[Pen scratching]
♪♪
London,
1874.
Keep your wits about you.
This city is vast and intricate,
and you do not know your way around.
♪♪
[Shouting]
♪♪
Woman: Aah!
Aaaah!
Aah! Aah!
You imagine,
from other stories you've read,
that you know it well.
But those stories flattered you.
You are an alien
from another time and place altogether.
You don't even know what hour it is,
do you?
Nor do most, where you're going.
♪♪
Here, people go to sleep
as soon as the gin takes effect.
You've allowed yourself
to be led astray,
and there's no hope
of finding your way back.
[Horse neighs]
[Men shouting]
♪♪
[Squealing]
[Women laughing]
[Urinating]
Elizabeth?
I brought candles.
I won't need 'em. I'm not a pretty sight.
You look all right.
Christ, Sugar,
don't you never blush?
What happened?
Two of 'em.
Wouldn't walk all the way back here.
"How about a quick soot-arse in the alley?"
Never stopped laughing.
I'm going to hunt them down
and kill them.'Course you are.
Like all the ones who ever done youmischief.
[Crying] Tomorrow, I'll be cold meat.
They'll toss me in the river.
They won't. I won't let them.
Eels will eat out my eyes.
No one'll know I ever lived.
I'll know.
[Panting]
Leek: You again. Who have you come to rescue now?
I brought Elizabeth some calf's-foot jelly.
Too late.
She's dead.
[Leek laughing]
[Shuddering]
[Panting]
[Rings doorbell]
[Gasping]
WOMAN: Aah!
[Gasp] -She's okay.
Oh! Oh!
Oh!
AGNES: Fly. Fly now.
Please help me.
I'll help you. [Crying] Fly. Fly now.
Fly! Fly.
Fly!
My -- It's from my hat. She struck at me with --
Curlew. -Dr. Curlew's been sent for.
Oh. My dear Mrs. Fox, please, this way.
It is we who must apologize.
The party ended prematurely.
I'm afraid my sister-in-law
brought it to a halt with a most unfortunate turn.
Oh, poor Agnes.
I think it best for me to...see you home.
I'm sorry, William.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
No need for that.
Am I still your little girl?
Yes. Of course you are.
[Crying]
[Whispering] Always.
[Creature shrieks outdoors]
[Dog barks outdoors]
Don't touch me.
No.
No, of course not.
[Dog barks]
[Creature shrieks]
[Crying] You know very well Agnes is delicate.
Our current financial woes
place an intolerable strain on her nerves.
It's hardly surprising that little incidents like this --
"Little incidents"?!
She knocked a woman's hat clean off her head
with a poker!
She could've had her eye out!
She felt trapped,
sh-she said.
Next thing, she caught sight of
the stuffed bird on Lady Bridgelow's bonnet
and believed it was about to take wing.
She sought only to free it from its yards of net.
Can you hear yourself?
An erroneous impulse, certainly,
but a generous one, at least,
and, given our current financial circumstances --
If you want your circumstances to change,
you know what you have to do --
turn your mind to the business.
I gave you this year's accounts a month ago.
Have you looked at them? No!
I have tried.
Ido not have a flair for business.
I am not like you.
I'm a writer!
What have you written?
A small pamphlet.
Not yet published.
[Whispering] Dear God.
Father, if you were only to sell Rackham's
and invest the proceeds,
we could all live quite comfortably off the interest.
Your allowance was somewhat reduced.
You may now consider it altogether withdrawn.
You go ahead. You be your own man --
at your own expense!
But, sir --
Write your way out of that![Door slams]
Sir?
S-Sir?
[Footsteps depart, door opens in distance ]
Why, pray, was the vintner unable
to make this delivery in person?
How did it come to pass that I had to ask you
to collect the claret, Christopher?
He says, "Tell Mrs. Castaway it's 'cause of Christmas."
Oh, Christmas.
What is Christmas?
It's the day Jesus was born.
Who's Jesus?
He died for our sins.
Evidently, unsuccessfully, since we're all still paying.
One squirt of slime from the man,
one fishy egg in the woman, and, behold,
"They shall call his name Emmanuel."
[Door opens, closes]
Got some bear's grease for you.
Thank you, Christopher.
Mrs. Castaway: All alone, is it?
[Soft music playing]No gent in tow?
Elizabeth is dead.
Gone to a better place.
Ha! Always said she would, didn't she?
Ha!
[Music continues]
Who's next? You? Me?
Be sure and carry a knife in your bodice from now on.
I'd never have the wit to use it.
Watch your dress. [Laughs]
Don't want to spoil it.
A lot of trouble you go to,
for clothes that only stay on five minutes.
Excuse me, ladies.
I would be honored to preserve your image for all time.
For all time?No, thank you.
Go on, Shush. Why not?
I'd rather notspend an indefinite future
being passed from hand to hand by strangers.
Wouldn't have minded being remembered
for eternity, that's all.
Elizabeth asked me to put her in my book.
Thinking the same, I suppose.
I used to love it when you read your book to us.
But I wondered
whether you ever thought of putting
a bit of good fortune in,
like a miraculous rescue.
No.
It's a book of hate, Caddie,
to wreak revenge on every pompous,
trembling worm who taps at Mrs. Castaway's door.
[Laughs]
Bill!
Oh! Bodley, Ashwell.
Oh, what hashappened to your hair?
Ah, it's -- It was supposed to look like Matthew Arnold.
I'm actually pleased it doesn't.
I think his latest work to be overrated.
[Laughing] Come on, old chap, let's get you a drink.
So, we're, uh, we're quiteworn out
by the research for this book.
And -- And do you have a title yet?
"The Efficacy of Prayer."
[Cackles]
It's ironic.
Yes.
Is there any hope of finding a publisher for such a piece?
There's a thundering call, these days,
for books that destroy the fabric of society.
Speaking of which,
how goes the great work?
At its own pace.
Mmm. Well, um, don't let the book consume you entirely.
You're a virtual recluse, these days,
and such opportunities lost.
Opportunities?
Lucy Fitzroy.
Only 14. Oh!
Wields a vicious whip at Madame Georgina's.
An absolute fizgig.
But the one we're just dying to have a crack at is Sugar.
Sugar?
Over at Mrs. Castaway's,
a very high-class house.
Of course, one can never get her.
I'm beginning to wonder if she even exists.
The most intriguing reputation.
They say she neverdisappoints.
[Sniffs] That'd put ink in your nib, man.
[Chuckles]
[Rings doorbell]
[Ringing]
It should never be necessary to ring a doorbell
more than once,
especially if it -- it is one's own,
Letty.
How is Mrs.Rackham?
Well, sir, I believe. Dr. Curlew is with her.
Mr. Rackham?
We're short on coal.
The delivery never arrived.
I've changed supplier.
Our fellow was becoming quite erratic.
♪♪
[Sighs]
♪♪
Mr. Rackham.
Curlew.
Please.
Well, she's tolerably lucid,
but I expect a full collapse very shortly.
Really?
I had been thinking she seemed rather better.
Then you're deluded.
Rackham, every time I visit her,
she has to fight that much more strenuously
to compose herself.
She finds your visits
very stressful.
Perhaps --
I do understand that having Agnes
temporarily committed...Committed?!
...will cause you personal pain and social embarrassment,
but I have seen other men wrestle with the same decision,
and, believe me, once they have made it,
they are relieved beyond words.
[Sighs]
♪♪
BODLEY: The most intriguing reputation.
They say she never disappoints.
Sugar: The jewel in Castaway's crown.
WILLIAM: Sugar.
Pay for cotton but lie in silk.
♪♪
Beg, borrow, or steal
to buy my services.
♪♪
Seek me out
at the Fireside Inn.
♪♪
[Blowing]
♪♪
How do I look, Clara?
Beautiful.
The doctor says I'm not to read anymore.
He -- He says it excites me.
Well, he doesn't know everything.
No.
[Shudders]
[Exhales]
♪♪
[Indistinct conversations]
[Piano playing]
Woman: You've been a very naughty boy!
[Whip cracks]
[Music continues]
So, you never told us what it is you do, what line of business.
Business? There's a word I've no time for.
[Laughs] No, I am a writer --
novelist, critic.
What's your name? I might've heard of you.
I very much doubt that.
You ladies don't, if you'll excuse me,
look like readers.
[Scoffs] I know more than you might expect.
I've had Charles Dickens.Ain't he dead?
Not the bit she sucked on.[Laughter]
Who's that?
Is that who you're waiting for?
Him and half the fools in here.
Eh, Sugar!
No. Writer, he says.
Waiting for ya.
All his life, I don't doubt.
[Laughter]
[Music continues]
Good evening, Mister...?
Hunt, with an "H."
Uh, George Hunt. And you are...?
"Sugar" is all there is to myname, Mr. Hunt.
Sugar.
I do hope you haven't been waiting too long
with the Three Witches for company.
The Three Witches? That's "Macbeth."
You must forgive my appearance.
This foul weather plays havoc with my hair.
Oh, mine, too.
I had it cut.
It was supposed to look like Matthew Arnold.
It doesn't. Be thankful.
I think he's rather overrated.
But I'm sure you know
much better than I.
No, uh, I agree. Absolutely.
Give me Ruskin any day.
If it is Mr. Ruskin's prose you're referring to,
then I quite concur.
Spare me his poetry.
In verse, he's a major minor.
Tennyson's latest work?
Pure whimsy.
It's whimsy. It's whi-- It's whimsical.
It's -- There is a poet, James "Thaumson."
James "Tomson."
Yes, James "Thaumson," who, in his latest work,
is truly breaking new ground.
"The City of Dreadful Night."
You know it?
"The world rolls round for ever like a mill.
It grinds out life and death and good and ill.
It has no purpose,
heart, nor mind, nor will."
These are dark notions
for a beautiful young woman to take to heart.
My life canbe dark sometimes.
But kindred spirits like yourself
are difficult to find.
♪♪
[Banging on door]
Your lips are like feathers.
[Whispering] Shall they help you take flight?
[Hinges creak]
[Cello plays]
Welcome to Mrs. Castaway's, sir.
The use of the room will cost you five shillings.
There can be good wine waiting for an additional two,
but what happens up there, and for how long,
is for you and Sugar to put a value to.
Here's 10 shillings.
Send up some wine.
[Thunder rumbles]
[Rattling]
[Woman giggles]
[Man groans]
WILLIAM: Witchery.
[Man continues groaning]
You're tired, Mr. Hunt.
I haven't been sleeping.
I go to bed at night,
and I just lie awake.
Well, we shall have to take good care of you.
Strong ale at the Fireside.
[Glass rattling]
[Gasps]
[Asphyxiating]
SUGAR: He woke from his dreamless drunkard's sleep
and found her poised to cut his throat.
Uh!
[Glass rattles]
[Gasps]
Good morning, Mr. Hunt.
Morning?
I've slept so long?
Well, you were very tired.
Yes, I was. I believe it's --
[Gasps]
Miss Sugar, I have suffered the most regrettable,
most shameful lapse of control.
Throw off your wet things, Mr. Hunt, at once.
That is quite beyond --
I-I can't expect you to --Your things, please, now.
♪♪
This really is --
Lie back now.
♪♪
All will soon be set to rights.
Poor baby.
♪♪
[Speaks quietly]
♪♪
Oh! Oh!
Ah!
[Panting]
Oh. Oh.
Oh!
I have taken up
an unconscionable amount of your time.
Not at all.
You are a very interesting man, George Hunt.
I shall look out for your books.
Uh, Miss Sugar --
No "Miss," just "Sugar."
My name is not, um --
Please, just call me "William."
Forgive the deception.
A man has a reputation to uphold.
And what's in a name?
Indeed. That's actually a line from --
"Romeo and Juliet."
Also, you may struggle to find my work in published form.
Writing is not my sole occupation.
Of course.
Why would a man with your unquenchable curiosity,
your Renaissance grasp of the world and its wonders,
limit himself to just one sphere?
Surely, you would bring the same originality of mind
and fixity of purpose
to anything you were about.
All turns to art in the artist's hand.
[Wind blows]
Mrs. Fox,
I must apologize again for our last encounter.
You found my brother and I at our absolute worst.
Oh, I doubt that.
And Iperhaps owe you an apology.
I was much preoccupied that night.
Ah. I put your reserve down to good manners.
No. I had, that afternoon, visited a bawdy-house
to see a girl plainly not long for this world.
Good L--
It's not uncommon. There's a trade in sick girls.
I once complained to a madam
that one of her employees could barely stand.
She told me standing was not mandatory,
that I looked a bit peaky myself,
and would I like to lie down in the spare room?
A most sly and licentious suggestion.
Do I look ill to you?
Not at all.
♪♪
[Doorbell rings]
Better, Letty.
Much better!
Though you might tidy yourself up a little.
[Scoffs]
Fixity...of...purpose.
♪♪
I am going to get well, even if it kills me.
♪♪
Agnes, dearest.
They've really pushed the boat out.
I hope you have an appetite.
♪♪
What a happy coincidence it is that you've come down today.
Coincidence?
I am ushering in a new regime,
including a review of the staff.
The household is out of hand.
And it's not just today.
The rain makes the servants skittish, of course.
I've observed this so often,
I mean to write a short piece for Punchon the topic.
The fact is,
servants look to their mistress for guidance,
and a return to overseeing them
might be good for you, dear.
Can't -- Can't they just sort it out among themselves?
I mean, isn't that what you always used to talk about,
socialism?
There is a difference between socialism
and the staff running amok.
I wonder if Henry will come after church.
I like him. Don't you?
Henry, lately, seems to spend his Sundays
in the company of Mrs. Fox.
Dr. Curlew's sister, the widow? You don't mean --
No!
God, no.
And Mrs. Fox is far too preoccupied
with her beloved Rescue Society.
Mrs. Fox rescues people?
Prostitutes, dear.
A pointless crusade, if you ask me.
[Knife clatters]
It doesn't seem to have occurred to her
that many of these girls enjoy their work.
[Shuddering]
Are you quite all right, Agnes?
Would you like...?
[Sputtering]
[Sobbing]
Clara!
Letty! Janey!
Mrs. Rackham?
Mrs. Rackham.
Clara, send for Dr. Curlew. at once.
[Sobbing] No, no.
No, Mr. Rackham.
Do as I ask!
[Door slams]
♪♪
"All turns to art in an artist's hands."
♪♪
All very sudden, this change of heart.
A revelation of Damascene proportions, sir.
I am a new man.
And I'm expected to jig for joy
and slap a fat check on the desk, is that it?
No. I wish to prove myself, Father.
If I may?
I have brought my...
"unquenchable curiosity" to bear on the Rackham accounts.
[Woman shouting]
Aah! Aah! Aah! Aah!
Why, William,
what a pleasure to see you again, and so soon.
I brought you something.Really?
Something I forgot to give you last time.
You spoil me.
♪♪
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!
Oh!
Ah! Ahh! Ah! Ah!
Ah! Oh, Mr. Hunt! Ahhh!
Oh, Mr. Hunt! Ahh!
Oh, Mr. Hunt! Oh!
Oh, Mr. Hunt!
No! My name is William [panting]
Rackham!
Ohh! Ah!
♪♪
I never thought I'd see the day.
[Indistinct conversation, laughter]
Christopher: You're too late. Sugar don't wait for no one.
WOMAN: Get off me!
Agh! Ah!
[Piano plays]
[Laughter, indistinct conversations]
WOMAN: Oh, excellent.
[Laughs]
[Cellist plucking strings]Will you consider it?
Exclusive patronage of Sugar by me.
No.
What?
These matters are complex.
We have a small house here.
If a third of what we offer
is unavailable, where does that leave us?
[Man moaning]
Then there are other complications.
Such as? Our bond of --
of mutual regard with the Fireside.
Surely you, who are so appreciative
of Sugar's merits,
can see she is a draw there.
These are details.
It's the principle of the matter that I'm concerned with.
The principle?
Whether Sugar herself would agree.
Might she come down?
It is herfuture at stake, after all.
There is another thing you haven't allowed for.
You don't consider the possibility
that Sugar might prefer -- forgive me --
she might prefer variety.
Well, we shall let herdecide.
Why, Mr. Hunt, what a pleasure.
Mrs. Castaway: Mr. Hunt
has a proposition for you, Sugar.
So I understand.
If I may,
what none of us understands is,
outside of your arrangement
with the house itself,
what will you pay Sugar?
I will pay her whatever makes her happy.
Well, Mr. Hunt,
I am willing.
[Sighs] What time is it?
[Bells tolling]
Oh.
You don't need to take in
copy work anymore,
or whatever it is you do to get yourself in such a mess.
You know,
Rackham's does manufacture a product for dry skin.
But I'm a slave to Atkinson's Bear's Grease.
Oh!
[Both laugh]
Your life is going to be very different from now on.
I hope some things remain the same.
Ooh! Ooh!
[Chuckling]
[Moans, smooches]
♪♪
[Doorbell rings]
[Ring]
♪♪
Your men work on the Sabbath?
As do I! Not enough hours in the day, Henry.
Did you know that there's an octave in perfume,
as there is in music?
Anyway... how can I help?
Do you ever think of mother?
No.
You were very young
when she, um...
passed on.
Henry, she ran off with another man.
She abandoned us.
I am conscious, sometimes, that we lacked,
growing up, any, um...
female society.
You know, of course,
of Mrs. Fox's efforts in the, um,
in the darkest recesses of the city?
Well, I thought that her practical support
might be well supplemented by my more doctrinal approach.
My problem, though, is this --
if I am to minister to, um...
...fallen women...
...how shall I recognize them?
[Laughs]
Your hands any better?
This bear's grease is miraculous.
How's your book?
You know, I taught myself to read.
I could teach you.
Don't need it.
[Indistinct conversation]
♪♪
Mind your back!
Woman: My hand is yours
for a shilling, sir,
and any other part for two.
Please, cover yourself up.
Your body parts are not yours to sell.
They belong together, and the whole belongs to God.
My hole belongs to anyone that's got two shillings, sir.
Listen to me -- I want you to see these two shillings
as an act that's no longer necessary.
It's in lieu, which is to say,
whatever you were about to do,
please, I beg you, don't.
Sugar: "Please," he begged, tugging at the silken bonds,
"Let me go. I am an important man."
"So tell me, exalted sir,
where is it your pleasure to have this blade enter you?"
[Muffled screams]
[Doorbell rings]
Sir.
You're late.
Hard at work, Mr. Rackham?
I brought you something.
A couple of my friends produced it.
It's called "The Efficacy of Prayer."
Bodley and Ashwell.
[Snickers]
Well, how perfectly childish.
Have they nothing better to do?
No, nothing.
Whereas you...
Exactly. How is the business?
Splendid.
And your rivals? Ah.
Is the competition stiff?
[Laughs]
Well, Pears and Yardley are unassailable.
Rowland and Rimmel are in good health.
Nisbett is ailing,
perhaps fatally.
I-I'm sorry. Is this terribly dull,
all this talk of business?
Dull?
Who understands better than I
the connection between commerce and art?
On which subject, I've been thinking
about this Rackham's catalog.
"Lavender foot balm.
Are malodorous feet your Achilles' heel?"
[Both laugh]
I know, I know. It was written years ago.
Father's work. Hardly elegant.
So why not rewrite it?
It's early days.
I'm not sure Father's ready.
It's time for you to lead, not follow.
Let's make the business worthy of the Rackham name.
WilliamRackham, that is.
What would I do without you?
Ah!
Mmm!
Oh!
[Laughs]
Ahhh! Ah.
Ahh! Ah!
[Both moaning]
Ah! Oh!
Ohhh!
[Both moaning]
Clara: [Singsong voice] Mrs. Rackham!
Oh! You're awake.
Yes. I mean to take breakfast downstairs this morning, Clara.
Have you remembered that Mr. Rackham is away?
He has gone to Dundee.
So you'll take breakfast alone?
I think I shall find it easier that way.
[Crying] I feel so light this morning, Clara.
I can't tell you what a relief it is.
After breakfast,
I shall work on my dresses.
The Season is almost upon us, after all.
Would you bring them for me?
Clara, with, um --
with the Season so close, there are certain, uh,
skills I will need to remaster, such as, um,
well, going outside and, um, walking unsupported.
I was -- I was thinking we might try, later.
If you feel up to it.
Perhaps after Dr. Curlew's been round.
But, surely,
surely, he isn't coming today?
No, um --
Um, I won't see him, Clara. I simply won't.
Chepstow Villas.
I'm sorry you've come all this way
because, unfortunately for you, I am quite well.
You're looking very pale to me.
That may be the face powder, mayn't it?
Have I not cautioned you against the use of cosmetics?
And did you not tell me that you had disp--
Disposed of them. Yes, so I did.
So it cannot be that. [Chuckle]
But I am too tired to be examined.
Your tiredness may, in itself, be a symptom of illness.
You examine me every week.
What harm can it do to leave it undone, just this once?
Only a madwoman would willingly let her health decline.
I am not a madwoman!
Which is why I ask permission,
rather than obliging you, as I would an asylum inmate.
Clara.
Should I stay?
[Whispering] No.
The pain lies entirely in the resistance.
Little more.
Lit-tle more.
♪♪
Good!
Thank you.
♪♪
[Door opens]
♪♪
The dresses will be hard to mend, don't you think?
I don't think we can mend them.
[Shuddering]
I dream, you know, Clara.
Dream?
Of a place. Not a --
Not a place with a physical dimension
but one that does exist...
full of nuns...
so gentle, they -- they might be angels.
I wish they'd send for me.
♪♪
[Muttering]
♪♪
My God.
William Rackham.
You'll keep me better than you do now.
♪♪
Wait. Wait, wait. [Sobbing]
♪♪
[Gasping]
Oh, my angel...
come at last.
[Crying]
[Birds chirping]