All language subtitles for The.Jewel.in.the.Crown.S01E03.Questions.of.Loyalty.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

I came to say goodbye.

Where do you go
to have the baby?

To my Aunt Ethel --

Lady Manners in Kashmir.

I'm leaving in two days.

You will go through --

go through to the end?

Why do you ask?

Have they tried
to dissuade you?

Oh, yes.

They make it sound
awfully simple, like a duty.

Miss Manners,

I have a confession.

It has been on my conscience.

On the night of Bibighar,

when Mr. Merrick came here
to look for you,

I said to him, "Perhaps she's
called in at Mrs. Sengupta's."

I thought only at that moment

of my concern for what might
have happened to you.

But then I saw his face.

How he looked round the room,

not just as a policeman

making inquiries
about a missing girl...

as if he could tell that you and
Kumar had been here together.

It was a moment of surprise,

the surprise of a man who felt
he had a right

to know all about
your movements.

Yes, he seemed to think he had
a right.

He warned me against
the association with Mr. Kumar.

And after this, perhaps it was

that you and Kumar
had a quarrel

and didn't see each other again,

so that Mr. Merrick thought you
had taken his warning to heart,

until I spoke those words.

"Perhaps she's called in
at Mrs. Sengupta's."

I suppose that's how
it might have happened.

The way it might have looked
to him.

And do you know
where he is?

I've asked, but nobody will say.

I went to the house
in Chillianwallah Bagh.

His Aunt Shalini wouldn't speak
to me.

She wouldn't even
come out of her room.

So, you see,
there's nothing I can do.

It's a sort of silence.

I think now it's the silence
of India,

behind the chatter
and the violence.

That's why he didn't speak,

why he told them nothing.

Because there's nothing
you can say.

Only the silence.

Close your eyes
and listen.

The baby is yours.

It's yours and mine together.

It is going to be difficult,
but I'm not afraid.

We are together
in the Bibighar.

Always in the Bibighar.

Hari, it will be yours.

It will be yours.

"Dear Auntie Ethel,

I'm sorry for all the trouble

and embarrassment
I've caused you.

I began to apologize
once before,

when Aunt Lili brought me back
last October,

but you wouldn't listen.

So I apologize now --

not for my behavior,

but for the effect it's had
on you.

I sometimes wonder
what it must be like

to be the aunt
of 'that Manners girl.'

I know that's how people talk
about me,

and that it rubs off
onto you.

The awful thing is

that if you ever read this,
I shan't be here

to smile and make the apology
look human.

I write it because I have
premonitions

of not getting through,

and I should hate
to kick the bucket,

knowing I'd made no attempt
to set the record straight

and break the silence we both
seem to have agreed upon.

Sorry about the morbid note.

I don't feel
morbid, Auntie,

just prepared."

"Of course, I wasn't a virgin.

I'd had a lover, if you
could call him that,

in London, before.

I thought I loved him.

But it is only Hari
I have ever really loved.

Almost more than anything else
in the world,

I want to talk about him
to you.

I've given up hope
of ever seeing him again.

That's why the child I bear
is so important to me --

even though I can't be positive it is Hari's.

But I think so.

I believe so.

Auntie, promise me one thing.

If the child survives, and you can't bear to have it near you,

you'll try to see
that my money is used

to give it some kind of start
in life.

I've got myself used
to the idea

you won't want it
under your roof.

Its skin may be as dark
as Hari's,

or as pale as mine."

"But whatever color,

he or she is part
of my flesh and blood --

my own typically ham-fisted
offering to the future.

But even so, a child."

Oh, God.

It's crying again.

Do you hear?

Yes, I can hear it.

It woke me again last night.

And I picked this
for a quietmooring.

Really, it's too bad.

One doesn't come on holiday
to Kashmir

to put up with that
sort of thing.

What sort of thing, Mother?

That baby.

I can't imagine what
Lady Manners thinks she's doing.

It was bad enough for the
wretched girl to havethe thing.

But for her aunt to keep it --

if that's what she intends.

What do you think
she should have done?

I know what Ishould have done

and what the Manners girl
should have done.

Have it ripped out

and throw the filthy muck
to the pie-dogs?

That's what I heard
one woman say.

It was her own fault,
anyway, if it's true.

If what's true?

That she was in love
with one of the men.

Well, that's what they were
saying up at the club.

Someone came up from Mayapore

and got rather squiffy
and spilled the beans --

that she'd been going round
with an Indian.

And that's why she refused
to identify the men.

She was afraid to.

Weren't you there,
Sarah?

We talked about it
at Rose Cottage last summer.

You remember.

When everyone was talking
about the riots in Mayapore

and the dangers
of a second mutiny.

Yes.

I remember.

We were supposed to be visiting
Auntie Mabel.

Well, that's
the theory, though, honestly,

I can't see
how she'll get away with it --

if she's withholding evidence,
I mean.

For one thing,
there's the bicycle.

- The bicycle?
- Miss Manners' bike.

Apparently, the police found it
in a ditch

outside her lover's house.

Presumably, he panicked
and used it

to escape from the scene
of the crime.

Well, there'd be
his fingerprints, of course.

For heaven's sake, there must be
evidence enough,

whatever she may say.

Hello there!

Oh, Clara, at last!

And look who's with her!

Mabel's PG.

I thought it seemed too quiet.

Of course, I've written to her,

but it's too early
to have a reply.

I telephoned the hospital.

They said the crisis was over.

The crisis!

I should have realized she'd
contract pneumonia,

sitting in the rain, you see,
nobody knows how long --

He-hello.

Hello.

Hello, Sarah.

Hello, Barbie.

I was just telling Mrs. Fosdick

about my friend Edwina Crane.

She's making a good recovery,
it seems, but one --

One doesn't know.

After such a terrible
experience --

attacked on the road!

Her car burnt out!

The Indian schoolmaster who was
with her dead in her arms!

Of course, it's --
it's many years

since I last saw her.

At the Bishop Barnard school
in Muzzafirabad.

If you want a drink,

there's some nimbu
on the trolley.

If you can give me a moment,
I'll go and fetch it for you.

It's in my trunk, I'm sure.

Something I've promised to show
Mrs. Fosdick.

I'll bring it out here.

Then you can see.

What treat have we in store?

I think it's some sort
of picture.

She was chatting on.

It's to do with her friend
in Mayapore.

Miss Batchelor's reflected
glory.

Pankot is all ears.

Seriously, Nicky,
I'm worried about her.

My ricky
almost knocked her down.

Where?

On Club Road,
on the way up here.

She was wandering about all over
the shop and talking to herself.

Not really?

She jolly well was.

Not in a loud voice, I mean,
but definitely talking.

I stopped and picked her up.

I got the impression --

well, she was talking
to her friend, Miss Crane.

Well, that's what I think.

And directly she got
into the rickshaw,

she said how kind it was
of Mabel

to let her invite Miss Crane
to Rose Cottage

as soon as she was well enough.

And then she started talking
about this picture

and insisted I should see it.

Gosh!

Does Mabel seriously intend

to turn Rose Cottage into a home
for ex-missionaries?

I mean,
one is enough, if you ask me.

I've found it!

Ugh.

"A place for everything,

and everything in its place,"

as my mother used to say.

"The Jewel in the Crown."

That's what
the picture's called.

Edwina has one as well.

She used it for teaching
the children English.

Here is the queen, here,
in her crown, and so on.

Pictures are so important when
you're instructing the young,

don't you agree?

Of course, one has to be
careful --

Sarah, you'd like to see.

Yes, Edwina once told me,

in the end, she had an idea

the children confused her
with Victoria!

Isn't that amusing?

But you must admit,
the artist got everything in.

Princes, generals, paupers,

children, statesmen,

and old Victoria in the middle

on her throne in the open air.

Quite absurd, of course,
because she never came to India.

But it's allegorical,

because the jewel isn't the one

the prince is offering
to his sovereign.

The jewel is India,

Disraeli's empire.

Yes, the jewel is India.

So, what happened
about the bicycle?

The bicycle?

Miss Manners' cycle.

Was it used in evidence?

There was no trial.

There was something fishy
about that bike.

Some Indian subinspector
made a mistake,

and people started saying
the evidence was rigged.

So they had to lock
the culprits up

under the Defence of India
rules.

It was a District Superintendent
of Police who got the push.

Of course.

The usual thing.

Civil or military,
if you show some guts,

they give you a medal first,
then boot you off the scene.

India is going, anyway.

They're only waiting
till we've won the war.

If Gandhi doesn't hand it over
to the Japanese, first.

How could he?

He's locked up too.

Hello.

I say, it's getting
rather awkward.

What is?

This thing with Lady Manners.

I passed quite close earlier,

and she was sitting out there
on deck.

Mummy, what do you think
I should have done?

Suppose she'd waved!

Well, I'm not starting
anything, Susan.

One can ignore away.

Well, perhaps she doesn't
want to speak to us.

And what on earth would you say
about the baby?

Where's Mohammed gone?

I'm dying for a drink.

There's some nimbu there.

Sarah, do be an angel.

Were there any letters
at the boat station?

Nothing for you
or Mother.

One for me.

From Teddy?

Sounds pretty miserable,
according to the latest.

"Flying to Mirat."

Of course, he didn't fancy that,
not having flown before.

Gorgeous!

And he's getting worried
about the wedding.

Hang on a sec.

Yes -- "I haven't spoken

to the G1 yet, so things
on that front are pretty static.

About getting leave
for the wedding,

it's rather hard
to know the form.

The worst thing about Mirat
at present is the weather.

It's rained on and off
every day,

which is rotten for exercises.

And thunder every bally night,
which makes it hard to sleep."

Well.

Oh, God.

I say, I say --

Well, there's someone
in the bed --

Good Lord.

Who is it?

Didn't hear him arrive.

My train was badly held up,
and I didn't get in till 0300.

I've asked our orderly
to call me with tea at 0830,

so shall skip breakfast.

I look forward to meeting you
later in the day

and perhaps eating together.

Meanwhile, my thanks,

and apologies for any noise
last night.

Ronald Merrick."

Well, gentlemen, you've listened
to me long enough.

The field ahead will be tough
for all of you.

Intensive training
in jungle warfare,

to meet with the Japanese
again in Burma --

this time on ourterms.

The only thing I promise you
is this --

You won't have time
to be bored.

I ask you now
to give your attention

to a junior officer

who's recently joined
my Intelligence staff.

What he will tell you is
confidential

and important to the picture
of the enemy we expect to meet.

He's a rare bird -- an officer
of the Civil Authority

who's persuaded his department
to let him into the army

for the duration of the war.

I don't wish to embarrass him,

but I can tell you
he could have chosen

an appointment
with more glamorous epaulets.

Instead, he chose an active role

and the rank of captain.

So, Captain Merrick,

would you take over now, please?

No standing, gentlemen,

to save disruption.

I say, that's the fellow
who's in my room.

How do you take to him?

I haven't spoken to him yet.

In 1940, a man called
Subhas Chandra Bose,

under arrest
as an extremist member

of the Indian National Congress,

escaped from India
through Afghanistan.

Nothing exceptional in that.

But Mr. Bose went to Berlin.

And what he did in Germany

may come as a surprise
to some of you.

With the declared intention
of carrying on

what he called
"India's fight for freedom,"

he succeeded in raising a unit
of battalion strength

from among Indian
prisoners of war

to assist Hitler
in fighting us.

Remember, these men

were far from home,

deprived of the one thing

the Indian army has always been
justly proud of --

the high level of trust
between officers and men.

Mr. Bose, I must tell
you, is now in Tokyo,

having traveled,
not as he entered Afghanistan,

in a tonga,
but in a submarine.

Circumstances since 1940

have moved greatly
to his advantage.

Now there are many thousands
of Indian prisoners of war

taken by the Japanese
in Burma and Malaya.

And Mr. Gandhi himself,
on behalf of Congress,

has called on us to leave India
to God or anarchy.

It must be easy, then,
for leaderless,

lonely, and misguided sepoys

to believe that the days
of British imperialism are over

and that it is now the duty
of every patriotic Indian

to join an army
to help the Japanese

drive us out of India
for good and all.

Such an army has been formed.

Intelligence reports indicate
that it is called

the Azad Hind Fauj,
or Indian National Army,

which I'll refer to
as the INA.

And some of you,

perhaps in Burma, are
going to meet it in the field,

which is why what I have to tell
you, although confidential

and in some ways disturbing,

may be of use.

Extraordinary.

He arrives mysteriously
in the middle of the night

and pops up like a
jack-in-the-box at the briefing.

It wasgood stuff, I thought.

A bit worrying, of course.

Actually, I should have spoken
to him after,

but he was talking
to the brigadier.

About the INA, there's something
he may not have thought of.

There's your chance now.

Well, here goes.

I'm Teddy Bingham.

What'll it be?

I mean, uh, I'm the fellow

you're sharing quarters with.

Yes. We meet at last, then.

Ah. Bearer?

Can I get you a beer?

Or perhaps you don't at tiffin.

It's very good of you,
but I'm rather pressed.

I've got to be somewhere
at 2:00,

so I'm going to go right in.

Could we make it
this evening?

Yes, of course.

Good.

We'll have to get
to know each other.

Oh, by the way,
congratulations.

Uh, congratulations?

Hosain, the orderly,
tells me you're getting married

very soon.

Oh, did he?

Well, yes, I am.

Thanks.

Interesting, all that stuff
this morning.

No idea anything like that
was going on.

Only been in bloody India
six months, though.

What was he,
do you know?

I mean, in the Indian
government.

You mean in the Civil.

I've no idea.

Ah.

A sort of spy,
do you reckon?

Eh?

Um, hold on a sec.

I say, what awful chaps
you come across nowadays.

Who?

The fellow over there.

The sort you meet in pubs
on the Kingston Bypass.

You coming in?

Actually...

I think I'll skip tiffin today.

I've got that sinking feeling.

It's just come on.

Oh, there's a lot of it about,
they say.

I'll see you at the daftar
afterwards.

All right, old man.

Pictorial news
from Burma,

where a cameraman is stationed
near Mayu

and, operating
with General Wavell's army,

turns his camera

on British and Indian troops

disembarking from sampans

on their way to the front.

The carrying of supplies creates
a demand for manual labor.

There are colored boys out East

willing to lend a hand
and a shoulder.

In the hill country
known as the Arakan Yoma,

jungle fighting is the lot
of men

now acclimatized to the
hardships of tropical warfare.

More often than not,
they don't see their enemy.

They fire at sound.

And they're pretty darn quick
with the trigger finger.

Smoke hangs over the dark green
tangle

of the Burmese no-man's land.

On the Arakan front,
you'll find

a strange collection of men,

but as hardy and as fine
as they make them.

Where's Hosain?

I've missed you, damn it.

"Darling Teddy,

Thanks for your
lovely letter..."

Oh, bugger.

Bugger this!

"August 23, 1943.

Srinagar.

Darling Teddy,

Thanks for your lovely letter,

though I was sorry to hear

about your journey
and the rotten weather.

It's lovely here today,

and the lake looks cool
and misty.

And I do miss you a lot."

Oh, God.

"Now, what about that leave,
darling?

Don't want to nag,

but you must know there's heaps to be done before the wedding.

Please get it fixed
as soon as poss.

and let me know."

Oh, Susan.

Darling.

Soldier!

Hosain?

Hosain!

Sahib?

Where's it gone?

There was a bicycle out there.

Bicycle, sahib?

Bicycles are here.

I know that, you ass!

There was another bike
out there,

before tiffin, memsahib's bike.

It was all bashed up,
with one wheel missing.

Sahib, this bicycle no good.

One wheel is missing.

I don't want the bloody thing!

I want to know
where it's gone!

How am I telling, sahib?

Only I am seeing,
bicycles are here.

Hosain?

Coming, sahib!

...That bicycle...

Ah! There you are.

I'm sorry about lunchtime.

I didn't see you come
to the dining room, by the way.

As a matter of fact,
I -- I got rather taken short.

Oh, Mirat tummy?

Sort of.

I've got some stuff
that'll settle that.

I expect you've been
sitting under a fan

or drinking too much iced beer.

Hold on, I'll get it
for you.

It's all right.
I'll pour.

Tends to come out
in a dribble,

then in a rush.

It cements you up.

If you have another dose of that
in the morning,

you'll be as right as rain.

Thanks.

It, uh, it must be
the humidity.

I've been stationed up in
the hills the past few months.

I'm not used to it.

Actually, the humidity here
is fairly low.

Have you ever been
in Sunder Nagar?

I've never even heard
of Sunder Nagar.

Your shoes go green overnight.

I had an Inspector there

who swore he was getting
webbed feet.

And he was an Indian.

An Inspector?

Were you in the Indian police,
then?

DSP.

I say, Merrick?

Yes?

Well, you'd think at least
that little blighter

could change my shoes --
Where's he gone?

He may be on an errand.

Oh.

One for me.

Sorry.

There's a shoehorn in my kit

you may find useful.

And, um, then we'll go over
to the mess

and have that drink together.

All right?

Yes.

You know what I've
been thinking?

About what you said this
morning, about the INA --

Most of those fellows who've
gone over to the Japs

could be wangling their way
out of prison camp

to get back to us.

That's what I
can't help thinking.

Precisely.

Uh...

Precisely what?

That's what you
can't helpthinking.

As an officer in
the Muzzafirabad Guides.

Your father's regiment,
I expect, too.

I'm afraid I think all that's
a myth --

devotion to the Raj,

loyalty of the humble Indian.

My experiences
as a police officer

have blighted my enthusiasm
for ideas like that.

But then, my origins and yours
were probably quite different.

I was a grammar-school boy.

Oh, really?

I was an awful duffer at school,
if it comes to that.

I --

You don't think it's true, then,
what I said,

that these men
aren't really traitors?

No, I think it's true

that many of them
will persuade themselves

they have fine motives
for doing what they want.

But isn't that what we all do?

All right.

But I still think there are a
few things one just doesn't do.

I don't blame the other ranks
so much,

but when it comes to
King's commissioned officers,

whatever color --

That's beyond the pale.

Yes.

You know, I'm actually
rather hungry.

Come on, Harold!

See you in there, Teddy.

Does a bicycle have any special
significance to you, old man?

Bicycle?

What do you mean,
"special significance"?

Well, as a sort of symbol
of the INA.

Not that I'm aware of.

Why?

Oh, I found one --
on the veranda at tiffin.

It wasn't there when I got back
this evening.

A lady's bike.
It was broken.

Just that?

Um, a broken bicycle?

Well, there were these marks,
too,

like some kind of puja
in front of the door.

I'm afraid I scuffed them out.

What a pity.

Uh, do you remember the marks
in any detail?

I'm afraid not.

I say, do you think
I was right?

About what?

The INA.

Possibly.

Have you...told anyone?

Well, I asked Hosain.

He didn't know
what I was talking about.

I expect the little beggar

thought I was accusing him
of something.

Have you mentioned the bicycle
and the marks

to, uh, anyone else?

No.

Then, uh, I shouldn't.

Between ourselves.

Yes.

Now, let me get you another
of those before we eat.

Bearer?

Double barapeg soda.

To kill the bugs.

Hmm.

So...when's the wedding?

December.

Or earlier.

Earlier, surely!

Or once jungle training starts,
you won't get the chance.

If you've decided
to get married,

I'd do it right away,
here in Mirat.

There's a hill station

called Nanoora
that's quite close

if you've only
two or three days.

Two or three days?

It's quite possible.

Good Lord.

We hadn't seen it
a bit like that.

I -- I mean --

How had you seen it?

Well, a proper wedding,

in Pankot --
that's where we met,

her father's station.
Cheers.

Her father?

Colonel Layton.

Pankot Rifles.

He's a prisoner of war
in Germany, by the way.

I see.

So it'll have to be
a pukka wedding.

Pankot expects
that sort of thing.

What about after Christmas?

I shouldn't count on it.

You seem well informed.

Hmm.

Well advised.

Oh, but two or three days!

Here, in Mirat?

And what about the guests?

Her family?

Well, there might be a way

to handle that,
if you don't mind a suggestion.

I should say not!

If there's anyone round here
who knows the score,

it seems to be you.

Are you married, Merrick?

Uh, no.

I'm, uh...not.

What's the scheme?

I'll tell you
over dinner.

Actually, it's all turned out
to be quite simple.

Rather exciting, in fact.

"Can't remember if I told you,

but Mirat is a princely
Indian state."

Oh, this is the bit.

"It seems the old Nawab
has a guest house

in the palace grounds

that is made available to us
for special visitors.

There's tons of room
for all of you, apparently,

including Aunt Fenny
and Uncle Arthur.

I've checked with the SSO,

and it's free for the October
dates we want.

Sorry it's such an awful rush,
but it could be fun.

There's a nice old church
in the cantonment,

and afterwards we can shoot up

to the Nanoora Hills
in just a few hours."

Well?

72 hours is all
they've given us.

What do you think?

Doesn't appear you have
much choice.

Full marks to him for
information and method, anyhow.

Doesn't sound like Teddy.

What?

To be so organized.

There's more to Teddy
than you think.

Yes, of course.

There must be.

Mummy?

Really, it's what youthink,
Susan.

You're the one
who has to decide.

Well, I think it will be fun!

Of course, people in Pankot
will be disappointed.

Furious.

But it's mywedding, so we'll
just have to tell them.

They know there's a war.

Yes.

And Daddy can't be there
in any case,

so it won't be the same.

At least
there's one good thing.

What's that?

We'll have to go home
early.

So we'll send Mohammed round
to her houseboat,

and he can drop in a card.

I'll have to think.

There's such a lot to do.

"Apologies.
No time to call."

That's that.

Good afternoon.

Lady Manners, may I come
onboard?

Why, yes, of course.

Suleman, help the memsahib.

I'm Sarah Layton,

from the next houseboat.

You sent us
your card.

Ah. Yes.

So I was bringing you ours,

but as I saw you --

My mother and sister have gone
to the bazaar,

so I thought I'd call.

Miss Layton,
I've seen your family

on several occasions.

Yes.

Quite honestly, we didn't know
what to do --

what we should say --
about the awful business

of your niece, I mean.

That's why we haven't called.

But now you have.

We're going home in a few days,
so it was the last chance.

I wondered,
if you wouldn't mind --

if I could see the baby.

I've often heard her.

You want to see Parvati?

Is that her name?

Yes, if I may.

I shall be delighted.

Will you follow me?

Of course, she may be asleep.

Layton memsahib
to see Parvati.

May I?

She's so tiny.

Thank you.

Miss Layton, will you take tea?

Please. I should love to.

I think of Daphne often.

Her mother looked healthy
enough, but she died young.

And Dr. Krishnamurthy
warned Daphne.

It was dangerous for her?

The labor, yes.

She never saw the child.

Pankot. Henry and I were there
quite often

during the time he was governor
of the province.

We never met your parents,
though.

Your father commands
the 1st Pankot Rifles?

Yes.

Mm.

Sad he can't be
at your sister's wedding.

Now, she is --

Susan.

And you are Sarah.

I have it now.

And two years ago younger
than you are.

Well, you will like Mirat.

I suppose lending the guesthouse

is part of the Nawab's
war effort.

He must be getting on a bit.

And so must his wazir --

an extraordinary Russian émigré
count.

Bronowsky, I think.

You must look out for him.

The English used to hate him,

until they realized
what a good influence he was.

Shall you be sorry to go back
early to your station?

Yes, in some ways.

Lady Manners, I wonder if you
could give us some advice.

We've been talking
about a present --

something to give the Nawab for
letting us have the guesthouse.

As you knew him quite well,

perhaps you could suggest
what he might like?

A present.

We just couldn't think.

Well, you know, the Nawab is
distantly related

to ex-Chief Minister Kasim.

Charming man.

Unfortunately, we've put him
in prison.

And both of them are related

to the 18th-century Urdu poet,
Gaffur.

I think the most flattering gift
might be

a specially bound copy
of Gaffur's poems.

That's a wonderful idea!

You can get one in Srinagar

and easily have it bound here,

though that might take
a few days.

There's certainly a shop
in Ranpur in the bazaar

where they do excellent
leather work

and gold-leaf blocking.

You could arrange for it
on your way through.

Is that a good idea?

Yes!

I'm sorry,
I was just thinking --

What?

What a lot you know.

Well, it's one
of the advantages of old age.

One becomes a repository

for casual bits and pieces
of information.

Some of them are useful.

I didn't mean that.

I'm sorry -- what I meant was,

"know," not "remember."

I can't quite explain.

Please forgive me.

I've taken up too much
of your time.

But I have time.

In some ways.

Will you come again?

Yes, if I can.

I understand.

Hello!

Auntie Mabel!

Hello!

Ah.

We're back again.

Mother and Susan are busy
at home.

They asked me to give you
their love.

Did you enjoy
the holiday?

We had to come back early.

Susan's getting married
in Mirat.

The plans are all changed.

I know, Barbie told me.

She heard it
at the club library.

She brings me
all the news,

you see?

Mother would have written.

There wasn't time.

How beautiful the garden looks.

Does it?

You do such a lot.

Yes, but it often strikes me
as something

the gods once loved
and then forgot.

It should have died young.

I'm not here forever.

And I'm not sure
that I love it enough.

Have you seen Barbie?

I think she's in the house.

I know she'll want
to see you.

I'll go up and say hello.

Aziz will bring you
anything you want.

Of course, I've been dying to
have a chat about the wedding.

It's so exciting.

Thank you, Aziz.

A wedding in Mirat!

I've never been there,
but I've seen photographs.

Palaces, mosques and minarets.

And Susan in her veil

will be standing
by a fountain.

Have you noticed
how still she's become

since the engagement
was announced?

Or have I imagined it?

You don't take sugar,
do you?

No, thank you, Barbie.

And how will you manage
on the journey?

Well, Tony Bishop is to be
best man.

Oh, yes,
they'd arranged that.

He's applied for leave
to General Rankin,

so he'll be able
to travel with us.

Oh, so you'll have a man
on the journey.

And will the Nawab
be at the wedding?

Oh, I'm sure
he'll be invited.

Perhaps he won't come.

It might be rather fraught,
if that's the word I want.

How do you mean?

Well, we locked up
a relative of his --

Mohammad Ali Kasim,
the Muslim Congressman.

Put him in clink!

But then India's full
of oddities like that.

Have you talked to Mabel
about the wedding?

No, not really.

Is she very disappointed,
now she can't come?

Oh, I'm sure she'd have liked
to be there,

but Mirat's so far, too far.

She gets tired easily,
and she does too much.

You'd have liked to come too,
wouldn't you, Barbie?

Me?

Oh, I shouldn't have been there,
in any case.

Your mother wouldn't want me --

Why do you say that?

We won't -- we mustn't
talk about it.

Why?

Why mustn't we?

Not about me.

It's nothing to do with me.

It's to do with...Mabel
and your mother.

But, you see,
I am the cause.

Of what?

Of ill feeling.

Oh --

Oh, I'm not such a fool.

I can see.

I know what people say.

You should be living here.

Rose Cottage belonged
to your grandfather.

And if Mabel had still been
living here alone

when war began,
you would have come here.

But she didn't want
to be here alone.

She wanted someone
to share Rose Cottage with.

That's how you came.

But still, you see,

I am the cause.

There's nothing
I can do.

Everyone in Pankot says that
Rose Cottage is too big for us

and the bungalow
too small for all of you.

Auntie Mabel would never leave
Rose Cottage.

Everyone knows that.

Do you think
your mother does?

After all,
she isn't your aunt.

She's your grandfather's
second wife.

Well, we've always called her
"Auntie Mabel."

It's what she wanted,
since we were children.

She's your mother's
stepmother-in-law.

Oh, mothers-in-law
are bad enough.

There was a song my father used
to sing when he was merry --

We were going to talk
about the wedding,

and look, I'm going on
about my father.

And I've got to go.

Thanks for the coffee, Barbie.

Oh, you've hung
the picture!

Yes, Aziz did it
for me.

He likes to look at it.

And it reminds me of Edwina.

This is the jewel.

Here is the crown.

How many of those children
did I bring to God?

That's what I wonder.

And has He any purpose?

She burnt herself.

Soaked the walls
with paraffin.

Of the garden shed.

When she came out of hospital,
a fearful thing.

She never answered
my letters.