Original subtitles

I'm still not quite clear, Frederick.

Did this police sergeant positively arrest Lady Eustace?

No, Clara, but he made it quite clear that she was under grave suspicion

and she wasn't to stir from the house.

After that, of course, you are absolutely quit of any obligations.

You always were, in my view.

But this shocking scene settled it beyond any possible question

from Lady Glencora Palliser or any other busybody.

Which is just as well, since you are now free to pursue your task.

On, yes.

Madame Max Goesler.

You have already been with her, I believe.

- How does it march, Frederick? - We were interrupted.

- Before you were interrupted. - I indicated a taste for her company.

- The lady was diffident. - Of course she was diffident.

Or pretended to be the first time you spoke to her in that way.

You must follow up the attack. You must advance on all fronts.

- Immediately. - She has withdrawn her position.

She's gone, as she puts it, to amuse the Duke of Omnium in his sickbed.

And will be away some considerable time. Or so she said.

There is no time to be lost.

The lady and her wealth must be yours.

You must outflank her retreat.

I can hardly start outflanking Matching Priory.

Others might, but I see the task is beyond you.

So, we must change our strategy.

We must hit the enemy when she is weakest.

When she is separated from her allies.

Well, then, she is bound to come up to London sometime.

- If only for the day. - But when?

At any moment. Or so we must assume.

For we must be alert, Frederick.

We must set spies and mount parols.

Observe her house in Park Lane by night and day.

24-hour pioquet.

As soon as Madame Max sets foot there again, if only for a few minutes,

you must be ready to sound your trumpet, draw your sabre,

and ride into the charge.

'Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered.

Storrned at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well...

Came through the jaws of death Back from the mouth of hell!'

Glencora. What gossip have you got there?

None. Except of Phineas Finn in Ireland.

Finn? I never did like that young man.

Come, Duke. A very fine young man.

- Conceited young jadoanapes. - A useful Member of the Commons.

Very useful, Planty says. If he hadn't been too independent.

That's just it - knew all the answers. Cheeky jackanapes, I say.

- Footloose Irishman. - Not any more, Duke.

A staid, married Irishman, and about to become a father at any minute.

How long has he been married?

Phineas...

It's a boy, isn't it?

Can I see him, please?

Poor little boy.

But God will See him.

Phineas.

- I'm so sorry. - Shh.

I had so hoped that... Phineas!

I want you to be very clear, Lizzie.

New that your maid, Crabstick, has volunteered to assist the police,

they will very soon know everything they want to.

I suppose so.

It will go very hard for anyone who has at any time misled them.

Why are you telling me this?

In case you have not always been... strictly accurate.

I've been as accurate as I know how!

I hope so.

If anything Crabstick reveals is at variance with what you have deposed,

on oath, Lizzie, remember, then you are going to be in very sorry trouble.

Not if I've got somebody to protect me,

what you ought to be doing, Frank, not standing there being hateful.

I am doing my best.

You are hectoring me and lecturing me. That's what you're doing.

Is that all I am to expect from you after what passed between us

only the other day in this very house?

Lizzie, you know l never meant...

I know, but you did, didn't you?

Marry me, Frank.

You don't love that Lucy and I don't love Lord Fawn.

I've got a great deal to offer you.

Money and other things.

I have a great deal to offer all round.

Hmm. And that is just how you offer it.

All round.

I love Lucy Morris.

Lucy ain't a pmch on you to look at, Lizzie, but is as honest as the day.

Every single inch of her is mine.

She ain't got any inches where it counts.

Oh! She's so prim!

- She's not prim. - She is!

Why should you mind my saying so if that's what you like?

I'm not prim, but then I don't pretend to be anything I'm not.

No good, Lizzie.

All right, all right!

Go to your lovesick governess, and welcome to her, every faithful, grisly inch!

Don't come back here when you're tired of her.

Poor Lizzie.

Frederick! She's in London!

- Who's in London, Clara? - Madame Max Goesler.

I don't know for how long, so there is not a second to be lost.

- How did you know I was in London? - I've been waiting for your return.

Well, this is hardly a return. I am here to interview a man from Vienna

and then I return again to Matching immediately.

But you are here new, this minute. This precious minute!

The man I am due to interview will be here very shortly, my Lord.

Then the minute is even more precious.

Madame Max, when I was last here, we were interrupted.

- I was going to tell you... - You have already told me, my Lord,

that if we saw more of each other, we should get to know each other,

and I have already told you there will be no opportunity for this.

Now, surely, I made myself understood?

But we were interrupted before I could go on to plead my case.

Your case, Lord Fawn...

Madame Max... Marie.

I am a mature man

of a certain rank and with a certain standing in the world of politics.

But what I need new is to be settled.

As I understand it, Lord Fawn, you'll be settled with Lady Eustace.

Lady Eustace has been found unworthy.

Whatever engagement I entered into with her

has been rendered void by her disgrace.

What disgrace, my Lord?

Will she be sent to jail? Will she be arrested?

That will depend upon the police.

There is no doubt they suspect her of grossly misleading them.

Ah, but no charges have been made against her.

Surely your place is by her side till her guili is proved.

You must be the loyal cavalier of this maiden in distress.

- Lady Eustace is hardly a maiden. - Matron, then.

I think I can fairiy claim that she herself has released me.

- Free to plead my cause with you. - Lord Fawn!

Frederick! Call me Frederick!

And take this hand, and let me tell you all that will come with it.

First, my heart.

And after your heart, Lord Fawn?

- My house. - Ah!

Fawn Court.

It is, I trust, unencumbered?

Well, there is a small mortgage.

Oh... What a pity-

And afier your heart and your small mortgage, Lord Fawn?

- My corona. - Oh!

You have your own?

Most peers nowadays, it seems, hire one when try.

Oh, no, I was speaking figuratively.

You see, what I meant was that you would be Lady Fawn.

Of Fawn Court! And all that it contains.

Among other things, your mother and seven unmarried sisters.

- Oh, so you've heard about them. - My dear Lord Fawn!

You surely were not going to conceal them from me?

And pray, Lord Fawn, what comes after your eight female connections?

A place as ninth muse in the chorus?

A place in political circles.

You shall be the hostess of my entertainments when we Liberals are back in power.

Your entertainments! Never have I heard you gave entertainments,

whether in or out of power, and very prudently not, Lord Fawn.

No entertainments until you have saved up enough money

to buy yourself a coronet and one for your wife.

Whomever she may turn out to be.

But if it were only you, there would be enough to spare

for coronets and entertainments.

Lord Fawn.

That at least is frank,

and brings me closer to liking you than I have been so far this afiemoon.

But no, my Lord, I do not wish to purchase a coronet,

either in the literal sense or in the figurative.

- And that is final? - Final.

Ah... Well...

I shouldn't have troubled you, I suppose.

I never was much of a hand at this sort of thing.

It always goes wrong when I try it.

Perhaps you need more praclice.

You know, your style is far from elegant.

But you talk as if it were all like cricket.

Or fencing, or something.

More like fishing, my Lord.

You first tempt your quarry with your own worm

before you can impale her on your hook.

♪ Of days that have as happy been

♪ And you remember me

♪ And you remember

♪ You remember me

George!

- How I've waited for you to come. - Here I am.

I've been lying upstairs at death's door, not a sign of you, not a word.

Jane Carbuncle wouldn't let me come. Afraid what you had might be catching.

- But you've come today. - I assert myself from time to time.

Beside I was uncontrollably curious. So, Lizzie, how are things with you now?

Terrible!

Oh, George! George, I need you so much!

Calm, Lizzie. Take it calm.

Now, tell me. Just at this minute, how do you stand with the police?

They've not said anything. It's been ages since Crabstick was arrested,

and still they've said nothing.

I expect they're waiting until they've got it all straight

Which is what I want to do, Lizzie.

Get it all straight.

Yes, well, I will tell you everything if only you will help me.

All right, my dear. Now...

May I take it the necklace really was stolen at last

by the thief who came to this house?

Of course 'rt was!

For all I know, you might have taken it to the theatre and still have it hidden somewhere,

and I'd sooner be talking to a bomb, Lizzie.

- It really was stolen, as I told you. - Promise?

- Cross my heart. - For what that's worth.

All right, Lizzie, I'll help you what I can.

Now, then, listen. Whatever else happens,

Crabstick has almost certainly told the police

that the necklace was stolen from this house and not from Carlisle.

Very soon now, they'll come on you for perjuring yourself

before the Recorder of Carlisle.

There's two things you might do to stop them sending you to prison.

George!

Either you take your hook over the Channel

and hope they'll not bother to stop you.

I will! I would! If only you would come with me.

Sweep me away over the sea, George.

Like Byron's corsair. You remember my corsair?

My dear, I shouldn't sleep for fear you'd have the gold out of my teeth.

Or, Lizzie, you can do as I advised you once before.

Make a clean breast to the police and hope they let you down light.

No, I couldn't do that. What would the Duke of Omnium say?

And my friend, the Lady Glencora Palliser.

What will they say if you get sent down?

- George! - Lizzie!

I've told you what to do, now are you or are you not going to do it?

There must be an easier way.

You see, if only I had a man, a champion to fight for me.

George, you do like me?

- I think you're entrancing. - Then be my knight, George.

Marry me... Or at least be with me.

I do so need someone to be with.

Lizzie.

Whatever the end of this affair, you've already led us all

such a dance as the devil himself can't keep up with.

No, my dear. Corsair or no, I'm not having you aboard my caique.

You're too hot a cargo.

Duke. The Duke of St Bungay and Plantagenet are here to talk to you.

- Grapes. - Oh, thank you.

- How are you, St Bungay? - Fine.

Yes... lsn't it about time you took to your bed?

Well, Plantagenet, what's the news from London?

What have the police found out about that Crabstick woman?

Oh, I can't say, Your Grace, I attend to the case very closely.

Perhaps I'm not entitled to talk about it.

If people only spoke about what they attended to closely,

how very little there would be to say.

I'm afraid there's nothing new there.

Hasn't been for months.

His Grace has come down to Matching to discuss the Liberal Party's plans

for the forthcoming election.

Oh, bother the General Election!

We think we've got a great chance.

The country is very angry with Mr Daubany and the Tories

for dragging their feet over reform.

Well, it's a good job somebody does,

or none of us here would have anything left.

Well, you see, if they give away ever such a little,

they'll be allowed to keep everything else.

That, as I understand it, is what the Liberal Party is all about.

Something in that, my dear.

We plan to concede Irish tenant right and a few other odd things,

and thereby winning ourselves a great name for reform

without actually giving up anything much that matters.

You have a rather cynical way of putting it, St Bungay.

Of course we mustn't go too fast

but I think we should conceive of ourselves

as advancing the cause of the people,

rather than fighting some sort of rearguard action for our privileges.

Of course, Palliser!

There are several different ways of looking at it.

Yes, but it all comes to the same in the end: easy does it.

Well, you needn't look so glum, Plantagenet.

After the election, you'll be back at the Exchequer, working on your shillings,

and cramming five farthings into every penny.

Which, after all, is what you enjoy most in the world.

What have you got to complain of?

It's what others have to complain of.

Oh, my five-farthing penny is a very pretty concept,

but of little use to those people whose pockets are altogether empty.

It's of such men - often through no fault of their own -

there are far too many in this country.

And even more in other countries.

It's simply the way things go.

Don't worry so much, my dear fellow.

But now it seems that we are fatiguing your uncle.

Shall I um...?

- Plantagenet - Yes, my dear?

You're not going to leave me here the moment you arrive?

Leave you? Why not?

Surely it is your turn to help me entertain the Duke.

After doing it all these years, I'm worn out with it.

He is your uncle, after all.

My dear, the Duke of St Bungay has come down here so that we can work!

- Without interruption. - You are not the only one who works.

I work too, on your behalf, and I get no help from you.

St Bungay himself says where would you be

if I didn't entertain your colleagues?

- I think that you quite enjoy them. - I hate them.

I'm sick of smiling till my face cracks at tedious politicians.

- Then there's the children. - What about the children?

You don't even pull your weight with them.

You only see them out of duty.

Oh, Planty, why can't you enjoy them, play a game with them?

Occasionally!

No, no, no, it is nothing but a long face and work.

What is the point of being alive if you don't enjoy yourself sometimes?

Cora, I think my work is my enjoyment.

Then I wish to God that you would look as if you enjoyed it.

God! One of these days, I will jump off the roof!

Cora! You're tired of the sickroom.

Come back to London for a change of air.

An interesting piece of news, my Lady.

- You've found my diamonds! - Not exactly.

But I've been in the Chancery Court.

I'm surprised Your Ladyship weren't there.

Well... I don't go out much just now.

Well, if you had been in the court not half an hour ago,

you would've heard the judge say that that necklace was yours and always has been.

The court did not accept the evidence

brought by the solicitors for the Eustace family.

- I never doubted they were mine. - Pity Your Ladyship wasn't in there.

You'd have enjoyed the look on some of their faces.

It seems the necklace is not an hedloom

because it has no historical nor heraldic significance.

I know... It's... What did he say it was?

Paraphernalia!

- Not quite, my Lady.

'Bauble' was the word they settled on.

Valuable as it may be, that necklace is a bauble,

such as the late Sir Florian had every right to give his wife as a keepsake.

- Now the bauble is finally mine. - That's what the judge says.

Then where is it?

Oh, you persuaded my servant Crabstick to turn Queen's Evidence,

you've had all these weeks in which to find it,

and you still don't know where it is?

Major Mackintosh will explain to you all about the necklace, my Lady.

- Major Mackintosh? - Of Scotland Yard. At your service.

As Sergeant Bunfit says, I will explain about the necklace,

but I fear I must ask you to do a little explaining first.

- But you do know where it is. - First things first, my Lady.

- There are anterior questions. - Do stop prevaricating.

- Tell me where my necklace is. - Begin at the beginning, shall we?

Where are my diamonds?

To begin at the begin, as I said.

We now know that the diamonds were not in the safe

in your bedroom at Caflisle.

Where were they , Lady Eustace?

The quicker we deal with the past, the quicker we come to the present.

They were under my pillow.

Well, I didn't trust that safe. It was so conspicuous.

I carried the jewels on my person and put them under my pillow that night.

My dear lady, I take off my hat to you.

Riding on a public railway with 50,000-worth of diamonds

jingling in your pocket all day long.

But why did you not tell the police this?

- Well, you see, I was so confused. - At first, no doubt.

But by the time you'd reached the Recorder's chambers

and there taken your oath?

Well, it was too late to go back then.

Was it? Or was it just convenient for you to say nothing?

Now everyone thought the diamonds were stolen

and you need not hand them into court.

Well, really!

I mean, what good would they have been to me?

I couldn't wear them.

I could no sooner have sold them than sold the Tower of Pisa.

Well, ingenuity and patience might have seen you through that difficutty.

Hm? A trip to the Orient in a few years' time, eh?

Ah! Where I'd have been screwed into selling them into half-nothing.

No! God, they were an agony, I tell you. They were my crow on Calvary.

Which you could have escaped at any minute simply by telling the truth.

But as it was, I presume you carried your cross on to London, hm?

I carried my own diamonds on to London, yes.

Where, according to Patience Crabstick,

you secreted them in the desk in your bedroom.

Not that she knew at first,

but when a controller in London told her the safe had been empty,

she watched you carefully and realised that the desk was where they must be.

Sly, nasty thing, that Crabstick.

At least she told us the truth!

Major Mackintosh! I took you for a gentleman!

How can you say such cruel things to a poor, lonely widow?

To remind her just how precarious is her position.

And so, my Lady, the diamonds were in your desk and this was rifled

while you and Mrs Carbuncle were out at the theatre.

Yes-

Yet you told the police that all you'd lost was a few pounds.

Well, I could hardly go back on my entire story, now, could I?

- So you told another set of lies? - Yes.

Meanwhile, Crabstick and her chief had at last got the diamonds and disappeared.

But then we had our first bit of luck. We ran down Crabstick.

And she told you where they were?

- She told us who had 'em? - Well, who had 'em?

Not Lord George de Bruce Carrulhers?

No, ma'am, we did suspect Lord George for a while,

but Lord George knows what weight he can carry and the diamonds are too heavy.

Mrs Carbuncle?

No, she runs under Lord George's orders.

- Mr Emilius? - Far too shrewd.

- Then who? - Smiler Jenkins.

- Smiler Jenkins... - An old familiar of Crabstiks.

- And of ours. - Well, where is he now, this...?

- Smiler Jenkins. - Where is he?

Don't you know?

100 yards from John Keats and about 30 yards down from Shelley.

The Protestant cemetery in Rome, ma'am.

As far as we can make out, he went to Rome to sell the diamonds

and got carried away by malaria.

Unhealthy climate down there.

And Smiler had led a debilitating life.

But what did he do with my diamonds?

Hid them, we think, against the time he could find a buyer.

But we know he went off for some days alone into the Campagna.

We think that's where he hid the stones and picked up his malaria.

Then why haven't you found them?

The Campagna is a very big place. We're not even sure they're there.

Only Smiler Jenkins can tell us that Poor old Smiler.

- Poor Lady Eustace, you mean! - No, I don't.

It's all your own fault.

If you'd told the truth in Carlisle,

and handed the diamonds in as you should've done,

they'd be yours today.

The court awards them, Lady Eustace, and the law allows them.

If you'd told the truth, they'd be in your hands this minute.

Instead of which, they could be anywhere in Italy

and you could be facing charges of perjury.

We can't set up a case against the thieves.

Crabslick has turned Queen's Evidence on the promise of a pardon.

Smiler is lying with the Caesars in Rome.

So, to recompense ourselves for our trouble,

why not prosecute the only criminal left to us? Hm?

- Yourself. - Me?

And...are you going to prosecute me?

Major Mackintosh?

No.

You're just a poor, weak, ignorant, greedy little woman

who has told a silly lie about a silly toy.

You have punishment enough in store.

Already you have lost the necklace.

- When full facts will be published in the newspapers... - Oh!

Major Mackintosh, must that happen?

We owe it to the public to let them know. They pay our wages, you know.

Although you are not going to be charged, everyone will know you are guilty.

Although you won't go lo jail, you'll soon find yourself in another kind of cell.

More mean, more bleak, more lonely than any prison of them all.

You will be outcast, Lady Eustace.

You will be pariah.

Major Mackintosh!

Now... 15-2, 15-4, 15-6 and one for his knob is seven. My game, Duke.

Splendid news, Your Grace.

A definite date has been agreed for the General Election.

- Two months from now. - And an old friend is standing.

- Phineas. - Mm-hm.

Mr Finn? Yes, I thought he would come back now that his wife is dead.

That Irish jackanapes. What is he going to use for money?

- Never had a penny. - His father died.

- I thought you said his wife. - His father too, soon after.

And Ieft him a £5,000 surai.

How long does he think that's going to last him?

Long enough to re-establish himself and stand for election. Eh, Marie?

- That's 12 sovereigns. - Thank you.

He won't want to lose at playing Qribble with Marie, that's for sure.

- Where is he standing? - Tankerville.

He'll have to fight the Tory for 'rt but he's got a very good chance.

- How soon is he coming? - Quite soon.

Barrington writes he will stay with the Chiltems at Harrington Hall.

- Only till after the election. - Fiddle-de-Finn. Deal the cards.

I want to win my money back.

Phineas, my dear fellow. Very good to have you back.

Back in England, Barrington, but not back in the house yet.

I have to win Tankerville first.

You have a fair chance. I fancy things will run our way at this election.

The country is certainly dissatisfied with the Tories and with Daubany.

He is far too clever and has far too little to show for it.

Which will not stop him continuing to be clever.

We must count no chickens before they're hatched.

True enough. Now, Phineas, you remember Lord Fawn, I think.

And Mr Bomeen, of course.

Good day to you, Finn. You've been away in Ireland, I understand.

I'm concerned about the Irish, the economics of that wretched country.

Ah, yes, I remember.

- I'm keen to see an improvement - That's very gracious of you.

Mr Bonteen has become our foremost expert on trade and economics

during your absence, Phineas.

I imagine a lot of things have happened during my absence.

Tell me, Monk, what are they saying now

about disestablishing the Church of England?

It was being canvassed before I left, or at least very much talked of.

It's still being talked of but only in hushed voices.

A very touchy matter, disestablishment.

The Liberal Party is committed to it. Sooner or later.

Sooner or later, Fawn. Too many tight bends on that course for our liking.

I don't know. It's straight enough going to me, Barrington.

Disestablishment means the severance

of the official bond between Church and State.

- Simple enough at the bottom. - You're being too crude, Finn.

You make an official separation between Church and State,

then what becomes of the Queen's position as Head of State and Church?

Who would appoint the bishops? Would they still sit in the House of Lords?

And to whom, Finn, would you make the Church ultimately responsible?

God, I imagine.

Even after your sojourn in the backwoods, Finn,

you must be aware this is a political question, not a theological one.

But a question that need not concern us at the moment.

I don't know so much about that I have been informed

that some electors at Tankerville do wish to know where I stand on the issue.

Phineas, avoid it. We don't want this subject raised just now.

When you go down to Tankerville, keep silent on disestablishment.

From what I remember, silence is not Finn's strong point.

Like all the Irish, he has kissed the Blarney stone!

I fear you may be right, Mr Bonteen.

We Irish do talk too much

but we try not to talk out of turn.

And we do not, Mr Bonteen, gladly suffer men who bray.

Good afternoon, Mr Bomeen.

Oh, my dear, Fawn, I'm so sorry.

Seen this, have you?

Hm! Gutter press for gutter minds.

Of course, you can't stay here. You realise that

I cannot have my house contaminated by a perjurer.

If it wasn't for my money, you wouldn't even have a house.

You see for yourself. The bailiffs are sitting out there like vultures.

Ha! It's my belief you have only kept them out as long as this

with what you have managed to extort from me!

Now, since you have been so vulgar as to mention money, Lady Eustace,

here's last quarter's bill for your share of the rent,

and the carriage, and the housekeeping,

and the servants' wages.

580 all told.

-£580? But I've already paid you. - I'd be obliged if you settle them.

- Before the men take your furniture? - And then go, Lady Eustace.

For good!

I shall go when I please, Mrs Carbuncle.

I almost own your house by now.

As for these fraudulent bills, I have a mind to show them to the police.

I'd have thought you'd have had enough of the police to go on with.

Ladies! Whatever has come over you?

Lady Eustace refuses to pay what she owes me.

She is turning me out because I won't allow her to cheat me.

- She's a public perjurer. - She's a jealous old hag.

Any more of this and I shall cane the pair of you. Show me those bills.

Oh, my dear, you've been overdoing it a bit.

No,500 at the outside.

Lizzie, pay Jane 500 quid and then if I were you,

I should go and hide myself at Portray for a bit.

I was going, anyway, to rest my poor soul by my beloved mountains

and my surging seas.

I hope they fall on your quacking head.

Be quiet, Jane. Very wise, my dear.

With all this, you wouldn't get much peace in London.

You go upstairs and write out a cheque for Jane.

Then get started on your packing. Go on with you, Lizzie.

And one final word of advice, my dear.

Don't try to be clever when there ain't nothing to be gained by it.

Oh, George, I ain't clever at all.

Ruined! And serve her right

Not her, she's got her health and youth.

A quick tongue, a pretty face, and an even prettier annual income.

- I wonder you didn't go in for her. - I like the look of her a lot.

But she's too many for me, Jane.

She's too many for any man.

I'll tell you what, George,

if no-one else will have her, Emilius is going to.

He's been with her a lot these last few days,

rolling his eyes at her like millstones.

- Good luck to him. - She's encouraging him.

She thinks a clergyman's friendship will pull her through this scandal.

- She could be right - Emilius? I doubt it.

They say that he has a wife back in Prague, or wherever he comes from.

- Does she know? - Who cares?

She's sharp enough to see after herself.

Amen to that, but who is going to see after us, Jane?

Time is going on, my dear, and just look at those infernal duns.

Better them than Lizzie Eustace.

At least one knows where one is with them.

Some of them are positively old friends by now.

That's the spirit, my dear. I dare say we shall come through this yet

But with all that's been happening, we need a little respite.

Italy, I think. Would you like that?

Italy!

Oh, no, don't be silly, George.

The £500 will have to go to those wolves out there.

We shan't have a ha'penny between us.

I think Lizzie's £500 will be rather wasted on those gentlemen.

They'd only be back in a week for more.

We'll change the cheque into cash without telling anyone

then just slip quietly away in two or three days' time.

I'd never get away with that lot watching.

Tell them you're going to church.

And then join me at Victoria Station.

You have to look sharp and travel light but it won't be the first time.

What?

Mr Phineas Finn, my Lady.

Mr Finn!

- After all this time. - Lady Glencora.

- Thank you for your letter. - Ah, Finn!

It is pleasant to see you again.

You're standing at Tankerville in the General Election, so they tell me.

- Yes, I go down tomorrow. - You've got a very good chance.

Growing towns like Tankerville, they are coming over to us.

What is more, the nation at the moment, they are with us.

Either that, or they're getting tired of Mr Daubany.

If you'll excuse me, I promised to go down to the Duke of St Bungay.

Election tactics.

Yes, of course.

It's good to see you back, Finn. You've been missed.

Yes-

Yes, we've all missed you.

- How is the Duke? - Old, Master Phineas. Old.

Well, he has heard his chimes at midnight in his time.

Yes, he has had his share of the world.

More, many would say.

Yet even His Grace of Omnium has been disappointed in some things.

Madame Goesler, my Lady.

Marie, here's Mr Finn, come to join us from Ireland.

Mr Finn.

I heard you were back in England.

I was very sorry to hear the sad news of your wife.

Thank you.

Madame Goesler spends much of her time with us and the Duke at Matching.

- My Lady, please. - I long to hear your nevus, Marie,

but I promised to read Mary a bedtime story.

As you can see, she is determined to hold me to it.

A tout a I'heure.

One of us must say something, Mr Finn.

I was hoping you would begin.

Very well.

How were things in Ireland with you, Mr Finn?

The time passed, Madame Max

You thought of us all sometimes?

- Constantly. - And spoke of us, perhaps?

- With your wife? - No, she would not have understood.

And now the poor lady is dead. And you have come back to us.

- What are your plans? - Take up politics where I left off.

You will hardly be able to do quite that yet, I think.

No, not quite. I shall have to get a seat first.

I am standing for Tankerville, you know.

Afler so long an absence, you will hardly be called lo offioe tomorrow.

Or even the next day.

But all will come right in time.

Time is just what I'm short of, Madame Max.

You may have heard that my father died shortly after my wife.

I am left temporarily independent, but only temporarily.

Have patience, Mr Finn.

Patience and all will come well in the end.

I have always known you would be lucky in politics in the end.

If only because you are so unlucky in love.

What do you mean, unlucky?

Your young wife is dead.

Your old flame, Violet Effingham, is married to another.

And then there was Lady Laura Kennedy, was there not?

Who is now hiding with her father in Dresden.

Mr Kennedy would give her no peace if she came back to England.

And does she enjoy peace in Dresden?

If she does, that's all she enjoys.

Locked away from everything she knows and loves.

She's written, pressing me to go to her. So I shall, ifl can.

All the way to Dresden, Mr Finn?

And what of Mr Kennedy, her husband? What of him?

What indeed? He just sits up in Loughlinter, counting breadcrusts.

Counting his grievances. He feels himsetf to be dishonored, Mr Finn.

That is what has broken him.

They say his health is bad.

Even that his mind is affected.

Oh, what misery marriage can cause.

- I know from my own. - Indeed, Mr Finn.

Then perhaps you should have more care whom you marry.

- I had no choice. - Well...

Choice has been restored to you.

The gods do not often give us a second chance, Mr Finn.

Yours begins at Tankerville.

Yes, I must go down early tomorrow. I have preparations to make.

So!

We will say good night

Please make my excuses to Lady Glencora.

Good night, Madame Max.

Good night

Phineas.

And so you are leaving us for Scotland, Lady Eustace.

Tomorrow.

I can no longer stay in the same house with a malignant, pitfering upstart.

I dare say you're wise.

But your true friends will miss you sorely.

And I them,

but I shall have my beloved mountains and my deep ocean over which to gaze.

- In solitude? - In blissful solitude.

Balm to my stricken soul.

Indeed, indeed. But when at last that poor soul is healed,

it will be yearning, I think, for another...

...to bring you sweet companionship.

My excursions in companionship have not been very happy just lately.

You must not fester in bitterness.

Lady Eustace, I wish you to know that however the newspapers or the public

may condemn you, however liable you may be to unpleasant proceedings...

No, I ain't liable to anything.

Then my mind is much relieved.

However, since there are tongues, idle and treacherous, no doubt,

that venture to accuse you of perjury.

Ha! Too-ra-loo loo-ra-loo.

Precisely.

I will all the more wish you to understand that in my eyes,

you are as immaculate and as radiant as ever.

How poetically you put things, Mr Emilius.

Then let me put something else.

We have now known each other many months

and I have received the most unaffected pleasure

from the friendship, may I say, the intimacy, that's grown up between us.

Intimacy is a very deep son of a word, Mr Emilius.

And very deeply I intend it.

So deeply that I now lay my heart, my hand...

...my fortunes, my career, at your feet.

My Lady, I know your great rank.

I have heard from the wortdly that you are rich.

It is your transcendent beauty and purity which have pierced my heart.

That's all very fine and large, Mr Emilius,

but I am told that some time since you used to have a wife in Prague.

A falsehood, Lady Eustace.

I am delighted to hear it, Mr Emilius.

And now...

"since my heart is sick with longing...

Oh, Mr Emilius.

Speak. my beloved. Speak.

In all the wnetchedness of my lot,

amid all my trials and tribulations,

I begin to feel that perhaps I may find a haven in your arms.

- My dearest. - Yes, your dearest.

Your dearest who now commits herself to you for ever.

Confident that your motives are not in the least mercenary

and therefore intending to keep

her properties and income under her own control.

It'll be time to talk of such things when we are calm again.

There will be no need of further discussion.

When we are calm again.

And now?

In the first full flush of our heaven-ordained bliss...

In the first ripeness of our lawful and mutual...

"passion...

- So, good times are here again, Duke. - Indeed, my dead

Good afteroon, Prime Minister. Planty.

Thank you.

And I can tell you now, my dear, in case you're in suspense,

that your husband is to return to the Exchequer.

Then he'll begin to live once more. And yourself, Duke?

Lord President of the Council, where I can keep an eye on things.

- With Barrington Ede as my secretary. - To do your more intimate spying!

And Mr Monk?

He has said he does not want offioe

but will remain with us as a private and critical supporter.

Which is what he really does best.

Barlingion. Mr Bomeen.

I am not leaving, Lady Glen. We must have a long chat later.

Lady Glen?

If there is one appointment I do dislike,

it's that fellow Bonteen going to the Board of Trade.

Mr Gresham always did favour him.

Well, I must admit, he does know the work.

He's almost the only one of our people

who has an understanding of commerce and industry.

So much so, my dear, that if your husband wasn't with us,

he might have become the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself.

Oh, no.

But I still don't like the way his eyes sit.

- No, no more do I. - Thank you.

They say that of all the men that are coming up, Mr Bonteen is the slyest.

I only asked him to make the Party look solid.

What are you going to do between you all for Mr Finn?

Hm. Mr Finn, my dear, has only just come back.

Um... How is the Duke of Omnium?

Still eating your grapes when I lefi him and may still be when I return.

Excuse me, Duke. It looks as if the Prime Minister is ready to leave.

- Good aflemoon, Mr Gresham. - Good aflemoon, and thank you very much.

This gathering made a very auspicious beginning to our administration.

- Mr Finn. - Prime Minister.

- Congratulations. - Thank you, sir.

And good evening, Mr Finn.

- Congratulations, Finn. - Well done, Phineas.

Your opponent has been sitting for Tankerville for a long time.

- I expect they got tired of him. - A new face intl1'gu the voters.

Ifl might just have a word with you.

You said one or two things, I believe, at Tankerville

about the disestablishmem of the Church of England.

That's rather premature, isn't it?

I spoke of the principles involved

but I said nothing to indicate any immediate measure was likely.

You said, I believe, there would have to be 'Hard thinking about Her Majesty

as Head of the Church when the Church and State become separate.'

That implies a certainty, doesn't it? Sooner or later?

So IL is. The Church will have to be disestablished some day.

Well, many people, Finn, might find that contentious.

And the more so as IL com from you.

You're an Irishman and a Catholic. Remarks on the Church of England...

I wasn't speaking as a Catholic. I was speaking as a Liberal.

So am I speaking as a Liberal, Finn,

a slightly older one than you, and I tell you this.

We are not going for disestablishment, not yet.

Thanks.

This is your work, so please, look as if you are enjoying it, hm?

We're all hereto rejoice.

Congratulations, Phineas. Nice to have you back in the House.

I expect Pariiamem will make a nice change for you

afier the poorhouses in Killaloe.

There are harder people to deal with than paupers, Mr Bonteen.

They at least are humble and surprisingly free of malice.

Excuse me, Mr Palliser, Barlingion.

Finn.

Barlingion, a word wilh you, if I might

Look, if it's about Bonteen, Phineas, I know he was infernally rude to you at the Pallisers',

but we've just got to put up with him.

- We need him in government.

Though come to that, I think I gave as good as I got.

Well, just try and rub along with him. There's a good chap.

He's going to be around for some time.

I'll try and keep out of his way if l can but, Barlingion,

the man I really want to talk to you about is...Kennedy.

Oh, really? What about him?

Last I heard he was going off his head at Loughlinter.

Now he's back in London.

I've just had this letter from his London address.

He should've stayed out of the way. Now, what does he want?

- He wants to see me. - The devil he does! Why?

Well, Laura has been pressing me to go to her and her father in Dresden.

She wouldn't let up so I finally accepted to go at Christmas.

Kennedy has heard about this and wants to see me before I go.

You are Laura's cousin. I'd appreciate your opinion.

Well, in the first place, I shouldn't go to Dresden.

I can't get out of now.

Well, then I certainly shouldn't go anywhere near Kennedy.

You know what's driving him mad?

- Jealousy. - But this letter is sanely written.

He has come to London, he says, especially to see me.

Why ask my advice if you don't intend to take it?

I asked for your opinion, Barlingion.

I wanted to see how the land looked from where you stood.

It looks jolly crooked anywhere round Kennedy.

And round my cousin Laura too.

Yes-

You keep away from them, Phineas.

Barlingion, I can't just ignore them.

This sort of carry-on isn't going to do you any good with the Party.

You know that - There are other loyalties to be considered..

Now, you listen to me, Phineas.

If you want to mix yoursetf up with the Kennedys, buy a suit of armor.

Because if Mr Robert Kennedy don't tear you limb from limb in London,

then Lady Laura Kennedy will eat you alive in Dresden.