Original subtitles

Told you.

Gloves, you nana.

Now you're going to die of septicemia and you've never

learn to change the wheel on the Land Rover.

Isn't there a test you can do?

Huh?

Isn't there a test you can do?

Yes there is a test for sick roses.

It takes forever to get results.

And all they ever tell you is that the rose

in question is sick.

Well, we know that already.

This is much more fun, sorting it out ourselves.

You're a very odd woman.

Yes, I like to think so.

Right.

Now this is the plan.

We cut back.

And when we've ruthlessly cut back as far as we can without

actually killing it, we cut back some more until it tells us

what's wrong with it.

Laura, you're not listening.

Oh, this place gives me the willies.

It's a school.

It's peculiar.

I rather like it.

Not during lessons, boy.

Confiscated.

To whom did he give thanks, agricolus.

Growse, translate.

Give it your best shot, growse.

Ag-ri-co-lus.

Astronaut.

Astronaut, sir.

Oh, headmaster.

Morning.

Honey Fungus.

But Eleanor Marshall--

Mrs. Headmaster?

Her-- said the soil was new.

How can soil be new.

It's provenance quote was impeccable.

The parents paid a great deal for it.

I was wondering.

Oh, I made you jump.

I'm so sorry.

30 years of sneaking up on maggots.

You call the boys maggots?

Oh, it's what they call themselves.

You should hear what they call us.

Oakley, classics.

Boxer.

Thyme.

Plants.

I was wondering if you might like to

dine in hall tonight.

Are you speaking to both of us, Mr. Oakley?

Well, of course, if both you ladies would consent

to be my guests, I might die of happiness with

my face in the soup.

- Is the soup good? - Bloody awful.

But it is the last Saturday of term, and events can become,

um, well, amusing.

The maggots get to have their revenge.

First they decide which master needs to be punished.

Or mistress.

They devise the punishment.

The instructions for it are placed inside an envelope.

Then during dinner, we totter out here to see which one of us

has said envelope in our pigeonhole.

If it's you, it's your duty to punish the chosen colleague as directed.

This vision of sizzling pulchritude is, in fact, miss Wells.

Which nobody calls me ever.

They call me Wellie.

I don't.

But then I'm a million years old.

This is Simon Todd.

Shift, Todd.

So what happens if you get the envelope?

You become the stag.

Who is he when he's at home?

He's the will of the maggots.

Last year the metal work bloke was made to pilfer

mrs. Marshall's substantial knickers from her secret

drawer and festoon them around the plum tree in the quad.

I mean, a conference is the thing for the

school in the holidays.

I mean, it's a dead time, really, for the

school, for the halls.

My husband's discipline is not academic.

Is that right, Mrs. Marshall?

He moved here from the treasury to become headmaster.

He finds the boys an inconvenience.

I mean, honestly, why the boys can't get themselves excited

by something a little more creative I just don't know.

He means scuba diving.

Oh, is the scuba diving good in Berkshire?

I dive most weekends--

portholes mostly.

Would you excuse me?

Right-o.

If the stag should appear suddenly in my

absence, sit tight.

You're the school's guest, and you'll be quite safe.

That's a relief.

Uh, yes.

I was wondering who's that was.

Another mystery solved without recourse to violence.

Silly boy, Simon.

Doesn't really know what he wants.

Professionally?

Out of life.

Sorry.

Thinking aloud.

I have the habit of maternal interference with

the young staff of either gender.

This sort of nonsense does the school's profile

absolutely no good at all.

Oh my god.

And that's downright irresponsible.

I mean, there are fire regulations.

This is ridiculous.

How do we know when the stag has done his thing?

I said, how do we know when the stag has done his thing?

Lights!

Somebody get the lights.

Stop this, stop, stop, lights.

Well, that came from the changing room.

Where's miss Wells?

No lights.

Got your torch, headmaster?

Yes.

She's over there.

Let me see.

Are you all right?

Show me.

God almighty. t -I'm going to call the police.

No.

It's quite all right.

Quite all right?

You've just been assaulted.

No.

He-- he was trying to frighten me.

That's all.

Made me scream.

Who's there?

Get out, Ruddock.

Out.

Mr. Todd.

Good lord.

I'm all right.

I'm all right.

Why do my staff make a fetish of telling me that it's all

right when... it isn't.

I just got in his way, the stag, and fell and clobbered

myself on one of the lockers.

I don't think this is appropriate, Mr. Todd.

Come with me.

Lord keep us safe this night and secure from--

Not so fast, you filthy maggots.

I smell smoke.

Who has got cigarettes in here?

What do I get, Mr. O?

Detention?

Recitation?

Smacked bottom?

I think, Crispin, the dormitory is not

the place for you.

God knows.

Orient express job-- they all did it.

Ok.

But what's-his-face in the orient express was horrible.

And Wellie's a nice girl, isn't she?

You sat next to her.

Bad men get in a froth about nice girls.

Come on.

Quentin what's-his-name is--

is a bore.

And Richard Oakley's got the hots for you.

And that's not a motive.

I think it was a mistake.

I think the stag was supposed to do something to poor Wellie

and it all went wrong.

Blech.

Those ghastly boys and their practical jokes.

Oh.

Isn't that the most frightful thing you've ever seen.

It's a hand.

That is a hand.

It's so disgustingly realistic.

That's because it's a hand.

Ok.

Now I'm going to be sick.

No you're not.

Move.

If anyone's going to be sick around here it's me.

Oh, lord.

Don't tell me.

What?

Tell me quickly.

Simon Todd.

Oh, I can't look.

Is he dead?

You very often are when you've got a bloody

great harpoon sticking through your chest.

We're trying to locate the murder weapon, sir.

You say there's only one such item in

the school, and it's always under your lock and key.

One... of poseidon stainless steel, anti-recoil,

harpoon rifle and two titanium-tipped steel bolts

for your inspection.

Sergeant Honey, you said it.

Oh, good god.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Theft.

I mean-- my wife was with me, do you know?

All night.

We'll have this conversation in a minute, sir.

In you hop.

Yes, I mean, have you actually spoken with her?

I have, actually, yes.

Well, what did she say?

In the vehicle, please, Mr. Marshall.

All right, come on, boys.

Everybody inside now.

Ladies, what a business.

I wonder what the police will ask.

They'll ask him if he knows who was the stag.

That's important, is it?

Assaults?

Murder?

On the same night?

Are they connected?

That's what I would want to know.

It is what I want to know.

Common room?

Five minutes?

Do you mind?

It was me.

It was you?

The stag.

Yes, it's a bit of a surprise to me too.

Just a minute, are you saying you assaulted Wellie?

Yes.

I did.

I'm--

Forgive me.

The instruction was in my envelope.

Remove Mrs. Wells' bra, or perish in the attempt.

Do you have that note?

Uh, I burned it.

What about the stag stuff?

The mask?

The cloak?

Burned it.

Burned it all.

I just don't believe you're a batterer of women, Richard.

Well, it's not an activity in which I routinely indulge.

So then why didn't you stop?

You could see that she was upset.

I was drunk.

That's an explanation, not an excuse.

And then you smacked Simon Todd's head on the locker.

Well, he tried to stop me from leaving.

I did not wish to be stopped.

The school is in for a substantial day of some bad

press, Eleanor.

If it's acceptable to you, I shall teach my final classes

and, well, resign.

Did you kill Todd?

I did not.

I think I'd have noticed if I had.

I don't suppose Quentin did either, though it won't do him

any harm to be unceremoniously

browbeaten himself for a change.

But surely your husband is innocent.

He bloody well is not.

I'm crying because Simon is dead.

Last night when he was hurt, I took Simon to the pavilion

to try and talk some sense into him.

But I was aware--

I don't know how--

but someone was watching us.

I think it was Quentin.

I think he saw what he saw and he misinterpreted it.

He got in a rage--

God, he can get in a rage--

went and got his horrid little harpoon gun,

and he killed Simon.

Pavilion, like cricket pavilion?

What?

Hello.

I'm Rosemary Boxer, gardener.

Oh, you must be Eleanor's son?

Put that out, will you, Crispin?

It's making my eyes water.

It's a shame.

Excuse me?

Your mother's just had a bit of a shock.

She's not my mother.

But you're excused, Rosemary Boxer.

So, what's the story with the Marshalls?

Well, I don't suppose they've had what my dear, old nanny

used to call cardinal relations for years.

Quentin's got a son by his first marriage, Crispin.

He's up at Cambridge, though he spends far too much time

wandering about here for my liking.

Poisonous boy, frankly.

Listen, this is all very stimulating.

But why don't you tell me what you really want to know?

Ask and ye might be told.

What's the story with you and Wellie?

Are you an item?

You've made an old man very happy.

She blew her nose on your handkerchief.

Oh, crikey--

definitely cardinal relations.

Look, for reasons that I don't feel presently obliged

to explain, I have fallen on my rusty sword.

But I still can apologize like a gentleman.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have, um, packing.

Why is Richard lying to us?

Do you think he's having a ding-dong with Wellie?

He says not.

I mean, I don't believe he was the stag.

Well, what's the point in telling us that he was?

I mean, career down the tubes, reputation shot to pieces--

I mean, that's daft.

These look better.

No, they don't.

No, they don't actually.

What's wrong with them?

Vigorously pruned--

the damned things are sicker than ever.

There's no point in expanding the bed if they're going

to conk out next week.

Have you seen a cricket pavilion?

In my life or here?

In the grounds.

Oh yes, it's sort of that way--

I wanted to apologize for that

unpleasantness with my stepson.

He was upset about his father.

He wanted reassurance.

I, um, didn't, of course, say to him what I'd inadvertently

said to you, the business about Simon.

Good.

I've just heard that my husband will be returned to us later today.

The police have indicated they will not be pressing charges.

That's good news.

Look, the sooner we sort out these roses, the sooner we can

get out of your hair.

Um, can you tell us exactly where this soil came from?

Exactly?

I don't know.

Simon dealt with it.

He liked to be sent little tasks.

He liked to please people.

Maybe there's a receipt.

Maybe we should have a shifting around his room?

No.

Absolutely not.

Is that clear?

Simon Todd had a lot of stuff,

didn't he?

Oh, this is pants.

When was the last time you bought soil and got a receipt?

Are you looking for information about soil?

No.

Neither am I. Ah, what's this?

Oh, it's a diary.

Was cheating in class today.

He knew, I knew, earned his respect

by turning a blind eye.

Oh lord, sad life." What are you doing that for?

The poor bloke's dead.

Well, you wouldn't want someone reading

your diary when you were dead,

would you? I would.

That's the whole point.

Blimey.

What?

It's a receipt.

For soil.

Would it be possible for you ladies to make a little more noise?

Listen girls, this pathetic little school is my Inheritance.

And I want it delivered to me in good condition.

Well, I don't reckon you as a headmaster, matey.

Neither do I. I see myself as someone who does not very much

at all, because he's made a hilarious amount of money

selling a substantial property... counties.

You'd flog the school?

I would.

I like money.

Enough to frame your father?

My dear, if I was moved to frame someone, they'd be

thoroughly framed.

My father's been given the all-clear.

Then who do you think killed Simon?

Uh, who cares?

Getting himself murdered was quite the most interesting thing

that dreary boy ever did.

It's been fascinating, but I mustn't let you keep me.

Nighty night.

We're not going to let that little sot stay in there

and fiddle with...

No, we are not.

We're going to set off the fire alarm.

He'll ignore it.

You try.

Wait, wait.

My guess is, you're breaking, uh, five different rules?

Well, good for you.

Expect you'll get a medal.

What's your christian name, Ruddock?

What does your mother call you?

Sweetie pie.

Right.

Well, that's nice.

Well, shall we call you Ruddock?

Mm.

We think you've got something to say.

But you don't quite know who to say it to, pet, do you?

Say to us, if you can.

We won't bite.

Oops.

Can't help it.

Why did you want us to come down here?

Was it something you saw?

Shall I just ask you questions, and then you can nod

or shake your head?

Were you hiding down here the night the stag came out?

Did you see Mr. Todd?

Did you see the stag hit Mr. Todd?

Was it someone else?

It was Mr. Todd.

He did it to himself.

He came out of there.

And he did this horrible scream, like our dog when

it got hit by a car.

And he went to the lockers and went bang, bang,

bang with his head.

And there was blood and everything all over his face.

Oh, there, there.

Manager.

You say that because of the blazer.

The blazer and the hair.

They always have that hair.

And they always do that with it.

Come on.

I say, hello.

Are you the duty manager?

Ladies.

Uh, I wonder if you could help us please-- uh, soil.

You want some soil?

No.

We've got the soil.

I want you to tell us a bit about it.

Just a minute.

Ya, Crispy.

What a funny place to find you.

You're very easily amused, miss Boxer.

No, I'm not Boxer.

I'm the other one.

What are you reading at Cambridge, waste management?

Well, look at that.

That's lovely, that is.

Minerals, a bit of flint in there, see.

Roses like flint.

I--

I remember that bloke coming from the school.

He specifically asked for soil that had been good for roses.

Stop.

Had been?

I said all this soil, young man, comes from the

rose terraces of Hardwick cole.

People used to pay good money to view those gardens, before

the family went bust.

But if soil has already had roses living in it,

you can't use it again.

It'll poison the new growth.

And if you're starting from scratch, you've got to use

soil that hasn't even had a sniff of a rose.

Don't you know that?

You saying I done a blunder?

On the contrary, you lovely man.

Bit more.

Bit more.

There.

Big bed.

Oh, yes, well it can wear it.

Trust me.

I rarely do anything else.

All those things in Crispin's trolley, all

that plumbing stuff--

two plungers, five brands of sink trap unblocker,

five different products that all do exactly the same thing.

Well, perhaps Crispin's trap is particularly blocked.

That, or he was trying to distract attention from what

he'd actually gone there to buy.

What are you planning?

A sexy rexy, peekaboo, jacqueline du pre, and rambling rector.

I meant colors.

White and gold, the school colors--

With a dash of pink to cheer it up a bit.

Hello.

Hello, Wellie.

Uh, sorry.

But I just have to say this--

you mustn't let them get rid of Richard Oakley.

It's ridiculous.

He's everything that's good about this place.

But Richard wants to go.

No, he doesn't.

If he leaves Stagford, it'd be like unplugging him from the mains.

He'd go dead.

You have to explain to the Marshalls.

Yeah, but we're not governors here, Wellie.

We're gardeners.

But you can talk to the Marshalls.

I can't.

I know they're difficult people, but I mean--

No.

I can't talk to them.

They won't let me.

You do know, don't you, that I'm not leaving this place

until I've had a squint at this ruddy pavilion?

It's locked.

Luckily, I brought a key.

No, Rosemary, you can't do that.

Yes I can.

No, no you can't.

Look, you're doing it all wrong.

Give it to me.

The first thing you learn at Hendon is to get the right tool for the job.

And if you haven't got the right tool, then you approach

the situation with patience, calm, and caution.

Oh, bloody hell.

Hard to imagine Eleanor consoling Simon in here.

What's that awful smell?

Oh, that's that stuff that you um--

oh, you put it on bats.

Not, not, not flappy bats, cricket bats.

Linseed.

That's not linseed.

Laura?

My feet are sticking to the floor.

We're going to need that spade.

We've got a bit of digging to do.

Let's get working.

Who's there?

Listen, guys, stags is over.

Mr. Todd has been killed.

This isn't funny, ok?

I'm opening the door now, guys.

I'm sorry.

I just needed to hear you scream.

Simon told me that he loved me.

He'd always loved me.

Was this before or after he roughed you up

in the changing room?

During.

It seems that I had been failing to read the signals

since, oh, ever since I came here, really, three years ago.

Every time he held a door open for me or passed me a biscuit

it was an overture, no, a declaration of devotion from

someone quite unable to speak the language of love.

I, of course, was completely ignorant and therefore failed to respond.

Every time I declined the biscuit, it was

a slap in the face.

The shame of rejection built up and up.

He couldn't communicate with me except by hurting me.

And when he realized what he'd done, well, you heard him--

that awful scream.

It's just so sad.

Come.

You've got a secret, Richard, and I think I know what it is.

If I took a knife and carved a bit off you, it would be like

a stick of rock, printed all the way through--

honor, duty, service.

What possessed you to betray everything that you are?

Why throw it all away by saying you

attacked a young woman?

I did it for the school.

There's an enchantment that lies all over Stagford lodge.

And Quentin has set himself against it.

He's determined to extinguish every curiosity--

every fabulous piece of nonsense

that contributes to the...

The poor boys are under so much pressure to be serious

that no one dared set the stag a task.

Without the task, there is no stag.

So I wrote one myself, to keep him alive, put it in my own

pigeonhole--

a last stand for oddity and silliness.

Pathetic really.

And then when I-- when I went looking for the stag's robes,

they were gone.

And when I realized that Simon had put them...

On, I thought, good.

Good god.

Good for you.

But of course, Simon was on a mission.

He wanted to declare his love to Wellie.

And when that declaration went all wrong and Wellie behaved

so bravely about it, I thought, oh, damn it all--

you two have got the right stuff after all.

They are the future.

I am the past.

But the enchantment will continue.

You sacrificed yourself for them.

What happened to the stag stuff?

Would Simon have destroyed it?

No, I'm perfectly certain he didn't, though

I can't find it.

But I'm sure it's floating about here somewhere.

It wasn't me.

It wasn't me either.

What the devil is going on here?

Fix the roses.

Get the hell out.

Exactly.

Not a comfortable working environment.

Too many harpoons.

Gentlemen, this is the last class

that I shall teach at Stagford lodge.

However, it would be a mistake to suppose that I might

slacken out of any sense of misplaced sentimentality.

Now this, so I am told, is called a dvd player.

I trust you maggots know how to operate it, because

I certainly don't.

Growse.

What is it?

Gladiator.

Not for me, gentlemen, not for me.

Ruddock, you are in charge.

Me, sir?

Yes, you sir.

Right.

There.

Now, you're going in here whether you like it or not.

Told you it would look good.

If you want to change the order again, I'm afraid

I'm going to have to kill you.

Oh, here he comes.

Anything new?

Nope.

The moment you see anybody set foot in that pavilion--

Uh, we will.

Even a child?

We'll come and tell you.

Promise?

Promise.

I had my fingers crossed behind my back when I said that.

So did I.

Growse, out now.

As for the rest of you wretched maggots, my god.

I shall miss you.

Oh, I don't know.

You don't know what?

I don't know if I can keep re-digging this bed

just on the off chance--

No off chance.

Look.

Come on.

Maybe my fingers weren't so crossed.

I'm going to go and get Richard.

No you're not.

I'm not going in there on my own.

And we've got to do this now or it's pointless.

Snap.

Only, of course, this one has a harpoon gun in it.

What the hell are you talking about?

Isn't that what you're looking for?

It's none of your bloody business what

I was looking for.

I was looking for this.

First plumbing, then pruning.

There's nothing he can't turn his hand to, you know?

Only of course, he's going to be careful where he treads,

because some idiot has been repainting the floors--

to cover up where they put the murder weapon.

Not very bright.

The police would rumble that in about six seconds.

No, no.

He's obviously realized he's got to dispose of it more thoroughly.

No, he's too stupid.

His stepmother had to tell him to do it.

Didn't you, Eleanor?

What a bore you women are proving to be.

We were inclined to think you two hated each other.

If you showed any real interest in people other than yourselves,

you'd realize that Crispin adores me.

Don't you?

He's a good boy.

I tell him what to do and I look after him.

What about Simon Todd?

You said you were in love with him.

But he wasn't in love with you, was he?

It all came to a head the night of the stag.

That's when everything went horribly wrong.

You asked him here, didn't you Eleanor, thinking you

would capitalize on the situation?

But Simon didn't want you.

The crisis had released his tongue.

And Simon told you, in no uncertain terms, that Wellie

was the woman that he loved.

Not you.

How do you know this?

Simon wrote it all down in his diary.

It's all in here, as you knew it would be.

That's why you warned us off searching his room and

sent Crispin in to do it.

Fortunately, I'd removed this first.

You wanted to erase all trace of the outrage, the insult.

Defeat was unthinkable.

That silly little girl wasn't going to get him.

No, you'd sooner destroy Simon than give him up to her.

Have I missed anything?

So Crispin was wheeled in to cover up the tracks.

She's the killer.

His job was to fire another harpoon at his step-mother

to make her look like a victim and then get rid of the gun.

Your big mistake, Crispin, was being so unkind

to your father.

Putting a sausage on a fork, you should be ashamed of yourself.

He was trying to protect you.

I don't want to go to prison, Eleanor.

Neither of us want to do that.

She's got something in my back, a carving knife.

Don't be silly.

Where would I find a carving knife here?

It's a screwdriver.

She's bluffing.

No, she's not.

A double-act from start to finish.

I don't think so.

Difficult one, isn't it?

If you'd be so kind as to open the door, Richard, Crispin and I

will be on our way.

On the whole, I think we should leave this sort of thing

to the professionals.

That was a good ..., Eleanor.

Please don't go, Wellie.

We all want you to stay.

Really?

That's handy because that's what I'm going to do.

What?

We thought you were leaving.

I was.

Changed my mind.

That's how girls are, Ambrose.

Ruddock.

Bit of a rumor flying around about you, though.

So, conversational gambit, so.

I like it.

I could do better.

Guess who's just been bending my ear?

Mrs. Ruddock.

Oh, she loves the roses, by the way.

They all do.

Isn't it right, she said, that her son has been made prefect?

It is.

And is it also right that Quentin Marshall has resigned?

It is.

Quentin is selling me the school.

Well, 30 years of salary and nothing to spend it on.

You're going to be headmaster?

Well, I'll caretake until a suitable appointment can be made, yes.

How long will that be?

'Til they bury me.

Although, I don't suppose death will stop me from

interfering with the life of the school.

You'll make a very nice ghost.

Well, that's quite the most charming thing anyone's ever said to me.

A bit odd, but quite charming.

It's not a bad life, you know?

What isn't?

Headmaster's wife.

But not for everyone.

Safe journey.

You did good work here.

Thank you.

Come back and see us again next year for dinner.

We'll make some mischief.

unCapsLocked :) by 7kozlov - www.myfbs.ru -