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SCONE: Good.
Good.
Now, if -- if you would stand over here again,
just between the chair and the fireplace.
That's it.
And draped a little,
as it were pensive or, um... or languorous, hmm?
[Chuckles softly]
- Um... - Oh, yes. Please.
Question of getting the right pose, you see.
Making these quick sketches to brood on,
then having selected the one,
getting it down with -- with passion.
Quite.
I've no time for Sargent's method
of painting a face a dozen different ways
and then going back to the first one.
Isn't the, uh, the jawline a little angular?
Well, I see what you're getting at.
It's -- It's very strong, of course.
Your husband wants you drawn soft
to flatter him, Lady Marjorie,
Whereas I see you as a woman of personality, decision --
strong-willed, even.
Well, you're entitled to your opinions, Scone.
[ Chuckles ]
Shall we turn him out?
Husbands are a great trial to artists.
They look on their wives as possessions
and a portrait as a kind of display case.
And wives, Mr. Scone?
[ Chuckles ]
They don't pay the fee.
Besides, they like their husbands
to appear strong men of the world,
which is much easier to comply with.
I mean, if I-l saw your husband as a-a lily
and wanted to paint him like that, what would you say, hmm?
Send for the police, I should think.
[Chuckles softly]
I've just come back -- Could you turn this way a little?
Just come back from Paris,
Where there's an exhibition of the best in French painting,
which you really must try and see next time you're over there.
And what shall I see, Mr. Scone?
Light and colours you've never seen before.
I sent my cousin, young John Strathcairn,
over to buy a Degas
for that drafty seat of theirs in Perthshire.
But the fool bought one of Renoir's lush pieces.
Said the dowager
wouldn't have a servant hanging in the drawing room.
Old Lady Abercraven?
Yes, my unsainted aunt.
Head this way a little.
RICHARD: You'll be going up to Abercraven for the 12th?
My dear Bellamy, since I ran aw- I'm sorry --
since I ran away to Paris to become a disreputable painter,
I've managed, thank God,
to see as little of my family as I wish.
- Um... - Oh.
SCONE: Besides, the destruction of small birds
doesn't really interest me.
Yes.
Ah.
Now...
how shall we clothe the portrait, hmm?
- would you like me -- - My dear Lady Marjorie...
an artist and a woman would never agree
on such a delicate matter.
Besides, an artist's vision is quite different
from that of a lady of fashion.
Will you join me in an honourable compromise?
The two words rarely go together, Mr. Scone,
at least not in politics.
And so?
So if you would select one or two of your most favoured dresses
and have them sent 'round to me to examine for texture --
something light and frothy, perhaps.
Oh, but leave the final decision to me.
Yes. Certainly.
There. wouldn't you call that an honourable compromise?
Giving us both the freedom of decision
yet without the indignity of a battle.
Yes, I don't think I'd like to fight with you, Mr. Scone --
at least not yet.
Well, as much as I'm enjoying
the carefree atmosphere of the artist's studio,
I'm afraid that affairs of state beckon.
I'm due at the Admiralty in -- oh, goodness -- half an hour.
And the First Sea Lord dislikes unpunctuality.
In fact, I require your wife's patience no longer.
The sketches are done.
RICHARD: Oh, good. Then you'll begin the painting?
- Tomorrow afternoon. - Capital!
Uh, Mr. Scone, I'm sure you'll produce
something quite outstanding.
With such a charming subject, how could I fail?
Hudson, will you call a hansom? Mr. Scone is leaving.
- Very good, sir. - Uh, no, not for me, thank you.
I'll, uh, walk back to my studio across the park.
Till tomorrow, then.
And you, uh, you won't forget the dresses?
They shall be sent 'round this afternoon,
and I'll expect you here tomorrow at 3:00?
Indeed.
Lady Marjorie, Mr. Bellamy.
-[ Door closes] - well?
Well, I-l hope you've chosen the right man.
Oh, he's an exciting painter, Richard.
RICHARD: Of that I've no doubt.
But is it necessary for a painter to talk quite so much?
I find his conversation very interesting and stimulating.
Oh, rather you than me.
I don't have to listen to him all day.
Well, I must go.
Now, uh, dinner at 8:30, I believe, and a white waistcoat.
You won't be late, will you? The Cecils are coming.
I will not be late.
And if that talkative fellow
does not do justice to my wife's beauty, I shall...
[ Laughing ] What will you do?
I shall hang him -- next to one of his own portraits.
[Knock on door]
Entrée !
[Knock on door]
Come in, damn you!
What the devil?
He said to bring these on up, sir?
- "He"? - The foreign chap downstairs.
My servant. My servant.
Why didn't he bring them up himself?
-[ Exhales deeply] - what are they, anyway?
Lady Marjorie Bellamy's dresses, sir.
Oh.
Would that be all, sir?
What's your name?
Sarah. ..sir.
You can drop the "sir" with me.
You don't like saying it anyway.
How do you know what I don't like saying?
Hold that.
I want you to show me these dresses.
Hold that. Come on.
Hold it up. Hold it up.
Ugh. Looks like a dust sheet.
Next.
Ah, the simple milkmaid.
I might have known there'd be one of those.
It never works over 40.
Why will they never learn?
Oh, come off it.
She's ever so nice-looking for her age.
But a tyrant underneath, I'll bet, hmm?
I don't think you ought to ask me that.
What about the butler? Does he whip you?
Ooh, I'd like to see him try.
SCONE: [Chuckles] No.
But you're afraid of him?
I'm not afraid of no one. He's not bad, really.
He gives us a night off every week, and that's more than most.
- when's yours? - wednesdays.
What do they pay you?
Mind your own business.
10 pounds a year and a bed in a basement, eh?
No, old clever dick.
It's twice that much and a room in the attic.
And Rose gets 30.
- who's Rose? - She's my friend.
We've got this lovely room up top together.
And when we've got a bit of money together,
We're going to open a boardinghouse in Brighton.
No. Next.
Uh, you'd better fancy this one...
SCONE: Yes, put it on. Put it on.
...because it's the last.
SCONE: It might do.
Now, come over here. Come over here.
Oh.
Now, look.
Will you bury all that beauty in a boardinghouse in Brighton?
Hmm?
I rather fancy Brighton.
Balls at the Pavilion and a gentleman to hand me out
of my bathing machine into the water.
And perhaps a drive along the front in a motorcar.
Mm.
These tuppenny novelettes you girls read.
You've never been to Brighton.
Oh, resorts are all the same.
You've seen one, you've seen 'em all.
- Yes, that's the one. - Pardon?
That's the one.
Tell your mistress that's the one I want her to wear.
Now, put them all back in the box and off you go.
SARAH: I've been to Southend.
Rose!
-[ Door opens] Rose!
Where ever have you been?
You've only got five minutes to change.
It's time to serve drawing-room tea!
Rose, I've got a letter.
Look. It says "by hand."
I've managed to read that much meself.
You'll have to do the rest.
- You try. - You know I can't.
You can if you persevere.
Oh, Rose, it's not like print.
Real writing's different, with all them squiggles.
It's too hard for me.
Please, Rose.
If you don't hurry up, you'll be late downstairs.
Where'd you get it, then?
Well, I was going down the area steps
and this chap handed it to me.
ROSE: What sort of chap?
Oh, nobody special, just ordinary-looking.
And he gave it to you, just like that?
SARAH: Yeah, just like that.
Well, don't you believe me?
Well, come on. Open it. Maybe it'll say who it's from.
What's it say?
If this is one of your games...
Who'd you get to write it for you, then?
Same person who's wrote your French reference, I suppose.
Well, you may have fooled Lady Marjorie and the agency,
but you can't fool me.
Rose, honest to God and out me throat if I tell a lie.
"Divine Sarah."
Divine Sarah.
"There will be a cab waiting for you at the end of your street
on the corner of the square on wednesday at 7:00.
The cabbie will bring you to me.
Ask no questions."
Who's it from?!
It's signed "an admirer."
Where?
There!
"Ad-mirer."
ROSE: You expect me to believe that?
Well, why shouldn't I have an admirer?
Who is he, then?
Oh, um, probably someone
who's seen me around in the park or something.
Oh? And how does he know your name?
"Divine Sarah."
Sarah Bernhardt. She's an actress. Frenchwoman.
He's laughing at you.
It's all a bit of a laugh, really, isn't it?
Oh, I won't sleep tonight
for wondering who it's gonna turn out to be.
- You're not going? - why not?
Gentlemen don't make assignations with housemaids
for the charm of their conversation, you know.
An assignation!
Oh, that sounds very romantic.
Not so romantic when you're turned off in disgrace
-and the father won't marry you. - Oh.
They never do, you know.
When it's all over, you're thrown in the corner
like a rag doll the moths have been at.
Sometimes girls don't come back at all.
They end up on a slab in the morgue.
Don't.
You make me feel all funny.
How can you bear anyone pawing you about?
Oh, it's only you says he will.
If he's a gent --
If he's a gentleman, he'll paw you about.
Sarah, don't go.
Don't worry, Rose. I'm ever so strong.
Yes, well, he'll get you tipsy.
Yeah, that's right -- on bubbly.
Very refreshing, I must say.
What's that bed doing there? It wasn't there before.
For models, posing.
Sometimes I use it myself.
SARAH: I'll bet.
Um, what was this proposition
that you wanted to talk to me about?
I only take propositions from gentlemen, mind.
How do you know I'm not a gentleman?
'Cause you're a painter.
Oh, cousin to an earl.
Oh, and I'm Marie Lloyd.
- It's true! - Prove it.
I'm not going to parade my family tree for your inspection.
[ Chuckles ]
Well, go on.
Off you go.
Finish your champagne. Back home to Rose.
Isn't it a little late for you to be out, hmm?
Course, you won't have much to tell,
but I'm sure you'll make up something as you go along.
Here. ls your cousin really an earl?
Um, Rose said that if you turned out to be a gent,
I wasn't to trust you.
Rose is a very wise girl.
Rose says this Sarah -- What's her name?
Bernhardt. - Yeah.
Uh, is a French actress.
The divine Sarah.
I thought you wouldn't be able to resist that.
Sarah Bernhardt -- the greatest actress in the world.
Mm.
A consummate artist.
Are you a consummate artist?
Of course.
Well, you look healthy enough to me.
[ Chuckles ]
What's your Christian name?
I never use it. Everybody calls me Scone.
Scone.
Scones for tea, buttered, please.
Yes.
Now, let's get down to my proposition, shall we?
All right. What is it?
I want to paint you.
- Paint me? - Mm-hmm.
You mean like Lady Marjorie?
- That's right. - why?
Your face -- It interests me.
- My face? - Mm-hmm.
Uh, would I be hung up on a wall for everybody to look at?
If I paint you well enough, yes.
- I can't pay you nothing. - It won't cost you a farthing.
Oh, you'll have to come on your afternoons off.
All right.
Good.
We'll start...
...at once.
What? Now?
Right now, at once.
- Now, get into that bed. - Oh, come on.
- You -- Stop it! - Take your hat off.
We'll have to put your hair down.
- Leave me -- - Take your blouse off.
- Oh! - That's it.
- No! Don't touch me! - Now into bed. Go on. Into bed.
Lady Marjorie never takes her clothes off.
Now then, look. There you are.
That's how I want to paint you.
Your pale face against the shadows.
Now, my divine Sarah,
all you have to do is to keep very still.
Mm.
- Here. Do -- - Keep still!
I thought you'd be asleep.
You told me to wait up.
You'll be ever so tired in the morning.
What you reading?
"The Dove in the Eagle's Nest."
Not the Bible?
It's by Charlotte M. Yonge.
SARAH: Is it a tuppenny novelette?
Um, my friend
said that all servant girls read tuppenny novelettes.
Well, aren't you going to ask me what happened?
It's your life.
Yes, but half the fun's telling you, Rosie.
- Is it? - I haven't done nothing wicked.
Come here.
Breathe.
[Exhales deeply]
You've been drinking, haven't you?
Champagne!
That's not a drink. That's nectar.
The nectar of the gods, the milk of Bacchus.
Shh. You'll wake Alfred.
Oh, never mind Alfred.
Well, aren't you going to ask me who my friend turned out to be?
Go on. Ask me.
All right.
Who did your friend turn out to be?
Scone.
Who?
Scone -- the gentleman who's painting Lady Marjorie.
He's gonna paint me and all. He thinks I'm beautiful.
[ Laughs ] Paint you?
He wanted the other, but I was firm.
I mean, you know what artists are.
But he still wants to set me up in a little flat of my own.
But if that's what he wants, why does he bother painting you?
Oh, well, you see, he's been in Paris all this while,
Where all the artists have their mistresses as models.
And they go and paint them till they become famous.
I told him all about you and how we share this room together.
I'm going there every wednesday when I get them off --
and on Sundays, too.
But what for?
To sit for him,
like Lady Marjorie does when he paints her.
Incidentally, he's ever so rich and the cousin to an earl.
And he thinks I'm beautiful.
Isn't it a lark?
Now, you listen to me, Sarah.
He'll dangle his money and his position in front of you
till you can't hold out no more.
The painting's just an excuse to keep you going there
while he works on you.
Can't you see that?
Look, Rose, what else have I got to do?
It isn't as if you and me have the same night off.
I'm lonely by meself. I'm not used to it.
Rosie, rather than go walking in the streets on my own,
I might just as well be there with him.
Don't be cross with me, Rose.
I can't help how I'm made.
Come to bed.
[ Blows ]
Rose?
Yeah?
Am I beautiful?
Go to sleep, Sarah.
Head up a little.
Right.
Now hold it perfectly still.
Oh.
It's worse than dining at windsor.
SCONE: [ Chuckles ]
The light's fading fast.
In a moment, your servant will come in
and shut it all out with the curtains.
That will be the end of us.
I like you best by sunset.
What the French painters call soleil.
Yes. Sunset.
That's your moment.
Are you a poet as well as a painter?
SCONE: [ Chuckles ]
You have very fine hands, Lady Marjorie.
I shall make them pieces of mist
yet with a touch of bone underneath,
because that's how you are.
Do you get to know your subjects that well
simply by painting them?
SCONE: I know what you mean to me in terms of paint.
Oh, that's not very flattering.
Women like to be known for themselves.
SCONE: Rubbish, if I may say so.
You don't want anybody to know you.
Nobody does.
We all want our mystery -- our own and everyone else's.
So we arrange our surfaces, give our chosen impression.
MARJORIE: And the painter?
Rearranges them to give his.
Ah, but supposing he's wrong?
SCONE: [Chuckles] He can't be.
That's his.
A product of a trained mind and eye.
Is that what your friends are trying to do
in those French paintings you want me to see?
SCONE: Perhaps.
You may say you see them quite differently, of course.
There's no neat nugget of a moral
you can take away and forget the picture.
That's not art.
It's not even life anymore.
Life itself is a series of colourful moments.
And morality?
Largely hypocrisy-
You know, you talk more like a Fabian than like the --
Than the nephew of the Countess of Abercraven, hmm?
[ Chuckles ]
Would you take up the pose just a little while longer?
- Sorry. - Thank you.
Head up, this way.
I think I'm a little frightened
of what your picture may show, of what you see.
Good.
We'll keep the mask dropped a little.
There.
We're to be left alone no longer.
Shall I draw the curtains, milady?
MARJORIE: Mr. Scone? - Yeah.
MARJORIE: Yes, Sarah, you may.
SCONE: Reposez vous, madame.
Finished, good lady.
The bright day is done.
MARJORIE: And we are for the dark.
You'll stay for tea?
SCONE: If I may.
All right.
You can have a rest.
[Exhales deeply]
- Scone? - Mm?
Bring me some champagne.
Very good, milady.
[Both chuckle]
SARAH: To the divine Sarah.
The divine Sarah.
[Humming]
It's funny to be in bed with your boots on.
Here. Do you think I've got nice legs?
What are you up to now, hmm?
What dreamworld are you concocting for yourself,
you little fantasist?
What's a fantasist?
SCONE: Someone who lives on airy nothings,
on tomorrows that never come.
Yes!
Airy nothings and tomorrows that never come.
Oh, God, how much longer must I wait for tomorrows?
My noble earl of tomorrows who never bloody comes,
for he is the father of my luckless child,
my vile seducer.
And it is my Lord Tomorrow's fault
that I am cast out into the storm
in my rags and tatters, cold and --
Ow!
I've dropped the baby.
There, there, child.
Do not cry.
You are unharmed.
All right, Madame Bernhardt.
- Ow! - That will do.
Is that my applause, fellow?
No, it's your signal to get back to work.
Now, come on.
I saw one of them dramas at the Lyceum once.
- There was this lord and -- - And keep your mouth shut.
[Humming]
What about the boardinghouse in Brighton?
I asked you a question.
You can move your mouth now.
Thank you.
Well?
I don't know. Rose hardly talks to me nowadays.
She don't like me coming here with you.
SCONE: [ Chuckles ]
Does she still think I'm after your virtue?
She doesn't trust you.
- She says -- - Yes?
If you were honest, you'd pay me.
SCONE: Do you think I should?
Models get paid.
So do prostitutes.
Here, you!
What do you think you're worth?
Oh, keep your money. I'm not like that.
No. Rose is right.
I ought to reward you.
Maybe I should take you out somewhere
or buy you a new hat or something -- I don't know.
- what do girls like, hmm? - You should know.
What do French girls like?
SCONE: It's what English girls like.
That's the problem.
I've been away so long.
You'll have to help me.
Now, what's it to be?
Anything?
Within reason.
The Bioscope.
The what?
The Daily Bioscope in Bishopsgate Street.
That's within reason.
- Moving pictures? - Yeah!
Alfred went once on his night off,
and he told us all about it.
They're real people --
not painted and still, but moving
and motorcars and horses and the king himself.
I know.
Have you been? Oh, take me. You promised.
What is so exciting
about a series of flickering shapes, huh?
Because they're real!
They happen just like that.
Nobody made them up. They're true.
And what about art?
Oh, art's all right for those that can afford it,
but it's not true, is it?
Ah. Well, I'll tell you something.
- Yes, but can we go? - Now, be quiet and listen.
They've betrayed art.
All the academicians that have spent a lifetime painting
a-a chair so exact that you could almost sit on it
and now take 60 pictures first
to make sure they get every angle right.
They are destroying artistic imagination.
Do you know what will happen?
We will be so sickened by these pictures that ape photographs
that we won't be able to paint a human being at all.
And it'll be your fault -- with your naive demand for the truth.
It's not my fault.
- Get dressed. - Are we going?
Who am I to stop the march of civilization?
- Allons - Pardon?
- Au Bioscope. - Huh?
Get dressed.
- Oh, we're going?! - Yes.
- Oh! - Go on.
It was kind of you to take it away and frame it yourself.
Not at all.
To the inexperienced eye,
an unframed canvas always looks like rough work.
Also, I wish to give you pleasure.
You're very courteous, Mr. Scone.
- Ah, Richard. - I hope I'm not too late.
SCONE: Lady Marjorie tells me that she's as impatient
as a child before a coveted treat.
Well, I must say, I'm a little curious myself.
We've never had a portrait before.
Well, now, where would you like us to stand
for the, um, for the unveiling?
Oh, well, just there I think.
I must admit to, uh, feeling a little like
a conjuring uncle at a birthday party.
Well, here goes.
Abracadabra.
MARJORIE: Oh, Richard, say you like it.
Well, I-l don't know what to say.
Uh, it takes a little getting used to.
Uh...
It -- It -- It's almost glowing.
"Tawny." [Chuckles] Is that the word?
Makes you look a bit of a wildcat.
It -- It -- It's certainly unusual.
Distinguished, in a way.
Maybe it would -- It -- It -- It does grow on one.
Is -- ls your hair really that colour?
I think so.
You don't think you've gone too far?
It's, um... It's a bit blurry, isn't it?
Richard, that's the new brushwork.
Mr. Scone will think us such Philistines.
Lady Marjorie, I'm afraid you won't convert
your husband to the new Impressionists.
No, no, no, no, no. I like it.
I've made up my mind.
Thank you, Scone.
Now, then... where shall we hang it?
Uh, first I would like to borrow it.
RICHARD: To borrow it? -If I may, yes.
I would like to submit it
to the Hanging Committee of the Royal Academy.
Academy?
Aren't they rather more traditional
in their requirements?
I think if you leave that to me, it can be arranged.
I, uh, guarantee a safe return, of course.
Oh, yes, Richard. I think it's a wonderful idea.
Here!
Artistic license.
Cheeky sod.
Do I really look like that?
That's our room, all right.
But how do you know? You've never been there.
I didn't need to.
Who's that behind me?
Rose.
You've never seen Rose.
I have -- through your eyes.
Oh, there's all my things Where I leave them lying around.
Rose hangs hers up. She's the tidy one.
I know.
Urn, if you don't mind me mentioning it,
but here there should be a little plaque
with "to work is to pray" written on it.
Ah. "To work ls Yes. Mm-hmm.
What you gonna call it?
"The Maids."
Ooh.
That's not very romantic, is it?
Why don't you call it something nice, like...
"Waiting for Dawn" or something like that.
Ooh.
Well, other pictures have titles like that.
Yes. They have other artists, too.
What you gonna do with it now?
Sell it.
Sell me and Rose?
Mm-hmm.
You won't need me anymore now, will you?
Now you've finished your rotten old picture.
Cast off like an old shoe.
You've used me.
No. Art has used you, Sarah.
And it's used me, too.
There.
- Just a minute, Mr. Scone. - Hmm?
Why aren't I your mistress?
What's the matter with me?
I was good enough for your bleeding picture!
Oh, such language, Madame Bernhardt.
- Oh! Damn you!
W-- Now, wait a minute.
I wouldn't be your mistress if you were the last man on earth,
but you might've bleedin' asked me!
Please! Don't! Stop it! - It's only bloody decent!
[Laughing]
What you laughing for?!
- You and your idea of decency! - I'll bloody kill you!
No! Stop it!
Poncing around and making me --
Now stop shouting. There's a good girl.
It's our last night together.
I'll take you out to supper.
Then we'll go to the Bioscope.
How about that, huh?
Charmed, I'm sure, Mr. Scone.
SARAH: ♫ Of all the girls that are so fair ♫
♫ There's none like pretty Sally ♫
♫ She's the darling of my heart ♫
I don't know what the world's coming to.
What's that, Mr. Hudson?
Alf Common, the Sunderland center forward,
transferred to Middlesbrough for £1 ,OOO.
Ooh.
No footballer is worth that amount of money.
It's not a game anymore. It's a blooming trade.
Quite agree, Mr. Hudson.
I didn't ask for your opinion, Sarah.
Now, buck up and clear the table.
[Humming]
Great heavens!
[ Door closes]
- Sarah, what have you done?! - what do you mean?
I haven't done nothing, Mr. Hudson.
[Bell ringing]
[Gasps]
It's today's paper.
Burn it at once in the kitchen range.
Do you understand? Nobody must see it.
- Burn it. - what's the matter?
Well -- well, don't just stand there, girl. Burn it.
And you wait in here, my girl, until I return.
What happened to the paper this morning, Hudson?
Uh, not come yet, sir.
Would be late this morning -- when I especially wanted it.
I shall send someone 'round to inquire
just as soon as convenient, sir.
Tell the newsagent I'll get my papers elsewhere
-if they can't deliver on time. - Very good, sir.
And remind her Ladyship to meet at the Academy entrance at 4:30.
Should be quite an interesting afternoon, eh, Hudson?
Quite, sir.
Splendid morning.
I think I'll walk across the park.
Tell Pearce he can put the carriage away
-unless her Ladyship wants it. - Very good, sir.
Now, then.
Just you look at that.
[Gasps]
That's my painting.
- It's in the paper. Read what it says underneath.
- I can't, Mr. Hudson. - Come on, girl.
Read what it says. You've been taught to read.
Read what it says out loud. - No. The print's too small.
Picture has turned out nice, though, hasn't it?
Very well. I'll read it for you.
"Sensation of this year's Academy
are undoubtedly two striking pictures by Guthrie Scone..."
- Oh, it's pronounced "Skoon." - Shut up.
"...artist nephew of the Countess of Abercraven.
Hung side by side in fascinating counterpoint,
'The Mistress' and 'The Maids,'
as his pair of canvases are already being called,
are both scenes from the house of Mr. Richard Bellamy, MP,
undersecretary of state for the Admiralty,
and set a new fashion for home portraits.
Asked to name the model for the scantily clad maidservant
in his canvas aptly entitled 'The Maids,'
Mr. Guthrie Scone referred our reporter
to the servants' quarters at 165 Eaton Place."
What a cheek.
How did that man get up to the maids' quarters, eh?
What has been going on behind my back, Sarah?
He was here every afternoon, painting Lady Marjorie.
But not up in the maids' bedrooms.
No, he was in the drawing room painting her.
You've been up to your tricks again, my girl, haven't you?
I haven't, Mr. Hudson.
I went to his studio and posed for him in his bed.
Um, I mean the bed in the studio.
- Now, don't lie, Sarah. - I'm not, Mr. Hudson!
I went there every wednesday I had off -- honest.
[Bell ringing]
Well, I can tell you one thing, my girl.
There is going to be hell to pay in this house
before the day's over.
You mark my words.
Good old Sarah.
Got your face in the papers. Fancy.
[ Indistinct conversations]
MAN: Fancy letting him paint her servants.
MAN #2: Really, he must have gone mad to allow it.
MAN #1: It's Liberal propaganda.
MAN #2: Bellamy always did have an eye for a pretty face.
MAN #3: She's more than a pretty face.
MAN #2: Two naked maids.
MAN #1: The duchesses will have a field day.
Look out. They've arrived.
- MAN #2: who? - MAN #1: The Bellamys.
[Spectators murmuring]
[Murmuring continues]
RICHARD: You can go down and talk to them now.
Very good, sir.
Believe me, sir, if I'd had the slightest inkling --
- That will be all, Hudson. - Yes, sir.
- It's monstrous. - Yes, it is.
RICHARD: Must have crept up the back stairs or something
when Hudson wasn't looking.
The point is that we have been seriously damaged
both socially and politically by that irresponsible cad.
I never liked the fellow. Talked too much.
He is a good painter.
Oh, yes, I suppose so.
And we've helped to establish his reputation
-at the cost of our own. - All the same, I do think
the sensible thing is to try and treat the whole thing as a joke.
It's no joke having one's wife
made the laughingstock of London.
I agree, but if we're to survive the ridicule,
we must let our friends think that we're not annoyed
but amused.
Of course, the worst thing is to think
that Rose could've behaved so foolishly,
leading the new girl astray.
They'll both have to be dismissed, you know,
otherwise the discipline of the whole household will collapse.
Indeed they will.
What I resent most is the impudence of that man, Scone.
Coming into this house and acting
with such monstrous indiscretion.
[ Footsteps approaching ]
You're to pack your trunks tonight
and be gone in the morning -- the pair of you.
He'll pay you a month's wages,
which is generous, in my opinion.
I doubt they'll ever want to set eyes on either of you again.
They were to have gone out for dinner tonight.
- They've cancelled it now. - It's not fair.
- we haven't done nothing wrong. -"Nothing wrong," you call it?
Only made this household the laughingstock of London.
Those are the master's own words.
Oh, he's in a terrible rage, and whose to blame him?
"I don't know how you could, Hudson," he said.
But what have you done?
What have any of us done, for that matter, even me?
Oh, Rose, I'm sorry.
What did you say?
Oh, I told him I didn't know anything about it
and what I did not know I could not be held responsible for.
"Ignorance is no excuse in law" he said.
"It is your job to know. It's what you're paid for."
- So I said -- - what?
HUDSON: I told him there was no knowing with you modern girls.
Not like in my young day, when girls were properly brought up
and glad to get a good position.
I told him I had no respect for the changing times,
that you were all as deceitful as a wagonload of monkeys.
SARAH: You mean you let him think what he likes
and let us take the blame.
I've got my own position to think of.
And the family's.
Oh, Sarah.
Never mind, Rose.
I don't see why you should suffer.
You didn't even have the fun.
They can't blame you if I tell them the truth.
- Come on. - where to?
I'm going upstairs and tell them the whole story.
They can get rid of me, if they like, but not you.
That's not fair.
We can't go up there without being sent for.
Oh, yes, we can.
Excuse me, milady. Sir?
Send them away please, Richard.
But, milady, it wasn't our fault.
I didn't know he was gonna put me up
and show me in front of everybody.
- I thought he was only doing -- - I really can't stay here
to listen to all these excuses.
When I think that...
Your mistress feels betrayed in her own home
by people she trusted.
That's all there is to be said.
I beg your pardon, sir, but it isn't.
-Isn't? - It isn't just, sir --
not to Rose.
She never had nothing to do with him -- Scone, I mean.
It was all me.
- It's no use, Sarah. SARAH: Yes, it is.
Now, listen!
He asked me to go to his studio.
I went there every wednesday I had off.
He never came anywhere near this place,
and Rose has never seen him in her life.
Now, look, sir.
You're a fair man.
You wouldn't want to see an injustice done, would you?
I will not be badgered by my own servants in my own drawing room.
And I'll make him tell the truth.
What good will that do?
No gentleman would stick up for two servants,
no matter what the truth was.
Night after night, slumming with a servant girl.
Rose, he's not like that. He says in Paris, all --
Paris! Paris! Who cares what goes on there?
This is London.
Oh, a gentleman can marry a chorus girl.
That's romantic.
But you don't exactly get it in the papers
if he's carrying on with a skivvy.
No, he got what he wanted from you, and you was fool enough
-to give it to him. - I never did!
- Oh? - Now, listen, Rose.
I've tried to make things all right,
and it's no use being cross with me.
I'll make him tell old Bellamy the truth.
- How? - I don't know how!
But I'll think of something.
It's all right for me, but Rose is different.
She's never done anything else.
She wouldn't know how to start again.
She's set her heart
on working herself up to be housekeeper one day.
She wasn't even there. Why should she suffer?
The survival of the fittest.
And who are you, Mr. Bleedin' Scone,
to decide whose fit?
If you could keep that flash for long enough,
I could use you again.
Mr. Scone...
...I've been pushed around all my life.
I wanted a bit of security, and I thought I'd found it.
Now, you deceive yourself, and the truth is not in you.
But you don't deceive me.
- You're such a -- - Ah!
Now, now, now! Shh, shh, shh!
Now, look. Now, look. What do you expect me to do, eh?
I can't employ you both, now, can I?
I could ask my rich relations
if they could use a couple of kitchen maids at the castle.
I want you to tell them the truth.
- what truth? - They think we let you
come up into our bedroom and paint us in bed.
-[ Laughs ] - what are you laughing for?
The bourgeois mentality!
So they think I've been creeping
through the little green baize door up to the attic, do they?
Lady Marjorie is terribly upset.
You shouldn't have done it to her.
- Done what? - Humiliated her in public.
That is the price of being in the public eye.
Now, don't pretend you're sorry for her.
I am!
If it had been me, I'd have -- I'd have died of shame.
Look, I am a painter, and I paint pictures.
And that's that.
You can all go to hell with your sickly hothouse emotions.
I'm going back to Paris first thing in the morning,
Where the air's less damp and cloying.
SARAH: Don't go like that. You can't.
I am. Now, go away and leave me alone.
[Sighs]
Look.
I'll come and live here with you
and look after you and be your...
...whatever you like.
Only get Rose off.
Just do that.
I'll do anything you want.
Anything?
All right.
Take your clothes off.
All of them.
[Clatter in distance]
Go on.
Would you like a drink?
You may need one.
You've no idea how bizarre my tastes might be.
There -- There's someone coming.
I know.
[Knock on door]
Go on.
RICHARD: Scone!
Oh, no. That's all I need.
You'd better get behind that screen.
You might learn something.
-[ Door opens] - Ah, Bellamy.
RICHARD: May I come in? - SCONE: By all means.
[ Door closes]
Now, look here, Scone.
I'd like to get this thing settled once and for all.
Have you, uh, come to challenge me to a duel?
Walking sticks or paintbrushes at 50 yards?
You can drop the flippancy and tell me why you did it.
Did what?
The paintings.
I painted two pictures and exhibited them.
- That's what they're for. - Surely you must know
that to hang those pictures side by side
would lead to gossip and comparison.
It never entered my head.
- would you like a drink? - No.
I forgot about our class-conscious society.
I thought they were works of art, not social comment.
Was it necessary to use my under-housemaid?
Sarah, of the expressive eyes?
Both girls have got some cock-and-bull story
about her visiting this studio.
And what do you want me to say?
Sarah came here on her evenings off.
Oh, she seems to like you, by the way.
I trust you haven't been discussing me with my servants.
Really, Bellamy,
there's no pleasing you this evening, is there?
I thought you would like to know
that a pretty girl thinks you're a good master.
And which of the two did you find the prettier?
Which did you? I've only seen one.
Do you honestly expect me to believe that you --
Yes, I do.
Do you think I'm such a poor artist
I can't imagine the interior of a housemaids attic?
Are you prepared to give me your word
that you were never upstairs in their room?
Yes.
I went to your house every afternoon for one reason only --
to paint your wife's portrait.
So they were telling the truth?
Your servants? Yes.
I'm afraid you'll have to keep them.
That will depend on my wife's attitude.
Oh, I don't know.
Think of the ammunition it will give the Liberals
when they find out that a junior minister,
a member of the Committee for Imperial Defence,
dismissed two of his servants for no reason at all
except that his wife's vanity was ruffled.
[Clicks tongue]
The Radicals would call it victimization,
a favourite word of theirs.
I don't think Balfour would thank you
for adding to his troubles, even if you offered to resign.
I'd forget all about it if I were you,
and you'll find everyone else will do the same.
You sound like a blackmailer, Scone.
However, I will accept your word
that you painted my servant in this studio.
- well, I'll leave you to your... -[ Clatter]
...to your work.
Well, thank you for receiving me.
- SCONE: Pleasure. - Good night, Scone.
SCONE: Good night.
[Door opens, closes]
Thank you, Mr. Scone.
And you'd have done that...
...for Rose, hmm?
Well, my divine Sarah,
we'll open another bottle of champagne to celebrate.
Celebrate what?
We'll think of something.
Oh, I wish you'd seen our picture, Rose.
Just once.
We could still go, you know. It's open to the public.
We'd be recognized.
No, it's best to forget all about it.
I don't think I'll ever forget.
Was he that nice?
He's funny.
Rose?
Yeah?
Do you think we could go on with the reading again?
Yes, if you want to.
You see, at the Bioscope,
there's words between the pictures.
And if you can't read them, you don't know what's going on.
Oh.
Oh, we'll go together some day, Rose.
I'll take you.
I'm sorry I got you in all that trouble.
Well, you made it come all right in the end.
Aren't men funny?
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