Original subtitles

SUBTITLING MADE POSSIBLE BY

RLJ ENTERTAINMENT

No, Beatrice,

I have already told you --

Told us, yes.

It is completely

out of the question.

But you haven't even listened

to what we've been saying!

I have listened to more

than enough

of your insolence, my girl!

Please, Father,

she's only trying to explain --

You keep out of this,

Evangeline.

It's my future

that you're discussing!

And there is

nothing more to be said!

That's not fair!

Did you not hear

what I said?!

I will decide what is best

for you, Evangeline,

and that is final!

Do you think we

should apologize?

No, Evie, we have nothing

to apologize for.

But I've never seen him

so angry.

It was a perfectly

reasonable request

which anyone but Father

would at least have considered!

Perhaps breakfast wasn't

the best time to bring it up.

There is no best time

with him, Evie.

He should have sent you to

school in the first place,

instead of finding the cheapest,

most ineffectual governess

in the country!

But you didn't go to school,

either.

I had Mother.

It's what she

would have wanted for you.

I know it is.

If not art school,

somewhere else

where you could mix

with other young people!

- Miss Bea, come quick!

- What?

The master -- he's having

some sort of attack!

There was nothing

I could do about it, Mother.

I'm only his executor.

It was specified

in the will.

A private funeral,

family only,

no hymns, no flowers.

Typical of Henry.

Penny-pinching to the last.

One owes it to other people

to make a splash.

What about his patients?

And his medical friends?

I'm sure Beatrice

and Evangeline are relieved

that it is to be a quiet affair.

Quiet is one thing.

Complete silence

is another.

When I think

of your dear father's funeral.

That was rather different.

Yes.

How many funerals

get into the Tatler?

That might have had

something to do

with the Duke of York

being present.

"Thou knowest, Lord,

the secrets of our hearts.

Shut not thy merciful ears

to our prayer:

but spare us, Lord most holy,

O God most mighty,

O holy and merciful savior,

thou most worthy judge eternal,

suffer us not at our last hour

for any pains of death

to fall from thee.

Forasmuch as it hath pleased

Almighty God of his great mercy

to take unto himself

the soul of our dear brother

here departed:

we therefore commit his body

to the ground..."

It's an admirably simple will,

drawn up by my partner,

rather than myself.

It seemed only proper,

since I'm a relative,

as well as a beneficiary.

Oh?

He's bequeathed to me

his medical library.

Otherwise the entire estate goes

to the two of you --

that is to say,

the house and its contents,

together with all

his investments.

I shall, of course,

have to go into it all

with the bank

and the stockbrokers

before I can tell you

the exact amount involved.

We'll arrange an appointment

at my office in a week or so.

But I think I can safely say

that it'll be

a not inconsiderable sum.

In the meantime, I have made

an arrangement with the bank

to open a temporary account

with overdraft facilities.

You mean we'll be able

to draw out money?

You'll be young ladies

of means.

Oh!

Evie.

Oh, little one.

I'm sorry.

I didn't mean

to wake you.

But I wasn't asleep.

I know he could be strict

with me --

he could be awful --

but I think he meant

for the best.

In spite of everything,

I did love him.

I know.

Here.

There.

I feel so guilty, too.

You?

It was me

you were quarreling about.

Oh, but it could have happened

any time.

The doctor said so!

But perhaps it wouldn't have

happened so soon!

No, Evie, I refuse to feel

guilty, and neither must you.

If he had been a reasonable man,

we could have discussed it

calmly.

I was damned if I

was going to stand by

and watch you waste away

your youth

as I've wasted mine.

Looking after me.

Nonsense!

If I hadn't been born,

Mother might still be alive,

and you wouldn't have been

stuck with me.

No, Evie, you must never

think that.

Having you has been

the one thing

that's made it all worthwhile.

I can't wait to get these

beastly books out of the house.

Arthur is welcome to them.

Do you remember that time

that I pinched one

and learnt all the section

on male anatomy by heart?

I remember

Miss Pilkington's face

when she found your drawings.

Well, made a change

from bowls of fruit.

Isn't it odd?

I know all there is to know

about a man's anatomy,

and absolutely nothing

about men.

Well, you still have time

to learn.

You're not an old maid

like your sister.

30 is not that old, Bea.

It is when half the single men

have been wiped out.

The rest can have the picking.

Was there ever anyone?

There might have been.

Father soon saw him off.

Afraid he'd lose

his unpaid housekeeper.

Was it Philip White?

Mm, I thought so.

I remember him coming around

when we were little.

He played Snakes and Ladders

with us.

I've always hated this room.

Mm, me too.

I used to dread being summoned

here by Father.

It's so dark and drab.

We'll get rid

of all this old furniture

and redecorate it ourselves!

Yes, like we did our room!

I'll think of some ideas.

Something light and sunny.

And we'll have electricity

installed!

That'll please Molly.

And we'll engage another maid

as well.

It's far too much for one,

especially now

we'll be going out more.

I still can't believe

we're going to be

free to do as we wish.

We'll do all the things Mother

would have wanted us to --

travel, theaters,

galleries --

Art school?

Of course!

And a social life that extends

a little further

than Aunt Lydia and Arthur.

It seems awful,

planning our future like this,

when Father's only just --

At least now we have a future

to plan!

Will we truly be able to go

to Paris?

If Nancy Cunard can,

why shouldn't we?

We'll take a room

in the Latin Quarter.

Hobnob with poets

and jazz musicians.

Drink wine and cognac

and black coffee.

And smoke Russian cigarettes.

And wear African bangles.

And while we're about it,

we'll call in on Madame Chanel

at the Rue Cambon.

"Could you give us a few tips

on dressmaking, please?"

It's not just a game

anymore, is it?

We'll actually be able

to do these things.

We certainly will.

Tomorrow we'll go

to the bank.

Look at that cake!

Mother once took me here --

on my 10th birthday.

We'd been

to the National Gallery.

You had tea at Gunter's?

Mm.

Father didn't know,

of course.

He thought we were going

to the dentist.

I shall take you there --

after we've seen Arthur.

It shall be our celebration!

I'm sorry to be

the harbinger of such news

and to have raised your hopes

falsely.

Suffice it to say that it came

as much of a shock

to me and to your aunt

as it has to you.

I don't understand.

Surely there must --

Let me put it in layman's terms,

Evangeline.

It's perfectly simple, Evie --

Father has left us

nothing but the house

and a stack of bills.

I didn't quite say that,

Beatrice.

There are a few hundred pounds

in his deposit account.

Carefully invested,

that should give you each

an annual income of, say, £40.

But there must have been more!

Father was a successful doctor!

Not, alas,

a successful businessman.

It seems he took

bad advice,

speculated on high-risk stocks,

and with the market

so uncertain --

I find that extremely difficult

to believe.

Father was neither a gambler

nor a fool!

Perhaps you didn't know your

father as well as you thought,

Beatrice.

The, uh, bank account

I opened for you will now,

of course, have to be closed.

But what are we going to do?

How will we manage?

It would be unwise

to make any decisions

until the dust has settled.

The situation

is obviously grave.

But rest assured, Evangeline,

as your only male relative

and as your legal guardian --

What did you say?

My guardian?

Oh, didn't I explain?

Your father's will entrusts you

to my care

until you come of age.

What about Bea?

She's my closest relative,

and she's always

looked after me!

On the domestic front, yes,

and an excellent job

she's made of it.

But when it comes to the more

crucial matters of life --

I was not deemed good enough!

Experienced enough.

A young woman like Evangeline

needs a man

to protect her interests.

As Father protected them?

All the time,

he must have known,

and he didn't even warn us!

Perhaps he didn't realize

how much of the money had gone.

Or perhaps he was just

too ashamed to tell us.

Oh, for heaven's sake, Evie!

We can't afford to throw away

money now!

I'm sorry!

I didn't think.

Oh, hell.

Come on.

We'll have our tea

at Gunter's.

Everyone looks so rich.

Perhaps we should ask

the waitress

to put our tea

onto one of their bills.

I don't suppose they'd notice.

Are you sure we have enough,

Bea?

Provided we don't have another

of these and we walk home.

I still can't take it in --

what it will actually mean.

We promised not to talk

about it.

Not now.

Evie, look at that woman

who's just come in.

The one with the hat

like a chamber pot?

No, her friend, who looks

like a cottage gnome.

She can't help the way

she's shaped, poor thing.

Well, she doesn't

have to accentuate it like that.

If she wore something

less fitted,

with simple lines,

I think she'd look

so much better.

Like this, you mean?

Yes...

but perhaps

with a little --

To give it panache.

Brilliant.

Shall we send it over to her?

With the compliments

of the Eliott sisters.

Orders welcome.

Wouldn't it be marvelous?

I suppose there's no point

in dreaming anymore.

We'll obviously

have to help them.

You mean give them money.

They are my cousins,

Mother.

Cousins once removed.

Perhaps a small allowance.

No, Arthur!

Start along that path,

there's no knowing

where it might end.

I suppose if the worst

comes to the worst,

they may have to sell the house.

I doubt we'd find

a buyer.

Well, it is a bit

of a white elephant.

Yes, awkward size,

unfashionable area.

And without electricity.

I did try to persuade

Uncle Henry

to have it installed.

At least that would have been

a safe investment.

Of course,

Evangeline will marry.

She's young and pretty.

And malleable.

But as for Beatrice --

Not a hope!

Apart from everything else,

she has such

a disconcerting manner.

She had to grow up too quickly.

She was always unstable,

even as a small child.

She threw one of my lead

soldiers out of the window!

Surely you don't hold

that against her still?

It spoilt my collection.

Mind you, she did keep house

for her father most efficiently.

Anyone who could manage

on what he gave her

must score some points.

I have it!

Of course!

Why didn't I think of it

before?

Paying guests?

Hand-picked by Aunt Lydia,

of course.

She even had some suitable

people in mind.

Some frightful old memsahibs

from Singapore.

What on earth did you say

to her?

I told her that,

even without money,

we fully intended to make

some sort of life for ourselves

and that our being skivvies

for paying guests

would be unlikely to contribute

much to that life.

Oh, very Lady Astor.

I also told her we fully

intended to look for work.

That was when Arthur

came to the telephone

and started to pontificate

about --

What's the matter?

This is cashmere.

Cashmere?

You're right!

I didn't know Father owned

anything like this.

Nor did I.

It must have cost the Earth!

Where did you find it?

In the dressing room cupboard,

with this suitcase.

Oh, Bea.

Beautiful!

They're silk!

All of them!

Feel!

So all his money didn't go

on high-risk stocks.

Where do you suppose

he wore them?

On his trips to Bournemouth,

I suppose.

No wonder he never let me pack

for him.

But they were just

stuffy old naval conferences.

Not as stuffy as all that --

he obviously found some time

for pleasure.

Imagine Father in these.

He must have looked

quite a dandy.

So much for his lectures

on thrift.

I like to think of him having

a good time every now and then.

I wouldn't grudge him that,

Evie, if he'd ever given us

anything to spend on clothes,

instead of forcing us

to make everything

out of cheap remnants

and improvised tat.

Oh, but it was such fun

making them, wasn't it?

Yes, Evie, but that is not

the point.

May we keep these?

And the dress shirts?

We could do something with them.

It needn't all go to charity,

need it?

No! From now on,

charity begins at home.

Molly, I think it is time

we had a talk.

Is it about me wages?

Or lack of them.

You are aware of the situation

Father has left us in.

Dirty shame, I call it.

Evangeline and I fully intend

to look for work ourselves.

I hope it won't be too long

before we find something.

In the meantime, we will pay you

as much as we can --

Don't you worry, Miss Bea,

I've been thinking.

Perhaps I could take in washing.

Then you won't

have to pay me nothing

till you've got yourselves

fixed up.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

Could you please tell us

which of these papers

have advertisements for jobs?

Chauffeur, chauffeur,

footman, chauffeur.

A lot of people

must be buying cars.

Secretary -- lawyer's office.

Oh, no, male.

Secretary, female.

Shorthand and typing essential.

That's no good.

Plenty of nannies, but they all

insist on experience.

You've gained plenty of

experience looking after me.

Oh, I doubt your recommendation

would count.

Besides, one would

have to live in.

There isn't much work

at all these days.

Now the men are back,

it's mostly for them,

or for people

with qualifications,

like "assistant

to laboratory technician."

Hmm, our education

wasn't quite up to that.

Or "translator

for firm of publishers" --

French, Spanish, all that.

He equipped us for nothing!

Nothing at all!

Bea, don't worry.

We'll find something.

We'll have to.

And soon.

The tradesmen won't let us have

things on tick indefinitely.

"Manicurist required

for gentlemen's barber shop."

Perhaps I could do that.

Evie!

Can you see Aunt Lydia's face?

There it is!

Frank's sister, Pearl,

spotted it,

the one that works at Marshall

in Snellgrove.

"The Danielli Academy requires

young ladies

as dancing partners."

You could do that, Miss Evie.

Do you think so?

You're young and a lady.

Pearl says they only take a very

superior type of person

at Danielli's.

But I've only ever danced

with Bea.

It's just the same

with a real man,

except there's less

to get in the way.

And that was only the waltz

and polka.

They'd expect you to know

all the latest dances,

wouldn't they --

the fox trot --

And the jog trot

and the twinkle.

I've never even heard of those.

Don't you worry.

I can teach you!

Frank and me are demons.

On loan from Pearl.

"The Original Dixieland

Jazz Band."

Head up, Miss Evie.

That's it, you've got it!

I have, haven't I?

Now we do the next bit

we practiced.

- You remember?

- No, show me.

Watch.

- Do you remember now?

- Yes.

Come on, then,

we'll do it together.

Go.

Whoo!

Now, come on, Miss Evie,

hand up.

And leg round.

And up, and kick.

And again.

Whoo!

It won't be like this

with a man, though, will it?

Oh, if he's like Frank,

you'll have no problems.

Whoo! See, it's quite good fun

when you get the hang of it.

There, you picked it up

in no time!

You're a natural-born

Pavlova.

Well, I don't know about that.

But it might be worth going to

see Mr. Danielli.

Don't tell Bea, though.

If I do get the job, I want it

to come as a complete surprise.

What sort of job is it?

Tailor-made.

You remember the Spenser-Ewells?

No, why should you?

General Spenser-Ewell

was a patient

of your uncle Richard's.

Arthur and I

dined with them

the other evening,

and the general mentioned

in passing

that his elderly mother,

who lives in Belgravia,

is looking for a day companion.

Someone reliable

and from a sound background.

I said at once,

"I know the very person."

And up.

And away.

And back.

And back.

Bea! Our troubles are over!

I've found a job!

Where?

At Danielli's Dancing Academy.

Where?

At Danielli's Dancing Academy.

Doing what?

Dancing!

I was chosen

from five other girls,

and I had to do the tango.

Well, say something.

Aren't you pleased?

Well, yes, but it isn't

up to me, is it?

It's absolutely

out of the question, Evangeline.

What sort of reputation

do you think you would get?

A dancing partner

at Danielli's?

But it's a very respectable

dancing academy.

There is no such thing.

Some utter cads

use those places.

What on earth

were you thinking of?

Of earning some money!

Mind you, it's Beatrice I blame.

It wasn't Bea's fault!

She didn't even know I was going

for the interview.

I wanted to surprise her.

It is just as well that

Uncle Henry made you my ward.

The world is full of dangers for

pretty young creatures like you.

I can see that I'm

going to have to keep

a very strict eye on you.

So no more of this nonsense

about Danielli's, please.

I told Mr. Danielli I would be

starting on Monday.

I'll have my clerk draw up

a letter informing him

that you'll not,

after all, be available.

You will make no further contact

with the place yourself.

Is that understood?

I have no choice,

have I?

How are you getting home?

By bus.

I take it Beatrice

will be meeting you?

No, she's gone to see

Mrs. Spenser-Ewell.

Oh, yes.

Well, then,

you'd better take a taxicab.

We can't have you

traveling alone

on public transport, can we?

Oh, and, um --

before you get into the taxi,

be absolutely certain to check

that it has a door handle

on the inside as well as

the outside.

Some, I'm told,

have not.

White slave traffic.

Yes, madam?

I am Beatrice Eliott.

I have an appointment

with Mrs. Spenser-Ewell.

Will you please come in?

Thank you.

Am I supposed to know you?

No, I --

Good.

I can never be sure these days.

I've come about the post

of day companion.

Oh. Yes?

Your son, the general,

is a friend of my aunt's.

Algie, interfering again.

He thinks I'm going batty.

Well, sit down.

Let me have a look at you.

Well, at least you're

a sensible age.

Won't be making cow's eyes

at the footmen.

Oh, it's all right,

don't you worry.

Oh!

Oh!

Can I help?

Oh, yes, please, miss.

If we could just get her home.

Oh! Oh!

Oh!

It was my aunt,

Lady Lydia Eliott,

who recommended me to your son.

Lydia?

Oh, yes, I remember her.

Pretty little creature.

But below the pale.

Wasn't her father in trade?

I have never heard anything

about Aunt Lydia's parents.

I'm not surprised.

Still, a dash of yeoman blood

never harmed any family.

You have good bones.

Thank you.

Like that Sitwell girl.

Extraordinary-looking creature.

Nearly home.

It's ever so good of you, miss.

I'm just glad I was there

to help.

I told her she shouldn't go out.

She only had the baby

four days ago.

Charlie, oi, Mum was taken bad.

Go and fetch Millie!

I'm all right.

I'm --

Oh, Miss Maddox, Miss Maddox?

Here, take her.

Eh, what's going on?

Mrs. Watkins?

I'm all right.

She just collapsed

in the street.

Poor old thing.

I said they should never have

allowed you out of the hospital.

It's a disgrace!

I shall take her down.

This lady here helped us back.

Hello. Penelope Maddox

from the local mission.

That's right, Tilly,

let's get her inside.

I've brought some milk

and provisions,

and there are some baby goods

in my basket.

Do you mind getting them?

Come on, let's get

her out of the weather.

Are you good at reading aloud,

Miss Urcott?

"Eliott."

That is what I said.

I used to read to my sister

when she was small.

Not, I imagine,

Ethel M. Dell?

No.

What would my other duties be,

Mrs. Spenser-Ewell?

Hmm?

Duties...uh...

Helping me through this maze

my mind has become.

Picking up objects

when I drop them.

Pushing me about

in my bath chair

when the weather allows,

and putting up

with my continual complaints.

If you can do all that,

the job is yours.

But if I were you, I wouldn't

touch it with a barge pole.

Need the money, I suppose?

Yes.

Well, think it over.

Let me know by the end

of the week.

And do not say yes unless you

are prepared to see me out.

I hadn't realized

people live like that.

Thousands of them.

The slum clearance will

take till kingdom come.

All those children...

She's had two

in the last 18 months,

as well as a miscarriage.

The war was a rescuer

for women like her.

Seems so dreadful

when they can't afford

to feed or clothe them.

Marie's right, of course.

Birth control's

the only answer.

She's hoping to open

a clinic next year.

Well, that's if

the God-bothering bigots

don't clamp

her in irons first.

The name Marie Stopes

is like a red rag to them.

You know Marie Stopes?

Well, she's

an old family friend.

My parents met her in Japan

studying fossils.

Have you read her book,

"Married Love"?

No.

Well, don't you dare get spiced

until you have.

I'll lend it to you,

if you like.

Sorry, what did you say

her name was?

Penelope Maddox.

She works for a mission

that helps poor people.

And she campaigns

for votes for women.

And she knows Marie Stopes

and Lady Rhondda

and Sidney Webb.

And...she's coming

to tea tomorrow.

Well, you said we needed

a social circle.

So, crux of the matter

is you're on your --

Well, as a matter of fact,

I have been offered a post.

As day companion

to some aged invalid.

No.

Well, you mustn't do that.

That's what I said.

Well, if anyone

has any better suggestions,

beggars can't be choosers.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I know decent jobs

aren't easily come by.

Especially when you've had

no education.

And have a guardian

like Arthur.

Course, I can afford

to do the work I want to unpaid.

One tends to take

it for granted sometimes.

But there must be something

for you, Beatrice.

You don't mind

if I call you Beatrice.

What can you do?

Not much.

Oh, nonsense.

You must be able

to do heaps of things.

She's a marvelous dressmaker.

Oh.

Well, what did you do

in the war?

Were you a nurse?

You're a doctor's daughter.

I did nothing.

Of course, you did, Bea.

She looked after Father and me.

And helped around the house.

And knitted

about a million balaclavas.

Well, the boys were damn glad

of them, I can tell you.

It's freezing out there

at the front.

Were you out there, Penelope?

For awhile.

What did you do?

I drove an ambulance.

How exciting!

Or was it dreadful?

Both.

Have you read

those new poems

by Wilfred Owen?

No.

Well, you must.

They ought to be

compulsory reading.

We must never let

another war happen.

We don't have money

to spend on books.

Well, never mind, I'll lend

it to you, if you like,

along with the Marie Stopes one,

and anything else

you want to borrow.

And I'll keep a look out

for jobs, too.

Thank you.

What are friends for?

Bye!

See you again! Soon!

Bea, I'm just going

to bed now, so...

What are you doing?

Trying to work out

how much these will fetch.

But, Bea, that's Mum's jewelry.

You can't sell those.

The tradesmen

won't wait forever, Evie.

Even if I take the job

at Mrs. Spenser-Ewell's,

I won't be paid at once.

Oh, but, Bea,

I know how much

you treasure these.

We can't afford

to be sentimental.

This is gold.

Should fetch a few pounds.

It's beautiful.

Did Father give it to her?

Father?

When did he ever give her

anything worth having?

Grandfather gave it

to her on her 17th birthday.

You cannot sell that, Bea.

Have you any better ideas?

Well, Penelope

may come up with something.

I wouldn't rely on it.

Besides, we need the money now.

Tomorrow, I have

to do the rounds

and I must pay something

on account.

I'm sure if you asked

the tradesmen,

they would under--

No, Evie.

Not again.

I cannot ask

for any more favors.

It's too humiliating.

I can't tell you how grateful

I am, Mr. Cooper.

I assure you, the rest will be

paid by the end of the month.

Thank you,

Miss Eliott.

Penelope!

Oh, hello there!

I brought you those books

I promised.

Marvelous.

Oh, and I think I may have

found you a job, too,

with my brother, Jack.

Photographer.

Jack Maddox is your brother?

The one who takes

society photographs?

He's good with the old biddies,

but he is totally disorganized.

What will I have to do?

General dogsbody.

Oh, and put up with his moods.

Moods?

He's an only son.

Spoilt rotten.

Love him dearly, though.

You'll have to meet him,

of course,

see if you pass muster.

So, tomorrow morning, 11:00.

There's the address.

Thank you.

Wouldn't it be marvelous

if I got this job?

We could pay off the tradesmen.

And you could say,

"No, thank you,"

to Mrs. Spenser-Ewell.

Now, let's

not jump the gun, Evie.

Even if you do get the job,

you'll still need

Arthur's permission.

He can't not approve.

Jack Maddox has had

photographs of the Queen.

Number 24,

did you say?

Yes.

This must be it.

Come on through!

Mr. Maddox?

Morning.

Who the devil are you?

Our name is Eliott.

Penelope arranged an appointment

for my sister.

Evangeline Eliott.

That's splendidly alliterative.

And you're here to chaperone

her, of course.

Very wise, too.

Far too delectable

to be let loose on her own.

Champagne?

No, thank you.

Hmm. Suit yourself.

Sit down.

So...

you're chums of Penelope's, eh?

She thinks I need

a factotum.

Always organizing people,

old Pen.

Starving hordes,

wayward brothers...

So, tell me, what can you do,

Miss Evangeline Eliott?

Well, I'm --

She used to help our father

in the reception.

By "our father," I take it

you do not mean the deity?

No. He was a doctor.

So, you could make

appointments reliably?

I think so.

- Think or know?

- Know.

Can you type?

With two fingers.

She has extremely neat

handwriting.

Confident on the telephone?

Yes, she is.

Do you...know anything

about cameras?

I'm afraid not.

Few people do.

You any good at telling lies?

Well, I've not really

had much practice.

My sister was not brought up

to tell lies, Mr. Maddox.

Pity. The ability to lie

is essential to the job.

Let me show you.

You see, the women

who come to me

to have their portrait taken

are of a certain age.

This is how

they look.

And this is how

they would like to look.

I perform the miracle.

I've become very successful

and made a lot of women happy

with a few lies.

As my receptionist, you'd

have to back up these lies.

See, they'll ask you, um,

well, "Is it a true likeness?"

And you will have to convince

them that it is,

without so much as murmuring

the word "retouch."

Well, that would only count

as white lies, surely?

As driven snow.

So, to sum up...

On the plus side,

you can type with two fingers,

you can make appointments,

answer the telephone.

And on the minus side...

Hmm.

You drive away

all my old trouts,

and I'll be bankrupt

within a year.

You're much too young

and much too pretty

for the job, Evangeline.

You'd do, though.

You must be mad, Bea!

I would've given anything

for that job!

Nothing on earth would induce me

to work for that odious man!

I liked him.

That was obvious.

I suppose it's because

he's related to Penelope.

You don't like her either,

do you?

Bosh!

Well, if you'd rather work

for Mrs. Spenser-Ewell...

At least I shall know

where I am with her!

But don't you see?

That's the wonderful thing

about Jack Maddox.

Working for him

will never, ever be dull.

Molly?

Can you remember when

you first met Frank?

Oh, should do.

It was only three months ago.

Did you lose your appetite?

No.

Did you lie awake at night?

No.

Go jelly-kneed whenever

you thought of him?

Glory, no!

Isn't that what falling

in love is like?

Sounds more like the flu to me.

Anyway, me and Frank

weren't never what

you'd call lovebirds.

With two million surplus women,

a girl's lucky if she

can nab a man at all.

Love's for those

as can afford it.

Who do we know with a son

that's going a-begging?

For Evangeline.

Now that Beatrice

has a position,

we must think about her sister.

I suppose it'll have

to be a younger son.

What about

Dick Hindleton's brother?

Poor chap's a nervous wreck.

Shell shock.

A soothing young wife

may be just what he needs.

You see life in such simplistic

terms, Mother.

Marriage solves everything.

The right marriage.

And that reminds me, Arthur,

the Winthrops are back

from Biarritz.

Oh, Mother.

I know Agatha

is no oil painting,

but she's so well connected.

You make her sound

like an electric lamp.

She's certainly taken

a shine to you.

When I decide to marry,

I shall make my own choice.

That is what I'm afraid of.

As Father did.

And he couldn't have made

a better choice, could he?

All the same, one does not climb

the social ladder

in order to slide down it again.

I hear the Pettinger girl

has turned out quite well.

Perhaps we should invite

her to the theater?

Mother...

would you please confine

your matchmaking talents

elsewhere?

If only there wasn't such

a shortage of men.

The war has a lot to answer for.

And it isn't

as if poor Evangeline

had any social graces.

When did Henry ever entertain?

Not at home, certainly.

Arthur?

This is Beatrice.

I would like to make

an appointment

to come and see you.

As soon as possible.

A family matter.

Ah, Beatrice.

Sorry to keep you.

I can spare you 15 minutes.

How can help?

By telling me the truth

about Father's money.

I'm sorry?

I don't believe

he lost it all

through careless investments.

I'm not sure what

you're suggesting.

I think you've been

covering up for him.

Was there a woman?

Have you quite taken leave

of your senses?

Uncle Henry

was a pillar of society.

What on earth makes you suggest

such a thing?

A cupboard full of expensive

clothes, a lace handkerchief...

Please tell me.

I have a right to know.

I'd hoped that

you and Evangeline

need never find out.

Evangeline need not, which is

why I'm here on my own.

Or Mother.

It would kill her.

Then he did have a mistress.

There were a series of...

shall we say, liaisons,

going back over many years,

since you were a small child.

What?

They were all, of course,

ladies of certain standard.

Do you mean he was whoring

while Mother was still alive?

Fortunately, he was discreet.

That dirty, lying hypocrite!

Beatrice, please.

Wasn't it enough

that he killed her?

Now, come on.

I hardly think --

Yes, he did.

Forcing her to go on trying

for a son year after year,

when he knew it wasn't safe.

Keep your voice down.

People will hear.

Good. I want them to hear!

To hear how

the upright Dr. Eliott

betrayed Mother

and ruined my life, as well!

For God's sake, Beatrice.

How he made me work as an unpaid

housekeeper and nanny

because he was too mean

to pay anybody else!

Pull yourself together!

How we deprived me

of a decent education

and the only hope

I ever had of marriage.

How he stopped Evie

and I doing all the things

that make life worthwhile!

And all the time,

he was off fornicating

with a string of whores!

Beatrice!

It's only natural that you

should feel a little bitter.

A little bitter?

But you must try to be sensible.

Put all that behind you now,

and look to the future.

You have the offer

of an excellent post.

Waiting on Mrs. Spenser-Ewell

till the last remnant

of my youth is gone?

I very much doubt you would

be offered a better post.

Well, as a matter of fact,

I have.

With the photographer

Jack Maddox.

And what's more,

I intend to take it!

SUBTITLING MADE POSSIBLE BY

RLJ ENTERTAINMENT