Which makes Robert laugh. Branson looks around.
BRANSON: You’ve got a wonderful library.
The remark does not offend Robert but it does surprise him.
* * *
ROBERT: Are you interested in books?
BRANSON: Not in books, as such, so much as what’s in them.
* * *
A reading chauffeur? Unusual. Robert thinks for a moment.
ROBERT: You’re very welcome to borrow books, if you wish.
BRANSON: Really, m’lord?
He is astonished and delighted. Robert nods.
* * *
ROBERT: There’s a ledger over there that I make everyone use, even my daughters. Carson can tell you when the room’s empty.
BRANSON: Do all the servants enjoy the same privilege?
ROBERT: I suppose they could, although I doubt they’d avail themselves of it. Carson and Mrs Hughes sometimes take a novel or two. What are your interests?
* * *
BRANSON: History and politics, mainly.
* * *
ROBERT: Heavens.* Well, when you come back, you should start looking in that section, there.†
* * *
Carson has reappeared at the door.
ROBERT: Branson’s going to borrow some books. He has my permission.
CARSON: Very good, m’lord.
Does Carson approve? Probably not. He looks at Branson.
BRANSON: Is that all, m’lord?
ROBERT: It is. Off you go and good luck.
Branson goes, leaving master and butler alone.
* * *
ROBERT: Well. An Irishman with an interest in politics … Are we mad?
CARSON: I could always bring in fire drill for the staff.
ROBERT: Thank you, Carson.
They share the moment.
* * *
ROBERT (CONT’D): He seems quite a bright spark after poor old Taylor.
Carson is not prepared to volunteer an opinion. Yet.
* * *
ROBERT: I always thought he was happy. Why did he want to leave?
CARSON: I believe it was Mrs Taylor, m’lord. She felt cut off. She wanted to live in a town.
* * *
ROBERT: But running a tea shop? I cannot feel that’ll make for a very restful retirement, can you?
CARSON: I would rather be put to death, m’lord.
ROBERT: Quite so. Thank you, Carson.
With a glance at the dog, he returns to his letter.
4 EXT. THE GARDENS. DOWNTON. DAY.
Cora and Violet are together, drinking tea at a table under a tree.*
VIOLET: What about some house parties?
CORA: She’s been asked to one next month by Lady Anne McNair.
* * *
VIOLET: A terrible idea. She doesn’t know anyone under a hundred. Find her a house with an unmarried son.
CORA: The Tenbys?
VIOLET: The eldest boy’s taken. It was announced last week. Of course, most of the good ones are.
* * *
CORA: I might send her over to my aunt. She could get to know New York.
VIOLET: I don’t think things are quite that desperate. Poor Mary. She’s been very down in the mouth lately.
CORA: She was very upset by the death of poor Mr Pamuk.
* * *
VIOLET: Why? It’s been three months.
* * *
She’s genuinely puzzled. Then she remembers herself.
* * *
VIOLET (CONT’D): It was sad. But she didn’t know him, and one can’t go to pieces at the death of every foreigner. We’d all be in a state of collapse whenever we opened a newspaper. Of course, Mary’s main difficulty is that her situation is unresolved.
* * *
But Cora only looks at her and does not weigh in.
* * *
VIOLET (CONT’D): I mean, is she an heiress or isn’t she? If only it could be resolved.
CORA: Maybe it is resolved. How many times have you written to lawyers only to get the same answer? The entail’s unbreakable. Mary cannot inherit. To be fair to Mr Murray he said it from the start.
VIOLET: The truth is, no London lawyer wants to challenge him. They feel they need Murray’s permission.
But she is thinking hard.
* * *
VIOLET (CONT’D): What we need is a lawyer who is decent and honour bound to look into it, whatever Murray might say. And I … I think perhaps I know just the man.
* * *
CORA: I’d hate to go behind Robert’s back.
Violet gives her a scornful look.
VIOLET: That’s a scruple no successful wife can afford.
* * *
5 INT. DRAWING ROOM. CRAWLEY HOUSE. DAY.
Molesley is clearing away Isobel’s and Matthew’s tea.
ISOBEL: Thank you, Molesley.
MATTHEW: Are you going to the fair while it’s here?
MOLESLEY: I shouldn’t think so, sir. But I don’t mind it. I like the music.*
Isobel has noticed that his hands are red and sore.
ISOBEL: Goodness. What’s happened to your hands?
MOLESLEY: It’s nothing, ma’am.
ISOBEL: But it looks very painful.
MOLESLEY: Oh, no, ma’am. Irritating more than painful.
ISOBEL: Are you using anything new? To polish the silver? Or the shoes?
MOLESLEY: No.
ISOBEL: May I?
She takes his hand and peers at it. Molesley looks awkward.
MATTHEW: Leave him alone, Mother.
Isobel pays no attention.
ISOBEL: It looks like Erysipelas. You must have cut yourself.
MOLESLEY: Not that I’m aware of.
ISOBEL: We’ll walk round to the hospital tomorrow.
MOLESLEY: Really, ma’am …
ISOBEL: I insist.
Matthew and Molesley know there will be no reprieve.
* * *
6 EXT. COURTYARD. DOWNTON. NIGHT.
Bates comes out to find William loitering in the shadows.
BATES: A penny for your thoughts.
WILLIAM: You’d be wasting your money.
BATES: It’s mine to waste.
WILLIAM: I was just wondering why we get so drawn to people who have no interest in us. What’s nature playing at?
BATES: If you find the answer to that, lad, you’ll put the poets out of business.
Which makes William smile a little sadly.
WILLIAM: But you can’t make someone love you, can you?
BATES: No. And you can’t make them not love you, either. Which can be just as hard.
WILLIAM: I wouldn’t know about that.
BATES: Not yet, maybe. But you will.
* * *
7 INT. KITCHEN. DOWNTON. DAY.
It is a new day. Anna blows her nose. Mrs Patmore is cooking.
MRS PATMORE: You’ve got a cold, I want you out of here.
* * *
ANNA: Blimey. I’m beginning to feel like the Ancient Mariner.
* * *
Mrs Hughes comes through the door. Anna is pouring some water from the earthenware filter.
MRS HUGHES: Anna, there you are. You know I’m out tonight? Because I don’t want to come home to any surprises.
MRS PATMORE: That’ll be the day.
ANNA: We thought we might go to the fair later. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Daisy?
MRS PATMORE: You ought to go. She’s been that down in the mouth, since the death of poor Mr Pamuk—
DAISY: Don’t say that.*
MRS PATMORE: Well, she has.
ANNA: We could all walk down after the servants’ dinner, if—
But she silences herself with another sneeze.
MRS PATMORE: You won’t be walking anywhere.
She glances over to Mrs Hughes.
MRS PATMORE (CONT’D): She’s got minutes to live by the sound of it.
* * *
ANNA: It’s just a bit of a cold, but—
Again, the sneezing takes over.
MRS HUGHES: Go to bed at once. We can’t have you spraying everyone with germs. I’ll bring up a Beecham’s Powder.
* * *
ANNA: Yes, Mrs Hughes.
Anna leaves.
MRS HUGHES: Right. If there’s anything you want to ask me, it’ll have to be before I go.
MRS PATMORE: What would I want to ask you? I am preparing a meal for Lord and Lady Grantham, and the girls. No one is visiting. No one is staying. What do I need to ask?
Mrs Hughes is not looking for a fight.
MRS HUGHES: Well, that’s settled then.
* * *
She leaves. Mrs Patmore turns to her resident victim.
MRS PATMORE: What is it?
DAISY: Only I’d rather you didn’t mention Mr Pamuk, not by name.
She puts a pot on the draining board
MRS PATMORE: You’re an odd one and no mistake. And that pot is not clean. I can tell it from here. Do it again.
Daisy looks at the pot. It looks clean to her.
* * *
8 INT. COTTAGE HOSPITAL. DAY.
Isobel and Molesley are with a nurse.
NURSE: I’m afraid Doctor Clarkson’s out, delivering a baby. We don’t know when he’ll be back.
ISOBEL: No matter. If you’ll just open the store cupboard, I can easily find what I need.
NURSE: Well, I …
ISOBEL: You can tell the Doctor that you opened the cupboard for the Chairman of the Board. I assure you he will not raise the slightest objection.
9 INT. HOSPITAL STORE ROOM. DAY.
Isobel finds the bottle she is looking for.
ISOBEL (CONT’D): This should do it. Tincture of Steel. Ten drops in water, three times a day.
She hands the bottle to him and next she takes out a jar.
ISOBEL (CONT’D): And this is Solution of Nitrate of Silver. Rub a little in, morning and night.
MOLESLEY: How long before it’s better?
ISOBEL: Erysipelas is very hard to cure. We should be able to reduce the symptoms but that may be all we can manage. Oh, and you must wear gloves at all times.
MOLESLEY: I couldn’t wait at table in gloves. I’d look like a footman.*
ISOBEL: You may have to.
This is nothing to her, but for him, it’s terrible news.
* * *
ISOBEL (CONT’D): The tincture and the salve will help. Try them for a week and we’ll see. But I cannot promise a cure in the near future.
* * *
10 INT. MATTHEW’S OFFICE. RIPON. DAY.
Matthew is working in this modest office. A clerk looks in.
CLERK: Someone to see you, Mr Crawley.
MATTHEW: There’s nothing in my diary.
CLERK: It’s Lady Grantham.
MATTHEW: Well, in that case show her in at once.
He stands walking round the desk.
MATTHEW: Cousin Cora, to what do I owe—
He stops dead. Violet stands before him, filling the room.
VIOLET: I hope I am not a disappointment.
11 INT. MRS HUGHES’S SITTING ROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.
Mrs Hughes faces O’Brien across a table, on which is a hat. O’Brien looks contemptuously at the cheap headgear.
MRS HUGHES: I thought it might be nice to cheer it up a bit.
O’BRIEN: Easier said than done.
MRS HUGHES: Perhaps with a flower, or a bit of veil or something?
O’BRIEN: I can find you a veil if you like. I hope you’re not expecting me to do it.
MRS HUGHES: Not if you’re busy, of course.
O’BRIEN: Good.
She turns to go. Mrs Hughes decides to punish her rudeness.*
MRS HUGHES (CONT’D): And Miss O’Brien, I’ve sent Anna to bed with a cold, so I need you to manage the young ladies.
O’BRIEN: What? All three of them? I’m not an octopus. Why can’t Gwen do it?
MRS HUGHES: Because she is not a lady’s maid.*
O’BRIEN: And I am not a slave.
MRS HUGHES: Just do it, Miss O’Brien. Just do it!
Her sudden, enraged shout drives the other woman away.
END OF ACT ONE
ACT TWO
12 INT. MATTHEW’S OFFICE. RIPON. DAY.
Matthew is at his desk. Across from him sits Violet.
* * *
VIOLET: But surely you’re willing to try?
MATTHEW: Of course. But I doubt I’ll find anything Murray has missed.
* * *
VIOLET: I will pay you the compliment that I do not believe you wish to inherit just because nobody’s investigated properly.*
MATTHEW: No, but—
VIOLET: Nor can Murray accuse you of making trouble, when you are the one to suffer most from a discovery.
MATTHEW: You’re right that I don’t wish to benefit, at Mary’s expense, from an ignorance of the law.
* * *
VIOLET: Thank you. I knew you’d say that. Putting it bluntly, do you think Robert has thrown in the towel, prematurely?
* * *
She turns her body and her whole chair swings round.
VIOLET (CONT’D): Good heavens, what am I sitting on?†
MATTHEW: A swivel chair.
VIOLET: Oh, another modern brainwave?
MATTHEW: Not very modern. They were invented by Thomas Jefferson.
VIOLET: Why does every day involve a fight with an American?
MATTHEW: I’ll fetch a different one.
VIOLET: No, no, no, no. I’m a good sailor.
She looks at him, firmly, waiting for his answer.
MATTHEW: It will depend on the exact terms of the entail and of the deed of gift when Cousin Cora’s money was transferred to the estate.
VIOLET: That is all I ask. To understand the exact terms.
It is hard for Matthew not to quake in his shoes.
* * *
13 INT. MRS HUGHES’S SITTING ROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.
Mrs Patmore barges in.
MRS PATMORE: Mrs Hughes, I must protest!
MRS HUGHES: What is it, this time?
MRS PATMORE: When I ask for self-raising flour I mean that it should be self-raising. I do not add the words as a frivolity to amuse myself.
MRS HUGHES: And?
MRS PATMORE: You gave me plain flour, so I have a day’s baking to throw out unless I am to serve his lordship with a plate of bricks!
MRS HUGHES: Why didn’t you check it was right?
MRS PATMORE: Now, don’t start blaming me! Of course, if I were allowed a key of my own to the store cupboard, as any sensible person would give me—*
MRS HUGHES: Enough!
Her shout has succeeded in silencing the angry cook.
MRS HUGHES (CONT’D): I will bring the flour.
MRS PATMORE: See that you do.
She goes. Mrs Hughes rests her forehead on the table.
* * *
14 INT. SERVANTS’ HALL. DOWNTON. DAY.
The staff are having tea. William is with Bates.
WILLIAM: Is Daisy going to the fair tonight? With the others?
BATES: Why don’t you ask her? She needs taking out of herself.
Then he notices that Thomas has been listening to this.
BATES: What’s it to you?
THOMAS: Nothing.
At that moment, Daisy appears to pour out a cup of tea.
WILLIAM: Daisy, I was hoping—
THOMAS: Would you like to come to the fair with me, Daisy? There’s a few of us going later on.
All her Christmases have come at once. Her eyes light up.
DAISY: Do you mean it?
MRS PATMORE (V.O.): Daisy! Don’t let it get cold!
* * *
Daisy hurries away, glowing. William drops into the chair by the piano and starts to play a melancholy tune. Bates leans over to Thomas and speaks under his breath.
* * *
BATES: You bastard.*
* * *
But Th
omas is enjoying himself. He winks at O’Brien.
THOMAS: Can I help it if I’m irresistible?
* * *
15 EXT. MOTOR CAR. DAY.
Cora, Edith and Sybil are being driven home from the village. Branson sees them into the car.
* * *
CORA: Branson, Lady Sybil and I have some errands in Ripon tomorrow. We’ll leave after luncheon.
BRANSON: Certainly, your ladyship.
* * *
EDITH: Why is Sybil having something new and not me?
CORA: Because it’s Sybil’s turn.
SYBIL: Can it be my choice, this time?
CORA: Of course, darling. As long as you choose what I choose. Branson, you’ll be taking Lady Sybil to Ripon tomorrow. She’ll be leaving after luncheon.
BRANSON: Certainly, your ladyship.
SYBIL: Poor old Madame Swann. I don’t know why we bother with fittings. She always makes the same frock.
EDITH: What do you want her to make?
* * *
SYBIL: Something new and exciting. Like those drawings by Le’on Bakst.
CORA: You’re not in the Ballets Russes, now, dear.
Downton Abbey Script Book Season 1 Page 16
