The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1996) s01e02 Episode Script
Episode 2
How is he? Well enough.
What were you thinking of, Gilbert? You could've killed him.
What was I supposed to think? I saw you together.
Of course you thought what they all think.
And if I did, whose fault is that? I never listened to their gossip.
I defended you.
And then I saw you both, and I heard what you said.
If you had met me on the moors as I asked, you could have heard what I had to say in my own justification.
Well, I'm here now! Would it please you to discover I am not so very bad as you imagine? It would please me to know the truth.
Very well, then.
Read this.
I trust to your honour not to breathe a word of it to anyone.
HELEN: Here in this haven of Wildfell, I feel almost free at last, except for one haunting care, the dread of discovery.
After all that has befallen me, it is hard to revisit the spirit of my youth.
But I shall set it all down now as it was, as a lesson to myself.
(Lively instrumental music playing) (Music ends, crowd applauds) When I was just 1 8, my aunt and uncle brought me to London for the season, by the end of which it was my aunt's intention to have me settled and well provided for.
But I was young and full of romantic notions.
Childhood acquaintances who had teased a gawky 1 2-year-old and shunned her attempts to join in their sport had now grown and changed.
Much to their surprise, so had I.
Always remember to receive every attention coldly and dispassionately till you have ascertained and duly considered its worth.
Yes, Aunt.
I fear, my dear, you have rather too much beauty for a young girl.
I hope you may never have cause to regret it.
Why should you fear it, Aunt? Beauty invariably attracts the very worst kind of men and could lead to a great deal of trouble.
Have you ever been troubled in that way, Aunt? Believe me, Helen, matrimony is a serious thing.
Niece, I'd like to introduce my good friend Mr Boarham.
Delighted.
(Men laughing uproariously) HELEN: I recalled Arthur Huntingdon as a bold and reckless child, surrounded then, as now, by mischievous companions.
My aunt took great care to keep me away from him.
Her intentions were admirable.
Her choice of men was not.
I still shudder at the remembrance of Mr Boarham's voice droning in my ear.
duteous affections, than I to you.
And on the other hand, let me hope that my HELEN: Nothing could dislodge him.
May I have the honour? Mr Huntingdon.
Will you excuse me? Of course, my dear.
I thought you needed rescuing.
How chivalrous.
My motives were entirely selfish, I assure you.
Who wouldn't choose to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room? Your old beau is still making piggy eyes at you.
Mr Boarham? How appropriate.
Are you always so uncivil, Mr Huntingdon? Oh, you favour him? I misunderstood.
Let me return you to him directly.
I see you are quite as wicked as they say you are.
It's true.
But a little daily talk with you, I'm sure, would make me quite a saint.
You could not have found a man with a worse reputation.
He behaved as a perfect gentleman to me.
Naturally.
His sort always do at first.
Always depend on a rogue for a beguiling manner.
What is a poor beguiling rogue to do, Aunt? If every woman followed your advice, society would soon come to an end.
What do you think of Mr Boarham? -Mr Boarham? -A sober, sensible, respectable man.
-Of 50.
-Aunt! -45, perhaps.
Well, how do you like him? I have no doubt Mr Boarham would be a worthy and devoted partner -throughout life's pilgrimage.
-You do? I do.
I have it on the best authority.
He told me so himself.
And what did you say? I assured him I should not fail to recommend him to any pilgrim ladies of 50 I happen to meet.
(Clattering) Mr Huntingdon! Very pretty.
It's not finished.
Very fitting.
Spring just opening into summer.
Girlhood just ripening into womanhood.
Is she dreaming of her sweetheart, imagining how tender and faithful she will be to him? Or perhaps how tender and faithful he will be to her.
I suppose so.
The young are very hopeful.
You think her deluded, then? I might have said so once.
Now I say give me the girl I love, and I will swear eternal constancy to her, through summer, winter, youth and age.
You can't look at those.
-They're just sketches.
-I love a young girl's sketches.
Oh, my word.
Got it rather well, I think.
Mr Huntingdon, I insist you give me that back.
It is mine and you have no right to it.
Since you value it so much, I'll not deprive you of it.
AUNT: Helen.
Helen! Helen? Aunt.
(People chattering) HELEN: As the weeks passed, my aunt's disapproval of Mr Huntingdon served only to increase my fascination.
She persisted in her hopes that Mr Boarham would win me over.
But Arthur Huntingdon was always in my thoughts and dreams.
I looked forward to our every meeting, although too rarely did we have a chance to be alone together.
-Miss Lawrence.
-Mr Hargrave.
-Good evening.
-Lord Lowborough.
-Miss Lawrence.
-Mr Huntingdon.
-Miss Lawrence.
-Mr Boarham.
Fondest love songs Beautiful memory Though summer has gone That laughing eye HELEN: His attentions to me were strangely fitful.
Sometimes he would shower me with compliments and seeming affection.
But whenever Annabella Wilmot was in the room, he scarcely seemed to notice me at all.
What's that to dwell Shalt shield my soul And comfort me well That voice whose magic tone awake HUNTINGDON: Helen.
What is it? It's nothing.
Nothing? Nothing to you, Mr Huntingdon.
Are you sure it's nothing to me? Please leave me.
Only if you tell me what you were thinking of.
You are excessively impertinent.
Do you want me to go? Yes.
Or shall I tell you a secret? Do you want me to tell you a secret, Helen? Shall I tell you that compared to you Annabella Wilmot is a flaunting peony compared to a wild, sweet rosebud? Shall I tell you that I love you to distraction? Am I still being impertinent, Helen? Please.
Shall I tell you that I can't live without you? -You mustn't say such things.
-Why? Because you don't mean them.
Oh, but I do.
I never meant anything more in my life.
Marry me, Helen.
What do you say? Tell me you love me.
Helen.
(Clearing throat) I beg you 1 0,000 pardons, Mrs Maxwell.
Don't be too severe upon me.
I've been asking your sweet niece to take me for better or for worse and she informs me she cannot think of it without her aunt and uncle's consent.
We will talk of this another time, sir.
You're wanted in the drawing room.
I know I'm a presumptuous dog to dream of possessing such a treasure but I swear, I would sacrifice body and soul for sweet Helen's happiness.
Body and soul, Mr Huntingdon? Sacrifice your soul? -Well, I would lay down my life.
-That will hardly be required of you.
-What I mean is, I have never -Your meaning is transparent, sir.
The company await you.
He is dissolute, light-headed and vain, and he is recklessly squandering his fortune.
I do truly believe that his worst vice is thoughtlessness.
I must say, Helen, I thought better of your judgement than this.
I love him, Aunt.
I'm afraid he is not kind.
He only wants for guidance.
May I not love the sinner but hate the sin? (Organ plays processional tune) I'd like to keep you in a museum.
Just for me.
I'd come and look at you.
My work of art.
My wife.
(Door opening) Gilbert, the most dreadful news.
It's Mr Lawrence.
He's been attacked.
They say his head's all broken open and his body covered in bruises.
What nonsense! It was you, wasn't it? Just leave me alone.
Get out! (Huntingdon chuckles) What are you thinking? Oh, it's nothing.
Tell me.
(Sighing) Actually, I was thinking of someone I used to know.
Lady Eleanor Fane.
Fane? That was many years ago.
I can't think why she should pop into my mind now.
Was she What, my love? Was she what? You and she Were you? Poor love.
I did not mean to upset you.
It's of no consequence.
She had this dreadful old bore of a husband.
She was married? Well, now, don't look so severe.
Is it such a wicked thing to make someone happy? How could it make her happy to deceive her husband? I assure you, it did.
Don't worry, my angel.
I don't care for her now.
I swear I never loved any of them half as much as I love you.
If I'd known all this before, I should never have married you.
-(Chuckling) Wouldn't you, my angel? -No.
(Sighing) You know, Helen, if I believed you, I would be very angry.
But luckily, I don't.
Now watch how she lets him catch her.
Poor old Lowborough.
Poor fool's quite besotted.
-He thinks she's in love with him.
-But isn't she? That's the cream of the jest.
The artful minx loves nothing about him, but his title and his delightful family seat.
-How do you know? -She told me so herself.
-I see nothing to laugh at.
-I'm laughing at you now, my love.
(Footsteps approaching) -Helen.
-Annabella.
Forgive this intrusion, but I couldn't wait to tell you my news.
What do you think? Lord Lowborough has proposed and I've been pleased to accept him.
Don't you envy me? Do you love him? Yes, to be sure.
And will you be a good wife to him, do you think? Why, the best.
Then I hope you'll be very happy together.
We shall.
Just as happy as you and Huntingdon.
Why is this such a dull neighbourhood? It's only when my brother comes that I see anything of society.
(Men chattering in next room) I expect you'll be going back and forth constantly to London.
Not at all.
A country life suits us.
-We are quite content to remain at home.
-Really? I never knew Huntingdon to remain here above three months in an entire year.
MEN: eight, nine, ten! Come on.
Now you, Lowborough.
No! No, let me go.
I'm not doing it.
I've told you, I've made up my mind.
Getting to be a regular epidemic, this marriage business.
HUNTINGDON: Toast.
Annabella.
ALL: Annabella.
I understand congratulations are due, Helen.
Oh, forgive me.
Was it supposed to be a secret? Huntingdon is always so indiscreet.
I'd want some meek little home bird, who'd let me go wherever I want, do whatever I like, and not a word of complaint.
Well, find me one of those and I just might be tempted.
Millicent.
-Who? -Hargrave's sister.
Say, Hargrave, what about Millicent for old Hatters? Suit him to a tee.
Oh, absolutely.
Meekest girl you'd ever find.
You'd love her.
Just say the word and you shall have her, old man.
-Millicent.
-Millicent.
-Millicent.
-Millicent.
MEN: Millicent! (Men laughing raucously) HATTERSLEY: Pretty little thing.
(Inaudible) Do you tell Annabella Wilmot all our private affairs? Oh, no, my love, only the spicy bits.
Most of our private life is so unendurably virtuous, I should not dream of admitting it to our friends.
HATTERSLEY: Admirable marriage discipline, old man.
Admirable.
Helen, my darling.
My love.
My love.
I'm such a brute, I know.
-Arthur -I didn't mean it.
Forgive me.
Rachel.
Tell Richards to hurry with the coach.
The coach? Where are you going? To London.
What about our guests? Well, I am accompanying them this very hour.
Can I come? No need for that, my love.
I have a little business with my lawyer.
Piece of property to sell.
Do let me come with you.
And bore you, my love, in the foul London air? You know how you hate the London air.
There are places I could visit, people I could see.
Arthur, please! Helen, on your health, you know, depends the health, if not the life, of our future hope.
I don't wish to keep you a prisoner at home if you are happy to be away.
Oh, you do worry about me? Well then, in that case promise you I'll be back before you've even noticed I've gone.
HELEN: Arthur stayed away above two months.
He seldom wrote, and when he did, he told me little about what he was doing.
But I did not need his letters to imagine the kind of life he led among all his dissolute companions, drinking himself to oblivion, and worse.
When he finally returned, I longed to upbraid him for his neglect.
But he was still my husband and the father of my child.
Seeing him standing there, his beauty strangely diminished, already anticipating forgiveness, my heart swelled with pity.
It was all I could do to hold him.
(Sobbing) Arthur.
(Playing sprightly duet) Good.
G sharp.
Yes.
(Playing off-key) Oh, damn it.
It's useless.
I have no patience for it.
You just need a little practice.
I've invited some of the old crowd down.
Hope you don't mind.
I haven't seen Lowborough since he got married.
Thought it might be rather fun to see how he's liking it.
Poor old Lowborough.
So blind.
Well, at least he's in good company.
(Playing soft instrumental piece on piano) HUNTINGDON: Annabella.
(Chuckling) I suppose I'm in for one of your lectures.
It's not a joke, Arthur, unless you think it's a joke to torture me.
Love, come now! Forgive me, Helen.
Dear Helen, forgive me.
I promise I'll never, never do it again.
You think it's all so amusing.
It's nothing, I tell you.
-Don't make such a fuss! -Nothing! Flirting with a woman in front of her husband's face? What about your marriage vows? Are they nothing, too? But you're the one breaking the marriage vows.
Honour and obey.
Remember? I won't be dictated to by you.
What will you do? Go on till I hate you? You'll never hate me, Helen.
You can't hate me, can you? Can you? (Door slamming) Your husband was very merry last night, Helen.
Is he often so? No.
And he will not be so again.
You gave him a sermon, did you? I thought he was looking a little subdued.
Helen, you've been crying.
Nothing like a few tears to bring them round.
I never cry for effect.
Do you? I never cry at all.
No need.
But I'd make Lowborough cry all right, if he tried anything like that.
Not that I need to worry.
He worships the ground I tread on.
Are you sure you deserve to be worshiped? Oh, I doubt it very much.
But are you sure darling Huntingdon deserves all the love you give him? Driver.
Pleasant little woman, that Millicent.
You should try to be more like her, my love.
Hattersley swears there's not such a jewel in all England.
Does he love her? To distraction.
Almost as much as his horse.
He gave 2,000 guineas for that.
I'm sorry.
You're always sorry.
Arthur, don't.
Please.
-No, don't.
Don't, don't, don't, don't.
-I'm sorry.
(Frantically) No, don't.
No, no, no, no, please, don't.
-Oh, yes.
Yes.
-No! No, the baby! Don't! Don't! Cursed damn thing.
I'm sorry.
-Good morning, Mary.
-Mrs Huntingdon.
HUNTINGDON: I have gone to London for a few days because I cannot be happy here.
It's a wretched thing when a man knows his wife doesn't love him.
Trust you'll be in a better temper when I return.
(Agonised groan) (Baby crying) What a wonderful picture.
Mother, child and faithful retainer.
Mr Hargrave.
He's a pretty little fellow.
Rachel, it's getting chilly.
I should take him in now.
I fear you must be lonely here, with Huntingdon so often absent.
I wonder that he can stay away from all of this.
I expect him back very soon.
Actually, I had a letter from him this morning.
I wish it were the kind of thing that I could show a lady.
But he tells me he plans to return next week.
He tells me so every time he writes.
Really? How like him.
Is it possible, Mrs Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his return? Of course, Mr Hargrave.
Is he not my husband? HELEN: In truth, I felt less joy than apprehension at Arthur's return.
HUNTINGDON: Helen! Helen! HELEN: He had stayed away so long, I felt we should be strangers.
(Yelling furiously) Am I not to receive a welcome in my own house? Rachel, come here.
Damn it, you old witch.
Pull harder! Arthur.
Where have you been? -I need a drink.
-Arthur, please.
Don't start lecturing me already, woman! Fetch me a damn drink! (Coughing) That's better.
Come with me.
What? Upstairs.
Been missing me, have you? I've been missing you.
You and your delicate goodness.
And your skin.
There.
Isn't he lovely? (Crying faintly) Gently, gently.
Hello.
Hello, I'm your papa.
(Crying louder) Papa.
Take it.
You take it.
(Gently shushing) Can't you stop it making that damn noise? He needs to sleep.
There's more in one minute lavished on that little senseless, thankless oyster than you give me in a month.
-Now you are equal.
-Are we? Damn you! You damned stupid oaf! Arthur, he couldn't help it.
Thank you, Benson.
That will be all.
How dare you take a servant's part against me? How can you care about a stupid, insensitive brute like that when my nerves are being torn to shreds by his confounded blunders? I didn't know you suffered from nerves.
Oh, you think I shouldn't have nerves as well as you? You You have nothing to do but stay at home and take care of yourself.
And when my head is splitting, you have more concern for the servant than for me.
Perhaps if you took a little less wine, you might By Jove, if you start on that again, I shall order six bottles and drink them before bed.
What a shame it is for a strong man like you to reduce yourself to such a state.
If you knew all, my girl, you would rather wonder I bear it as well as I do.
I've lived more in these four months away, Helen, than you've lived in the entire course of your existence, or will until the end of your days.
So I must expect to pay for it in some shape.
Can't you see it's killing you? Oh, no.
No, it isn't this.
It isn't this that's killing me.
It's you! You're the one that's killing me! Why must you always judge me, Helen? Why can't you just love me? Dear Helen, what are you crying for? You know I love you.
Do you? You know I do.
Oh, Arthur.
If only you would love yourself as much as I love you.
Perhaps I know myself too well.
HELEN: As the years passed, Arthur's absences grew longer.
I spent many months alone in that great house, with my son my only consolation.
I still loved my husband.
And in his own way, he loved me.
Papa! Papa! Oh, but how very different from the love I could've given, and once had hoped to receive.
Now, there, my boy.
I grew to cherish the tranquillity of the empty house, which was only disturbed when Arthur's friends came to visit.
Helen, my dear, how are you? It's been such a long time.
-Mrs Huntingdon.
-Mrs Huntingdon.
(Men singing drunkenly) George why don't you go and join the men? You look so silly to be always dangling after the women.
Very well.
Since my presence is disagreeable to you, I will relieve you of it.
It would serve you right, Annabella, if he went back to his old habits.
You'd be sorry then.
On the contrary, I wouldn't mind if His Lordship saw fit to get blind drunk every night.
HUNTINGDON: Get off.
Get out! Here you are.
Come on.
Come on, you're going to enjoy yourself, even if you hate it.
Get off me, you drunken idiot! Ralph.
Please, stop.
HATTERSLEY: What's the matter with you? What are you crying for? -I'm not crying.
-Don't you lie to me.
Tell me! What are you crying for? Ralph, please.
We're not at home now.
-Tell me! Tell me.
-How can you let him treat your sister like that? -HARGRAVE: Come on, Hatters, leave her alone.
-Show some respect.
It's your own wife.
Mr Hargrave, have you seen my husband? Not since Not since he went outside.
Outside? He said he needed some air.
Oh, my darling.
Helen.
Did I startle you? What are you doing here? You'll catch a chill.
Go back inside.
Nonsense, it's a glorious night.
Catch your death, you mad creature.
Please.
Go back to your guests.
-Are you coming in? -In a minute.
-We can't stay here.
-I know, I saw her.
I saw you kissing her.
I couldn't help it.
And besides Haven't I had to watch you kissing your dolt of a husband 1 00 times? Yes.
But you still love her, don't you? No, not at all, I swear by all that's sacred.
(Huntingdon coughing) Arthur.
Come here.
I want to talk to you.
What are you doing sitting up here on your own in the dark? You look like a ghost.
Won't you sit down? I would leave you tonight, and never again come under this roof, but for my child.
What are you talking about, Helen? You know full well.
I saw you and heard you tonight.
Both of you.
Ah.
Well, what of it? Let me take my child and what's left of my money, and go.
Go where? Anywhere we can be safe from your contaminating influence.
No.
God damn it, I won't.
No.
Let me just take my child, then.
No, not you, not him, not the money, nothing.
You are my wife.
Do you think I'm going to be made a laughing stock because of you? -I have created no scandal.
-And will not, either.
That is up to you.
Don't threaten me.
(Choking) ''And with my body, I thee worship.
'' Remember, Helen? You promised.
I never want you to touch me again.
(Horse and carriage approaching) DRIVER: Saddle up.
Right-o.
Move on.
(Footsteps approaching) You'd forgotten to lock it.
Is it an invitation? Should I take it as an invitation from my loving wife? What do you want? You scribbling away again? Who are you scribbling to now? My aunt.
I'm just writing to my aunt.
-Let me see.
-No.
Let me see what lies you're telling her.
''To my dear brother''.
Oh, I see.
''My marriage to Huntingdon is over.
''I have a little money, and may hope to earn more with my painting.
'' So that's it, is it? You can't stop me.
Can't I? Give me your key.
(Clanging on floor) Oh, Helen, Helen.
So you thought you'd run away and rob me of my son, did you? Thought you'd disgrace me by running away and turning yourself into some kind of beggarly painter? Don't you know I'd find you? Wherever you went, I would find you.
Arthur.
Arthur! Mama!
What were you thinking of, Gilbert? You could've killed him.
What was I supposed to think? I saw you together.
Of course you thought what they all think.
And if I did, whose fault is that? I never listened to their gossip.
I defended you.
And then I saw you both, and I heard what you said.
If you had met me on the moors as I asked, you could have heard what I had to say in my own justification.
Well, I'm here now! Would it please you to discover I am not so very bad as you imagine? It would please me to know the truth.
Very well, then.
Read this.
I trust to your honour not to breathe a word of it to anyone.
HELEN: Here in this haven of Wildfell, I feel almost free at last, except for one haunting care, the dread of discovery.
After all that has befallen me, it is hard to revisit the spirit of my youth.
But I shall set it all down now as it was, as a lesson to myself.
(Lively instrumental music playing) (Music ends, crowd applauds) When I was just 1 8, my aunt and uncle brought me to London for the season, by the end of which it was my aunt's intention to have me settled and well provided for.
But I was young and full of romantic notions.
Childhood acquaintances who had teased a gawky 1 2-year-old and shunned her attempts to join in their sport had now grown and changed.
Much to their surprise, so had I.
Always remember to receive every attention coldly and dispassionately till you have ascertained and duly considered its worth.
Yes, Aunt.
I fear, my dear, you have rather too much beauty for a young girl.
I hope you may never have cause to regret it.
Why should you fear it, Aunt? Beauty invariably attracts the very worst kind of men and could lead to a great deal of trouble.
Have you ever been troubled in that way, Aunt? Believe me, Helen, matrimony is a serious thing.
Niece, I'd like to introduce my good friend Mr Boarham.
Delighted.
(Men laughing uproariously) HELEN: I recalled Arthur Huntingdon as a bold and reckless child, surrounded then, as now, by mischievous companions.
My aunt took great care to keep me away from him.
Her intentions were admirable.
Her choice of men was not.
I still shudder at the remembrance of Mr Boarham's voice droning in my ear.
duteous affections, than I to you.
And on the other hand, let me hope that my HELEN: Nothing could dislodge him.
May I have the honour? Mr Huntingdon.
Will you excuse me? Of course, my dear.
I thought you needed rescuing.
How chivalrous.
My motives were entirely selfish, I assure you.
Who wouldn't choose to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room? Your old beau is still making piggy eyes at you.
Mr Boarham? How appropriate.
Are you always so uncivil, Mr Huntingdon? Oh, you favour him? I misunderstood.
Let me return you to him directly.
I see you are quite as wicked as they say you are.
It's true.
But a little daily talk with you, I'm sure, would make me quite a saint.
You could not have found a man with a worse reputation.
He behaved as a perfect gentleman to me.
Naturally.
His sort always do at first.
Always depend on a rogue for a beguiling manner.
What is a poor beguiling rogue to do, Aunt? If every woman followed your advice, society would soon come to an end.
What do you think of Mr Boarham? -Mr Boarham? -A sober, sensible, respectable man.
-Of 50.
-Aunt! -45, perhaps.
Well, how do you like him? I have no doubt Mr Boarham would be a worthy and devoted partner -throughout life's pilgrimage.
-You do? I do.
I have it on the best authority.
He told me so himself.
And what did you say? I assured him I should not fail to recommend him to any pilgrim ladies of 50 I happen to meet.
(Clattering) Mr Huntingdon! Very pretty.
It's not finished.
Very fitting.
Spring just opening into summer.
Girlhood just ripening into womanhood.
Is she dreaming of her sweetheart, imagining how tender and faithful she will be to him? Or perhaps how tender and faithful he will be to her.
I suppose so.
The young are very hopeful.
You think her deluded, then? I might have said so once.
Now I say give me the girl I love, and I will swear eternal constancy to her, through summer, winter, youth and age.
You can't look at those.
-They're just sketches.
-I love a young girl's sketches.
Oh, my word.
Got it rather well, I think.
Mr Huntingdon, I insist you give me that back.
It is mine and you have no right to it.
Since you value it so much, I'll not deprive you of it.
AUNT: Helen.
Helen! Helen? Aunt.
(People chattering) HELEN: As the weeks passed, my aunt's disapproval of Mr Huntingdon served only to increase my fascination.
She persisted in her hopes that Mr Boarham would win me over.
But Arthur Huntingdon was always in my thoughts and dreams.
I looked forward to our every meeting, although too rarely did we have a chance to be alone together.
-Miss Lawrence.
-Mr Hargrave.
-Good evening.
-Lord Lowborough.
-Miss Lawrence.
-Mr Huntingdon.
-Miss Lawrence.
-Mr Boarham.
Fondest love songs Beautiful memory Though summer has gone That laughing eye HELEN: His attentions to me were strangely fitful.
Sometimes he would shower me with compliments and seeming affection.
But whenever Annabella Wilmot was in the room, he scarcely seemed to notice me at all.
What's that to dwell Shalt shield my soul And comfort me well That voice whose magic tone awake HUNTINGDON: Helen.
What is it? It's nothing.
Nothing? Nothing to you, Mr Huntingdon.
Are you sure it's nothing to me? Please leave me.
Only if you tell me what you were thinking of.
You are excessively impertinent.
Do you want me to go? Yes.
Or shall I tell you a secret? Do you want me to tell you a secret, Helen? Shall I tell you that compared to you Annabella Wilmot is a flaunting peony compared to a wild, sweet rosebud? Shall I tell you that I love you to distraction? Am I still being impertinent, Helen? Please.
Shall I tell you that I can't live without you? -You mustn't say such things.
-Why? Because you don't mean them.
Oh, but I do.
I never meant anything more in my life.
Marry me, Helen.
What do you say? Tell me you love me.
Helen.
(Clearing throat) I beg you 1 0,000 pardons, Mrs Maxwell.
Don't be too severe upon me.
I've been asking your sweet niece to take me for better or for worse and she informs me she cannot think of it without her aunt and uncle's consent.
We will talk of this another time, sir.
You're wanted in the drawing room.
I know I'm a presumptuous dog to dream of possessing such a treasure but I swear, I would sacrifice body and soul for sweet Helen's happiness.
Body and soul, Mr Huntingdon? Sacrifice your soul? -Well, I would lay down my life.
-That will hardly be required of you.
-What I mean is, I have never -Your meaning is transparent, sir.
The company await you.
He is dissolute, light-headed and vain, and he is recklessly squandering his fortune.
I do truly believe that his worst vice is thoughtlessness.
I must say, Helen, I thought better of your judgement than this.
I love him, Aunt.
I'm afraid he is not kind.
He only wants for guidance.
May I not love the sinner but hate the sin? (Organ plays processional tune) I'd like to keep you in a museum.
Just for me.
I'd come and look at you.
My work of art.
My wife.
(Door opening) Gilbert, the most dreadful news.
It's Mr Lawrence.
He's been attacked.
They say his head's all broken open and his body covered in bruises.
What nonsense! It was you, wasn't it? Just leave me alone.
Get out! (Huntingdon chuckles) What are you thinking? Oh, it's nothing.
Tell me.
(Sighing) Actually, I was thinking of someone I used to know.
Lady Eleanor Fane.
Fane? That was many years ago.
I can't think why she should pop into my mind now.
Was she What, my love? Was she what? You and she Were you? Poor love.
I did not mean to upset you.
It's of no consequence.
She had this dreadful old bore of a husband.
She was married? Well, now, don't look so severe.
Is it such a wicked thing to make someone happy? How could it make her happy to deceive her husband? I assure you, it did.
Don't worry, my angel.
I don't care for her now.
I swear I never loved any of them half as much as I love you.
If I'd known all this before, I should never have married you.
-(Chuckling) Wouldn't you, my angel? -No.
(Sighing) You know, Helen, if I believed you, I would be very angry.
But luckily, I don't.
Now watch how she lets him catch her.
Poor old Lowborough.
Poor fool's quite besotted.
-He thinks she's in love with him.
-But isn't she? That's the cream of the jest.
The artful minx loves nothing about him, but his title and his delightful family seat.
-How do you know? -She told me so herself.
-I see nothing to laugh at.
-I'm laughing at you now, my love.
(Footsteps approaching) -Helen.
-Annabella.
Forgive this intrusion, but I couldn't wait to tell you my news.
What do you think? Lord Lowborough has proposed and I've been pleased to accept him.
Don't you envy me? Do you love him? Yes, to be sure.
And will you be a good wife to him, do you think? Why, the best.
Then I hope you'll be very happy together.
We shall.
Just as happy as you and Huntingdon.
Why is this such a dull neighbourhood? It's only when my brother comes that I see anything of society.
(Men chattering in next room) I expect you'll be going back and forth constantly to London.
Not at all.
A country life suits us.
-We are quite content to remain at home.
-Really? I never knew Huntingdon to remain here above three months in an entire year.
MEN: eight, nine, ten! Come on.
Now you, Lowborough.
No! No, let me go.
I'm not doing it.
I've told you, I've made up my mind.
Getting to be a regular epidemic, this marriage business.
HUNTINGDON: Toast.
Annabella.
ALL: Annabella.
I understand congratulations are due, Helen.
Oh, forgive me.
Was it supposed to be a secret? Huntingdon is always so indiscreet.
I'd want some meek little home bird, who'd let me go wherever I want, do whatever I like, and not a word of complaint.
Well, find me one of those and I just might be tempted.
Millicent.
-Who? -Hargrave's sister.
Say, Hargrave, what about Millicent for old Hatters? Suit him to a tee.
Oh, absolutely.
Meekest girl you'd ever find.
You'd love her.
Just say the word and you shall have her, old man.
-Millicent.
-Millicent.
-Millicent.
-Millicent.
MEN: Millicent! (Men laughing raucously) HATTERSLEY: Pretty little thing.
(Inaudible) Do you tell Annabella Wilmot all our private affairs? Oh, no, my love, only the spicy bits.
Most of our private life is so unendurably virtuous, I should not dream of admitting it to our friends.
HATTERSLEY: Admirable marriage discipline, old man.
Admirable.
Helen, my darling.
My love.
My love.
I'm such a brute, I know.
-Arthur -I didn't mean it.
Forgive me.
Rachel.
Tell Richards to hurry with the coach.
The coach? Where are you going? To London.
What about our guests? Well, I am accompanying them this very hour.
Can I come? No need for that, my love.
I have a little business with my lawyer.
Piece of property to sell.
Do let me come with you.
And bore you, my love, in the foul London air? You know how you hate the London air.
There are places I could visit, people I could see.
Arthur, please! Helen, on your health, you know, depends the health, if not the life, of our future hope.
I don't wish to keep you a prisoner at home if you are happy to be away.
Oh, you do worry about me? Well then, in that case promise you I'll be back before you've even noticed I've gone.
HELEN: Arthur stayed away above two months.
He seldom wrote, and when he did, he told me little about what he was doing.
But I did not need his letters to imagine the kind of life he led among all his dissolute companions, drinking himself to oblivion, and worse.
When he finally returned, I longed to upbraid him for his neglect.
But he was still my husband and the father of my child.
Seeing him standing there, his beauty strangely diminished, already anticipating forgiveness, my heart swelled with pity.
It was all I could do to hold him.
(Sobbing) Arthur.
(Playing sprightly duet) Good.
G sharp.
Yes.
(Playing off-key) Oh, damn it.
It's useless.
I have no patience for it.
You just need a little practice.
I've invited some of the old crowd down.
Hope you don't mind.
I haven't seen Lowborough since he got married.
Thought it might be rather fun to see how he's liking it.
Poor old Lowborough.
So blind.
Well, at least he's in good company.
(Playing soft instrumental piece on piano) HUNTINGDON: Annabella.
(Chuckling) I suppose I'm in for one of your lectures.
It's not a joke, Arthur, unless you think it's a joke to torture me.
Love, come now! Forgive me, Helen.
Dear Helen, forgive me.
I promise I'll never, never do it again.
You think it's all so amusing.
It's nothing, I tell you.
-Don't make such a fuss! -Nothing! Flirting with a woman in front of her husband's face? What about your marriage vows? Are they nothing, too? But you're the one breaking the marriage vows.
Honour and obey.
Remember? I won't be dictated to by you.
What will you do? Go on till I hate you? You'll never hate me, Helen.
You can't hate me, can you? Can you? (Door slamming) Your husband was very merry last night, Helen.
Is he often so? No.
And he will not be so again.
You gave him a sermon, did you? I thought he was looking a little subdued.
Helen, you've been crying.
Nothing like a few tears to bring them round.
I never cry for effect.
Do you? I never cry at all.
No need.
But I'd make Lowborough cry all right, if he tried anything like that.
Not that I need to worry.
He worships the ground I tread on.
Are you sure you deserve to be worshiped? Oh, I doubt it very much.
But are you sure darling Huntingdon deserves all the love you give him? Driver.
Pleasant little woman, that Millicent.
You should try to be more like her, my love.
Hattersley swears there's not such a jewel in all England.
Does he love her? To distraction.
Almost as much as his horse.
He gave 2,000 guineas for that.
I'm sorry.
You're always sorry.
Arthur, don't.
Please.
-No, don't.
Don't, don't, don't, don't.
-I'm sorry.
(Frantically) No, don't.
No, no, no, no, please, don't.
-Oh, yes.
Yes.
-No! No, the baby! Don't! Don't! Cursed damn thing.
I'm sorry.
-Good morning, Mary.
-Mrs Huntingdon.
HUNTINGDON: I have gone to London for a few days because I cannot be happy here.
It's a wretched thing when a man knows his wife doesn't love him.
Trust you'll be in a better temper when I return.
(Agonised groan) (Baby crying) What a wonderful picture.
Mother, child and faithful retainer.
Mr Hargrave.
He's a pretty little fellow.
Rachel, it's getting chilly.
I should take him in now.
I fear you must be lonely here, with Huntingdon so often absent.
I wonder that he can stay away from all of this.
I expect him back very soon.
Actually, I had a letter from him this morning.
I wish it were the kind of thing that I could show a lady.
But he tells me he plans to return next week.
He tells me so every time he writes.
Really? How like him.
Is it possible, Mrs Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his return? Of course, Mr Hargrave.
Is he not my husband? HELEN: In truth, I felt less joy than apprehension at Arthur's return.
HUNTINGDON: Helen! Helen! HELEN: He had stayed away so long, I felt we should be strangers.
(Yelling furiously) Am I not to receive a welcome in my own house? Rachel, come here.
Damn it, you old witch.
Pull harder! Arthur.
Where have you been? -I need a drink.
-Arthur, please.
Don't start lecturing me already, woman! Fetch me a damn drink! (Coughing) That's better.
Come with me.
What? Upstairs.
Been missing me, have you? I've been missing you.
You and your delicate goodness.
And your skin.
There.
Isn't he lovely? (Crying faintly) Gently, gently.
Hello.
Hello, I'm your papa.
(Crying louder) Papa.
Take it.
You take it.
(Gently shushing) Can't you stop it making that damn noise? He needs to sleep.
There's more in one minute lavished on that little senseless, thankless oyster than you give me in a month.
-Now you are equal.
-Are we? Damn you! You damned stupid oaf! Arthur, he couldn't help it.
Thank you, Benson.
That will be all.
How dare you take a servant's part against me? How can you care about a stupid, insensitive brute like that when my nerves are being torn to shreds by his confounded blunders? I didn't know you suffered from nerves.
Oh, you think I shouldn't have nerves as well as you? You You have nothing to do but stay at home and take care of yourself.
And when my head is splitting, you have more concern for the servant than for me.
Perhaps if you took a little less wine, you might By Jove, if you start on that again, I shall order six bottles and drink them before bed.
What a shame it is for a strong man like you to reduce yourself to such a state.
If you knew all, my girl, you would rather wonder I bear it as well as I do.
I've lived more in these four months away, Helen, than you've lived in the entire course of your existence, or will until the end of your days.
So I must expect to pay for it in some shape.
Can't you see it's killing you? Oh, no.
No, it isn't this.
It isn't this that's killing me.
It's you! You're the one that's killing me! Why must you always judge me, Helen? Why can't you just love me? Dear Helen, what are you crying for? You know I love you.
Do you? You know I do.
Oh, Arthur.
If only you would love yourself as much as I love you.
Perhaps I know myself too well.
HELEN: As the years passed, Arthur's absences grew longer.
I spent many months alone in that great house, with my son my only consolation.
I still loved my husband.
And in his own way, he loved me.
Papa! Papa! Oh, but how very different from the love I could've given, and once had hoped to receive.
Now, there, my boy.
I grew to cherish the tranquillity of the empty house, which was only disturbed when Arthur's friends came to visit.
Helen, my dear, how are you? It's been such a long time.
-Mrs Huntingdon.
-Mrs Huntingdon.
(Men singing drunkenly) George why don't you go and join the men? You look so silly to be always dangling after the women.
Very well.
Since my presence is disagreeable to you, I will relieve you of it.
It would serve you right, Annabella, if he went back to his old habits.
You'd be sorry then.
On the contrary, I wouldn't mind if His Lordship saw fit to get blind drunk every night.
HUNTINGDON: Get off.
Get out! Here you are.
Come on.
Come on, you're going to enjoy yourself, even if you hate it.
Get off me, you drunken idiot! Ralph.
Please, stop.
HATTERSLEY: What's the matter with you? What are you crying for? -I'm not crying.
-Don't you lie to me.
Tell me! What are you crying for? Ralph, please.
We're not at home now.
-Tell me! Tell me.
-How can you let him treat your sister like that? -HARGRAVE: Come on, Hatters, leave her alone.
-Show some respect.
It's your own wife.
Mr Hargrave, have you seen my husband? Not since Not since he went outside.
Outside? He said he needed some air.
Oh, my darling.
Helen.
Did I startle you? What are you doing here? You'll catch a chill.
Go back inside.
Nonsense, it's a glorious night.
Catch your death, you mad creature.
Please.
Go back to your guests.
-Are you coming in? -In a minute.
-We can't stay here.
-I know, I saw her.
I saw you kissing her.
I couldn't help it.
And besides Haven't I had to watch you kissing your dolt of a husband 1 00 times? Yes.
But you still love her, don't you? No, not at all, I swear by all that's sacred.
(Huntingdon coughing) Arthur.
Come here.
I want to talk to you.
What are you doing sitting up here on your own in the dark? You look like a ghost.
Won't you sit down? I would leave you tonight, and never again come under this roof, but for my child.
What are you talking about, Helen? You know full well.
I saw you and heard you tonight.
Both of you.
Ah.
Well, what of it? Let me take my child and what's left of my money, and go.
Go where? Anywhere we can be safe from your contaminating influence.
No.
God damn it, I won't.
No.
Let me just take my child, then.
No, not you, not him, not the money, nothing.
You are my wife.
Do you think I'm going to be made a laughing stock because of you? -I have created no scandal.
-And will not, either.
That is up to you.
Don't threaten me.
(Choking) ''And with my body, I thee worship.
'' Remember, Helen? You promised.
I never want you to touch me again.
(Horse and carriage approaching) DRIVER: Saddle up.
Right-o.
Move on.
(Footsteps approaching) You'd forgotten to lock it.
Is it an invitation? Should I take it as an invitation from my loving wife? What do you want? You scribbling away again? Who are you scribbling to now? My aunt.
I'm just writing to my aunt.
-Let me see.
-No.
Let me see what lies you're telling her.
''To my dear brother''.
Oh, I see.
''My marriage to Huntingdon is over.
''I have a little money, and may hope to earn more with my painting.
'' So that's it, is it? You can't stop me.
Can't I? Give me your key.
(Clanging on floor) Oh, Helen, Helen.
So you thought you'd run away and rob me of my son, did you? Thought you'd disgrace me by running away and turning yourself into some kind of beggarly painter? Don't you know I'd find you? Wherever you went, I would find you.
Arthur.
Arthur! Mama!