Downton Abbey Script Book Season 1 (25 page)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Thomas is enjoying himself. He winks at O'Brien.

THOMAS: Can I help it if I'm irresistible?

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.

She pats her child's hand, as she glances at the dashboard.

CORA (CONT'D): Heavens. Look at the time. Not a minute to change and Granny's invited herself for dinner.

SYBIL: Then she can jolly well wait.

CORA: So women's rights begin at home? I see. Well, I'm all for that.

They laugh, and so, discreetly, does Branson.

Carson is looking at two bottles of Claret on the table before him. The wine book is open. Mrs Hughes looks in, wearing her coat. She has made an effort with her hat.

MRS HUGHES: I'm just off, Mr Carson.

CARSON: According to the wine book, we should still have six dozen of this, but I'm beggared if I can find much more than four.

MRS HUGHES: Look again before you jump to any, nasty conclusions.
*

He absorbs this as he looks at her.

CARSON: It's a long time since you last took a night off.

His words have triggered her own thoughts.

MRS HUGHES: Maybe too long. But I think I've dealt with everything.

CARSON: We'll be fine. It's only family.

MRS HUGHES: And Old Violet.

Carson looks at her. He doesn't approve and she knows it.

MRS HUGHES (CONT'D): Her ladyship just told me. You don't think I ought to stay, do you?

CARSON: Certainly not. Be off with you.

MRS HUGHES: Oh. Anna's in bed with a cold. So I'm afraid it's down to you.

CARSON: Go.

The fair is open now. Matthew is at the coconut shy, his bicycle parked nearby. He looks up to find Mary watching him.

MATTHEW: I thought I'd have a go before I went home. How about you?

MARY: I'm only here to send a telegram. And I haven't any money.

MATTHEW: Let me.

He gives a penny to the man. She throws and hits one.

MATTHEW (CONT'D): Well done. You've shown me up.

He takes hold of his bike, thinking for a moment.

MATTHEW: Do you know if your father's doing anything this evening?

MARY: He's not coming to the fair.

MATTHEW: Seriously.

MARY: Having dinner with his family.

MATTHEW: Could I look in afterwards?

MARY: May I ask why?

MATTHEW: Your grandmother paid me a visit this afternoon, and I—well, never mind, but I would like to see him.

MARY: Granny came to see you? Is it all part of the Great Matter?

He smiles but he does not answer. They walk on.

MARY (CONT'D): So are you enjoying yourself yet? In your new life?

Is she making fun of him? She doesn't seem to be.

MATTHEW: Yes, I think so. I know my work seems trivial to you—

MARY: Not necessarily. Sometimes I rather envy you, having somewhere to go every morning.

MATTHEW: I thought that made me very middle class.

MARY: You should learn to forget what I say. I know I do.

She laughs, which he takes as a kind of apology.

MATTHEW: How about you? Is your life proving satisfactory? Apart from the Great Matter, of course.