Downton Abbey Script Book Season 1

by Julian Fellowes

  O’BRIEN: Some people are easily pleased.

  * * *

  47 INT. MOTOR CAR. DAY.

  Branson is driving Lady Sybil.

  SYBIL: Madame Swann’s is just off the market place.

  BRANSON: Will you have your own way, do you think? With the frock?

  Despite Sybil’s liberalism, she is rather taken aback.

  BRANSON (CONT’D): Only I couldn’t help overhearing yesterday and from what her ladyship said, it sounded as if you support women’s rights.

  SYBIL: I suppose I do.

  BRANSON: Because I’m quite political.

  SYBIL: Are you? I suppose you support an independent Ireland?

  BRANSON: Certainly, I do … As a matter of fact I’ve brought a few pamphlets I thought might interest you, about the vote.

  He has the pamphlets on the seat by him and now he holds them back with one hand, for Sybil to take. Which she does.

  SYBIL: Thank you … But please don’t mention it to my father. Or my grandmother. One whiff of reform, and she hears the rattle of the guillotine.

  He laughs. She’s less nervous now, if still surprised.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): It seems rather unlikely. A revolutionary chauffeur.

  BRANSON: Maybe. But I’m a Socialist, not a revolutionary. And I won’t always be a chauffeur.

  * * *

  48 EXT. DOWNTON VILLAGE. DAY.

  A few days later, Isobel and a wretched Molesley walk past the quiet, morning fair, on their way to the hospital.

  * * *

  49 INT. COTTAGE HOSPITAL. DAY.

  Isobel walks into Doctor Clarkson’s office, to find Violet is sitting there. Clarkson looks nervous as he stands.

  CLARKSON: Mrs Crawley, how nice.

  Isobel and Violet nod coolly at each other.

  ISOBEL: You’re busy. We can come back.

  But by now, Violet has spotted the hovering Molesley.

  VIOLET: Molesley? What are you doing here? Are you ill?

  CLARKSON: Poor Mr Molesley. How’s it going?

  ISOBEL: The solution doesn’t seem to make it any better.

  VIOLET: My imagination is running riot.

  She clearly has no intention of going.

  MOLESLEY: I’ve got Erysipelas, m’lady.

  VIOLET: Oh, I am sorry.

  CLARKSON: Mrs Crawley tells me she’s recommended Nitrate of Silver and Tincture of Steel.

  VIOLET: Is she making a suit of armour?

  * * *

  CLARKSON: It is the treatment I would have recommended myself. But I take it there’s no improvement?

  * * *

  MOLESLEY: Not really.

  So saying, he unconsciously turns his hand back and forth as he looks at it. Violet glances down. Then looks again.

  VIOLET: And you’re sure it’s Erysipelas?

  CLARKSON: That is Mrs Crawley’s diagnosis.

  VIOLET: What it is to have medical knowledge.

  ISOBEL: It has its uses.

  Violet now turns to Molesley.

  VIOLET: Mmm. I see your father has been making changes at home.

  MOLESLEY: He has. He’s got no use for the herb garden now me mother’s gone, so he’s putting it to grass.

  VIOLET: And you have been helping him?

  MOLESLEY: I have.

  VIOLET: Grubbing out the old Rue hedge?

  MOLESLEY: How did you know that?

  * * *

  VIOLET: Because this is not Erysipelas. This is a Rue allergy. If Molesley wears gardening gloves, it’ll be gone in a week. You weren’t to blame. I know you are unfamiliar with the country and its ways.

  * * *

  Isobel says nothing. She is livid at this humiliation.

  * * *

  VIOLET (CONT’D): And you, Doctor, should not rely on a diagnosis from those who are unqualified to make one.

  CLARKSON: I stand corrected.

  * * *

  VIOLET: Please don’t think we’re ungrateful for your enthusiasm, Mrs Crawley, but there comes a time when things are best left to the professionals.*

  ISOBEL: But I—

  VIOLET: I may have no training but I’m a great believer in common sense. And now really, I really must go. Good day.

  Isobel is forced to accept defeat. Violet is leaving.

  MOLESLEY: Thank you, your ladyship.

  Violet smiles, thrilled to have won this round.

  END OF ACT THREE

  ACT FOUR

  50 EXT. COTTAGES. DOWNTON ESTATE. DAY.

  Robert is inspecting a row of cottages with Matthew. Pharaoh is with them. Building is still in progress.

  * * *

  MATTHEW: They’re doing a good job.

  ROBERT: I think so. They’ll see me out, and, with any luck, you.

  * * *

  MATTHEW: I hope Cousin Violet has recovered from last night.

  ROBERT: Whatever she says, my mother is as strong as an ox. And it’s high time she let go of her scheme for upsetting everything. Time we all did.

  MATTHEW: I can’t deny I’m pleased to hear you say it.

  ROBERT: Are you beginning to see a future here, then?

  MATTHEW: In a way, this latest business has forced me to recognise that I do want Downton to be my future.

  ROBERT: I’m glad.

  MATTHEW: You must have thought me an awful prig when I first arrived.

  ROBERT: Not a prig. Just a man thrust into something he never wanted or envisaged, clinging for dear life to his old certainties.

  Matthew laughs.

  MATTHEW: I could only see the absurdity of the whole thing—I’m sorry.

  ROBERT: Well, there are absurdities involved, as I know well enough.

  MATTHEW: Possibilities too and I was blind to them. I was determined not to let it change me, it was absurd. If you don’t change, you die.

  ROBERT: Do you think so? I’m not sure. Sometimes I think I hate change.

  MATTHEW: At least we can comfort ourselves this will still be here.

  He slaps the freshly restored cottage wall.

  MATTHEW (CONT’D): Because we saved it.

  Together, they survey the countryside surrounding them.

  51 INT. KITCHEN. DOWNTON. DAY.

  Daisy is scouring a copper bowl with flour and vinegar. Mrs Patmore drinks tea as pots bubble behind her.

  * * *

  DAISY: Thomas is lovely, isn’t he? He’s funny and handsome, but ever so kind too.

  MRS PATMORE: I know you’ve been upset, Daisy. By poor Mr Pamuk’s death and the rest of it but Thomas is not the answer.

  DAISY: But I never had more fun in my life than I did last night. And he’s got such lovely teeth.

  * * *

  MRS PATMORE: He’s not for you, Daisy.

  DAISY: ‘course not. He’s too good for me. I know that.

  MRS PATMORE: No. He’s not too good.

  DAISY: What, then?

  MRS PATMORE: He’s not the boy for you, and you’re not the girl for him.

  DAISY: Isn’t that what I just said? And why would he be? When he’s seen and done so much, and I’ve been nowhere and done nothing.

  MRS PATMORE: Perhaps Thomas has seen and done more than was good for him.

  Daisy is genuinely puzzled. What does Mrs Patmore mean?

  MRS PATMORE (CONT’D):… He’s not a ladies’ man.

  * * *

  DAISY: Well, isn’t it a blessed relief? Though I could have told you that. He’d never break a heart without breaking his own.

  * * *

  MRS PATMORE: Daisy, Thomas is a troubled soul.

  DAISY: I don’t know what you mean, Mrs Patmore.

  The cook looks at the innocent face and decides against it.

  MRS PATMORE: Oh, nothing. I don’t mean anything. Except that if I don’t get the ice cream started, they’ll be dining at midnight.

  She goes to work, leaving the maid in blissful ignorance.

  52 INT. EDITH’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Sybil watches Anna dres
sing Edith for dinner. Anna sneezes discreetly.*

  SYBIL: Golly, my corset’s tight. Anna, when you’ve done that, could you be an angel and loosen it a bit?

  * * *

  She turns her back to the maid, as Edith sits down at her dressing table.

  * * *

  EDITH: The start of the slippery slope.

  SYBIL: I’m not putting on weight.

  EDITH: It didn’t shrink in the drawer.†

  The door opens and Mary comes in, dressed for the evening.

  MARY: Are you coming down?

  Sybil breathes out, and smiles at the maid.

  SYBIL: I don’t know why we bother with corsets. Men don’t wear them, and they look perfectly normal in their clothes.

  As she talks, Mary picks up a piece of Edith’s jewellery, holds it against her throat and drops it in disgust.

  MARY: Not all of them.

  * * *

  SYBIL: Besides, the London designers are following the lead of Mr Diaghilev. I saw a picture of Lady Londonderry in something that could have been a teagown.

  MARY: Say what you like, men want to see waists.

  * * *

  EDITH: She’s just showing off. She’ll be on about the vote in a minute.

  SYBIL: If you mean do I think women should vote, of course I do.

  EDITH: I hope you won’t chain yourself to the railings and end up being force-fed semolina.

  * * *

  SYBIL: Probably not. But don’t make fun of them.

  * * *

  Anna starts to unbutton Sybil’s dress.

  MARY: What do you think, Anna?

  ANNA: I think those women are very brave.

  SYBIL: Hear, hear.

  53 INT. DRAWING ROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Robert and the family are attended by Carson and Thomas.

  ROBERT: How did you get on with your dress-maker? Find anything?

  SYBIL: I did. And she says she can have it done by Friday.

  ROBERT: I’m sorry I couldn’t come, but I didn’t want to put Matthew off.

  EDITH: Were you pleased with the work on the cottages?

  ROBERT: They’re making a very good job of them. You must all go and see.

  CORA: So you’ll restore a few every year from now on?

  ROBERT: It was Matthew’s idea. Old Cripps was rather reluctant, but I’m pleased we went forward.

  EDITH: I suppose it’s worth it?

  SYBIL: Of course it is. Because of the people who’ll live in them.

  ROBERT: You’ll be glad to hear that Matthew’s conscience is much more energetic than mine.*

  Suddenly, Mary stands.

  MARY: If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. I’ve got rather a headache.

  CORA: Of course. Shall I bring you something for it?

  MARY: No. I’ll be perfectly fine. If I can just lie down.

  * * *

  ROBERT: Goodnight, my—

  * * *

  But Mary has already walked out of the room. Almost without thinking, Robert and Carson exchange a glance.

  * * *

  54 INT. HALL. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Cora comes hurrying out, but Mary’s on the staircase.

  CORA: My dear, please wait.

  MARY: I’ve told you, Mama. I just need to lie down.

  She turns onto the gallery. Cora hurries after her.

  * * *

  55 INT. MARY’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Cora comes in. Mary is sobbing. Her mother goes to her, kneeling and taking her hands, which only makes her cry more.

  CORA: Oh, my darling, what is it?

  MARY: You heard him. Matthew this, Matthew that. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew!

  Cora doesn’t quite know what Mary means.

  MARY: Oh mother, don’t you see? He has a son now. Of course he didn’t argue with the entail. Why would he? When he’s got what he always wanted.*

  * * *

  Cora holds her sobbing daughter close.

  * * *

  CORA: Your father loves you very much.

  MARY: He wouldn’t fight for me, though.

  CORA: He wouldn’t fight for you because he knew he couldn’t win.

  Mary steps back. She is annoyed to have been caught out in a moment of weakness. She wipes her eyes fiercely.

  MARY: You’re no better.

  CORA: What?

  MARY: You don’t care about Matthew getting everything, because you don’t think I’m worthy of it.

  This is a tough one for Cora, because it’s true.

  CORA: Mary—

  MARY: I wish you’d just admit it. I’m a lost soul to you. I took a lover with no thought of marriage! A Turk! Think of that! Oh, my dear!

  She laughs bitterly. She’s regained possession of herself.

  MARY (CONT’D): Don’t worry, Mama. You can go down now. ‘Everything will look better in the morning.’ Isn’t that what you usually say?

  CORA: I say it, because it’s usually true.

  * * *

  MARY: Go back down. Please. Papa will wonder where you are.

  * * *

  She backs away, hands raised. She wants no more comfort. So Cora walks to the door. Once there, she turns back.

  CORA: Don’t quarrel with Matthew.

  MARY: Why shouldn’t I?

  CORA: Because one day you may need him.

  For a second this is puzzling, then Mary understands.

  MARY: Oh, I see. When I’ve ruined myself, I must have a powerful protector to hide behind.

  Cora will not contradict, since it’s an accurate summary.

  56 INT. SERVANTS’ HALL. DOWNTON. DAY.

  William is alone, idly tinkling the piano.

  MRS HUGHES (V.O.): I’d tell you off, but I like to hear you play. Where are they all?

  * * *

  WILLIAM: Busy, I suppose. Gwen was here but Mr Branson brought in a package and she’s gone upstairs.

  * * *

  MRS HUGHES: Haven’t you got anything to do?

  WILLIAM: Yes. I have. Of course I have.

  He stands, wearily.

  MRS HUGHES: You mustn’t let Thomas get you down. He’s just jealous. Everyone likes you better than him.

  WILLIAM: Not everyone.

  MRS HUGHES: Then she’s a foolish girl and she doesn’t deserve you. Though why am I encouraging you? Forget all that. For ten years at least.

  She sounds strict but of course she isn’t. He looks at her.

  WILLIAM: You’re a kind woman, Mrs Hughes.

  * * *

  MRS HUGHES: So you’d miss me, when I’m gone?

  Is she joking? It’s hard to say.

  * * *

  WILLIAM: I don’t know how this house would run without you. I don’t, truly.

  MRS HUGHES: Stop flannelling and get on. Before I betray you to Mr Carson.

  He goes, but his words have helped her with a decision. In the kitchen Gwen is seen reading a letter.

  57 INT. SYBIL’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. DAY.

  Sybil opens a dress-maker’s box on the bed. Gwen is rather sombre, but Sybil is too thrilled to notice.

  * * *

  SYBIL: It’s arrived!

  GWEN: Mr Branson collected it, m’lady. Anna would have brought it up, but she’s gone to the village.

  * * *

  SYBIL: Is there anything more thrilling than a new frock?

  GWEN: I suppose not, m’lady.

  Sybil interprets her dreariness as meaning that Gwen very seldom has a new dress, that her question was thoughtless.

  SYBIL: You shall have one, too.

  She goes to the wardrobe where a tailored suit hangs.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): I thought this might be suitable for your interview.

  GWEN: I won’t be wearing it, m’lady.

  SYBIL: Of course you will. We have to make you look like a successful, professional woman.

  But Gwen starts to cry. Sybil is bewildered.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): What is it? What’s happened?

 
GWEN: I won’t wear it, because I’m not going. They’ve cancelled the appointment.

  * * *

  She fumbles in her pocket and produces a letter which Sybil takes and reads. Her face falls.

  * * *

  GWEN (CONT’D): They’ve found someone ‘more suited to the post and better qualified.’

  SYBIL: This time.

  GWEN: Let’s face it. There’ll never be anyone less suited to the post or worse qualified than I am.

  SYBIL: That isn’t true.

  Sybil guides Gwen towards the bed where they sit.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): You’ll see. We’re not giving up.

  * * *

  She picks up the suit again and gives it to Gwen, who would protest, but Sybil insists, taking the girl in her arms.

  * * *

  SYBIL (CONT’D): No one hits the bull’s eye with the first arrow.

  58 INT. MRS HUGHES’S SITTING ROOM. DOWNTON. EVE.

  Carson looks in. Mrs Hughes is standing, looking pensive.

  * * *

  CARSON: I’ve put out the Rundell candlesticks for dinner, tonight. They’re not as nice, but the Lameries need proper cleaning and the pivot’s loose on one of the arms. It won’t be for long.