Upstairs Downstairs (2010–2012): Season 1, Episode 3 - The Cuckoo - full transcript

Mrs. Thackeray is enchanted by a meeting with society photographer Cecil Beaton, who takes a glamorous snap of her, rather to Rose's annoyance. The Duke of Kent persuades Hallam to throw a dinner party at which plans are made to forge a compromise should the king marry Mrs. Simpson, though the problem is solved by the abdication. Lady Maud believes that Lotte, virtually an elected mute since her mother's death, should have psychiatric help and takes her to a residential home. In pursuing them Hallam discovers that Pamela, the sister he thought had died but actually has Downs Syndrome, is also there, a fact Maud has thought it her duty to keep from him. Whilst Hallam gains a sister Agnes loses hers as Persie, now a committed Fascist, throws over the repentant Spargo to go to Germany with Von Ribbentrop. Agnes goes into labour and Pritchard assists Lady Maud in delivering her baby. The grateful family grant him a favour - the reinstatement of Johnny, now released from Borstal. Christmas 1936 sees - barring the absent Persie - a house united, both upstairs and downstairs.

We'll be a family of three
by the first week of December.

I used to do this with my sister.

Winding wool was
her favourite game.

Mosley's going to break
down barriers of class.

Persie, you've embraced an
idiology you do not comprehend.

How do you know I
don't comprehend it?

I will send my sister to
bed when I'm good and ready.

- Agnes!
- I'm relieved to see her taking charge of something.

I have a secret, Mr. Amanjit.

Somebody come to our bedroom!

Lotte will be looked after here...



for as long as necessary.

That way this house can
start to make amends.

Hallam,

Agnes tells me you intend
to name this baby Hector.

If it is a boy,

I shall be deeply hurt if
you don't call it Greville.

What if it's a girl?

I should have thought
that was obvious.

What's wrong with my mother's name?

Your mother's name was Ambrosine.

Brenda.

That's my favourite.

I like Biblical names.

I don't think they're
at all exclusive.



You see Biblical names
above pub doors,

and when they're shortened,
they can sound quite common.

What's your Christian name,
Mr. Pritchard?

Warwick. After the town
where my parents honeymooned.

It makes me glad
we keep to formal terms.

Strawberries, raspberries, lemon tart,
what is the name of your sweetheart?

Does it begin with A, B, C?
D or E or F or G?

Does it begin with H or I...

J, K, L or apple pie?

You're meant to
jump in when I say L.

L for Lotte.

Excuse me, madam.

I'm not pointing the finger,

but we're a fondant
fancy down again.

Miss Buck has had to be
creative with the cakestand.

It was only one.

And they were both for Lotte.

I was hoping she'd say thank you.

Have you learned any new
Marlene Dietrich songs?

Herr von Ribbentrop?

I had hoped you might
sing me "Just A Gigolo".

But you're not just a gigolo
now, Herr von Ribbentrop.

You're the German Ambassador.

And I would have thought that
since you've been promoted,

you'd have more to
do in the afternoons

than telephone young
ladies for a chat.

I can't lift this, it's too heavy.

Mr. Pritchard, you'll
have to swap with her.

If I must.

Please note the Georgian
cream jug and sugar nips.

It's only a nanny come
for an interview.

Well, this one's been
with the Greek royal family.

And apparently the Countess
of Oranmore is after her!

I'm assuming no news
on an upstairs maid.

Lady Agnes won't discuss
it till a nanny is engaged.

Well, I didn't come here to
be scrubbing my own turnips.

And which doctor
will be delivering Baby?

Mr. Gascoigne.

At home, or in the hospital?

Here, of course.

It seems foolish not to, when
everything is so well appointed.

Your floral arrangements
are certainly a feature.

Oh, these are exceptional.

My sister and I
are being photographed tomorrow.

By Cecil Beaton.

My concern
is purely with the nurseries.

And the kitchen,
which I would like to view.

All uncooked meat
must be moved elsewhere.

And I hope the basement
floor is properly aired.

Baby's napkins need
a ventilated space for drying.

We were planning to
use a laundry service.

In which case, every napkin
must be monogrammed.

Are there other children
apart from Baby?

This is Lotte, who's staying
with us for the present.

She likes to keep her shoes
here on the bottom stair.

And is Lotte a relative?

I consider her my ward.

She's being looked after
downstairs by our staff.

She has impetigo.

A nasty, dirty illness.

Very similar to ringworm.

She will have gone straight
round to the Countess of Oranmore.

She didn't even ask
what kind of pram I'd ordered.

Hallam had impetigo
three times in India.

Twice on his face, and once somewhere
he'd prefer me not to mention.

Miss Buck says they can treat it
with a dab of gentian violet.

No, it's imperative
that Lotte sees a doctor.

And not because of
that petty skin affliction.

I strongly suspect that
the loss of her mother

has caused her some
sort of mental blockage.

I don't doubt it.

The child hasn't spoken
since her mother died.

She needs to be with
what family she has left.

Mr. Amanjit,
have you made any progress?

I have despatched many
letters of enquiry.

Sir Hallam furnished me with
a list of German prisons,

and I wrote to them all in the
hope of finding Lotte's father.

The man was jailed
for communist activity.

Which is nothing short
of heroic under Hitler.

Or foolhardy, if you are a Jew.

If we can find any relatives
for that child at all,

I intend to get
them out of Germany.

Do you ever wonder how we dare?

When the walls are
almost made of glass?

Nobody ever comes out here.

Not at night, at any rate.

You should creep into the house.

Sneak up to my room.

We'd be much more
likely to get caught.

I don't want to get caught.

Don't you think it would be fun

to see my sister's face?

No.

Sir.

Holland.

Did you know the King has set Mrs. Simpson
up in a house in Cumberland Terrace?

Yes. As soon as her newest
divorce came through.

Thank God for the English papers
and their honourable silence.

It won't last. It can't.

It will have to burst
soon like a boil.

I want you to look at this.

It's a copy of a letter written to
the King by his private secretary.

Who was advised, discreetly,
by certain government ministers.

Mr. Baldwin and the Cabinet
are to meet to discuss action?

Yes.

Meanwhile, we're collating
information about Ribbentrop,

and his rumoured liaison
with the Simpson woman.

But there are rumours she turned
tricks in a Peking brothel.

Rumours that she's actually a man!

None of those have
put the King off.

Rumours won't.

Ribbentrop is under surveillance.

We need proof. And
proof takes time.

Once the papers break,
we're out of time completely.

Poor child was lying
in a heap of papers.

Not even tucked up in an envelope.

Mother doesn't like
to talk about Pamela.

She was bringing her to
England to stay with relatives.

She died of fever
on the voyage home.

Agnes.

You said you didn't
like to talk about her.

Well, I'd quite like
to talk about her now.

What sort of fever was it?

Mother didn't say.

I suppose I didn't ask,
although I do remember crying.

I thought I'd have
a sister all my life.

But she was born,
she played with wool.

Always white wool.

And we lost her.

It was such a little life.

The world seems full of
little lives just now.

I never noticed them before, and all
of a sudden they're everywhere I look.

Lotte makes me feel
something is circling my house.

Tapping on the window, like
a bird's beak, or a branch.

I wish it was a less
disturbing feeling.

You said to wear the marabou bolero!

I know I did, and
who am I to judge?

Miss Buck's coming down to press
the Hartnell crepe de Chine.

There's been a contretemps
regarding pastel tones.

I still can't credit we've
got Cecil Beaton upstairs!

What does it look like,
now it's all set up?

You can't fault the man
on detail, Mrs. Thack.

He's brought his own pillar.

One of the assistants
has said our make-up

is wrong for a
black-and-white photograph.

I'm being sent for liquid
powder, and a Tangee lipstick.

There's no need to
risk your diamonds.

Ivy, dry your hands!

We're in a hurry.
I'd sooner go myself.

You're supposed to ring
if you want the car.

Mr. Amanjit's on the telephone
talking to Maud's publisher.

Lady Holland's publisher.

Why do you keep
telling me the rules?

Because I'm getting
sick of breaking them.

Don't move a single muscle.

I spy the shadow of an unruly rose.

Mr. Beaton uses roses quite a lot.

Does he really?

It used to be branches of blossom,

but he seems to have moved on.

You're very familiar with his style.

I've got several of his portraits
pinned up round my mirror.

I think it helps me
keep my standards up.

Do me a kindness, and
stay just where you are.

No.

Sit on the chaise.

People say

Mr. Beaton does a bit afterwards.

That he takes inches off a
waist, and a decade off a jawline.

- Do you suppose that's true?
I know it's true.

What people don't perceive
is how much he does beforehand.

It's like my meringues.

A single moment in the mouth, but

they're all night in the
oven with the door pushed to.

Oh. You've rather lovely wrists.

Trouble is, they've
got my hands attached.

It's like I've got someone else's gloves on.
Loose-fitting, and with a sort of corded back.

I keep wanting to take
them off, cast them aside.

But I'm stuck with them.

Not necessarily.

You're Mr. Beaton!

Where did you disappear to?

My room.

I've been applying
Porter's liniment.

I always wondered what it'd be like.

To have a man come home
to you from a public house.

Well, you can carry on wondering.

This isn't your home,
and I haven't come to you.

You're losing your way.

You don't come to meetings.

You go in secret. You
don't need the car.

I get the bus.

I've got beliefs. Unlike
you, it would appear.

I've seen the result
of those beliefs.

In this house.

And I have to live with that.

No-one has to do anything, Harry.

No-one has to accept
the status quo.

You mean you don't have to.

People like you don't
have any need for politics.

Your world don't need to shift.

Everything's golden,
and nothing touches you.

You've changed your tune.

I've changed.

I'm sorry it's so late.

Nobody is disturbed,

it's delightful to hear your voice.

I was passing by your door,
and I required a cigarette.

You do talk a lot of rot.

Come upstairs.

You know Esmond
Harmsworth, don't you?

Chairman of Associated Newspapers.

Yes, of course.

Ask him to dinner, old chap.

And ask me too.

Help me lever one more week
of silence from the press.

There are still tactics we can use.

Things we can do to keep
my brother on the throne.

Do you seriously believe he may...

renounce it?

The word is "abdicate".

The first time I heard it said,

it was as though an axe had
been brought out of an armoury.

Every syllable
has an edge like steel.

As my mother said, it's the sort
of thing that happens in Romania.

You really are out of
cigarettes, aren't you?

There's been so much talk.

Quite as if we're
an ordinary family.

Struggling with a
conventional black sheep.

Except ordinary
families don't talk...

much.

I suppose not.

Hallam,

Eden is aware that this
dinner has been proposed.

Will you do it?

I don't want you to feel
that it's some sort of duty.

But my brother has a duty.

And we need more time.

Why can't the Duchess of
Kent give a bloody dinner?

She is rather heavily expectant.

He begged me, Agnes.

When the Kents entertain,
it's the Duke who chooses
all the food and wine!

Her Royal Highness doesn't
have to lift a finger!

Why can't Agnes organise the menu?

I thought all London was in thrall
to her "Dixie Chicken Wings".

Mother, Eden needs me to do this.

The Duke of Kent
has begged me to do this.

And if it goes the wrong way, we could
end up with Mrs. Simpson as our Queen!

Well, I'll put off my publisher,
and come to dinner as a guest.

But I am busy with revisions.

You'll have to speak to
Mrs. Thackeray yourself.

I had to serve toast
to the Duke of Kent last night.

All the raised game pie was gone.

It was Lotte.

She likes a bedtime snack.

I never noticed any
gravy round her mouth.

It's from the university
where Rachel used to teach.

My German is rudimentary,
but it says...

they have no other address
for Frau Rachel Perlmutter,

and are aware of no other relations.

Snap!

Lotte, you're meant to say snap.

Meanwhile, I have found no trace of

Lotte's father.

I don't know what good he'd be, put
inside for flirting with the Reds.

He should've thought on,
with a wife and child.

It's my photograph!

What photograph?

"I did a bit afterwards.
With pleasure, Cecil Beaton".

I could be aristocracy.

Have you seen my hands?

And then, I suppose, a soup.

What about Consomme a la Christina?

It has a chestnut garnish,
nice for the time of year.

Very well.

Do we do the fish next?

Cod. En fricasse a la suede.

Is that...swede?

It means Swedish.

It's potato,
piped in ornamental crescents.

What do you want for your meat?

Well, everybody likes a steak.

This isn't a formal menu.

This is just brown dinner!

Brown soup, brown fish, brown meat.

And a pudding au
chocolat to finish.

If you'd read it properly,

you'd see Sir Hallam wants
to finish with a savoury.

We settled on marrow bones.

Marrow bones are what
one gives an ailing dog!

We'll have a pimento
croustade for the savoury.

Pheasant for the main course.

And the dessert simply must
introduce a note of colour.

Petits Puddings
Alexandra would be nice.

Yes. And perhaps a
pistachio bavarois.

He nodded and he smiled.

I referred to my meringues
so as to illustrate a point.

I'll be referring to your
meringues in a letter of dismissal

if I have to unpick a
mess like that again!

I'm sorry, Miss Buck, but Sir
Hallam sent for me.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Thackeray,
but you've forgotten your place.

Miss Buck! Miss Buck!
Those are very harsh words!

It started with that photograph.

It gave her a taste of what
it's like to ape her betters.

Please, you're just
twisting the knife!

You're the one aping your betters.

Making a god of your
cast-off silver teapot.

That teapot is testament to the
fact that I gave the Bellamy family

40 years of impeccable service!

It was a throw-out
and you know it.

Either you got it or the dustbin.

I am your direct superior and
I will not have this insolence.

This photograph has turned your head.

I won't have the junior
servants exposed to it.

Consider it confiscated.

Mr. Pritchard, would you tell Miss
Buck I'll be repairing to my kitchen?

I'll pass on the grocery
order in due course.

I'm disappointed, Lady Holland. I
had hoped to meet your famous monkey.

Solomon?

Sadly, Mr. Harmsworth,
formal dining bores him.

And you know, he doesn't do tricks,

unlike a certain
favourite of the King.

I understand His Majesty
is currently in Wales.

Where he was met by an
arch of unlit Davy lamps,

held aloft by jobless miners.

You read the Daily Mail.

The King's remarks on unemployment
played quite splendidly, I thought.

A very good headline.
"Something must be done".

I never heard a comment
so doomed to reverberate.

Something must be done about what?

Is he referring to the miners
or his own parlous position?

Mother...

Mr. Harmsworth, please,

may we discuss the discretion of the
press with regards to Mrs. Simpson?

The topic hasn't been mentioned

and we're almost finished
with the pheasant.

I don't know what's under
discussion in the dining room

but every time we knock,
the silence is so thick

you could stuff a cushion with it.

Ivy, you can carry up the bavarois!

Out of Borstal then, Johnny?

Yes, Mr. Pritchard.

I've had my eye on
you, Miss Morris,

and I'm not having this.

Dishing out cold food to vagrants.

You can dish out hot food.

What was it like in Borstal then?

No worse than here. Up
at dawn, meals on the dot.

Mind your Ps and Qs.

Where do you go to now?

I dunno.

Back home to your village?

To the pit?

I've been released into the wild.

Like a bird.

Parliament has made it plain.

The King must renounce Mrs. Simpson
or the throne.

Mrs. Simpson has assured me
that she understands entirely.

You've been in
conversation with her?

She's invited me to luncheon.

To discuss the likely public
response to her unveiling.

- In one of your papers?
- In all of my papers.

Mrs. Simpson cares, Sir.

And quite rightly.

She loves the King

and he insists that
they must marry.

But she has no wish
to become Queen.

Then someone must suggest
to her a morganatic marriage.

He stays on the throne and she takes
one of his less enthralling titles.

She might find "Duchess
of Lancaster" acceptable.

Yes.

One imagines she'd be
satisfied on almost every level.

She'd be spared the consort's crown

but still have a coronet
to appease her magpie mind.

Would the King agree to
a morganatic marriage?

It would be a compromise of course and
compromise has never been his strong suit.

But I don't doubt Mrs.
Simpson would consider it.

I suggest you put it
to her, Mr. Harmsworth.

During our luncheon?

She was spawned by a republic.

Explaining the finer points
would take at least a week.

And you wouldn't want to leak
the story in the meantime.

After all,

you are her confidant.

Here's five bob to
help you on your way.

Mr. Pritchard says they
don't charge at that hostel.

Use it for your bus fare.

Dining room.

I'll leave you to it.

I'm not happy about this at all.

There's still been absolutely
nothing in the papers.

Largely thanks to Mother.

You can always trust her judgement.

Are you going to ask me
what Mr. Gascoine said?

What did he say?

That it looks like
a Christmas baby.

I've got weeks more of this to go.

He says my age is more
of a hindrance than a help

and he's going to put me
to sleep and use forceps.

Is that not good?

When he left, he patted my hand.

Have you any idea
how terrifying it is?

When an obstetrician
pats your hand?

Next week, his nurse is coming.

And she's going to
medicalise the bedroom.

Whatever's going on?

No-one will hurt you.

I'm sorry, Sir! She sleeps with
me but I never heard her wake!

- Has she done this before?
- Often.

Though she doesn't come down to
this floor in the general way, Sir.

She's made a puddle on the carpet!

I'm not sure I can bear this.

- We're bearing it.
- That is enough!

Ivy, show Sir Hallam
where you sleep.

He'll carry Lotte back upstairs.

Be very careful or you'll
disturb her further.

Come on, good girl.

I simply want to help the child.

I thought she could go to
boarding school and live
here in the holidays.

But now I'm not convinced
that that is possible.

Lotte needs specialist medical care.

If she cannot speak,
she cannot have a future.

Please allow me to
consult the proper doctors.

I'm sorry, Mother.

I took Lotte on, I should be the
one who resolves the situation.

Hallam, Whitehall needs you
and Agnes is preoccupied.

I could start by arranging
for her throat to be examined.

What did you give
her salt water for?

I only wanted her to gargle!

Salt water's good if
you've got a poorly throat!

Ivy's a very bad girl, Lotte!

If I was Miss Buck, I'd make
sure she was disciplined.

You come in my kitchen.

I'll make you a drink
to take the taste away.

I bet Lady Holland's going
to put her in an orphanage!

Lotte has no family, Ivy.

She's got us!

She bunks in with me and
she don't eat hardly nothing!

She sleeps in my bed and
she eats hardly anything.

I don't care what English
you say it in, Mr. Pritchard.

Queen's English or the human kind.

But I don't want her going
nowhere like the Cottage Homes!

And you wouldn't neither if you'd
been put in one when you was born!

I was born in a
thousand-year-old castle.

Once upon a time,
a warlord earned it.

Or fought for it.

Drew blood from an enemy and won.

But after that, not a
thing was ever altered.

It's like a carcass.

You can smell it going bad.

You're talking like a socialist.

I've looked into socialism.

"From each according
to their ability.

"To each according to their needs"?

I think it will lead
to a ghastly imbalance.

I'm not a socialist,
Herr Ribbentrop.

I wish you would call me Joachim.

I'm a national socialist, Joachim.

Mosley thinks the world of you.

Mosley's had his day.

No seat in Parliament.

Since Cable Street, he's
practically been outlawed.

He isn't devoid of friends.

He is in London.

And in London, that's the
only thing that counts.

Tell me about Germany.

We did our utmost, Sir.

The morganatic marriage
notion bought some time

and MI5 did uncover secret trysts

between Mrs. Simpson
and a used car salesman.

- Not Ribbentrop?
- No.

It was deemed a private matter.

The King will not be told.

Was there nothing at
all on our German friend?

There was plenty on
our German friend.

You'll be seeing the
documents later on today.

He hasn't abdicated yet!

It's all conjecture,
and vulgarised at that.

I don't know why people
are getting so distraught!

People feel personally
involved, Mr. Pritchard.

And they aren't, and
they never will be.

I've put
canapes in that woman's mouth!

If that's not personal
involvement, I don't know what is!

Anyone who isn't crying
hasn't got a heart!

- Miss Buck is blinking tears back.
- That's enough.

I told you to unplug that
wireless and carry it upstairs.

The family's set has
broken altogether.

Take Lotte downstairs and
try to help her settle.

I shan't require you for a while.

Very good, Madam.

It's as I thought. The loss of
her voice is entirely in her mind.

There must be other
doctors who can help her.

Yes, dear.
They're called psychiatrists.

Is it that bad, do you suppose?

We must believe it's that bad

or she won't get any better.

Maud, I don't know what to do.

Keep the child entertained.

Give her an ordinary day.

I'll make all the
necessary arrangements.

Honey.

Honey.

Say honey!

If not for your own sake,
say it for your mother's.

When I was a girl, I
adored doing jigsaws.

I was always in charge
of the blue bits.

My mother used to say,
"that's Agnes's job.

Agnes is in charge of sky".

My mother died, Lotte.

She died when my
little sister was born.

That's me, kid.

I was older than you but
it was still unbearable.

I kept thinking, "I mustn't cry,
I mustn't howl, I must be brave".

There always seemed to be
so many people watching.

And in the end, I'd have to run
away into the woods and scream and

scream, without using
any words at all.

Because there's nothing one can say

when one's mother dies.

That really is quite splendid.

Such a lovely lot of blue.

For pity's sake, Agnes!

Will you spare the child?

And spare yourself.

Lotte and I will be leaving at three.

Spargo will drive us as
far as the branch line.

Please, Madam.

Permit me to accompany you.

No.

There's enough of the circus
about today's proceedings.

If it is not the crowds outside
the palace weeping for the King,

it's the wailing and grizzling
all over the house for Lotte.

- We are concerned about her.
- So am I.

Very seriously concerned.

But I've arranged for the
child to have treatment.

I do hope you'll trust
me to do my best for her.

Lady Holland,

will she ever come back to us?

If she doesn't recover,
she can't come back.

Your name is Carlotte
Marganit Perlmutter.

You were born in Frankfurt in 1929.

You are a Jewess.

Your father is called
Avram Perlmutter.

In August 1936, he
was known to be alive.

After your mother's
death on 4th October 1936,

you were removed to 165
Eaton Place, Belgravia.

We ought to give her this.

What would a child
want with a woman's nightdress?

When I started wearing it,
it used to smell like Rachel.

It don't smell like anything now,

which probably means
it smells like me.

You were cared for by the staff.

They remembered your mother.

And they loved you.

It's all in there.
Every telephone call.

Every visit to your home.

You may peruse the
records at your leisure.

Joachim von Ribbentrop
has never been in my home!

Really?

He turned up, inopportunely, at a
cocktail party. You were there, Sir.

I wasn't there last Friday night.

He was. Arriving at half past
midnight and leaving at 3am!

Who was he visiting, if not you?

Who was he telephoning,
if not you?!

- I shall find out.
- We already have.

It's all in here.

It's Lady Persephone.
Your wife's sister.

I suggest you go home and
put your house in order.

Where is Lady Persie?

She has a dinner engagement, Sir.

We were told not to wait up.

It's bad enough you knew nothing
of your sister's movements

but to relinquish all control
of a small child in our care.

I've had other preoccupations,
Hallam, just like you!

Where was Lotte taken?

To a reputable clinic.
Under the care of a psychiatrist.

Since when did my mother
know anything about

- psychiatrists?
- She said she had

connections through
her charitable causes!

She took charge most efficiently.

Said it was best to act
at once and without fuss.

I can't believe you
didn't ask more questions!

That you allowed her
to run the entire show!

She's running everything else!

And as you said,
you can always trust her judgement.

Lady Holland made me leave
them with the branch line, Sir.

You left my mother and a vulnerable
child at a railway station?

She insisted, Sir.

And with respect, you know what
Lady Holland's like when she insists.

I can't accept that you have no
knowledge of their whereabouts.

She made calls when
I was not in the room.

She has always made calls
when I am not in the room.

Even I am not permitted
to know everything.

Mother!

You acted without my permission!

I acted in everyone's
best interest.

I shouldn't have to have
your permission to do that.

I want any address
relating to Berkshire,

whether it sounds
like a clinic or not.

And any surname prefaced
with the word "doctor".

I respect her privacy.

I am her secretary. Not a relative.

She is refusing to talk to us.

Go through them.

- Go through them all.
- Threaten me.

You will have to threaten
me or I cannot do it.

I'll do more than threaten you.

I'll threaten her.

I'm going to find that
child and she won't stop me.

Good morning. I'm sorry, we don't
usually have visitors so early.

I came to see a girl who was
brought here by my mother.

Oh, Sir Hallam!

How nice!

She had breakfast on
a tray this morning.

You need room nine at
the top of the stairs.

Heathcote Manor.
Nurse Jackson speaking.

Pamela?

I think I'm your brother, Pamela.

I know you are.

Sir Hallam!
There's been some confusion!

No.

There's been no confusion at all.

Mother!

Mother! You will come
out and speak to me.

Damn you!

Leave her be, Sir.

Agnes told me.

Is she still upset?

Obviously.

Although she's mainly
moaning about her back.

I said to her, "Cheer up, Sis.

All the best families have
a monster in the attic".

The monster isn't Pamela, Persie.

It's you.

I'm hardly in the attic
now Eden's done his stuff.

And soon I won't be
in your house at all.

Where are you going?

The King's about to speak to
the Empire on the wireless.

I shall listen with friends
at the German Embassy.

And after that, I'm
leaving for Berlin.

Give this to Agnes.

She might like it if
she has a little girl.

Just those two suitcases.

Do we have anything
to say to one another?

I don't know what you
mean, Lady Persephone.

I didn't think we did.

Do hurry up. I'm
missing all the fun.

This is London.

London calling the Empire,

at home and overseas.

This is Windsor Castle. His

Royal Highness, Prince Edward.

Come in.

May we, Sir?

At long last

I am able to say a few words

of my own.

I have never wanted

to withhold anything

but until now,

it has not been
constitutionally possible

for me to speak.

You all know the reasons

which have impelled me
to renounce the throne

But I want you to understand

that in making up my mind,

I did not forget

the country

or the Empire,

which as Prince of Wales,

and lately as King,

I have for 25 years tried to serve.

Why did you come?

I need someone to
send for Mr. Gascoine!

I think it's far too
late for Mr. Gascoine.

Besides, he's probably
listening to history being made.

Now, brace yourself
against the bath, my dear.

Draw your knees right up.

There's no need to look.

It's not a sight that
you'll care to recollect.

I have found it impossible to carry
the heavy burden of responsibility

and to discharge my duties
as King as I would wish to do,

without the help and support

of the woman I love.

Don't leave me!

Dear, I must fetch help.

Might I be of any assistance?

Oh yes, Pritchard, you may.

During the War, I
was on the ambulances.

Blood panics most people.

When I see it, I calm down.

All will be well.

Mother nature knows
what she's about

and so do I.

If you would be so
kind, your ladyship.

Prichard.

Events are moving very fast.

I imagine you'll need implements.

Master bedroom. Bring
the whole trolley.

Could you just blow, your ladyship?

Blow and blow again as if you're
putting out a lot of candles.

Keep bearing down.

Splendid! Splendid.

You're almost at the finish.

You have a little
boy, your ladyship.

Persie looked just like him
the day that she was born.

I vowed I'd take
care of her forever.

Persie will have to
take care of herself.

I never knew a day so full
of unimaginable things.

I imagined this.

Seven pounds, three ounces!

And they're calling him
Hector Greville Holland.

It is very dignified.

Not Warwick after you, then?

I reckon he's in for
a Christmas bonus!

It wasn't a complex delivery.

A passing policeman
would've obliged for a cigar.

What's Johnny doing here?

I shall be asking Sir Hallam
for a favour in due course.

My brother's gone, Hal.
He left on a destroyer.

It's finished.

It's finished and I...

I don't know where to start.

Start what, old chap?

Forgiving him.

You can't forgive him.

I have no choice

because the love doesn't stop.

And where there's no
forgiveness, love is just...

it's unbearable.

It was what people did.

It was what I did with you.

Children were sent to England
so that they didn't die.

In every bungalow one went
to, every single British home,

there was always a
photograph in pride of place.

"Yes", they would say, "Those are
the children away at boarding school".

It was one's badge of honour.

A definite sign that
duty had been done.

You were always so terribly
easy to be proud of.

We thought we'd be proud
of your baby sister too.

It dawns gradually,

the knowledge that a
child is not like others.

It took time to accept
that she must be put away.

Mother.

Did you lie to Father too?

There was no need.

We always did the
biggest things together.

Why did you tell me she had died?

Were you afraid I
would not love her?

No.

I knew that you did.

And that sort of
devotion is an agony.

I'm your mother too.

I felt you should be spared it.

I suppose he seems
a respectable sort.

And at least he's decided
to be called King George.

Morning room and drawing
room fires both stoked.

I took what was left to
Mr. Pritchard's grate.

It'll do you to keep
on his right side.

Shall we treat ourselves

and get my silver pot out?

I thought you'd got rid of it.

Hid it.

From you.

I'm not going to
be foolish about it.

Go on. Put it on the mantelpiece.

Funny things, names.

The way we let them gather dust.

I never liked the one my
mother picked for me, but

I miss it now.

It's Clarice, isn't it?

Yes.

And I'm Rose.

Pamela.

Do you know what that is, Lotte?

It's a new school uniform.

You do look grown-up.

You'll still be coming here
in the holidays, of course.

- What do you say to Sir Hallam?
- Thank you!

If you would care to step onto
the landing, ladies and gentlemen.

Miss Buck!

Is everything as you would wish?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

Well done, Miss Buck.

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