's books,

which have been published.

The man who published them is here,

Mr. Norman Warne.

To thank him for his assistance

and generosity, uh, well, I'm...

I'm writing him a Christmas story.

Ah. Ah.

WOMAN: Can we hear it?

Oh, well, it isn't finished, so...

Oh, go on.

Oh, well... I suppose,

before we part for the evening, I could share a glimpse

of the unfinished tale of...

"The Rabbits' Christmas Party."

- [GUESTS LAUGHING] - WOMAN: Charming.

One particularly snowy Christmas Eve,

a young rabbit

and his fearsome older brothers and fiercely brave sister

set out on a journey

they make every year to celebrate

with their friends.

Now, rabbits are highly sociable creatures,

and legend has it

that wherever they find themselves on Christmas Eve,

they get together and throw a jolly party.

[LAUGHTER] Now, I know such a legend

exists, because I made it up.

Ah. [LAUGHTER]

The rabbits travel through the woods

to the well-appointed burrow of their cousins,

where a warm fire is waiting for them.

They take off their frosty coats,

and the party begins.

Now, I know on this night that they will eat and talk and dance

and laugh and... and roast apples on the fire,

but I'm not certain how the story ends,

because I haven't made that part up yet.

But in any case,

Mr. Warne will have to read it first,

as he is my strict censor,

and, well, it is his present.

Merry Christmas, Mr. Warne.

Thank you, Miss Potter; it's so beautiful.

NIGEL: Hear, hear. Thank you.

Good show!

WOMAN: There'll be no problem

with presents for the grandchildren next year,

I daresay.

Oh, you must be very proud, Helen.

[LAUGHING]: It's just a children's story.

Outstanding.

Can I talk to you?

Of course.

What is it?

Is there something wrong?

No.

As my confidante...

[GASPS] Oh.

You have something to confide?

How delicious.

Your brother has asked me to marry him,

and I feel,

quite irrationally, that I may say yes.

I'd like your approval.

My approval?

Beatrix, don't be a fool.

Marry him.

Tomorrow.

Don't waste a moment.

How could you hesitate?

You're not upset?

Well, why would I be upset?

Well, both Norman and I...

You'll be alone.

You have a chance

for happiness, and you're worrying about me?

I wouldn't worry about you if...

If someone came along who loved me

and whom I loved, I would trample my mother.

Do you love Norman?

Yes.

Then marry him.

Don't you dare think about anyone else.

But what about all the blessings of being alone?

Hogwash.

What else is a woman on her own supposed to say?

You have a chance to be loved.

Take it.

And leave me happy

knowing that the two people that I love are happy.

That is the most thought you should ever have for me.

There you are, Beatrix.

The guests.

Yes, Mother.

[DOOR CLOSES]

Oh, Millie...

Go.

Yeah.

What is going on tonight?

Why do I feel like a... stranger in my own home?

You have a clever daughter, Rupert.

You must be very proud.

Of Beatrix? Yes, we are.

To write and draw like that.

Beatrix should meet my niece, Anne.

She makes pots.

Ceramics, Nigel.

Look like pots to me.

[LAUGHTER]

As for you, madam,

I suggest you take up knitting.

Merry Christmas.

ALL: Merry Christmas.

[OVERLAPPING GOOD-BYES]

What was all that about?

Sir Nigel disapproves of the way I play whist.

I'm afraid I won two guineas from him.

Mr. Warne!

Your painting.

Oh, yes, my Christmas present.

Yes.

Bye-bye.

Good-bye, Mr. Warne.

Good-bye. Good-bye, Mr. Warne.

[HOOVES CLOPPING]

["LET ME TEACH YOU HOW TO DANCE" PLAYING]

[LAUGHS QUIETLY]

[ORCHESTRA CONTINUES MELODY]

Sir?

Uh, I have an appointment to see Mr. Rupert Potter

in the Eagleton Room.

He's expecting you, sir.

Thank you.

Come along, Norman; it's only her father.

Come in.

Thank you very much, Mr. Potter,

for taking the time out of your very busy day.

Good-bye, Mr. Warne.

RUPERT: If you will not accept

our advice and decision, then we will have to impose that advice.

HELEN: Respect our knowledge and the worth of our opinions...

[ALL ARGUING AT ONCE]

Oi. Go on.

[ARGUMENT CONTINUES INDISTINCTLY]

I said that I'll do it, and I will.

HELEN: Norman Warne is a tradesman, Beatrix.

No Potter can marry into trade, and that's final.

And what are we?

Father's money comes from Grandfather's printing works

in Lancashire... a trade, Mother.

And if Grandfather hadn't run for Parliament,

we'd still be living in the shadow of his factories.

Your legacy came

from Grandfather Leech's cotton trade.

When did we become so high and mighty?

We're parvenus, Mother.

Social climbers.

Your father and I will not allow this marriage,

for your own good.

And there's no reason to become insulting.

It's not an insult.

It's the truth.

Our lives are pretension and social aspiration.

"Sir" this and "lady" that.

Norman Warne is a gentleman of comfortable means,

and not one bit beneath us,

and I intend to marry him.

Not if you expect to take one penny of your inheritance.

You haven't disinherited Bertram for running off

with a wine merchant's daughter.

Happily, I am a published author.

I have means of my own.

This discussion is over.

[INHALES SHARPLY]

[KNOCK AT DOOR]

Come in, Father.

[DOOR OPENING]

Why is it that after any difficult situation,

she always sends you?

Mama didn't send me.

I don't like tension in my home.

I want to resolve this matter.

Well, you can't.

I've made my decision.

Your mother wants what is best for you, as do I, Beatrix.

An impulsive and inappropriate marriage

is something that you would

ultimately regret.

You can't allow me to marry and leave.

With Bertram moved away, who would take care of you?

You surely do not think that we would deny you happiness

just simply because we needed a nursemaid?

That is a knife in my heart.

Well, then, what is it, Father?

'Cause I can't understand.

You cannot make us the villains, Beatrix.

Your mother trotted out countless suitors,

all of them acceptable.

You rejected every one of them.

I know that, Father.

I didn't want to be a silly woman

marrying a man simply because he was acceptable

or rich enough to take care of me!

But does that mean that I'm never to be loved?

Father?!

Wiggin, wait here, please.

BEATRIX: I'd like to enquire

about my royalty earnings, Mr. Copperthwaite.

And whether I might, at some stage,

afford a house of my own in the country.

You have enough to buy an estate...

several estates, and a house in town.

You're quite a wealthy woman, Miss Potter.

Am I truly?

Yes, the income has become quite regular.

If your fortune continues to grow,

you should have no financial worries

for the rest of your life.

Extraordinary.

[UTENSILS CLINKING]

HELEN: Beatrix.

RUPERT: Beatrix.

Come and sit with us, please.

I'd rather not, Father.

We have something to discuss.

A proposition.

And, for heaven's sake, Beatrix,

let the servants carry your dishes.

Thank you.

HELEN: Tea?

- No, thank you. - Nonsense.

You always take tea.

RUPERT: Contrary to what you think and what you have so

vehemently expressed, your Mama and I

want you to be happy.

We simply doubt that this marriage will do the trick.

RUPERT: Helen, please.

Sit down, Beatrix.

What we don't want is for you to rush into something

which you may later wish to reconsider.

I won't want to reconsider.

We are not convinced.

Helen, please.

We are not convinced.

Yet, neither have we hearts of stone.

Therefore, this is what we propose.

You may accept Mr. Warne,

but it must remain a complete secret,

even from his own family.

Now, this summer, yourself,

Mama and I will go, as always,

to the Lake District.

If, at the end of the summer, you still wish to proceed,

then we will announce your engagement,

and you can marry with our blessing and our love.

Why must no one know?

HELEN: So there'll be no public

embarrassment when you change your mind...

If. If you change your mind.

If.

Now, Beatrix, if you care for this man

as much as you say you do, then, in a few months,

the ardor will still be there.

If your mother

and I are correct,

and this emotion cools with time, then we will have

protected you against humiliation and unhappiness.

It will not cool.

HELEN: Beatrix, listen to me.

A woman at your age must consider very carefully...

Mother, the only thing true at my age

is that, at my age, every day matters.

Very well, Mother, Father.

I accept your terms.

Norman and I may decide to wait, in any case.

But make plans.

There will be a wedding in this house by October.

Mm.

[HORSE HOOVES CLOPPING]

[CHUCKLES]

[LOW, INDISTINCT CONVERSATION]

They're beautiful.

♪

[CHUCKLES]

Which carriage, Rupert?

Saunders?

About four carriages down.

This way.

What a dreadful day. Oh.

Dreadful. Dreadful.

[SIGHS]

Well...

This is the Potters' for Windermere.

Right you are, sir.

Here. There you are.

And those two.

Beatrix.

Mr. Warne!

Oh.

Oh, I do apologize.

Miss Potter!

Mr. Warne!

I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come.

You're soaked.

It wasn't raining when I left the office.

I brought you the proof of the new book for your trip.

Oh, you'll catch cold.

I couldn't miss seeing you off.

You know nothing would stop me.

This is going to be the longest summer I've ever spent...

But it's only the summer, that's all.

Yes. And this time is not for us.

It's for your parents.

How can they know what we're feeling?

They've never felt it. No.

We can afford them this three months.

I suppose.

[WHISTLE BLOWS] Oh.

This is not how I wish to say good-bye to you.

[ENGINE STEAM HISSING]

[TRAIN CHUGS]

Good-bye, Miss Potter.

I look forward to your speedy return.

As do I, Mr. Warne.

[TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWING]

Quickly. Yes.

Here.

[TRAIN CHUGGING]

Good-bye, Miss Potter.

[TRAIN CHUGGING FASTER]

Good-bye, Mr. Warne.

Good-bye... Norman.

[ORCHESTRAL "LET ME TEACH YOU HOW TO DANCE?" PLAYING]

[TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWING]

BEATRIX: "My dear, dear Norman,

"This absurd,

"forced separation is surely a kind of madness,

"most notably, that of my mother,

"but you are here, my dear, for me.

"The beauty of this place seems magnified somehow

"with you in my mind.

"In my occasional lonely moments,

"I imagine conversations between us, and yesterday,

startled a duck with my declaration of love for you."

NORMAN: "All of my thoughts are with you, my darling.

"I know that you find Harold and Fruing

"terribly boring, but, in fact, I'm having what I could almost

"describe as wild enjoyment working with them.

"You may wake up, one day,

"to find yourself married to a businessman.

Praise the day when I can wake up to find you beside me."

BEATRIX: "I took one of the boats out

"onto the lake at sunset to watch the water hens feeding.

"They made noises like kissing.

I closed my eyes and pictured you."

NORMAN: "I find I love my heart more now,

"because that is where I know I can find you.

"Amelia sends her fond love

"and wishes for us all to be together again,

as do I, multiplied a hundredfold."

[HAMMERING]

Sir...

Hill Top Farm.

May I ask, is it a working farm?

Aye.

Another great one falls,

but this one breaks your heart.

Really? Why?

Now, miss, a body would have to be a poet,

which I certainly am not.

Excuse me, but I'd swear you were someone I once knew.

Good heavens, Willie Heelis.

Miss Beatrix... uh, Miss Potter.

Is that you?

How good to see you.

Well, hello.

I see you've given up

on the law.

Have you decided to make an honest living?

Ah, yes, the law.

Well, not exactly. No, no.

A country solicitor needs to be proficient in many skills.

[LAUGHS] Oh. Of course.

And it suits me to be out of the office now and again.

Now, I could, uh, show you Hill Top, if you have the time.

Uh...

Yes. Yes.

Time is exactly what I have.

Good.

[CHUCKLES]

[SIGHING]: Oh.

Not a bad outlook, Miss Potter.

It's sublime.

BEATRIX: "By chance, I met an old friend today,

"who showed me a beautiful farm that's for sale.

"It would be a perfect country home, and though I know

"we'll live mainly in the city,

I'm very keen to share my favorite places with you."

The post has arrived.

And, once again, no letter from your Mr. Warne.

Is it time for me to start getting just a little hopeful?

He did mention he might take a few days' holiday.

Hmm.

The post is no doubt slow from wherever he's gone.

Yes, indeed.

But there is something that appears to be

from that interesting sister of his.

Millie? Hmm.

How delightful.

Excuse me.

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

Norman is ill.

[HORSE WHINNIES]

[TRAIN CHUGGING]

[TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWING]

I'm Beatrix Potter.

Please come in, miss.

Ah, Miss Potter.

Hello.

Please, come in.

Thank you.

I came as soon as I heard.

Yes, it's very kind of you, very...

very kind, indeed.

How is he?

MILLIE: Beatrix?

Millie.

Oh, Beatrix.

Millie...?

I'm too late.

MILLIE: He was so happy.

He sang songs.

He made me dance with him in the parlor.

Oh.

He laughed all the time.

Everyone noticed the change and...

only I knew the reason.

But all summer, he had a cough.

And then the cough got worse.

And in one night, he was gone.

It was so sudden.

I keep thinking that it hasn't happened.

I keep expecting to see him in the garden.

W-When's the funeral?

It was yesterday.

[GASPS]

It was only the immediate family, and I...

and I couldn't think of a reason

to ask them to delay it for you.

[FOOTFALLS APPROACHING]

[CLEARS THROAT]

HAROLD: It was considerate of you

to come and pay your respects, Miss Potter.

FRUING: Our mother is particularly moved

and is sorry she isn't well enough

to come down to greet you.

I'll be taking over our late brother's

business affairs, Miss Potter.

Fine.

HAROLD: I want to assure you that F. Warne and Company

will do everything in its power

to ensure that our tragic loss

causes you the least possible inconvenience.

FRUING: Please accept the gratitude of the entire family.

[WHISPERS]: They want me to go.

I'm sorry.

[SOFTLY]: I'll go.

[MOTORCAR ENGINE CHUGGING]

Miss Beatrix.

What are you doing in London?

Is something wrong?

A friend died.

I'm sorry, miss.

Was she a close friend?

[SOBBING SOFTLY]

Miss Beatrix?

Miss Beatrix?

HILDA: I'll leave your dinner outside the door, then, miss.

[TRAY CLATTERING]

[FOOTSTEPS RECEDING]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

Saunders is here, Miss Potter, to take you to the station.

BEATRIX: I shan't be going back to the Lakes.

Can I get you anything, then?

Nothing, Hilda.

Very well, Miss Potter.

[BEATRIX GASPING QUIETLY]

[HOOVES CLOPPING]

[WATER SLOSHING]

[CROAKS]

[BEATRIX GASPS]

[CROAKS]

[SPLASH]

[POTTERY SHATTERING]

[MICE SQUEAKING]

[QUACKING]

[CAWING]

[TINY BIRDS CHIRPING]

[ANIMALS CLAMORING]

[DOG BARKING, BIRDS CHIRPING, GOAT BLEATING, FROG CROAKING]

[PIG SNORTING, OINKING]

[KNOCK AT DOOR]

MILLIE: Beatrix, it's Millie.

Look, I know I'm unannounced,

but they sent back all my messages.

Please, please, please, let me in.

[FOOTFALLS APPROACHING]

[HOOVES CLOPPING, CARRIAGE RATTLING OUTSIDE]

[SIGHS]

We've got to get you out of here.

Come on. Come on.

Let's get you washed and dressed and out of this room.

Go and find something to wear.

[SOBBING]: I can't.

Millie.

I can't.

[SOBBING SOFTLY]

[SNIFFLES]

I've been torturing myself.

I should never have encouraged you with Norman.

I'd have saved you all this terrible grief.

I loved him.

I loved him, too.

But he's gone.

I must leave this house.

I will leave this house.

Congratulations, Miss Potter.

You are now the proud owner of Hill Top Farm.

Thank you, George.

Well, I'm sure you'll be very happy at Hill Top.

I spent some time there as a child.

Is that so?

I did have other plans for it, but I'm sure

that I will love it in any case.

Yes.

If you need any other assistance or help...

Thank you very much, Mr. Heelis.

Good day.

Good day, Miss Potter.

To your right.

What I don't understand, Beatrix,

is how you're going to pay for this farm.

I'm a writer, Mother.

People buy my work.

Our daughter is famous, Helen.

You're the only person who doesn't know it.

What I don't understand is why you find it

necessary to leave your home.

It is not a choice, Father.

Beatrix, if I could undo anything...

There's nothing to undo.

This has nothing to do with you or Mother.

I must make my own way.

So you must.

So you must.

[HOOVES CLOPPING]

Everybody out.

You see?

I told you we could not know where our journey would lead.

It has led us here.

This is your new home.

No tears!

[SNIFFLING]

[SOBBING]

[SHEEP BLEATING, BIRDS CHIRPING]

[INSECT CHIRPING]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

[BRUSHES RATTLING]

[HORSE WHINNYING, HOOVES CLOPPING]

Miss?

Millie.

Oh, oh...

It's wonderful to see you.

[WHISPERS]: Oh, this place is perfect.

Millie.

Well, what have you brought?

Oh, uh,

well, I thought it best not to bring this, but then...

it jumped into my hand as I walked out the door.

[GASPS SOFTLY]

I'm sorry.

[WHISPERS]: Thank you.

[BIRD SQUAWKING IN DISTANCE]

It's getting easier.

It's getting easier for me, too.

Good.

I'm painting again.

[GASPS]

My mind's going mad with the story.

I've got pigs running amok up there.

[BOTH LAUGH]

Well, it's this place, isn't it?

Who'd want to be cooped up in London

when they could be up here?

I'm so glad you came.

Me, too.

I've been so lucky with visitors.

First my brother Bertram, then my mother.

You think that's lucky?

Your mother is a monster.

[LAUGHING]: No, it's fine.

My mother and I have come to an understanding.

We've agreed to not understand each other.

[LAUGHS]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

[SHEEP BLEATING]

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

MAN: Look, if some city slicker

wants to offer me a half-decent price

for a derelict property

and then pay me and my lads good money

to knock the damn place down... [PEOPLE CLAMORING]

let him build what he likes.

CHAIRMAN: If we allow these city developers

to buy up our land,

there'll be no more farming,

and all you're left with is a ruined landscape

and no community.

[CLAMORING IN AGREEMENT]

♪

Miss Potter.

Ah, Mr. Heelis.

I see you've found me.

I played here so often as a child.

I know your farm very well.

Oh.

Swam in the stream,

played hide-and-seek in the woods with cousin Charles.

[CHUCKLES]

I brought you the executed deed for the farm.

At last. Thank you very much, Mr. Heelis.

Busy.

Yes. Yes, I've asked Mr. Cannon to stay on

and run Hill Top as a working farm.

I'm learning a great deal.

I wish everyone who bought land up here could be so...

enlightened.

[LAUGHS]

You've bought a farm,

you've kept the workers on, you're working the land,

and you're preserving this place.

Yes.

It makes me happy.

Mr. Cannon says the two farms adjoining mine

are for sale.

I'd hate to see the developers get hold of them.

Do you know anything about them?

Morning, Mr. Cannon.

Miss Potter.

My, they've grown.

Handsome lot, wouldn't you say?

Yes.

Have you named them?

We don't often give 'em names, Miss Potter.

Makes it a bit hard come slaughtering time.

Hello, Miss Potter.

Hello yourself, Mr. Heelis.

To what do I owe this pleasure?

I've come with a message.

Mr. Hubbard is ill and will be unable

to show you the neighboring farms today.

Oh, dear. It's not serious, I hope.

Chronic illness, I'm afraid.

Recurs several times a month.

Usually after a night at the Rose and Crown.

- I see. - Mr. Hubbard wondered

if I might show you the properties instead.

I'd be pleased to have so knowledgeable a guide.

I'll just get my shawl.

Well, it's prime land.

There's a lot of profit in building houses on it.

Ah, but more value as a working farm, surely.

Spoken like a true Lakes woman, Miss Potter.

Indeed, Mr. Heelis.

You do realize I've never been to an auction?

Well, it's simple enough.

Don't bid too early, and stick to your limit.

[LAUGHS]: I know my limit, Mr. Heelis.

AUCTIONEER: Craven's Mill Farm.

40 acres of splendor.

1,100 pounds anywhere?

1,100 I'm bid.

1,150?

Come along, gentlemen.

Splendid little farm, this.

Lots of development potential.

1,150 pounds.

1,200 anywhere?

1,200.

1,300 anywhere?

Bidding, madam?

1,300 pounds.

Seated at 1,300 pounds.

1,400.

1,500.

1,600.

Seven hundred.

Eight hundred.

1,900.

At one thousand...

2,000 pounds.

At the back, 2,000 pounds.

Any more at 2,000 pounds?

2,300.

MAN: Rich bastard. Thank you, sir.

[CROWD MURMURING] 2,300 pounds.

At 2,300 pounds.

Any more, then, at 2,300 pounds?

2,500 pounds.

The lady at 2,500 pounds.

Against you, sir, at 2,500.

2,800.

Miss Potter, you've bid more

than that farm is worth.

AUCTIONEER: 3,000 pounds.

At 3,000 pounds, seated, with the lady.

Against you, sir.

Are we all done

at 3,000 pounds?

Going once...

going twice...

Sold to the lady, 3,000 pounds.

[INDISTINCT CONVERSATION]

Sir, you should control your client.

She has allowed her emotions to get the better of her.

Really? She has squandered

any possibility of profit from that farm.

It was prime development land.

This place, this community, is an inspiration.

It should be conserved for future generations

and not destroyed... it deserves protection.

Madam, your observations are woefully inadequate.

Please, sir, I am no longer in the habit of being lectured to,

and, thankfully, I do not require your approval,

or anyone else's.

So, if you'll excuse us.

Mr. Heelis.

[LAUGHING]

HEELIS: I hope you're not gonna make a habit

of this, Miss Potter.

BEATRIX: Do you know,

Mr. Heelis, I think I might.

Now, will you have time tomorrow to show me those other farms?

I certainly will.

Excellent.

Come in.

[GASPS]

Oh, my.

Goodness me.

I'll be just a moment.

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

[LAUGHS]

Now, then, young man,

how are you taking to your new home?

I know it's not London, but Hill Top

might suit a young rabbit better.

He seems to be taking to the place.

As am I, Mr. Heelis.

Now, the road.

Oh, yes.

Yes, of course, Miss Potter. [CLEARS THROAT]

Oh.

[CHUCKLES]

How would you feel about calling me "William"

instead of this infernal "Mr. Heelis"?

I sound like an undertaker.

[CHUCKLING]: Of course, William.

And I believe "Beatrix" might be perfectly appropriate as well.

[CREATURES SQUAWKING, CHIRPING]

BEATRIX: There's something delicious

about writing those first few words of a story.

You can never quite tell where they'll take you.

Mine took me here...

where I belong.

♪

♪

[ORCHESTRAL THEME ENDS]

[GENTLE ACOUSTIC GUITAR INTRO PLAYS]

♪ When you taught me how to dance ♪

♪ Years ago, with misty eyes

♪ Every step and silent glance

♪ Every move a sweet surprise ♪

♪ Someone must have taught you well ♪

♪ To beguile and to entrance

♪ For that night you cast your spell ♪

♪ And you taught me how to dance ♪

♪ Like reflections in a lake

♪ I recall what went before

♪ As I give, I learn to take

♪ And will be alone no more

♪ Other lights may light my way ♪

♪ I may even find romance

♪ But I won't forget that night ♪

♪ When you taught me how to dance ♪

♪ Cold winds blow

♪ But up on those hills

♪ You find me

♪ And I know

♪ You're walking right behind me ♪

♪ When you taught me how to dance ♪

♪ Years ago with misty eyes

♪ Every step and silent glance

♪ Every move a sweet surprise

♪ Someone must have taught you well ♪

♪ To beguile and to entrance

♪ For that night you cast your spell ♪

♪ And you taught me how to dance ♪

♪ And you taught me

♪ How to dance.

[SONG ENDS]

[GENTLE ORCHESTRAL THEME FADES IN]

♪

[THEME ENDS]