"Brighton week by week.
"Great public interest has been aroused by the forthcoming trial at Lewes
"of Mrs Hilda Jackson, charged with the crime...
"with the atrocious crime of murder."
Paragraph.
"It is interesting to note that this trial will mark
"the first public appearance in his official capacity
"of Mr Edward Sutton,
"recently appointed public analyst for the county of Sussex."
And I find that I have a sensation of fullness after meals,
in the abdomen.
I unhesitatingly recommend Dr Weekes's pill of health
from the recipe of the late Dr Hampton Weekes.
A most excellent remedy, madam,
for bilious complaints, fevers, disorders of the stomach and bowels,
habitual costiveness, indigestion and flatulency.
Very well, I'll take it.
How much?
Two shillings, please, madam.
The dose is one pill three times a day before meals.
You will not find them difficult to swallow.
- How very neat that looks. - Thank you, madam.
- Good night, madam. - Good night, Mr Sutton.
Gentlemen of the jury, are you agreed upon your verdict?
We are.
Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?
Guilty.
- And that is the verdict of you all? - It is.
COURT OFFICIAL: Oyez!
Oyez!
Hilda Jackson,
you have been found guilty of a callous and cold-blooded murder.
For this offence your life is forfeit.
You must therefore prepare to die.
And I trust that you will, by repentance of your crimes,
seek to obtain mercy from Almighty God.
The sentence of the law is that you be taken hence
to the place from which you came
and thence to a place of lawful execution
and be there hanged by the neck until you be dead,
and that your body be afterwards buried within the precincts of the jail
in which you were last confined.
And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul.
Amen.
There, I think that's everything.
We'll have tea as soon as Papa comes back.
Oh, I do hope they've decided to hang Mrs Jackson.
Victoria, what a dreadful thing to say!
Well, if they have, he'll be in a good mood
and I particularly want him to be
because I'm going to ask him to show me my school report.
You'll spoil your tea if you pick at things like that.
What do you want to see it for?
Because I know why he hasn't shown it to me.
Mr Harding said he ought to let me take up singing as a career.
Here is Papa now.
Guilty or not guilty?
Guilty.
(SHOP BELL RINGS)
Good afternoon, Papa.
- What happened? - A verdict of guilty.
His Lordship was gracious enough to compliment me on my share
in bringing the criminal to justice.
- Will they hang her? - Naturally.
Are those your notes on the properties of the alkalis?
Well, I...
Official note-taking is the key to success in all examinations.
- Let me see them. - They're... they're just a rough draft.
Nevertheless I should like to see them.
"To Mary."
Verses?
I was just trying my hand at writing a few verses.
- You see... - Read them to me, please.
Oh, I... I can't.
Read them.
"Amid my drab, diurnal quest
"My senseless round from place to place
"One vision soothes my weary breast
"'Tis that of your adored face
"For in my restless sleep I seem
"To hold your beauty in my arms
"And till the cruel day I dream
"Of eyes as grey as mountain tarns"
Lord Tennyson will have to look to his laurels.
Am I correct in supposing this rubbish is addressed
to Victoria's friend, Mary Truscott?
Yes, Papa.
Miss Truscott is in London.
You write to her?
Yes, Papa.
And she replies?
Answer me!
Yes, Papa.
I wonder what Sir George would think
of his daughter's clandestine correspondence.
Papa, can I speak to you for a moment?
Yes, Victoria? What is it?
It's about my voice.
Mr Harding told me what he was going to say in my report.
Then Mr Harding acted in a most unprofessional manner.
Oh, Papa, please let me train as a singer.
That's enough, Victoria.
Singing as a female social accomplishment is one thing,
professional singing is another.
Professional singers are invariably persons of dissolute life and habit
and, unless they have outstanding merit, rarely make an adequate livelihood.
But, Papa, perhaps I have outstanding merit.
Perhaps, my dear.
Now, I don't want to hear any more about this, Victoria.
In order that the money already invested in your training shall not be wasted
I'm arranging for you to give piano lessons
to the children of some of my customers.
Yes, Papa.
Tea's ready. And, oh, Papa, thanks for the darling little guinea pigs.
- Guinea pigs? - The carrier's just brought them.
- What a lovely present! - They're not a present.
You've already received a dozen linen handkerchiefs from me.
The guinea pigs are for the purpose of my experiments.
You're not going to do horrible things to them, not like the frogs?
Scientific experiments for the benefit of humanity
are not horrible, Margaret.
It will all come right somehow. You mustn't cry.
Dear Peggy, now your birthday's here, we hope you'll have a prosperous...
Oh, Papa's going to cut them up alive!
The darling little guinea pigs, he's going to cut them up alive!
(SOBBING)
Silence!
♪ Virtue's treasure
♪ Is a pleasure
♪ Cheerful
♪ Even amid distress
♪ Here relying
♪ Suffering
♪ Dying
♪ Honest souls
♪ Find all
♪ Redress ♪
What a sad little song, Victoria.
I feel sad.
What's the matter? You know, if there's anything I can do...
I'm afraid there isn't, John.
It's just that I want to go to Paris and Vienna and Milan
and sing an opera
and Papa says I can give piano lessons to the children of his customers.
- Perhaps he'll change his mind. - Never.
I shall have to live and die in Brighton.
In that case you might as well decide to marry me.
- No, John, I'm sorry. - I'll keep on asking, you know.
Hm.
- Evening, John. - Good evening, sir.
Well, I'm afraid I must be going. Good night, Miss Victoria.
- I'll see you out. - Please don't bother.
I should know my way by now.
My respects to your father.
- Thank you, sir. Good night, sir. - Good night, John.
I take it you've refused young Bevan again, Victoria?
- Yes, Papa. - You're extremely foolish.
I hope you realise you're not likely to get a better offer.
Yes, Papa.
- Tell David I wish to speak to him. - Yes, Papa.
Come in, David, and shut the door.
I've been to see Sir George Truscott.
It's a parent's duty, David, to look after his children.
And when he finds them behaving as you've been behaving,
it's his duty to put a stop to it.
As I expected, Sir George was extremely angry.
He holds strong views upon correspondence between young people
unless they are actually engaged to be married.
But, Papa, I love Mary. I want to marry her.
Have you any idea what you're saying?
A boy of your age to talk about love and marriage?
When you're capable of earning your own living
and are not dependent upon me for the meals you eat,
the clothes you wear and every penny you spend,
then it will be time enough for you to think of such things.
Is anything the matter, David?
No, Mama.
- Good night. - Good night, dear.
What is the matter with David?
Nothing you need bother your head about, my dear.
Poor David, he looked so unhappy.
He has very little cause for unhappiness.
At his age I should have regarded
a comfortable home and three substantial meals a day
as an earthly paradise,
not to speak of a secured livelihood in a respected profession.
Your father was a poor man
and a harsh man, Edward.
But is that any reason
why you should treat your children harshly?
I, treat them harshly?
What are you talking about, Ellen?
Why do you not try to make them love you rather than fear you?
Love and fear are inseparable.
God is love, but we are taught to fear him.
Oh, I know you believe that your methods are right, but...
I'm afraid that continually crushing the children as you do
will make them lose their trust in us.
Every day they withdraw more and more into themselves.
Even the little ones have secrets that I'm not allowed to share.
(♪ PIANO MUSIC)
(LAUGHTER AND CONVERSATION)
Yes?
- Whisky, please, miss. - Whisky.
- How much? - Tuppence.
Oh, so you're back, Miss Porter?
This morning. Everyone was charming to me, quite charming.
When I left, they all said they were looking forward to seeing me again.
It was so nice of them.
- I'll have a penn'orth, please, Maudie. - Right.
- Evening, Louise. - Back again, eh?
This morning.
A most enjoyable visit.
- Your 46th conviction, wasn't it? - No, dear, 47th.
It will be your 48th if you're not careful.
Evening, Maudie. Whisky.
Er, another whisky, please, miss.
- Where's Dan this evening? - I don't know.
- Well, fancy that. - And what's more, I don't care.
Oh?
I wonder where our Pearl is this evening.
- Are you insinuating they're together? - Well, dear,
Dan isn't here and Pearl isn't here and knowing that they're always...
Knowing what?
Well, I can't quite call to mind what I was saying.
You were saying something about my wife and I don't like it.
See?
He's been on the booze for days. You'd better be careful.
I'll have a penn'orth, please, Maudie.
I must say, when I compare the charming company I was in last week
to what I'm in now,
- I wish I were back again. - You will be.
Well, I'm just warning you. Keep your mouth shut about Pearl.
Hello, Dan.
Oh, hello, Pearl. What are you doing out here?
Just came out for a breath of fresh air.
Joe see you come out?
He's too drunk to see anything.
- Anyone else see you? - Her?
Much I care whether she did or not.
- Let go of me, will you? I'm late. - Where are you going?
Inside.
- Louise will be waiting. - Louise!
- She's all right, Louise is. - She's a fool.
Go on. I'm a fool too.
Both of us making fools of ourselves over a dirty, cheating swine.
(CHUCKLES)
- Anything for Lewes, Dan? - Nothing I'm telling you about, mate.
- Good evening. - Good evening.
- Good evening, Doctor. - I made out that prescription for you.
All right, I'll be back in a minute.
- You're late. - I was busy.
- Two whiskies, Maudie. - (COUGHS)
- Good evening, Mr Powell. - Well, well. So you're out again, eh?
Maudie?
- And a gin. - Thank you.
- Good evening, Louise. - Evening.
- Well, stranger. - Good evening.
I was only asking Louise earlier where you were. Louise, I said...
- Have a drink, Pearl? - Thanks, I'd like a whisky.
- Maudie, another whisky. - Right.
Er, Mrs Bond, the guvnor wants you in the parlour.
I'll have it when I come back.
- Oh, I'm so sorry. - Oh, no harm done.
Come over here.
I'm not asking you where you've been because I know.
And I don't care for it, see?
- You're drunk. - Yeah.
But not too drunk to tell you this business with Dan's got to stop.
- And who's going to stop it? - I am.
Little runt of a warned-off jockey! I'll break every bone in his body.
(♪ BAND PLAYING ON THE PIER)
I'll be back.
There you are.
- You've forgotten something. - Oh?
You've forgotten to tell me the name of the horse you're gonna give it to.
- What'll you have? - A penn'orth.
- And what's yours? - I'm not drinking with you.
Please yourself.
Why can't you stick to your own man instead of running after mine?
Hark at her! Yours indeed?
The only thing you ever got out of Dan was that pretty scar on your face.
You dirty slut!
Nark it!
Most unladylike.
Excuse me.
I hope I didn't inconvenience you just now.
What?
Oh, no, not at all.
I've been drinking.
- Whisky. - Really?
- I've never drunk it before. - You're lucky.
Do you go there often?
I live there.
In the public house?
- Any objection? - Oh, no, of course not. I...
It's the first time I've ever been there.
You're lucky again.
It won't be the last, though, now I've met you.
Charmed, I'm sure.
I was thinking, it's a nice night for a walk.
A very nice night.
Why don't you go home to your ma?
(LAUGHTER)
- Good night, Maud. - Good night.
(CHATTER)
Oh, I shouldn't have said that, should I?
I don't suppose it will do any harm to take a little stroll.
You know, you're ever such a nice boy,
the sort of boy a girl could really get friendly with.
Oh, good night, Dan.
I'm afraid that's all, you poor little darlings.
I'll buy you some more as soon as I can.
(DOOR OPENS)
- David, what on earth... - Shh.
(SNORING)
What on earth are you two up to?
I went down to feed the guinea pigs. David's been out.
Have you been drinking?
- Yes. - Oh, what would Papa say?
I don't care what Papa would say.
You'd better go to bed, my boy.
I will.
Good night.
So had you.
Fancy David taking to the bottle!
Don't be silly, Peggy.
I expect he's drowning his sorrows because Mary's gone to London.
Oh, dear. We all seem to have our problems, don't we?
David's is love, yours is singing and mine is guinea pigs.
Go to sleep, Peggy.
- Vicky? - Mm?
Wouldn't it be wonderful if Papa was the sort of Papa
who understood what one was like and what one wanted?
Yes, wouldn't it?
Good night.
- I want some cabbages, please. - Yes, miss. How many?
How many do you think would be enough for six guinea pigs?
Oh, I should think one would be plenty.
- How much? - Three halfpence each.
- I'll take one. - Thank you.
- Good morning, Peggy. - Oh, it's you.
There you are, miss.
- Thank you. - Thank you.
- Good morning. - Good morning, John.
- Can I help you carry anything? - No, thank you. It's very light.
What are you doing out of the office at this time?
I've been doing a valuation at Rottingdean.
- Are you sure I can't carry that for you? - Quite sure, thank you.
Come on, we must be getting home. See you in church on Sunday, John.
- You are beastly to John sometimes. - I know. I can't help it.
He's always there somehow and it gets on my nerves.
If only he were like Mr Rochester.
Peggy! What do you know about Mr Rochester?
Nora Dale had a copy of Jane Eyre
and she lent it to me during scripture preparation.
Oh, Mr Rochester was wonderful, Vicky. He was tall, dark and...
Papa would be very displeased if he knew you'd read that book.
- Yes, Vicky. - You must never look at it again.
No, Vicky.
- Who did you say had a copy? - Nora Dale, Vicky.
Oh, Peggy, look! Madame Patti. If only I could hear her.
Seats two guineas, one guinea, 12 and six, and seven and six.
- What a hope! - Yes.
If only she could hear you.
She's awfully famous and perhaps if she said
you ought to take it up professionally, Papa would listen.
Oh, she'd never see me.
- We'd like to see Madame Patti, please. - Have you an appointment?
Well... well, not exactly. You see...
I'm sorry, miss, not a hope.
The fact is, I want my sister to sing to her.
You've got it the wrong way round, miss. It's Madame Patti that sings.
Oh, I do think you're mean. You could easily let us in.
You don't know how important it is to us.
You don't know how important it is to me to keep my job.
If you was to hang about till after the concert,
- you'd be able to see her come out. - Oh, thank you. We will.
- That's her. - ♪ May thy charms no stranger prove
♪ But bloom forever like my love
♪ Oh, may thy charms
♪ No stranger prove
♪ But bloom forever
♪ Like my love
♪ Hush every breeze
♪ Let nothing move
♪ My Delia
♪ Sings
♪ And sings
♪ Of love ♪
(CHEERING)
Go on, Vicky, sing.
- What here? - Yes, here.
- Go on, sing. - Oh, I can't.
(MORE CHEERING)
It's your only chance that she'll hear you. You must sing.
Oh, but, Peggy, I can't.
Oh, do you want to be a singer or don't you?
♪ Mid pleasures and palaces
♪ Though we may roam
♪ Be it ever so humble
♪ There's no place like home
♪ A charm from the skies
♪ Seems to hallow us there
♪ Which seek thro' the world
♪ Is ne'er met with elsewhere
♪ Home
♪ Sweet, sweet home
♪ There's no place like home
♪ There's no place
♪ Like home ♪
- Come here, child. - Go on, Vicky.
Come with me.
- Where did you learn to sing like that? - At school, madam.
And do you usually sing in the street at night?
Oh, no, madam, it was just that...
Well, you see, I...
Suppose you have supper with me and tell me all about it?
After all, you've sung for it.
Oh, madam!
Peggy, darling, whatever are you crying about?
I'm not crying, I'm laughing.
What made the whole thing perfect
was Papa asking how we enjoyed the missionary lecture.
- I nearly died. - It's very wrong of us to deceive Papa.
Papas like Papa force their children to deceive them.
It's the most wonderful thing ever. I still can't believe it's true.
Aren't you terrifically excited?
It will be jolly frightening to go up to London
and sing to a lot of old fogeys, but when you get the scholarship...
Oh, Vicky, what on earth's the matter?
It's no good, Peggy.
I can't go.
I've just realised I haven't the money for the fare to London.
It's seven and six and I spent all my money on a new bonnet.
- Well, we'll borrow it. - Oh, who from?
Well, Papa's no good and I know David hasn't got any.
Mama would give it to you, but... if Papa found out he'd be beastly to her.
And Lucy gives all hers to her sister who's on the parish.
I know, John.
- Oh, I can't borrow from John. - Why ever not?
Well, young ladies don't borrow from young gentlemen.
How jolly silly.
There isn't anything we can pawn either.
There's that coral necklace Grandma gave you.
Oh, it's not real coral.
The old cheat!
Oh, don't cry, Vicky darling. I'll think of some way.
Papa owes me two weeks' pocket money.
That's a shilling to start with.
Thank you.
"Grant, we beseech Thee, Almighty God,
"that we, who for our evil deeds do worthily deserve to be punished,
"by the comfort of Thy grace may mercifully be relieved
"through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, amen."
Word perfect.
I have noticed a marked improvement in your conduct
during the past few days, Victoria.
Thank you, Papa.
Mrs Ellis reports very favourably on your piano lessons to her children.
The Ellis children are such little darlings, Papa,
it's a pleasure to teach them.
Mrs Ellis' recommendation should result in your obtaining other pupils.
Yes, Papa.
You are beginning to realise
that your father is the best judge of your ultimate happiness.
Well, we'll say no more about our recent differences of opinion.
- You are entirely forgiven. - Thank you, Papa.
Now I will hear Margaret repeat her Collect.
- Yes, Papa. I'll go and tell her. - Thank you.
Huh! Little darlings!
"Grant, we beseech Thee,
"that we, who for our evil deeds do deserve to be punished,
"by the comfort of Thy grace may..."
- Papa's waiting for you. - Oh, dear! I don't know it yet.
Well, you're very silly. It's the shortest one in Lent.
Do you recognise this, Margaret?
It looks like a cabbage leaf.
Your powers of observation do you credit.
Can you, by any chance, explain
how I came to find it in the guinea pigs' cage?
No, Papa, unless perhaps they were hungry.
Do you suggest that they went and fetched this from the kitchen?
No, Papa.
- You have been feeding them, Margaret. - Yes, Papa.
You have disobeyed my explicit orders.
I had explained to you that for my experiments it was essential
that they should be kept on the border of starvation.
It's just beastly cruelty, that's what it is,
and you make us learn Collects and talk about Christian kindness!
That will do, Margaret.
I will not have you speak to me in that manner.
And as you're so interested in Christian kindness,
I will give your two week's pocket money to the society
for the propagation of the Gospel among the unenlightened heathen.
Now repeat your Collect.
Repeat the Collect!
(SOBBING) "Grant, we beseech Thee, Almighty God, that we..."
Portrait of a man about town.
I can't think what's come over you lately, David.
You do nothing but fiddle with your tie and look in mirrors.
(SCOFFING) I do not.
Are we all ready? Ellen?
Coming, Edward.
Here, hold these.
Here's your collection money.
Sorry, Edward.
At last we appear to be ready.
(CHURCH BELLS CHIME)
♪ To Elijah
♪ Angels came
♪ Steeds of fire
♪ And car of flame
♪ So was Daniel
♪ Meet to gaze
♪ On the sight
♪ Of latter days
♪ And the Baptist... ♪
Oh, Vicky,
do you think the unenlightened heathen would miss seven and six?
Peggy!
Papa is giving them a shilling of my pocket money
so it's all right for me to take threepence back.
Canon Jones was very brief today.
I deplore this modern tendency towards short sermons.
When I was a boy they used to go on for hours.
Personally, I think 45 minutes quite long enough.
Will you excuse me, Papa?
I ought to take old Mrs Hunter her medicine.
Good boy, David.
Hello. What are you doing here?
I happened to be going this way and... I thought I might see you again.
You can't see much of me. I've got an appointment.
Perhaps I might walk along with you.
All right.
I've been wondering if you might care to come with me to the West Pier.
They have a band, you know.
I'm afraid I can't promise. It depends on my husband.
Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were married.
- Please forgive me. - What for?
- Well, asking you to come out with me. - Don't be soft.
What I mean is, if he's on the booze I can go out. If he isn't, I can't.
Does he drink a lot, then?
Hardly ever stops.
It's terrible when he's on the drink.
- He knocks me about like anything. - He doesn't!
Oh, I'm used to it.
Well, come along if you're coming. I don't want to keep my friend waiting.
Been for a walk with such a nice chap.
Oh?
Seems to have taken quite a fancy to me.
That's fine.
Said he'd be on the front tonight on the off-chance of seeing me.
I expect I'll have no end of a time keeping him in his place.
Why bother?
Because I'm not that kind.
No?
Perhaps I was once, but I'm not now, and you know the reason why.
Oh, Dan!
Thank you, Mrs Webster.
Fancy Mrs Webster, don't you?
She's all right.
She must have been quite a good looker.
She is a good looker.
I suppose any woman with as much money as she has would be.
But you're a much better looker.
I'd never notice Mrs Webster when I was with you...
if you were a wealthy widow too.
For what we have received may the Lord make us truly thankful.
- Amen. - Amen.
Can I get down, Papa?
I've no doubt you can get down.
Whether you may get down is another matter.
- May I get down, then? - You may, Margaret.
Kindly see that James and Nicholas are not late for Sunday school.
Yes, Papa. Come on, you two.
Where is Lucy?
- It's her afternoon off, Edward. - What, again?
It's only once a month, Edward.
I don't pay her 12 pounds a year to have you do the washing up.
You spoil the girl, Ellen.
Where is the parish magazine?
I put it in the parlour for you, dear.
I don't care what you said.
I don't care if I am taking it the wrong way.
I just don't care for you, see? So you'd better get out.
All right, all right. I just asked after your missus.
It's a free country, ain't it?
Mr Bond seems put out tonight.
(SCOFFS) He's sober.
Well, if you ask me, he has enough to make him sober.
Meaning Pearl?
Stop chattering and get on with your work.
Evening.
- Seen Dan? - Not for several hours.
Whisky, Maudie.
Where did you see him last?
- Oysters. - What?
- I said oysters. - What do you mean? Where was he?
- Are you looking for Dan as usual? - None of your business, Joe Bond.
As a matter of fact, Dan Powell is my business.
As a matter of fact, I got a message for him.
Next time he comes through that door he'll go out feet first.
- Dan, don't want to come here. - Why does he, then?
Because your wife won't leave him alone.
Chasing him all over the place with her "Dan this" and "Dan that"
and making sheep's eyes at him.
That's it!
Sheep's eyes.
Sheep's eyes and oysters.
JOE: What was that, you old witch?
With her "Dan this" and her "Dan that",
making sheep's eyes in the oyster bar.
I've seen 'em.
- Where is Pearl, anyway? - My wife's in the parlour.
Pity you can't keep her there.
- Get out. - I'm getting.
Remember what I told you would happen if you didn't stop seeing Dan Powell?
Remember?
Well, after I've beaten him into a pulp I'll see to you, my girl.
Why should Louise be the only one of Dan's fancy women
with a scar on her face?
I'll mark you for life if you don't stop it, see?
Next time it won't be an accident. And it won't be your hand.
Pearl.
Oh, it's you.
Pearl, what is it?
Oh, how did that happen?
♪ We met, 'twas in a crowd
- ♪ And I thought he would shun me... ♪ - You still here?
Penn'orth, please, landlord.
♪ He came, I could not breathe
♪ For his eye was upon me ♪
You've cut your hand.
No, I haven't. Pearl cut herself.
Very careless.
Very careless young woman, your wife.
Now, will you go home?
Good night, Mr Bond.
A most enjoyable evening.
(CLOCK CHIMES)
What if your pa wasn't in bed?
He'd have something to say, you bringing me home.
He'd have to put up with it.
Grown up a bit, haven't you?
Maybe.
Come into the laboratory.
Sit down, please.
Now, let's look at that hand.
Mm, nasty.
- Might lead to tetanus. - Tetanus?
- What's that? - Lockjaw, then.
I'll clean it with a strong disinfectant.
- What's in all those bottles? - Chemicals of various kinds.
These are poisons.
Arsenic, digitalis, belladonna, strychnine.
There's enough in that one to kill half Brighton.
Just imagine that.
Wouldn't do to quarrel with a chap like you, would it?
Give me your hand.
I suppose I'd know all about it if I got... what you said?
Tetanus? You certainly would.
It ties people up in knots
as if they'd taken some of that strychnine up there.
Really?
Even experts find it hard to tell the effect of one from the other.
William Palmer nearly got off because the doctors disagreed,
but the man he poisoned had been ill for less than three days.
Anyhow, there was no cut where the germs could have entered
so it couldn't have been tetanus.
Don't you know a lot?
There, that's all I can do for you.
Well, thanks very much.
It isn't often a chap's as nice to me as you are.
That's no way for a doctor to look at his patient.
- I'm sorry. - Are you?
Oh, I could do with a drink.
I'm afraid Papa doesn't keep any spirits in the house.
I could get you a glass of milk.
That would do all right.
I won't be a minute.
- Here you are. - Thanks.
Well, good night, and thanks.
Oh, it was nothing.
A present for a good boy.
- Well! - Pearl, I...
Good night.
Give me a whisky, Frank.
- Thanks. - Anything more?
No, thanks.
- Where's the guvnor? - Back on the booze.
Took a bottle upstairs with him. Good night.
(MUTTERING)
You?
Another, another couple.
(GROANING)
(♪ PIANO INTRO)
♪ Light is my heart as the bird of the morning
♪ Or rosy clouds yonder bright east adorning
♪ Light is my heart as the bird of the morning
♪ Or clouds so rosy
♪ Yon east adorning
♪ Light is my heart
♪ Within me singing
♪ While upward winging
♪ Light is my heart
♪ In earthly sorrows
♪ It hath no part
♪ Ha-ah-ha-ah, ha-ah-ha-ah
♪ Ha-ah-ha-ah
♪ Ha-ah-ha-ah, ha-ah...
♪ Ha-ah...
♪ It hath no part
♪ No pa-a-a-art
♪ Ha-ah ♪
Thank you, Miss Sutton.
Penn'orth, please, Maudie.
For the third time, a penn'orth, please, Maudie.
Sorry. Ever so busy tonight with the guvnor still being off.
- It's days since I've seen him. - Days since anyone has.
He's locked himself in his room.
Well, look who's here!
Good evening, Doctor.
Good evening, ladies. What are you taking?
You know my friend Mrs Webster.
Good evening.
- I'll have a glass of gin. - Mrs Webster?
- I'd like a port, Mr Powell. - And a whisky for me, Maudie.
- And your own. - Thank you.
Well, where's our Joe tonight?
You know perfectly well Mr Bond is having one of his turns
or you wouldn't be here.
Is Mr Bond ill, then?
Oh, yes. He's in a bad way, Joe Bond is.
- Your health, Mrs Webster. - Best respects.
Well, what a pleasant surprise, Mrs Webster.
You've never been here before, have you?
No.
- Good evening, Dan. - Good evening.
You ought to have brought Mrs Webster here before, Dan.
I'm sorry to hear your husband's poorly, Mrs Bond.
Oh, he's not poorly, Mrs Webster. I'm afraid he's on the drink.
Though, I must say,
I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't working up for a nasty illness.
I haven't liked the looks of him lately.
He's sort of tired and puffy about the eyes.
- Door still locked? - Yes.
He's locked himself in. He's never done that before.
I can hear him shouting to himself all night.
- It's ever so upsetting. - Perhaps he's seeing pink elephants.
Now, there's no need to be unkind about Joe.
He may drink, but there are a lot of worse things than that.
- Having a drink, Pearl? - No, thanks. I'm just off to bed.
Another port, Mrs W?
Well, really, I... I don't know if I should.
- A port and a whisky, Maudie. - Right.
On the house, Maudie.
- Thank you. - Thank you.
Well, good night, Mrs Webster.
I hope we shall see you here again soon.
- Good night. - Good night, Dan.
Lock up for me in about an hour, will you, dear?
Poor thing.
I must say, I shouldn't like a husband who went on like that.
The late Mr Webster may have taken a drop too much now and again
but nothing serious.
Perhaps Mr Webster hadn't troubles like Joe Bond has.
Troubles?
Best respects.
(KEY TURNING IN THE LOCK)
Pour a drink.
(JOE GROANS)
(THUD)
Been alone all my life, really.
Mum and Dad dying when I was little.
Never known what it was to have a home.
Oh, Mr Powell, how sad for you.
Joe! Joe, let me in!
Help! Help!
Joe! Joe!
- What's the matter? - He won't let me in.
I heard him groaning and then a thud as if he'd fallen.
Oh, I'm frightened.
- Joe! Joe, let me in! - Maudie, go and fetch the doctor.
We'd better break the door down.
I'm afraid he's dead, Mrs Bond.
(SCREAMS)
All right, all right.
The guvnor's dead.
I'm closing.
Drink up, everybody.
Oh, Dan, it was horrible.
- And Mr Powell? - He's looking after Mrs Bond.
I suppose you've no idea what he died of?
I would diagnose tetanus,
popularly known as lockjaw.
Oh, yes.
He did cut his hand on a broken glass, Sunday night,
same time as I cut mine.
I tried to bandage it for him, but he wouldn't let me.
That might quite easily account for it.
These unattended cuts are very dangerous.
Well, I'll call again in the morning, Mrs Bond,
to sign the certificate.
- Can you keep a secret, John? - Try me.
I gave an audition for a scholarship at the Royal College of Music.
- If I've got it, they'll send a telegram. - How wonderful.
- Of course I won't get it. - Of course you will.
- Wouldn't it be wonderful? - Paris, Vienna, Milan.
Paris, Vienna, Milan.
And I'll be able to say I was in the secret all the time.
Oh, John, you're very sweet.
So are you, Victoria.
- In fact, you're so sweet... - Oh, John, no!
Victoria, will you marry me?
No, John.
That's better.
For the first time there was a note of doubt in your voice.
When I ask you in Paris there'll be more doubt,
and in Vienna still more,
and in Milan you'll say yes.
- Will I? - Yes.
John, you're very masterful all of a sudden.
I've been taking lessons from Mr Rochester.
John, your father's just leaving.
- Well, goodbye, Miss Victoria. - Au revoir, Mr Rochester.
- Mr Rochester? - Oh, just a silly joke.
Vicky, oh!
You should be in the shop, David. You know I don't like it to be unattended.
- They've given me the scholarship! - I knew they would.
Who's given you the what?
Look.
"The Royal College of Music is pleased to inform you
"that you have been awarded a three-year scholarship
"of 30 pounds per annum."
- Do you know about this, Ellen? - No, she didn't. I didn't tell anybody.
You entered for this scholarship behind my back?
After I'd clearly expressed my views about your absurd ambitions?
Well, Madame Patti thought my voice was promising.
Madame Patti?
And on what occasion, pray, did you encounter Madame Patti?
It was after her concert at the Pavilion.
Vicky sang to her at the stage door.
She took us back to supper at her hotel.
We emptied our money boxes to pay the fare to London with.
Leave the room, both of you. I'll deal with you later.
Don't go, Vicky.
You must let her take the scholarship, Father.
She's won it and she has a right to it. It's not fair to stand in her way.
- Mind your own business. - It is my business.
She's just as much my sister as she's your daughter.
And how do you propose your gifted sister should support herself
for this period of three years?
There's a scholarship.
That will cover the fees and the train fares.
I said support herself.
She would receive neither board nor lodging in this house
and 30 pounds a year would scarcely cover both.
- You'd turn Vicky from the house? - Without an instant's hesitation.
And now perhaps you'd kindly retire, the three of you.
And may I remind you, David, again that the shop is unattended?
For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.
Amen.
There's that little bit of money of mine, Edward.
- Vicky can have that. - Ellen!
You, too, in favour of this idiotic scheme?
I'm sorry, Edward. I only want Vicky to be happy.
And I can see nothing wrong in being a professional singer,
of the concert sort.
I must ask you not to encourage the children to flout my authority.
I would like Victoria to have that money, Edward.
Maybe you are unaware that under the law of this land
a married woman possesses no property of her own.
It belongs wholly and entirely to her husband.
And you propose to take advantage of that fact?
In the circumstances, yes.
If you could find it in your heart, Edward,
to turn your daughter from your house,
well, I could find it in my heart to leave your house.
And if it weren't for the children, I would.
- Shall I make you a cup of tea? - Thanks, Maudie, I would like one.
(KNOCK AT DOOR)
Oh, hello. What do you want?
I have been wanting to come round ever since I heard what happened.
- Thanks. - It must have been a dreadful shock.
Oh, yes, it was.
Poor Joe.
He wasn't always the best of husbands, but...
After all, there is something about death that makes a difference.
Yes, there is. Well, thanks for calling.
- Oh, but, Pearl... - Yes?
Pearl, I...
I know this isn't the time or the place to say it,
- but... - But what?
But when all this is behind you and forgotten,
do you think that you and I could...
Don't make me laugh!
Well, well. I didn't know you had company, Mrs Bond.
I haven't.
One of the nicest funerals I've ever attended.
Most enjoyable.
All the nicest people, such lovely floral tributes.
There was a most handsome wreath from the brewery.
- Pint, please. - Dan there?
Mr Powell was present.
I'm afraid, dear, you've lost your Mr Powell for good this time.
Our Pearl's a rich woman now, you know.
I know all right.
I only hope Joe Bond doesn't know who's living on his money.
Poor Joe Bond.
I must have been one of the last people to see him alive.
I can see him now, wiping the blood from those ugly great hands of his.
- You must have seen the cut, then. - What cut, dear?
Well, the cut on his hand that gave him the lockjaw.
It was in the paper. She said he did it on the Sunday night.
There was no cut on Joe Bond's hand on Sunday night.
There was blood, yes, but he said it was her who'd cut herself.
Then he wiped his hand and there wasn't any sign of any cut.
But she said...
She must have been telling an untruth, dear.
Wait a minute.
If there wasn't any cut
how did the lockjaw germ get into him?
You'd better ask the doctor that, dear.
No.
I think I'll ask the police.
Same again, Frank.
- Is Mrs Pearl Bond in? - I think so.
- I'd like to have a word with her. - I'm her manager. What is it?
I'm afraid it's personal business with Mrs Bond, sir.
This way.
DAN: Someone to see you, Mrs Bond.
- Mrs Pearl Bond? - Yes.
I'm afraid I have some very distressing news for you.
The Home Office has ordered the exhumation of the body
- of your late husband. - Why?
So that a post mortem examination may be performed.
- Why? - I'm afraid I can't tell you that.
My instructions were to inform you of the order.
It's disgraceful, that's what it is. Digging up poor Joe!
The doctor said he died of lockjaw. Everyone knows he died of lockjaw.
Yes, Mrs Bond. Good morning.
So you did do it?
- I don't know what you mean. - Oh, yes, you do.
I did it for you, Dan. I did it for you.
- Flattered, I'm sure. - Oh, Dan!
Here, steady.
It's all your fault, carrying on with that Mrs Webster.
It was more than flesh and blood could stand.
Drink that.
What did you use?
Strychnine.
- Where did you get it? - Young Sutton.
That Sunday he took me to his home to bandage my hand.
I got him out of the room and took the stuff.
He's sweet on you, isn't he?
Yes.
And his pa's the public analyst, isn't he?
Yes, it's Mr Sutton who'll have to find out what poor Joe died of.
Well, what are you laughing for?
Because you're on velvet, my girl, if you box clever.
- Mr Sutton. - Madam.
I'm Mrs Joe Bond.
I want to talk to you, privately.
I'm afraid in the circumstances, madam,
it would be professionally improper for me to talk to you.
I said I wanted to talk to you privately.
This way.
Well, Mrs Bond?
Well, I don't know how to begin. It's all so dreadful.
You see, it's about your son.
David? You know David?
Oh, we've been friendly for quite some time.
He came to the pub one evening. We got talking. You know how it is.
I'm thankful to say I do not know how it is.
- Why have you come to see me? - There's no need to talk like that.
I've come to help you.
I've come to help you save your son from the gallows.
I can only suppose that you're insane.
You see, David was ever so sorry for me
because Joe used to drink and knock me about.
I didn't know what to do,
so David said he'd give me some stuff to put Joe off the drink.
Go on.
One evening he brought me in here and gave me some white stuff,
out of a bottle there.
He told me to take it home and put it in Joe's whisky,
so I did and Joe died.
And now they've dug him up to try and find out what he died of.
Well,
I've been putting two and two together.
What was that white stuff David gave me?
What are you suggesting that it was, Mrs Bond?
Well, it seems to me as if the police think it's poison.
And why should my son wish to poison your husband?
Well, I didn't realise it at the time. I thought he was just sorry for me.
But I've found out since that he's ever so sweet on me.
And perhaps he thought with Joe out of the way...
- Why have you come to tell me this? - Because you can save him.
You're the public analyst.
If you find any poison in Joe's insides you can keep your mouth shut, see?
You can say he died natural.
Are you attempting to blackmail me, Mrs Bond?
- I'm doing you a good turn. - I doubt your motives as I do your story.
However, let us pay this story the compliment
of supposing it be worthy of examination.
Do I understand you administered this remedy to your husband?
Yes. He was on the booze again, so I put it in his drink.
- When? - When?
Well, just before he died.
According to the rumours I've heard about this sordid business,
your husband had been locked in his room for several days.
So he had, but he let me in for a minute.
I put the stuff in his glass of whisky and gave it to him.
- Did you see him drink it? - Yes.
Then he started throwing himself about.
So what did you do?
Well, I... I didn't know what to do.
You made no effort to go for help? You suspected nothing?
No, Joe was always so violent when he was on the drink
I just thought it was DTs so I got frightened and ran out.
I see. And then this man, in the agonies of strychnine poisoning,
walked to the door and locked it so that no help could reach him.
No, Mrs Bond. Your story is a lie.
And a childish, incompetent lie at that.
Yes, it's a lie.
I see I'll have to tell you the truth.
I thought I might be able to keep myself out of it, but...
you're too clever for me.
Of course I knew it was poison.
David told me it was when he gave it to me.
That my son should be morally weak enough
to consort with a woman of your type, I can believe.
But that he connived with you in a premeditated murder, I cannot believe.
It's not a question of what you believe.
It's what the jury believes.
When my son comes back, I shall ask him what is the truth.
All right, you ask him.
You ask him if he didn't tell me about strychnine being mistaken for lockjaw.
You ask him if he didn't tell me that lockjaw took three days.
You ask him if he didn't tell me about there having to be a cut.
You ask him.
(WHISTLING)
Is that you, David?
Yes, Papa.
Papa, why have you shut the shop?
Are you ill?
Come in, David, and shut the door.
Sit down.
David, I'm going to ask you some questions.
It's vital that you answer them correctly.
Yes, Papa.
Do you know a Mrs Joseph Bond?
Yes.
Do you know her well?
I'm not going to upbraid you for associating with her.
It was after you'd found those verses.
I felt awful.
You didn't understand and I...
Well...
Did you bring her here?
David, please, I beg you to answer my questions.
Did you bring her here?
Yes.
She'd had a quarrel with her husband and cut her hand.
I took her into the laboratory and dressed it for her.
Did you by any chance show her where the poisons were kept?
Yes, I believe I did.
Did you tell her about the symptoms of strychnine poisoning?
- Yes. - Why?
I was just talking, showing off, I suppose.
Was she at any time left alone in the laboratory?
Think very carefully.
Yes, she was.
She asked me for a drink and I went and I fetched her a glass of milk.
I see. She asked you to go.
(DOOR OPENING)
Gentleman to see you, ma'am.
Well, Mr Sutton?
I've come to tell you, Mrs Bond,
that when you came to see me you overlooked one vital point.
What do you mean?
If you succeed in involving my son in this case
you will automatically defeat your own attempt to blackmail me.
I cannot falsify an analysis performed by somebody else.
The police will obviously decide that I'm not the proper person to do it.
What are you up to?
I told you, the police needn't know if you did what I said.
The police already know.
- David has gone to them. - The little fool.
He's gone to tell them that you had an opportunity to steal strychnine
when he left you in the laboratory to fetch you a glass of milk,
at your request.
All right, that's his story. You wait till they hear mine.
They will then have to choose which to believe.
If they think it necessary, David will stand his trial with you,
and then, as you so rightly said,
it will be a question of what the jury believes.
You won't have a chance with the jury.
They'll see David as what he is, a romantic, impressionable boy.
They'll see you as what you are, a murderess.
You condemned your husband to a death of unspeakable suffering,
but if I had to choose between his suffering and that awaiting you,
I wouldn't hesitate for one moment,
for you, Mrs Bond, will be hanged.
You can try and frighten me as much as you like, but it won't work.
Your husband suffered for a few seconds.
You will suffer those long weeks in the condemned cell
with the dreadful knowledge that the morning will inevitably come
when the door will open and the hangman will come in
to take you for your last walk, your walk to the scaffold.
If I swing, he swings as well.
I'll take him with me if it's the last thing I do.
But before that last walk there are those long weeks
with every moment echoing in your mind.
"The sentence of the law is
"that you be taken hence to the place from which you came
"and thence to a place of lawful execution
"and be there hanged by the neck until you be dead
"and that your body be afterwards buried
"within the precincts of the jail in which you were last confined."
Stop, blast you! Stop!
"And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul."
(SOBBING)
What's the matter? You made a mess of it?
He says he won't do it.
Oh, won't he?
- Where are you going? - None of your business.
You can't leave me! Don't you realise what they're going to do to me?
You should have thought of that a bit earlier, shouldn't you?
You never loved me.
Never said I did, did I?
"Brighton week by week.
"Amongst the social highlights of the week,
"pride of place must be accorded to the elegant reception
"given by Sir George and Lady Truscott
"to celebrate the marriage of their daughter Mary
"to Mr David Sutton."
Paragraph.
"The occasion was graced by the dainty presence
"of the bridegroom's sister, Miss Victoria Sutton,
"who, our readers need scarcely be reminded,
"has already made her mark in the world of music.
"Their numerous friends will wish the bridal pair
"all prosperity and happiness in the years to come."