Downton Abbey Script Book Season 1 (2 page)

WILLIAM: He thought it didn't matter.

CARSON: Everything matters, William. Remember that or you'll never make first footman. Never mind butler. Everything matters.

WILLIAM: Yes, Mr Carson.

The maids are finishing as Mrs Hughes looks in.

MRS HUGHES: Is the morning room tidy?

ANNA: Yes, Mrs Hughes.

MRS HUGHES: Good. I want the dining room given a proper going over, today. You can do it after they've had their breakfast.

She catches sight of Daisy, still bent over the grate.

MRS HUGHES (CONT'D): Heavens, girl. You're building a fire, not inventing it. How many have you done?

DAISY: This is my last ‘til they come downstairs.

MRS HUGHES: Very well. Now get back to the kitchens before anyone sees you.

Daisy gathers up her things and scuttles out.

The newspaper boy is cycling down the drive towards the house, his satchel slung over his shoulder. As he approaches the kitchen entrance, the camera drifts up the facade to find a lovely young face looking out.

Lady Mary Crawley, twenty-one, is the family beauty. Lazily, she turns back from the window in her luxurious chamber. A fire crackles merrily in the grate. She walks to the bed and pulls at the bell rope.

The whole household is at breakfast, as the bell rings.

THOMAS: And they're off.
*

MRS HUGHES: No rest for the wicked.

She glances up at the line of bells. So does Mrs Patmore.

MRS PATMORE: Lady Mary. Are the tea trays ready?

There is a constant sense of small rivalries. Anna gets up.

ANNA: All ready, Mrs Patmore. If the water's boiled. Could you give us a hand to take the other two up?

A lady's maid, in a black dress with no apron, snorts.

O'BRIEN: I've got her ladyship's to carry.

GWEN: I'll help.

She goes too as there is a noise at the back door.

CARSON: The papers. At last. William.

William opens the door and the labrador, Pharaoh, comes in. The paperboy is just getting back on his bike.

WILLIAM: You're late.

BOY: I know. But …

WILLIAM: But what?

BOY: You'll see.

And he is gone. William, puzzled, goes back in.

A newspaper is laid out on the filthy board. An iron comes down on it. William is at work. Carson looks in.

CARSON: Do the
Times
first. He only reads that at breakfast. And the
Sketch
for her ladyship. You can manage the others later, if need be.

He walks away as William turns the page. He is stunned.

Carson's pantry is off the passage leading to the Servants' Hall. The butler walks back and sits at the table.

DAISY: Why are their papers ironed?

MRS PATMORE: What's it to you?

O'BRIEN: To dry the ink, silly. We wouldn't want his lordship to have hands as black as yours.
*

She gets up and goes as another bell rings on the board above their heads. And another. And another. And another.

WILLIAM: Mr Carson.

He is standing holding the paper. Carson looks round.

WILLIAM (CONT'D): I think you ought to see this.

Now the room is bustling. Mrs Patmore is putting eggs and bacon into some chafing dishes. Mrs Hughes is with her.

MRS HUGHES: I can't make myself believe it.

MRS PATMORE: Me neither.

Thomas looks round the door.

THOMAS: His lordship's dressed.

This immediately increases the tension.

MRS PATMORE: William! Please stop talking and take this tray. And mind the burners are still lit.

WILLIAM: Yes, Mrs Patmore.

He picks up the laden tray. Thomas questions him.

THOMAS: Is it really true?

WILLIAM: 'fraid so.

Thomas shares this with the cook who shakes her head.

MRS PATMORE: Nothing in life is sure.

Carson looks at his watch as William hurries in. On the sideboard, the burners beneath the dish-holders have been lit. William places the silver dishes on them.

CARSON: You're cutting it fine.

WILLIAM: Yes, Mr Carson.

They exchange a look as Carson straightens the newspaper by the place at the head of the table.

A door opens. Robert walks out of his dressing room. With a growl of delight, Pharaoh bounds over to bid his master good morning, and to follow him. Robert, Earl of Grantham, is handsome and clever, but his life isn't as uncomplicated as one might think. He walks along the gallery and on down the massive staircase into the great hall. Now we see it in all its glory. This could only be the palace of an English nobleman. He hesitates. Does he seem troubled? He goes into the dining room.

Now the butler stands alone by the sideboard.

ROBERT: Good morning, Carson.

CARSON: Good morning, m'lord.

ROBERT: Is it true? What they're saying?

CARSON: I believe so, m'lord.

Robert takes up a plate. Watched by Carson, he lifts the lids and helps himself to breakfast.

ROBERT: I'm afraid we'll know some people on it. Lady Rothes for one. We only saw her a few weeks ago. I don't suppose there are lists of survivors, yet?

CARSON: I understand most of the ladies were taken off in time.

ROBERT: You mean the ladies in first class?

He looks at the butler who acknowledges this.

ROBERT (CONT'D): God help the poor devils below decks, on their way to a better life. What a tragedy. He sits, shaking open the paper. On the third page, is a picture of the familiar four-funnelled liner,
Titanic
.
*

Mary enters with her sister, Edith, twenty. The upstairs echo of the rivalry among the servants, is the relationship between Mary and Edith. They hurry to look over his shoulder.

EDITH: When Anna told me, I thought she must have dreamed it.

MARY: Do we know anyone on board?

She goes to help herself to breakfast. Edith joins her.

ROBERT: Your mother knows the Astors—at least she knows
him
. And we dined with Lady Rothes last month. There are bound to be more.

EDITH: I thought it was supposed to be unsinkable.

ROBERT: Every mountain is unclimbable 'til someone climbs it. So every ship is unsinkable until it sinks.

The door opens again. This time it is his youngest daughter, Lady Sybil, seventeen, who comes in with an envelope.

SYBIL: Good morning, Papa.

He nods, pointing at the yellow square.

ROBERT: What's that?

SYBIL: Just arrived. A telegram. I told the boy to wait, in case there's an answer.

Robert takes it, slits it open and reads. He is quite still for a moment, then he stands abruptly and leaves the room. The girls stare at their father's unfinished plate.
*

As Robert appears, a door opens. O'Brien comes out.

ROBERT: Is her ladyship awake?

O'BRIEN: Yes, m'lord. I'm just going to take in her breakfast.

ROBERT: Thank you.

He knocks gently, speaking as he does so.

ROBERT (CONT'D): May I come in?

Cora, Countess of Grantham, is in bed. She's pretty, in her forties, and American. She's reading a paper and looks up.
*

CORA: Isn't this terrible? When you think how excited Lucy Rothes was at the prospect. Too awful for any words.

But her husband doesn't really respond.

CORA (CONT'D): Did J. J. Astor get off? Of course that new wife of his is
bound
to have been rescued …

Still, Robert will not join in. She tails off.

ROBERT: I've had a telegram from George Murray. One of his partners is in New York …

CORA: Yes?

ROBERT: Apparently James and Patrick were on board.

This is astonishing. Terrible. She puts down the paper.

CORA: What? They can't have been. They weren't going over 'til May.

ROBERT: Then they changed their plans. They're definitely on the passenger list.

Cora is aghast. With a knock, O'Brien enters carrying a tray. She places it across Cora's legs, starting to tidy.

CORA: Thank you, O'Brien. That'll be all for the moment.

O'Brien doesn't need to be told twice. She retreats. Cora and Robert stare at each other. Can this be happening?

CORA (CONT'D): But surely they must have been picked up?

ROBERT: Doesn't look like it.

CORA: What? Neither of them? My God.

She is weeping now. Then a thought occurs to her.

CORA (CONT'D): You must tell Mary. She can't hear it from anyone else.

His face tells us that he knows his duty.

Anna and Gwen are on either side of the bed, finishing off the counterpane. O'Brien is in the doorway.

O'BRIEN: Neither of them were picked up. That's what he said.

ANNA: Mr Crawley
and
Mr Patrick?

O'BRIEN: That's what he said. Her ladyship was the colour of this cloth.

GWEN: Well, it's a terrible shame if it's true.

O'BRIEN: It's worse than a shame. It's a complication.

She goes. Anna and Gwen pick up some linen, a candlestick and a water carafe and follow.

The three maids are coming down into the back hall.

GWEN: What do you mean?

O'BRIEN: What do you think? Mr Crawley was his lordship's cousin and heir to the title.

GWEN: I thought Lady Mary was the heir.

O'BRIEN: She's a girl, stupid. Girls can't inherit. But now Mr Crawley's dead. And Mr Patrick was his only son. So what happens next?
*

ANNA: It's a dreadful thing.

BATES (V.O.): Hello?

The man from the train is below them. With a suitcase.

BATES: I've been waiting at the back door. I knocked but no one came.

O'BRIEN: So you pushed in.

BATES: I'm John Bates. The new valet.

What makes this surprising is that he walks with a stick and has a noticeable limp. O‘Brien stares at him.
*

O'BRIEN: The new valet?

BATES: That's right.

O'BRIEN: You're early.

BATES: Came on the milk train. Thought I could use the day to get to know the place. And start tonight.

ANNA: I'm Anna, the head housemaid.

O'BRIEN: And I'm Miss O'Brien, her ladyship's maid.