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Nearly done, Mr George. All right, Phil.
Is that the Captain's letter?
It is, Phil.
You gonna hand it over to Mr Tulkinghorn?
I can't see my way out of it, Phil.
It's that, or on the street.
Tell him to go hang. We'll get by.
I'll be all right, Mr George.
Don't worry about me. I can go back on the old one-two.
I think your fighting days are over, Phil.
No offence.
But this, it's a matter of honour.
The Captain's honour. Matter of life or death.
And the Captain's dead.
I think my duty's to the living.
Mr Tulkinghorn will have what he wants. . .this time.
Oh, so kind of you, my dear Mr Jarndyce.
Such hospitality, and now a carriage all to myself.
You will be remembered on the Day of Judgement, when my birds shall be set free. I'm glad to hear it.
Have a safe journey, Miss Flite.
Your cousin, my dear. . . Mr Carstone, the other Ward in Jarndyce.
What about him, Miss Flite? Let someone hold him back, or he'll be drawn to ruin.
But Richard is in no danger, Miss Flite.
Oh, I know the signs, my dear.
I saw them begin in Gridley, and I saw them end.
But just let someone hold him back and. . .
and all may yet be well. Goodbye, my dears. Goodbye.
What's this, Clamb?
The writing sample from Sergeant George, Mr Tulkinghorn. I asked him to step inside but he wouldn't wait.
No matter. Let me see it.
So this is Captain Hawdon's hand.
And this is the handwriting of the law-writer. . .
known as Nemo.
I'd say the handwriting of the two documents was identical.
Would you, Clamb?
We shall be quiet now Miss Flite has left us.
She does love to talk, doesn't she?
Ada, what is it?
I didn't quite like what she said about Richard.
Miss Flite says a lot of odd things about all sorts of subjects.
But to say that he might be ruined. . .
To compare him to poor Mr Gridley.
Richard's love for you is steady.
He's not like Mr Gridley,
or Miss Flite.
He has someone besides himself to care about.
That will keep him straight. Yes.
Yes, it will, won't it?
I hope it will.
We should be going down. Are you nearly ready? Yes.
But that was exciting news about Mr Woodcourt, wasn't it?
Fancy, to be in a shipwreck.
To save all those sailors' lives.
You must have felt very proud of him, when you heard the news.
I did feel proud of him.
I do.
I can't help it, though he's nothing to me now. Esther, how can you say that? Because it's true.
He cared for you. I know he did.
Perhaps he did. And perhaps he might have told me before he went away.
If I had been richer, or somebody's daughter. . .
But he never did.
And now I'm glad he did not. If he had, how he would regret it when he saw me again as I am now.
Don't look at me like that, Ada.
It's the truth, and you know it.
We are quiet this evening,
just as Esther said we'd be.
Perhaps we should send for Miss Flite to come back again.
Mmm?
Ah, forgive me. . . Ada, Esther, I think the wind's been in the east again.
Esther, could you spare me a few minutes of your time in the Growlery after dinner? Yes, of course.
DOOR OPENS Come in, Esther. Shut the door.
I. . . I was walking past your room, on my way down to dinner
and I couldn't help overhearing a little of your conversation.
Oh. And I must apologise to you for that.
You have no need to. Anything I say to Ada, I would say to you.
Then. . .
I hope you won't mind my saying
I was sad to hear you talk as you did.
About Mr Woodcourt?
Yes.
I. . . Sit down, Esther.
Did you. . .truly care for him?
Whether I did or not matters very little now.
His mother made it quite clear that I was not to think of someone with his. . .
distinguished ancestry,
and now it is quite beyond doubt.
I shouldn't think there's a man in the world who'd want to marry a pock-marked nobody like me.
Esther. . . Isn't it true? It's. . .
Please don't think I pity myself. . .
because I don't.
I know that I am very lucky to be alive.
And at Bleak House, so long as you're happy to keep me here. More than happy, Esther.
And whatever the Woodcourts of this world may think or feel,
there are those. . .
who love you very dearly.
And your. . .
your misfortune has not made you any less lovable than you were.
Perhaps. . .
even dearer,
to someone who knows you,
and. . .
truly loves you.
Thank you.
But you didn't need to say that. I knew you would not change.
And Ada and Charley, they feel the same. Not quite the same, Esther. Oh, near enough, I think.
So you mustn't worry about me, sir.
I shall do very well with my friends about me.
Rubbish. Rubbish.
Rubbish. Rubbish. Rubbish.
Hmm.
Rubbish.
Shake me up, Judy.
Oooh. Not so rough, you poll-parrot.
Let's have the next lot.
There's money in this somewhere, I know it, and I'll have it cos I'm owed it, and it's mine.
Out, out, out! Private property!
Closed for business! No admittance to loiterers, hawkers and thieves.
No admittance to anybody. Get out. Draw it mild, Mr Smallweed. You know me, I think.
Guppy. Of Kenge and Carboys.
I know you. At the inquest.
Snooping around.
What do you want now?
I'm interested in recovering a bundle of letters for a client.
Who's the client? I'm not at liberty to disclose, Mr S.
You give nothing, you'll get nothing. Who's the client?
A lady. Oh, a lady. Very nice.
So what are these letters you're after, then, you young villain?
Not a villain, sir. I am a member of the legal profession.
Same thing, same thing!
So, what are these letters?
They're private letters. Intimate letters of no interest to anyone but my client. But she'll pay for 'em.
Oh, will she? As I say, they're of no value.
No value at all. Except to my client.
But she'll pay for 'em? Er, she'll pay a nominal sum.
You mean you'll pay a nominal sum, and she'll pay you a king's ransom, you young blaggard!
That's about it, eh? Not at all, Mr Smallweed.
My motives are very pure. . .
to help my client and also, if I can, to help another lady.
A lady who is very dear to my heart, Mr Smallweed.
You do like your ladies, don't you, Mr Guppy?
So how am I to know these letters, supposing I can lay my hands on 'em?
They are tied up with a pink ribbon, Mr Smallweed.
Oh, pink ribbon. Very nice.
Shake me up, Judy. And. . .
And? And what? Come on, out with it. Addressed to a Captain Hawdon.
Captain Hawdon, you. . . Captain Hawdon? You know the name, Mr Smallweed? No.
Never heard of him.
All right, Mr Guppy,
we are making an inventory of the deceased's possessions.
Very heavy work, as you can see.
IF we find these letters, we might see our way to entering into negotiations with your lady client.
That's all I can say for the present. Show the gentleman out, Judy. Thank you very much, Mr Smallweed.
And a very good night to you. Never mind all that! Get out! Get out!
And lock the door behind him, Judy.
Captain Hawdon.
And a lady.
And a young lady.
There'll be money in that, I believe.
So where's these letters, you brimstone beast?
A letter from our friend Boythorn, with an invitation to visit him.
He's most pressing.
Should you like to go, Esther?
You well enough recovered to stand the journey? The journey would be nothing, but, er. . .
But what?
I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable about being seen outside our little circle.
I suppose that's very vain of me.
You could wear a veil, Esther, when you go abroad.
Boythorn's a good old friend who cares for you almost as much as we do.
Look what he says here. . .
"If you refuse to come," he swears he'll tear his house down!
Brick by brick and stone by stone.
You wouldn't be responsible for that, Esther?
No, I wouldn't be responsible for that.
And I must get used to my new self, and people seeing me as I. . .am now.
Please tell Mr Boythorn I'm delighted to accept his invitation.
KNOCK AT DOOR
If you please, m'lady? Yes, what is it?
I thought you'd like to know, the young ladies are staying at Mr Boythorn's again.
They've been seen round the village.
Both of them? Yes, m'lady.
The one who was ill. . . Miss Summerson, is it? Is she recovered?
Yes, m'lady, thank the Lord.
But they say her poor face is terrible scarred, from the smallpox.
Thank you, Mrs Rouncewell.
This is good of you, Boythorn.
Well, one does what one can.
What can a man do to make up for what has happened to that poor girl? Nothing.
How did it come upon her?
She caught the infection from a poor vagrant boy that we took in. I blame myself.
Blame yourself because of an act of kindness to a fellow human being?
That's arrant nonsense, man.
It's poppycock. I tell you who's to blame.
It's that fellow who calls himself God Almighty.
What kind of deity is it who would visit such an affliction on an innocent girl?
I ask you, Jarndyce, what does the Almighty think He's up to?
He let her live.
And so, are you glad you accepted Mr Boythorn's invitation, Esther?
Oh, yes. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.
Good afternoon. Good afternoon, miss.
And a fine one, too.
Have you been blackberrying? We have. Would you young ladies like to taste some?
Thank you. Thank you.
Very welcome. Good day to you now.
What's the matter with the lady's face, Pa? Ssh. Don't be rude.
You've never heard the story of the Ghost Walk at Chesney Wold?
I'm not sure I believe in any such thing.
Well, you'd better. . . because it's a true story.
And you may see the Ghost Walk for yourself.
In the days of Charles I,
there was a Dedlock
called Sir Morbury Dedlock,
and he was loyal to the King.
But his Lady,
who had no family blood in her veins,
favoured the rebels.
She spied upon her husband
and betrayed him.
And no matter what Sir Morbury did,
he could not bend her to his will.
She would creep down, at dead of night, and lame the horses.
That was the story.
So Sir Morbury and his friends couldn't ride out to battle,
and one night, he caught her at it,
and he threw her to the stone floor so violently that he broke her hip bones.
It's not a pretty story.
And she died slowly from her injury.
But before she died, she cursed her husband.
" And ever afterwards," she said.
"Whenever you hear my footsteps on that terrace,
"you may be sure that calamity and disgrace is coming to the House of Dedlock. "
And so it has been from that day to this.
Well, I should like to see it.
Then I'll take you there tomorrow.
Mmm.
Yes, Clamb? Sergeant George, Mr Tulkinghorn.
What about him? Well, sir, seeing as how he provided the handwriting sample. . .
Yes?
Well, am I to send him through the paper to say that he's released of the debt?
No.
You say no, Mr Tulkinghorn?
Tell Smallweed to let the matter rest for one month and then foreclose on the debt.
I don't. . . I don't quite understand you, Mr Tulkinghorn.
I did not expect to have to justify my actions to my clerk, Clamb.
But, since you ask,
I choose to foreclose on the debt because I wish to do it,
and because I can do it.
Sergeant George is going to have to learn that there is a price to be paid for acts of defiance.
Quite clear, Clamb?
Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir. Good.
Then go and do as I tell you.
This is as far as I may come.
Any further, and Sir Arrogant Numskull's ruffians would set upon me.
I think he's trained his very dogs to smell me out.
But you ladies will be safe to roam the grounds as long as I'm not with you.
Now, the Ghost Walk is around to the side.
There.
I wish you a happy exploration.
Thank you, Mr Boythorn.
And if you see the ghost, tell her that Lawrence Boythorn would be very happy
to see disgrace and ruin for Sir Arrogant Numskull and all his tribe.
It's a great, big, dark old place, Miss, ain't it?
Should you like to live in a place like this, Charley? No fear, Miss. Nor I.
This must be the place.
I don't care for it much, Miss.
Ssshh.
We should stay still and quiet.
Perhaps we'll hear the ghost's footsteps.
Oh, Miss!
Miss Summerson, I'm afraid I have startled you.
You have been very ill, I know.
Are you unwell now?
I was quite well but a moment ago, Lady Dedlock.
Miss Summerson, I should like to speak with you in private.
Perhaps Miss Clare and your maid could go back ahead of you? I would be very much obliged.
Yes, of course, my lady.
Come, sit down with me, child.
It will heal.
What? What is it?
I have something to tell you.
Something so dreadful I am not sure that I have the courage to speak the words.
I am your mother, Esther.
I don't understand.
I am your wretched and unhappy mother.
Can you bear to look at me?
Can you forgive me? You are truly my mother?
I never knew you lived.
They told me you had died only hours after you were born.
For 20 years I never knew I had a daughter living.
I thought I should never see you.
May I. . .
may I call you Mother?
May. . . may. . may. . . SHE SOBS
How long have you known?
How did you find me?
I only discovered the truth very lately.
And then I was told that you were ill, even dying,
and I was desperate to think that I should never see you to tell you the truth about yourself.
And now I am well, and we have all the time in the world.
No.
This story has no happy ending.
I was a wilful and impetuous young woman.
I fell in love with a young officer, and. . .
I lay with him the night before he went away with his regiment to the West Indies.
He never returned.
He was reported dead.
So this was my father? Yes.
What was his name?
His name was Hawdon.
James Hawdon.
He was a captain in the Light Dragoons. And he never knew of my existence?
I was very ill at my confinement,
and when I came to myself, they told me you had died.
And I thought I should never feel anything again. Nor did I,
until now.
Sir Leicester Dedlock asked me to marry him, and I accepted him.
Of course I told him nothing.
I deceived him and let him think that I loved him.
That was wicked of me and no doubt I shall pay for it.
I have tried to be a good wife to him, but the family honour means everything to him.
And if my secret were known, it would destroy him.
He must never know.
If he does, everything is lost. . .
he is disgraced and I ruined.
That is why. . .
.you and I
must never see each other again.
I've only just found you.
Don't. . .don't. . .
don't send me away now.
I must.
(I must. )
If we were to see each other again,
it would be discovered for certain,
and it would all come out.
This must be
the first and last time, my dear daughter.
I. . . . I came to see the Ghost's Walk,
and. . .
I thought it was just a story. . .
but it's true, isn't it?
I am the one who will bring calamity and disgrace to the house.
It is true what Miss Barbary said.
It would have been better if I had never been born. No, my love.
Try and forgive me, my child.
Esther.
Whatever's the matter?
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