Father Brown (2013–…): Season 2, Episode 3 - The Pride of the Prydes - full transcript

Impoverished aristocrat Sir St John Pryde plans to sell estate land, which antagonizes his tenants led by left-wing Alan Archer. On the day Pryde castle is opened to the public tour guide Audrey Diggle is murdered after claiming that she has evidence to state that the Prydes are not the lawful heirs to the title though St John's nephew Jago believes his uncle was the intended victim and St John's daughter Bunty is secretly in love with Archer. After an attempt to kill Jago Father Brown unmasks the murderer, in the process demonstrating that a supposed family curse has a basis in truth.


I condemn thee for exercising wicked
arts in pact with the Devil

by means of incantations
and magic... No!

..of bringing death by Satanic
abominations upon the newborn

of thy neighbour. Lies!
They bear grudge against me!

The sentence for thy foul

death fire!

No! I'm innocent! Mercy,
my Lord! I beg you mercy! Take her.

No! My Lord, I beg mercy! No! No!

Udolf of Pryde, I curse thee

and the male of thy line, that they
be for ever tainted with insanity!

"Having delivered her prophecy,

"was hauled to an agonising
death by fiery torment,

"rendering the male line of the
Prydes for ever accursed."

Riveting. Bravo. Extraordinary
use of language. Chapter two...

Parish business presses, but I'm
looking forward to buying a copy

this afternoon at the Grand Opening.
Oh, thank you!

And I'll show
Miss Diggle to the office

so she can get on with her research.

Thank you so much!
So pleased you like it!

The servants' and tradesmen's
entrance is at the back. I'm neither,

and worthy as the next man to stand
here. The front is for guests,

and you are uninvited.
I explained my position.

I must act in the best
interests of the estate.

These men are your estate!

We open to the public this
afternoon, if you hadn't noticed.

So those you pay meagre wages
to can hand them

back to snoop round your house?

Can I help you?
You can't even help yourselves!

I'm warning you, Pryde,

if you go through with this sale,
I swear you'll pay!

Come on.

Father Brown, how simply miraculous!
I was just on my way to see you.

How simply miraculous.

Hop in!

I'm sorry to disturb,
Miss Diggle. I wondered

if you might like a cup of tea.
No, thank you.

A sporty little number!
An engagement present.

I'm betrothed to the
Marquis of Bingley.

I was just on my way to discuss
banns and other such guff.

Mrs McCarthy's posted
the announcement on the parish

notice board. I hope you'll be very
happy. Yes, of course I will.

Bingo's a sweetheart and frightfully
generous. What do you think, Father?

I think perhaps you should
keep your eyes on the road! Oh, yes!

Do you think I'll make a good
duchess? Do you want to be?

We're not in Catechism class now!

Can't you just tell me the answer
instead of making me work it out?

It's all so exhausting!

I think, if your heart's in
it, you'll make a very good duchess.

If the great unwashed descending
in droves to gawp was not bad enough,

now we have the tenants
rebelling on the doorstep!

They want me to cancel the land sale

while they raise mortgages to
buy their farms.

I told them it's too little,
too late.

We complete at the end of the month.

Your daughter has just landed
the catch of the century,

and you'd announce our penury
from the battlements

before the ring's on her finger?

Our poverty is hardly a secret.

The assumption is that they're
marrying into the landed gentry.

There is no such
thing as a gentleman without land!

The bank has given me a deadline.

Either the sale goes through or
they foreclose on the castle.

Hobson's choice. Lose our land or
would you prefer to lose your home?

This would never have
happened on your father's watch.

Man up, St John! Think of something!

But you ruin that girl's
marriage over my dead body!

So you've heard my news?
It's the talk of the county.

One minute,
you're the donkey in the Nativity,

and the next,
our very own duchess-to-be!

I expect Bishop Talbot will be

Oh, no! He's got wet hands
and a face like a fish.

Father Brown's doing the honours.

And I'm counting on you to make
the wedding cake.

Surely not! Such an honour! Finest
cook in the county. WI champion.

Your strawberry
scones are simply legendary!

And everybody knows Daddy's stony
and you're a jolly sight cheaper.

But I meant what
I said about your patisserie skills.

And it'll quite probably
be in the Tatler.

"Cake created by Mrs McCarthy
of Kembleford." And quite

probably a photo, too.
What do you say, Mrs Mac?

"Cake created by Mrs McCarthy
of Kembleford"?


Oh, is that the time? Must dash.
But I'll see you at the Opening.

Do pop in for a sherry beforehand.


Come on!

Demonstration's starting!

Hold that position.

That's fine there.

That's great. Thank you. Got it.

It'll rot your brains.

Well, if it isn't
the saviour of the family fortune!

Nice try, Cousin, but I'm not asking
Bingo to pour money into this

place just so you can inherit it.

Your offspring will be
of the highest nobility in the land.

Surely Bingo won't expect them

to visit their grandfather
in a cottage?

For goodness' sake, Jago! Are you
trying to blow us all up? It's a dud.

I swapped it with a boy at school.


Where is the wretched woman?

Rehearsing her guided
tour for the hundredth time,

but you haven't seen the best bit.

What on earth are you wearing?
I'm Lady Matilda Pryde,

wife of the fourth Baron
and my direct ancestor.

She thought it would "lend colour to
her guided tour". You may have

been descended from us in the dawn
of time, but now you're an employee.

You're paid not to guide tours
nor to write pamphlets

but to act as my companion!

Diggles is in the doghouse again!
You arrogant boy!

You think you're better than me.
You all do,

when I know for a fact that
none of you has anything to be

superior about. What on earth
are you wittering about?

I'm saying - and prepare
yourself for a shock -

because you aren't who you
think you are!

Father Brown and Mrs McCarthy.

Miss Diggle.

May I say how much I enjoyed
the excerpts from your guide?

And to be left with such
a cliffhanger!

Do we ever find out what the curse
of the Prydes was? No-one knows.

It's just a legend.

Hello, all. Isn't this exciting?

Knights, are you ready?

Draw swords!

..England and St George...

The outer bailey was rebuilt
in the 13th century by the third

Baron, Udolf, who was condemned

and delivered sentence on Branwen,
the witch, who was rushed through

those gates to a pyre prepared
for her outside the castle walls.

As she was hauled to her
execution site, her son,

an archer in Udolf's army,
let fly an arrow from the battlements

and shot his mother in the heart
in a final, merciful act of love!

Where did that come from?
And how on earth did she do that?


Has she been shot?


Oh, dear!

Cordon off the scene
and gather the family.

The victim was shot with an arrow
fired from a longbow.

Can't be many of those
around these days, though.

As long as we find the weapon,
should be easy to identify.

Oh, boy!

My mother, Lady Pryde, daughter,
Bunty, and my nephew and ward, Jago.

My condolences on the death
of your cousin. Extremely removed.

What else can you tell me about her?

Well, she was a frightful old
busybody. Enough, Bunty!

That's no way to speak of the dead.
It's true, though.

And, as this is a murder

I imagine no detail is too
insignificant for the police.


In that case,

she was an immensely irritating
woman, who I wanted to throttle,

but I draw the line at shooting
her through with an arrow.

Do any of you know how to
fire a longbow?

Pryde's a feudal estate, Inspector.

Most people round here can
trace their ancestors back to

Agincourt and beyond.

Can I ask where you all were at the
time of the murder? I went to bed.

And I was in the nursery, listening
to music on the wireless. Me, too.

And you are? Arthur Danby, Sir.
I was in the butler's pantry.

Did anyone see you?

I can't say. But I saw no-one.
I was ten yards in front of Audrey,

which presumably puts me
in the clear.

I see. I don't.

Diggles was a walking,
talking target.

Either the murderer was
an extremely good shot

or else a rather poor one.

Are you suggesting Miss Diggle
wasn't the intended victim?

A minor fracas this morning.
Estate business.

Go on. My uncle was a few feet
away from Audrey.

All I'm saying is maybe
the archer missed his mark.

I say! Can you open that gate,

Open your own gate.

How dare you talk to me like that!
I'll talk to you any way I please.

Who the hell do you think you are?
This is my land.

Not for much longer.

Impudent peasant!

Stop it!

I want the names of all the tenants
demonstrating this morning,

in particular, the name
of the ringleader.

And get that photographer to hand in his
films and get them to the lab immediately.

Good luck with the investigation,

Thank you, Father.

Incidentally, can you think of anyone
who would wish to harm Sir St John?

Just one line of inquiry.

Oh, in that case, Mrs McCarthy is
widely held to be the eyes

and ears of Kembleford.
I don't know about that.

Father Brown will tell you I am
not one to gossip.

Isn't that right, Father? I prefer
to think of it as community wisdom.

Exactly! Community wisdom.

I can't think of anyone who would
want to hurt Sir St John.

Miss Diggle, on the other hand,

was a bit of a busybody,
if you know what I mean.

Said the pot to the kettle.

But a harmless one? No such thing
as a harmless busybody, Inspector.

Yes, that business in the parish
office only this morning...

I don't know what she found,
but it turned her white as a sheet.

Looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
Did she, now?

Miss Diggle... Parish office...
Saw ghost.

Sir. Excuse me.

You don't happen to
notice which register Audrey

was interested in, did you?

1835 to 1855.

Not that I was being nosey,
you understand.

Perish the thought, Mrs M!

I expect you've heard about me
and Bingo, then?

Couldn't you find a man with
a proper name?

Do you like my ring? What does it do?

Do? What is it for?
What's the purpose of it?

It doesn't do anything,
except be beautiful and be admired.

In other words, it's just
a worthless bit of sparkle.

Don't suppose we can do this once
I'm married. Don't suppose we can.

Of course, I could always jilt Bingo
and marry you instead.

An alliance with the enemy?

After I've sworn to annihilate your
class and everything it stands for?

Mrs McCarthy?

Mrs Mc... I heard you first time!
Have you found something?

Either there were no marriages,
births or

deaths in Kembleford between February
and November 1850 or...

we have a missing page.
Holy Mother!

Who would want to kill a busybody?

I fear the answer is
a great many people indeed.

Alan Archer?

I'd like to know your whereabouts
at 3:30 this afternoon.

Audrey Diggle? I'd barely ever
spoken to the woman. Really?

I was here. And before you ask, no,
I don't have an alibi.

And the fracas with
Sir St John this morning?

Not sure of the relevance of the
question. I'll be the judge of that.

He's drowning in death duties,

selling off the estate
for a Government housing scheme,

leaving his tenants of centuries
without land or livelihood.

You're not a tenant, so what's
your interest? I'm their lawyer.

It's funded by the
Socialist Workers Association.

We're helping them raise mortgages
to buy their own land.

Seems reasonable.

Pryde rejected it. And this morning?

He ordered us off his land
and we left.

Is this you? My father.

Did he teach you archery?

I wouldn't be
much of a father if I hadn't.

Mm! Mm! Heavenly, Mrs Mac!
Mm! I'm famished.

We had to let Cook go
and now Nellie's in the kitchen.

Did your mother teach you
how to cook?

Everything I know. She was
the finest cook in County Cork.

Sometimes I wish...

I wish that my mother was around
so that we could

talk about wedding stuff.

All brides get the jitters.

It's not that I don't love Bingo.

It'll be awfully good fun
being a duchess.

It's just...

well, how does one ever know
if it's right?

Just you remember, you are
the luckiest girl in the world

and will be the bride of the year

and your cake will be
the talk of the county.


Thank you for a most generous lunch.

You won't be saying
that in the middle of the night.

Nellie's Yorkshire puddings have a
tendency to outstay their welcome.

I understand, when she died,

poor Miss Diggle was researching
another project.

She took it upon herself to write
a history of the Prydes.

Fascinating as our family is,
I doubt Audrey's tome would appeal.

She did have a rather florid style.
The woman was obsessed. Paranoid!

Claimed people had been
reading her papers.

Look who I found on the doorstep!

I'd like a word with Sir St John
and Lady Pryde, please. In private.

Father Brown is our trusted
spiritual advisor.

We have nothing to hide.

It seems there's a widely held
belief on the estate

that Sir St John and your butler
are related.

We share a grandfather.
What of it?

There's no secret Danby's father
was the youthful

indiscretion of the tenth Baron
after a fumble with the housemaid.

It seems paradoxical to find first
cousins in the role of master

and servant
because of an accident of birth.

Actually, the aristocracy have a long
tradition of giving preferment

to their by-blows.


The woman died in childbirth.
What were they supposed to do?

Cast the infant into the workhouse?

Danby's father was
adopted by a footman.

He worked his way through
the servant's hall

until he became butler,

as did Arthur after him.
But not his son.


Alan Archer is the prime example
of the folly of Rab Butler in trying

to educate the lower classes.

He was permitted to march off to
a left-wing university,

from which he returned with
ideas above his station.

The question is,

does he hate the ruling classes
enough to kill for his beliefs?

Don't be odious, Jago!

The murderer probably meant to kill
Audrey, for all we know.

Bunty's right. We are forgetting
Audrey. I've forgotten nothing.

She writing a family history.
Codswallop, more like!

You're welcome to it.

Thank you, but I find the present
more relevant than

the past at this stage.

I can't understand why you're
interested in Audrey's dreary book.

I wonder, as you were
so close to her heart,

whether it would be apt to include
an extract in her eulogy.

You might rethink when
you've read it.

'Can you lend me five guineas?

'Why on earth would I lend you

Because you're going to be the
fourth richest woman in the land.

And if you don't, I'll tell
the inspector that you were with

the butler's son when you said you
were in the nursery.

'You wouldn't dare!'

Can I fetch something...

'Why not?'

..something to drink?

Just a touch of heat stroke.
Excuse me.

'My wedding to
Bingo would be off

'and you'd never see
a whiff of his money.'

And I'd have to kill you.

I trust I'm not interrupting
work on next Sunday's homily?

History of the Pryde family.

Illustrious but bloody,
full of violent deaths

and strange disappearances.
Is Mrs Clackett ill?

Oh, she'll be in tomorrow as usual,

and she won't be finding a godly
man in unclean surroundings.

Well, go on.

Lots of family members who
disappear from their annals

and then reappear, marked simply

And all male. Branwen's curse?

Destined never to die
peacefully in their beds.

Does this shed any
light on our missing page?

When Audrey died, she was
researching St John's grandfather,

Ralph Pryde, 1829-1901.

So in 1850, he would have been...
21. Exactly!

Were there any births, marriages or
deaths in the family that year?

Not one.

Well, tomorrow's Monday, so no doubt
all will become clear then.

Feet, Father!

Will it?

When you go to the
Diocesan Records Office. Do I?

Where we keep
copies of the parochial registers!

Angel and saint
rolled into one, Mrs M!

Morning, Father.
Thank you for coming.

I hear he had a lucky escape.
Luckier than you know.

He was pulled from the pool
with a lethal

dose of barbiturates in his system.

If he hadn't spewed them

out, along with a stomach
full of water, he'd be dead.

How were they administered?

Jago has a habit of filching whisky
when our backs are turned.

Traces of drugs were
found in his hip flask.

Who would want to kill a child?

You have no evidence.

Your well-documented hatred
of the Prydes,

the imminent completion
of the land sale,

the threat you
made on the day of the murder,

your father a county archery

A chip off the old block, I bet.
He taught me to shoot.

He taught all of us, Jago and
the girl included. Ah, yes! Jago.

I suppose you heard what
happened yesterday?

I heard he had a swimming accident.

We believe it was attempted murder.

You think I fight with children?

With Jago dead,
Pryde is without male heir

and the estate passes to
an eighth cousin in Canada.

I think, when your attempt failed on
Sir St John, you went after his pup.

This is all circumstantial.


This isn't.
Taken 15 minutes before the murder.

So I await your convincing
explanation as to why you

lied as to your whereabouts.

No comment.

Where are you off to in such
a hurry? To see the police.

Alan Archer's been arrested. So I
heard. And I can't say I'm surprised.

A young man with a lot of anger in
him, by all accounts. It's not anger.

It's passion. And he didn't kill
Audrey. What makes you so sure?

Because he was with me.
We'd just met in the walled garden

when we heard all the screaming
and commotion.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus!
Look, it's not what you think.

Or rather, it IS what you think.

Oh, but I do like him awfully,
Mrs Mac.

And he must like me, too, or he would
have told the police he had an alibi.

But it would never work, child.

Yes, that's what he says. At least
one of you has got some sense.

And though it's a sin, a visit to the
confessional and a few Hail Marys -

well, a few DOZEN Hail Marys -
and you'll be as right as rain

and you can forget
about the likes of Alan Archer.

Do you really think so, Mrs Mac?
Just youthful indiscretion.

Put it behind you. Marry your
marquis and live happily ever after.

Thank you, Mrs Mac.

I popped in to see the invalid
and Danby said I'd find you in here.

What are you up to, Father?

I was wondering what happened to
Jago's father.

Mm. Simon and his wife died in a car
crash in France.

Poor little chap was only
six weeks old.


Close enough to have the body

yet conspicuous by his absence
in the family tomb.

I thought it was odd at the time,
but then there were

the rumours about his job.

Something in the Government.
Terribly hush-hush. Is it important?

I sense the key to this crime
is in the past.

Well, then I'll telephone Monty.
He's sitting in the Lords this week.

Plenty of right ears
he can pop a word in. Thank you.

And now, I must away or
I'll miss my train to Gloucester.

Oh! Are you going to see Bishop
Talbot? Not if I can help it.

Why didn't you tell the police
you were with me?

Why do you think? I don't know.

Well, I hope it's
because you care about me

and you don't want to ruin
my reputation. YOUR reputation?

The arrogance of your class!

You think I want it known that
I've been consorting with

the likes of you?

Well, good, because all consorting
between us is over!

I'm going to marry Bingo and you

and I will never see or speak
to each other again!

Father Brown?

I'm glad I caught you. I just
got off the phone from Monty.

He found out what happened to Simon
Pryde. I hope you're sitting down.

It gets rather
unpleasant from here on in.

Thank you for gathering everyone
together. We're all keen to know why.

To hear the truth, which involves you
all. Your son, Simon.

Absent from the family tomb.

He died abroad.
But not in a car crash.

I've been informed that Simon's
body wasn't repatriated

because a Government department
appropriated it.

What's this got to do with Audrey?

Does Jago know the truth?
This is none of your damn business!

That's enough, St John!
It's too late now.

Jago's a child.

Do you think we'd want to burden him
with the knowledge...

that his father...

slashed his mother's throat before
blowing his own brains out? Daddy?

Simon was MI6.
It was all handled very discreetly.

We never knew what
happened to the bodies.

The curse of the Prydes.
It's a legend.

All legends have some truth,
and your family has spent centuries

covering up the curse
of hereditary insanity.

Everybody knows the Prydes
are as mad as a box of frogs.

Are you seriously suggesting that
Audrey was murdered

because she'd uncovered some
imaginary curse?

I'm suggesting the curse is
the reason why you attempted to

murder your grandson.

'Why on earth would
I lend you money?'

Because you're going to be the
fourth richest woman in the land.

And if you don't, I'll tell
the inspector that you were with

the butler's son when you said you
were in the nursery.

It wasn't the shock of Bunty's
love affair.

It was the knowledge that Jago
didn't have an alibi.

How dare you insult Mummy like this!

I insist you leave this castle

Who would want to kill a child?

Someone who loves him the most...

like Udolf's archer, who shot his
mother to spare her torment.

Branwen's torment would have been
relatively short-lived.

But Jago's would have lasted
a lifetime,

incarcerated with lunatics.

Oh, do be quiet, St John!

What choice did
I have after what the boy did?

Will somebody please tell me
what you're all talking about?

I'm so sorry,
but it was Jago who killed Audrey.

In a final, merciful act
of love.

What possible reason could...

He was your brother's son!

You, of all people, should know
that he didn't need a reason.

From the moment of Simon's birth,

I knew that there was something

An emptiness.
Call it a curse, if you like.

When he did what he did,
it was almost predictable.

And after, when Jago came to us...

..I saw, in an instant,
he was the same.

He didn't need a reason to
kill Audrey.

For all I know,
she may have beat him

at chess or taken the last
scone at tea.

He did have a reason. What reason?

Well, why don't you ask him yourself?
You can come out now, Jago.

Oh, no. Be my guest, Father.

I wouldn't want to
spoil your moment of triumph.

Audrey found record of a secret
marriage between Ralph Pryde

and Violet Archer three
months before she died in childbirth.

Your father wasn't born the wrong
side of the blanket.

He was the Pryde's legitimate heir.

That's ridiculous!

The priest that married them
would have said something.

Father Dominic Gleave,
buried August 28th, 1850,

ten days after the wedding.

Poor old Diggers!
I was winding her up,

spooking her by messing up
her stuff,

and then she found a letter

to my great-grandfather from some

and went rummaging through all
the records. She wasn't exactly

subtle about it. Neither were you.

You left whisky on the desk

when you tore the page
out of the parish register.

That was careless.
You didn't kill her, Jago?

What did you expect me to do?
I did it for you, too, Cuz.

That piece of paper makes
all of us nobodies.

So now all that's cleared up,

will you please all line up,
facing the wall?

I'm ordering you, boy!
Put down that bow!


Face the wall! Turn around!

Get down! No, no, no!
Don't worry. It's a dud.

Thanks be to God.

Just to be on the safe side...



I thought you'd be here. The murderer
returns to the scene of the crime.

The master tactician withdraws to
a height more easily defended.

I'll pick them off, one by one.
It's over, Jago.

The police are on their way.
It was all Diggles's fault.

She shouldn't have been so nosey.
And now here am I,

between Scylla and Charybdis!
Incarceration or death!

On balance, suicide would be
the more honourable way out.

Not in God's eyes.
I don't believe in a supreme being.

The only god my family worships is
the god of pride.

And I'm sure Granny would approve,
especially as she tried to kill me.

She had me there.
My money was on Bunty.

Take one more step and I'll jump!

I'm sorry you heard
about your parents like that.

Oh, I don't know.

I'd rather my father was a spy
than a careless driver,

even if he did kill my mother.

Remind me, Father. What are the
rules on lunatics and Hell?

Maybe the decision has been
made for me.

Don't let go!

How do you know
I won't pull you down with me?

I'll take my chance,
and I'm not alone.

Buddha says the secret of existence
is to have no fear.

Never fear what will become of you.

Only the moment you reject all
help are you freed.

I'll soon know
if there's a hell or not.

Hell is only the absence of God.

If you repent and accept Him,
there will only be bliss for ever.

It sounds nice.

It's yours for the asking.

Bunty! Bunty!

Quick! Quick!


Requiescat in pace.


If Jago killed Miss Diggle,
then who was

responsible for the attempt
on his life?

Perhaps he took them himself
to avert suspicion. Is that likely?

I wouldn't have put it past him.

Yes, it's just the sort of thing
Jago would do.

I'll see myself out.

Well, I'd better telephone Bingo.

I doubt there'll be a wedding now.

Would you like me to serve tea?
Don't be ridiculous!

This is your house now, isn't it?
You think we want any of this?

What is it you always say? You don't
choose what class you're born into?

Words spoken by some priest a century
ago doesn't make me one of you!

Don't you see? There is no them
and us! The War changed that.

High and low, shoulder to shoulder,
as brave or scared as the next man.

All your talk of breaking down the
class divide whilst you build

up your own walls!

You're a fool, boy,
for all your fancy education!

What a bloody mess!

By rights, I should be devastated.

Instead, all I feel is a weight
lifted from my shoulders.

What are we going to do? God knows!
I won't contest it.

What if I don't want it?
I'm afraid it's yours,

whether you want it or not.

Jago died in the light of God.
Of that I am certain.

Thank you, Father.

Time to face the music, I think.

What end would confessing
serve, Lavinia?

Are you saying
I shouldn't be held to justice?

I'm saying no such thing.

Very well.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

It is decades since I made my last,
honest confession.

In addition to the attempted
murder of my own flesh and blood,

I am guilty of many things,
including the sin of pride.

I fear this may take some time.

Take as much time as you need.

I'm so sorry.

Poor Jago. And Daddy. And...

And I've just
been on the telephone to Bingo.

Some things just aren't meant to be.

You don't understand.
Bingo was a total gent.

Said he couldn't give
a fig for scandal or my family

and that he'll marry me
if he damn well pleases, and

that if his father cuts him off,
then so be it, although that would

probably involve
an Act of Parliament.

And now I don't know what to think.

I think your marquis
sounds like a very fine young man.

Not a nasty bone in his body.

And if as fine and as handsome and
as rich a man loves you that much,

and you're stood here crying your
eyes out, then that's your answer.

Don't let pride stand in your way.
Go to him.

You're right, Mrs Mac.

Not quite what I meant!

You are an arrogant, fat-headed pig,
Alan Archer,

and an inverted snob to boot!

And it serves you damn well right
you're going to inherit a title!

"Sir" Alan Pryde. How do you like...

Daddy and Danby - I mean Arthur -
are being frightfully civilised.

The land's being sold to the tenants
to pay off the death duties

and the castle's being handed
over to the National Trust, who'll

let them
stay on as sort of caretakers.

And even Granny seems to be somehow
more at peace with herself,

but only when she thinks we aren't
looking. Is it moist enough?


15 pounds of royal icing,
20 pounds of marzipan

and six tiers.

I don't know if I mentioned it...

That happens to be one more than
Princess Elizabeth's!

How are you?

Outstanding work, Mrs McCarthy.