- Evening, Mr Elliott. - Good evening.
Brr.
- Just sign the book, if you will? - Yes.
- Been keeping you busy, Mr Elliott? - Oh, just nicely.
Went up to Manchester on Monday, a poisoner.
Baby-farmer at Holloway this morning. Very ordinary crimes, both of them.
This one we've got for you tomorrow is something special.
Yes, very much so.
Even after all my years in the profession,
I'm quite looking forward to him.
- Well, I must be getting along. - Good night, Mr Elliott.
- Good night. - Usual cup of tea at 7:00?
Oh, please.
Even my lamented master, the great Mr Barry himself
never had the privilege of hanging a duke.
Yes.
What a finale to a lifetime in the public service.
- "Finale"? - Yes, I intend to retire.
After using the silken rope,
never again be content with hemp.
- Quite. Well, here we are. - Oh, thank you.
How will he approach it?
I should think as the calmest you've ever known.
Noblesse oblige, doubtless.
A difficult client can make things most distressing.
Some of them tend to be very hysterical.
So inconsiderate.
Well, Colonel, considering the importance of the occasion,
I shall retire early.
The last execution of a duke in this country was very badly bungled.
That was in the old days of the axe, of course.
Yes.
Oh, I... I almost forgot.
Um, you must forgive my ignorance
but when we meet in the morning,
what is the correct form of address?
- Your Lordship? - Your Grace.
"Your Grace"? Oh.
Thank you.
Good morning, Your Grace.
- All right. Sit down. - Ah, good evening, Colonel. Glass of wine?
Good evening, Your Grace. Uh, thank you, no.
I, uh, I called to inquire whether you had any special wishes for breakfast.
Just coffee and a slice of toast, thank you.
Oh, and perhaps a few grapes.
I hate to disappoint the newspaper-reading public
but it'll be too early for the conventional hearty breakfast.
The appointment is at 8:00, is it not?
At 8:00, uh, yes.
If I may venture to say so, I am amazed at your calmness.
Dr Johnson was, as always, right,
when he observed, "Depend upon it, sir.
"When a man knows that he's going to be hanged in a few hours,
"it concentrates his mind wonderfully."
Yes. Well, if there is nothing further I can do for you...
Nothing, thank you, Colonel.
We shall have the opportunity of making our adieus in the morning, I presume.
I regret to say, yes.
- Good night, Your Grace. - Good night, Colonel.
A brief history of the events leading thereto
written on the eve of his execution
by Louis D'Ascoyne Mazzini, 10th Duke of Chalfont
who ventures to hope that it may prove not uninteresting
to those who remain to read it.
My good man, it is not by my choice that you keep me company.
If you wish to sleep, pray do me the courtesy of sleeping quietly.
With so little time remaining to complete my story,
it is difficult to choose where to begin it.
Perhaps I should begin at the beginning.
I was a healthy baby, born of an English mother and Italian father...
...who succumbed to a heart attack at the moment of first setting eyes on me.
In the circumstances, it will be understood that I have but slight memory of him.
The little I know comes from what Mama told me.
Your father was a very handsome man.
Mama was the daughter of the seventh duke of Chalfont
of Chalfont Castle.
She eloped with her handsome singer
and exchanged the medieval splendours of Chalfont Castle
for the modern conveniences
of No 73, Balaclava Avenue, SW.
They were poor, but they had five happy and harmonious years
before my arrival sent Papa off to join the heavenly choir.
Reduced to even deeper poverty by my father's death,
Mama swallowed her pride
and made an effort at reconciliation with her family.
They did not even reply to her letter.
In order to keep us both alive, she was reduced
to the horrible expedient of taking in a lodger.
For him, she had to perform the most menial tasks.
She felt that her family had conspired to cheat me of my birthright,
and I passed from infancy to childhood
in an atmosphere of family history and genealogies.
The dukedom had been bestowed
by Charles Il on Colonel Henry D'Ascoyne
for services rendered to His Majesty during his exile.
Later, for services rendered to His Majesty
after his restoration by the Duchess,
the title was granted the unique privilege
of descending by the female as well as the male line.
Louis.
It was therefore theoretically possible
that via Mama I might inherit the dukedom.
Mama scraped and saved
and sent me to the best school she could afford.
One little incident of my school days occurs to me as amusing
in relation to my present situation.
Lionel Holland.
What is the Sixth Commandment?
Come, come now.
Someone else then.
I know, please, Miss Waterman.
Louis Mazzini. Tell him.
- Thou shalt not kill. - Quite right, Louis.
The Sixth Commandment is, "Thou shalt not kill."
No, in those days,
I never had any trouble with the Sixth Commandment.
As to the Seventh, I was hardly of an age to concern myself with it.
Although I was old enough to be in love.
So Sibella enters my story.
Sibella and her brother, Graham, were my only close friends
and we grew up together.
In their case, Mama relaxed her objection to my associating with the local children.
At least their father, Dr Halworth, was a professional man.
Louis, we must think very carefully about your future.
Well, it should be quite easy to get a job.
Not a job, dear. A career.
I had hoped for Cambridge for you.
The D'Ascoynes always go to Trinity.
And then, perhaps, the diplomatic.
But I'm afraid it's no use looking as high as that.
However, when you've passed your examination
that should equip you for a start in one of the professions.
People of quite good family go into the professions nowadays, I understand.
Now, who do we know who could help us?
We don't really know anyone, except the family, and they don't know us.
The least we can do is try once more.
I shall write to Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.
He can surely do something in that bank of his.
Bank, Mama? Is that a profession?
This is a private bank, Louis, dear.
They don't pass money over the counter.
The letter was duly dispatched
and this time we did get an answer.
"Madam, I am instructed by Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne
"to inform you that he is not aware of your son's existence
"as a member of the D'Ascoyne family."
Signed by his secretary.
It's very stupid of him, of them all, not to admit your existence
when one day you might be duke of Chalfont.
It's a very big "might", Mama.
There must be at least 12 people before me
to say nothing of the ones who haven't been born yet.
Stranger things have happened.
I don't wish to be unchristian, but in view of their attitude,
I could almost wish those 12 people should all die tomorrow.
All except one, Mama.
Because you must be duchess of Chalfont before I'm duke.
It will have to be a job, not a career, after all, Mama.
I'm afraid so, Louis.
A D'Ascoyne in trade.
Did poor Mama's silly dreaming
plant in my brain some seed which was afterwards to grow
into the most sensational criminal endeavour of the century?
If so, I was not conscious of it at the time
for there were things of more immediate concern.
Even potential dukes have to eat.
Mr Perkins, our lodger for nearly 15 years,
did his best to be helpful.
He was employed as shop walker in a local drapery store
and found employment for me there.
The possible future duke of Chalfont
became what was known as a general assistant at the drapery.
This humiliation continued for two dispiriting years.
And then one day, Mama, who had broken her glasses
and could not afford to have them mended,
was knocked down by a tram near Clapham Junction
and fatally injured.
- Louis. - Yes, Mama.
I should like to be buried at Chalfont,
in the family vault.
Yes, Mama.
I wrote to the Duke informing him of Mama's dying wish.
His reply was the curtest possible refusal.
Standing by Mama's poor little grave in that hideous suburban cemetery,
I made an oath that I would revenge the wrongs her family had done her.
It was no more than a piece of youthful bravado
but it was one of those acorns from which great oaks are destined to grow.
Even then I went so far as to examine the family tree
and prune it to just the living members.
But what could I do to hurt them?
What could I take from them,
except, perhaps, their lives?
I indulged for a moment in a fantasy of all 12 of them
being wiped out simultaneously at a family reunion
by my unseen hand.
Of the penniless boy from Clapham being miraculously transplanted to his birthright.
I even speculated as to how I might contrive it.
But there were other more urgent problems.
Mama's tiny income came from an annuity and had died with her.
The problem of how to live on 25 shillings a week was solved for me
by an invitation from Dr Halworth to lodge with them.
It was galling to accept the status of a poor relation
but the certainty of seeing Sibella every day was too tempting to be refused.
Louis, I'm so glad you accepted.
It was my idea, you know.
- I've brought you something. - Oh, Louis, you shouldn't have.
You can't possibly afford it.
Oh, what a bother. There's Lionel.
See you at supper.
The next few years brought many such heartbreaks,
but they also brought promotion.
Laces and ribbons at 30 shillings a week,
fabrics at 32 and six.
Finally, ladies' underwear at 35.
I decided that if I was to be a draper,
at least I would not be a suburban draper.
So I migrated to a large modern store which had just been opened in the West End,
at the gigantic salary of £2 a week.
Every lunchtime I went to see how my inheritance was proceeding.
Sometimes the deaths column brought good news.
Sometimes, the births column brought bad.
The advent of twin sons to the Duke was a terrible blow.
Fortunately, an epidemic of diphtheria
restored the status quo almost immediately
and even brought me a bonus in the shape of the Duchess.
That summer, the Halworths gave a party.
- Good evening, Sibella. - Hello, Louis.
- You do look nice. - So do you.
- Doesn't he, Lionel? - Very.
Emboldened by her kindness to me,
I made a decision I'd been toying with for some time.
Well, that's the last of them, thank heaven.
- What an evening. - I thought it was a very nice evening.
It may have been for you. Oh!
It's awful being a woman, having to dance with a lot of dull men,
laugh at their jokes while they're treading on your feet.
- I didn't tread on your feet. - You're not dull.
- And your jokes are funny. - Thank you.
- Sibella? - Mmm-hmm?
Sibella, will you marry me?
Louis, of course not. Do get up.
You may be half Italian, but even so,
you do look silly playing the stage lover like that.
- Oh, I look silly, do I? - Yes. Very.
Do I still look silly?
Now, will you marry me?
No.
- Why not? - Because I just said I'd marry Lionel.
- You can't. - Why not?
Well, he's a clod. He's not a gentleman.
Listen to who's talking.
Whoever heard of a gentleman blacking the lodger's boots?
That's a wicked thing to say. Just because Mama was poor.
Lionel will be very rich one day.
- I might be a duke one day. - Pigs might fly.
No, I might. Really, I might. You see, Mama was the daughter...
Oh, yes. I know.
Well, when you are a duke,
you just come and show me your crown, or whatever it's called
and then I'll feel awfully silly, won't I?
Yes, you will.
Anyhow, I'm going to marry Lionel and now I'm going to bed.
You will.
If there was a precise moment
at which my insubstantial dreaming took on solid purpose
that was it.
The D'Ascoynes had not only wronged my mother,
they were the obstacle between me and all that I wanted.
The more I thought of them, these people whom I had studied
until I knew their names and histories as well as I knew my own,
the more they became monsters of arrogance and cruelty
whose only function in the world was to deprive me of my birthright.
I had seen Chalfont only as Mama had painted it.
To pass in through that magnificent gateway,
on Visitors Day at a cost of sixpence was a humiliating experience,
but I forced myself to undergo it.
I wanted a closer view of the target at which I had determined to aim.
I little expected to catch a glimpse of the bull's-eye.
Excuse me, sir.
There were then some eight people between me and the dukedom
all seemingly equally out of reach.
It is so difficult to make a neatjob of killing people
with whom one is not on friendly terms.
I was almost resigned to its being an impossibility
when one afternoon, at a moment when my thoughts were furthest from the subject,
fate took a hand.
If you've nothing better, those will have to do.
These London shops are so far behind Paris.
Parcel them up quickly, and we'll take them with us.
- Charge them to my account. - Yes, sir. What is the name?
Mr Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.
At last, I was face to face with one of them.
This was the son of Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne, the banker,
whose refusal to help me towards a more dignified career
had led to my present ignominious occupation.
What right had this arrogant puppy
to be standing on the other side of the counter ordering me about?
In my excitement and anger, I listened openly to their conversation.
I've booked rooms at Cruickshanks' at Maidenhead.
We'll go down late on Friday afternoon.
Are you sure it's safe?
It's the most discreet place. In fact, anonymous.
Hey, you. Get on with that parcel, and never mind what we're talking about.
Don't you dare touch me like that!
I'm not interested in your idiotic conversation.
If you want to add impertinence to your eavesdropping,
we'll soon see about that.
The upshot was that I was dismissed on the spot.
I decided to repay him in kind
by dismissing him with equal suddenness from this world.
His conversation had told me where I could probably find the opportunity to kill him.
Dr Halworth's dispensary had provided me with a means.
With the week's wages I had received in lieu of notice,
I invested in suitable apparel for a weekend at Maidenhead.
It was possible they might remember me
but I thought it unlikely,
shop assistants being commonly regarded as an inferior race
who never emerge from the other side of the counter.
I decided to take the bull by the horns.
Forgive me. I wonder if you could oblige me with a match.
- Certainly. - Thank you.
- Haven't we met before somewhere? - I don't think so.
Funny, 'cause I could have sworn I knew your face.
- Were you at Monte last year? - The year before.
Ah, that must be it. Won't you join me?
Thank you. Not this evening.
We are rather tired.
I deprecated their retiring so early,
but it was hard to blame them,
for weekends, like life, are short.
The next morning, I waited for them to come down
and the next afternoon.
They didn't appear the whole day.
Nor the morning after.
I no longer felt sentimental.
The weekend was nearly over, and I could hardly expect providence
to offer me so promising a chance again.
I was in a state of desperation
and I followed them, hoping for I knew not what.
I had the poison with me, but they hadn't even taken a picnic basket.
It was possible, however, that they might stop somewhere for refreshment.
They did stop shortly afterwards,
but not for that.
Judging by past experience, they would be there for hours.
The rest followed automatically.
I had fortunately learned to swim at the Clapham Municipal Baths,
though I never had occasion to try it underwater.
I had no wish to surface under their noses,
though I doubt if they would have noticed me even if I had.
It was beautifully timed.
I was sorry about the girl,
but found some relief in the reflection that she had presumably,
during the weekend, already undergone a fate worse than death.
I decided to defer consideration of where and how I should next strike
until my nerves were thoroughly restored.
It must be remembered that I was very young
and, furthermore, I am not naturally callous.
I suddenly conceived a brilliant idea.
I would write a carefully phrased letter of condolence to old Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.
It would be an agreeable feeling of revenge for his cruelty to Mama.
And, further, it had not failed to occur to me that there was, at the moment,
a vacancy in the banking house.
Ascoyne D'Ascoyne duly rose to the bait.
Please be seated, Mr Mazzini.
How do you do?
My late son.
A great loss.
He was young and foolish
but I believe had he been spared until his maturity...
It was my consciousness of that which led me to presume to tender you my sympathy.
I am glad that you did so.
A loss so tragic serves to put lesser matters in their proper perspective.
If I remember rightly, Mr Mazzini,
some years ago I received a communication
from your mother.
My late mother.
Hello, Louis. You look very pleased with yourself.
- So do you. - I have news.
- So have I. - What is it?
No, yours first.
Lionel and I have fixed a date for our wedding, in two months' time.
My congratulations.
No, I should congratulate him. I compliment you.
- Now yours. - Nothing as exciting as yours.
I went today to see Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne, my cousin, you know.
He has a private banking house in the city.
He offered me employment at once at £5 a week
with excellent prospects for promotion.
Louis, I'm so glad for you.
- Louis, do you remember? - What?
Once, in this room,
after my party...
- I kissed you. - Yes.
And you were horrible to me.
Yes.
I made fun about you being related to the D'Ascoynes.
I'm sorry.
You'll take it more seriously now?
Yes.
Louis, kiss me,
to show you forgive me.
No, it would be wrong. You're pledged to Lionel.
I behaved like a cad that night.
I like you when you behave like a cad.
You're a person who must dance through life, Sibella,
and I hope Lionel won't tread on your feet too often.
My new employment was humble enough
but I had to test the rungs of the ladder before I could climb it.
That's very nice.
The next candidate for removal seemed to be young Henry D'Ascoyne,
24 years old, recently married,
as yet, without issue.
I had quite an accumulation by now of D'Ascoyne data
culled from newspapers and periodicals,
and I looked through it for a possible approach to Henry.
I found one.
I bought the necessary equipment, second hand,
and bicycled down the following weekend.
I had studied a couple of photographic manuals during the week,
and found that, in practice, the mysteries of the camera
demand a little more than ordinary intelligence,
plus the ability to judge a subject upside-down.
It was thus, indeed, that I first saw Henry D'Ascoyne.
My method of approach proved an instantaneous success.
Excuse me. Isn't that a Thornton Pickard?
Yes. Are you a photographer?
Dabble in it. Got a Sanger Shepherd.
- A Sanger Shepherd? - Nice little camera.
Focal plane shutter, rapid rectilinear and all that.
Look here. Why not come up to my house and I'll show it to you?
Well, I'd be most interested.
- My name's D'Ascoyne, by the way. - Mine is Mazzini.
He seemed a very pleasant fellow
and I regretted that our acquaintanceship must be so short.
Had one of the potting sheds fixed up as a darkroom.
Couldn't have suited better if it had been built for it.
Had the equipment sent down from town.
And I must say the results have been absolutely top-hole.
I'll show you some quarter-plates I've taken about the village.
There we are. Absolutely lightproof, except for this.
Everything to hand, developing dishes here, toning bath here, whole-plate enlarger.
- Perfect. - Not too bad, is it?
Talking of the village, by the by, I don't know if you're thinking
of sending any of your efforts here to some periodical,
but there's just one thing.
I'm sure you're a good fellow, or I wouldn't like to ask.
Ask what?
I'd be most grateful if you'd keep back that last plate you exposed.
- The inn? But it was delightful. - Yes.
The fact is, my wife has views about such places,
so I never go in them, you understand?
Naturally, I wouldn't dream of embarrassing you.
I knew you were a good fellow. Suppose we drink on it?
Unless you have views yourself, of course.
- None. - Splendid.
What shall it be? Sherry? Whisky?
I think a small developer.
The mental picture of his wife that I had formed from Henry's words
left me unprepared for the charm of the woman I was to meet.
She was as tall and slender as a lily and as beautiful.
My dear, this is Mr Mazzini. He has a Thornton Pickard.
Mr Mazzini, my wife.
I'm no photographer myself, Mr Mazzini,
but I share my husband's pleasure in welcoming a fellow enthusiast.
- You'll take some sherry? - Well, thank you, I...
My husband and I never touch alcohol, but we see no reason, on that account,
to enforce our views on our guests.
Glass of sherry, Harwood.
I have some printing frames out in the sun.
If you don't mind, I'll just run out and see to them.
Have you been in the neighbourhood long, Mr Mazzini?
A few hours only.
I was cycling through the village
and felt compelled to stop and make a study or two of the inn.
- It looked so charming. - It does look charming.
But I'm afraid it's, by no means,
an influence for good in the lives of our people here.
The landlord is a former coachman of ours.
I have spoken to him several times about the amount of drinking that goes on there
but he continues to allow it.
It is, after all, I suppose, his livelihood.
I do not consider he has the right to make a livelihood
by exploiting the weaknesses of his fellow men.
Put as you put it, it does sound deplorable.
It is deplorable. Will you excuse me a moment?
Harwood.
I could well understand Henry's visits to the village inn
and his stock of refreshments in the darkroom.
Mrs D'Ascoyne was beautiful, but what a prig she was.
I wondered how to ingratiate myself with her,
and decided to attack on her own ground and with her own weapons.
I'm afraid we can offer you only a simple luncheon, Mr Mazzini.
You are most kind, but I feel I should not intrude.
- It is no intrusion. - I'm afraid it is.
- May I explain? - Please do.
It was only when your husband told me his name
that I realised that I'd come by chance into the most embarrassing situation.
My mother was a member of the D'Ascoyne family.
She married, as they thought, beneath her.
And from that day, they refused to recognise her
or my existence.
I feel that, although in the circumstances you might hesitate to say so to my face,
you and your husband would prefer not to receive me at your table.
Perhaps you would be good enough to explain matters to your husband for me.
I shall, naturally, leave the neighbourhood at once.
Mr Mazzini, please sit down.
Oh.
You have exhibited the most delicate feelings.
I know nothing of the history to which you refer,
but I have often felt that the attitude of my husband's family
has failed to move with the times,
that they think too much of the rights of nobility
and too little of its duties.
The very honesty of your behaviour would appear to me to prove them wrong.
Was Lord Tennyson far from the mark when he wrote,
"Kind hearts are more than coronets
"and simple faith than Norman blood"?
I hope you will stay to luncheon.
Oh, in that case, I shall be delighted and honoured.
My impersonation of a man of sterling character
was such a resounding success
that Mrs D'Ascoyne invited me to spend the following Saturday-to-Monday with them.
When I returned to the somewhat contrasting atmosphere of Clapham,
I found the house in a whirl with preparation for Sibella's wedding to Lionel
which was to take place next day.
Before going to bed that evening, I wandered into the old nursery
to fetch a book I'd left there.
Penny for them.
Oh, hello, Louis.
You're not looking as radiantly happy as young females in your situation
are supposed to look.
I was just thinking of all the fun we've had in this room.
- You and I and Graham. - And Lionel.
Yes, and Lionel.
Oh, Louis, I don't want to marry Lionel!
- Why not? - He's so dull!
I must admit he exhibits the most extraordinary capacity for middle age
that I've ever encountered in a young man of 24.
However, it's a bit late in the day to think of that, isn't it?
I know. That only makes it worse.
- I always told you, you should marry me. - I know.
That makes it worse too.
You look more lovely today than I've ever seen you.
You're a lucky man, Lionel. Take my word for it.
I could not help feeling that even Sibella's capacity for lying
was going to be taxed to the utmost.
Time had brought me revenge on Lionel.
And as the Italian proverb says,
"Revenge is a dish which people of taste prefer to eat cold."
The following Saturday I left London in the middle of the night
and reached Henry's house just before dawn.
It took a mere three minutes to substitute petrol
for the paraffin in the darkroom lamp.
And I then repaired to a meadow and took a few hours' sleep
while awaiting the hour at which I could reasonably arrive at the house.
The day dragged by in an agony of suspense for me.
Henry took photograph after photograph,
but seemed to have no urge whatever to follow it up with a visit to the darkroom.
Bravo, Edith!
I began to fear that he had suddenly taken the pledge.
I think I'll just go and develop these before tea. Care to come?
I would, indeed, but I have a slight headache. The sun, I think.
And I'm afraid the chemicals wouldn't improve it.
Mr Mazzini and I will have tea under the tulip tree.
I've always found that most beneficial for a headache.
I'm afraid Henry will think me a poor enthusiast.
I sometimes think that he is too great a one.
In a way, I am to blame for it.
Before we were married, he had few interests.
He used to spend the greater part of each day at his club.
I felt that such a life was unhealthy
and persuaded him to come and live here in the country.
I hoped that perhaps he would interest himself
in the welfare of our tenantry, as I do.
But he became interested in photography on our honeymoon
and since then it has become the major preoccupation of his life.
- Mr Mazzini... - Yes?
I hope you will forgive my speaking to you on a personal matter,
but it worries me that Henry should spend so much time on his hobby
that he has little left for any more useful activity.
Am I right to let him go on like this?
I could hardly point out that Henry now had no time left
for any kind of activity,
so I continued to discuss his future.
He has never shown any wish for a career in politics?
- None. - Nor any other ambitions?
One only. To win a prize at the Salon Photography in Brussels.
What is it?
Oh, they're just burning some leaves at the bottom of the garden.
But they can't be at this time of year.
- Henry! - No. You stay here.
Needless to say, I was too late.
The funeral service was held in the village church at Chalfont,
prior to interment in the family vault.
Mrs D'Ascoyne, who had discerned in me
a man of delicate sensibility and high purpose
asked me to accompany her on the cross-countryjourney.
"To everything there is a season
"and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
"A time to be born, and a time to die."
The occasion was interesting, in that it provided me
with my first sight of the D'Ascoynes en masse.
Interesting and somewhat depressing,
for it emphasised how far I had yet to travel.
There was the Duke.
There was my employer, Lord Ascoyne D'Ascoyne.
There was Admiral Lord Horatio D'Ascoyne.
There was General Lord Rufus D'Ascoyne.
There was Lady Agatha D'Ascoyne.
And in the pulpit, talking interminable nonsense
the Reverend Lord Henry D'Ascoyne.
The life cut short
was one rich in achievement and promise
of service to humanity.
The D'Ascoynes certainly appeared to have accorded
with the tradition of the landed gentry
and sent the fool of the family into the church.
Well, goodbye, my dear.
- Goodbye. - No fretting now.
After all, one thing to be said, we all have to come to it.
Great thing, you know, family vault like ours. Constant reminder of one's heritage.
Now, take this new cremation nonsense.
Who wants to see his nearest and dearest put in an incinerator?
I think, sir, Mrs D'Ascoyne should leave. The wind is turning cold.
As Mrs D'Ascoyne thinks best.
Glad we had Cousin Henry to take the service.
Boring old ass, but it keeps the thing in the family.
People getting strange ideas these days.
Had a fellow write to me not so long ago,
wanted to bury his mother here from Tooting or somewhere.
Start letting strangers in, the place will be full up.
No room for us, eh?
I privately promised him that I would make it my business
to see there was room for him.
Uncle Ethelred is not the most tactful of men.
I could gladly have struck him.
Thank you for intervening when you did.
The house will be so empty
and yet he will be in it everywhere.
I find the thought of life there hard to face.
Must you stay there? A new environment...
I must,
for one reason if no other.
They would say I was running away, that there was truth in all these rumours.
- Rumours? - In the village.
There's been gossip.
They say that Henry drank in secret.
They even say that that was the cause of the accident.
I'm sure that Henry would never have professed one thing and practised another.
I, too, am sure.
Otherwise, I think I could not survive.
We have a long way to go. Try to sleep a little.
Sleep does not come easily.
Please try.
Allow me.
I was conscious that a new obsession
was about to join the one that I should wear the coronet of the duke of Chalfont,
that Edith D'Ascoyne should wear that of the duchess beside me.
Her dignity of bearing at the worst moments of her grief
had impressed me with the feeling that here was a woman
whose quality matched her beauty.
I resolved to embark upon her courtship
as soon as a decent period of mourning should have elapsed.
Sibella? Yes, Sibella was pretty enough in her suburban way.
And, indeed, there was no reason why we shouldn't continue
to meet on friendly terms.
But her face would have looked rather out of place under a coronet.
That, sir, is a list of bills due for redemption this week.
I've marked in red those asking for renewal.
Aitcheson, yes. Pole and Carter, I suppose so.
Knollis Limited, oh, no.
Redbank and Holland...
You have a friend there, have you not?
An acquaintance. I know Lionel Holland.
Would you say that he's sound?
I wouldn't say not, sir.
Hmm. Thank you.
- Mazzini. - Yes, sir?
I've watched your progress here with great care
and have been gratified to note that it has fully justified my judgement
in inviting you into the firm.
In view of that, and in order that you may be able to adopt a style of living
befitting a member of the D'Ascoyne family,
I have decided to appoint you my private secretary
at a salary of £500 per annum.
- Sir, I cannot begin to... - Oh, please do not try.
I had intended that my son should occupy the position.
I can only say that I will try to make my occupancy of it
worthy of his memory.
I left the Halworths' house
and took a bachelor apartment in St James's.
Clapham no longer held Sibella's presence to compensate me
for the tedious journey between the suburbs and the city.
Anyhow, it would be vastly more convenient for her to visit me here.
Now, let me have a look at the beautiful Mrs Holland.
- No, I think I prefer Miss Halworth. - So do I.
Louis, it's very wrong of me to visit you here.
- Why? - A married woman calling on a bachelor?
A dangerous bachelor
in his apartment.
I? Dangerous?
These things only become wrong when people know about them.
This is a very discreet apartment. That's why I chose it.
So that young women could call on you in safety?
So that one young woman could.
How did you know she'd want to?
I hoped.
- How did you enjoy your honeymoon? - Not at all.
Not at all?
Not at all.
- And how was Italy? - Oh, impossible!
Every time I wanted to go shopping, Lionel dragged me off to a church
or picture gallery.
- Said he wanted to improve his mind. - He has room to do so.
I should reprove you for saying unkind things about him
but I can't.
Louis, I think I've married the most boring man in London.
- In England. - In Europe!
Oh, the Italian men are so handsome,
but I could never get away from Lionel for a moment.
But I was forgetting, you're Italian.
Half.
Louis...
I can speak frankly to you?
Well, if not to me, to whom?
I shall go mad.
Already when he touches me, I want to scream.
What am I doing?
You know very well.
You're playing with fire.
At least it warms me.
I must go.
Lionel's dining at home tonight.
Where is Lionel dining tomorrow night?
With some business acquaintances.
And where are you dining tomorrow night?
Here?
Here.
Poor little imprisoned bird.
Well, she was welcome to come and flutter her wings with me.
I could think of many more disagreeable ways of killing time
pending the arrival of the moment
when the conventional decencies would permit me
to make my declaration to Edith.
As to the other undertaking, I had not forgotten or forgiven
the boredom of the sermon at young Henry's funeral
and I decided to promote the Reverend Lord Henry D'Ascoyne
to next place on the list.
I therefore assumed the garb and character of a colonial bishop
spending his vacation making a collection of brass rubbings from country churches.
Good evening, my lord.
It was, for a moment, a shock to be addressed
by my ecclesiastical title, but I recovered quickly.
Good evening. I was just taking a rubbing of this most interesting brass.
An ancestress of my dear late wife.
Allow me to introduce myself.
Henry D'Ascoyne, rector of this parish.
Septimus Wilkinson, bishop of Matabeleland.
I was spending my vacation taking a cycling tour around your beautiful country churches.
- Ah! Have you noticed our clerestory? - Cle...
Ah, exquisite!
- The corbels are very fine. - Hmm.
Perhaps Your Lordship would permit me to show you one or two other things
in which we take a pride.
I should be most interested.
Our most notable features, of course,
are the D'Ascoyne memorials.
Every member of the family
to a cadet branch of which I have the honour to belong
is buried here in the family vault.
Here you will see the first duke and his duchess.
The dead watching, as it were, over the living.
The church is exceptionally endowed also
with items of architectural interest.
You will note that our chantry
displays the crocketed and finialed ogee
which marks it as very early Perpendicular.
The bosses to the pendant are typical.
And I always say
that my west window
has all the exuberance of Chaucer
without, happily, any of the concomitant crudities of his period.
Hmm.
Now we approach the font.
At last he did as I had hoped and invited me to dinner.
The Reverend Lord Henry was not one of those newfangled parsons
who carry the principles of their vocation uncomfortably into private life.
However, he exhibited a polite interest
in the progress of the Christian faith in Matabeleland
which I was at some difficulty to satisfy.
The SPCK have provided us
with a large number of copies of the Good Book
translated into Matabele.
But as none of the natives can read even their own language...
- You speak Matabele yourself? - Not as a native.
It would be most interesting
to hear a sample of the language.
I'm afraid my Matabele is a little rusty.
Oh, come, my lord.
Daniel cast into the lions' den, for example.
It is a colloquial rendering, of course.
Most interesting.
My lord, the port is with you.
Oh.
- How do you find the wine? - Admirable.
- Courban '69. - Oh.
No finer year, in my view.
My doctor, though, is of a different opinion.
And what does he favour?
Abstinence.
Would you care for a cigar?
Thank you.
Yes.
He's continually warning me about the state of my arteries.
But I say to him,
"What possible harm can there be
"in one glass of an evening
"or even two?"
What harm, indeed.
- You do not condemn me then? - Not in the least.
If I may say so,
without disrespect to my superiors,
your visit has brought me something
which I could not expect from any churchman in this country.
I surmised, correctly, as it proved,
that Lord Henry's doctor would assume that he had succumbed to a surfeit of port
and would politely ascribe death to a heart attack.
On my return to London, I decided to proceed methodically
with the elimination of the remaining minor obstacles.
Lady Agatha D'Ascoyne was a pioneer in the campaign for women's suffrage.
With the inconvenient consequence that her public appearances
were invariably made under the watchful eyes of the metropolitan police.
When she was not making public appearances,
she was in prison and still more inaccessible.
In fact, before I could learn of a favourable opportunity,
I had to join the movement myself.
Secret plans had been made for Lady Agatha
to celebrate her latest release from Holloway
by a shower of leaflets over Whitehall and the West End.
I shot an arrow in the air,
she fell to Earth in Berkeley Square.
Admiral Lord Horatio D'Ascoyne presented a more difficult problem.
He scarcely ever set foot ashore
and I was beginning to feel that this task was beyond even my ingenuity.
When he was conveniently involved in a naval disaster
which arose from a combination of natural obstinacy
and a certain confusion of mind.
Unfortunate in one of his rank.
Bring her to port.
- Surely you mean starboard, sir. - Port!
Both ships sank almost immediately.
Though, fortunately, all hands were saved, save one.
Admiral Lord Horatio, obstinate to the last,
insisted on going down with his ship.
General Lord Rufus D'Ascoyne, on the other hand,
who never tired of demonstrating how he had fought
the most calamitous campaign of the South African War,
was a fairly easy proposition.
At that moment, the concealed enemy emerged from behind the kopje.
I held our guns' fire until we could see the whites of their eyes.
Then I gave the order. "Fire!"
Boom, boom, boom.
It seemed appropriate that he who had lived amidst the cannon's roar
should die explosively.
I therefore concealed in a pot of caviar a simple but powerful homemade bomb
and through the post, I sent the caviar to the general.
I pretended to be deceived by the feint
and sent our horse to meet it.
At that moment, the concealed enemy emerged from behind the kopje.
I held our guns' fire
till we could see the whites of their eyes.
Used to get a lot of this stuff in the Crimea.
One thing the Russkies do really well.
Not an atom of him was left.
One could almost believe there was a curse on our unfortunate family, Mazzini.
Indeed, sir, one could.
I don't know if you realise how close this series of tragedies
has brought you to the succession.
I had not actually given the matter any thought, sir.
Then it's time that you did.
Do you not realise that you are heir presumptive to the dukedom?
That is to say, in the event of the present duke dying without issue,
I alone intervene between you and the title.
And I am an old man.
I've never really recovered from the first of these calamities.
You mean I might become Duke of Chalfont?
I mean that you almost certainly will.
In view of that, I feel it would be more fitting
that you should cease to be an employee here.
- Oh. - And become instead my partner.
I am most deeply grateful and honoured.
If you'll come round here, I will make everything very clear to you.
Uh, had she lived, your mother, of course, would have succeeded before you.
One of my first tasks as partner
was to interview Lionel, who came cap...
or rather, silk hat in hand.
To save time, I presume you have called to ask for renewal of your bill?
The fact is, old boy, we sold short
and the market hasn't dropped as we expected.
I feel entitled to point out that we here regard our function
as the encouragement of constructive investment
and not the financing of mere gambling transactions.
Now...
It would have delighted me to refuse him.
However, a bankrupt Lionel could hardly have continued
to support Sibella in her extravagances
and I had no wish to do so myself.
Very well. We will renew at three and a half percent.
I judged that the time was now ripe to make a move
in the matter of Edith D'Ascoyne.
It's becoming cold. Shall we go in?
I know why you shivered just now.
It was not because you were cold.
No.
I couldn't help remembering.
I know. But do you try to forget?
- I may sound harsh, but believe me... - Please.
Not there.
Because it was Henry's chair.
It hasn't been used since that day.
Nothing of his.
Everything is just as he left it, his writing desk, his clothes.
I cannot bear that it should be otherwise.
You want this house to be a shrine.
You're wrong. Shrines are not meant to house the living.
I have always respected you, your principles, your courage,
above any woman I've ever met.
It is your duty to yourself and to others,
to Henry even,
to live again in the present, in the future.
What future is there for me?
I am now going to say something presumptuous.
You must order me from your house if you wish.
It is this...
If you should ever feel that the constant support of a devoted admirer
would be of assistance to you,
I should be most honoured if you would permit me
to offer you my hand in marriage.
Mr Mazzini...
This is a shock.
I'm most touched.
Most grateful,
but I could not consider even the possibility of remarrying.
I have spoken too boldly and too soon.
Please regard what I have said merely as something to draw upon
should you ever feel so inclined.
Sibella was waiting for me when I got back.
I was pleased to see her, for while I never admired Edith
as much as when I was with Sibella,
I never longed for Sibella as much as when I was with Edith.
I'm afraid I'm late. Have you been bored?
No.
I've been looking into the fire and thinking.
- What about? - Oh.
How we used to roast chestnuts round the other fire
and what a lot has happened since.
Such as?
How you told me not to marry Lionel because you might be a duke one day
and how I laughed at you.
And how I married Lionel
and now you very nearly are a duke.
We're much better off as we are, you and I.
It's all very well for you to say that. You're not married to Lionel.
We see each other when we want to.
We're not obliged to see each other when we don't want to.
We don't see each other as often as I'd like to.
- You've been away the whole weekend. - I had to go.
- Where? - To see Mrs D'Ascoyne,
the widow of that cousin of mine who was killed.
All your cousins seem to get killed.
I really wouldn't be in the least surprised if you'd murdered them all.
- Oh. - How clumsy of me.
- Whatever made you say that? - Just silliness.
Well, if you promise not to tell anyone, I'll let you in to my guilty secret.
I did murder them all.
I've suspected it for a long time.
- What's she like? - Who?
- Mrs D'Ascoyne. - Oh, she's tall, slender...
Beautiful?
Yes, I suppose some people would call her beautiful.
Would you?
I suppose so. I never really thought about that.
What would you say if she asked you about me?
I'd say that you were a perfect combination of imperfections.
I'd say that your nose was just a little too short,
your mouth just a little too wide,
but that yours was a face that a man could see in his dreams
for the whole of his life.
I'd say that you were vain, selfish,
cruel, deceitful.
I'd say that you were adorable.
I'd say that you were Sibella.
What a pretty speech.
I mean it.
Come and say it to me again.
I'd say your nose was just a little too short,
and your mouth, yes, your mouth just a little too wide.
Shortly afterwards, my employer had a stroke.
There was little that could be done
and the doctor gave him a month, at the most, to live.
I was glad, after all his kindness to me,
that I should not have to kill the old man.
Soon the only obstacle between me and my inheritance
would be the Duke himself.
I could lay no plan for disposing of him
as the life he led within those great stone walls was a closed book to me.
I was gloomily examining the problem for the hundredth time
as I awaited one day the expected arrival of Sibella at my apartments.
- Good afternoon, Mr Mazzini. - Mrs D'Ascoyne.
I was passing through St James's
and thought I would take the opportunity to call on you.
Was that wise? Discreet, I mean?
There are some conventions which must be governed by individual circumstance.
Surely it is safe for a woman to visit a man of your reputation.
It is of your reputation that I'm thinking.
Without being inhospitable, I would be happier if your visit were not a long one.
I appreciate the scrupulousness of your motives.
I have, anyhow, only one important matter to speak of.
That is?
I have thought a great deal about what you said at our last meeting
and I have tried to think what Henry's wishes would be.
I remember he said to me once,
"You have too much good in you, Edith, for one man.
"I sometimes wish that others could have a share of it."
I have reconsidered the offer you made to me.
Thank you again for it, and accept it gladly.
You rob me of words.
I think, however, we should make no announcement for three months, at least.
As you think best.
In these new circumstances
I think it more than ever desirable that your unconventional,
though in its purpose delightful visit should be cut short.
If your attention as a husband is equal of your consideration as a friend,
I shall have made a most fortunate decision.
Do you not think, though, that perhaps Uncle Ethelred,
as head of the family, should be told at once?
Perhaps so. Yes, I'll write to him.
Goodbye, Louis.
Goodbye, Edith.
You leave behind you the happiest man in London.
This was not a piece of news
which I was looking forward to breaking to Sibella.
She had no rights in the matter,
but women have a disconcerting ability to make scenes out of nothing
and to prove themselves injured when they themselves are at fault.
Anyhow, I had three months' grace before I need face that storm.
Have you taken to using attar of roses?
- No. Why? - Thought I could smell it.
I met such a beautiful woman on the stairs just now.
I expect that would be Mrs D'Ascoyne.
- What was she doing here? - She called in to see me.
- What about? - Business. Family business.
Let me get you a glass of sherry.
A day or so later, I received a letter from Lionel.
He requested an interview with me at his house on a matter of some delicacy.
I was somewhat perturbed, for nine times out of 10
what is referred to as a matter of some delicacy
is, in point of fact, one of extreme indelicacy.
Two days later, I made the tedious journey to Bayswater.
It was typical of Lionel that he should live on the wrong side of the park.
Hello, old boy. Have a drink.
No, thank you. Never during the day.
You don't mind if I do? Keep out the cold.
I was about to remark on the warmth of the day.
- Just a joke, old boy. - Ah, yes.
- Sit down, old boy. - No, thank you. I would rather stand.
A warm day, isn't it? For the time of the year, I mean.
Distinctly. It's also a very busy day.
May we proceed to the matter about which you wished to see me?
Right. A matter of some delicacy, actually, old boy.
But I said to myself, "Louis is a sport and a man of the world.
- "Always been a sport." - Thank you.
Always admired the sporting way in which you took to Sibella marrying me and not you.
Some fellows would have taken it very differently.
But "May the best man win," you said.
And when I won, you behaved like a gentleman.
So I thought as you being keen on Sibella at one time
and you and I are old friends, I... I'd ask you to help us.
Help you?
I told you some time back business hasn't been going so well.
Since then, it's gone worse. I'm bankrupt.
So I say to myself, "Why not talk to my old pal, Louis Mazzini
"who we used to have such jolly times with round the old nursery fire
"roasting chestnuts."
I'm afraid your memory is deceiving you.
By no stretch of imagination could you and I be described as ever having been "pals".
If I remember correctly, we detested each other cordially
from the first day we met,
with a detestation which increased with our years.
Always thought of you as a pal. Always have done.
That's why I said to myself...
It's only fair to warn you that any further expense of breath
on this subject would be a waste.
You know what you're doing?
- Condemning me to death. - What do you mean?
Only one way out for me, do away with myself.
If you knew how absurd these histrionics sounded...
I'm insured. At least the little woman will be provided for.
- Oh, don't be ridiculous. - Louis, I appeal to you.
Not for my sake, but for the sake of the little woman.
Please rise from that absurd position.
All I can say is I think you're a cad.
A selfish cad.
Let me remind you of a little not-so-ancient history.
When I was a draper's assistant and you a rich father's son,
you showed me no kindness.
Now our positions are reversed, and you come whining to me for favours.
Draper's assistant. That's right.
Rotten little counterjumper. That's all you are.
Very high and mighty now
but your mother married an Italian organ-grinder.
- Stand up. - Huh?
I said stand up.
I will not tolerate hearing my mother's name on your coarse tongue.
If you take my advice, you'll go and put your head under a cold tap.
I refuse to demean myself by fighting with a drunken oaf.
There seemed no point in prolonging this vulgar brawl
so I returned to my apartment.
I took a bath and decided to relax for half an hour
and efface this disagreeable scene from my memory.
I was not allowed to relax for long.
Sibella.
Louis, I'm sorry to worry you when you must be so busy
but I have a piece of important news.
Bad news.
I thought you ought to know it at once.
Lionel has found out about us.
About me coming here.
- Really? - Yes.
Oh.
I had the most dreadful scene with him last night.
Well, I suppose even Lionel isn't stupid enough to be deceived forever.
You won't take it so calmly when you hear.
He's going to start divorce proceedings.
How very unsophisticated of him.
There's only one possible way out that I can see.
- And that is? - Lionel is still in love with me.
My happiness is all he cares about.
He might do the gentlemanly thing and let me divorce him.
If?
If I were in a position to explain to him
that otherwise he will be jeopardizing the social position
not only of the future duke,
but also the future duchess of Chalfont.
I see.
You're a clever little thing, Sibella, but not quite clever enough.
What do you mean?
I mean that not only do I know that you're blackmailing me,
an ugly word, but the only appropriate one,
but I also know that you're bluffing me.
Call my bluff and see.
I will.
Let me explain.
It must have seemed to you that you hold a very strong hand.
But... A very important "but",
it so happens that I hold a card which you did not even know to be in the pack.
Who's bluffing now?
It so happens that I was with Lionel less than an hour ago.
And it was transparently clear from his demeanour and conversation
that he had not the faintest suspicion that you and I had any relationship
other than that of, as he would probably put it,
old pals who used to roast chestnuts together round the jolly old nursery fire.
So, while thanking you for the honour that you've done me,
I must decline your offer because I have other arrangements
which make it impossible for me to accept it.
Namely?
I'm shortly going to announce my engagement to Mrs D'Ascoyne.
May I say that I think you've behaved despicably?
Has it ever occurred to you, Sibella, that we serve each other right, you and I?
Would it be asking too much of your manners to escort me to the door?
I had suspected that to confide our secret to the Duke
might be an adroit manoeuvre, and I was proved correct,
for it produced an invitation for Edith and me to spend a few days at the castle.
I must confess that I could not suppress an agreeable sensation of triumph
as I approached the castle gateway
in circumstances so different from those in which I had last done so.
It was just an informal little house party.
Our fellow guests were Lady Redpole and her daughter Maud,
who most suitably resembled nothing so much as a red poll cow
and had little more conversational ability.
- Did you go to the opera this season? - No.
In the afternoon, Ethelred invited me to inspect the castle.
It was pleasant to stand on the battlements
and know that the acres which stretched as far as the eye could see
would soon be mine.
And it amused me to cover much the same ground as that of my sixpenny tour.
I had never been in a building so lavishly equipped
with the instruments of violent death.
Feel the weight of that.
Our ancestors must have been fine men, Louis.
They seemed, however, ill-adapted
to the discreet requirements of 20th-century homicide.
And the end of the day found my host still intact and myself still without a plan.
Beautiful woman, Edith.
You're a lucky fellow, Louis.
I never cease to be conscious of that.
- Thank you. - What do you think of Maud?
A charming girl,
though perhaps at times her conversation is a little lacking in sparkle.
Dullest woman I ever met in my life.
Plain too.
But good breeding stock.
Good breeding stock, the Redpoles.
And they litter a very high proportion of boys.
Do I gather you to mean...
Spoke to old Lady Redpole this afternoon. Only too glad to get the girl off her hands.
My congratulations.
Duty to the family, really.
And when does the union take place?
Very soon. I'm not growing any younger.
Mightn't get a son the first time. Quiet wedding, I thought.
Maud's hardly the type for St Margaret's.
We shall honeymoon on the Riviera and then go on to Italy afterwards.
No sense inflicting her on one's friends.
When she's got a family, that'll keep her out of the way.
This news threw me into such distress of mind
that had I had poison in my possession
I would probably have administered it to Ethelred there and then
and chanced the consequent inquiries.
One thing was clear, if I did not succeed in disposing of him
during this present visit to the castle,
I was likely to see the ruin of my whole campaign.
My best wishes for a successful outcome.
The next morning I went out shooting with Ethelred
or rather, to watch Ethelred shooting
for my principles will not allow me to take a direct part in blood sports.
- Been round the traps this morning, Hoskins? - Not yet, Your Grace.
Sounds as if we've bagged one there.
Ah. Been losing so much game lately, we've started setting the mantraps again.
Hoskins is now going to thrash you. Then he'll let you go.
Let this be a lesson to you not to poach on my land.
That'll do.
Keep moving them around, Hoskins, or they'll tell each other where they are.
Yes, Your Grace.
- I thought mantraps were illegal. - They are.
What happens if he tells the police?
He comes up before the bench for poaching, gets six months in jail.
If he keeps his mouth shut, he just gets a few days in bed.
Which would you choose?
Only way to deal with these ruffians, I assure you.
Oh. I must have dropped my cigarette case back there. I'll catch you up.
- Find it? - Yes, thanks.
Might have another walk round this afternoon, if you feel like it.
That would be most pleasant.
After luncheon we went out to massacre a few more unfortunate birds.
- Listen. - What is it?
I thought I heard something, like someone running through the bracken.
Another poaching ruffian! Come on!
There was someone here. Look.
Blast!
Louis, get me out of this. Hurry up, man.
- Have you gone mad? - Be quiet, Ethelred.
I want to talk to you for a minute.
If you make a noise, I shall blow your head off at once.
By the time anyone has heard the shot,
I shall be running back toward the castle, shouting for help.
I shall say that you stepped on the trap
and that your gun went off accidentally as it fell.
So be quiet.
To spare you as much pain as possible,
I'll be brief.
When I've finished, I shall kill you.
You'll be the sixth D'Ascoyne that I've killed.
You want to know why?
In return for what the D'Ascoynes did to my mother.
Because she married for love instead of for rank or money or land,
they condemned her to a life of poverty and slavery
in a world with which they had not equipped her to deal.
You yourself refused to grant her dying wish,
which was to be buried here at Chalfont.
When I saw her poor little coffin slide underground,
saw her exiled in death as she'd been in life,
I swore to have my revenge on your intolerable pride.
That revenge I am just about to complete.
It's clear that you are insane.
Give me that gun at once.
No.
From here, I think, the wound should look consistent with the story that I shall tell.
Help!
And so Ethelred, Eighth Duke of Chalfont,
duly came to his place in the family vault.
There were few D'Ascoynes left to mourn him.
My employer, who was Ninth Duke of Chalfont for the shortest possible period,
having expired of shock on hearing that he had succeeded to the title.
And so, I became the 10th Duke of Chalfont.
Fortunately, the Ninth Duke had found time before he expired
to make a will bequeathing to me his interests in the business.
You may remove that.
A day or two later, an affecting little feudal ceremony took place
to welcome me into residence at the castle.
And I promise you that my first consideration,
and that of Mrs D'Ascoyne, who has done me the honour to consent to be my bride,
will be the welfare of the estate and of the people who live on it.
God bless you all.
Long live His Grace!
Long live His Grace.
Pennyman, Your Grace, from Sprockett's Farm.
Mrs Pennyman.
My son, Tom, from Sprockett's Farm.
Mr Wyvold, from Sprockett's Farm.
Sprockett's Farm?
No, Your Grace. From Scotland Yard.
Scotland Yard?
A matter of some delicacy.
Follow me, please.
The blow was so sudden that I found it hard to collect my thoughts.
Which of them could it be?
Young Ascoyne? Henry? Ethelred?
The parson? The general?
Lady Agatha?
Or could it be all of them?
Now.
You are, I take it, His Grace, the Duke of Chalfont?
I am.
I am Detective Inspector Burgoyne of the Criminal Investigation Department.
And I hold a warrant for your arrest on a charge of murder.
Murder?
Of murdering Mr Lionel Holland at...
Murdering whom?
Mr Lionel Holland
at number 242 Connaught Square, Bayswater,
on the 17th of October last.
Utterly bewildered, I tried to fathom what series of events
could conceivably have led to this not-very-amusing irony.
I could only suppose that Lionel had actually carried out
that drunken threat of suicide.
But how then had the blame fallen on me?
Time alone, and the trial, would reveal the answer.
Seeing no reason to forego any of the available privileges of my rank...
I exercised my right to be tried before the House of Lords.
Louis D'Ascoyne Mazzini, Duke of Chalfont,
you, as a peer of England, are indicted for murder.
How say you, Your Grace?
Are you guilty of the felony with which you are charged or not guilty?
- Not guilty. - How will you be tried?
- By God and my peers. - God send Your Grace a good deliverance.
It shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,
so help me God.
Mrs Holland, will you tell Their Lordships in your own words
the substance of the conversation you had with your husband
the evening before his death?
He told me that Louis... the prisoner,
was coming to see him the next day on a rather delicate matter.
Did he indicate what that matter was?
He had discovered that the prisoner and I had been...
Had been on terms of intimacy?
- Yes. - And what was his attitude?
He felt that the correct thing to do was to tell him to his face
that he intended to start proceedings for divorce.
From your knowledge of the prisoner
how would you expect him to receive that news?
I should expect him to be very angry.
Now he was heir to a dukedom, he had no more use for me.
I see. He was trying to discard you.
Yes.
Mrs Holland, I apologise for submitting you to this ordeal
but will you tell Their Lordships how you found your husband's body?
I came back about 4:30.
Their Lordships have no objection to the witness being seated.
Yes, Mrs Holland?
I came back about 4:30.
I went into my husband's study.
He was lying on the floor
with a dagger stuck in his chest.
One last question, Mrs Holland.
Had your husband ever, at any time, threatened suicide?
- Never. - Thank you, Mrs Holland.
My client craves Their Lordships' permission
to cross-examine the witness himself.
Their Lordships grant their permission.
Mrs Holland, you understand the meaning of being on oath?
Of course.
You realise that a life may depend upon the truthfulness of your evidence?
Yes.
I put it to you that your story of your conversation with your husband
on the night before his death is a complete fabrication.
It is not.
I put it to you that your husband committed suicide.
He would never have done that without leaving a message for me.
Can you swear that he did not?
The police searched the room very thoroughly.
They didn't find anything.
I suggest that your evidence is a tissue of lies dictated by motives of revenge.
It is not.
I presume that the prisoner has some purpose in these submissions
other than that of distressing the witness.
My purpose, my lord, is to determine the truth.
That, Your Grace, is the whole purpose of this assembly.
...the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
You're Edith D'Ascoyne Mazzini, Duchess of Chalfont?
I am.
When and where did you become the wife of the accused?
Yesterday morning, in Pentonville Prison.
I wanted to publish irrevocably before the whole world
my faith in his innocence.
I wanted to show by my marriage
that though he was led astray, as I believe
by that innate kindliness and courtesy of his
which made it so hard for him to rebuff the advances of a woman,
I nevertheless regard him as a man
to whom I can happily entrust the remainder of my life.
I am not alone in these opinions of him.
My late husband, Henry,
and his late Uncle Ethelred, the Eighth Duke,
both unfortunately unable to testify today...
These and other members of the D'Ascoyne family, had they been alive,
would, I know, have echoed every word that I have said.
Thank you, Your Grace.
The deceased was a client of the banking house
of which you are chairman and managing director.
He was.
In the normal course of business transactions he would have come to see you at your office.
Yes.
Instead of which, he asked you to go to his house.
Yes.
He invited you to his house to discuss business.
Yes.
And you ask Their Lordships to believe that?
Yes.
In the course of this, business discussion
he burst into tears, fell on his knees and threatened suicide.
- Yes. - Is that usual in business discussions?
- Not usual. No. - But it happened on this occasion.
- Yes. - And you ask Their Lordships to believe that?
Yes.
Then this, business discussion became so heated
that blows were exchanged and he made a murderous attack on you.
Yes.
- Is that usual in business discussion? - No.
- But it happened on this occasion. - Yes.
- And you ask Their Lordships to believe that? - Yes.
Very well.
You've heard of cases of a jealous husband and his wife's lover coming to blows?
- Yes. - Frequently?
It is one of the clichés of the cheaper kind of fiction.
I put it to you that, in this case, it happened not in fiction,
but in fact.
- I put it to you that it did not. - I put it to you further
that being unaware at that time of your future wife's forgiving nature
you assumed that if you were cited in a divorce suit
it would ruin your chances of making this advantageous match
with a wealthy and beautiful woman.
No. Not at all.
Still, you were proposing to discard Mrs Holland.
No.
Even though you were about to be married to the other lady?
I must confess to feeling quite intrigued as to their decision.
My lords, the question for Your Lordships is this...
Is the prisoner guilty
of the felony whereof he stands indicted
or not guilty?
Guilty, upon mine honour.
I considered it both seemly and touching that my dear wife should visit me
as she did this morning, to make her farewells.
Your arrival, on the other hand, appears to me unseemly
and tasteless in the extreme.
I couldn't bear my last sight of you to be that look of hatred you gave me
as you went out from the trial.
In view of the fact that your evidence had put the rope round my neck
you could hardly expect a glance of warm affection.
- Isn't there any hope? - What hope could there be?
I was only thinking.
That question you asked at the trial
about Lionel leaving a suicide note...
Suppose he did? Suppose that one were found
even now, this last evening?
- It would savour of a miracle. - Miracles can happen.
Miracles could happen.
I see.
Oh, strange, isn't it, how things turn out?
Now, if you had married me, instead of Edith...
Or you had married me, instead of Lionel.
He would still be alive,
and you wouldn't be going to be hanged tomorrow morning.
Unless, of course, you've murdered somebody else.
All of which is rather beside the point, isn't it?
Is it?
Do you remember in the old days
how we used to play Eeny, meeny, miny, mo?
- Catch a nigger by his toe. - If he hollers, let him go. Out goes he.
Quite a lot of little niggers have gone out, haven't they, one way or another?
And every one of them a D'Ascoyne.
We do seem to be a very short-lived family.
Of course, Edith is only a D'Ascoyne by marriage
so I suppose her prospects are better.
Except for a miracle.
Like the other one we were talking about.
So there it was. She would find the suicide note
if I, in return, would murder Edith.
So we now have two miracles in mind, do we?
Yes.
I wonder if they are, in any way, dependent on each other?
I suppose perhaps they might be.
What do you think?
Time's up.
What do you think?
Poor Edith. I'm afraid all this is going to take years off her life.
- Au revoir, Louis. - Au revoir.
What could I do but accept?
After all, I could always decide afterwards
which of these two little niggers would finally have to go.
Dear Edith.
Captivating Sibella.
How different they were, and how well I knew each of them.
Or so I thought.
But the night has gone by and nothing has happened.
It is now but a few minutes to 8:00.
And I realise that Sibella came yesterday merely to tantalise,
to raise my hopes in order to dash them again.
How unlike me not to have guessed.
But, after all, how very like Sibella.
Already?
I'll tell you who time gallops withal.
"With a thief to the gallows,
"for though he tread as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there."
If you have any last instructions...
I think, Colonel, it only remains to thank you for your many kindnesses.
Won't you introduce our friend?
Mr Elliott, His Grace, the Duke of Chalfont.
Good morning, Your Grace.
This won't take a moment.
First, if Your Grace will pardon the liberty
I should like to read some verses
composed by myself for use on these melancholy occasions.
- Your Grace permits? - With pleasure.
"My friend, reflect."
Oh. Pardon.
"Your Grace, reflect.
"While yet of mortal breath, some span however short, is left to thee
"how brief the total span twixt birth and death
"how long thy coming tenure of eternity.
"Your Grace, prepare..."
Colonel.
Your Grace,
I am happy to inform you that a telephone communication
has just been received from the Home Office.
A note has been found, undoubtedly in Mr Holland's handwriting
expressing his intention to commit suicide.
It is a miracle.
Yes. It is like a miracle.
Pending receipt of further instructions,
I will try to make you reasonably comfortable in my quarters.
- Good morning. - Good morning, Your Grace, sir.
I assure you I have never been more happy to be relieved of an official duty.
Poor Elliott.
If he had not insisted on reading that abominable poem,
he would have had me neatly dangling at the end of his rope before the news arrived.
He was so looking forward to it.
I understand, Your Grace, from the men on duty outside
that a large crowd awaits your leaving.
Having robbed them of the pleasure of my death
the least I can do is to let them see me alive.
Including, by the way, not only Her Grace, the Duchess,
but also Mrs Holland.
Oh.
How does the song go?
"How happy could I be with either were t'other dear charmer away."
Well, good-bye.
Good-bye, Your Grace.
"How happy could I be with either
"were t'other dear charmer away."
- Your Grace. - Yes?
I represent the magazine Titbits
by whom I'm commissioned to approach you
for the publication rights of your memoirs.
My memoirs?
My memoirs.