Downton Abbey Script Book Season 1 (4 page)

CORA: And he knows this?

VIOLET: If he doesn't, he will.

CORA: Then there's no answer.

Cora is now truly fascinated. Which the other woman sees.

VIOLET: Yes there is, and it's a simple one. The entail must be smashed in its entirety and Mary recognised as heiress of all.

CORA: There's nothing we can do about the title.

VIOLET: No, she can't have the title. But she can have your money. And the estate. I didn't run Downton for thirty years to see it go, lock, stock and barrel, to a stranger from God knows where.

At last Cora speaks in a voice of wonder.

CORA: Are we to be friends, then?

Violet hesitates. She would not go quite that far.

VIOLET: We are allies, my dear. Which can be a good deal more effective.

It is lunchtime. The camera passes Mrs Patmore, Daisy and the kitchen staff eating in the kitchen, and arrives in the Servants' Hall, where Carson addresses Bates.

CARSON: Downton is a great house, Mr Bates, and the Crawleys are a great family. We live by certain standards and those standards can at first seem daunting.

BATES: Of course—

CARSON: If you find yourself tongue-tied in the presence of his lordship, I can only assure you that his manners and grace will soon help you to perform your duties to the best of your ability.

BATES: I know—

ROBERT (V.O.): Bates! My dear fellow!

Robert is in the doorway. The stunned company struggles to its feet. Whereupon he notices he has interrupted them.

ROBERT: I do apologise. I should have realised you'd be at luncheon.

CARSON: Not at all, m'lord.

ROBERT: Please sit. Sit, everyone. I just want to say a quick hello to my old comrade in arms. Bates, my dear man. Welcome to Downton.

But Bates has struggled to his feet and now Robert sees that he is disabled. He takes his hand.

ROBERT (CONT'D): I'm so sorry to have disturbed you all. Please forgive me.

He goes. The table is silent, with everybody's eyes fixed on the newcomer. He shrugs slightly, looking round.

BATES: You never asked.

O'Brien catches Thomas's eye. Their look is not friendly.

Mrs Patmore and the kitchen maids are working flat out.
*

MRS PATMORE: Thomas, take that up!

The footman loads a pie onto a tray with Daisy's help.

MRS PATMORE (CONT'D): Leave that, Daisy! He's a grown man. I suppose he can lift a meat pie. Now, put the apple tart into the low oven!

Daisy smiles up at Thomas as he hurries out. Mrs Patmore sees a bowl on the side.

MRS PATMORE (CONT'D): And take that away. Mr Lynch shouldn't have left it there.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.