All language subtitles for a.very.british.scandal.s02e03.720p.web.h264-cakes

Are you gonna talk to
your father about money?

Congratulations, George.

Your daddy is
a sly old dog.

Your new stepmother's
younger than you.

Please don't ask me
to bail Ian out again.

I'll not throw
good money after bad.

God, what is the point of you?!
What are you for?!

- And you are?
- Peter Combe.

What's the menu tonight,
drinking or dancing?

Both.

- What is it?
- It's Louise's
handwriting.

It's a crank.
You're not to brood on it.

I've never stayed
at L'Hotel St. Mariette.

I've never even heard of it.

I think we can
make it work between us.

But we have to stop doing
terrible things to each other.

What terrible things
have you done?

- Nothing, just...

We'll be all right.

He's here.

What? Where is he?

In the drawing room.

You and your disappearing acts.

My God, how beautiful you are.

You love me.

I must do, mustn't I?

And you want this marriage
to work.

We both want this marriage
to work, Ian.

We agreed to that.

Then there are certain
particular assurances I need.

What are they?

My God, it's ridiculous, really.

I know it was you.

I knew it.

I know you forged
those letters.

What?

Louise swore on our sons' lives.

Well, then, you're a fool, Ian.

- You're a poor fool.
Of course she swore.
- She swore.

And I believed you.

And the only person
it could possibly be is me.

Of course it is.
I'm the culprit, of course I am.

- Margaret, you will go
to court and you will submit
- No, I won't.

- to an injunction that...
- Oh, God, this is ridiculous.

forbids you from ever talking
about my sons or their mother

- again.
- I won't go to court.
I won't submit to anything.

- Yes, you are. You will.
- No, I won't!

Of all the things
you've ever done to me, Ian,

this has to be
the absolute worst.

I cannot believe
you believe this about me.

I want you to leave.

But you will submit
to that injunction.

I've got the proof.

Dora!

The date for the hearing
has been set.

This goes
against all our advice.

If you submit
to this injunction,

it is an admission of liability.

Mr. Jauncey, I know that
I pay you for your advice,

but the duke requires me
to do this.

So I will do it.

You're not going to like it.

What is it?

- Shall I tell Cheeseman
to bring the car?
- Yes!

What are you doing, Ian?

I did what you asked.

I've had you banned
from Inveraray

and its environs.

Over here

is environs.

Over there is
the whole rest of the world.

You stay
in the rest of the world,

and you won't be in breach
of the law.

You breached the law.

You broke into my home
and you stole private property.

As your husband,
I have every right

to enter our shared domicile.

And I have every right
to enter the castle

that I bloody well paid for!

No, you don't.

I had you banned.

But please, Margaret,
if you're concerned

for the whereabouts
of certain private properties,

just give
a description of said items

to that friendly bobby there.

No?

Don't want to talk
to the nice policeman?

We had a deal, Ian.

- Caveat emptor, darling.
- I have children.

So do I.

What do you want?

I want peace and quiet.

I want...

time to think.

I believe I'm owed that.

When do I get my things back?

Let's talk when I'm ready.

Yeah?

Oh, and, um...

...everything's locked away

from prying eyes,

so you can
stop sweating about that.

At least for the time being.

I'm only showing you this
because you're my barrister.

Is this you?

Of course it's not bloody me.
I wouldn't be

showing it to you if it were me.

But it is her.

She does photograph well,
doesn't she?

So, there we are.

Divorce on the basis
of multiple adulteries.

- Cut and dry.
- Actually, no.

I'm afraid you need more.

What the hell are you
talking about?

How could I possibly need more?

I brought you all of this.
You have

a photograph, for God's sake.
You have lover letters!

You have a diary full of men.

And then there's the "V."

You know what that is?

That's her sign.

That's her bare, forked,
animal legs

open for her legion of lovers.

"V." I mean, it's everywhere.

You say I need more.

The letters,
the diaries, the, uh...

image...

they're not recent.

You continued living with her,

presumably enjoying
conjugal relations.

Only when I couldn't
fight her off.

She's like a wolf--
hold you down,

strip the meat from your bones.

But the law can therefore decide

that you condoned her behavior.

We need to prove
that she was adulterous,

and continued to be so
after you'd separated.

Spit it out, Emslie.
I'm getting old

and dying here--
what do we need?

We need evidence
that she's still at it.

We need the diary she uses now.

- Papa.
- Shh, shh, shh, shh.

Where will it be?

- Oh, by her bed.
- By her bed?

Papa, I don't want to.

Come on.

Jeanne, this is gonna be fun.

We're like cat burglars.

Raffles, the Gentleman Thief.

Get it! I got her!

- I don't
know where it is.
- Get it!

- I don't know where it is.
- In the bedside ta...

Middle drawer!
Look in the middle drawer!

- I think I've found it!
I've got it! I've got it.
- Stop it! Stop it.

- You sure?
- Yes, I've got it!

- Ian!

Ian!

Ian, stop!

Ian!

Ian!

My Lord, I present Ian Campbell,
the Duke of Argyll's

petition for divorce from
Margaret, Duchess of Argyll,

on the grounds of her
multiple adulteries.

The duke, the pursuer
in this case,

is fully aware that a petition
brought by the husband

against the wife is unusual.

But the evidence we will present
at a date given by the court is

unequivocal, highly intimate,

and, frankly, utterly damning.

- You all right?
- Mm.

There are reporters
outside the house.

They come in the garden,
knock on the windows,

and shout through the door
questions about you.

About you and men.

But they're lies, Daddy.

It's all lies, Ian's lies.

He's trying
to turn everyone against me.

That Judge Wheatley
who banned me from Inveraray,

I've heard that he's a member
of Clan Campbell.

That's the same clan
as Ian, Daddy.

But nobody reports
on that, do they?

But how can that be allowed?

And his doctor Petro
saying that I'm mad.

There are things that I could
say about him, too, Daddy,

but I don't.

But he just makes it
all about me,

- my fault.
- I'm getting too old for this.

You have to warn me, warn us.

I don't want to learn it
from the newspaper,

or have some pimply youth
scream at me

over the garden wall.

What does Ian have?

Nothing.

Nothing, Daddy, I promise you.

Bloody man.

I got collateral
for you from Ian,

so if anything were to happen,

you wouldn't be left
empty-handed.

This is a Deed of Gift,
from him to you.

Paintings, silver, antiques.

Argyll heirlooms
inherited with the title,

with the castle.

All valued.

But I'm not allowed
to go back to the castle.

You've a right
to remove what's yours.

Would you excuse me
for a moment?

He looks so tired.

You exhaust him,
the mess you make.

The mess I make?

Well, nobody else
makes it, do they?

Well, I think it's clear

whose side you're on,
isn't it, Jane?

Oh...

It is entirely reasonable

that the duchess be granted
access to Inveraray Castle.

She must be allowed
to identify articles

she claims
as personal possessions.

I'll allow a day.

Dawn till dusk.

It's dawn. Let's go.

Hello, Satan.

- You fucker, Ian.
- What?

I'm gonna chop
your fucking hands off!

Jesus fucking hell!

You think I'm unhinged?

I'll show you unhinged,

you fucking piece
of absolute shite!

- I'm sorry.

Please, don't hurt me.
I'm sorry!

That's definitely mine.
That's mine.

That bedraggled thing
I'll cheerfully leave behind.

Oh, my charming wife.
That reminds me.

I must move my bowels.

I want all of my clothes,
Dora, everything.

And if he tries
to stop you, kick him.

That's mine.

Shouldn't you have
brought a van?

I don't remove things, Ian.

I pay for people
to remove things.

They'll be coming later.
Keep up, please, Mr. Jauncey.

So I'm going to have to put up
with your burly laborers,

as well, am I?

Oh, wonderful clipboard.
Very debonair.

Both those are mine.
Each of those.

Those are mine.
That's mine.

- And that tray there, mine.
- All right.

- That furniture is mine.
- All right.

Those are mine,
those blue ones.

That picture is me.
It's mine.

Yes, of course.

- Those two--
that stag, that table.
- Mm-hmm.

No. In fact,
those boxes are mine.

That dog bed's mine.
The desk is mine.

- No, it isn't mine.
Ashtray is mine.
- Mm-hmm.

Um...

we should be thinking
about leaving.

Dawn till dusk,
the judge said.

It's not dusk.

Um...

I'm never going
to be allowed here again.

Just let me sit here.

Please.

Let me sit here.

What is it?

Your Grace.

Malcolm Kerr, Chair
of the Board of Trustees

to the Argyll estate.

- Yes, I know who you are.
- Uh, Your Grace...

Everything in there is mine.

Gifted to me by the duke.

But your husband
had already used

all these heirlooms
to secure a personal loan.

Yes. To my father.

No, to another lender.

This was before
the duke inherited,

while he was still
with his previous wife.

Uh...

Sorry. I don't understand
what he's saying.

He-he signed that to my father.
It's his signature.

Yes, I-I thought you said
your father had taken

legal advice on this.

Your Grace, what we are
trying to say is

that your husband cannot
use these heirlooms

to secure collateral for a
personal loan from your father

when they've already
been accepted as collateral

from another lender.

This Deed of Gift is
entirely meaningless.

It's, um, it's dusk.

We have to go.

Now.

We can plan our next move
back in London.

- Thank you,
gentlemen.

Thank you.
I have been instructed

by the duchess
to file her counter-petition

against the duke for divorce

on the grounds of his adultery.

Who with?

- Who's the other woman?
- Margaret, who was it?

Was it
one of your friends?

It's my stepmother.

- What?!

- Your stepmum?

Uh, there will be no
further comments at this stage.

Thank you, gentlemen.

George, are you
out of your mind?

None of it's true.
None of it!

He doesn't need you anymore.

You'd say anything to get him
all to yourself, wouldn't you?

You'd say absolutely anything.

Jane. You know what you did.

You have a witness

to your husband's adultery
with your stepmother?

Yes, of course.
They're abroad at the moment.

They're difficult to reach.

It would be useful
to speak to them sooner

rather than later.

Mm-hmm. Of course.

Your husband has cited
Peter Combe

as one of the co-respondents.

Peter's a friend,
a good friend.

There's never been anything
of that nature between us.

And the other names?

Mr. Fraser, I dine with men.

I meet men, I converse with men.

It doesn't follow
that I have affairs

with every single man
that I meet.

There's only so many hours
in the day.

And the image?

The gentleman in the Polaroid
photographs-- who is he?

You're sure that nothing

that is said in court can
be reported by the newspapers?

Divorce is a private matter
between individuals.

There's no public interest

in the painful dissolution
of a marriage.

Obviously, press interest
will be high.

Mm. My father's very unwell,

and my children have
their own lives,

and I don't want
to cause anybody...

The details of the case

and individual testimonies
cannot be reported,

at least not
in the British press.

They can report the judgment,

though that's usually very dry.

Not fodder for the front pages.

He doesn't get to divorce me.

I get to divorce him,

for cruelty

and neglect.

Well, for basically
being himself.

This could go my way,
couldn't it?

There's a real chance
this could go my way?

He's stolen my private property.

He shouldn't be allowed
to use that against me.

As evidence,
the diaries

and letters are
easily contested.

Even the Polaroid photographs

of the gentleman alone are not
evidence of your adultery.

However, there is
the irrefutable fact

of the gentleman... with you.

In your bathroom.

Yes, but...

the gentleman in the photograph

is my husband,

the Duke of Argyll.

He'll have to be examined
to prove he's not the man.

Oh, no. How terrible for him.

- Help! I need help!

- Daddy.

Call Dr. Griffiths.

- Oh, Daddy.
- It's nothing.

It's just a wee tumble,
and my legs went.

- That's all.

It's all right. It's all right.

I'm so sorry, Margaret.

I'll come and see him later.

Hello, Margaret.

Poor George. I always liked him.

Lovely service.
Gorgeous hymns.

I stayed at the back.
I-I didn't want to intrude.

You're intruding now, Maureen.

It's not the best timing,
but this just won't wait.

You have to stop this ridiculous
charade with Ian.

That's my advice as a friend,

and if you've an ounce of sense,
you'll take it.

I thought all my friends
had deserted me.

Do you blame them?

The show that you're making
of yourself.

My dear, I could weep.

- Didn't know you cared.
- I don't.

But it's not just your yawning
fanny being shown to the world.

It's all of ours, isn't it?

Plastered all over the papers,

being thumbed by every
shop girl and grocer.

All nudge-nudge, wink-wink

and sniggering speculation
about our class.

You're breaking the rules.

Our private lives
stay behind closed doors.

It's why the little people in
their grubby pits look up to us

because we are not them,
but you're dragging us down

so we look just like them, all
bare arses and flapping cocks.

Perhaps we should
be dragged down.

You are going
to give Ian what he wants.

Give him everything.

You think
you're friendless now,

your life will be a howling
wasteland if you don't stop.

So, stop.

I fell 40 feet
down a lift shaft.

I thought I was going to die.

I thought I was going
to be crushed to death.

But I didn't die.

Then I was told I'd never
walk again, but I walked.

So don't tell me
what to do, Maureen,

because I won't be told.

Not by you or Ian or anyone.

You are a duchess.

There are photographs of you

with a man's erect penis
in your mouth.

Did you think it was a secret?

Never mind
what the scandal's doing to you.

Consider what it's doing to us.

Floodgates open,
nothing sacred.

You won't be forgiven, Margaret.

We will close ranks,
and we have ranks to close.

You, dear, do not.

Oh, Christ, she doesn't
half choose her moments,

doesn't she?

Bloody freezing out there.

Well... Margaret.

I'm sorry.

Let's get drunk, shall we?

- Mm.
- Eh?

"Little Bitty Pretty One"]

You know about the photograph,
don't you?

You don't look
very surprised or shocked.

"Pledging My Love"]

You know how
the rumor mill works.

People are betting
on who they think it is

and who you're protecting.

- I'm not telling you.
- I'm not asking.

You should know me
better than that.

One tiny moment,

the click of a camera.

That's what's on trial, really.

It's not a trial, Margaret.

That I got on my knees
and enjoyed it.

It is a trial.

And I have to be sorry

because the law doesn't like
women who aren't sorry.

Then pretend.

Ian's pretending to be the sad
and wronged noble husband.

You can pretend
to be good and nice.

I'll have to school
my face in remorse.

Go on. Let's see it.

- Yes, that might
need some work.
- Mm. Mm-hmm.

Do you still love him?

is my desire, dear...

Does he still love you?

Do you think he wants us to go?

Nightcap at mine?

Hmm. I'm sorry for dragging you
into all this, darling,

I really am.

Hey, I'm a grown-up. I can
look after myself, remember?

Hmm.

Thank you for being my friend.

Hey, don't be soft. Always.

- Go to bed. It's bright as day.

- Bye, darling.
- Bye. Love you.

Pubic hair
is fascinating.

Idiosyncratic
as a fingerprint.

I can tell
my regular clients apart

by a mere clump
of the downstairs fuzz.

The photograph, if you please.

Hmm. It's not that clear, is it?

- Come.

What the fuck
are you doing here?

We are obliged to be present
in all matters pertaining

to our client's defense.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Well, then, Your Grace,

release the beast.

Do you see now? You see?

That's why I call her "Satan."

I want you
to tear her to shreds.

Apologies. A little tangle.

Sir, I want
to remind you

that the evidence for your case

is circumstantial
and flimsy, at best,

and excessively punitive
and spiteful, at worst.

Your wife has endured a lot
during your marriage,

and I'm confident that the law
will be far kinder

to her than you've been.

Well, that all depends
on the view of the judge.

You're wife's
in pain, Your Grace.

- Yes?
- It's me.

Sorry to hear about your father.
He was a good man.

I've seen you look better,
Margaret.

Rode hard, put away wet.

That's how you look.

What
do you want, Ian?

I thought you and I should have
a civil conversation.

Fun as all this has been,
it's gone far enough.

Fun?

God.

Do you know I think you died
in that prisoner of war camp.

You died.

And this is just a corpse
that you drag around.

Because you don't feel anything
at all, do you?

No.

I don't know if it's the war,
but you're right.

I don't feel anything really.
I never have.

This.

This battle
between you and I...

makes the blood bang.

Closest I ever got
to feeling alive.

Sir?

You cheated my father, Ian.

He trusted you,
and you cheated him.

He wanted you to be a duchess.
You're a duchess.

Couldn't see anything
beyond that.

All you ever wanted
was his money, my money.

And now, you've spent it all,
and you need another rich wife.

I expect you've already
got one lined up.

That's what this is
really about.

Maybe.

But for the public,
this will always be

about your innumerable,
flagrant infidelities.

Who's the chap
in the photograph, by the way?

I'd like to buy him a drink
and congratulate him

- on the size...
- You were never faithful

to me, Ian, so let's not pretend
that's who we are.

Who were my mistresses?

Jane, for one.

Can you prove it?

Do you have love letters,

diaries, a photograph?

'Cause I do.

Here's the situation
as I see it.

My case can be heard
by a judge,

at which point details
I think you would prefer

to remain private will become
a matter of legal record.

Or?

Pay me 250,000 pounds,

clear my debts,
pay my lawyers, and agree

to be divorced
for adultery, and then,

all of this unpleasantness
just goes away.

You want to shame me
into submission.

Yes.

But at least
it will be all over.

But it won't
be over, will it, Ian?

Because there'll just be
something else.

Then something else.

Then you'll hold it
over me forever.

I think that that's a risk
you'll have to take.

Well?

See you in court.

How can it be
Judge Wheatley again?

Let's forget Wheatley
for one second.

You have bigger issues.

The photograph
of you and Peter Combe...

God, I should have known
that Ian would have me watched.

You said there was nothing
between you and Mr. Combe.

And there isn't.
Peter will swear to it.

How is Ian allowed
to spy on me like that?

All parties
in Argyll v. Argyll!

All parties!

You have to drop
the counterclaim against him.

We have no evidence
about your stepmother.

I know that Jane
and Ian had an affair.

Without evidence,
it's just speculation.

You have to drop it.

You have to before we start.

- Court rise.

Dr. Tulloch,
a material piece of evidence

against the duchess
is a Polaroid photograph.

- You've seen this photograph.
- I have.

I studied it
for professional comparison.

My Lord,
the defender claims that the man

in the photograph
is her husband.

Dr. Tulloch,
you examined the duke

to establish if this was so.

I did. I observed
all the distributions

of the suprapubic
hair formation.

The man in the Polaroid
photograph has a thick,

bushy growth that extends
towards the umbilicus.

The duke, in contrast,
has a very thin

and fine
suprapubic distribution.

So what did you
conclude from this clearly

experienced
professional examination?

That the person
in the photograph

was different from the duke.

Different.
Not her husband.

Thank you, Dr. Tulloch.

How would you describe

your relationship
with the defender?

The duchess and I are friends.

We go for dinner,

walk our dogs together,
go to the cinema.

I make her laugh.

She's needed that
during her marriage.

Someone to make her laugh.

The pursuer has a photograph

of you and the defender
embracing on her doorstep

in the early hours
of the morning.

Yes, he does.

Have you at any time
in your friendship

been intimately involved
with the defender?

Never. We've never
once been adulterous.

It's not even
a remote possibility.

We're friends. That embrace

is the embrace
that friends give each other.

My Lord,
I have a letter

from the duke's physician,
declaring that the duke

suffers from a condition
that requires him to sit.

I'll allow it.

Yes, my wife frequently went out
in London, unaccompanied by me.

Sometimes she returned
at midnight.

Sometimes at- 00
or- 00 in the morning.

She said she was with friends.

And were you entirely
happy about that?

No. All of her friends were men.

She assured me
it was all completely innocent.

- And you believed her?
- Of course.

But then, my suspicions
became overwhelming.

I moved out of our London home
into Claridge's hotel.

And after that, I discovered
her letters and diaries

and... other things

that she kept secretly.

And did you notice anything
in her diaries

that took your attention
particularly?

The lists
of names and dates.

Names of men.

And the letter "V."

And what does
the defender signify

with the use of the letter "V"?

She-she signifies

that intercourse occurred.

- How can you be so sure?

Because it appears next
to my own name,

in the early years
of our marriage.

When we were happy.

You had intercourse
with the defender

when you were married
to your previous wife.

You committed adultery.

I did so for the purposes
of obtaining a divorce.

I see. You are practiced
in calculation

when it comes
to obtaining a divorce.

You say you left the London home
and took a suite at Claridge's.

But you were reconciled
with the defender in Paris.

You shared the same room,
the same bed.

Briefly.

Briefly or not, at that time,
you condoned what you suspected.

My wife is very persuasive.
There were nights at Inveraray

when I had to lock myself
in the library in order

to get some sleep,
and even then, she would

- batter on the door.

But you seemed prepared
to accept all that

when the defender paid
for your scheme

to salvage a shipwreck
from Tobermory Bay

and the restoration
of Inveraray Castle.

I put it to you
that you only began to care

about the defender's
London lifestyle

when her money began to dry up.

No, not at all.

You weren't angry when
the defender refused you money?

- No.
- You didn't
physically attack her?

There were no occasions
of violence?

- No. And no.
- You didn't,

with the help of your daughter,
terrorize the defender

by holding her down in her bed
and stealing her diary?

I didn't terrorize her.

I merely took her diary

from her bedside table
as she reached for the telephone

to call the police.

My daughter,
Lady Jeanne, will agree.

I'm sure.

You drink, don't you?

You drink to excess?

I drink the usual amount.

I put it to you
that you drink to a degree

that it would influence
a man's behavior,

his judgment, his state of mind,

and would cause his wife
distress, even as she did

- everything in her power
- My wife...

to care and support her hus...

My wife, the defender,

is unfaithful.

And I drink the usual amount.

Duchess? Duchess?

Duchess, over here!

- Shameless hussy!
- Scum.

- You're scum!
- Slut!

In the matter of
Argyll v. Argyll,

the court now calls
Margaret, Duchess of Argyll.

What purpose

do your diaries serve?

They're a record
of my social engagements.

People who've written,
dinner invitations, parties.

The letter "V,"
your husband alleges,

is a symbol for intercourse,

is a shorthand for these social
engagements, an aide-memoire?

Yes. People who have
sent flowers, for example.

And the love letters?

Those are
from before my marriage.

Many women keep such letters.

They can be comforting,

especially if one's unhappy.

You were unhappy
with your husband?

I wanted very much to be happy.

I tried
to make my husband happy,

but he was volatile
and neglectful,

and... I was very lonely.

I must ask you about an explicit
Polaroid photograph.

You said
the man was your husband?

I thought it must be.

He did keep material
of that nature.

- It was his fetish.

And the woman
in the image? Is that you?

- Might I see it?
- Of course.

I'm sorry,
but this image is so faded,

it's impossible for me
to say who that woman is.

Your Grace,
your husband alleges

that you have had adulterous
liaisons with over 80 men.

Have you ever been unfaithful
to your husband?

No. Never.

My Lord, the defender
has been standing for hours.

Might she be perhaps
permitted a chair?

The defender
will remain standing.

Mr. Emslie.

My husband was allowed to sit.

The defender will
restrict her remarks

to what is germane.

Mr. Emslie, please proceed.

Your Grace,

I would like to ask you
about the love letters.

You say they were innocent.

I say they were sent
before my marriage.

And you kept them because
they were... comforting?

Yes.

My Lord, a letter
to the defender.

"My Love, my tongue feels dry,

and violent upsurges
shake my body.

I can hardly wait, so much am I
filled with visions of you,

memories and others
which will become truth soon."

Well, goodness me.

Are violent upsurges comforting?

Comforting, for most women,
would be a, uh, a-a kind word,

not a violent upsurge.

That letter was sent to me
before I married the duke.

Yes, the court
heard you say that.

The court also heard that

- Peter Combe is just a friend.
- He is.

Well, then I would like
your explanation for this--

the photograph of Peter Combe
leaving your house

in the early hours
of the morning, and you embrace,

very lovingly in public.

My Lord, Mr. Combe has
already testified with respect

to his friendship
with the defender.

I'll allow.

What was Peter Combe

doing with you until
the early hours of the morning

that should occasion
such a, um...

warm embrace?

We were talking.

That's all.

We played music, we talked.

And I embraced him
because he's my good friend.

What is "V"?

I've already said, it's a...

a record of my social
engagements, an aide-memoire.

"V" is your cipher
for intercourse, isn't it?

You like to keep trophies
of your conquests--

letters, photographs.

"V" is sexual conquest, and it
is everywhere in your diaries.

V, V, V,

- V, V.
- No, no.

No, it's nothing
to do with that.

Well, then, what is it?

Because it isn't, um... flowers.

- It's private.
- Private. Innocent.

Like the violent upsurges.

Do you know the difference
between the truth and a lie?

Yes, I do. And I've heard
my husband lie in this court.

This action brought

by my husband is not merely
about divorce.

He doesn't care
about infidelities.

He doesn't care about affairs.
The only thing

he cares about is destroying me.

He wants nothing less
than my total ruination,

and all I've ever tried
to do is help him.

And yet,
you lied constantly

throughout your marriage.

You lied about the paternity
of your husband's sons,

and, for what I can
only imagine is good measure,

defamed the moral character
of their mother.

You lied
about your own stepmother,

the most egregious lies.

You claimed that she and your
husband were having an affair.

You are a liar, aren't you?

You're lying now
about your lovers,

and you are lying
about the Polaroid photograph

because as this court
has shown,

the man in the photograph is not
your husband, as you claimed,

but the woman
in the photograph...

that is you... isn't it?

Yes, it's me.

Those are my pearls,
that's my ring.

That's my bathroom.

That woman is me.

Well, well, there we are then.

I believe I'm not the only one
to have no further questions.

The defender
may step down.

In this application for divorce
on the grounds of adultery,

I have considered the evidence
and testimonies

of both pursuer,
Ian Campbell, Duke of Argyll,

and the defender, Margaret
Campbell, Duchess of Argyll.

Concerning the duchess,

I consider her
to be a highly sexed woman

who had ceased to be satisfied
with normal relations,

and had started to indulge
in disgusting sexual activities

to gratify a debased
sexual appetite.

Evidence was supplied
in the form of diaries,

letters
and Polaroid photographs.

The man or men depicted
cannot be identified,

as the angle of the images
exclude the head.

And that the defender
and the man or men depicted

were indulging in a gross form
of sexual relationship.

There is enough in her own few
admissions and proven facts

to establish that she was
a completely promiscuous woman,

whose sexual appetite
could only be satisfied

with a number of men,
whose promiscuity

had led to a queer form
of perversion,

and whose attitude
to the sanctity of marriage

was what the moderns
might call sophisticated,

but what in plain language
could only be described

as wholly immoral.

I find that the duchess
has committed adultery

with several men,

including the man or men
in the Polaroid photographs.

But I grant the duke his divorce
on the grounds

of his wife's adultery
with Peter Combe.

The duke will pay
one eighth of the expense,

the duchess to pay the rest.

Did he marry you
for love or for money?

I-I don't know.

I simply don't know.

I knew I loved him. I knew
I wanted to save Inveraray

desperately badly.

What he felt, I don't know.

- [