Original subtitles

STARR: Yes, sir, your tickets will be ready at 5:00.

Mr. DeWitt? Oh, yes, young lady.

He's over there by the fireplace.

Fair run off my feet this morning.

11:00 AM. Time for refreshment.

Correct, Fred?

Correct.

You'll hold the fort, Major?

Against anyone in particular?

Mrs. Trotter's expecting her lawyer,

Sir Esmond Manning.

You're to show him straight in.

Go on.

Go on.

Oh, morning, Constable Roach.

Calling to see Mrs. Trotter?

Yes, Mr. Starr.

She was anxious about that waif

she found hanging about outside the kitchen.

Oh, yeah. Poor little nipper.

Starving, he was.

Half inside the window,

sniffing all the goodness

out of Mrs. Cochrane's soup.

Yeah. Seems he wasn't lost at all.

He'd run away from home.

Walked all the way from Camberwell.

Anyway, I thought Mrs. T. would like to know

he's been safe returned to the bosom of his family.

She will be.

So will he, even if it does mean a good hiding.

Parky weather, this, for sleeping out...

And for walking a beat.

I'm, uh, studying my boots, Mr. Starr.

14 pounds plus 4 pounds 8 is...

Well, let's say 18 pounds or so.

Come in.

Oh, Merriman. I'm making out the bill

for Mr. Buckhurst.

8 bottles of Claret down to him.

You've only charged for 6.

Oh, he returned 2, ma'am.

He said one was corked

and declared the other to be not what he'd ordered.

Said it was an inferior Claret

of a different vintage.

It's not like you

to make a mistake like that.

I didn't, ma'am. He said I'd switched labels.

He what?

Yeah.

Who does Mr. Nigel bleedin' Buckhurst

think he is?

Members of the staff

have opinions on the subject.

Mary was saying he's been difficult.

The likes of him we can do without.

We shall in future.

What happened to the Claret?

Since the bottles had been opened,

I gave them to Mrs. Cochrane.

Vintage Claret for cooking?

Yes, ma'am. I know what you want.

Here you are.

Take his bill up to him.

Yes, ma'am.

Sir Esmond is here.

Oh, thank you, Major.

My apologies for being late, Louisa.

Some business in Chancery

took longer than I thought.

That's all right.

Nice of you to pop round.

You'll take a glass?

Ah, felicitous thought. Thank you.

Oh, Major, be a love.

Say to Starr we're not to be disturbed,

not for any reason.

Oh, yes. Of course, of course.

Now, what's all this about?

Your note contained a tone of urgency

and alarm.

Well, I had a letter this morning

from, uh, Bricelow, Fit...

Oh, Firbank, Bricelow and Firbank.

That's right.

Solicitors for people who own the Bentinck.

The lessors. And what's all the trouble?

I don't know.

Can't make head nor tail of it.

Something to do with the lease.

Oh, Mr. Merriman!

She's not to be disturbed, not for any reason.

She's with Sir Esmond.

Oh, yes, but I don't know about that.

I really don't know about that.

It's Mr. Buckhurst.

He's demanded to see Mrs. Trotter

immediately,

sent me down to fetch her.

Nobody fetches Mrs. Trotter...not ever.

Oh, I said as much.

He became abusive, very abusive.

If he wants to see her, he can come down,

and if she's free, she'll see him.

Only she isn't, so she won't.

Now, just you go back up and tell him that.

They want to renegotiate the lease

of the hotel.

It doesn't say that.

Solicitors frequently avoid

saying what they mean.

That is why so often

another has to be engaged to translate.

The arrangement allows us to live

in modest comfort.

You lot got it nicely sorted out

among yourselves, haven't you?

Are you sure that's what it says?

Mmm...reading between the lines.

Having granted you a long lease

on a decrepit hotel,

their clients feel hard done by

that the Bentinck, now so prosperous,

should return so little

in ground rent.

Well, they can feel what they like.

It's my blood and sweat's made the Bentinck what it is,

and the lease still has 50 years to run.

53, to be precise, if you don't break it,

and there's just the slightest suggestion

that you may have done so.

How?

By allowing gaming parties to go on

until all hours of the morning,

and doubtless they have in mind

other activities

they choose not to commit to paper.

If they're saying

I allow street girls to use this place...

no, they're not. The letter simply refers

to that stipulation in the lease

which requires that

"The aforementioned premises shall be used

"Only and solely for the purposes specified

"And not for any purpose which may be deemed

"To be of an illegal, immoral,

or otherwise disreputable nature."

Blooming cheek.

What does it matter to them

as long as I pay the ground rent regular?

Were you to increase it, I've no doubt

they would be willing to delete the clause

under a new arrangement.

Well, I can't ask me guests to sing hymns after supper,

pack them off to bed 9:00 sharp.

Well, what should I do?

Nothing. There really is no question

of the Bentinck Hotel

being held in public disrepute.

No. I shall write to these people

informing them, in terms

of the most exquisite legal courtesy,

that having tried it on,

we find their gambit doesn't fit.

Oh, thanks.

That's a great weight off me mind.

BUCKHURST: I don't give a damn what your instructions are!

Will you get out of my way, you old fool?

I don't propose to be kept waiting here.

MAJOR: I'm sorry, sir. Mrs. Trotter's engaged.

Will you get out of the way?

Sorry. You can't just go barging in.

What seems to be the trouble,

Mr. Buckhurst?

Well, where shall I begin?

Perhaps with the dilatory

and discourteous service

of these doddering pensioners you employ

or the apparent inability of the kitchen staff

to supply a simple snack without 2 hours' notice.

It was gone midnight, sir.

I explained the kitchen staff had gone to bed.

That will do, Merriman.

The gentleman hasn't finished yet.

Not by a long chalk.

I haven't even started on the general surliness

and impertinence of the hall porter,

who took 10 minutes to fetch me an evening paper

and did it with damned ill grace.

Starr had 4 suitcases

and a cabin trunk to bring down.

They were for the Southampton boat train.

You haven't mentioned your room yet.

There must have been something wrong

with that.

As it happens, I quite clearly asked

to be moved to a larger one.

There was none available, Mr. Buckhurst.

That's a damned lie.

The suite on the second floor

has been vacant since I arrived.

It would have suited me excellently.

That room is permanently reserved for...

For a regular patron.

Oh, I'm surprised such a creature exists

or that anyone would wish to stay here twice.

And I'm surprised

you've stayed as long as you have.

If you'll just settle your bill.

I have no intention

of paying such an exorbitant sum

for such inadequate service.

Very well, then.

Since you feel you've been overcharged...

Where's your bill?

I see. Well.

Since you've torn it in half,

I'll only charge you half.

Hand over 10 pounds, 9 shillings,

and 4 pence,

and then clear off out of my hotel!

Now there's an admission!

An admission of what?

That you deliberately tried to overcharge me!

You won't get a penny out of me,

and that's the price for cheating your guests.

Starr, take them bags upstairs.

Madam, I just brought them down.

Take them back upstairs!

You lock them in Mr. Buckhurst's room!

They stay there until he pays his bill...

in full.

Come back with my cases!

STARR: I have my instructions.

Oh, damn your instructions!

And you mind your bleedin' language!

Mrs. Trotter: I'll do it!

BUCKHURST: There's plenty more

where that came from!

CONSTABLE: Now, then, now, then, what's all this?

Very nice, Culliford. Very neat.

Congratulation on the byline.

I must say it reads as though

you had to earn it.

Praise from the competition

is especially welcome,

and I did earn it.

10 days' residence in an East End slum

deserves some appreciation

beyond that shown by the bedbugs.

Millie, 2 scotches here, please.

A small one for me.

I've got to get back to the office.

Harmsworth keeping you hard at it?

No, not particularly.

No, I've just been down to Bow Street.

There was this amusing little case

I want to write up.

A Mr. Nigel Buckhurst

was fined for causing a disturbance

at the Bentinck Hotel and assaulting a policeman.

Small stuff for the "Mirror,"

I should have thought.

Oh, but amusing.

The woman who runs the Bentinck's a real character.

CULLIFORD: Who, Louisa Trotter?

Oh, you've heard of her?

Well, most people have.

She was as good as a music-hall turn.

Even brought a smile

to the beak's thin lips.

Nice little story.

Well, I promise to laugh when I read it.

Oh, you won't read about it in the "Banner."

Why not?

Well, the accused, this fellow Buckhurst,

he's your, uh... Publisher's nephew.

Come in.

Oh, come in, Mr. Buckhurst.

Good morning, Mr. Lawrie.

Morning.

Uncle.

Oh, you would say so, Nigel?

You would say that this is a good morning?

I have some matters to attend to

in the case room.

If you'll excuse me for a few minutes,

Mr. Bulstrode.

I imagine that you think that I've summoned you here

to reprimand you over this unfortunate business.

I don't expect you

to be too pleased about it, uncle.

Oh, too pleased? Oh, too pleased.

Oh, well, now let us see

if I should be pleased in any degree whatsoever.

Mmm?

Now, should I feel pleased that my nephew

has been convicted of brawling

like a drunken stevedore

and that his guilt was established in a court

normally reserved for the transgressions

of quarreling costermongers and common prostitutes?

Hmm?

Or perhaps my pleasure should derive

from the knowledge that, this very moment,

your mother, my sister,

is prostrate with shame and humiliations

and that my name, my very own name,

Gerald Bulstrode,

principal proprietor of the "Morning Banner,"

Is associated in this squalid matter

as uncle of the accused,

and in Harmsworth's press at that!

MARY: Ooh, I like that bit

where they say how Fred went for him.

Yeah, well, he did, now.

Ooh, and there's another bit

that sounds a real laugh.

I didn't say that, did I?

Sounds as though you quite enjoyed yourself.

Yeah, well, maybe I did just a bit

at the time.

Still, didn't think

it would all finish up in the papers.

The staff are all very proud

of the way you handled yourself.

Yeah, well, I just got annoyed

at the way his lawyer

was going on at me...

as though it was me

that knocked the bobby's helmet off.

Still, maybe I should have kept me mouth shut.

Don't do the hotel no good

to get mentioned in the papers.

Oh, I don't know.

They say that... what do you call it?

Publicity is good for business.

Yeah, not our sort of business, Mary.

Our guests like their hotels

to be discreet.

Might attract the wrong sort.

Yeah, like Mr. Nigel Buckhurst.

Yeah.

Why do you say that?

Well, he had some funny ideas.

Goodness knows where he got them.

What happened?

Come on. Out with it.

Well, he got a bit familiar with me.

I told him to leave off,

and he said not to come the innocent

because he'd been told what kind of place this was.

You should have reported that to me straightaway!

I didn't like to bother you,

what with the hotel being full

and everybody run off their feet.

I told him off proper, I did.

Quite right, Mary. Quite right.

I'd have sent him packing

with a flea in his ear.

You got your chance in court,

didn't you, ma'am?

Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I did.

No, what really got me

was his saying that the service was bad.

Well, we are a bit pushed.

Well, that's a reason. It's not an excuse.

Maybe we have fallen

below our usual standards,

what with the place being so full

and Starr twisting his ankle like that.

You know, I reckon we could use some extra help

over the next few weeks.

Just passed your nephew

looking somewhat crestfallen.

Oh, it does him good

to get a dressing-down occasionally.

It was no more than a youthful peccadillo,

you know.

You can't put an old head

on young shoulders,

though now I've heard

his side of the story,

it does seem

he did have some provocation.

What do you know of this place

in Duke Street, hmm?

The Bentinck? Not much.

I attended a private dinner party there once

about a year ago.

You surprise me, Lawrie.

It hardly sounds the sort of place

I'd expect you to frequent.

One dinner party

hardly qualifies me as an habitue.

It seemed to me

to be a well-run establishment.

The meal was excellent.

Oh, I have no doubt, patronized as it is

by all the fashionable riffraff.

By all accounts, the place

is somewhat demimondaine in character.

By all accounts?

Oh, my nephew has tales to tell

of wild, drunken parties

and gaming until all hours.

Indeed, it would appear to be

a little better

than a common house of assignation.

Apparently, one female on the staff

quite blatantly tried to proposition him.

Now, this woman who runs the place.

Louisa Trotter, Mrs.

A rough diamond by the sound of it.

What do you know about her?

She doesn't like journalists.

What makes you say that?

She told me so to my face

when we were introduced.

She regards the fourth estate

as being a pack of gossipmongers.

Well, Mrs. Trotter is very free

with her opinions.

Does her outspokenness

arise from fear?

I didn't form the impression

that she was afraid of much.

What would she fear?

Oh, the integrity and purpose

and the proper inquisitiveness

of the press

and its capacity

for exposing those matters

that others would have concealed.

No. I think she just doesn't like journalists.

Ah. Well, as you are aware,

it is my stated position

not to interfere

in the editorial policy of this newspaper.

Now, that is your province,

and it will remain so

while I'm the principal proprietor.

Your attitude is much appreciated,

Mr. Bulstrode.

No, no. I have every faith

in your judgment, Lawrie.

You take the decisions,

and you accept the responsibility.

Nevertheless, I might take it upon myself

to venture an opinion occasionally

or to make such suggestions

as could be considered useful.

And you have a suggestion.

What's wrong with that one, then?

He's done this sort of work before.

The certain cast to his features, madam.

Shifty, wouldn't you say?

Correct. Definitely shifty.

I'd say I didn't notice.

Oh, Fred did.

Dogs are notoriously good judges of human nature.

That's the fourth the agency sent.

You ain't fancied any of them.

I'm only after an underporter

to help me till your ankle sorts itself.

My physician is not optimistic, Mrs. Trotter.

Well, I can't waste any more time

interviewing people.

You find someone Fred wags his tail at

and let me know, but be quick about it.

High living at the Bentinck?

Sounds more like

something for the gossip column.

No. It's right up your street.

Suggestion came from Mr. Bulstrode.

He's got his eye on you, Culliford.

You might do yourself some good there.

That apart, our principal proprietor

has a very genuine nose for what sells newspapers.

Do you think this would?

One of the great philosophers,

Phineas T. Barnum by name,

once said that nobody ever lost any money

by underestimating public taste.

There's a lesson for all of us

in that profundity.

Eludes me.

No newspaper ever lost circulation by catering

for the prejudices of its readers.

You're aware, of course, who our readers are?

Anyone with a halfpenny.

The new literates,

the working people of this land,

now beginning to flex their political muscles.

The "Banner" will assist in that exercise,

and with 29 labor party members elected last year,

there clearly is a horse worth the riding.

Oh, all right.

I can see it would make a nice contrast

with my piece on the East End slums.

Mr. Bulstrode's thoughts exactly.

You're aware, of course, that he has certain...

..preoccupations at the moment.

Harmsworth's elevation to the peerage

has given rise to certain hopes.

Indeed, he's just purchased a modest estate

near the village of Beltham

in the expectation that they'll be realized.

I had heard.

Of course you have.

I wouldn't be imparting these confidences

were they not already common knowledge.

Now, you'll agree that, uh...

While Lord Northcliffe has a certain ring to it,

Lord Beltham is not without it's euphony.

The proprietor and guiding spirit

of a crusading newspaper,

dedicated to exposing the injustices

of our society,

revealing without mercy the moral canker

rotting the fabric and...

This, that, and the other.

Such a man must surely find his reward

in the honours list.

Do you understand?

Perfectly.

I shall book into the Bentinck tomorrow.

That you will not.

Apart from the unlikelihood

of your obtaining accommodation

at the height of the season,

Mrs. Trotter is particular

about whom she accommodates.

And I should tell you

that if she even suspects you

of being guilty of journalism,

you won't get a foot past the front door.

Oh, well, in that case,

I shall use the servants entrance.

You met him in a pub?

Yes, madam...the George, round the corner.

He comes highly recommended.

By who?

Me.

Oh, I thought for a moment

you was going to say Fred.

The animal has indicated his approval, yes, madam,

but I'm sure you'll find Jenkins

a most civil young man

and very neat about his person.

True, his previous experience

has been in the license trade...

all right. All right. Send him in.

Now, then, old fellow,

you had your supper yet, eh?

I'll bet the scraps are something special

in a place like this.

Roast duck and caviar, I shouldn't wonder.

Mrs. Trotter will see you now, Jenkins.

Ta, Mr. Starr.

I'm very grateful to you for fixing up this, uh...

Hurry up, lad. Look smartish.

An asset, Fred. Correct?

An asset.

Your previous employer

seems to think highly of you.

Why did you leave him?

Oh, to better myself, mum.

I quite enjoyed working in the pub,

but I just didn't want to stay a potman

all my life.

I thought I'd like to make my way

in the hotel trade,

and as how I hear it,

the Bentinck is the place to learn.

Well, you look sharp enough.

You've got a smooth tongue.

It'd be long hours and not regular.

You'll have to turn your hand

to whatever comes up...

helping in the kitchen,

running errands,

seeing the guests' shoes are polished.

I can't pay much, not for a temporary.

MAJOR: Oh, and, Starr,

young Mr. Forbes-Maltby

is expecting a guest for supper tonight.

You're to show her straight up to his rooms.

Straight up, Major.

What name shall she give?

Any name she fancies. It won't be her real one.

None of your business.

Sorry, Major. I just thought

that if Mr. Starr wasn't here,

I might have to announce her.

You won't.

I don't know what I've done,

but he's taken against me.

That's for sure.

He's been snapping at me

since the day I arrived.

Oh, he can be a funny old cove at times.

Don't let it worry you. You're doing very well.

Thanks, Mr. Starr.

I enjoy working here.

Mr. Starr,

I thought Mrs. Trotter was strict

about letting the street girls in.

Oh, she is, only them's tarts.

This one's a lady.

She just doesn't want her husband upset.

Know what I mean?

It's melon glace to start, consomme de vollaille.

Oh, yeah, and he specially asked for steak tartare.

Ooh, how can he eat raw meat?

I know. You don't have to cook it.

You just have to kill it.

If you ask me, he's heard somewhere

it restores the declining powers.

Oh, sorry to interrupt,

Mrs. Trotter.

I just wondered

if you'd like a fire in your room.

It's gone a bit chill.

Oh. Yes, it has. Light one, just in case.

Yes, mum. Ta.

How is Jenkins getting on, then?

Oh, fine, fine.

He seems to be everywhere at once,

and always willing to lend a hand.

Really keen on the hotel business...

always asking questions.

And the staff like him...

well, all except the major.

Oh, yeah? Why is that?

If you ask me, I think he thinks

that Jenkins is giving him a showing up.

Or maybe...

I don't suppose Jenkins meant any harm,

but he was cleaning the boots yesterday,

and the major walked in and caught him whistling.

There's no harm in being cheerful.

He was whistling

"Here Comes the Galloping Major."

Oh! Ha ha ha!

STARR: Major, could I have a word with you?

You couldn't expect much better.

Is that so?

Oh, Major, I wonder if...

MAJOR: Ah, yes.

Ahem. Takes you a long time

to lay a fire, doesn't it?

Oh. Be with you directly, Major.

What's this here? Private party?

MAJOR: I was just having a word with Jenkins.

You ain't had a night off

since you've been here, have you?

I can't say I've noticed.

Time just seems to fly.

Still, all work, no play?

When you finished that,

rest of the evening's yours.

Thanks, Mrs. Trotter. If I get a move on,

I might just be in time

for the last showing at the bioscope.

Bung this in the post on the way out,

would you?

I've never seen anything like it.

More like a battleground than a dock strike.

7,000 troops on the streets of Belfast,

bottles, stones,

and God knows what else flying.

Good copy, huh?

I see you managed to get an interview

with Big Jim Larkin.

Wasn't easy. Millie, 2 here, please.

Ha ha ha!

Culliford, what's this here

about you looking for an honest job?

I don't know. What have you heard?

The landlord tells me

he gave you a reference as a barman.

Some kind of joke?

Yeah, it's some kind of a joke.

Sorry, Millie. How much is that?

Thanks very much.

Have one yourself.

Where the hell have you been?

I've been looking all over for you.

You gave Jenkins the evening off.

I know I did.

What the hell has it got to do with you?

So I followed him. He's up to no good.

I spotted him for a wrong one

the moment I set eyes on him,

and I was right.

Why? What's he done?

You might well ask.

I am bleedin' asking.

I followed him, don't you see?

And it wasn't easy.

First, he took a bus

as far as the Aldwych.

Then he alighted

and completed his journey on foot.

Major...

I should say that since he walks

with a fairly swift stride,

I was really quite puffed

by the time he got to his destination.

Major, what exactly did Jenkins do?

He went into a public house.

Well, it isn't a crime to go into a pub.

Well, no,

but it's suspicious, isn't it?

I mean, there are plenty of pubs

around here.

Why should he go all the way

to Fleet Street?

This pub, was it called The Vineyard?

Um...why, yes. I believe it was.

Oh, you silly old... Soldier.

He worked there at one time.

Most likely went back to meet one of his mates.

Oh.

Now, look here, Major.

You and me's going to have a few words.

I know you don't like Jenkins,

but he works hard,

he gets on well with everyone else,

and I won't have you spying on my staff

and then coming back to me

with tales of doings that don't concern you.

Is that understood?

Yes. Understood.

Then we'll say no more about it.

I'll have no more of it.

But, Mrs. Trotter, my dear,

I understand men's characters...

commanded them.

So does Starr's dog,

and I'm a pretty good judge meself.

Now, that's the last word's been said.

Yes.

Excuse me, mum.

Mr. Merriman says to tell you that

the new lot from the wine merchant's

in their bins.

He's waiting in the cellar

to go over the stock list

when you're ready.

I'll be right down.

Oh, um...

How did you enjoy the bioscope last night?

Oh, I didn't go, Mrs. Trotter.

Well, I...

I rather fancied seeing it in the company of someone...

young lady I know serves behind the bar

in the place I used to work.

The Vineyard?

Uh, yes, that's right.

Her and me were walking out together at one time.

I knew it was her night off,

so I went along to see

if she'd fancy going to see it with me.

But she didn't.

Well, no. We got talking,

and by the time we were finished,

it was too late.

It was quite the serious talk

we had, Mrs. Trotter.

Could you spare me a few minutes?

Yeah, yeah. Of course. Come in.

Shut the door.

What is it, then?

Well...

I popped the question, and she said yes.

Oh, you cheeky devil!

Congratulations.

Oh, well, um...

Yes, I was wondering how to tell you.

Well, it is a bit of a problem.

I mean,

I know your job's only temporary,

but even if it wasn't,

I couldn't take on a married couple.

Oh, I understand that, Mrs. Trotter,

but I've...we've been offered a position up north.

A little pub, it is. It's for marrieds.

Only trouble is, I'd have to take it up

by next Wednesday at the latest.

Oh, don't worry about that.

Don't worry about working out

your week's notice.

I'll pay you up to Friday,

maybe a little bit extra.

You can go when you like.

You'll want to be off.

Thanks, Mrs. Trotter.

What's your intended's name?

CULLIFORD: Millie.

Same again, ducks.

Here you are.

Keep the change, Millie.

Cor! Mr. Culliford!

It was meant for you.

"In Duke Street, that discreet and fashionable thoroughfare,

"is to be found the equally discreet

"and fashionable Bentinck Hotel,

"and with good reason.

Discretion is its main stock in trade."

Nice, Culliford. Very nice.

"The Bentinck is a private hotel...

"A very private hotel

"whose proprietress, Mrs. Louisa Trotter,

"guards its clients and their activities

"from the ever-curious gaze of the outside world

with the zeal of a tigress protecting its cubs."

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

"Here, in this temple of wealth and privilege,

"the rich may disport themselves,

"secure in the knowledge that their indiscretions

"will go no further than its elegant salons.

"Here, they may game from sunset to sunrise if they wish

"or meet with the ladies of their choice

in amorous dalliance."

Sounds like I'm running

a bleedin' whorehouse!

Well, Mrs. Trotter, I can assure you

that no newspaper person

has sneaked through these portals

while I've been on duty.

Fred would have sniffed him out immediately.

I'm not saying one got inside.

I'm asking which of you

has been talking outside!

I am quite sure a member of the staff

wouldn't have done a thing like that.

Where'd he get all that from, then?

And there's lots more.

There's no names right enough,

but you can tell

who he's talking about.

Perhaps one of the guests told him.

We don't have that kind of guest.

David Culliford...

I'll knock his bleedin' block off!

MAN: You cannot go in

without authority.

I didn't come here to make an appointment!

Get out of the way, boy!

Listen, madam, you cannot go in!

I'm sorry, sir...

do you run this scandal sheet?

I am the editor of the "Morning Banner,"

Mrs. Trotter, if that's what you mean.

In that case... hang on a mo.

I've seen you before.

My name's Lawrie.

I had the pleasure of meeting you

about a year ago.

Oh, yeah, I remember.

Well, it won't be a pleasure

meeting me again!

What do you mean by publishing

these lies about my hotel?

I am confident that the banner

has printed only the truth.

Don't tell me what's true

and what isn't.

Your Mr. Culliford's

never been inside its walls,

from what I can make out.

The journalist in question is noted

for the accuracy of his reporting.

Oh, is he now?

Well, you get him in here.

I'll give him a few home truths.

I'm afraid that's quite out of the question,

Mrs. Trotter.

Apart from anything else,

Mr. Culliford is not in the building.

In that case,

I'll wait here until he returns.

Mrs. Trotter, I cannot possibly allow you

to wait in my office.

Well, I'm not budging until I see him.

So what you going to do?

Have me carried down the stairs

kicking and screaming?

No.

Not without illustrations.

Photographic session, Mr. Bulstrode.

May I present Mrs. Louisa Trotter

of the Bentinck Hotel?

Our proprietor, Mr. Bulstrode.

Madam.

I don't quite understand.

Mrs. Trotter declines to leave my office

until she's spoken to Culliford.

I, in turn, decline to allow the interview.

So you're taking her photograph?

It will enhance the page

on which the next article

concerning the Bentinck is printed.

Indeed, Mrs. Trotter has kindly offered our readers

the spectacle of her being carried

struggling from the room by 2 commissionaires

who will be summoned

as soon as the camera is prepared.

Oh, an excellent notion, Mr. Lawrie.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes.

Oh, yes, and I will write the caption

for this myself.

You're not taking my bleedin' picture.

Well, I scarcely see how you can prevent us,

Mrs. Trotter...

except, of course, by leaving.

You call yourselves men!

Good day, Mrs. Trotter.

Ha ha ha!

Mrs. Trotter.

You say one word... Just one word!

As for being a judge of character,

you ought to have that bleedin' mongrel

put down!

My dear, the impulse was understandable,

but to call round to see them...

worse, physically to assault one of them...

Still, I suppose it could be presented

as innocence outraged.

It may not prejudice our case too badly.

Case. What case?

Well, you can't possibly let matters rest.

The damage done by that article

must be enormous.

Well, I might lose some custom,

attract some I don't want,

but the Bentinck's reputation

will recover.

You may not be here to see it.

Louisa, you must proceed against this newspaper

for libel.

Oh, please.

No lawyers, no letters.

It need never go to court.

A simple printed apology and retraction

would suffice.

Do you think that they'd wear it?

Well, since you appear

to have left the editor and proprietor uninjured,

it is just possible.

Oh, them two.

That Lawrie's a crafty one.

As for Bulstrode,

he likes to think he's gentry.

You can smell the newness

of his money.

Possibly true, but certainly irrelevant.

If they decline to publish a retraction,

then you must proceed to litigation.

Oh, no.

I'd rather forget it ever happened.

Louisa, answer me very carefully.

Is there any substance in Culliford's article?

Well, it's true, and it ain't.

It's more the way it's put.

There's that bit

that obviously refers to young Forbes-Maltby,

but he's written it like the girl's some tart.

We cannot produce Forbes-Maltby

to refute the allegation?

Oh, God, no. There'd be a divorce.

Anyway, I told you,

I'm not going near no court.

I'm afraid you have no alternative.

A note of hand

was delivered to my office today

requesting me to call round

to see Firbank, Bricelow and Firbank.

Solicitors. About the lease?

Mmm. I spoke to the senior partner.

It's no longer a simple matter

of wanting to increase the ground rent.

The lessors wish to see the lease terminated

as soon as possible.

They object to having their premises used as a...

House of ill fame.

They can't do that, can they?

Just because some gossipmonger...

if we allow this report to go unchallenged,

it will be taken as an admission

that there is truth in the allegation.

And she'd lose the hotel?

Sir Esmond seemed to think so.

He said she wouldn't have a leg to stand on

if they said she'd broken the lease.

I'd like to break Jenkins'...

Culliford's neck.

"This being so,

"unless a full and agreed retraction

"is published and given equal prominence,

"and unless compensation is offered

"for the damage sustained by my client,

"she will have no alternative

"but to seek a writ for libel

"against your newspaper

and all others connected with this matter."

Manning. The lady can afford the best.

We can afford better.

You intend to contest the action.

That is for the board to decide.

BULSTRODE: I've just been reading

young Culliford's piece.

Excellent stuff. Excellent.

Yes.

And you are confident as to its accuracy.

As I told Mrs. Trotter,

I believe we publish the truth.

In the public interest, yes?

Yes.

BULSTRODE: Yes. Well, be assured

I shall stand behind you.

Since the suggestion for the article

was your own,

I should have thought that, uh, beside me

was a more appropriate position.

I do recall having made several suggestions,

and I cannot quarrel with the fact that you

found one worthy of your attention,

but the manner of its execution

is your responsibility,

and you're aware of my feelings

on the subject

of editorial responsibility.

Am I to understand, Mr. Bulstrode,

that this threatened libel action

is solely my affair?

Well, you appreciate

I cannot become involved.

Wrong assumptions might be made

about why the piece was published.

Your nephew.

You take my point exactly.

Mr. Lawrie.

Taverns of this street have been the ruination

of many a good journalist...

And not a few bad ones.

They are, however, the only places

where I can be certain of finding my staff.

You may purchase for me a glass of seltzer.

Ah, yes, of course.

Millie, a glass of seltzer here,

please.

You looking for me?

Yes. I thought we would have our talk here

rather than my office

since our conversation

will be informal and unofficial,

and I intend, if need be,

to deny that it ever took place.

MILLIE: There you are, duck.

Oh, ta.

This Bentinck business...

you are quite certain of your facts?

I have full notes of who's been there,

when, and for what purpose.

Our legal advisers tend to think the last

somewhat speculative.

Ugh. Disgusting stuff.

In fact, they think this libel action

might well succeed,

and that could have unfortunate consequences.

That's only a threat at the moment.

You're not going to print a retraction,

are you?

Mr. Bulstrode has set his face

firmly against it.

We must, therefore, persuade Mrs. Trotter

to drop her action

or destroy her character to such an extent

that the action will fail.

A woman of that sort must have a past.

You would do well to find out

what that past is.

I doubt if there's much to find out.

You must have overheard servants' gossip

at the Bentinck.

Nothing worth remembering.

I seem to detect a certain lack of enthusiasm.

Why go on persecuting her?

To prevent her from persecuting us.

Let me explain some of the facts of life,

starting with the laws of libel.

The defendants in this action

will be yourself as author,

myself as editor,

and the "Banner" as printers and publishers.

It will have struck you immediately

that the first two are individuals,

while the third is an organization.

The proprietors would stand by us.

They'd have little choice, but only up to a point,

and if the case went against us...

Well, I've had some intimation

where that point would lie.

It could have a calamitous effect

on your career.

Are you saying I'd be finished

in newspapers?

No.

You might get a job selling them.

Now, where do we start with Louisa Trotter?

Well,

she had a house at Eaton Terrace once.

There might be something in that.

How could he have found out?

Nobody knows except me and Charlie.

There were others, Louisa,

and others beyond them

that might have put 2 and 2 together.

A careless word...

In any case,

the birth is recorded at somerset house,

so there's no denying it,

and it will be natural to wonder

why the child is never seen with you.

These newspaper chappies

have a way of finding out things.

Everything all right, ma'am?

No, Mary. Everything's all wrong.

Somehow or other,

the newspaper's found out

about the baby.

Their lawyer's been dropping heavy hints

to Sir Esmond.

Oh, my God.

But how?

They don't know... I mean,

they haven't found out that she's...

Lord Haslemere's bastard?

No, not unless someone tells them.

Oh, God. No lawyers, no letters,

and kiss me baby's bottom.

Hello, Culliford.

We thought you'd deserted us.

In fact, we thought you'd signed the pledge.

I've just been out of town

for a few days.

Someone's been asking after you...

an old codger.

He's been sitting over there

for the past 5 nights.

Thanks, Nelson.

Cheers.

Evening, Major.

What?

Ah, it's you, Jenkins.

Culliford.

Jenkins, Culliford, whatever your name is.

You are a rogue, a scoundrel.

If I were a younger man, I'd thrash you.

Tied to the wheel of a gun carriage?

Is that all you've come to say?

I...

Have come to appeal to any decent feelings

you might have left.

You have injured a fine woman,

caused her great distress.

She hasn't been sleeping for nights,

and now, it seems, she is to lose her hotel.

Mrs. Trotter's going to lose the Bentinck?

Something to do with the lease,

and all because of your lying innuendoes.

Your actions are beneath contempt.

Probably, Major,

and there's worse to come.

I've just come back from Great Yarmouth.

I met Mr. Trotter...

Mr. Augustus Trotter.

He's spoken to Gussie?

Well, that's the fat in the fire, all right!

One bottle of brandy,

and my dear husband will talk for a week,

throw in a song for good measure.

He declined to reveal

what it was that Mr. Trotter told him,

but he might tell you.

I prevailed upon him to return with me.

Culliford's here?

I formed the impression

that he was quite anxious to come.

Mrs. Trotter will see you.

You know the way.

I've given Fred strict instructions

to have his ankle on the way out.

I suppose you're proud of yourself.

Pride doesn't come into it, Mrs. Trotter.

I do my job as best I can,

and I think it's worth doing.

Call it a job?

There's girls on the street outside

got jobs more worth doing.

That's some kind of job that is,

worming your way in here with lies,

and then printing more lies

in your rotten newspaper...

I reported what I saw.

You reported what you wanted to see.

Mrs. Trotter, some time ago, I wrote an article

about what it was like to live in an East End slum...

the hunger, the hopelessness, the squalor,

the sheer brutality of survival.

Then I come to a place like this,

where the worst tragedy that can occur

is a souffle going flat.

Oh, God.

Heard all that before, or something like it.

Well, maybe it was your conscience speaking.

You and I come from the same background.

You know what I'm talking about.

Oh, I know, all right.

I know better than you, most like,

but I can't change the world single-handed.

Anyway, I wouldn't want to.

What's the harm in giving a few people

a bit of fun and pleasure?

Perhaps the girls on the street

might give that same answer.

Don't hit me again, Mrs. Trotter.

We have an important matter to discuss,

you and I.

Like my daughter?

Among other things.

What did Gussie tell you?

Well, he was quite forthcoming.

You mean he was drunk?

Aye, he was drunk and bitter, Mrs. Trotter.

Seems to think

you've treated him rather badly.

But he's going to be sober in the witness-box.

Now, his testimony will do your character

no good at all.

Look, Mrs. Trotter, if you drop this action,

I have reason to believe that my employers

are prepared to forget the whole thing.

If I drop this action,

I lose the lease on my hotel.

Couldn't you just say you got it all wrong,

you made a mistake?

I won't ask for damages if you printed that.

The "Banner" would look foolish,

and I'd lose my job.

What about my child? What about my hotel?

You have a difficult decision to make, Mrs. Trotter.

When I said your husband was forthcoming,

I meant just that.

Now, he instanced...

Several things that...

Here you are, Mr. Culliford.

Mmm.

Morning, Mary. Major.

Morning, mum. I was wondering

if should I pop down to Covent Garden

for some globe artichokes?

The ones we've been sent...

Yeah, yeah, whatever you think.

You look as if

you haven't slept a wink.

I haven't.

Culliford was here last night.

MARY: The major was saying.

Here, Major. When you're done,

drop that round to Sir Esmond Manning's office.

I'm going to ask him to drop the lawsuit.

Culliford?

Yeah. He's found out about...

Someone who mustn't become mixed up in this,

no matter what happens.

I asked him to keep it to himself.

I pleaded with him, in fact, but it was no good.

But what happens to the Bentinck?

If we lose the lease, God knows.

I might get another hotel.

On the other hand,

I might not even bother to try.

In the meantime,

let's keep what reputation we do have,

and that's for high-class cuisine.

What's wrong with the artichokes?

Remarkable. Remarkable.

Of course, the telegraphing of pictures

has been a known possibility for some time.

Still, the "Mirror" can congratulate itself

on being the first to do it.

I think we should look into the possibilities.

Don't you agree?

I'm sorry. What did you say?

This picture, Mr. Bulstrode.

It came from Paris... by wire.

It shows His Majesty.

Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed. Yes.

Now, we have more important matters to consider.

I've just been reading Culliford's copy.

LAWRIE: I think he's shown remarkable enterprise.

Oh, yes. He's done extremely well,

extremely well.

I must be frank with you, Lawrie.

I'm not entirely satisfied

with the way that you are handling

this affair.

Indeed?

And as reluctant as I am,

I feel that I must now personally intervene.

Thank you, Mrs. Trotter,

and your very good health.

Now, to come straight to the point,

when word reached me

of the circumstances concerning your hotel

and your conjugal difficulties,

I considered the matter very carefully.

I do not have a heart of stone,

and it is not my intention to drive you to the wall.

Now, while your attitude

has hardly been conciliatory...

it was your rotten newspaper

that started it.

Please, Louisa.

I think Mr. Bulstrode has a proposition to put.

Oh, yes, I have. I have.

Now, I've never been the sort of man

to bear a grudge,

and I have no desire to injure an innocent child

nor, for that matter,

to cause any unnecessary distress to its mother.

Now, if you're prepared

to abandon this ill-advised lawsuit,

it is possible

that I might be able to meet you halfway.

Plainly, Mr. Bulstrode, will you print a retraction?

Well, I am willing to consider...

no more than consider...

the possibility

that our reporter, Mr. Culliford,

may have overstressed certain facts.

I say may have. I admit to nothing.

You ought to sack him, that's what.

What form would the retraction take?

Well, the "Banner" will not grovel.

Let that be clear.

No. I had in mind

a brief but dignified expression of regret

that the wrong impression might have been given

and that the "Banner" now accepts that the Bentinck

is an establishment of the utmost respectability

and its proprietress a lady of...

impeccable respectability.

Well, you know the sort of thing,

Mrs. Trotter.

We can leave the precise wording

to the lawyer Johnnies.

No offense meant, Sir Esmond.

None taken.

What compensation did you have in mind

for the damage sustained by my client?

You going to sack Culliford?

Now, Sir Esmond, you know,

you seek to overstrain my generosity.

Now, as for Culliford,

I have made certain suggestions.

Very well, then. I accept.

Louisa, don't be too hasty.

I accept! I accept, I accept.

Well, Sir Esmond,

you seem to have had your client's instructions.

What do you want?

I want to see Mrs. Trotter.

And if she doesn't want to see you?

Well, she'll want to see this.

Well, that's it.

First edition, straight off the press,

so be careful... the ink's still wet.

It'll do.

And now I've seen it,

you can push off

and rake around for some dirt

elsewhere.

I am pushing off,

tomorrow, as it happens, all the way to America.

I've been appointed

the "Banner's" correspondent in New York.

Oh, good.

I won't wish you bon voyage

'cause I hope you'll be seasick

the whole way.

Still, it will be a relief to you

to know that your secrets are 3,000 miles away.

No thanks to you, they are secret.

No? You'd be surprised.

What? Do you mean you didn't tell...

oh, no. I wrote it up in as lurid a manner

as the facts would allow.

When I ran out of facts, I invented some.

Made the paper curl.

I take back what I said

about you being seasick.

I hope you fall off the dock

at Southampton.

Mr. Bulstrode was very impressed.

Of course, he decided not to print it.

Well, it shows

there's some gentlemen left.

His ambitions run higher

than being a mere gentleman.

He's even got his title picked out

for the next honours list.

Now, he's not likely to offend the one person

who can see to it

that he doesn't appear on that list, is he?

I don't believe you.

He said it was for sake of my kid.

She's got nothing to do with...

with a certain personage.

Somehow or another,

Mr. Bulstrode has the notion that she has.

The king ain't her father!

Mrs. Trotter,

I've got a pretty fair idea who is.

Then what made him think that...

I don't know.

Must have been the way I wrote it.

Well, good-bye, Mrs. Trotter.

Oh...

I owe you 2 quid.

Oh.

Thanks.

And, uh... Bon voyage.

Give him a biscuit.