Original subtitles

Here in this house, I spent my childhood years.

Here I grew to manhood, cherished and cared for by my beloved cousin, Ambrose.

Poor health had made it necessary for him to winter abroad, and this year he was going to Italy, the Florence.

For some inexplicable reason he had been reluctant to leave, and his mood of melancholy had transmitted itself to me.

What did I feel so anxious? Was it just the sadness of parting?

The chill of autumn was already in the air as I watched the carriage drive away.

And I felt again a curious tremor of alarm.

His parting words I would remember always.

Take care of things, you sir. Don't fail me.

Take care of yourself.

Time to get up, master Philip.

It's only nine o'clock. Go away, Succamontide.

Miss Louise is downstairs. Louise? She said who promised to go riding with her.

Oh Lord, yes.

I just met her.

Why did you stop?

Last night.

I dreamt about this place.

Ambrose brought me here once. He has a girl and I was a child.

There was a jibbit over there by the crossroads.

And a man hanging from it.

Strange dream.

Come on, let's go.

I don't want to stay here. Please, come on.

I'm going to do it.

I'm going to do it.

I'm going to do it.

I'm going to do it.

Hey.

Rinaldi.

Hi.

Don't worry, it is too bad, huh?

It's not too bad.

It's a good one.

I don't know if you're going to see me.

But...

I don't know if you're going to see me.

It's not too bad.

It's too bad.

It's too bad.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

You'll be surprised to learn that I have made the acquaintance of a connection of ours, the Contessa Sangoletti,

who despite her name is half English, a descendant of the Corinth family.

Ask her godfather Nick.

He knows all the family gossip.

Who are the Corins?

And what does he mean by a connection of ours?

Well, as far as I remember, a Corin married an Ashley two generations ago.

Which would make Ambrose and this Contessa acquaintance?

Yes, that's right.

He says here, I'm beginning to have a real regard for the Contessa Sangoletti,

or as she insists on calling herself my cousin Rachel.

Does he say hello, Cheer?

No, but he says she's a widow.

Yes, she was married at an early age to an Italian nobleman called Sangoletti,

who departed this life by fighting a duel, and left her with a load of debts and a great empty villa.

What, you used to that sort of life being a Corin?

What do you mean?

Well, they were a factless lot from all accounts.

So go gamblers, gamble everything.

What else does he say?

Nothing really.

Oh, she's interested in gardening, so that gives them something in common.

My fond love to Nick and to Louise, and of course to yourself, always your devoted Ambrose.

Well, I think it's all rather exciting, don't you?

I mean discovering that there's a mysterious lady living in Florence who is really your long lost cousin.

Well, no, she's Ambrose's cousin, not mine.

You almost do, my boy.

A distant cousin may be, but a cousin nonetheless.

Is she?

Oh, yes.

Yes, I suppose she is.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

My dear cousin Ambrose, thank you so very much for the magnificent pair of riding boots,

which arrived just two days before Christmas.

I was unable to resist the temptation to ride off at once to show them to my godfather and Louise.

And they both declared that they were the finest boots they had ever seen.

So indeed they are.

Thank you again dear cousin for such a splendid and generous present.

The weather thank heaven has been mild this year.

Little snow but a great deal of rain.

I thank god that you are safely settled in Italy.

For this prolonged dampness would have caused you a lot of pain.

Do write and tell me all your news.

It seems so long since I had a letter from you.

Do you still see the Contessa Sangaletti?

What a remarkable coincidence that you and she should have met as you did.

I look forward most eagerly to hearing from you.

I am, as always, your devoted and affectionate cousin.

Philip.

You must stop worrying about him, Philip.

I'm not worried.

Well of course I am, wouldn't you be?

It's not like posting a letter from London. Italy is a long way away.

Every year when he's been abroad, Ambrose has written regularly once a month.

Why not this year?

Perhaps he's busier.

Paul?

I don't know.

You must remember Louise.

Ambrose has more to me than just a cousin.

Without him my life wouldn't have been worth living, would it?

I'd have been sent off to some ghastly orphanage who my parents died and ended up...

well, heaven knows where.

His father, brother, friend, everything really.

Is all I have?

There's us too.

Yes, of course.

Who was the winner?

I was talking to that young Graham the other day.

He was saying he went out fly fishing with Mr. Rodney.

They got a freight of fine trep now for an hour.

Impossible.

That's what I said, buddy, swag ex-toot.

The pound of our feet, she says.

And the largest was two pound.

I'm sorry, I don't believe that.

I'm sorry, I don't believe that.

I finished the post-peg while you were out, sir.

Well, thank you, John.

See if there's anything in there for me, Silly.

Would you seek him?

Oh, and John, ask Wellington to bring the carriage on.

I'm having supper at the candles, I see.

Very good, sir.

Yeah, I'm asked to fill it.

Here's what you've been waiting for.

Good.

Excellent.

Thank you, Seachem.

John?

Yes, Mr. Seachem?

Come here, lad.

Yes, Mr. Seachem.

Get them boots cleaned up.

Right, I'll just see them.

Might you make a good job, Oven?

Seachem.

Sir.

Seachem.

I'm coming, sir.

I'm coming, sir.

I'm coming, sir.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming.

I'm coming, sir.

Yes, sir.

He's married her, Seachem.

What?

Ambrose and that woman in Italy is married her.

It's early days yet, Philip, but I was wondering what your thoughts were as they were.

What your thoughts were as your plans for the future?

Plans?

What plans?

No.

Well, whether you'd considered looking around for some small property of your own.

Why not should I do that?

The position is somewhat changed, isn't it?

I know that Ambrose has always regarded you as his heir, but now...

Well, I mean, I suppose that there should be a family.

A son.

My dear Philip, all is not well with me.

I was never one for headaches, but now I have them frequently, almost blinding at times.

I have written several letters to you, but there is no one I can trust.

And unless I can get out to post them myself, I'm afraid they may not reach you.

My wife blotches me, they are mine.

And I have been to wretchedly ill to go far without assistance.

As for the doctors, I have no belief in any of them.

They are liars the whole bunch.

The new one, recommended by Rhinaldi, my wife's lawyer, is a cutthroat.

But then he would be coming from that quarter.

However, they have taken on a dangerous proposition with me, and I will beat them yet.

When did this arrive?

A few hours ago.

I must go to him immediately.

Yes, I think you should.

I shall catch the Friday morning packet to France.

Has he mentioned this illness before?

I don't really know.

He spoke of feeling tired and faint, but he said that was because of the weather.

Touch of the sun, he called it.

I don't think it's as simple as that.

No, neither do I.

Philip, listen to me.

Don't jump to conclusions.

This is not the letter of a man in his right mind.

What do you mean?

His father died of a tumor on the brain.

Didn't you know that?

Come on!

Here, John!

It's been a little messy, will you?

I'll never look, sir.

I don't know if these friends come from Italy, sir.

He looks like Mr. Ambrose is entering.

Give it to me.

Take the rest up to the house.

Try, ma'am.

For God's sake, come to me quickly.

She is done for me at last.

Rachel, my torment.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here.

I'm not going to be here a little bit.

No, I'm not going to be here.

No.

I'm not going to be there.

No.

My dear.

This is not going to happen.

No.

Hello.

Is anyone there?

Is anyone there?

Hello?

The

I am

Sorry.

It is either, huh?

Do you speak English?

A little?

I have come to see Mr. Ashley.

Are he and Mrs. Ashley at the villa?

You are Mr. Ashley's son, Ziaire?

His cousin.

Are they at home?

Mrs. Bussman, not the people.

You have come from England and you have not heard the news.

What can I say?

It is very sad.

I'm not going to know what to say.

Mr. Ashley, he died two weeks ago.

I'm sorry.

Very sorry.

Where is the contestant?

We not know.

Senior Analbi, say the villa.

Too sad for him.

Too many memories.

So she go away.

We not know where.

Who is senior Analbi?

He arranged all things for the contest.

He knows the contest a long time.

I'd like to see him.

Is that possible?

Of course, anything possible.

Maybe you wish to see the room where the seniora died?

Please.

It is this way.

Please come.

This way, seniora.

They often sit there, senior Ashley and the contest.

They take the meals, they hear the fountain play.

They take the Tizana after dinner, day after day, always be safe.

When he died, what happened?

It was early morning.

The contest, as she come quickly to my room and call me, her face very white.

He's dying, Giuseppe, she's here.

I know he is dying.

I follow her to this room and the senior Ashley.

You lie on the bed, the eyes closed, still breathed, but heavy, you understand, not a true sleep.

We call her the doctor, but the senior Ashley, he not awake.

It was the Kommasinde-Chir Komma, the sleep of death.

I light the candles with the contest, and after the nuns go away, I come back and look at him,

and all of the violins, the violins, all gone, the face very peaceful.

What do you mean by violence?

Two or three times I hold him down on the bed, and with the violence come the weakness inside here.

Oh, he's suffering much with the pain.

And when the pain goes away, the confus, the mind, not there, I tell you, seniora, it was a pitiful.

You were beat before to see your man so helpless.

But why was nothing done?

The doctors, why didn't they ease the pain?

It was impossible, I know.

And Mrs. Ashley, there was nothing she can do, seniora, nothing.

For wearing clothes, wear his belongings.

You can't actually take everything away.

You took it where?

Not so, all that's in your Ashley's clothes, put it in a bean trunk, all the books, everything packed.

Nothing left.

I'm sorry, Zinori.

I'm very sorry.

I'd like to be alone for a moment.

Of course, seniora.

Of course.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Who's there?

Mr. Ashley, for what you want?

My name is Ryan Nylity. I've no wish to disturb you.

Oh, yes. Yes.

Seniora Ryan Nylity. I was told you wish to see me.

Yes, that's right.

How long have you been here?

I arrived this morning.

And you have not seen your cars in red, Sharon?

No.

But she left Florence days ago.

She left the Villa Sangalete. She did not leave Florence.

Also, she's still here in the city.

No, she has not gone away.

She wishes me to let the villa or sell it, possibly.

Sell it.

Your cousin, Red Shell, is a woman of impairs.

When she left Florence, she took all her possessions with her.

Very much here, she would never deter her.

Do you know what she is?

I'm afraid not. She left very suddenly.

She told me she would write when she had come to some decision about the future.

You will understand, Senior Ryan Nylity, that this sudden news of my cousin's death has been a very great shock to me.

Why was I not informed that he was ill?

Your cousin's death was a great shock to us all.

He had been ill, yes, but not as we thought dangerously so.

The usual fever that attacks many foreigners here in the summer,

had brought about a certain weakness, and he complained to a violent headache.

The contest, I should say, Mrs. Ashley, was much concerned, but he was not an easy patient.

He took an instant delight with the doctors for what reason it was hard to discover.

Every day, Mrs. Ashley hoped for some improvement, but certainly she had no desire to make you and your friends in England anxious.

Oh, but we were anxious.

That's why I came to Florence.

I received these letters from him. I think you should read them.

Yes.

Yes, Mrs. Ashley feared he might write something of the sword.

It was not until those last few weeks when he became so secretive and strange

that the doctors feared the worst and warned her.

Order of what? That there might be something pressing on his brain, a tumor,

a growth of rapidly increasing size which would account for his condition.

The doctors say it was a tumor that killed him unquestionably.

There were two doctors present, my own and another. I can send for them.

No. That won't be necessary.

I have brought with me a copy of the Certificate of Death, signed by them both.

One copy has already been sent to you in England, and another to the trustee of your cousin's will, Mr. Nicholas, can die.

How did you know that Nicholas Kendall was trustee to my cousin's will?

Your cousin Ambrose had a copy of the will with him. I read it many times.

Oh, you read my cousin's will.

Well, naturally, as trustee, myself, with the contest, uh,

do Mrs. Ashley, it was my business to read her husband's will.

There is nothing strange. In fact, I have a copy of it, but, uh,

it is not my business to show it to you. That is the business of your guardian, Mr. Kendall.

And no doubt he will do so on your return home.

Mr. Kendall is my godfather, not my guardian.

Would you like to examine the deaths?

No, thank you.

What concerns me, Signore Nalli, are those letters he wrote before he died?

They are not the letters of a sick man.

They are the letters of a man who has enemies.

They are the letters of a man who was sick in his mind, Mr. Ashley.

Forgive my bluntness, but I saw him during those last weeks, and you did not.

The experience was not a pleasant one for any others. At least to go on his wife.

You see what he says in that letter.

She did not leave him day or night. I could vouch for that. She spared her said nothing.

Yes.

But look at this other letter.

She has done for me at last, Rachel, my torment.

What do you make of that, Signore Nalli?

Well, are you any sort of student of medical history, Mr. Ashley?

No.

Question those doctors. They will tell you the truth.

There is a particular affliction of the brain, present above all when there is a growth, a tumor.

When the sufferer becomes troubled by delusions, the emergency is being watched.

That the person closest to him has turned against him, or his unfaithfulness seeks to take his mind.

No amount of love or persuasion can a lady's suspicion once it takes hold.

It is a medical truth, Mr. Ashley.

Tragic and undeniable.

Please.

Accept my sincere condolences.

And please, do not hesitate to let me know if there is anything further that I can do.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Assigned homecoming, Mr. Philip.

Yes, seeking it is.

Basically, it is all very straightforward. There are a few small bequests to seek him and the other servants.

Some donations to the parish poor. But the rest of it, the hell of his property and your state, comes to the end.

Oh, there is only one unusual stipulation. I am to be your guardian until you are 25.

My guardian?

Very odd.

But it is only for another seven months.

I mean, it is odd that senior right now they should have known about this.

He referred to you as my father.

I am not a lawyer.

I am not a lawyer.

I am not a lawyer.

I am not a lawyer.

I am not a lawyer.

I mean, it is odd that senior right now they should have known about this. He referred to you as my guardian.

Oh, I shouldn't you know about it. He must have read Ambrose's will after all. What is that about that?

No. Nothing, I suppose.

Nothing at all.

He wrote to me, by the way.

Oh.

Senior right now, dear. A long letter. All about Ambrose's death and your visit.

He also wrote to me about your cousin. Rachel.

For one of you says she is quite inconsolable.

So inconsolable, but straight after the funeral. She goes off like a thief.

Taking all Ambrose's possessions with her.

Oh, except his hat.

Which he left no doubt because it's old and a little valuable.

Surely you don't be grudgher the books and clothes. Hang it all, Philip. It's all she has.

All she has.

Well, you've seen the will. It's the same when I drew up ten years ago.

No codicellia up on his marriage. There's no provision in it for a wife.

I don't say I'm surprised that senior right now, dear,

you seem to dislike so much. Makes their mention of acclaim on the part of this, actually.

That shows great delicacy intact.

Acclaim.

Good God. You talk about a claim when we both know perfectly well that she drove into his death.

We don't know anything of a sort. And if that's the way you're going to talk about your cousin's widow, then I don't care to listen.

Oh. So you believe this story about a tumor?

Of course I believe it. Right now they sent me a copy of the death certificate signed by two doctors.

Well, I don't believe it.

You mean you won't?

In which case there's nothing more to be said.

But for Ambrose's sake, and the sake of everybody who knew and loved him here on the estate and in the county,

I must ask you not to spread your views to others.

It would cause distress and pain to all of them.

And if such a whisper ever got to his widow, she would be well within her rights to bring a case against you for slalom.

What nonsense?

No, Philip, it is not.

Believe me, it is not.

Since I'm aware of your feelings towards her, I was not going to tell you this.

But I think perhaps I should.

I have received a letter from Mrs. Ashley.

It's quite clear that she's not heard of your visit to Florence.

She asked me to break the news to you of Ambrose's death.

And wish to return his possessions.

There's few clothes and books, which you say she took like a thief.

She's in England.

Yes.

Presumably you'll not wish for her to come here.

I shall write to her.

And invite her to stay as my guest at Pelley until her plans are for her.

No.

Don't do that.

When you write to her, tell her that Philip Ashley has already heard the news of his cousin's death.

That he went to Florence on receipt of two letters, spoke with her friend and advisor,

Sr. Ray Naldi, and has now returned.

If she wishes to see him and her late husband's home, Philip Ashley's house is at the disposal

of his cousin Rachel when she cares to visit.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

Madam has come, sir.

Where is she?

She, uh, went up to her room, sir.

Did she bring any luggage?

No.

She's in the hospital.

She's in the hospital.

Madam has come, sir.

Where is she?

She, uh, went up to her room, sir.

Did she bring any luggage?

What have you done with it?

Madam brought little of her own.

Apart from the boxes and chunks that belong to Mr. Ambrose.

They've all been put in the old nursery, sir.

What's all this?

I thought Madam would appreciate some flowers, sir.

Seeing how she likes gardening.

Under the impression you didn't like women in the house,

you can sing a very different tune when I told you Ambrose was married

and she was to be Mr.'s here.

It's not the same now, sir, is it?

Poor ladies widowed.

Mr. Ambrose would have wished us to do what we can for her, especially as it seems.

I mean, since Mrs. Ashley has not benefited in any way from the disease.

Well, the devil told you that.

What's common talk, sir? All around the place.

Everything left to you, Master, Mr. Philip. Nothing to the widow.

That's not usual, is it?

I'm surprised at you, Seachem.

Lending your ears, it gossiped.

Not gossip, sir.

What concerns the Ashley family concerns us all?

Yes.

Well, go and tell her I'm here.

Madam was very tired when she arrived, sir, and asked me to...

All right, Seachem!

I'll do it by myself.

But, sir, Madam said she was not to be disturbed.

Whose house is this? Her's on mine.

Who is it?

Philip Ashley.

Coming.

Good evening.

I'm sorry if I was...

I have to make one thing perfectly clear.

Yes, Philip?

That is.

You must forgive me if I am unable to greet you with the warmth you might have expected.

Although we are so closely related, Mrs. Ashley, I feel we are perfect strangers to one another.

You may feel I am a stranger, but you are no stranger to me, Philip.

Ambrose spoke of you so often.

I know you as well as I know anyone in my own family.

Toby.

Mrs. Toby, isn't it, Toby?

Oh, you?

You really fought him last birthday?

Ambrose told me all about it.

He found him under a pie crust with your breakfast.

Ambrose was hiding behind the screen in the dining room, and he watched you as you opened the pie.

He told me you would never forget the look of amazement on your face when you lifted the crust, and Toby stumbled out.

You were ten years old, and it was the last day of April.

Thank you for letting me come here, Philip.

It's been easy for him.

I hope this storm doesn't last.

I want to go walking tomorrow.

I want to see all the places Ambrose told me about.

West Hills, Bauden's Meadow, Ballet Cuchis, Kilmo.

He had a theory, you know.

So he was shrink and shiver in the English climate.

He called me a greenhouse plant, only fit for expert cultivation and quite useless in the damp corner soil.

I was city-brasses, and over-civilized.

Well, I'm determined to prove him wrong.

You should know that I know a woman servants in the house.

Young John will do his best to look after you for that.

Oh, I'm sure I much prefer women, chatter, sir.

And the rooms are charming.

Really, John.

This is...

This is Aunt Phoebe's room, isn't it?

Aunt Phoebe.

Aunt Phoebe.

You haven't heard the story of Aunt Phoebe?

Apparently, she fell love sick of a curate, and went away to the tomb bridge to Mende-Broken heart.

But the heart proved stubborn, and Aunt Phoebe took a chill that lasted for 20 years.

The chill finally left her at the site of another curate.

But by this time, poor Aunt Phoebe was 5 and 40, and her heart was not so brittle.

She married the second curate.

But alas, the marriage was not a success.

She died on her wedding night of shock.

Poor Aunt Phoebe.

You must excuse me, Phoebe.

I am feeling very tired.

Cecum has kindly offered to send up a tray.

And I think you should get out of those wet clothes.

I almost forgot. I have a present for you.

It was his favourite walking stick.

But you know that, of course.

I would like you to have it.