All language subtitles for Upstairs Downstairs (S01E02) The Mistress and the Maids AMZN H.264 (moviesbyrizzo)

(lively music)

- Good.

So...

Now, if...

if you would stand
over here again,

and put the famous chair
in the fireplace, yes,

and drape to the cloth
as it won't pinch you.

Or, uh, more languorous, hmm?

- Oh, yes, please.

- Question of getting
the right pose, you see.

- Mm-hmm.

- And making these quick
sketches to brood on.

Then having selected the one,

getting it down with
the passion.

- Quite.

- I've no time for Sergeant's
method of

painting a face a dozen
different ways, and then

cutting back to the first one.

- Isn't the ear of the
jaw line a little angular?

Well, I see what you're
getting at.

It's very strong, of course.

- No, I don't want
you drawn soft

to flatter him, Lady Marjorie.

Well, as I see you as a woman
of personality, decision.

Strong loyalty, even.

- (chuckles) You're entitled
to your opinion, Scone.

(Mr. Scone laughs)

- Shall we turn him out?

Husbands are a great
trial to artists.

They look on their wives
as possessions,

and the portrait as a
kind of display case.

- And wives, Mr. Scone?

(Mr. Scone laughs)

- 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, if I saw
your husband as a lily

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

- Send for the police,
I should think (laughs).

- I just got back,

could you turn this way for me.

I've just come back from Paris.

Where there's an exhibition
of Sebastian, French painting,

which you really
must try and see

next time you're over there.

-[Ralph] And what shall
I see, Mr. Scone?

- Life and colors you've
never seen before.

I sent my cousin, young
John Strack Ken,

over to buy a Degas for that

drafty seat of those
in Perkshire.

But the fool brought one of
them, Renoir's lush pieces.

He said the Dowager
wouldn't have a servant

hanging in the drawing
room (laughs).

- That old Lady Abercraven?

- Yes, my own sainted aunt.

Head this way a little.

-[Ralph] You'll be going up
to Abercraven for the 12th?

- My dear Bellamy,
since I ran a,

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.

- Oh.

- Besides, the destruction
of small birds

doesn't really interest me.

Yes.

Now, how shall we close
the portrait, huh?

- Would you like me--

- My dear Lady Marjorie,

an artist and a woman
would never agree

on such a delicate matter.

Besides, an artists
vision is quite different

from that of a lady of fashion.

Will you join me in an
honorable 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 favored dresses,

and have them sent around to
me to examine for texture.

Something light and
frothy, perhaps.

But leave the final
decision to me.

- Yes, certainly.

- There.

Wouldn't you call that
an honorable 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.

-[Ralph ] Oh, good.

Then you'll begin the painting?

- Tomorrow afternoon.

- Capital.

Ah, 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 walk back to my
studio across the park.

Till tomorrow, then.

And you, you won't
forget the dresses?

- They'll shall be sent
around this afternoon.

And I'll expect you here
tomorrow at 3 o'clock?

- My lady.

Lady Marjorie, and Mr. Bellamy.

- Well?

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

- He's an exciting
painter, Richard.

- Oh, that I don't doubt,

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

- I find his conversation very
interesting and stimulating.

- Rather you than me, I don't
have to listen him all day.

Well, I must go.

Now, uh,

dinner at 8:30, I believe
and a white waistcoat?

- Yes, and you won't
be late, will you?

The Sethels are coming.

- I will not be late.

And if that talkative
fellow does not do justice

to my wife's beauty I shall.

- What will you do?

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

(laughs)

(knock on door)

- Entrée.

(knock on door)

Come in, damn you.

What the devil.

- He said to bring
these on up, sir.

- He?

- The tall chap downstairs.

- My servant, my servant,

why didn't he bring
them up himself?

What are they, anyway?

- Lady Marjorie Bellamy's
dresses, sir.

- Oh.

- Will 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 out, come on.

Hold it up.

Dyesh, looks like a dust sheet.

Next.

(humming)

Ah, the simple milkmaid.

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

It never works over 40.

While will they never learn?

- Ohh, come off it!

She never suppose you're
lookin' for her age.

- But a tyrant underneath,
are they, huh?

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

- What about the butler,
is he with you?

- Pooh, I'd like to see him try.

(Mr. Scone laughs)

- No.

But you're afraid of him.

- I'm not afraid of no one.

He's not bad really.

He gives us a hour shop every
week, and much more than most.

- When is yours?

- Wednesdays.

- What do they pay you?

- Mind your own business.

- £10 a year and a bed
in the basement.

- No, old clever, it
is 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 get a bit
of money together,

we're going up in a
boarding house in Brighton.

- No!

Next.

- Uh, you'd better
fancy this one.

-[Mr. Scone] Yes, put
it on, put it on.

- Because it's the last.

-[Mr. Scone] My word.

Come over here.

Ah.

Now, look.

Will you bury all that beauty

in a boarding house in Brighton?

- Yes.

I want a fancy Brighton.

Bowls at the pavilion,

and a gentleman to hand me
after my bathing machine

into the water,

and perhaps, a drive along
the front in a motor car.

- Hmm.

He's talking a now they
let you girls read.

He's never been to Brighton.

- Aw.

Me thoughts 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.

- I've been to South End.

- Rose!

Rose.

- Wherever have you been,

you've only got five
minutes to change.

It's time to set
drawing room tea.

- Rose, I've got a letter.

Look, it says by hand.

I managed to read
that much myself.

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 write is 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 did you get it then?

- Rose, I was coming
down the *idean 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?

- Yeah, just like that.

Well, don't you believe me?

But go on open it, maybe
it'll show who it's from.

What's it say?

- If this is one of your games.

Who would you get to
write if for you, then?

Same person as 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 cut
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 seven.

"The cabbie will
bring you to me.

"Ask no questions."

- Who's it from?

- It's signed, "An admirer."

- Where?

- There!

- Ad-mirer.

-[Rose] And 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, French woman.

He's laughing at you.

- He shouldn't even
laugh really, isn't it?

Oh, I won't sleep tonight.

I wonder who it's gonna
turn out to be.

- You're not going.

- Why not?

- Gentlemen don't make
assignations with house maids

for the charm of their
conversation, you know.

- An assignations!

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
are 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 a morgue.

- Don't.

You make me feel all funny.

- How can you bear
anyone pulling you about?

- Aw, it's only you
says he will.

If he's a gentleman--

- If he's a gentleman,
he'll pull you about.

Sarah, don't go.

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

- Yes, if'n he gets you tipsy?

- Yeah, that's right,
I'm bubbly.

(door closes)

Very refreshing, I must say.

What's that bed doing there?

It wasn't there before.

- For models, posing.

Sometimes I use it myself.

- 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.

- Hah, cousin to an earl.

- Ooh, and I'm bobbing away.

- It's true!

- Prove it!

- I'm not going to parade
my family tree

for your inspection, ha, ha.

Well, go on.

Off you go.

Finish your champagne.

Back home to Rose.

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

Of course, you won't
have much to tell,

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

- Look, is your cousin
really an earl?

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.

Umm, a consummate artist.

- Are you a consummate artist?

- Of course.

- Well, you look healthy
enough to me.

(Mr. Scone laughs)

(sighs)

What's your Christian name?

- I never use it.

Everybody calls me Scone.

- Scone?

Scone is 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!

-[Mr. Scone] Uh-huh.

- You mean like Lady Marjorie?

- That's right.

- Why?

- Your face.

It interests me.

- My face?

- Uh-huh.

- Uh, would I be hung
up on the wall

for everybody to look at?

-[Mr. Scone] 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.

- Right 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.

That's it.

- No, don't touch me!

Lady Marjorie never takes
her clothes off.

- Now, there you are.

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.

- Here--

-[Mr. Scone] Be still!

(bedroom door opens)

- I thought you'd be asleep.

- You told me to wait up.

- You'll be ever so tired
in the morning.

Whatcha reading?

- The Dark in the Eagles Nest.

- Not the bible?

- It's by Charlotte M. Young.

- Is it a tapany novelette?

Um, my friend said that
all servant girls

read tapany novelettes.

But aren't you gonna
ask me what happened?

- It's your life.

- Yes, but half the fun
is telling you, Rosie.

- Is it?

- I've done nothing wicked.

- Come here.

Breathe.

(blowing breath)

You've been drinking,
haven't you?

- Champagne!

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

The nectar of the gods.

The milk of Bacchus.

- Shh, you'll wake Alfred.

- Aw, 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 in oil.

He thinks I'm beautiful.

- Ho, ho, ho, paint you?

- He wanted the offer,
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?

- Aw, Rose, you see, he's
been in Paris all this while,

but all the artists have
their mistresses smuggles,

and they go on painting
until they become famous.

I told him all about you

and how we share this
room together.

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 a cousin to an earl.

He thinks I'm beautiful,
isn't that 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 is just an
excuse to keep 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 myself.

I'm not used to it.

Rose, he rather than go walking
on the street 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.

- Rose?

- Yeah.

- Am I beautiful?

- Go to sleep, Sarah.

(dramatic music)

- Hand down a little.

All right.

Now, hold it perfectly still.

- It's worse than
dining at Windsor.

(Mr. Scone laughs)

- Light is 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 soufé.

Yes, sunset.

That's your moment.

- Are you a poet as
well as a painter?

- 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.

- You get to know your
subjects that well

simply by painting them?

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

- Oh, that's not
very flattering.

Women like to be known
for themselves.

- 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

to give our chosen impression.

-[Lady Marjorie]
And the painter?

- Rearranges them to give his.

- Ah, but supposing he's wrong?

- Huh, he can't be.

It's his.

The product of a trained
mind and eye.

- Is that what you
friend's are trying to do

in those French paintings
you want me to see?

- 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 colorful moments.

- And morality?

- Largely hypocrisy.

- You know, you talk
more like a Fabian.

- I'm the nephew of the
Countess of Abercraven, hmm?

Would you take up the
pose, just a little?

- Sorry.

-[Mr. Scone] Thank you.

Head up, this way.

- Now, I'm a little frightened

of what your picture may show.

Of what you see.

- Good.

We'll keep the mask
dropped a little.

(door opens)

There, we shall be left
alone no longer.

- Shall I draw the
curtains, my lady?

-[Lady Marjorie] Mr. Scone?

- Yeah.

-[Lady Marjorie] Yes,
Sarah, you may.

-[Mr. Scone] Vous pouvez
vous, Madame?

Thank you, Lady.

The bright day is done.

-[Lady Marjorie] Hurrah
for the dark.

You'll stay for tea?

- If I may, yes.

All right, you can have a rest.

(stretching and yawning)

- Scone?

- Hmm?

- Will you bring me
some champagne?

- Very good, my lady (laughs).

(Sarah giggles)

- To the divine Sarah (toast).

- The divine Sarah.

(Sarah hums)

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

Here.

You feel I got nice legs?

- What are you up to now, hmm?

What dream world are you
concocting for yourself,

you little fantasist?

- What's a fantasist?

-[Mr. Scone] Someone who
lives on airy nothings

on tomorrows that never come.

- Yes!

Airy nothing, and
tomorrows that never come.

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

My noble earl of tomorrows
will never bloody comes.

For he is the father
of my luckless child.

My wild seducer.

And it is my Lord
Tomorrow's fault

that I'm cast out into the storm

in my rags and tatters.

Cold and, aw!

I dropped the baby.

There, there, child.

Do not cry.

You are unharmed.

- All right, Madame
Bernhardt (slap).

- Aw!

- That will do.

- Is that my applause, Valou?

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

Now, come on.

- I saw one of them
varmints at the Lyceum once.

There was this lord, and he--

- And keep your mouth shut.

(Mr. Scone hums)

What about the boarding
house in Brighton?

I asked you a question.

You can move your mouth now.

- Thank you.

-[Mr. Scone] Well?

- I don't know, Rose rarely
talks to me nowadays.

She don't like me coming
here with you.

(Mr. Scone laughs)

- 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.

-[Mr. Scone] Do you
think I should?

- Models get paid.

-[Mr. Scone] So do prostitutes.

- Here, you!

- What do you think your worth?

- Aw, 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, hm?

- You should know what a
French girl would like.

- 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 on
Bishop's Gate Street.

That's within reason.

-[Mr. Scone] Moving pictures?

- Yeah!

Alfred went once
on his night off,

and he told us all about it.

They're real people.

Not painting and still,
but moving and

motorcars in all seasons.

The King, himself.

- I know.

- Have you been?

Well, take me.

You promised.

- Then what is so exciting

about a series of
flickering shapes?

- Because they're real!

They happen just like that.

Nobody made them up.

They're true!

- And what about art?

- Aw, art is all right for
those than can afford it, but

it's not true, is it?

- Naw.

Well, I'll tell you something.

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

They've betrayed art.

All the academicians that
have spent a lifetime

painting a chair so exact that
you could almost sit on it,

and now they take sixty
pictures first

to make sure to get
every angle, right?

They are destroying artistic
imagination.

Do you know what will happen?

We will be so sickened
by these pictures

of eight 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.

- Um, get ready.

- Are we going?

- Who am I to stop the
march of civilization?

Allons.

- Pardon.

- Au Bioscope.
- Huh?

- Get dressed!

- Oh, we're going!

- Yes.

Come 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 (door closes).

- 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, where would you like us
to stand for the unveiling?

- Oh, just there, I think.

I must admit to

feeling a little like a
conjuring uncle at a birthday
party.

Well, here goes.

Abracadabra.

- Oh, Richard, say you like it.

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

It takes a little
getting used to.

It's almost glowing.

Tawnid (laughs).

Is that the word?

Makes you look a bit
of a wild cat (laughs).

It's certainly unusual.

Distinguished, in a way.

It does grow on one.

Is your hair really that color?

- I think so.

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

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

- Oh, Richard, that's
the new brush work.

Mr. Scone will think
us such philistines.

- Lady Marjorie, I'm afraid
you won't convert your husband

to the new impressionist.

- 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.

- To borrow it?

- If I may, yes.

I would like to submit it
to the hanging committee

at the Royal Academy.

- The Academy?

Aren't they rather more
traditional in their
requirements?

- Well, I think if you
leave that to me,

it can be arranged.

I guarantee a safe
return, of course.

- Yes, Richard, I think
it's a wonderful idea.

- Here!

- Artistic license.

- Piggy thought.

- 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.

- Ah, there's all my things.

I leave them lying around.

Rose hangs hers up.

She's the tidy one.

- I know.

- If you don't mind me
mentioning, but here,

there should be a little
plaque with,

To Work is to Play,
written on it.

- Ah, To Work is, yes.

- Whatcha gonna call it?

- The Maids.

- That's not very
romantic, is it?

Why don't you call it
something nice like,

Waiting for Dawn, or
something like that?

- Uh-uhh.

- Well, other pictures
have titles like that.

- Well, they have other
artists, too.

- Whatcha gonna do with it now?

- Sell it.

- Sell me and Rose?

- Uh-huh.

- 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.

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!

- What!

Now, wait a minute.

- I wouldn't be your mistress

if you were the last
man on earth!

But you might have
bleeding asked me!

- (laughs) Please, stop it!
- It's bloody decent!

What are you laughing for?

- You and your idea of decency.

- Oh, bloody pig--

- (laughing) No, stop it!

You'd better (kiss).

That's not shocking,
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 singing in the hallway)

- I don't know what
the world is coming to.

- What's that, Mr. Hudson?

- House of Commons, the
Sunderloon Centerfold

were transferred to
Middlesborough for 1,000 pounds.

No footballer is worth
that amount of money.

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

- What is it to be, Mr. Hudson?

- I didn't ask for your
opinion, Sarah.

Now, back up and
clear the table.

(Sarah continues
to sing and hum)

Great heavens!

Sarah, what have you done?

- What do you mean?

I haven't done nothing,
Mr. Hudson.

(bell rings)

(gasp) That's today's paper.

- Burn it at once in the kitchen
range, do you understand?

And nobody must see it.

Burn it!

-[Sarah] What's the matter?

- 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?

- Eh, not come yet, sir.

- It would be late this morning
when I especially wanted it.

- I shall send someone
around to enquire

just as soon as convenient, sir.

- Tell the news agent I'll
get my papers elsewhere

if they can't deliver on time.

- Very good, sir.

- And remind her ladyship
to meet me

at the Academy entrance at 4:30.

It should be quite an
interesting afternoon, eh,
Hudson?

- Uh, 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.

(door closes)

Now then, just you look at that.

- Oh, 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'd been taught to read.

Read what it says out loud.

- No, the print's too small.

Picture's 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 Geoffrey Skawn".

- Pronounced Scoon.

- Shut up!

- "Artist nephew of the
Countess of Abercraven,

"hung side by side in
fascinating counterpoint,

"The Mistress and the Maids",

"as this 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. Geoffrey Skawn referred
our reporter

"to the servant's quarters
at 165 Eaton Place."

- What a cheek.

- How did than man get up
to maid's quarters, eh?

What has been going on
behind my back, girl?

- He was here every afternoon
painting Lady Marjorie.

- But not up in the
maid's bedroom?

- No, he was in the
drawing room painting her.

- Now, 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.

I mean, the bed in the studio.

- Now, don't lie, Sarah.

- I'm not, Mr. Hudson.

I went there every Wednesday.

I got up early.

(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 is over.

(door opens)

You mark my words.

- Good old Sarah, you got
your face in the papers.

Fancy.

(indistinct talking)

- Fancy letting him paint this.

- Bellamy must have gone mad
to allow him, he's a linguist!

- It's liberal propaganda.

- Bellamy always did have
an eye for a pretty face.

- A little more than
a pretty face.

- The duchess is having
a field day.

Look out, they've arrived.

-[Man] Who?

-[Man] The Bellamies.

(indistinct talking)

- Go down and talk to them now.

- Very good, sir.

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

- That will be all, Hudson.

- Yes sir.

(door slams shut)

- It's monstrous.

- Yes, it is.

- He 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.

He 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 laughing
stock 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 have behaved so foolishly

leading the new girl astray.

Though 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.

(door closes)

- You're to pack your
trunks tonight

and to be gone in the
morning, the pair of you.

They'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,

but canceled it now.

- It's not fair.

We haven't done nothing wrong.

- Nothing wrong you call it.

Only made this household the
laughing stock of London.

Those are the master's
own wants.

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

I don't know how you
could hurt him.

- 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?

- 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.

That's what you're paid for.

So, I said--

- What?

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

Not like 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 wagon load of monkeys.

- 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 my, my lady, sir.

- Send them away,
please, Richard.

- But, my lady, it
wasn't our fault.

I didn't know he's
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.

Well, I think the're done.

- 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 him, Scone, I mean.

It was all me.

- It's no use, 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.

- Well, I went and
told 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--

- Paris, Paris, who
cares what goes on there?

This is London.

Oh, a gentleman can marry a
chorus girl, that's romantic.

You don't exactly get
it in the papers

if he's carryin'
on with a scivvy.

No, he got what he
wanted from you,

and you was fool enough
to give it to him.

- I never did!

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 out

to be a housekeeper one day.

She wasn't even there,
why should she suffer?

- The survival of the fittest.

- And who are you, Mr. Bleeding
Scone, to decide who's 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 sick.

- Now, now, now,
chit, chit, chit.

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 in the castle.

- I want you to tell
'em the truth.

- What truth?

- They think we let you
come up into our bedroom

and paint us in bed.

(laughing)

What are you laughing for?

- The bourgeois mentality.

So they think I've been
creeping through the little

green beige door up to
the attic, do they?

- Lady Marjorie is
terribly upset.

You shouldn't have
done it to us.

- 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
of 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

when they air's less
damp and clawing.

-[Sarah] Don't go like that.

You can't.

- I am.

Now, go away and leave me alone.

Ugh!

- 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.

Go on!

Would you like a drink?

You may need one.

You have no idea how
bizarre my tastes might be.

(indistinct voices in distance)

- I guess there's
someone coming.

- I know.

(knocking on door)

Go on.

- (knocking on door) Scone!

- Oh, no.

That's all I need.

You'd better get behind
that screen.

You might learn something.

Ah, Bellamy.

-[Ralph] May I come in?

-[Mr. Scone] By all means.

- Now, look here, Scone,

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

- Have you come to challenge
me to a duel?

Walking sticks or paint
brushes at 50 yards.

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

- I 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 will 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.

- And was it necessary to
use my underhouse maid?

- Sarah of the expressive eyes?

- Both girls have got
some cock-and-bull story

about her visiting this studio.

- Well, 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--

- Yes, I do.

Do you think I'm such a poor
artist that I can't imagine

the interior of a
housemaid's attic?

- Are you prepared to
give me your word

that you were never upstairs
in that 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
a junior minister,

a member of the Committee
for Imperial Defense,

had dismissed two of his
servants for no reason at all

except that his wife's
vanity was ruffled.

Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.

The radicals would call
it victimization,

a favorite word of theirs.

I don't think that 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.

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 the studio.

Well, I'll leave you to your,

(clattering)

to your work.

Well, thank you for
receiving me.

- Pleasure.

- Goodnight, Scone.

-[Mr. Scone] Goodnight.

- 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 wished you'd
seen our picture, Rose.

Just once.

We could still go, you know.

It's open to the public.

- Why, you'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 you could come
along when I meet him 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.

- We will go together
someday, Rose.

I'll take you.

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

- Oh, you made it come
all right in the end.

- Aren't men funny?

(lively music)