Original subtitles

Any news about the affair, sir?

Have you seen Her Majesty yet?

From the Palace.

BUTLER: Thank you. - Would you care to...?

BUTLER: No comment.

Oh, dear, it's all so... From the Palace, Lady Edith. Shall I take it to Lady Slane?

But she's alone with Father... Then, perhaps, His Lordship?

Oh...Herbert?

All right, Parker, I'll take it.

From the King and Queen! I expected that.

It's like a wedding... I mean...

Are those dreadful journalists still there? Yes.

Let me see that. It's for Mother!

I'm sure it's intended for us all. I'll run it up to her first.

Perhaps I'D better. I don't mind.

Isn't Mother so calm? She always has been.

Your mother may give way to grief later.

Perhaps I should go. Deborah is so young. Do sit down, Mabel.

There's so much to decide and delays are so costly.

Mother will depend on us, William. Decisions are always made for her.

Father never gave her a chance.

Kay! No-one can replace Father.

Do you mean "depend" financially?

William! With Father scarcely cold!

Our concern is for your mother, Herbert.

First, the funeral: in the Abbey or Father's church in Huddersfield?

Personally, I prefer Huddersfield.

You wouldn't be seen dead in Huddersfield!

I didn't mean... If you would give me Their Majesties' letter...

He gave instructions that when he came to die the house should not be darkened.

KNOCK ON DOOR; DOOR OPENS >

Ah, Mother. How are you feeling? Deborah is not tiring you?

No, I'm very glad of her company.

This message came from the Palace.

Shall I read it? I CAN still read(!)

Well, Mother...? What does it say?

Oh, you know - the usual things.

The "usual"!? When you're feeling better...

I'm not an invalid. Would you ring the bell?

Certainly.

We shall wait until you are ready to make decisions. There's no hurry. Deborah can stay with you.

IF she wishes. You know I would, Great-Grandmother.

I'll leave you for a bit, then.

Perhaps a little later we could discuss the, er, arrangements.

Only if you feel up to it, of course. Of course. Thank you.

(Comme un elephant, comme toujours!)

Milady rang? Yes, Genoux. Would you bring us some tea? I think the kitchen will be busy.

Bien sur, Milady. It will be good to leave le pauvre milord for a while.

He will not want for you to fatigue yourself. No, Genoux, he never wanted me to be fatigued.

"Few distinguished themselves as did our Viceroy in India.

"As Prime Minister, he overcame difficulties with good sense.

"His advice, humour and sportsmanship

"will be sorely missed.

"We join with you in mourning the passing of an old, valued friend, to us and the country."

How nice of them. "Nice"!?

Mother wasn't impressed.

She never shows much emotion. She's coping wonderfully!

I wish they'd been more generous when Father was ALIVE. They made him an Earl!

Kay, William means gratitude in more tangible terms... How old are you, Lavinia?

Oh, did I interrupt?

I was working out our total ages.

We Hollands, from Herbert to Kay,

must add up to over 300.

And Mother is 85... That'll do!

William, Father took me entirely into his confidence over income.

Really(?) Mother and I managed his affairs...

Ahem...! Father was not a rich man.

And most of his income dies with him. Quite. Leaving Mother 500 a year.

Net or gross? Net.

One CAN manage on 500.

I suppose, since you were "in his confidence", Father didn't mention the jewels?

He did. And?

He has left them to...Mother.

Ah... Well, Mother will surely want to sell them.

Why should she keep a lot of useless jewels lying in the bank?

They should fetch several thousand pounds.

Isn't it rather early... Quiet, Mabel. This is a family matter.

Most important is where Mother will live. She cannot be left alone.

What would people think of us?!

In any case, she couldn't afford this house on 500 a year. It must be sold. But where is she to go?

As the eldest, I feel it is my duty to ask her to live with us.

Wonderful though Mother is...

You keep saying that! As if you expected her to rant and rave!

Mother has little grasp of the world as it really is.

Mother has always allowed others to make decisions for her.

And now that Father has gone...

Since I have always lived at home, I should bear the brunt. < "Brunt"!?

I'm sure we all regard it as a privilege to look after Mother. "Brunt" is entirely unsuitable.

I'm not even sure what it means...!

If Edith offers... We should all bear our share!

Since Edith isn't married... Nor are you!

You could get rid of some of your collection. My astrolabes!?

I don't mind.

I had hoped to have my own place...

None of us would wish to take advantage of your unselfishness.

It would make the most sense if Mother were to stay with each of us in turn. Quite right.

Of course, despite our limited income, we would always welcome Mother.

But I think it fair to come to some... financial arrangement.

What DO you mean!?

I was thinking of saving Mother embarrassment.

A couple of pounds? Or guineas.

Isn't it rather delicate to talk about it? Quite right, Mabel.

I don't think this should be discussed till after the funeral.

The IMMEDIATE questions of where Father is to be buried, who's to be invited...

Where are you going!?

Eh...I...I've an engagement.

Engagement!? When Father lies dead!? And Mother has only us to rely on!?

If you think I should stay... Let him go!

Right...

Right.

Sorry you're going, Kay.

I think I should...get some dinner. Cook will have enough to do.

But I can come back later... Oh, no, Kay, of course not.

Thank you, Parker. Goodnight. Goodnight, sir.

Good. They'll settle everything, won't they, with or without me?

I shall miss you.

Where are you going? To the Club. Dinner with old Fitz.

On you go. I'll look after Mother.

Have you anything to say?

My brother will give you a proper interview later.

How's Lady Slane taking it, sir?

Very well, considering the circumstances.

Any other comments, sir...?

I once longed to be a boy.

Boys could go where they liked, to have adventures,

whereas all girls were fit for was marriage.

No, I'm not going to think of that. I'm going to save that luxury for later.

Would you like to talk about him? What, dear?

Just because he's dead, I don't see why we should stop mentioning him.

Oh, no!

No, no, no.

The most courteous person I've met. Yes, he was. And a truly civilised, no, even rarer, a truly adult mind.

And absolutely charming.

Yes. Someone once told me that he hindered himself as a politician by always seeing BOTH sides.

His officials would set out the merits of two opposing policies

and he'd write "Yes" at the bottom.

Yet he could get to the heart of an argument quicker than anyone.

Did he listen to YOU? How do you mean, dear?

Did he LISTEN to what you said?

He was a wonderful listener.

Are we disturbing you, Mother? No, dear. We've been having a most interesting conversation. Good.

Now, do you feel up to deciding about something which cannot be put off much longer?

What, dear? Perhaps it would be better if we discussed it alone.

Mabel... The car is waiting to take us home, dear.

Of course.

Sad that your parents can't make it back in time for the funeral. Goodbye, Great-Grandmother.

Thank you for keeping me company, Deborah.

Is there anything you'd like?

You leave me in good hands, Mabel.

Now, Mother...as to where Father should be buried...

Of course, the decision is entirely yours. Yes, dear.

You're absolutely free to choose between Huddersfield or the Abbey, or to settle on somewhere else.

And what is your opinion, dear?

Well, Huddersfield has much to commend it.

But I am bound to say that since Father's ties with it have been broken for so long... Of course.

So, what do you think? What do YOU think, dear?

No, Mother, I think the decision MUST be yours.

Very well.

The Abbey, you say?

Of course, it would be the crowning honour of Father's life.

The Abbey would be very nice.

Are you quite sure? Quite.

Very well. I'll make the necessary arrangements.

Shall we say the end of the week? That would be quite all right as far as I'M concerned, Herbert.

There's nothing more to concern you for now. "One thing at a time, eh?" Isn't that what Father used to say?

No, dear. But never mind.

Evening, FitzGeorge.

You're two minutes late, Holland.

Dear me, so I am. Well, we'd better go straight in then, hadn't we?

Hmm.

I, eh... Oh!

Do you really think she wants to be treated like a precious vase? What?

As if a sudden noise would shatter her.

Even Father never treated her like that. How he'd laugh! Edith!

Not at you. But William and Lavinia wanting Mother as a paying guest!

They think of nothing but money. I'm surprised they haven't collected the fruit from the garden for jam!

Genoux wouldn't let them. What will we do about Genoux? She's been with Mother all her life.

But will she be needed now?

I don't wish to sound like Goneril in King Lear, but we shall have to give it some serious thought.

Do you think I SHALL be able to get a little flat of my own? Why not?

With my own key, where I can read by the fire...

If that's the way you choose to spend your time.

Oh, I shan't waste my time, Carrie.

But after all these years of answering Father's letters, doing the household accounts,

accompanying Mother when she opens a new ward... She won't want to give that up. I shall assist her.

I shall do my share. Oh, Edith.

Do you have to go? I have a home of my own to attend to.

You're not afraid of being left?

With a dead father and a live mother(?)

No, but it is rather strange.

I'll return first thing tomorrow.

For more wrangling! I'm not aware of having wrangled with anybody.

It's as if we were dogs fighting over Mother like a very old bone.

Oh, Edith.

I'm no better than anyone else.

Oh, well. I shall go and see to Mother.

I've just thought!

I'll be able to have a canary, won't I?

It might be worth 50 guineas, IF what you claim is true.

What do you mean, "claim"!?

I've forgotten more about porcelain than you'll ever learn! It's Sevres.

With respect, I think it's a fake.

Have you ever known me wrong? Who was it found the Donatello?

We can all be wrong sometimes, FitzGeorge.

Stick to your astrolabes.

Though why a man who hates the sea and can't stand heights collects navigational instruments beats me!

Coffee?

All right.

Have a brandy.

Brandy...? No, I don't think so.

Nonsense! You're looking tired, not quite as spruce as usual. Brandy's what you need. No fuss!

Eh, look here, Holland, I... < Taxi, sir?

(What I wanted to say was...erm...) Taxi, Mr Holland?

Taxi!? Nothing wrong with his legs, is there!?

It's a fine evening. I'll walk. Very good, sir.

Well, FitzGeorge... Eh... Sorry to hear about your father.

Yes... Thank you...

Most kind...

Perhaps some day you'll take me to call on...Lady Slane.

Er...yes... Yes, of course... if you'd care to. I would.

Well, goodnight, FitzGeorge.

Goodnight to you.

Goodnight.

I think that all went as your father would have wished.

It was funny to see the PM and the Leader of the Opposition being so pally! Oh, I didn't mean...

Very good of the Royal Princes and the Duke of Gloucester. Very.

I'm sure you'd all like something to drink. Parker? At once, Milady.

If you'll excuse me, I'll go upstairs for a while.

You've been an inspiration to us all.

We've all admired your courage; the way you decided what needed to be done.

But you've done all that for me, haven't you, my dears?

Genoux has had your father's shirts laundered, but I don't know what you want done with his other things.

They won't fit Parker... Must we concern ourselves with that NOW?

Mr William and Mrs Holland, my lady.

GENERAL GREETINGS

We'll ring for tea later, Parker.

Ahem...

Mother, we've had some discussions. That is, we are all concerned for your future.

But you've decided that for me.

Well, "decided" is hardly the word. We have talked over a little scheme which we wanted to put to you.

We realise you don't wish to part from your interests and occupations.

What about my interests and occupations?

Come now, Mother. The Battersea Club for Poor Women, the Unfortunate Sisters' Organisation.

Oh, yes(!) They could scarcely manage without you.

Having frequently attended meetings with you, I know how reluctant you would be to abandon them.

Besides, you'd be bored with nothing to do,

you who are so energetic. >

Your income will scarcely suffice to maintain a house of the size you have been used to.

So we propose you sell this house and divide your time between us all.

If you would be so kind as to put the house in the agents' hands.

I knew you'd agree, Mother dear!

It'll take a little time to find a buyer. Mabel and I will expect you whenever you find it convenient.

You go a little fast, dear. I DON'T agree.

You don't agree...Mother...dear...?

No. I am not going to live with you, Carrie, nor you, Herbert, nor ANY of you, kind though you are.

I'm going to live by myself.

Impossible! Where do you propose to live!?

Hampstead. ALL: Hampstead!?

Hardly fashionable... Good antique shops...

- The travelling expenses! - It is out of the way.

Mother can't possibly come to a decision without...

I know the very house. But, Mother, you haven't BEEN to Hampstead.

30 years ago. I saw it then.

Genoux can manage it single-handed, and such a dear little garden, with peach trees.

Perfect! It was to let then, but your father wouldn't have liked that.

I even remember the agent's name. What?

A funny name - perhaps that's why I remembered it: Gervase Bucktrout.

It seemed to go so well with the house.

It sounds delicious! Peaches and Bucktrout!

Thank you, Mabel(!)

The decision is entirely yours.

If you have made up your mind to this eccentric scheme, there is nothing more to be said.

But don't you think it'll look odd in the eyes of the world

that you choose solitary retirement?

I don't think so. A great many old ladies have retired to Hampstead.

Besides, I have considered the eyes of the world for so long

that I think I deserve a little holiday from them.

When can one please oneself if not in old age? Well...!

Hampstead may be rather inconvenient but if you insist on carrying out this notion of yours,

at least we shall see to it that you are never lonely. Oh, quite!

And there are the grandchildren and the great-grandchildren.

You should have at least one daily visitor.

I am afraid, Carrie dear, that that is another matter about which I have made up my mind. What is?

I'm going to be completely self-indulgent. In what way...?

No grand-children. They are too young. Not one of them has reached 45.

And great-grandchildren would be worse. I want no strenuous young people.

They can't just DO a thing but must know WHY.

Who'd have thought it!? Ring the bell, Herbert.

I've taken the jewels out of the bank. You and Mabel take them.

I wanted to give them to Mabel years ago,

but your father said I needed them for grand occasions.

Genoux, vous avez les bijoux? But of course I 'ave them, Milady.

Does Milady think I would not guard her tresor!? Shall I fetch them?

If you would, Genoux.

Bien sur, Milady. But you remember that the rings were specialement donnees par ce pauvre milord?

I know, the rings are mine.

How do you know the house is vacant?

I telephoned. It's still empty.

Indeed...? I have some time tomorrow afternoon. Would that suit you?

I've already made an appointment to see it. Indeed...? At what time?

Although it's very kind of you to offer, Carrie, I think I will go there...alone.

Thank you, Genoux.

You may give them to...Lady Slane.

Thank you, Herbert.

MABEL: (Oh, they're beautiful!)

Try this on, my dear. I'm sure it will be most becoming.

LAVINIA: Very nice, dear Mabel(!)

But isn't it odd how those oriental presents were of such poor quality?

They're quite yellow, those pearls.>

You'll have so much to carry, you'll need a portmanteau.

'We're sailing in September, my dear. All the arrangements are in hand.

'How long shall we be away? Two years this time.

'We'll have summer with the children.

'Yes, Henry.'

Course, it's been years since anyone lived here. >

The last couple died here, as a matter of fact, in the bedroom overlooking the garden.

The one that faces south?

Wouldn't know about that. All I do is keep the place clean and tidy.

Terrible, the way plaster keeps falling off the walls. Damp just takes over.

It's like a jungle out there.

And I was just getting the tea.

I've arranged to meet Mr Bucktrout. It's the locking-up.

Oh, I'm sure he'll see to everything.

Only I don't want it shrivelled, not with bacon the price it is.

Allow me to give you something for your trouble. Oh, no trouble at all, mum. My pleasure, mum.

If there's anything further? Thank you so much. Good afternoon.

FRONT DOOR CLOSES >

DOOR SLAMS >

Tsk-tsk. Falling, falling.

Mr Bucktrout? Lady Slane?

About the house? Ah, yes, the house. One must be businesslike, even though the glass is falling.

Is it indeed? I fear so, I fear so.

But, about the house - it is a nice house, is it not? It is a VERY nice house.

So nice, Lady Slane, that I wouldn't care to let it to EVERYBODY.

It's MY house, you understand? I am the owner as well as the agent.

Had I been merely the agent, I would have let it when I could.

I had many applicants, but I like none of them. That is why it's been empty for so long.

You, however, shall see it, Lady Slane. The caretaker...

She takes no "care" whatever. A horrid woman; so harsh, so sordid.

Did you tip her? Half-a-crown.

Pity, pity. Still, too late now.

What did she show you?

Did you see it all?

Morning room... Yes, I saw that.

Kitchen.

Bedrooms one, two and three.

Bathroom one.

Mains water, electric light...

And...ah...do you care for mushrooms, Lady Slane?

Mr Bucktrout?

Come in to the kitchen.

A fine cellar.

You could grow splendid mushrooms down here.

Ladies seldom care for wine, so it may as well be used for mushrooms.

I never yet met a lady who laid down a pipe of port. The garden?

Half an acre, with ancient fruit trees, including a mulberry.

And peaches. Oh, peaches indeed.

So, Lady Slane, having seen the house from every angle,

what do you think of it?

I think...I think it probably would suit me very well.

Ah, yes, but will YOU suit IT?

I think you might. I think you might. And when you are established...

You believe I will be? That is my feeling. Is it not yours?

Oh, but there are so many complications to be got through.

There are papers to sign and carpets and curtains to...

Oh, that it were possible to be like the spiders upstairs and move in silently, without fuss.

All that can be overcome.

After all, you have remembered this house for 30 years. Why?

And why did I turn away so many if you and the house weren't meant for one another?

The two things converge at a point after describing separate arcs.

I'm a great believer in the geometry of destiny. Shall we...?

Now, are you a mathematician? No, I fear not. Few ladies are.

But I could convince you, by a few simple calculations, that the world is due to end in two years' time.

What is the point of making a fuss if that's what destiny has in store? My own end may come before that.

Oh, I trust not.

But if the subject interests you, I could come to tea with you one day and offer you my demonstration.

If I were only the house's agent I wouldn't dream of making such a suggestion.

But being its owner, I feel that, once we have finished our business, we may meet upon an equal footing.

Indeed, Mr Bucktrout, I trust that you will visit when you feel inclined.

Lady Slane, you are most gracious.

She'll get herself in an impossible muddle.

When it comes to practical matters... Hopeless!

She relied so much on me. It was very good of you.

One cannot tell someone of 85 that she's incapable. She'll come round.

What damage may have already been caused?

Left to herself, she'll get into a mess. Just what I said! And come to us to get her out of it.

Her resignation from the committees caused some comment, I can tell you.

What if this Troutbuck gets her into his clutches!? She's hopeless!

I tried to tell her that agents are naturally grasping people.

She said she was sure that HE was not!

Did you tell her not to sign until one of us looked it over?

My dear William, it's hopeless trying to make her see things sensibly.

She lives in a world of her own.

Even she can't believe that business is philanthropy! This Bucktrout must be a shark!

If he DOES get hold of her, she will come to us to release her. We'll just have to wait and hope.

You would want a yearly tenancy? If you think that would be best.

It is scarcely worth your while to take it on more than that.

That would suit me very well.

Then I look forward to agreeable afternoons

when I may put before you my proofs of the imminent end of the world.

I'm sure that will be very enlightening. Meanwhile...

There is plaster to renew, ceilings to restore, woodwork to replace -

the tedious details of everyday existence.

May I make a suggestion? Please do.

I know a craftsman, well acquainted with the building trade and not too expensive,

who is also - how shall I say? - sufficiently advanced in years to be acceptable company. A Mr Gosheron.

And you and he could arrange matters?

Yes. We shall choose painters, plumbers and carpenters, and you shall make regular inspections.

Thank you, Mr Bucktrout.

Indeed, Genoux and I will be FREQUENT callers.

A load of worthless junk! (Just because you fail to see the beauty of precision.)

There's more precision in Leonardo's drawing of a single finger

than in your bits of brass!

(I don't deny Leonardo's greatness. I just happen to enjoy...) You've got the mind of a mechanic!

Pity you're not more like your mother. She had an artist's soul.

(My mother...? How do YOU know...?)

When all's said and done, I saw you in your cradle - Calcutta, 1874.

You never told me. Well, I did.

She was most gracious, most charming.

Of course, she was young then; young and very lovely.

I remember thinking she was the most lovely thing I'd seen in India.

She's proposing to live in Hampstead of all places. Hampstead? What's the matter with Hampstead?

Nothing, as far as I'm concerned, but my brothers and sisters are upset.

You'll let me know when she's settled?

Yes, if you like...

You fill your house with things like that!?

Why don't you collect umbrellas? < Shhh!

Ahem... At least they serve some practical purpose!

Do you not find, as you grow older, that one relies more on the society of one's contemporaries?

I tried to explain that very point to my children only the other day.

The young are so unsettling.

Nowadays, I can scarcely endure the company of anybody under 70.

The young compel one to look forward to a life full of effort.

The old permit one to look back on a life whose effort is done with.

That is reposeful. Reposeful, indeed.

Repose is one of the most important things in life, yet how few achieve it!

How few even DESIRE it.

The old at least have it imposed on them,

but half of them still sigh for the energy which once was theirs.

It's such a mistake. ONE mistake of which I am not guilty. No?

Then we're agreed on at least one of the major subjects.

Isn't it terrible to be 20?

Mr Bucktrout, you forget that when one was young, one ENJOYED living dangerously.

It didn't appal one in the least.

True. I was a Hussar when I was young.

My great pleasure was pig-sticking.

I scaled the peak of feeling

when I saw a fine pair of tusks coming at me.

I've several pairs mounted in my house.

But I had no military ambition.

I'd no wish to command my regiment, so I resigned my commission.

Ambition was never something that exercised me.

I have learned that the pleasures of activity are easily outweighed by the pleasures of contemplation.

Would you agree with that?

(Yes.)

How will she cope with the move?

She's always been surrounded by people who tell her what to do.

Excuse me, Milord, the telephone. Lady Edith, Milord.

She probably got off at the wrong stop!

Jenny, some fresh muffins...

But I might as well... If you'll excuse me for a moment.

If you want an example of Mother's impracticality, take the jewellery.

We feel the same.

We didn't say anything at the time,

but to hand over £7,000 worth without considering anyone else...!

Hopeless! Of course, I was not thinking of myself, but she might have offered Lavinia something.

And YOU, of course!

And Edith could at least have had a brooch.

Mother simply doesn't think of such things. In practical matters, I'm afraid she's a simpleton.

The only subject we have NOT discussed is the matter of the rent.

Oh, the rent... We should, I think, be businesslike. Now, what rent would you require?

Well, Lady Slane, I counter your enquiry. What would you be willing to pay?

That is a charming way to put it, if a peculiar way to do business.

We may do business as we please. Have we not earned the right? I think we have. Well, then.

But you've not answered my question. But you've not yet answered MINE.

If I were to suggest... say 350 guineas...?

That's far too much! ONE hundred and 50 is more than adequate.

That is too little. I assure you... I may not be a mathematician,

but surely a sum between the two... Well... Say 250 guineas?

If such a figure suits you? If you are sure it's not too little?

I'm satisfied if you are. I am VERY satisfied, Mr Bucktrout.

Then, dear lady, the house is yours.