All language subtitles for Upstairs Downstairs S1E02 (The mistress and the maids) (moviesbyrizzo)

Subtitling by
Acorn Media (re-sync by moviesbyrizzo)

SCONE: Good.

Good.

Now, if -- if you would stand
over here again,

just between the chair
and the fireplace.

That's it.

And draped a little,

as it were pensive or, um...
or languorous, hmm?

[Chuckles softly]

- Um...
- Oh, yes. Please.

Question of getting
the right pose, you see.

Making these quick sketches
to brood on,

then having selected the one,

getting it down with --
with passion.

Quite.

I've no time
for Sargent's method

of painting a face
a dozen different ways

and then going back
to the first one.

Isn't the, uh,
the jawline a little angular?

Well, I see
what you're getting at.

It's -- It's very strong,
of course.

Your husband wants you
drawn soft

to flatter him, Lady Marjorie,

Whereas I see you as a woman
of personality, decision --

strong-willed, even.

Well, you're entitled
to your opinions, Scone.

[ Chuckles ]

Shall we turn him out?

Husbands are a great trial
to artists.

They look on their wives
as possessions

and a portrait
as a kind of display case.

And wives, Mr. Scone?

[ Chuckles ]

They don't pay the fee.

Besides,
they like their husbands

to appear strong men
of the world,

which is much easier
to comply with.

I mean, if I-l saw your husband
as a-a lily

and wanted to paint him like
that, what would you say, hmm?

Send for the police,
I should think.

[Chuckles softly]

I've just come back -- Could
you turn this way a little?

Just come back from Paris,

Where there's an exhibition
of the best in French painting,

which you really must try and
see next time you're over there.

And what shall I see, Mr. Scone?

Light and colours
you've never seen before.

I sent my cousin,
young John Strathcairn,

over to buy a Degas

for that drafty seat of theirs
in Perthshire.

But the fool bought
one of Renoir's lush pieces.

Said the dowager

wouldn't have a servant
hanging in the drawing room.

Old Lady Abercraven?

Yes, my unsainted aunt.

Head this way a little.

RICHARD: You'll be going up
to Abercraven for the 12th?

My dear Bellamy,
since I ran aw- I'm sorry --

since I ran away to Paris to
become a disreputable painter,

I've managed, thank God,

to see as little of my family
as I wish.

- Um...
- Oh.

SCONE: Besides,
the destruction of small birds

doesn't really interest me.

Yes.

Ah.

Now...

how shall we clothe
the portrait, hmm?

- would you like me --
- My dear Lady Marjorie...

an artist and a woman
would never agree

on such a delicate matter.

Besides, an artist's vision
is quite different

from that of a lady of fashion.

Will you join me
in an honourable compromise?

The two words
rarely go together, Mr. Scone,

at least not in politics.

And so?

So if you would select one or
two of your most favoured dresses

and have them sent 'round to me
to examine for texture --

something light and frothy,
perhaps.

Oh, but leave
the final decision to me.

Yes. Certainly.

There. wouldn't you call that
an honourable compromise?

Giving us both
the freedom of decision

yet without the indignity
of a battle.

Yes, I don't think I'd like
to fight with you, Mr. Scone --

at least not yet.

Well, as much as I'm enjoying

the carefree atmosphere
of the artist's studio,

I'm afraid that affairs of state
beckon.

I'm due at the Admiralty in --
oh, goodness -- half an hour.

And the First Sea Lord
dislikes unpunctuality.

In fact, I require
your wife's patience no longer.

The sketches are done.

RICHARD: Oh, good.
Then you'll begin the painting?

- Tomorrow afternoon.
- Capital!

Uh, Mr. Scone,
I'm sure you'll produce

something quite outstanding.

With such a charming subject,
how could I fail?

Hudson, will you call a hansom?
Mr. Scone is leaving.

- Very good, sir.
- Uh, no, not for me, thank you.

I'll, uh, walk back to my studio
across the park.

Till tomorrow, then.

And you, uh,
you won't forget the dresses?

They shall be sent 'round
this afternoon,

and I'll expect you here
tomorrow at 3:00?

Indeed.

Lady Marjorie, Mr. Bellamy.

-[ Door closes]
- well?

Well, I-l hope you've chosen
the right man.

Oh, he's an exciting painter,
Richard.

RICHARD:
Of that I've no doubt.

But is it necessary for
a painter to talk quite so much?

I find his conversation very
interesting and stimulating.

Oh, rather you than me.

I don't have to listen to him
all day.

Well, I must go.

Now, uh, dinner at 8:30, I
believe, and a white waistcoat.

You won't be late, will you?
The Cecils are coming.

I will not be late.

And if that talkative fellow

does not do justice
to my wife's beauty, I shall...

[ Laughing ]
What will you do?

I shall hang him -- next
to one of his own portraits.

[Knock on door]

Entrée !

[Knock on door]

Come in, damn you!

What the devil?

He said to bring these on up,
sir?

- "He"?
- The foreign chap downstairs.

My servant.
My servant.

Why didn't he bring them up
himself?

-[ Exhales deeply]
- what are they, anyway?

Lady Marjorie Bellamy's
dresses, sir.

Oh.

Would that be all, sir?

What's your name?

Sarah. ..sir.

You can drop the "sir" with me.

You don't like saying it anyway.

How do you know
what I don't like saying?

Hold that.

I want you to show me
these dresses.

Hold that. Come on.

Hold it up.
Hold it up.

Ugh.
Looks like a dust sheet.

Next.

Ah, the simple milkmaid.

I might have known
there'd be one of those.

It never works over 40.

Why will they never learn?

Oh, come off it.

She's ever so nice-looking
for her age.

But a tyrant underneath,
I'll bet, hmm?

I don't think
you ought to ask me that.

What about the butler?
Does he whip you?

Ooh, I'd like to see him try.

SCONE:
[Chuckles] No.

But you're afraid of him?

I'm not afraid of no one.
He's not bad, really.

He gives us a night off every
week, and that's more than most.

- when's yours?
- wednesdays.

What do they pay you?

Mind your own business.

10 pounds a year
and a bed in a basement, eh?

No, old clever dick.

It's twice that much
and a room in the attic.

And Rose gets 30.

- who's Rose?
- She's my friend.

We've got this lovely room
up top together.

And when we've got
a bit of money together,

We're going to open
a boardinghouse in Brighton.

No. Next.

Uh, you'd better fancy
this one...

SCONE:
Yes, put it on. Put it on.

...because it's the last.

SCONE:
It might do.

Now, come over here.
Come over here.

Oh.

Now, look.

Will you bury all that beauty
in a boardinghouse in Brighton?

Hmm?

I rather fancy Brighton.

Balls at the Pavilion
and a gentleman to hand me out

of my bathing machine
into the water.

And perhaps a drive
along the front in a motorcar.

Mm.

These tuppenny novelettes
you girls read.

You've never been to Brighton.

Oh, resorts are all the same.

You've seen one,
you've seen 'em all.

- Yes, that's the one.
- Pardon?

That's the one.

Tell your mistress that's
the one I want her to wear.

Now, put them all back
in the box and off you go.

SARAH:
I've been to Southend.

Rose!

-[ Door opens]
Rose!

Where ever have you been?

You've only got five minutes
to change.

It's time to serve
drawing-room tea!

Rose, I've got a letter.

Look.
It says "by hand."

I've managed to read that much
meself.

You'll have to do the rest.

- You try.
- You know I can't.

You can if you persevere.

Oh, Rose, it's not like print.

Real writing's different,
with all them squiggles.

It's too hard for me.

Please, Rose.

If you don't hurry up,
you'll be late downstairs.

Where'd you get it, then?

Well, I was going down
the area steps

and this chap handed it to me.

ROSE:
What sort of chap?

Oh, nobody special,
just ordinary-looking.

And he gave it to you,
just like that?

SARAH:
Yeah, just like that.

Well, don't you believe me?

Well, come on. Open it.
Maybe it'll say who it's from.

What's it say?

If this is one of your games...

Who'd you get to write it
for you, then?

Same person who's wrote your
French reference, I suppose.

Well, you may have fooled
Lady Marjorie and the agency,

but you can't fool me.

Rose, honest to God and
out me throat if I tell a lie.

"Divine Sarah."

Divine Sarah.

"There will be a cab waiting for
you at the end of your street

on the corner of the square
on wednesday at 7:00.

The cabbie will bring you to me.

Ask no questions."

Who's it from?!

It's signed "an admirer."

Where?

There!

"Ad-mirer."

ROSE:
You expect me to believe that?

Well, why shouldn't I have
an admirer?

Who is he, then?

Oh, um, probably someone

who's seen me around in the park
or something.

Oh?
And how does he know your name?

"Divine Sarah."

Sarah Bernhardt.
She's an actress. Frenchwoman.

He's laughing at you.

It's all a bit of a laugh,
really, isn't it?

Oh, I won't sleep tonight

for wondering
who it's gonna turn out to be.

- You're not going?
- why not?

Gentlemen don't make
assignations with housemaids

for the charm
of their conversation, you know.

An assignation!

Oh, that sounds very romantic.

Not so romantic when
you're turned off in disgrace

-and the father won't marry you.
- Oh.

They never do, you know.

When it's all over,
you're thrown in the corner

like a rag doll
the moths have been at.

Sometimes girls don't come back
at all.

They end up on a slab
in the morgue.

Don't.

You make me feel all funny.

How can you bear
anyone pawing you about?

Oh, it's only you says he will.

If he's a gent --

If he's a gentleman,
he'll paw you about.

Sarah, don't go.

Don't worry, Rose.
I'm ever so strong.

Yes, well, he'll get you tipsy.

Yeah, that's right -- on bubbly.

Very refreshing, I must say.

What's that bed doing there?
It wasn't there before.

For models, posing.

Sometimes I use it myself.

SARAH:
I'll bet.

Um, what was this proposition

that you wanted to talk to me
about?

I only take propositions
from gentlemen, mind.

How do you know
I'm not a gentleman?

'Cause you're a painter.

Oh, cousin to an earl.

Oh, and I'm Marie Lloyd.

- It's true!
- Prove it.

I'm not going to parade my
family tree for your inspection.

[ Chuckles ]

Well, go on.

Off you go.

Finish your champagne.
Back home to Rose.

Isn't it a little late
for you to be out, hmm?

Course, you won't have much
to tell,

but I'm sure you'll make up
something as you go along.

Here.
ls your cousin really an earl?

Um, Rose said that
if you turned out to be a gent,

I wasn't to trust you.

Rose is a very wise girl.

Rose says this Sarah --
What's her name?

Bernhardt.
- Yeah.

Uh, is a French actress.

The divine Sarah.

I thought you wouldn't be able
to resist that.

Sarah Bernhardt -- the greatest
actress in the world.

Mm.

A consummate artist.

Are you a consummate artist?

Of course.

Well, you look healthy enough
to me.

[ Chuckles ]

What's your Christian name?

I never use it.
Everybody calls me Scone.

Scone.

Scones for tea,
buttered, please.

Yes.

Now, let's get down
to my proposition, shall we?

All right.
What is it?

I want to paint you.

- Paint me?
- Mm-hmm.

You mean like Lady Marjorie?

- That's right.
- why?

Your face -- It interests me.

- My face?
- Mm-hmm.

Uh, would I be hung up on a wall
for everybody to look at?

If I paint you well enough, yes.

- I can't pay you nothing.
- It won't cost you a farthing.

Oh, you'll have to come
on your afternoons off.

All right.

Good.

We'll start...

...at once.

What? Now?

Right now, at once.

- Now, get into that bed.
- Oh, come on.

- You -- Stop it!
- Take your hat off.

We'll have to put
your hair down.

- Leave me --
- Take your blouse off.

- Oh!
- That's it.

- No! Don't touch me!
- Now into bed. Go on. Into bed.

Lady Marjorie never takes
her clothes off.

Now then, look.
There you are.

That's how I want to paint you.

Your pale face
against the shadows.

Now, my divine Sarah,

all you have to do
is to keep very still.

Mm.

- Here. Do --
- Keep still!

I thought you'd be asleep.

You told me to wait up.

You'll be ever so tired
in the morning.

What you reading?

"The Dove in the Eagle's Nest."

Not the Bible?

It's by Charlotte M. Yonge.

SARAH:
Is it a tuppenny novelette?

Um, my friend

said that all servant girls
read tuppenny novelettes.

Well, aren't you going to ask me
what happened?

It's your life.

Yes, but half the fun's
telling you, Rosie.

- Is it?
- I haven't done nothing wicked.

Come here.

Breathe.

[Exhales deeply]

You've been drinking,
haven't you?

Champagne!

That's not a drink.
That's nectar.

The nectar of the gods,
the milk of Bacchus.

Shh.
You'll wake Alfred.

Oh, never mind Alfred.

Well, aren't you going to ask me
who my friend turned out to be?

Go on.
Ask me.

All right.

Who did your friend
turn out to be?

Scone.

Who?

Scone -- the gentleman
who's painting Lady Marjorie.

He's gonna paint me and all.
He thinks I'm beautiful.

[ Laughs ]
Paint you?

He wanted the other,
but I was firm.

I mean,
you know what artists are.

But he still wants to set me up
in a little flat of my own.

But if that's what he wants,
why does he bother painting you?

Oh, well, you see, he's been
in Paris all this while,

Where all the artists have
their mistresses as models.

And they go and paint them
till they become famous.

I told him all about you and
how we share this room together.

I'm going there every wednesday
when I get them off --

and on Sundays, too.

But what for?

To sit for him,

like Lady Marjorie does
when he paints her.

Incidentally, he's ever so rich
and the cousin to an earl.

And he thinks I'm beautiful.

Isn't it a lark?

Now, you listen to me, Sarah.

He'll dangle his money
and his position in front of you

till you can't hold out no more.

The painting's just an excuse
to keep you going there

while he works on you.

Can't you see that?

Look, Rose,
what else have I got to do?

It isn't as if you and me
have the same night off.

I'm lonely by meself.
I'm not used to it.

Rosie, rather than go walking
in the streets on my own,

I might just as well be there
with him.

Don't be cross with me, Rose.

I can't help how I'm made.

Come to bed.

[ Blows ]

Rose?

Yeah?

Am I beautiful?

Go to sleep, Sarah.

Head up a little.

Right.

Now hold it perfectly still.

Oh.

It's worse than dining
at windsor.

SCONE:
[ Chuckles ]

The light's fading fast.

In a moment,
your servant will come in

and shut it all out
with the curtains.

That will be the end of us.

I like you best by sunset.

What the French painters
call soleil.

Yes. Sunset.

That's your moment.

Are you a poet
as well as a painter?

SCONE:
[ Chuckles ]

You have very fine hands,
Lady Marjorie.

I shall make them pieces of mist

yet with a touch of bone
underneath,

because that's how you are.

Do you get to know your subjects
that well

simply by painting them?

SCONE: I know what you mean
to me in terms of paint.

Oh, that's not very flattering.

Women like to be known
for themselves.

SCONE:
Rubbish, if I may say so.

You don't want anybody
to know you.

Nobody does.

We all want our mystery --
our own and everyone else's.

So we arrange our surfaces,
give our chosen impression.

MARJORIE:
And the painter?

Rearranges them to give his.

Ah, but supposing he's wrong?

SCONE:
[Chuckles] He can't be.

That's his.

A product of a trained mind
and eye.

Is that what your friends
are trying to do

in those French paintings
you want me to see?

SCONE:
Perhaps.

You may say you see them
quite differently, of course.

There's no neat nugget
of a moral

you can take away
and forget the picture.

That's not art.

It's not even life anymore.

Life itself is a series
of colourful moments.

And morality?

Largely hypocrisy-

You know, you talk more like
a Fabian than like the --

Than the nephew of the Countess
of Abercraven, hmm?

[ Chuckles ]

Would you take up the pose
just a little while longer?

- Sorry.
- Thank you.

Head up, this way.

I think I'm a little frightened

of what your picture may show,
of what you see.

Good.

We'll keep the mask dropped
a little.

There.

We're to be left alone
no longer.

Shall I draw the curtains,
milady?

MARJORIE: Mr. Scone?
- Yeah.

MARJORIE:
Yes, Sarah, you may.

SCONE:
Reposez vous, madame.

Finished, good lady.

The bright day is done.

MARJORIE:
And we are for the dark.

You'll stay for tea?

SCONE:
If I may.

All right.

You can have a rest.

[Exhales deeply]

- Scone?
- Mm?

Bring me some champagne.

Very good, milady.

[Both chuckle]

SARAH:
To the divine Sarah.

The divine Sarah.

[Humming]

It's funny to be in bed
with your boots on.

Here.
Do you think I've got nice legs?

What are you up to now, hmm?

What dreamworld
are you concocting for yourself,

you little fantasist?

What's a fantasist?

SCONE: Someone who lives
on airy nothings,

on tomorrows that never come.

Yes!

Airy nothings
and tomorrows that never come.

Oh, God, how much longer
must I wait for tomorrows?

My noble earl of tomorrows
who never bloody comes,

for he is the father
of my luckless child,

my vile seducer.

And it is
my Lord Tomorrow's fault

that I am cast out
into the storm

in my rags and tatters,
cold and --

Ow!

I've dropped the baby.

There, there, child.

Do not cry.

You are unharmed.

All right, Madame Bernhardt.

- Ow!
- That will do.

Is that my applause, fellow?

No, it's your signal
to get back to work.

Now, come on.

I saw one of them dramas
at the Lyceum once.

- There was this lord and --
- And keep your mouth shut.

[Humming]

What about the boardinghouse
in Brighton?

I asked you a question.

You can move your mouth now.

Thank you.

Well?

I don't know. Rose hardly talks
to me nowadays.

She don't like me
coming here with you.

SCONE:
[ Chuckles ]

Does she still think
I'm after your virtue?

She doesn't trust you.

- She says --
- Yes?

If you were honest,
you'd pay me.

SCONE:
Do you think I should?

Models get paid.

So do prostitutes.

Here, you!

What do you think you're worth?

Oh, keep your money.
I'm not like that.

No.
Rose is right.

I ought to reward you.

Maybe I should take you out
somewhere

or buy you a new hat
or something -- I don't know.

- what do girls like, hmm?
- You should know.

What do French girls like?

SCONE:
It's what English girls like.

That's the problem.

I've been away so long.

You'll have to help me.

Now, what's it to be?

Anything?

Within reason.

The Bioscope.

The what?

The Daily Bioscope
in Bishopsgate Street.

That's within reason.

- Moving pictures?
- Yeah!

Alfred went once
on his night off,

and he told us all about it.

They're real people --

not painted and still,
but moving

and motorcars and horses
and the king himself.

I know.

Have you been?
Oh, take me. You promised.

What is so exciting

about a series
of flickering shapes, huh?

Because they're real!

They happen just like that.

Nobody made them up.
They're true.

And what about art?

Oh, art's all right
for those that can afford it,

but it's not true, is it?

Ah.
Well, I'll tell you something.

- Yes, but can we go?
- Now, be quiet and listen.

They've betrayed art.

All the academicians that
have spent a lifetime painting

a-a chair so exact
that you could almost sit on it

and now take 60 pictures first

to make sure
they get every angle right.

They are destroying
artistic imagination.

Do you know what will happen?

We will be so sickened by these
pictures that ape photographs

that we won't be able to paint
a human being at all.

And it'll be your fault -- with
your naive demand for the truth.

It's not my fault.

- Get dressed.
- Are we going?

Who am I to stop
the march of civilization?

- Allons
- Pardon?

- Au Bioscope.
- Huh?

Get dressed.

- Oh, we're going?!
- Yes.

- Oh!
- Go on.

It was kind of you to take it
away and frame it yourself.

Not at all.

To the inexperienced eye,

an unframed canvas
always looks like rough work.

Also, I wish to give you
pleasure.

You're very courteous,
Mr. Scone.

- Ah, Richard.
- I hope I'm not too late.

SCONE: Lady Marjorie tells me
that she's as impatient

as a child
before a coveted treat.

Well, I must say,
I'm a little curious myself.

We've never had a portrait
before.

Well, now, where would you
like us to stand

for the, um, for the unveiling?

Oh, well, just there I think.

I must admit to, uh, feeling
a little like

a conjuring uncle
at a birthday party.

Well, here goes.

Abracadabra.

MARJORIE:
Oh, Richard, say you like it.

Well, I-l don't know
what to say.

Uh, it takes
a little getting used to.

Uh...

It -- It -- It's almost glowing.

"Tawny." [Chuckles]
Is that the word?

Makes you look
a bit of a wildcat.

It -- It --
It's certainly unusual.

Distinguished, in a way.

Maybe it would --
It -- It -- It does grow on one.

Is -- ls your hair
really that colour?

I think so.

You don't think
you've gone too far?

It's, um...
It's a bit blurry, isn't it?

Richard, that's the new
brushwork.

Mr. Scone will think us
such Philistines.

Lady Marjorie,
I'm afraid you won't convert

your husband
to the new Impressionists.

No, no, no, no, no.
I like it.

I've made up my mind.

Thank you, Scone.

Now, then...
where shall we hang it?

Uh, first I would like
to borrow it.

RICHARD: To borrow it?
-If I may, yes.

I would like to submit it

to the Hanging Committee
of the Royal Academy.

Academy?

Aren't they rather
more traditional

in their requirements?

I think if you leave that to me,
it can be arranged.

I, uh, guarantee a safe return,
of course.

Oh, yes, Richard.
I think it's a wonderful idea.

Here!

Artistic license.

Cheeky sod.

Do I really look like that?

That's our room, all right.

But how do you know?
You've never been there.

I didn't need to.

Who's that behind me?

Rose.

You've never seen Rose.

I have -- through your eyes.

Oh, there's all my things
Where I leave them lying around.

Rose hangs hers up.
She's the tidy one.

I know.

Urn, if you don't mind me
mentioning it,

but here there should be
a little plaque

with "to work is to pray"
written on it.

Ah. "To work ls
Yes. Mm-hmm.

What you gonna call it?

"The Maids."

Ooh.

That's not very romantic, is it?

Why don't you call it
something nice, like...

"Waiting for Dawn"
or something like that.

Ooh.

Well, other pictures
have titles like that.

Yes.
They have other artists, too.

What you gonna do with it now?

Sell it.

Sell me and Rose?

Mm-hmm.

You won't need me anymore now,
will you?

Now you've finished
your rotten old picture.

Cast off like an old shoe.

You've used me.

No.
Art has used you, Sarah.

And it's used me, too.

There.

- Just a minute, Mr. Scone.
- Hmm?

Why aren't I your mistress?

What's the matter with me?

I was good enough
for your bleeding picture!

Oh, such language,
Madame Bernhardt.

- Oh!
Damn you!

W-- Now, wait a minute.

I wouldn't be your mistress if
you were the last man on earth,

but you might've bleedin'
asked me!

Please! Don't! Stop it!
- It's only bloody decent!

[Laughing]

What you laughing for?!

- You and your idea of decency!
- I'll bloody kill you!

No! Stop it!

Poncing around and making me --

Now stop shouting.
There's a good girl.

It's our last night together.

I'll take you out to supper.

Then we'll go to the Bioscope.

How about that, huh?

Charmed, I'm sure, Mr. Scone.

SARAH: ♫ Of all the girls
that are so fair ♫

♫ There's none
like pretty Sally ♫

♫ She's the darling
of my heart ♫

I don't know
what the world's coming to.

What's that, Mr. Hudson?

Alf Common,
the Sunderland center forward,

transferred to Middlesbrough
for £1 ,OOO.

Ooh.

No footballer is worth
that amount of money.

It's not a game anymore.
It's a blooming trade.

Quite agree, Mr. Hudson.

I didn't ask for your opinion,
Sarah.

Now, buck up
and clear the table.

[Humming]

Great heavens!

[ Door closes]

- Sarah, what have you done?!
- what do you mean?

I haven't done nothing,
Mr. Hudson.

[Bell ringing]

[Gasps]

It's today's paper.

Burn it at once
in the kitchen range.

Do you understand?
Nobody must see it.

- Burn it.
- what's the matter?

Well -- well, don't just stand
there, girl. Burn it.

And you wait in here, my girl,
until I return.

What happened to the paper
this morning, Hudson?

Uh, not come yet, sir.

Would be late this morning --
when I especially wanted it.

I shall send someone 'round
to inquire

just as soon as convenient, sir.

Tell the newsagent
I'll get my papers elsewhere

-if they can't deliver on time.
- Very good, sir.

And remind her Ladyship to meet
at the Academy entrance at 4:30.

Should be quite an interesting
afternoon, eh, Hudson?

Quite, sir.

Splendid morning.

I think I'll walk
across the park.

Tell Pearce he can put
the carriage away

-unless her Ladyship wants it.
- Very good, sir.

Now, then.

Just you look at that.

[Gasps]

That's my painting.

- It's in the paper.
Read what it says underneath.

- I can't, Mr. Hudson.
- Come on, girl.

Read what it says.
You've been taught to read.

Read what it says out loud.
- No. The print's too small.

Picture has turned out nice,
though, hasn't it?

Very well.
I'll read it for you.

"Sensation
of this year's Academy

are undoubtedly two striking
pictures by Guthrie Scone..."

- Oh, it's pronounced "Skoon."
- Shut up.

"...artist nephew
of the Countess of Abercraven.

Hung side by side
in fascinating counterpoint,

'The Mistress' and 'The Maids,'

as his pair of canvases
are already being called,

are both scenes from the house
of Mr. Richard Bellamy, MP,

undersecretary of state
for the Admiralty,

and set a new fashion
for home portraits.

Asked to name the model for
the scantily clad maidservant

in his canvas
aptly entitled 'The Maids,'

Mr. Guthrie Scone
referred our reporter

to the servants' quarters
at 165 Eaton Place."

What a cheek.

How did that man get up
to the maids' quarters, eh?

What has been going on
behind my back, Sarah?

He was here every afternoon,
painting Lady Marjorie.

But not up
in the maids' bedrooms.

No, he was in the drawing room
painting her.

You've been up to your tricks
again, my girl, haven't you?

I haven't, Mr. Hudson.

I went to his studio
and posed for him in his bed.

Um, I mean the bed
in the studio.

- Now, don't lie, Sarah.
- I'm not, Mr. Hudson!

I went there every wednesday
I had off -- honest.

[Bell ringing]

Well, I can tell you one thing,
my girl.

There is going to be hell to pay
in this house

before the day's over.

You mark my words.

Good old Sarah.

Got your face in the papers.
Fancy.

[ Indistinct conversations]

MAN: Fancy letting him
paint her servants.

MAN #2: Really, he must
have gone mad to allow it.

MAN #1:
It's Liberal propaganda.

MAN #2: Bellamy always did have
an eye for a pretty face.

MAN #3:
She's more than a pretty face.

MAN #2:
Two naked maids.

MAN #1: The duchesses
will have a field day.

Look out.
They've arrived.

- MAN #2: who?
- MAN #1: The Bellamys.

[Spectators murmuring]

[Murmuring continues]

RICHARD: You can go down
and talk to them now.

Very good, sir.

Believe me, sir, if I'd had
the slightest inkling --

- That will be all, Hudson.
- Yes, sir.

- It's monstrous.
- Yes, it is.

RICHARD: Must have crept
up the back stairs or something

when Hudson wasn't looking.

The point is that we have been
seriously damaged

both socially and politically
by that irresponsible cad.

I never liked the fellow.
Talked too much.

He is a good painter.

Oh, yes, I suppose so.

And we've helped to establish
his reputation

-at the cost of our own.
- All the same, I do think

the sensible thing is to try and
treat the whole thing as a joke.

It's no joke having one's wife

made the laughingstock
of London.

I agree, but if we're to survive
the ridicule,

we must let our friends think
that we're not annoyed

but amused.

Of course,
the worst thing is to think

that Rose could've behaved
so foolishly,

leading the new girl astray.

They'll both have to be
dismissed, you know,

otherwise the discipline of the
whole household will collapse.

Indeed they will.

What I resent most is the
impudence of that man, Scone.

Coming into this house
and acting

with such monstrous
indiscretion.

[ Footsteps approaching ]

You're to pack
your trunks tonight

and be gone in the morning --
the pair of you.

He'll pay you a month's wages,

which is generous,
in my opinion.

I doubt they'll ever want to set
eyes on either of you again.

They were to have gone out
for dinner tonight.

- They've cancelled it now.
- It's not fair.

- we haven't done nothing wrong.
-"Nothing wrong," you call it?

Only made this household
the laughingstock of London.

Those are the master's
own words.

Oh, he's in a terrible rage,
and whose to blame him?

"I don't know how you could,
Hudson," he said.

But what have you done?

What have any of us done,
for that matter, even me?

Oh, Rose, I'm sorry.

What did you say?

Oh, I told him I didn't know
anything about it

and what I did not know I could
not be held responsible for.

"Ignorance is no excuse in law"
he said.

"It is your job to know.
It's what you're paid for."

- So I said --
- what?

HUDSON: I told him there was no
knowing with you modern girls.

Not like in my young day, when
girls were properly brought up

and glad to get a good position.

I told him I had no respect
for the changing times,

that you were all as deceitful
as a wagonload of monkeys.

SARAH: You mean you let him
think what he likes

and let us take the blame.

I've got my own position
to think of.

And the family's.

Oh, Sarah.

Never mind, Rose.

I don't see
why you should suffer.

You didn't even have the fun.

They can't blame you
if I tell them the truth.

- Come on.
- where to?

I'm going upstairs
and tell them the whole story.

They can get rid of me,
if they like, but not you.

That's not fair.

We can't go up there
without being sent for.

Oh, yes, we can.

Excuse me, milady.
Sir?

Send them away please, Richard.

But, milady,
it wasn't our fault.

I didn't know
he was gonna put me up

and show me
in front of everybody.

- I thought he was only doing --
- I really can't stay here

to listen to all these excuses.

When I think that...

Your mistress feels betrayed
in her own home

by people she trusted.

That's all there is to be said.

I beg your pardon, sir,
but it isn't.

-Isn't?
- It isn't just, sir --

not to Rose.

She never had nothing to do
with him -- Scone, I mean.

It was all me.

- It's no use, Sarah.
SARAH: Yes, it is.

Now, listen!

He asked me to go to his studio.

I went there
every wednesday I had off.

He never came
anywhere near this place,

and Rose has never seen him
in her life.

Now, look, sir.

You're a fair man.

You wouldn't want to see
an injustice done, would you?

I will not be badgered by my own
servants in my own drawing room.

And I'll make him tell
the truth.

What good will that do?

No gentleman would stick up
for two servants,

no matter what the truth was.

Night after night,
slumming with a servant girl.

Rose, he's not like that.
He says in Paris, all --

Paris! Paris!
Who cares what goes on there?

This is London.

Oh, a gentleman can marry
a chorus girl.

That's romantic.

But you don't exactly get it
in the papers

if he's carrying on
with a skivvy.

No, he got what he wanted from
you, and you was fool enough

-to give it to him.
- I never did!

- Oh?
- Now, listen, Rose.

I've tried to make things
all right,

and it's no use
being cross with me.

I'll make him tell old Bellamy
the truth.

- How?
- I don't know how!

But I'll think of something.

It's all right for me,
but Rose is different.

She's never done anything else.

She wouldn't know
how to start again.

She's set her heart

on working herself up
to be housekeeper one day.

She wasn't even there.
Why should she suffer?

The survival of the fittest.

And who are you,
Mr. Bleedin' Scone,

to decide whose fit?

If you could keep that flash
for long enough,

I could use you again.

Mr. Scone...

...I've been pushed around
all my life.

I wanted a bit of security,
and I thought I'd found it.

Now, you deceive yourself,
and the truth is not in you.

But you don't deceive me.

- You're such a --
- Ah!

Now, now, now!
Shh, shh, shh!

Now, look. Now, look.
What do you expect me to do, eh?

I can't employ you both,
now, can I?

I could ask my rich relations

if they could use a couple
of kitchen maids at the castle.

I want you to tell them
the truth.

- what truth?
- They think we let you

come up into our bedroom
and paint us in bed.

-[ Laughs ]
- what are you laughing for?

The bourgeois mentality!

So they think I've been creeping

through the little green baize
door up to the attic, do they?

Lady Marjorie is terribly upset.

You shouldn't have done it
to her.

- Done what?
- Humiliated her in public.

That is the price
of being in the public eye.

Now, don't pretend
you're sorry for her.

I am!

If it had been me, I'd have --
I'd have died of shame.

Look, I am a painter,
and I paint pictures.

And that's that.

You can all go to hell with
your sickly hothouse emotions.

I'm going back to Paris
first thing in the morning,

Where the air's less damp
and cloying.

SARAH:
Don't go like that. You can't.

I am.
Now, go away and leave me alone.

[Sighs]

Look.

I'll come and live here with you

and look after you
and be your...

...whatever you like.

Only get Rose off.

Just do that.

I'll do anything you want.

Anything?

All right.

Take your clothes off.

All of them.

[Clatter in distance]

Go on.

Would you like a drink?

You may need one.

You've no idea how bizarre
my tastes might be.

There -- There's someone coming.

I know.

[Knock on door]

Go on.

RICHARD: Scone!

Oh, no.
That's all I need.

You'd better get behind
that screen.

You might learn something.

-[ Door opens]
- Ah, Bellamy.

RICHARD: May I come in?
- SCONE: By all means.

[ Door closes]

Now, look here, Scone.

I'd like to get this thing
settled once and for all.

Have you, uh,
come to challenge me to a duel?

Walking sticks or paintbrushes
at 50 yards?

You can drop the flippancy
and tell me why you did it.

Did what?

The paintings.

I painted two pictures
and exhibited them.

- That's what they're for.
- Surely you must know

that to hang those pictures
side by side

would lead to gossip
and comparison.

It never entered my head.

- would you like a drink?
- No.

I forgot about
our class-conscious society.

I thought they were works
of art, not social comment.

Was it necessary to use
my under-housemaid?

Sarah, of the expressive eyes?

Both girls have got
some cock-and-bull story

about her visiting this studio.

And what do you want me to say?

Sarah came here
on her evenings off.

Oh, she seems to like you,
by the way.

I trust you haven't been
discussing me with my servants.

Really, Bellamy,

there's no pleasing you
this evening, is there?

I thought you would like to know

that a pretty girl
thinks you're a good master.

And which of the two
did you find the prettier?

Which did you?
I've only seen one.

Do you honestly expect me
to believe that you --

Yes, I do.

Do you think
I'm such a poor artist

I can't imagine the interior
of a housemaids attic?

Are you prepared
to give me your word

that you were never upstairs
in their room?

Yes.

I went to your house every
afternoon for one reason only --

to paint your wife's portrait.

So they were telling the truth?

Your servants?
Yes.

I'm afraid
you'll have to keep them.

That will depend
on my wife's attitude.

Oh, I don't know.

Think of the ammunition
it will give the Liberals

when they find out
that a junior minister,

a member of the Committee
for Imperial Defence,

dismissed two of his servants
for no reason at all

except that his wife's vanity
was ruffled.

[Clicks tongue]

The Radicals would call it
victimization,

a favourite word of theirs.

I don't think Balfour
would thank you

for adding to his troubles,
even if you offered to resign.

I'd forget all about it
if I were you,

and you'll find everyone else
will do the same.

You sound like a blackmailer,
Scone.

However, I will accept your word

that you painted my servant
in this studio.

- well, I'll leave you to your...
-[ Clatter]

...to your work.

Well, thank you
for receiving me.

- SCONE: Pleasure.
- Good night, Scone.

SCONE:
Good night.

[Door opens, closes]

Thank you, Mr. Scone.

And you'd have done that...

...for Rose, hmm?

Well, my divine Sarah,

we'll open another bottle
of champagne to celebrate.

Celebrate what?

We'll think of something.

Oh, I wish you'd seen
our picture, Rose.

Just once.

We could still go, you know.
It's open to the public.

We'd be recognized.

No, it's best to forget
all about it.

I don't think I'll ever forget.

Was he that nice?

He's funny.

Rose?

Yeah?

Do you think we could go on
with the reading again?

Yes, if you want to.

You see, at the Bioscope,

there's words
between the pictures.

And if you can't read them,
you don't know what's going on.

Oh.

Oh, we'll go together
some day, Rose.

I'll take you.

I'm sorry I got you
in all that trouble.

Well, you made it come all right
in the end.

Aren't men funny?

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