DAISY: What is it?
MRS PATMORE: Salt of Sorrel. I asked him for some to clean the brass pots. But there’s no time until the luncheon, so put it somewhere careful. It’s poison.
Daisy picks it up, surveying the many waiting dishes.
DAISY: It seems a lot of food, when you think they’re all in mourning.
MRS PATMORE: Nothing makes you hungrier or more tired than grief. When my sister died, God rest her soul, I ate my way through four platefuls of sandwiches at one sitting and slept round the clock.
DAISY: Did it make you feel better?
MRS PATMORE: Not much. But it passed the time.
Daisy takes a step towards the scullery.
MRS PATMORE (CONT’D): Oh my Lord, what was this chopped egg supposed to be sprinkled on?
She has picked up a bowl of egg from the table.
DAISY: Was it the chicken?
MRS PATMORE: It was. Take it upstairs now.
DAISY: I can’t go in the dining room.
MRS PATMORE: I should think not! Find Thomas or William. Tell them what to do.
Daisy still hesitates.
MRS PATMORE (CONT’D): For heaven’s sake. Get a move on, before they get back from church!
37 EXT. DOWNTON CHURCH. DAY.
People in black are emerging, among them a sober-looking lawyer, George Murray, who is walking with Robert.
ROBERT: Well, we’ve given them a memorial in London and a memorial here. I don’t know what else we can do.
MURRAY: I think it’s gone off pretty well, all things considered. I prefer memorials to funerals. They’re less dispiriting.
ROBERT: We could hardly hold a funeral without the bodies.
MURRAY: It was right to bury Mr Crawley in Canada. In fact I hear the Canadians are making quite a thing of the Titanic cemetery.
* * *
ROBERT: It seems strange to have buried James without Patrick.
MURRAY: They may still find some trace of him.
ROBERT: After three months? I doubt it. No, I’m afraid Patrick was food for the fishes long ago.
* * *
Robert sighs. It is very distressing.
MURRAY (CONT’D): I’m surprised at the number they found. You’d think the sea would have taken more of them.
ROBERT: They didn’t all drown apparently. They froze to death in their life jackets. Hundreds of corpses, men, women and children, bobbing on the surface of the ocean.
He shakes his head in sorrow.
38 EXT. GARDENS. DOWNTON. DAY.
Robert and Murray approach the house. The smarter members of the congregation walk behind, including the girls.
ROBERT: So, Murray, what have you to tell me about the lucky Mr Crawley? Nothing too terrible, I hope.
MURRAY: I’ve only made a few enquiries but, no, there’s not much to alarm you. Matthew Crawley is a solicitor, based in Manchester—
ROBERT: Manchester?
MURRAY: Manchester. His special field is company law.
ROBERT: Really?
MURRAY: His mother is alive and he lives with her. His father, obviously, is not. He was a doctor.
ROBERT: I know. It does seem odd that my third cousin should be a doctor.
His prejudice is unconscious. Murray is slightly offended.
MURRAY: There are worse professions.
ROBERT: Indeed.
39 INT. BASE OF THE SERVICE STAIR. DAY.
Daisy waits, until she spies William coming down.
DAISY: Do me a favour. This should have been sprinkled on the chicken.
WILLIAM: But isn’t there more to go up?
DAISY: Please. It won’t take a moment.
WILLIAM: Give it here.
Daisy hands over the bowl and he turns to go back up.
40 EXT. GARDENS. DOWNTON. DAY.
Robert and Murray approach the entrance to the great house.
MURRAY: We ought to talk about the business of the entail.
ROBERT: Shall we do it after luncheon?
MURRAY: Can we tackle it now? There’s not much to be said on the subject.
Robert can see these words are not a good sign.
MURRAY (CONT’D): As you know, on your death the heir to the title inherits everything, except for the sums set aside for your daughters and your widow.
ROBERT: Yes.
MURRAY: Owing to the terms of her settlement, this will include the bulk of your wife’s fortune.
ROBERT: It has been our sole topic of conversation since the day the ship went down.
MURRAY: Of course it must seem horribly unjust to Lady Grantham, but that is how the law stands.
ROBERT: Is there really no way to detach her money from the estate? Even to me, it seems absurd.
MURRAY: Your father tied the knot pretty tight. I’d say it’s unbreakable.
ROBERT: I see.
MURRAY: The consolation must be that if you did extract the Levinson money, Downton would collapse.
ROBERT: You mean it could only be achieved by massive selling.
MURRAY: It would be impossible for your heirs to remain here.
A bitter thought strikes Robert. He turns with a wry smile.
ROBERT: I can hardly question that. Since I could not have stayed here if I hadn’t got hold of the Levinson money in the first place!
His emotions have unwittingly broken out. They’ve reached the house and Robert strides inside, leaving the lawyer to make his own way in. Mary, Edith and Sybil are walking behind them. Edith makes a point of wiping her eyes.
MARY: Really. Do you have to put on such an exhibition?
SYBIL: She’s not.
MARY: I was supposed to be engaged to him for heaven’s sake not you, and I can control myself.
EDITH: Then you should be ashamed.
Without waiting for a reply, she walks inside.
41 INT. KITCHEN. DAY.
Daisy comes back in, still holding a bowl.
MRS PATMORE: Come on, girl, get a move on!
She passes Daisy, carrying a hot serving dish.
MRS PATMORE (CONT’D): Oh, and don’t tell me you’ve not sent up the egg!
Daisy looks down at the bowl she’s carrying and stops dead. Without a word, she spins and races out the way she came.
42 INT. BASE OF THE SERVICE STAIR. DAY.
Daisy is trembling with terror when Gwen appears.
DAISY: Oh, God, help me! Please, God, help me.
GWEN: What on earth’s the matter?
DAISY: Just run upstairs to the dining room and find William, I beg you.
GWEN: I can’t do that now
DAISY: You’ve got to. I’ll be hanged if you don’t.
GWEN: What?
Daisy is moaning with fear, when they hear a voice.
WILLIAM (V.O.): Daisy? Is that you?
He comes round the bend in the stair, holding the bowl.
WILLIAM: Is it the chicken in a sauce? Or the plain chicken with sliced oranges?
Daisy almost faints with relief and joy.
DAISY: Oh, thank you, blessed and merciful Lord. Thank you.
She runs up to him, and swaps the bowls.
DAISY (CONT’D): The chicken in the sauce.
A rather bemused William nods and goes back up.
DAISY (CONT’D): I’ll never do anything sinful again I swear it! Not ‘til I die!
She hurries back to the kitchen, leaving a puzzled Gwen.
43 INT. HALL. DAY.
Robert is in the hall with Murray. The other guests are starting to walk past them, nodding and smiling sadly, and enter the dining room.
CORA: Lord Grantham says you’re not staying, after all?
MURRAY: You’re very kind, Lady Grantham, but I must get back to London.
CORA: But you’ll stay for luncheon?
MURRAY: Thank you, but no. I’ll eat on the train. In fact, if you’d be so good as to ask for the motor to be brought round.
CORA: I thought you wanted the afternoon to talk things through?
MURRAY: I think we’ve said everything we have to say. Haven’t we, my lord?
He looks over for confirmation.
ROBERT: For the time being, yes. Thank you, Murray. You’ve given me a good deal to think about.
Is this hopeful? The girls are loitering to one side.
CORA: Mary, try to get everyone into the dining room. And Edith, make sure old Lord Minterne sits down.
44 INT. CARSON’S PANTRY. DAY.
Carson is decanting port. He has stretched gauze across a silver funnel and now he lights a candle to place behind the flow of wine as he pours. Mrs Hughes is watching him.
MRS HUGHES: They’ve all gone then?
CARSON: They have, thank the Lord.
MRS HUGHES: What about the lawyer?
CARSON: He was the first away. Didn’t even stay for the luncheon.
MRS HUGHES: I wish they’d make their minds up. Gwen’s put clean sheets on the Blue Room bed. Now she’ll just have to strip it again.
CARSON: Can’t you leave it for the next guest?
MRS HUGHES: Only if you don’t tell.
Which makes them both laugh.
MRS HUGHES (CONT’D): So, has it all been settled?
CARSON: No, I don’t know that anything’s been settled. There’s a fellow in Manchester with claims to the title, I gather. But it’s all a long way from settled.
MRS HUGHES: You mustn’t take it personally.
CARSON: I do take it personally, Mrs Hughes. I can’t stand by and watch our family threatened with the loss of all they hold dear.
MRS HUGHES: They’re not ‘our’ family.
CARSON: They’re all the family I’ve got!
To our surprise, and hers, he’s almost shouting.
CARSON (CONT’D): I beg your pardon.
MRS HUGHES: Do you ever wish you’d gone another way?
He looks at her. What does she mean? She shrugs.
MRS HUGHES (CONT’D): Worked in a shop? Or a factory? Had a wife and children?
CARSON: Do you?
MRS HUGHES: I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes.*
There is a knock at the door and Gwen appears.
GWEN: William’s laid tea in the library but her ladyship hasn’t come down.
MRS HUGHES: Oh, she’ll be tired. Take a tray up to her bedroom.
CARSON: Is Thomas back?
GWEN: Not yet, Mr Carson.
She goes. Carson looks at Mrs Hughes.
CARSON: He asked to run down to the village. I didn’t see why not.
MRS HUGHES: I suppose they do realise this is a job and not just the chance to put their feet up?
She sighs. And so does he.
SCENE—NO DIALOGUE OF THOMAS WALKING THROUGH THE VILLAGE
* * *
45 INT. LIBRARY. DAY.
Robert is alone by the fire staring into the flames, when Edith comes in, closing the door behind her.
EDITH: Are you all right, Papa?
ROBERT: I suppose so. If being all right is compatible with feeling terribly, terribly sad.
EDITH: Me too.
He opens his arms and hugs her.
ROBERT: We loved Patrick, didn’t we?
EDITH: Oh, Papa.
She is crying again, quite genuinely. He pats her back.
ROBERT: Well, well. Life goes on.
She pulls herself together, wiping away her tears.
EDITH: What did Mr Murray have to say?
ROBERT: Only that I have some very difficult decisions ahead.
EDITH: You must do what you think right.
ROBERT: I may not have an option.
EDITH: No, I only mean … you should do what you feel is your duty. Not just what’s best for Mary.
He looks at her. She realises how bald her statement was.
EDITH (CONT’D): Or Sybil. Or me. We’ll manage.
ROBERT: Of course you will.
But she has given herself away a little, all the same.
* * *
46 INT. CORA’S BEDROOM. DAY.
Gwen is leaving. The tea tray she has brought is on the table. O’Brien helps Cora into a relaxing teagown.
O’BRIEN: It’s iniquitous. They can’t expect you to sit by silent, as your fortune is stolen away.*
CORA: Can’t they ?
O’BRIEN: His lordship would never let it happen.
But Cora will say nothing on this topic. She stretches out on a daybed, taking up a book. O’Brien pours some tea.
CORA: How’s Bates working out?
O’BRIEN: Well … I don’t like to say.
Cora looks at her, over the book.
O’BRIEN (CONT’D): Only it seems unkind to criticise a man for an affliction, m’lady.
Cora still does not comment. O’Brien presses her case.
O’BRIEN (CONT’D): Even if it means he can’t do his job.
At this, Cora does focus on what her maid is saying.
47 INT. LIBRARY. DAY.
Robert’s writing. Pharaoh lies by the fire. The door opens.
* * *
BATES: Mr Carson said you wanted me, m’lord.
ROBERT: Yes, Bates, I thought I’d have a bath before I change tonight. I’ll come up before the gong.
BATES: Very good, m’lord.
He would go, but Robert stops him.
* * *
ROBERT: So how are you settling in?
BATES: Very well, I think. Unless your lordship feels differently.
ROBERT: No complaints?
BATES: If I had any, I should take them to Mr Carson, m’lord. Not you.
ROBERT: You’re probably right.
He chuckles at being put in his place. But he does need to reassure himself about Bates.
ROBERT (CONT’D): And the house hasn’t worn you out? With the endless stairs and everything?
BATES: I like the house. I like it as a place to work.
Robert nods. He has been slightly emboldened by their talk.
ROBERT: What happened?
BATES: It’s only the old wound. After I left the army I’d a spot of bother and, just when I’d got through that, about a year ago my knee started playing up.
With a wry laugh, he gestures with his stick.
BATES (CONT’D): A bit of shrapnel was left in or something, and it moved. But it’s fine. It’s not a problem.
But Robert is clearly troubled, which he tries to lighten.
* * *
ROBERT: We’ve seen some times, haven’t we, Bates?
BATES: We have, m’lord.
* * *
ROBERT: And you’d let me know if you felt it was all too much for you?
BATES: I would. But it won’t be.
* * *
48 EXT. THE PARK. DAY.
Thomas is walking up the drive, in the beautiful park.
* * *
49 EXT. KITCHEN COURTYARD. DAY.
Thomas comes in through the gates.
O’BRIEN (V.O.): And where have you been?
O’Brien sits on a low window ledge. She is smoking.
THOMAS: The village. To send a telegram if you must know.
O’BRIEN: Ooh, pardon me for living.
But she offers him a fag. These two are friends.
O’BRIEN (CONT’D): Well, Murray didn’t stay long.
THOMAS: Does her ladyship know how they left it?
O’BRIEN: No. They talked it all through on the way back from the church.
THOMAS: If I was still his valet, I’d get it out of him.
O’BRIEN: Bates won’t say a word.
She rolls her eyes at the absurdity of this.
THOMAS: He will not. I’d bet you a tanner he’s a spy in the other direction.
She shudders, and he looks at her, questioning.
THOMAS (CONT’D): I wanted that job. We were all right together, his lordship and me.
O’BRIEN: Then be sure to get your foot in the door, when Bates is gone.
This is rather a big assumption.
THOMAS: We can�
�t get rid of him just because he talks behind our backs.
O’BRIEN: There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
She gives him a wink.
50 INT. MARY’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
Anna is dressing Mary’s hair for dinner, watched by Edith and Sybil. They are all three in black evening clothes.
ANNA: Perhaps she misunderstood.
MARY: No. It was quite plain. O’Brien told her Bates can’t do the job properly. Why was he taken on?
ANNA: He was Lord Grantham’s batman when he was fighting the Boers.
MARY: I know that, but even so.
SYBIL: I think it’s romantic.
MARY: I don’t. How can a valet do his work if he’s lame?
ANNA: He’s not very lame. There.
She’s finished. She takes up a few items to wash.
ANNA (CONT’D): Anything else before I go down?
MARY: No. That’s it. Thank you.
The maid goes. Mary grimaces at her skirt.
MARY (CONT’D): Oh, I hate black.
SYBIL: It’s not for long. Mama says we can go into half mourning next month. And back to colours for September.
MARY: It still seems a lot for a cousin.
EDITH: But not for a fiancé.
This produces a momentary silence.
MARY: He wasn’t really a fiancé.
EDITH: No? I thought that was what you call a man you’re going to marry.
MARY: I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up.
SYBIL: Mary! What a horrid thing to say!
MARY: Edith would have taken him, wouldn’t you?
EDITH: Yes. I’d have taken him. If you’d given me the chance, I’d have taken him like a shot.
* * *
The awkwardness of this prompts Sybil to calm things down.
SYBIL: Might something better turn up?
Downton Abbey Script Book Season 1 Page 3