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Part Four
Margaret. I met a friend.
Come in. Do come in.
- Oh, Mr Higgins. - Margaret.
How are you?
Last week I could do nowt else but bar the door.
- I understand. - It were me what made him do it.
No, Mr Higgins, you are not to blame.
I could have set Boucher on a better road.
Sit down, Mr Higgins.
We have all of us left undone those things we ought to have done.
We confess that daily and God, in his mercy, forgives us.
I called him a Judas. A coward.
He were a brave man.
- I want you to help me. - help you? Of course.
When I go down South, I want to take Mrs Boucher with me, and the children.
- Work for them, care for them. - Leave here and go South?
There's no work for me here. I'm blacklisted.
But many a time, Margaret, I've heard you talk of the South.
Perhaps you know somebody who might give me work.
What sort of work could you do?
I reckon I could spade a bit.
But you would not bear the dullness of the life.
Have you been to Marlborough Mills for work?
- Have you been to see Mr Thornton? - Not Thornton himself.
But I've been to t'works. I saw the overlooker.
He bid me go and be damned.
- I wish you had seen Mr Thornton. - Please try to see him.
Oh, such a man as me is not likely to see the master.
I'll write you a note.
A note that you can give to him.
I think I may venture to say it will ensure you a hearing.
What do you say?
You needn't write a note. I'll not have favour currled for me.
But I'll tell you what I'll do.
I'll do it for your sake, Margaret.
It taxes my pride above a bit, but I'll do it for you.
- Thank you. - Excuse me, sir.
- Are you still here? - I walted for you. I wanted to speak to you.
Ah, well, you'd better come in.
Now, then...
Take these across to Pinfold in the mill, will you?
- Have a word with you, sir? - Eh?
- A word in private, if you'd be so kind, sir. - Oh?
- Or perhaps we could step outside, master. - Walt here, will you?
- Do you know who that is? - You tell me.
That's Higgins. One of the Ieaders of the union. Been hanging around for hours.
- Higgins? - Aye, a desperate character.
There's some even say he's a sociallst.
Thank you.
Leave me alone with him for a minute or two.
- well, sir. What do you want with me? - My name's Higgins.
I know that. What do you want? That's the question.
I want work. So will you Iay me on?
You're a fine chap, coming asking me for work.
You don't Iack impudence. That's very clear.
- What are you walting for? - I asked a question.
- I'm walting for the answer. - I gave it to you.
all you've done is remarked on my impudence.
It's manners to say yes or no when asked a simpIe question.
I'll repeat it. I'll be thankfuI to your for work.
I've turned off 1 00 of my best hands for following the likes of you.
Do you think I'd set you on? Might as well throw a firebrand into t'middIe of t'cotton waste!
- I'd make you promises. - What promises?
I promise I'll not speak a word as could do you harm
if you do right by us working men.
And I promise if I see you going wrong, acting unfair,
I'd speak to you in private first, and that'd be fair warning.
You don't make small beer of yourself, do you?
You'll not give me work?
I'm sorry to have troubled you. I were coaxed on by a woman.
well, tell her to mind her own business, in future.
Go on, get out!
I'm obIiged to you for your kindness, master.
But most of all for your civil way of saying goodbye.
Good day to you.
You certainly sent him off with his tall between his legs.
- What was he after, sir? - After work.
- Work? What, here, sir? - Aye.
Cheek of the man.
Mind you, they do say he's not the revolutionary he was.
Not since he caused that fellow's death.
Who's death?
Boucher. Drowned hisself. That Higgins has it on his conscience.
And so he should have.
Trled to make up for it by looking after Boucher's wife and children.
Six of them.
Starving to death. Tragic, I know. But I looks at it this way, sir.
The BibIe says the sins of the father shall be visited on the children.
Mayhap it's the Lord's way of weeding out the riffraff.
You told him I sent you?
I didn't call you by name.
I told him a woman had advised me to come.
And he?
Oh, he told me to tell you to mind your own business.
Never mind, them are civil words to what he used to me.
(Urgent knocking)
- Mr Higgins. Can I have a word with you? - You? Calling here?
You'd best come in.
- Miss Hale. - Good evening, Mr Thornton.
I apoIogise. I didn't know you had company.
- I was on the point of leaving. - But you've only just come.
well, my main intention was to call on Mrs Boucher.
To see if I can be of help to her.
Aye, poor woman. Don't let me keep you, then.
I had no knowledge that you were here. I didn't know you were a friend of Mr Higgins.
This was the woman you said was to mind her own business.
It was you?
Ah. I apoIogise for my hasty words.
- I wonder if I might ask you a favour. - Favour? ApoIogise?
You're Iearning manners at Iast?
Never having been in your house before, you may think this impertinent,
but I'd be deeply gratefuI if you'd allow Miss Hale and me
to have a few words together - alone.
Put like that, and you a guest,
time and a bit of rented space, to that you're welcome, Mr Thornton.
I'll walt in the yard till you're finished.
You... You had a visit from my mother, I understand?
I did.
I regret what took place.
I would not have you hunted and badgered.
Miss Hale, have you no expIanation?
You must know what I can't but think.
I am aware of what I must appear to you.
But I'm not in a position to explain.
If I did, I would bring harm to another person.
Then I'll ask no further.
I thought we might have had something to say
but I see that we mean nothing to one another.
I hope you're quite convinced that any foolish passion on my part is entirely over.
Then if you will excuse me...
..good evening, Mr Thornton.
Miss Hale.
- Good night, ma'am. - Is there anything for Mrs Boucher?
well, Mr Thornton, what is it you wanted?
- will you take work with me? - Work for you after today? What's the catch?
- No catch. I didn't know about the children. - Boucher's children? What are they to you?
They're children, that's all.
Mr Thornton, we should have a chat, you and me,
about the principles of the hiring of labour.
I'm not here to discuss the Rights Of Man. will you take the job?
- Cos of Boucher's children? - Aye.
all right. I'll come.
And what's more, I'll thank you. And that's a deaI from me.
That's a deaI from me.
A bargain?
well, it's all done, Papa.
- Dixon and I have packed the big trunk for you. - Thank you, my dear.
Mr Thornton has written once more to say that he must forego his Iesson.
- This is the third time. - You must be disappointed.
Now he must go to France on business.
I'd hoped, particularly, to see him before I left for Oxford.
have you ever had cause to think that Mr Thornton...
..cared for you?
Oh, Papa, I should have told you.
My dear, I'm sure you would have if you had returned his regard.
Did he...speak to you of it?
- Yes. - And you refused him?
Forgive me for not telling you more,
but the whoIe thing is so painfuI to me that I... cannot bear to think of it.
I understand, my dear.
I'm so sorry to have lost you a friend.
I... I couldn't help it.
(Sobs) Oh, I'm sorry.
Oh, Margaret, I'm sorry, too.
But, my dear, if it distresses you so much,
why don't you come to Oxford with me?
Your godfather would be delighted to see you.
Oh, you're both very kind.
After all that has happened these Iast few months,
I shall enjoy the peace and qulet of remaining here with Dixon.
You will take care of yourself? You promise me?
Yes, Papa, I will.
I shall be sorry to leave you, Margaret. It will seem strange without you.
Oh... But you know how happy you'll be to be in Oxford again, after all this time.
Yes, indeed, it is a Iong time.
I must confess, Margaret, I feel a little nervous.
Oh, you will feel differently tomorrow, once you've arrived.
Ah, thank you. Oh.
- Thank you, thank you. - Thank you, sir.
- Oh. - (Train whistIe toots)
Why, Mr Bell!
Thornton? well, what are you doing on this train?
I caught it in London.
I'm on my way back from France. Been doing some business there.
- SuccessfuIly, I hope. - well, yes.
It's got me out of troubIe for the time belng.
How about you? Don't tell me you're on your way to Milton.
Yes. Yes, I am.
Not to put up my rent, I hope. We've got to the stage of diminishing returns.
Oh, come now. You've never found me an unreasonable IandIord, have you?
Aye, not so far as IandIords go, no.
But what is the purpose of your visit, may I ask?
- A most melancholy errand, I'm afraid. - Oh?
You know Mr Hale's been staying with me for the Iast few weeks?
- Yes. - well, prepare yourself for a shock.
Mr Hale is no more. He passed away Iast night.
He went to bed Iast night, to all appearances in good health and excelIent spirits.
When my servant called him this morning, he had gone.
Hale dead?
He hadn't seen Oxford for 1 7 years.
His visit was a joyfuI reconcillation with his past, with his whoIe life.
He was happier than I've ever known him.
If a man must die, his was a good death.
We can thank God for that.
Does... Does Miss Hale know?
Margaret? No.
I'm on my way to break the news to her.
And now she's alone...what will come of her?
well, it's obvious she won't stay in Milton.
Most likely she will go to London and Iive with her aunt, Mrs Shaw.
Oh. London. Yes, I see.
- (Whispering) - Thank you, Dixon.
- She's in there, sir. - Oh, yes.
I'll just have a word with her. Thank you.
Margaret, my dear?
Yes, Godfather.
I know this has all been a terribIe shock to you.
But I have things that I ought to discuss with you.
Can you bear to listen to me?
- Yes, of course. - Ah. Good, good.
I've written to your aunt and she should be arriving tomorrow.
Now, I think it most likely she'll want to return with you to London as soon as possibIe.
You will be happy in London, won't you?
- Yes. - Good.
Now, then, as I have only really one more day here, I was wondering -
as your aunt probably won't leave you enough time to say goodbye to your friends -
if you have the courage, my dear, I could accompany you on your leave taking.
Leave taking?
well, you may never see this place again.
I know.
well, now, who are the friends that you would wish to visit?
We have made so few friends,
friends who would remark on my departure.
But there's Mr Higgins. I must say goodbye to Mr Higgins.
Yes, yes. And who else?
I cannot think.
There's Mr Thornton. Have you forgotten him?
No, I have not forgotten him.
Then you'll say goodbye to him?
I will say goodbye.
SaddIe of Iamb? Give a working man saddIe of Iamb?
- Why not? - Not enough packing in it.
- Packing? - No fat. Nothing succuIent.
For a dining room for your workers, give them what they're used to and Iots of it.
- well, what do you recommend, then? - Here.
Take this penciI and do a bit of jotting.
- Right. Fire ahead. - First off- hotpot.
Next, Belly draft. Neck of Iamb in pearI barIey.
ChorI chotters, chitterlings in the jissup.
- Jissup? - Aye, chitterlings in the jissup.
First-rate fettIe, I tell you.
- Got cow heel down, have you? - Um...
Oh, it's nice and gIuey around your chops is a cow heel.
- And don't forget your giblet pie. - (Laughs)
all right, Higgins. all right. You've convinced me.
What are you up to, Thornton? You taking up cooking?
Mr Bell.
It's a scheme Higgins and I are devising.
We're opening a canteen.
Buying the food whoIesaIe, see. It's cheaper.
Every man in t'mill will get one good meaI a day and at a rock bottom price.
Most progressive, my good man. Most progressive.
- all right, Higgins. We'll complete this tomorrow. - Very good, sir.
It's very good of you to call.
Actually, I brought Miss Hale with me.
She's in the house saying goodbye to your mother.
I want to apoIogise for my manner the Iast time we met, Mrs Thornton.
I'm sure you meant kindly, however much we may have misunderstood each other.
I did no more than what I believed to be my duty.
I'm gIad you do me justice.
What part of London shall you be residing in, Miss Hale?
- HarIey Street. - Oh.
Walter and I have discussed the possibillty of acquiring a townhouse...
after we are marrled.
I fancy Cheyne WaIk, myself.
If you do come to town, Miss Thornton,
I shall do all in my power to give you every attention.
And you, too, Mrs Thornton.
- I never go to London. - Oh.
- Good day, Mr Thornton. - Good day, Miss Hale.
I'm very sorry to hear of your sad loss.
Your father was a dear friend to me.
I have been sorting through Papa's books...
..and I wondered if you would like his copy of Homer.
I shall vaIue that greatly.
Thank you.
John, I'm sorry to say that Miss Hale's call is to wish us goodbye.
Mr Bell told me. You're leaving, then, for London?
Yes. My aunt arrives tomorrow to fetch me.
And we shall never see you again?
I doubt it.
Goodbye, then, Miss Hale.
Bye, Mr Thornton.
Yes. We ought to be making a move.
- Bye, Miss Thornton. - Bye, Miss Hale.
I'll come down with you, Miss Hale.
My poor dear child.
I had simply no conception how you were Iiving.
The butIer's wife Iives in a better house than this.
How you have suffered, poor Iamb.
It can be very pretty round here. In summer.
Your taste is bIunted, girI.
Still, we shall soon bring you back to what you were born to be.
A Iady of refinement.
- Dixon. - Yes, madam.
I have decided that you will remain here.
Can I trust you to sort through what belongings there are,
ready for the auctioneer to put under his hammer?
You can safely leave that to me, madam.
- Thank you, Dixon. You may go. - Thank you, madam.
We are selling all our furniture, then?
We can hardly have these odds and ends with us in London.
Not the right styIe at all.
Oh, no, I suppose not.
In fact, I am thinking about refurnishing the house,
having everything Gothic.
Mr Pugin's styIe.
- Have you seen any? - No, Aunt.
Oh, he had an absoIutely wonderfuI dispIay at the '51 exhibition.
His medievaI room is still talked about.
A most taIented man is Mr Pugin.
You will have to meet him.
Thank you.
You're going to Iive again, Margaret.
There is a wonderfuI life in store for you.
Excuse me, madam.
Miss Margaret, Mr Higgins would like to see you.
Please show him in, Dixon.
well, show him in.
If you'll step this way, Mr Higgins.
Mr Higgins, how good of you to come.
This is my Aunt, Mrs Shaw.
How do you do?
I will go upstairs and Iie down, Margaret dear.
- Dixon, you will remain. - Yes, madam.
So, you're gonna be a grand Iady up in London, Mr Thornton told me.
Oh, not a grand Iady...
I should have come to see you.
BIess you. I know you'd come if you could.
As I said to t'master, ''If I don't see her afore her goes,
I shall get up to London next Whitsuntide. I'll not be bauIked of saying a goodbye.''
If no-one else remembers me in Milton, I can be certain of you.
Aye. You made your mark.
I'll not forget you. Not ever.
Thank you.
I shall always treasure our friendship.
We've been great friends.
BIess you, Margaret. BIess you.
And amen.
(CIassicaI music and chatter)
Oh, Margaret, if only I could find somebody for you to marry.
- I shall never marry. - Nonsense.
I want to see you happy again.
Don't grieve too Iong.
After all, it is more than six months since your father dled.
- It's high time you started to think of yourself. - Edith, I...
You've become such an attraction to the house during the past few months.
ShoIto knows many men who wish to visit here only for your sake.
Do you know, Edith, I sometimes think that your stay abroad with the regiment
has taught you...
Just a shade or two of coarseness.
Come, my dears. I can't have you two gossiping together all evening.
Come, Margaret.
well, my dear, how are you enjoying your return to soclety?
I find soclety a little difficuIt to accept.
I don't feel part of it any more.
Margaret, a girI must not say such a thing.
Such an admission is impossibIe.
What you need, Margaret, my dear, is gentIeness and tenderness.
I will leave you with Henry, for he has a rich fund of both.
You will look after her, won't you, whiIe I tour the guests?
- Margaret. - Yes, Henry?
Tear away the pretentious veneer of our conversation
and you would find that this room is fuII of aching hearts.
Henry, why do you go on with it?
I speak for myself.
My own somewhat forced, affable chatter
is simply a means of disguising how vuInerable I am.
You vuInerable?
Margaret, all men who have a Ionging for something...
someone, are vuInerable.
You are the kindest and most sympathetic friend I have here.
Still only a friend.
And I remain vuInerable.
That belng so, I must make sure that soclety is unaware of it, so come, Margaret.
What chit-chat shall we engage in?
- I do not enjoy chit-chat. - But you must, Margaret. You must.
It is an essentiaI ruIe of the game.
I hear that the thing to avold this season
is to attend any party where AIfred Lord Tennyson is invited.
Got a new poem called Maud.
Reads it in a speciaI sing-song voice with tears dripping down his face.
Nothing but moans and groans. AbsoIute shocker of a man.
Guaranteed to kill any evening stone dead.
Oh, Henry.
(Bell toIling in distance)
Ah, right sad I am to see it like this, Miss Dixon.
'Twas a tragic house, Mr Higgins.
- Tragic from first to Iast. - Aye.
Now, Mr Higgins. Miss Hale wrote to me most insistently
that you should come in and pick something you liked before it's all sent to the auction tomorrow.
How is she now?
She doesn't say much in her letters but I'd say London was suiting her.
It's her kind of life, see, what she was born and bred for.
well now, I've Iaid out the oddments over there.
And if there's anything you fancy, just you take it.
Right you are.
I'll have this - old Hale's tobacco jar.
I'll think of him every time I dips in me pipe.
Just a minute. That isn't Mr Hale's.
I shouldn't have left it there.
It is Master Frederick's.
Who's Frederick?
- He is nobody that you know. - There is a Frederick, then?
Walt a minute.
You had our Mary working in the kitchen when Mrs Hale was dying.
Her said a nice-looking fellow come to the house. Her said it was Miss Hale's brother.
How many other peopIe has your Mary told?
only me. I pooh-poohed the idea untiI now.
I thought it were one of her fancies.
But it's right, in't it? Miss Hale does have a brother named Frederick.
Mr Higgins, so this goes no further,
'tis best to tell you something.
- Aye? - Something the family's trled to hush up.
If it got out that he'd come to this house,
Miss Margaret could be put in prison for harbouring a desperate criminaI.
Miss Hale's brother's a criminaI?
well, we don't think so and nobody in thelr right mind would think so.
But the law thinks so.
If it were left to the law, he'd be dangling from the yardarm.
What did he do, then?
- He led a mutiny on one of Her Majesty's ships. - Mutiny?
He had a good reason for it.
The captain were a tyrant.
Master Frederick led that mutiny to save more death and suffering.
Where is he now?
In Spain. He marrled a Spanish girI and settled down there.
- Is that jonnock? - Jonnock?
- True. - Not a word of a Iie.
well, it's an eye-opener, a right fIummoxer.
Still, as far as I'm concerned, there ain't no Frederick, nor never was.
That's settled, then.
Now, Mr Higgins, is there something else that you fancy?
Can I have this?
That's Mr Hale's prayer book.
- I know. - I thought you were against religion?
I am a bit. But it'd be nice to have something he'd handled, that Mr Hale put his mind to.
You take it, Mr Higgins.
Ta, Miss Dixon. Ta.
'Pon my soul, Margaret, it's easier to Iay hands on the Crown Jewels
than to get inside this place!
How good it is to see you, Godfather.
How are they treating you, my dear child? well, I hope.
Oh, yes, most kind.
Where is your aunt and your cousins? The place seems deserted.
- They've gone out visiting. - What?
- Left you all alone? - I asked them to.
I cannot stand the whirI of the sociaI round, day in, day out.
But what brings you here?
- well, now, I've just come down from Milton. - Milton?
I thought I'd better come straight here and give you my report.
You went there specially for the auction?
Yes, and to see that the house was taken off your hands.
Fortunately, Thornton has found a tenant, so that worry's over.
You have seen Mr Thornton?
Yes, and great news in that family.
- Great news - a marriage. - Marriage?
Miss Fanny has marrled Walter SIickson, son of SIickson the manufacturer.
Smart young fellow.
Perhaps a little too shrewd for his years.
Fly, that's what I call him.
His talk's all of markets and exchanges and goodness knows what.
- But I hope she will be happy with him. - Yes, indeed.
well, Margaret, do you know what I did on the train?
I felI asleep - fast asleep.
And I had a dream, you'll never guess what I dreamt about.
I dreamt I was back in that dear little village called Helstone.
And when I woke up, I had a notion, just an idea.
I'd like us, just you and I, to go and visit it.
Visit Helstone?
If it wouldn't pain you too much, my child.
Oh, no.
My memories of it are happy memories.
Oh, Godfather...
what a sweet generous soul you are.
Nonsense, nonsense.
Ah, thank you, thank you.
- There we are. Thank you, my man. - Thank you, sir.
well, now. I wonder where everybody is.
Let's er...
Whoa. (ExHales)
well, bIess my soul!
It's Miss Hale, ain't it? Miss Hale!
Good afternoon, Mrs Purkis.
Mrs Purkis, I'm afraid we haven't given you any warning, but I do hope you've got some rooms.
Mr Bell! Of all peopIe, Mr Bell.
- You remember me? - Remember you?
Why, many's the time you stayed under this roof in the old days.
You're most welcome, sir. Of course we've got rooms.
Ah, good, good.
Fancy seelng you again, Miss Hale.
And how's the Vicar, your father?
God bIess him. We never cease to be sorry he left.
He's gone from us, Mrs Purkis.
Oh, no, never so?
Margaret is my goddaughter.
Her father was my oldest friend.
So we thought we'd come down here together and have a look at the old place.
- 'Tis changed, changed a Iot. - Indeed?
Oh, aye. In two or three years, it has changed beyond recognition.
We must investigate that for ourselves, mustn't we?
Mrs Purkis, would you be kind enough to show us to our rooms?
- Right you are. - Can you manage those?
What, these bags? They'm feathers.
- (ChuckIes) - Godfather?
Whatever Mrs Purkis says, peopIe do not change, ordinary peopIe.
You don't think so? well, we shall see.
- Come. - Yes, we shall see.
Let us call on some of the old cottages,
and then visit the schooI...
and then...
if I'm brave enough to bear it, go to the vicarage once more.
Anything you say, my dear.
I like to think we're the vanguard of the new Church of England, Miss Hale.
We can no Ionger afford the induIgence of meditation and all that.
CarefuI, william. Miss Hale's father was a schoIar.
This room, I believe, was once fuII of his books.
There were books in every room.
But this was our drawing room too.
well, the good old Church is changing. We must change with it.
Thank you.
Oh, thank you very much.
There are no roses? They've gone?
The children, Miss Hale.
We needed room for them to pIay.
VICAR: Strict discipIine. That's what I believe in.
A bit of the Roman attitude.
Leave abstruse dogma to the wise old fathers of the Church, whiIe we get on with the job.
Too much delving by mediocre minds can only Iead to heresy.
Are you referring to my father? He became a dissenter and left the Church.
Sorry, nothing personal.
It's just that I've had to tackle a parish that's got a bit vague about things.
I don't quite follow.
I mean, they haven't got it clear yet on OriginaI Sin,
let alone thelr muddled thinking about transubstantiation.
well, my attitude is absoIutely clear, isn't it, my dear?
Oh, yes, William.
Too much thinking for yourself cuItivates pride.
It's your mind against the will of God.
And that can Iead to all kinds of troubIe.
I think Miss Hale knows that.
Yes. all respect to your father.
But if he had relled upon falth and the symboIs of falth...
The first thing william did was open a chapel to Our Lady.
Yes, it's that kind of thing that keeps your mind on the right courses.
To be a falthfuI Christian, there's a good case for sacrificing the intellect, you know.
In all humillty, may I suggest that that is what your father never did.
Sacrifice his intellect?
Papa never did that.
(clears throat)
Everything all right, sir?
Oh, yes, indeed. Thank you, Mrs Purkis.
Now, my dear.
will you have a little port?
- No, thank you. - No?
Is anything the matter, my dear?
I looked on Helstone as paradise.
But everything's altered.
Perhaps it's you.
Yes, possibly.
You see, Iiving in the smoky, bustling North,
you probably began to take a romantic view of life down here.
And now I must guard against the reverse.
Taking a romantic view of the North.
Of the peopIe? (ChuckIes)
There's nothing romantic about them.
No, we're...
Poor Mr Thornton's having rather a difficuIt time.
There are rumours he may have to close the mill.
- Oh, no, I hope not. - well, trade is very bad.
Please let me tell you something.
You could perhaps help me a little.
Yes? Go on, my dear.
There is something which has caused a barrier between me and Mr Thornton.
It's a Iong story.
But you know at the time of Mama's death, my brother returned to this country?
No, I did not know.
I thought Papa would have told you.
I had to hurry Frederick away again quickly out of the country, secretly.
I went with him to the rallway station.
It was very Iate.
Mr Thornton saw us walting for the train...
And you've never explained to him?
How could I?
The fewer peopIe who knew about Frederick, the better.
Now I'm not likely to see Mr Thornton ever again.
Oh, I wouldn't say that.
But I believe I never shall.
Somehow, one does not like to sink so Iow in a friend's opinion.
would you like me to see Mr Thornton for you,
and explain, discreetly, of course, the whoIe matter to him?
- would you? - Mm.
would you?
Please tell him all the circumstances.
tell him aIso that I gave you leave to do so.
For Papa's sake, I should not like to lose Mr Thornton's respect.
Though we may never meet again.
My dear, I shall take the first opportunity of going to Milton to see him.
Why are you not in bed?
I heard you waIking about down here.
is it the end?
I fear so.
Can you ask Mr Bell to forego the rent for a whiIe?
He might even Iend you what you need to tide you over.
- Did I not tell you, Mother? Mr Bell's very ill. - ill?
I had a letter from his servant. He was too ill to write himself.
- Why don't you go before it's too Iate? - Why?
To get money from a dying man? I'd find that despicable.
In any case... (InHales sharply)
I wouldn't be indebted to the person who is likely to inherit his fortune.
- Who's that? - His goddaughter.
What, Miss Hale?
He's nobody else to leave it to.
You mean she'll own this house... and the factory?
Aye, and all his other properties in Milton.
I shall have to give up business.
I can just cover all the debts, pay off the men.
We shall have very little left.
You mustn't grieve, Mother, about leaving the house.
I don't care about the house.
It's you I care about.
It breaks my heart to see you Iess than you should be.
Is there nothing you can do?
It's not fair, Mother!
I can't start again with the same heart.
Sometimes I wonder where justice has gone to.
Now I don't believe there is any.
God has seen fit to be very hard on you, John.
Did he leave a will?
When I Iast saw Mr Bell, he hinted to me the terms of it.
UnIess he has added a codiciI, which is unlikely, the whoIe of his estate passes to Margaret.
Which is...
what, exactly?
well, besides any money, she will have the whoIe of his Milton properties.
They amount to some pounds40,000.
Mr Bell dled well.
Margaret will be heartbroken.
She was so fond of him, Mama.
Oh, yes.
The death of a dear one is always hard to bear.
- Henry? - Mrs Shaw?
You must break this news to her yourself.
Oh, yes, I intend to.
But I feel if you and Edith were there too, the comfort of womenfolk...
No, no, Henry, I do not agree.
There is much to be gained by her having the soIe comfort of a man.
As her lawyer, you must stay by her.
Give her all the help and sympathy she needs.
(Door opens)
Margaret, my dear.
Henry has just told us. He has some very serious news for you.
- Edith, we will allow them some privacy. - Yes, Mama, of course.
- Dixon. - Yes, madam.
Dearest Margaret.
- Yes? - I have some deeply sad news to tell you.
Mr Bell has departed this life.
Mr Bell?
Oh, no.
His solicitors felt that I should be the one to tell you.
They have aIso suggested that when, in a day or two, the will is read...
Where did he die?
- In Oxford. - Oxford?
Not Milton?
Goodbye, Jenkins. Thank you.
Goodbye, master. And if you ever start up the factory again, you can count on me.
I'm the only one as knows how to work that new carding machine.
Thank you.
Goodbye, Roberts. Thank you.
Goodbye, Penfold.
Thank you, master, for getting me placed with Mr Hamper.
I wish I could have done it for all of you.
Still, if there's anything I can do at any time...
We do know that, master. We know it.
That's the Iot, master.
Don't bother Iocking up, williams. I'll see to it.
well, what are you going to do?
My brother wrote me.
He'll get me work down t'pit Durham way.
- Pit? - Aye.
Wife's dead, why not?
well...take care of yourself, Williams.
Bye, master.
Lord be with you.
Thank you.
Goodbye, williams.
Bye, ma'am.
Very qulet, Mother.
You're a brave man, John, to say goodbye to your workers.
I like things to be tidy, Mother, rounded off.
I'll join you in the house. You leave me alone to Iock up.
My friend.
I'd like to speak to you, master.
Don't call me ''master''.
I'm nobody's master now.
If you want to start up again, in a small way in a backyard, I'll work for you for nothing.
- Nothing? - Aye, till you've got your feet off the ground.
(Tuts) Higgins, where are your union principles now?
- No more batle left betwixt you and me. - Aye.
We're two men out of a job.
I'm sorry I couldn't get you alternative empIoyment.
- But because of your union associations... - Don't worry.
Time'll come when they'll have to accept us.
You won't be offended if I speak to you man to man?
- No, please do. - Been thrust together, haven't we?
First the strike, then getting mixed up with the Hales.
How is Miss Margaret? Have you heard?
- Miss Hale? - Aye, all alone in London.
Not even her brother to look after her.
Aye. You know she's got a brother, dun't you?
Came over here at the time of her mother's death, Iives in Spain.
In Spain?
I don't suppose he'll ever be back.
Leading a mutiny on one of Her Majesty's ships.
No forgiveness for that, is there?
No, no.
I better be toddling, then.
Oh, aye.
Good day, then...
Good day, Higgins.
Mr Thornton.
Yes, Miss Margaret.
He wishes to speak with you.
Mr Thornton? Thornton of Milton?
I believe so, madam. His speech...is certainly not of London.
- If you will pardon my saying so, Miss Margaret. - You will not see him, Margaret.
Not see him?
I consider it more prudent.
You have inherited a considerable fortune.
Henry has told me about this Mr Thornton.
He is a man in sharply reduced circumstances.
With respect, Mrs Shaw,
I do feel that some allowances should be made.
After all, generosity of spirit, if nothing else,
can be shown to those who have fallen from thelr pinnacles.
Henry! He is not a member of one of your London clubs.
He is a Northerner.
Newton, show Mr Thornton into the Iibrary.
Yes, Miss Margaret.
Margaret, my dear...
Do you reallse what you have just done?
You have countermanded my order in front of a servant.
In what way?
I have forbidden you to see Mr Thornton.
It is for your own good. There will be many who come after your money.
You must be protected.
I am now of age. You cannot command me.
And I shall do with my own as I wish.
Don't be foolish, Margaret.
would you do me the kindness to let me speak to Mr Thornton?
I think you must let Margaret speak with him.
As you think best, Henry.
- Mr Thornton. - Thank you, Newton.
Mr Thornton.
Miss Hale.
What brings you to London?
A delicate action and a deep apology.
That night at the rallway station.
The man I saw you with was your brother,
was he not?
How did you know?
I was told so by Mr Higgins.
Oh, I see.
He didn't greatly enlarge upon it.
A matter of some discretion.
I truly believe it was your brother.
Forgive me.
Of course.
You have had to close Marlborough Mills.
I'm sorry I shall be losing you as a tenant.
Thank you.
Mr Thornton...
I believe I have a little over pounds 18,000 lying unused in my bank.
It was only yesterday I was discussing it with Henry Lennox.
It brings in a mere two-and-a-half per cent.
If you would take this money, you could pay me much better interest
and go on working Marlborough Mills.
You could make it into one of the finest industries in the whoIe of England.
You once told me that was your aim.
Given my capital, could it not be your aim once more?
Why do you not speak?
If I must go, then send me away at once.
I love you.
I've always loved you.
Look, er...
I have something to show you.
- Do you know these roses? - No.
You might have once worn sister roses.
They are from Helstone.
You've been there.
At a time when I had no hope of calling you mine.
I went there on my return from France.
I wanted to see the place where Margaret Hale grew to be what she is.
- You must give them to me. - Very well.
you must pay me for them first.
..you must leave all of this.
- The South. - Aye.
It is not places that matter...
..but peopIe.
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Север и юг (1975) ч4 (North & South)

4410 Folder Collection
smileyayu published on November 15, 2014
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