Original subtitles

[chamber music]

- What's this?

- Bootlaces, silly.

What did you think they was, licorice?

- Are you sauteeing them?

- That's right.

- Not the first of April, is it?

- Where was you before you come here?

A gentleman always has his bootlaces ironed.

- No wonder we're in for a revolution.

- Oh, use a cloth, silly.

When you've done that, don't forget to iron

the newspapers.

- You wouldn't like me to do the bacon as well, would you?

- Sugar bowl's empty again.

- Oh, about as much room in this kitchen

as the black hole of Calcutta.

- Perhaps you wouldn't mind handing me down the sugar

Mrs. Fellows.

- Can't do more than one thing at a time,

not with my leg.

Never been anywhere without a kitchen maid before.

It's not as if they were poor people.

I've told lady Marjorie once,

I've told her a dozen times,

I wasn't used to heavy work.

- Here you are.

I'll do the papers later,

along with the postage stamps.

- Oh, Mrs. Fellows,

did you remember to order any more thick-cut marmalade?

- No, I can't remember everything.

- Not with my leg.

[yells]

- Rose!

That's your fault!

- Then I will just have to do them again,

then, won't I?

- When, Lawrence?

- Later on.

When we're more settled.

I'm sure it shouldn't.

- What?

What shouldn't what?

- Shouldn't worry you so much.

- We're husband and wife.

At least everybody thinks we are.

- Oh, perhaps we should have stayed just two people.

- Two children, I'm afraid you mean, Lawrence.

- You said yourself, Elizabeth,

that marriage is an out of date shibboleth.

- But darling, if we'd simply lived together,

I would still have wanted you

to make, make a woman of me.

- Oh, what a fatuous expression.

- I don't know any other way to say it.

- Well, I should think not.

Something positively unhealthy with your preoccupation

with this, this...

- Goodness gracious,

is this really Lawrence Kirbridge, the Fabian poet?

What about you and Evelyn Lockett?

- That was not as you imagine,

and I prefer not to compare you with Evelyn.

- Why not?

- Because a pure woman is not supposed to care

for such, such...

- So, neither of our mothers is a pure woman.

- Oh, now, please, don't try to be clever.

We have no way of knowing what our mothers

may or may not have felt,

and I for one prefer not to contemplate anything so

bizarre.

- Lawrence, Lawrence, if you could hear yourself.

- Of course I can hear myself.

- In Vienna, you said:

"When we get home, when we're in our own house,

"I'll marry you."

- Elizabeth, weren't you happy in Vienna?

- What's that got to do with it?

- A great deal, weren't you?

- Most of the time.

- I thought it was idyllic.

- I suppose so.

- Wasn't that enough for you?

- Enough?

- Holding your precious hands all night,

reciting poetry to you, kissing you.

I love you too tenderly, too chastely,

to,

to submit you to anything...

Crude.

For me, it's bliss enough just,

just...

What's the matter, don't you want me to?

- Of course I do, darling, but it,

it makes me want...

- Well perhaps you're not well.

- Oh, it just gives out on me

when I'm least expecting it.

The doctor at my last place said I was lucky to be walking.

- Hey, that smells good.

- Yeah, you've had your breakfast.

- Ey, well I never say no to second helpings.

- Get on with you.

- Takes me back to my old Mam's kitchen

in Abergavenny, that.

- Thomas, I'll do that.

You get your master dressed,

or all my nice breakfast will spoil.

- What about your leg, Mrs. Fellows?

- I can lift an iron.

- Mrs. Fellows I right.

You must get them dressed, I'm all behind hand.

Wake up, handsome.

- Oh, it's a lovely bit of linen, that.

[sniffs]

- Oh my God!

Ooh!

[gasps]

- I've laid out the town coat, sir, and the lilac cravat.

- Tre just.

- There's a train to London Bridge at 9:57 sir,

or a boat from the pier--

- No, no, not the boat.

Something terribly hoi polloi about those boats.

More suited to a day trip to South End

than a descent on one's publisher.

- Yes sir.

I draw the bath sir.

Will there be anything else?

- No, not just for the moment, thank you.

Oh yes, you might come scrub my back.

- I'm sorry I'm a bit behind, Miss Lizzy.

Mrs. Fellows had an accident with the eggs.

Are you alright?

- Yes of course, why shouldn't I be?

- We better get you dressed.

- Why?

- Well, for breakfast.

- I'm not hungry.

- Oh.

Would you like me to bring you a little something on a tray.

- You can bring me a little appetite to eat it with.

Oh, don't worry Rose, I'll go down like this.

- Oh.

- What's wrong?

- None of my business, Madame.

- We shall need the brown smoking jacket clean, Thomas.

There's ink on my writing sleeve.

- I'll see to it this afternoon, sir.

- I'm having a little soiree on Friday week,

in the evening.

Just a few brother poets, men of the world.

- Right you are, sir.

- You may scrub with a will, Thomas,

I'm not made of porcelain.

- I was just a bit afraid of you, uh,

cutting your throat, sir.

- Yes, well I'll look after this end.

- Right you are, sir.

- Ah, that's better.

Stimulates the circulation.

- Yes sir.

This, this soiree, sir?

- Champagne, I think, Thomas, pink champagne.

And have Mrs. Fellows provide a few little things

for a light supper roundabout eleven.

- Right you are, sir.

- I didn't ask you to stop.

- No, no, I was just thinkin' about the time, sir.

- Oh, good Lord, what time's the train

after the nine-fifty-whatever?

- Well, there isn't one sir,

not to get you to Sir Edwin's office by eleven.

- Damn.

I daren't keep him waiting, it's only my first book.

- You, uh,

ever thought about a little motor-car, sir?

- A little ostentatious, don't you think, Thomas?

Rather bourgeois?

- Well, sir, Mr. Bellamy, you know.

- He's a politician!

Be most unseemly for a poet to proceed everywhere

by a series of explosions.

- Yes sir.

I was just thinking you wouldn't have to trouble yourself

about train timetables, sir.

- Yes I dare say a little motor-car

brings its own troubles.

- Not when you have a man that understands them, though.

- Yes, well you are a very modern valet, Thomas,

but even you should realize that a poet

- Has wings.

I know, you're gonna need 'em this morning, sir.

- I was going to say that a poet

cannot afford the same extravagances

as a politician.

- No sir, not even when he's married to

a politician's daughter?

- Don't overreach yourself, Thomas.

- Oh, I only try to give satisfaction, sir.

- Well, mostly you succeed.

-[Lawrence] Good God,

what on Earth's happened to the newspaper?

-[Thomas] Very sorry, sir, bit of an accident.

Won't happen again.

Mrs. Fellows' leg, you see.

- I don't begin to understand.

- Good morning, Sir.

- Good morning, Rose.

There's nothing wrong with your leg, I trust.

- No sir, thank-you, sir.

- Are you going out again, Lawrence?

- Yes, Sir Edwin wants to see me

about the collected edition.

- Again?

- As a matter of fact, poets work better on the move.

I get some of my best rhythms from the railway track.

- When am I to have the pleasure?

- Hmm?

- Of meeting this famous Sir Edwin?

- Oh, next week, possibly, if he accepts.

We're giving a little soiree to herald the publication.

- Are we?

I'll speak to Mrs. Fellows about it.

- Well, I've already spoken to Thomas.

- Thank you.

When will you be requiring me again?

- Hmm?

- Perhaps I phrased it wrongly.

Will you be requiring me again?

- Now, please, Elizabeth,

don't be childish.

- No, we must be very grown-up people, mustn't we?

Have you any idea, Lawrence, why we got married?

- This is a bad moment to examine our consciences.

I've got a train to catch at nine-fifty-whatever.

- It's always a bad moment.

At night you're too busy writing,

in the morning you're hurrying up to London,

the weekends you spend with the Ansties.

Could I have an appointment, please?

- You cannot expect married life

to be all daisies, you know.

- Haven't seen a single daisy so far.

Well say something, do.

Leave me with some poetic gem

that I can meditate on all day.

- I wish you'd dress for breakfast.

- Is that the best you can do.

- It is if you want to behave like a poule deluxe.

- No, Lawrence, I'd much rather behave

as a wife and mother.

Is that so extraordinary?

- It's something we never discussed.

- I know.

I must have taken it for granted.

What on earth did we talk about, Lawrence?

I have the impression we talked incessantly.

What was it all about?

- I'm sorry Elizabeth,

but I'm really gonna have to dash.

- And leave all that delectable nourishment?

- A man must work?

- And woman must weep.

- It doesn't necessarily follow.

- I'm afraid you don't love me, Lawrence.

- Oh bosh, utter bosh.

- Then why?

- Why what?

- Why shouldn't you want just to make something

of our very own that we could share?

- You cannot love little lumps of flesh

and what are babies else?

Doctor Johnson.

- Don't be patronizing.

Anyway, I believe it not absolutely essential

to have babies at first,

if we,

if one is careful.

- Oh God, Elizabeth, not at breakfast!

- You won't talk about it in bed.

- You should see a doctor.

- Whatever for?

- You seem to be out of sorts.

- What a stunning observation!

- Elizabeth, I do detest sarcasm.

- And I detest being relegated

to the position of a decorative doll.

Especially since I don't feel particularly decorative.

- I'm sorry to have to say this,

but you seem to me to be developing a wayward,

morbid disposition.

Restiveness I am accustomed to regard

as an unwelcome quality, whether in women

or horses.

- Oh!

- You dwell constantly on your own selfish desires

without a thought for the enormous responsibilities

that I have to face with the publication

of my first book.

You're content to send me out of the house late

and with mounting blood-pressure...

I am afraid that you've been spoiled by a doting father

but I for one, Elizabeth, I for one am not

going to encourage you.

- You accuse me of selfishness?

Not once have you give into my wishes, not once!

I am fast becoming your doormat, Lawrence,

for you to wipe your shoes on.

- Silence, Elizabeth!

The servants'll hear you.

- You afraid of witnesses!

Go on, trample on me, you might as well.

Raise your fists to me

like any common collier!

At least to express some feeling!

- Oh yes, yes, yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you?

Physical violence, that would really please you.

You're ill, Elizabeth.

- And you, Lawrence?

Is there nothing wrong with you?

- Nine thirty precisely, sir,

and fifteen minutes' walk to the station

should just about do it

if you put your best foot forward.

Might I ask what time you'll be back for dinner, sir?

- Frankly, I have no idea.

- Well the clouds burst up there, alright.

- What do you mean?

- "Silence, Elizabeth!"

- What?

- That was him, like my old Dad it was Saturday night,

and she'll yelling back like a bally fishwife,

called him a common collier.

- Well I never.

- What was you doin'?

Standin' listenin'?

- Nothing of the sort,

I was on my way to tell 'im time was getting on.

You're ill Elizabeth, he said.

She burst into tears and run upstairs,

she nearly knocked me over.

[bell rings]

I wouldn't be in your shoes, Rose.

- Don't talk such nonsense,

and stop your gossiping.

It's none of our affair what goes on upstairs.

Like Mr. Hudson always says,

we've got our own business to mind.

Probably just a lovers' tiff.

You'd do best to get about your work the pair of you.

- I don't take all this from you, my girl.

- And I don't take part in kitchen gossip, neither.

- Ooh, milady high and mighty.

- Now, Rose talks enough good sense.

- Where have you been?

- Coming upstairs, Miss Lizzy.

- You're getting as slow as an elephant.

- Sorry, Madame.

- And I hate you calling me Madame.

- Yes, Miss Lizzy.

- We better get dressed.

- Cream day dress, Miss Lizzy?

- No, the orange one.

- Oh.

Are you going out, Miss Lizzy?

- No, I just feel like dressing up.

Might make me feel as if I have something to do.

- Why not trot up to London?

See Miss Winchmore?

- Trot?

- Do you good.

You could get a river bus.

- Yech.

- Thomas was only saying that what you and master need

is a nice little motor-car

so he could chauffer Mr. Kirbridge to the station

in the morning, then take you for a little spin

in the afternoon.

- We can't afford one.

- Thomas says that your father would appreciate

the advantages to his daughter

of being able to get out and see your family.

- Thomas says, does he?

- Hmm.

He knows ever such a lot about motor-cars.

- There are heavy running expenses, surely.

- Oh, well Thomas says

that you tax the vehicle for a pound,

take out a road license for two guineas,

a license to drive for five shillings,

and Bob's your uncle.

- And Thomas is your chauffeur.

He's a shrewd young man, I believe.

- Oh, there's no harm in him.

He says you'd look a treat in a motoring bonnet.

- Does he?

- Bowling along in the breeze'd soon put the roses

back in your cheeks, Miss Lizzy.

Master'd be sure to like that.

- Would he?

Perhaps you're right.

I have rather gone to seed.

I shall have to speak to him about it.

- To Thomas?

- No, silly, to Mr. Kirbridge.

- Ah.

- Rose?

- Hm?

- When I caught you the other night,

you and Thomas...

- I have apologized for that, Miss Lizzy.

It won't occur again.

- It's alright, I'm not going to scold you.

Although, if I hadn't come down when I did...

- It was only a bit of fun.

I wouldn't do anything not proper, not before I was married.

You ought to know that.

- Ah.

So you haven't ever...

- Never, Miss Lizzy, of course not.

What're you thinking of?

- I don't know.

I thought perhaps you might be able to help me.

- Help you?

- Don't you think men are difficult to understand?

Oh, I don't mean fathers and brothers and family,

but men!

Just men.

- Well, I wouldn't know, Miss Lizzy.

Gentlemen is different to servants.

- Don't you believe it, Rose.

- Oh, stands to reason.

I mean, men what haven't been educated

all just want one thing.

That's what my aunty used to say.

We have to suffer it.

- Do you think it would be such suffering, Rose?

- Well I wouldn't know, Miss Lizzy, I'm not a married woman.

- Your aunty

thought all men were the same?

- All working men.

- Well men are men,

whether they wear a clean shirt once a day or once a week.

- Well that's what my aunty said.

Why don't you ask your mother?

- Unfortunately Rose,

such things are not thought a proper subject of conversation

between a mother and her daughter.

That's why I'm asking you.

- Well.

My uncle was brutal, my aunty used to say,

especially when he'd had a drop.

- I don't think that will ever be Mr. Kirbridge's problem.

- Oh, I didn't mean.

What have you got me saying?

We shouldn't be talking like this.

I've got a pile of ironing to do in the kitchen.

- And Thomas will be there.

- I expect so.

- And he will tease, he will make you laugh.

- And nothing, Miss Elizabeth.

He's got his work to do, I've got mine.

- It would all be so easy, so easy.

- I don't understand you.

- No, of course you don't.

Oh, I want...

I wish...

I'm sorry Rose, dear, I'm behaving very badly.

I think we must forget the whole conversation.

- Nothing like first page proofs, hm?

- I feel like a father.

[laughs]

- In that case, I suppose I am the midwife, hmm.

Will you have a glass of Madeira?

- Oh, thank you.

- But we simply must make room

for some of these new, Viennese ones you sent me.

There's a completely new voice,

a deeper sounding of experience.

Marriage agrees with you, my dear.

There are some things I don't understand.

There you are.

For instance, um, this,

in Sonnet of Grinzing,

which by the way is not a sonnet at all.

- Well I didn't mean it technically.

- Well never mind,

but now, these lines, now,

pray elucidate my dear,

"When we come near enough to touch

"all beauty flies away.

"And when we draw to nigh the fount,

"The string of life's decay."

Well now, is that descriptive

of the fount, or what?

- No, no, it's a verb.

The spring of life is decay.

- Oh, I see.

Sour thoughts for a young man on his honeymoon, hm.

And then there's this curiosity.

[chuckles]

Well, this we'll definitely leave out.

- Which?

- Venus arising from a zinc tub.

Oh.

Very Degas my dear,

but I don't think the public is quite ready

for this sort of thing.

"Bright botted cherry never saw

"such vegetable stew,"

now Lawrence, that's naughty.

Venus arising from her bath

is not a vegetable stew.

- I meant the flesh,

all overcooked.

- It's sad stuff, my dear.

- One day, you'll be able to print such things.

- Oh, I can print them alright,

but nobody would buy them.

Were you in your cups when you wrote it

or was it meant to be funny?

- Neither.

- Well, my genius,

you must learn to hoard all such aperçus

until you're in the sere and yellow.

A young man

with, they tell me, a ravishingly beautiful young wife,

can do without such bilious thoughts.

His public won't appreciate it.

- I must write as I feel.

Sir Edwin, I was thinking of holding a little soiree

on Friday week,

and I was wondering if you'd do me the honor...

- Delighted, I should like nothing better.

Let me just consult my book of penance.

I'm most anxious to meet your bride.

- I thought about asking a few of the fellows,

Monroe, perhaps, Wolf, if he'd come.

Abercrombie.

- My great good fortune, I find I have

no other engagements.

Um, may I suggest we ask Thompkins

of the Morning Post, mm?

He has dandruff, but a great deal of influence.

And that precious young creature

from the Saturday Review, hm?

- Now, am I to correct these?

- Naturally.

Take them home and share the pleasure

with your proud lady.

- May I do it here?

I promise I won't disturb you.

- I dare say we can find you a corner.

Lawrence, is something wrong?

You know I'm unofficial godfather to all my proteges.

Sometimes a few words with an older man...

- I wouldn't want to burden you, sir.

- But that's one of my functions, burden bearer

to the muse, hm?

- Oh, I don't know.

- No, there is something.

Come, I insist, please.

- I sometimes think

that I'm not the sort of man

who should have ever have gotten married.

- Ah.

Yes, I must say I suspected something of the sort

from these.

- You said marriage seemed to agree with me.

- Oh, I was probing my dear.

Gently, I hope.

And from a publisher's point of view,

anything which makes a poet write better poetry

is agreeable.

But that's far too cruel an attitude for me to maintain

with a young man for whom I have a high regard.

- I like Elizabeth so very much,

it only makes me feel more of a cad.

- Well what is the nature of the problem, exactly?

I mean it can't just be that she has

a bath-water too hot?

Oh, forgive the levity.

Have some more medicine, hmm.

- I suppose...

Oh, I don't know.

I suppose one's just too poetical about life altogether.

It's all in the mind, in visions.

Like Swinburne.

Anything practical revolts me.

- So the honeymoon was a bit of a shock to you.

- More or less.

- But if you love each other

you may reach a modus vivendi in time.

- No, I don't think so.

Elizabeth has a very,

well, a very physical nature.

I don't think she'd ever be happy

with a platonic arrangement.

- Oh.

- In fact, I think it may be making her rather ill.

- Oh, my dear.

You've talked about it.

- A little, yes.

- Brave.

- And the worst part of it is I cannot work.

I haven't written a line worth repeating

since we've been to Greenwich.

Everything's just gone out of me.

I see those great reproachful eyes

and,

if only a,

it's no good.

That side of her nature revolts me.

- I deeply sympathize.

Although thank God I do not share your,

well,

to borrow a phrase from friend Freud,

the Swinburne Complex.

- What can I do?

- Oh, for the moment, nothing.

And certainly nothing that disgusts you.

That will only succeed in disgusting her,

and then we shall have two sad youngsters on our hands.

It'll be a thousand pities

if she were to sacrifice her warm nature.

Fond as I am of you, my dear,

I am torn for the two of you.

- I have no wish to keep her from her

well, I suppose her needs.

I just know that it's not in me to,

I cannot,

I cannot see her in that light.

I love and respect her far too much.

You have befriended me.

Could you?

- Befriend her?

[whistling]

- Oh Thomas, did your master say what time

he would be home?

- Uh, no marm.

- I think we better wait dinner.

- It's only cold meats.

- We had cold meats last night.

I thought we agreed that you'd make it

into some nice little pie.

- Well I can't always keep things hot, Madame,

they spoil.

Spoiled a good joint of beef

the day before yesterday.

- Mister Kirbridge particularly detests cold meats.

If we are to have cold,

what is the matter with a lobster salad?

- Well I have to keep within my budget, Madame.

You wouldn't like it at the end of the week.

- You have absolutely no right

to alter the menus without consulting me.

It's unheard of.

Mister Kirbridge has a particularly sensitive palate.

A diet of cold meat and potatoes

will end up by driving him to dine at his club

every night of the week.

- If Mister Kirbridge is going to be very late,

well, perhaps there will be time

to make it into something nice.

- Who's askin' you, Rose?

- We don't know for certain

that he's going to be late at all.

- Well there you are then, Madame.

What am I to do?

- Oh, use some imagination Mrs. Fellows.

I'm sure Mrs. Bridges would've had a solution.

- I don't stand for no comparisons.

I was engaged for good plain cooking, nothing fancy.

- For heaven's sake, is nobody going to listen to me,

upstairs or down?

Thomas you can come and make up the fire

when your master comes in.

- Yes marm.

Oh, that'll be him now, marm.

- It's alright, I'll let him in.

- Elizabeth.

Where are the servants?

- I wanted to welcome you home myself.

Don't you think a day might come

when ladies open their own front doors

as a matter of course?

- Dangerous socialism.

- Your coat, sir?

Lawrence.

I'm sorry about this morning.

- Oh, that's alright.

So am I, really.

- It was just the thought of your being out all day.

- Oh, most husbands go out every day.

Presumably their wives occupy themselves somehow.

Now, you've got a household to manage.

- Oh, that.

Lawrence.

- Hm?

- Do want us to share things, still.

The books, your poems.

- Of course, dear.

- We seem to be slipping into the very trap

we wanted to avoid.

We're becoming a dull suburban couple

with about as much interest in Mr. Welles'

modern utopia as a couple of mice.

- Mr. Welles doesn't have all the answers, you know.

- We no longer even discuss the questions.

I see nobody.

- But you shall, I promise you.

To begin with, Sir Edwin is coming to our party.

- Oh good.

- I'm sure you'll like him.

- I mean to, if you do.

- He's an incredibly understanding man.

Elegant and wise and oh, man of the world.

- Don't frighten me.

- Oh, you couldn't be frightened of Edwin.

He's asked me to drop the sir, by the way.

- Lawrence, I was thinking,

if we had a little motor-car.

[laughs]

- You mean Thomas was thinking

if we had a little motor-car.

We cannot afford it.

- Perhaps Papa.

After all, my allowance is not ungenerous,

and I may spend it how I like.

- But they're such beastly, vulgar things.

- Do you think so?

- Oh, don't you?

- Oh, Thomas,

Mr. Kirbridge and I were just discussing motor cars.

Do you know something about them?

- Many fashionable people consider them amusing, marm.

- Really?

- Yes, I daresay we'll see one or two

roll up for the soiree next week.

- I'm sure Sir Edwin has one.

- Oh, perhaps, I don't know.

He's a very rich man.

- We're not exactly paupers, darling.

- If I might add, sir,

there's a saving on railway fares,

and you're free to go where you like, when you like.

- If you like.

Provided the beastly thing doesn't break down on the way.

- Oh, they're getting more reliable every year, sir.

A friend of mine who deals in them

was showing me this little Dennis Tourer the other day,

sir, 18 horsepower.

- 18 horsepower.

Fancy!

- You seem to be becoming a very knowledgeable mechanic,

all of a sudden, Elizabeth.

- Lawrence, anyone can imagine horsepower.

It's the most evocative phrase.

As I would expect you to appreciate.

- Well I appreciate the fact that horses don't puncture.

- Horses need a great deal of care, sir.

- And you can't pretend they don't smell.

- Well, it's a more natural smell than petrol gas.

- But hardly more attractive.

- It's the uh,

the coming thing, I'm afraid, sir.

In a few years time,

nobody'll remember how to harness a horse.

Why, there's already as many motor-buses as horse-buses,

motor taxis as hansoms,

only three years ago there was only two in the whole

of London, sir,

I mean you'd think the tram or the tube

will have taken over.

- Yes.

Yes, thank you, Thomas.

- Yes sir.

- I should like a motor-car, Lawrence.

- That will be all, Thomas.

- And I shall pay for it out of my own allowance,

I know father will advance me what I need.

- Thomas.

- And Thomas will make an excellent chauffeur.

- Oh, only to oblige, marm.

- If I wanted a chauffeur, I'd have advertised for one.

- Very sorry, sir, only thinking for the best.

And it'd do Mrs. Kirbridge good to get out

and about sir.

- I cannot fight a conspiracy.

Alright.

Let her have her toys.

[honks]

[honks]

- My turn!

- What was that, marm?

- My turn to drive!

- You think you can do it, marm?

- Of course, I've been studying your every move.

That little pedal makes it go.

You do funny things with that little stick.

- Little stick, that's the gear lever, yes marm.

- But I can almost hear the point of it.

And when the seems fit to burst it's sides,

you dab on this little thing with your foot.

- Clutch.

- And give the little stick a jerk,

and the whole thing quiets down

as if it had had a dose of smelling salts.

- Yes, well, it's not a very mechanical

description, is it marm?

- Come on, change over!

- Now look marm, whatever would the master say?

- The master won't know.

- Now when I turn her over,

push that little lever forward, right?

- Right.

[motor starts]

- Now you want to go careful, marm,

cause you've got the power of 18 horses under there, see?

- Stunning!

Now, what do I do first?

- Right, foot on the clutch,

all the way down,

now then, into first gear,

with the gear lever.

That's it.

And foot off the clutch, now, there you are, you see?

Slowly!

Sorry!

- I just need to master the steering.

Such a little movement makes it go such a long way.

- Yes, yes, marm.

- Are you alright, Thomas?

You weren't nervous were you?

Oh, I thought it was exhilarating.

- Exhilarating.

Yes.

Oh yes, that's the word.

It'll be a flying machine next, I shouldn't wonder.

[laughs]

- So you don't regret leaving Eden Place for a while?

- Oh I'm always happy wherever I'm busy, milady.

- You're a good girl, Rose.

And it's so important for Mrs. Kirbridge

at such a happy time in her life

to have a happy staff round her.

- Yes, Milady.

- Hello Pierce, I'm late!

Her Ladyship's not been ten minutes, Mrs. Kirbridge.

- Good!

What do you think of my new motor-car?

- Very handle little conveyance, Ma'am!

- Goes like the wind!

- Ah.

- Oh, that'll be Mrs. Kirbridge now, Milady.

Would you excuse me while I answer the door?

- Yes, Rose.

- Mama!

What a lovely surprise!

I shan't be two minutes,

I must just remove these things,

I'm covered in dust.

- You look like a Valkyrie.

- I shan't be long.

Rose!

Oh Rose, come help me off with this armor

and ask Thomas to bring the kettle.

- Thomas,

you're to take the kettle up to the drawing room!

[door slams]

- Excuse my attire, Milady.

Mrs. Kirbridge has just been for a drive.

- That's alright.

Thomas, isn't it.

- Yes, Milady.

- How was the drive?

- Oh, very satisfactory, Milady.

Though, not I dare say, so smooth as the Renault.

- Oh, you think highly of the Renault?

- Oh, it's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

- Would you put it above an English model?

- Well, we're catching up, Milady,

but there's no denying the foreigners lead the way.

- But you advised Mrs. Kirbridge to buy a Dennis,

I believe.

- Oh, well, because it's a first-rate little tool,

Milady, it's well-adapted to the usage Mrs. Kirbridge

had in mind.

- But a Renault is something different?

- The Renault?

A Renault is a princess, Milady.

It should be handled with love and reverence.

- It's a pity Pierce can't hear you.

He drives it as if it were a team of horses.

And unfortunately a tired carburetor will not respond

to the whip.

- Your ladyship obviously has a great feeling

for the internal combustion engine.

- Oh, not so much.

- Mrs. Kirbridge, too.

- Oh has Mrs. Kirbridge...

- Mrs. Kirbridge will make an excellent mechanic.

- Oh, Thomas, that was wonderful!

- It's done you good, Marm.

- Darling, I hear you've been risking life and limb.

- It was exhilarating.

And quite safe, with Thomas.

- Oh, kitchen fire needs coals.

What's up with you?

Look like you've seen a vision.

- I have.

- Go on, where?

- It's parked outside the front door.

- Oh, you and your blooming motor-cars.

Why can't you be satisfied with the one you've got.

- Oh, that perambulator?

- Oh, look at you.

It was the last word on wheels this mornin'.

- Never heard of divine discontent, Rose?

- What's that?

- Plenty of scope in a place like that.

- Good evening, sir.

- Good evening.

- Edwin!

You found us then in our little suburban hideaway.

- My chauffeur has a nose like a compass.

- Well there's beer for him at the Green Man.

- I daresay he'll locate that too at the moment.

He's engaged in a delicate stabling maneuver.

It's like a motor-show out there.

- Yes, alas, single-handedly

I've been unable to stem the tide of progress.

- Now, Lawrence my dear,

you mustn't become an old Whig.

William Morris is dead, it's no longer de rigeur

to weave our own winding sheets.

Herbert!

Nice to see you.

Charlie, heart, how's your poor mother?

Oh, God, really?

Thompkins!

Good to see a man of your taste

patronizing the avant garde.

I shall renew my subscription to the Morning Post tomorrow.

Oh, thank you my dear.

- As yet, poetry has not come to grips

with the ordinary life of the working classes, but...

Excuse me.

- Elizabeth, let me introduce my friend and publisher,

Sir Edwin Partridge.

- And not only Lawrence's friend, I hope, Mrs. Kirbridge.

- It was good of you to come, Sir Edwin.

- No, no, Edwin.

Please, if you can bear it.

I think the reason most children howl at their christening

is they can't bear the names they've been given,

don't you?

[all laugh]

Although I'd be very surprised to hear

that you misbehaved at yours.

Elizabeth suits you perfectly.

- Thank you.

- And please, don't think I'm one of those boring

men who can't meet a woman without paying a compliment.

I am the plain dealer to my very soul,

and when I say Lawrence is one of the brightest

new poets since Bridges and his wife a vision

of loveliness, please understand

I am being no more than crudely factual.

- You overwhelm us, Sir Edwin.

- No, no, Edwin, I insist.

Or, you must invent a name for me.

Hm?

Invented names are all the fashion.

To be even plainer with you, Elizabeth,

I owe my knighthood to the fact

that I lent the liberal party a large printing press

before the last election,

it has no pedigree at all.

But it's useful for impressing head waiters.

[laughs]

Um, Lawrence, far be it for me to deny myself

your company, but I think the more you accommodate

brother Thompkins, the better to my sales

and your royalties.

- You see, I told you he had our interests at heart.

- Evidently.

- Yes.

Shall we sit this one out, Elizabeth?

- Why not?

- You seem to be the lone woman

in a sea of masculinity.

- I'm afraid so, wasn't my idea.

- There are women writers, of course,

but they generally turn out to be governesses

or spinster companions

or dull company of some sort.

- What about Mrs. Browning?

- Oh, what indeed?

- The Brontes.

- Oh, yes, I was thinking of poets.

- Emma L?

- Yes, the exception to every rule, yes.

Don't you uh,

don't you find hers a very masculine talent, Elizabeth?

- I admit no difference between the sexes

in matters of talent.

- Do you?

Oh, you surprise me.

I find the greatest charm is in their difference.

Now please don't misunderstand me.

I'm in no sense undervaluing the woman's role in life

and affairs.

Hm, no.

Without women, I doubt if we men

would do any of the things we do.

Govern, make wars, build, write, compose, no, no, no.

Woman is the lodestar to whom man in his darkness turns.

Where would Lawrence's verse be without you?

- Pretty much where it was before he met me, I expect.

- Oh, no.

You undervalue yourself, Elizabeth.

The poems he's written since his honeymoon

show an entirely new depth, don't you agree?

- I.

- Well?

- I didn't know he'd written any.

- Oh.

He hasn't shown them to you.

- No.

- Well, one can understand that,

when one is fishing in one's troubled soul.

There it is.

You bear a great responsibility, Elizabeth,

like Dante's Beatrice or Shakespeare's dark lady.

- They were not married.

I fear the wife has to be content with the second respite.

- Oh, witty!

How could he fail to marry you, poor chap,

when you pile wit and knowledge on top of beauty?

- Here, who's he?

- Sir Edwin Partridge, the master's publisher.

- I think he's lovely.

- Aye, well he's an old fox.

You take Rose, he'll have your chickens

if you're not careful.

- Oh, you're all wicked.

- Aye, so is he, you mark my words.

[party noise and piano]

- Give us a little Debussy, Marcus.

- Oh, rot that modernistic stuff,

let's have the Merry Widow Waltz.

[laughs]

[piano music]

- No, no, such seductiveness as yours

is sheer cruelty to poets, Elizabeth.

And ought to be put down by an act of Parliament.

- I don't care much for being teased, Sir Edwin.

And I'm afraid light banter is not my forte,

I shall bore you.

Excuse me.

- Mine neither, Elizabeth.

It's a performance I've acquired

to compensate for a hideous bashfulness.

Beneath the peacock is a partridge

and a very humble one.

If I let him out too often, he'll be shot.

Try to understand.

And tell me about Vienna.

- Vienna is glorious, but somehow.

You will think me very earnest.

- Somehow poised for a decline.

There's a smell of death in the air.

- Something like that.

How did you know?

- I was there last season.

- You felt it too?

- What sensitive person could fail to?

- I don't think Lawrence did?

- Ah, Lawrence, no doubt, had other preoccupations,

interior ones.

- Does he tell you about his preoccupations?

- He doesn't need to.

He speaks in his verse.

Isn't this an atrocious melody?

No lean meat, only fat, it sums up our year, I'm afraid.

Confess, you didn't expect me to be a critic of the age.

- No.

- You must learn to ignore appearances, Elizabeth.

Your honest Iago is very often Iago.

And your fool may be as wise as Lear is.

Now please, say something,

to stop me talking so much.

With a woman of your character,

I'm always afraid of making an idiot of myself.

- Are you going to give us a foretaste

of these new verses.

- When I've had a few more of these.

[laugh]

- We're gonna need the [inaudible] another

wedding breakfast before this night's out, Rose.

- I've never known such a thirsty lot.

- Ah, well, they're artists, you see.

They see life true,

so they can't face it sober.

- Miss Lizzy's already had more than is good for her.

I never known her so tiddly.

- Yeah, the Master ought to take more care of her.

I'd allow no man to flirt with my wife

under my very nose.

There you are, that's the next installment of gaiety.

Hang on, hang on a minute.

Oughtta taste it first,

make sure it's not corked.

♪ Over and over

♪ Quick to fly

♪ Over and over quick

- Sh, sh, sh, sh, lady present.

- Lady present and preoccupied.

Sir Edwin seems to be in love [inaudible] your wife,

Lawrence.

- Oh, they both have an excellent taste in people.

- It's all in dreamy white porcelain.

Head of a child,

it's the divinest thing you ever saw.

I fell in love with it,

so lovely Lawrence bought it for me.

Hello, lovely Lawrence.

- Lawrence my dear, come and join us.

Elizabeth was just telling me

of a piece of Capodimonte you picked up in Vienna.

- Picked up, yes, that's rather an understatement.

- It's too heavenly.

I've discovered Sir Edwin is a connoisseur of porcelain.

- Sir Edwin's a connoisseur of everything.

- I should simply adore to see it.

- Unfortunately, it's in our bedroom,

and I hardly dare to fetch it down here.

- Come my children, lead me the way,

I have not come all the way to Greenwich

to be denied the sight of a piece of Capodimonte.

- Lawrence could show you.

- No, no, I must have it displayed by its owner.

Lawrence, like so many poets, has no visual sense at all.

Isn't it sad how an overdevelopment of one sense

can so often lead to an undernourishment of another?

Did you know that Swinburne was tone deaf?

But that is where we connoisseurs come into our own.

All our sensibilities are equally well-nourished.

- Thomas, keep the champagne in circulation,

I shall be back directly.

- Yes sir.

- There.

- Oh.

May I touch?

- Of course.

- Oh, it's exquisite.

But I think a Bernard Cavalier, almost certainly,

you know.

It's innocence takes one's breath away.

Eh, Lawrence?

- Oh, Lawrence doesn't like children.

- Heaven lies about us in our infancy, Lawrence.

- I don't disapprove of childhood, only children.

- That's beautiful.

I, I almost feel,

Elizabeth, don't you sometimes think,

in the half-light?

- How could you guess?

- Oh, what an exquisite dream

for an exquisite dreamer.

- Why suffer still more muddy birth,

each pululating spring,

why water so the turning earth,

while peasants stamp and sing?

Let's close the book of life,

he said, let lovers breed no more.

Let's laugh until we all are dead,

and lie on caerwyn's shore.

[applause]

- Encore, peace, peace.

- If you want any more, you'll have to buy the book.

- What'd you think of them Mr. Thompkins?

- Too gloomy, negative, won't do.

- I thought they had a pleasant swing to them.

- So does the hangman's rope.

[laughter]

- Very glad you could drop by.

Goodbye.

- Bye, bye.

- Oh, my dear chap, you're not going too?

- Time's winged chariot, old man.

Herbert, race you back to London-town.

- You're on for twenty.

- Done!

- I haven't said goodbye to your wife.

- She was feeling rather tired,

uh, she begged to be excused.

- The boy has a new voice, Thompkins,

don't you agree?

- It may be new.

- Now, now, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,

don't go wrong about this one.

Remember posterity always has the last laugh.

- When's he coming out?

- In time for Christmas, I hope.

- Goodbye.

- Goodnight, Kirbdrige.

- Bye Mr. Thompkins.

- Interesting, interesting.

- Thank you, Lawrence, for a delightful evening.

And please thank Elizabeth, too.

A woman of exquisite sensibility, Lawrence.

You are to be envied.

- Am I, Edwin?

- Be tender.

Be gentle.

Be tolerant.

- That sounds like a poem.

- Life is a poem, Lawrence.

That is my credo.

Goodnight, my dear.

- Goodnight.

- Oh, my feet are killing me.

I feel as if I've walked to land's end and back again.

Do you fancy a cup of cocoa?

- After champagne?

- Oh, I do.

Don't suppose I could persuade you

to put the milk on the hob?

- No.

- Oh, that's nice.

Still, I don't suppose I should have expected

a gentleman's gentleman to demean himself.

You've gone quiet all of a sudden.

- Aye, well there's been enough babble in this house

to last a week in Babylon.

I'm not jokin'!

Your precious mistress!

- Well, what about her?

- Never you mind.

I got my eyes open, at any rate.

- What you on about?

- Our respected employers.

- What about them?

- They're like a couple of children, playing with fire.

- Cause they drank a lot of champagne

and spoke some rhymes out loud?

- You're too innocent, Rose.

- Pooh.

It's half past five.

Half past one.

We've got to get up at half past five.

Hardly seems worth what going to bed.

- I think they'll lie in tomorrow, Rose.

- If wishes were horses.

- Ask young Lawrence to lay out my dark suit, will you?

I'm going to his funeral.

- Your funeral, more like.

Ey, you might wait til I've gone to bed.

- Good servants shouldn't see such things, Rose.

- Wait a tick.

I'll take me cocoa up with me.

- Rose!

- What?

- Do you want to be a servant all your life, love?

- I never thought about it.

- You got no ambition.

- I got a good enough place.

- If only you had a bit of ambition, Rose.

You're not a bad looker,

if you let your hair down.

I seen worse in the corners in the corners of the Empire.

- Yeah, you mind your manners.

- Don't you like me just a little bit, Rose?

- As long as we've got to work together.

- I don't fancy lingering much longer in this place,

and that's a fact.

- Whyever not?

- There are places and places.

We ought to mind our differences.

- You explain yourself Tom Watkins,

you explain what you mean.

- Them as has ears to hear,

let 'em hear.

Goodnight, Rose.

- I don't understand you.

- Well give us a kiss, then.

- Not sure I want to.

- It'll take stronger than you

to hold my ropes, love.

- Oh!

[marching music]