[Birds Chirping]
[Man] | They say that women change.
'Tis so,
but you are ever-constant | in your changefulness.
Like that still thread | of falling river,
one from source to last embrace | in the still pool.
Ever-anewed | and ever-moving on.
From first to last. | " From first to last,
a myriad water drops. | "a myriad water drops.
"And you... | I love you for it...
are the force that moves | and holds the form."
Now, ladies and gentlemen, | you've just heard a snippet...
from one of only two copies | of this poem...
by Mr. Randolph Henry Ash,
poet laureate | to Queen Victoria herself.
And this gorgeous ode | to his nuptial bliss,
written in his own hand, | begins our bidding today.
May we start the bidding | please at L40,000.
- Bit of an old monster. | - Yeah.
But an important monster. | It's Randolph Ash's.
Yes. Who are you | with again?
I'm, uh, Roland Michell. | Who?
- Professor Blackadder's | research assistant. | - Isn't that Dr. Wolfe?
Was. Fergus got the lectureship | at SaintJohn's... over me.
Of course he did. | Oh, yes, Dr. Wolfe | mentioned you.
You're that American | who's over here.
[Chuckles] | Well, I'm sure | there are others.
I mean, after all, | you are our favorite colony.
[Man] | L10,000. Any further | offers on L10,000?
L11,000.
So when do your little | suffragist trinkets | come up for the...
Look, Maud, | it's Mortimer Cropper.
[Maud] | Oh, yes. That's someone | you should know.
- You know him? | - Of him.
Suffered through | a lecture or two. | That sort of thing. | Really.
Mm-hmm. | He's a voracious collector | from what I hear.
Yes. His penchant | for conquests | is well documented.
It's | a very male quality. | Mm.
I know it's vulgar, | but I have to introduce myself.
Oh, all right.
Oh, uh... Damn. | Let's begin the bidding | please at L4,000.
L4,000. L4,000. | Excuse me. Sorry.
L4,500. | Um, Professor Cropper, | Fergus Wolfe.
Um, we spoke actually | after one of your papers | at, uh, at Trinity.
You wouldn't remember. | I'm sorry, I don't. | Nice coat though.
Oh, thank you. | Uh, James Blackadder. | You're with?
Ah, you're one of | Blackadder's boys | from the British Museum.
Hello. | Hildebrand Ash,
man of leisure. | Oh, hello.
[Cropper] | I don't know why Blackadder | comes to these things.
[Chuckles] | He hasn't got any money.
Well, he's Irish, you see. | He enjoys feeling persecuted.
[Randolph's Voice] | Dear Madame: :
Since our pleasant conversation, | I have thought oflittle else.
I write with a strong sense | of the necessity...
of continuing our talk.
Dear Madame: : | I know that you came only | to honor Crabb-Robinson...
at his small, | informal party...
because he had been | of assistance | to your illustrious father.
Excuse me, sir.
Meal is served.
Thank you.
- Well, hello. | - Hello.
Ah, my tenant. | Your evening sherry.
Thank you.
Candy, this is Roland. | Roland, Candy.
- Hello again. | - Be a love | and check on the duck, eh?
- Okay. | - So, coming in?
So how do you | always know it's me?
I'm a solicitor. | I know everything.
Candy, huh? | Oh, no, no, no, | please.
Candy's just a friend. | Why, are you interested?
I told you | I'm off women. | Yeah, but...
it isn't a reason | to be off women.
Why do we always | sit in your hall?
'Cause it's the best room | in the house, really. I bought | this place for the hallway.
So, I found something today | I think is pretty incredible | in the London Library.
- A place to sit. | - No.
I found something of Ash's. | You know Randolph Ash?
Ash. Oh, doesn't he have | some sort of celebration going?
It's the centenary | of his love poems. | Terribly mushy ones.
Found after his death | or something, weren't they?
Is the table laid, | darling?
Listen. | What's it cost an hour?
No, no, Candy's a friend | I told you.
Not her, you. | What do you charge an hour, | roughly?
Oh, uh, I don't know. | Five hundred.
- Pounds? | - Mm-hmm.
- Jesus, no wonder | you have a nice hallway. | - Thank you.
Okay, I wanna buy seven minutes | of attorney/ client privilege | right now.
Step into my office.
Ash wrote those. | They're not the originals.
- Yeah. | - Oh, my God.
How much time we got left? | I've got to think of | a defense for you.
They're practically | love letters.
Well, they're racy, | actually. | See, Ash...
supposedly never even looked | at another woman.
I mean, not even glanced at one | his entire marriage.
Can you imagine | what would happen | if I could prove...
that Mr. Perfect Husband had | this, like, Shakespearean-type | dark lady thing going?
Darling, the duck's done.
Would you be a sweetheart | and do the sauce?
Yes, yes.
- Duck, huh? | - Yeah, Peking.
- It's from around the corner. | - [Snickers]
Yeah, but that | would be extraordinary.
It would be rewriting | history, old chap.
Yeah, it would be.
[People Chattering]
Morning. | Morning.
Roland. | Professor.
I think | I made a discovery.
It'll turn out to have been | discovered 20 times already.
- I don't think so. | - Surprise me.
Ash's copy of Vico | in the London Library.
It's full of his own notes | on loose bits of paper | all the way through.
- Useful? | - Very.
Better have a look. | See what's what before...
people turn up | with his checkbook. | I also found... Professor.
They made a mockery | over at Sotheby's yesterday. | L1900 for a toothpick.
- [Scoffs] | - Fergus. Where is Fergus?
- He's supposed to be teaching. | - I'll come with you.
No need. | The novice blunders | on the discovery.
The scholar investigates.
You get on with | those wretched requests | for Ellen's stuff.
I'll go straight from there | to my class.
Thank you, Roland. | What a wonderful discovery. | They're magically delicious.
- He's a meany. | - That's a very nice name | for what he is.
Wretched requests, please.
[Chuckles] | " How many jars | of gooseberry jam...
did Ash's wife, Ellen, | make in 1850?"
Hmm. This is not | a job for a grown-up.
Gooseberry.
Cooking. | Gooseberry jam.
Cooking, 143.
What about a small, | informal party?
1859.
[Ellen's Voice] My headache | last night prevented me | from accompanying Randolph...
to dear Crabb-Robinson's...
for a dinner honoring | the poetess Christabel LaMotte.
He was reluctant | to attend without me, | but I was persistent...
and finally persuaded him.
Ash, you know | Professor Spear.
I'm delighted.
Mrs. Jameson. | Mrs. Jameson.
Charmed.
Miss Glover.
Oh, Miss Glover.
- And Miss LaMotte. | - Miss LaMotte.
The highest pleasure.
[Ellen Narrating] | Randolph reported the party went | off very well, indeed.
The discussion of poetry | was animated,
with Miss LaMotte | speaking more forcibly | than anyone expected.
Surprises me, madame, | that a lady who lives | as quietly as you do...
wouldn't be aware | of my modest success.
Oh, I'm very aware | that the papers | herald you weekly.
It is you, however, | who surprise me.
- And why is that? | - Judging from your work,
I'm surprised you'd even | acknowledge my existence...
or any woman's for that matter | since you show us such | small regard on the page.
You cut me, madame.
I'm sorry.
I only meant to scratch.
Hey, Fergus.
[Running Footsteps] | Ah, hello, Roland.
What is it you chaps always say, | " How's it hanging?"
Well, we usually | just say "hey." | Unless you're gay.
Oh. | Listen.
Let me ask you something. | Do you know a Dr. Maud Bailey?
Maud! Oh, yes, | I know Maud very well.
She teaches Gender Studies | at Lincoln.
Oh. Would she be helpful? | I'm checking out | Christabel LaMotte.
She's a poet, | writing around about 1859.
Yes, yes. Why would you | be interested in her?
Oh, nothing. It's just | I had some requests | about Ellen Ash's papers.
But LaMotte's name | came up, so...
The keeper of Ellen's flame. | I mean, that's the bottom | of the food chain, old sport.
Yeah, but I got to stay | on the food chain, old sport. | That's why I do it.
Right. Well, | " Publish or perish," | as they say.
Or in your case, | " Perish or perish."
So would she... | this Maud Bailey person?
Oh, yes, but I'd be careful | if I were you.
Why? What's she like? | Well, she thicks men's blood | with cold.
Oh, great. | Or if you prefer | the American vernacular...
she's a regular ballbreaker.
## [Headsets: Jazz]
Mr. Michell?
What? I'm sorry. | Roland Michell.
Yes.
You're Maud. | Bailey. Dr. Bailey, yes.
There's nothing in my index. | No mention of Ash at all.
Well, Ash and LaMotte | definitely met.
Really? When? | June, 1859.
At a dinner party | given by Crabb-Robinson.
It's in his diary. | [Scoffs]
And you jumped | from that to the idea | that they corresponded.
I found an unfinished draft | of a letter in a book...
Addressed to LaMotte? | No, just " Dear Madame."
But there were three women | at Crabb-Robinson's | dinner party,
and out of the three | it's likeliest to be LaMotte.
[Roland] | So maybe there's something | in LaMotte's letters.
There aren't many | from the Richmond period... | the time you're interested in.
I'm descended | from Christabel, actually. | I'm her niece, thrice removed.
Three grades. | That's what "thrice" | usually means.
Oh, maybe | I shouldn't have come.
It does seem | rather pointless.
Well, I supposed since you're | here, you could have a look | through Blanche's diary.
Who's Blanche? | Blanche Glover.
Christabel's companion. | Her lover.
Oh, you look surprised.
I didn't know she was... | Didn't know | she was a lesbian.
No. I mean, | don't get me wrong, | I like lesbians.
Yes, well, unfortunately, | they didn't have | video cameras in those days,
so you're out of luck.
Now I see why you think | it's so unlikely.
Not from that point of view. | I mean, God, she could | have been bisexual.
There's no evidence she was, | but in theory...
Did you not do any reading | before you came?
Is this like an oral exam? | Yes, I suppose it is.
I mean, you don't know | the first thing about her, | and yet you make these leaps.
Hey, you're the one | who called her a lesbian, | not me.
[Blanche's Voice] | Letters, letters, letters.
Not for me.
Letters I am not meant | to know or see.
Thank you, Jane.
- You do not have to | hide them from me. | - I'm not hiding them.
You say they are not hidden, | but they are.
Tucked away... | as if they were | from Cupid himself.
What does he want?
To be my friend. | Friend.
They always try | and give what they want | a decent name.
Blanche, no. | No, Blanche, listen.
What we have... | is ours.
No one can change that.
'Tis already changed.
- Find anything? | - Maybe.
So what are | those bookmarks then?
Blanche writes about letters.
Letters, letters that Christabel | wrote and received.
And it nearly | drove Blanche crazy.
Where are they?
Lost. Destroyed. Who knows? | There's lots we haven't got.
Not one of Blanche's | paintings has ever | turned up, for instance.
So who do you think | wrote the letters?
We've never been able | to verify who he was,
but Ash certainly | isn't one of the candidates.
You've got nothing. | I mean, | it's just a thought.
Of course, I've thrown out | a lot of thoughts today,
and you've pretty much | shot them all down, so...
Yes, well, | it seems like a bit of | a wild-goose chase to me.
I'd like to do | some more reading.
[Sighs] | I suppose you'll wish to | stay here overnight then?
Well, I can't really afford | to stay overnight.
Unless you want me huddled | downstairs in your doorway.
I suppose I could put up | with you for one evening, | couldn't I?
No doubt you know | Fergus Wolfe then.
I'm sorry. | Uh, yeah, we're in | the same department.
I imagine that | he told you that we're...
occasionally | on together.
- No, he didn't. | - Well, did he...
Did he say anything... | about me?
Uh...
No.
Right. I'll use | the bathroom first. | Get out of your way.
Please. I'm just sort of | a brush and flush | kind of guy, so...
Forget I said that.
Maud. | [Clears Throat]
Can I show you something?
Are these... | How did you get... | Those are the originals.
I took them. | I sort of stole them. | Took them?
Where from? | The London Library.
How could you do that? | It was on impulse.
Impulse?
Right. I've seen that | take-what-you-want attitude | in other...
What, in other Americans?
[Scoffs] | God, what is it with | you people and Americans?
Look, I know that | I shouldn't have taken them. | I know that.
But, Maud, I want to | find out what happened?
Did he or didn't he | send the letter?
You might not buy | into my theory, | but to me,
Blanche's diary | suggests that it's possible.
Wouldn't someone | have unearthed | a thing like this?
- That's what makes it so big. | - Potentially so big.
- Well, no one has. | - Probably because | those were never sent.
Are you doing your homework?
No, I'm just... | writing stuff.
Stuff for me. | It's nothing.
You're a closet poet. | Uh...
more like basement, | really.
I'm just, uh, | just fooling around.
Is that what | you want to be | when you grow up?
No, I'm gonna | be safe and teach | like everybody else.
Besides, | there's no such thing | as poets anymore.
Well... poet,
do you want a secret | about his family home | before you go?
Michell's late again.
Roland asked for | another day off, Fergus.
Oh, really? | Where's he gone?
I didn't ask, | and he didn't say.
He's American, for God's sake. | He's probably off | trafficking drugs.
Did his new discovery | lead to anything?
Ash's Vico. | Are you dreaming?
Vico? | No, no, this had something | to do with Christabel LaMotte.
He went to see | Dr. Bailey in Lincoln... | a woman.
LaMotte. Hmm. No.
- Well, it probably came | to nothing then. | - Exactly.
Or he would have told you.
Wouldn't he?
Seal Court's | over there.
So how long | did Christabel live at | this Seal Court place?
Ages. The last 20 | or so years of her life.
Excuse me. | Sorry.
"To a dusty shelf | we aspire."
You should drop by Seal Court | before the train.
And what do you do | in London, Mr. Michell?
Are you a teacher as well? | No, not yet. | I'm doing a fellowship.
- Which means what exactly? | - On the dole.
- [Chuckles] | - [Chuckles]
Um, my field's | Victorian poetry.
We had ourselves a poet | in this house once.
Terrible, sentimental stuff | about God and death | and the dew and fairies.
Why don't you show | this young man | Christabel's room, Maud?
And why don't you | stay tonight?
You're under no obligation | to stay, of course.
It's justJoan's way. | Misses our daughter.
Quite a drive back, | actually. | No, we're fine.
Oh, well.
Hardly ever come up here.
With the wheelchair, | of course, we bunk down | on the ground floor.
I haven't been up here | since I was a child.
Maud, is this the photograph | at your house?
Yes, that's | Christabel's niece, May.
That's my | great-great-grandmother.
Christabel wrote dozens of poems | about this place.
[Maud Reading] "Haunted | are they who haunt our dreams | and weaken our desires...
"and turn us | from a solid face.
'And in the depth | of wintery night, they slumber | in the night and bright.
"Dolly keeps a secret | safer than a friend.
"Dolly's silent sympathy | lasts without end.
"No rush of action, | this is our doom.
To live a long life out | in a dark room. "
Maud.
It's pretty | incredible, huh?
Fergus, it's me.
l-I'm out of town tonight | on business.
I've stumbled onto a connection | between Christabel | and Randolph Ash...
and have a few questions | for you.
Call me on 0 15-2263 2 416.
Roland.
- Roland. | - [Groans]
Roland. Roland. | No!
Roland, it's me. | It's Maud.
- What is it? | - Listen.
" Dolly keeps a secret | safer than a friend.
Dolly's silent sympathy | lasts without end. "
[Sighs] | God.
I was so sure.
Sympathy. | Sympathy.
Sympathy, meaning what?
Mutual affection | or understanding.
Favor pity or even accord. | But that's not it, is it?
That's what she told her.
She uses silent sympathy | in a more classical context.
Like structural support. | Dolly conceals it.
Yes, but not within, | beneath.
There's a door. | There's a door.
- I can't believe it. | - Let me see.
Be-Be careful. | They're very precious. | I'll be very careful.
Oh, God, we shouldn't | be doing this.
What do you mean, | we shouldn't be doing this? | Why'd you drag me up here then?
What are you doing? | I'm going to read.
Stop. We've got to | ask the Baileys.
You ask, | and the next time you see these | is under glass in New Mexico.
Stop it. | Stop. Stop. Stop. | All right. All right.
But can we please | at least do it properly?
Let me run downstairs | and get some note cards | and some pencils.
All right. | Go, go! Hurry!
Look at this. We've got | Ash and Christabel's | letters here.
Look. Come here. | Listen. | What?
"Dear Miss LaMotte: :
"It was a great pleasure | to talk to you...
"at dear | Crabb-Robinson's party.
" May I hope that you too | enjoyed our talk.
And may I have the pleasure | of calling on you."
[Gasps]
She says, " No, | but you may write.
"Would you rather | not have a letter, | however imperfect,
"than a plate | of cucumber sandwiches,
"however exquisitely | fine cut?
Know you would, | and so would I. "
[Roland] "I was entranced | and moved by your brief | portrait of your father. "
"I write nonsense, | but if you can't write again,
"you shall have a sober essay | on what you will.
"Yours to command | in some things.
[Roland] | "Where I was born, | Christabel Lamotte."
"was a small place too.
" Not like this. | Not bare.
[Roland And Randolph] | 'A brilliant, dusty hutch | of mystery"...
[Randolph] | is a cabinet of curiosities.
What did my eyes | first light on?
[Christabel] | I am a creature of my pen.
My pen is the best part | of me.
I send you now | two more poems.
[Randolph] | I eagerly read | your mythic tales of mire...
and found them | both charming and sad.
Your verse is rich, | but perhaps the metaphor | is richer.
[Christabel] | Dear Mr. Ash: :
I live circumscribed | and self-communing.
It is best so.
Not like a princess | in the thicket, more like | a spider in her web.
"Inclined to snap at visitors | or trespassers,
"not perceiving the distinction | until too late.
Thus, it is unwise to call. "
[Randolph] | I know you live very quietly.
but I could be very quiet.
I only want to discuss | Dante and Shakespeare,
Wordsworth, Coleridge, | and Goethe.
Not forgetting, of course, | Christabel LaMotte...
and the ambitious | fairy project.
[Man, Indistinct]
[Christabel] | Oh, sir, things flicker | and shift.
All spangle and sparkle | and flashes.
I have sat all this long evening | by my fireside,
turning towards | a caving in,
the crumbling | of the consumed coals,
to where I am leading myself...
to lifeless dust, sir.
[Randolph] | My dear friend... for I may | call myself a friend, may I not?
I speak to you as I would | speak to any person...
who possesses my true thoughts.
For my true thoughts | have spent more time | in your company...
than in anyone else's | these last few weeks.
Where my thoughts are,
there am I in truth.
"My dear friend: : | It has been borne in upon me...
that there are dangers | in our continued conversation."
[Christabel] | The world would not look well | upon letters...
between a woman living | in shared solitude as I do...
and a man.
Even if that man | were a great poet.
And if one is to live | in this way,
it is imperative | to appear respectable | in the eyes of that world...
and your wife.
It is a sealed pact.
It is a chosen way oflife | in which I have been | wondrously happy...
and not alone in being so.
"I have chosen a way, | dear friend,
"I must hold to it.
" Be patient. | Be generous. Forgive.
"May I also request | that you return | my correspondence to me.
"In this way, | at least our letters | will remain together.
"I have known incandescence...
"and must decline | to sample it any further.
"This now goes to the post.
Forgive its faults | and forgive me. | Christabel."
[Randolph] | My dear Christabel: :
Your letter came as a shock | to me, I will confess.
I was at first | not only shocked, but angry | that you should write so.
As you've asked about my wife, | however, I will tell you.
I love Ellen, | but not as I love you.
There are good reasons | which I cannot discuss | why my love for you...
may not hurt her.
I do not feel I have been | a proper wife to you, Randolph.
Without children, | without ever | any kind of physical...
Nonsense, Ellen.
Nonsense.
There are many | types of love.
All sorts.
And ours | are good between us.
It has been most profound.
[Randolph] | I must say to you | what is in my mind.
I have called you my muse, | and so you are.
I could call you | with even greater truth...
my love.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. | What? What? | Don't do that. What?
So he sends his response. | He sends her more letters.
She doesn't answer them. | She ignores them.
[Scoffs] | Typical.
No. She-She chose her life | with Blanche.
It's not typical. | It's remarkable.
"I shall hope against hope | that this note is the dove...
"which will return with | the wished-for olive branch.
My letters are like | Noah's ravens... they have | sped out across the Thames. "
[Randolph] They have | sped out across the Thames | and yet have not returned.
I send this note by hand | in the hope that | you might receive it.
Where are the letters?
They're gone.
I tore them up. | I burned them.
And the others | from my desk?
The same.
I beg for us | to be as we were, | Christabel.
Sweetheart, please.
[Christabel] | This house, so happy once,
is full of weeping and wailing | and black headaches.
I ask myself | to whom I may turn...
and think of you, | my friend...
the unwitting cause | of all this grief.
[Randolph] | I shan't forget the first | glimpse of your form...
illuminated as it was | by flashes of sunlight.
I have dreamt nightly | of your face.
To walk to the landscape | of my life with the rhythms | of your writing...
ringing in my ears.
[Christabel] | I shall never forget | our shining progress...
towards one another.
Never have I felt | such a concentration | of my entire being.
I cannot let you | burn me up,
nor can I resist you.
No mere human | can stand in a fire | and not be consumed.
You mind reading | that last part out | one more time?
"I cannot let you | burn me up,
"nor can I resist you.
"No mere human | can stand in a fire...
and not be consumed."
- That? | - Yeah.
Thank you and...
"And I took your hand. | Mine rested in yours...
with trust and relief."
Do you have regrets?
I should regret venturing out | to Crabb-Robinson's party | that evening.
I should regret it, | but I do not.
Not even in that | most sensible corner | of my heart.
What are we to do?
[Roland] | "I do not wish to | damage your life.
"Nonetheless, I shall | be in the church | at noon tomorrow,
"with what strikes me | as the holiest of prayers...
"that you should join me | on a journey to Yorkshire...
and journey out of time | beyond our lives | here on Earth."
This is unbelievable. | That was the last one.
You're kidding me. | No.
Well, did she go | with him or not? | Hands up!
You two?
- What's this then? | - [Joan] There's been | no harm done, George.
How do we know | if harm's been done?
I think it was very clever | of Maud to find your treasure.
Yes. Well, must | take advice, Joanie.
How long before Sir George | takes advice?
He'll dither around for | a while, but not long.
Blanche's diary has nothing | for that period.
What about Ellen Ash? | Did she keep a journal?
Yeah, in London, | but it's mostly just | boring housewife stuff.
God is in the boring | housewife stuff. | We should check it.
[Touch-Tones Beeping]
Bailey here. | Bailey.
Is that Dr. Heath?
No. Um, I'm a friend | of Maud Bailey's.
I was wondering, | is she there?
No, she isn't. | Could you get off the line? | I'm expecting the doctor.
Oh, um, have you seen | Roland Michell?
Not since | this morning, no.
But his work | went well, did it?
The fairy poem? | I haven't the foggiest idea.
Do you mean | Christabel LaMotte?
Get off the line! | [Hangs Up]
I looked in Ellen's diary. | There's nothing.
But, uh, this should | cheer you up.
It's in her correspondence.
I'm not going to ask | if this is the original.
I wouldn't.
" Dear Mrs. Ash:
"I'm at present | totally unknown to you,
"but I have something | to impart to which...
"closely concerns both of us | and is in my case a matter | of life and death.
"May I trespass on your time | and come to see you?
"You would do wrong | to keep this evidence | which I send to you now.
"It is not mine, | it is also not yours.
"What I say is true and urgent | as you will come to see.
Yours sincerely, | Blanche Glover. "
Mrs. Ash.
[Maud] Maybe Blanche didn't | tear the letters but kept them | and showed them to Ellen.
[Roland] | It all fits beautifully.
Well, perhaps, um, | both of our departments | should work on this together.
- Is that what you want? | - I don't know. Do you?
No. I wanna go after them. | I wanna find out what happened.
I wanna go to Yorkshire | and follow their trail. | I need to know.
I thought you were mad | when you came to Lincoln | with your stolen letter.
Now I feel | exactly the same.
[Maud] | I haven't really thanked you.
I mean, properly, | for all of this.
I have difficulty | with compliments and such.
Giving or receiving?
Both, actually.
Well, I won't tell you | you're amazing-looking then.
You're probably | sick of hearing it. | Thank you. It's...
I'm the last guy | who'd act on it, | with Fergus and all.
- What does "and all" mean? | - Nothing. Just a little | problem that I have socially.
Do you take anything for it?
It's not that kind | of a problem.
It's just relationships | on the whole. They're | not really for me.
- Anyway... | - Yes...
anyway... thank you.
You're welcome.
Thank you for agreeing | to meet me, Professor.
Well, you made me | rather curious. | Drink, sir?
Scotch with | just a dash of soda.
Sir? Thank you. | Uh, I'll have the same. | Thank you.
Um, I wanted to learn | of the connection...
between Ash | and Christabel LaMotte.
LaMotte and Ash? | There isn't any.
Well, Roland Michell | has made a discovery...
with a colleague of mine, | Maud Bailey.
I'm sorry. | Who the hell | is Roland Michell?
Oh, Blackadder's | research assistant. | American.
Blondish. | Well, anyway, | he seems to know you.
And he thinks | it's important.
And does Blackadder agree?
I don't believe | he knows anything about it.
Do you wish to | be lunched separately?
Respectably, | elsewhere from me?
I want to be with you. | [Train Whistle Blows]
I understood that was | what we had decided.
These four weeks | only are ours...
but ours alone.
Oh, l, uh...
I hope you will | accept this ring.
I have brought a ring too.
You see?
Proof of my resolution.
You take my breath away.
Not yet.
No. Not yet.
Shall we go out, | then, to explore?
There's your bathroom.
Bluebirds.
Your lovely view.
And, of course, the bed.
We'll look | for another hotel.
But this is | where Ash stayed.
Well, then we'll | have to share a room.
I can bring up | a folding bed for one of you, | if that's your problem.
[Both Chuckle]
We work together, actually. | It's not...
We were expecting | two rooms. | Right.
I'm sure it's more complicated | than I can imagine.
[Birds Squawking]
That's a lovely brooch | you're wearing, miss.
I reckon it could be one of | Issac Greenberg's designs.
I'll, uh, get the book | and see if I can tell.
Where did you get this?
I've had it for ages. | It was in the family | dress-up box.
Don't you see? | Ash bought the brooch | for Ellen.
The clasped hands. | Here in Whitby. | We knew that.
And this for Christabel. | Oh, right.
So while he was buying this, | he said, um,
"Yes, I'll have | the eternal embrace | for my wife."
No, he wouldn't have said | anything. He would have | just bought the brooch.
Christabel would have seen. | It was accepted between them.
Are you writing | fiction now?
Maybe.
I'm having fun.
Are you?
Yes, I suppose I am.
Don't grimace | when you say it. | It's more convincing.
I suppose | I can be a touch...
empirical at times.
Just a touch.
Hey, you wanna | go for a walk | or something?
I mean, | out in the hills.
[Clerk] For sure | it's earlier than the death | of Victoria's Albert.
Probably late '50s. | 1860s maybe.
1859?
Ish?
I think we're getting | near Thomason Falls.
Cropper mentions it... | Mortimer Cropper?
Yeah, Ash's biographer. | All-purpose asshole.
He's literally trekked | every step of Ash's life.
He's happy to tell you | that too. | More than happy, I'm sure.
You know him, huh? | [Groans]
That is beautiful. | [Sighs]
Maud. What?
I think Christabel | did come here.
Listen.
"Three elements combined | to make the fourth.
" But above the water | and the light, | together made...
a halo | in the darkened cave. "
That poem's dated | 1859,July.
See if there's | a cave behind it.
That might be | all the proof we need.
Ah...
I know this is | an awfully repressed | sort of English thing to say,
but what the hell | are you doing?
There's only one way | to find out.
Of course, we could | have just asked someone.
[Whooping, Laughing]
Whoo! Maud! Maud!
[Laughing Continues] | I found it!
Your hands are shaking.
Are you afraid?
No.
A little.
[Roland] | "These are and were there.
"The garden and the tree, | the serpent at its root.
"The fruit of gold, the woman | in the shadow of the boughs.
"The running water | and the grassy space.
They are and were there."
I don't mind that.
See, you could grow | to like Ash.
[Laughs] | Yes.
He's sort of a soft-core | misogynist.
[Laughs]
Why do you always | tie your hair up like that?
It has to do | with Fergus Wolfe mostly.
Fergus? | How to do with Fergus?
When we met, | he drove me mad quoting Yeats.
"Who could love you | for yourself alone | and not your yellow hair?"
Yes.
And then I was accused once | by my sister feminists | at a conference...
of dyeing it | to attract men.
Really? | Yes.
So I shaved it off, | all of it.
[Laughs] | And did he?
Did who what? | Fergus love you | without your yellow hair?
No.
We thought of that.
We drove each other mad. | I don't even like him,
but I can't seem to... | Freud.
"On the other side of attraction | lies repulsion."
Or was that Calvin Klein?
[Laughing]
- Do you believe that? | - Uh, I wouldn't know.
I don't really allow myself | to do that Ash/Christabel | grand passion kind of thing.
Allow? | Yeah.
Jealousy, obsession, all that. | Not anymore.
You're lucky then.
It all gets so... | just such a tangle.
It's a tangle | most people want.
Not me though.
My antics made | a lot of people unhappy.
One horribly so.
For me,
whenever I feel | anything for anyone, l...
I go cold all over.
- What makes you do that? | - Fear, I suppose.
Fear of being burned up... | by love.
[Sighs] | Listen to us.
Yes. Aren't we just maudlin? | [Laughing]
Maud, you should | let your hair out.
You should let it breathe. | And don't do the ice thing,
'cause you have nothing | to worry about from me.
Christabel said, | " Fear all men."
Well, Christabel | didn't know me.
I don't want to take | anything from you.
So, then, we're both... | perfectly safe.
Right.
How can we bear it?
Every day | we will have less.
[Shuddering]
Would you rather | have had nothing?
No.
I thank God | that if there had to be | a dragon it was you.
Wait. Wait.
No. I was just trying to get out | from under the covers. | No. No.
This is... We shouldn't | be doing this. | It's dangerous.
Well, I really... | No, because I like you. | I like you a lot.
I just don't want | to blow it here, and...
Well, it doesn't matter | to me, honestly.
What do you mean | it doesn't matter?
Sorry. I think | we're probably just...
[Sighs] | In these cramped quarters. | It was a mistake.
Maud. Maud!
[Door Closes]
I didn't mean that.
Let's not beat | the thing dead.
It happened, it's over | and we're adults.
Speak for yourself.
I can't imagine | what you're like after you | actually sleep with someone.
[Sighs]
Maud, I think | that you are very...
You know?
No, I don't know.
So, what, we're friends | now, is that it?
Yeah. That's a lot.
No, I agree. | It's fine.
Yeah. It's perfect.
Anyway, we're getting | off the track here.
We came to investigate | them, not us.
[Sea Gulls Squawking]
So what ever happened | to Blanche? | Blanche drowned.
Oh.
Where was Christabel? | We don't know | where she was.
The year before's | a bit blank too.
You don't know where she was | that entire year?
There's some speculation | that she went to France,
but I have nothing | to support that.
Okay, so... Christabel | comes here with Ash | and then disappears.
On paper, at least.
Yes. | And Blanche suicides.
Jesus.
- What are you doing? | - [Sighs]
It's a poem. | I've been writing it | as I've watched you.
You're not pleased with it?
On the contrary. | I think it perfectly expresses | thejoy I have felt with you.
Then why that?
These feelings... | I want them to survive.
I know I can never | declare all this...
this love.
There. I've said it. | I know it cannot be declared | to the world.
What I may do is scatter | these words from the train...
and hope that | they somehow take root.
They will flourish. | I swear it.
[Train Whistle Blows]
[Train Chugging]
[Sighs]
So... what next?
I mean, for you.
I suppose I'll check | through the archives...
and see if there's | any clue at all where Christabel | might have been that year.
Good.
I guess I'll just, uh...
hell, I don't know...
go look up shit | on the microfiche.
Suffer over you.
Good-bye.
See ya.
Lost your way? | Don't do tours here.
Sir George Bailey? | Who wants to know?
Professor Mortimer Cropper, | curator of the Stan Collection,
Robert De Leon University, | Harmony City, New Mexico.
And this is Dr. Wolfe. | Good morning.
I'm a busy man. | My wife's ill.
I can quite understand | that, sir.
Sources have led me to believe | that you may be in possession...
of some documentation | by Randolph Henry Ash.
Whoa. | Don't shoot, please.
Get off my land.
Do you have any idea | what we're talking about here?
Do you? Do you have | any idea how much...
such pieces, | if they existed,
how much | they would be worth?
Worth?
Do you mind if we swing | past the university?
Bit of unfinished | business.
Miss Bailey, I presume. | The accomplice.
The very same.
[Man] | Good God, you're | like Bonnie and Clyde.
Come on. | I need a picture of her.
I've never seen you | like this. Just go.
Take the Porsche | and go.
[Engine Starts]
[Doorbell Buzzes]
Fergus, what?
Uh, if Fergus went out | to get Indian food, I'm gonna... | I'm gonna feel really stupid.
[Laughs] | No, he didn't.
India wouldn't be | far enough away, actually.
[Chuckles]
Come inside. I'll explain.
You sure? I mean, | about me coming in.
Yes, very. | [Laughs]
So I left Fergus a message | from Seal Court,
which apparently | put him on our trail,
and he came here looking | for answers... he and Cropper | from the sound of it.
So that was Cropper's | car outside?
I think Fergus | has found something.
He's been spooking | around the museum,
sending out | a bunch of faxes.
I wouldn't be | so quick to do that.
Yeah.
The British Museum | fax log sheet.
"To the University of Muntz | from Fergus Wolfe.
"Subject: Christabel LaMotte. | Information on LaMotte | genealogy.
Request loan of journal | of Sabine de Concasse."
Unfortunately for Fergus, | we have to log our faxes.
You're shameless.
[Sighs]
So what are we | gonna do now?
We gonna try to beat 'em | to France, or...
or are we just | gonna stare at each other?
That is the question, | isn't it?
Mm-hmm.
I have another one | for you. | What's that?
What are you really | doing here?
Well, l, uh...
I needed to see your face.
I just want to let you know | that whatever happened | in Whitby,
which unfortunately | was not much,
is not because | anything that you did.
Not at all.
I just didn't want | to jump into something.
I mean, I did | and I do... want to.
Badly.
I just didn't | want to mess this up.
And I just want to see... | [Clears Throat]
I want to see if there's | an us in you and me.
Would-Would you like that?
I'll take that | as a yes.
[Woman Speaking French]
Ah, oui. Excusez-moi. | Nous sommes confrres. | [Continues In French]
When will she be back?
Could you check for us?
- She will return on Thursday. | - Okay.
Au revoir. | Merci.
You and your shoplifting, huh? | I can't take you anywhere.
" Dear Professor Wolfe: | Since I wrote to you last, | I've made another discovery.
"Amongst Sabine's papers | was her journal...
"in which she writes | about LaMotte's visit | to Brittany in 1859...
and the subsequent arrival | of a mysterious visitor. "
[Man Speaking Latin]
I know how things are. | I wish to help you.
You know how things are, do you? | Tell me, Cousin Sabine,
how do you think | things are with me?
I'm a grown woman. | You are a girl.
I do not desire | any help from you.
[Sabine's Voice] | Christabel's condition | became worse...
after she received word | from London...
that her close friend | had died.
She left England | because she was pregnant,
and Blanche | committed suicide.
What happened to the baby?
It must have been stillborn.
Or died.
Maybe it was taken in | by nuns or a local family.
And brought up here.
I'd like to think that, | but I wonder.
- You wonder what? | - I don't know. I just...
She comes here alone, hears | that Blanche has killed herself.
She's pregnant, distraught.
Geez.
I mean, I've no | evidence for it.
Can you imagine | how she must have felt?
Yes, I can.
So when do we see | Christabel next?
Autumn, 1860, | in her references | to the Vestal Lights.
It was a group of women | who used to meet with mediums | on a regular basis.
Really? You know, | Ash hated spiritualists. | Pretty openly.
You think | that's a connection | we're tracking down?
I don't know.
Please, make a circle | with your hands.
Close your eyes.
White earth. Valley.
A waterfall.
A child. Love.
Two people. Deception.
Letters. Two people.
Words. Death.
What have you done?
A field.
Where is the child?
What have you done | with the child?
You have made | a murderess of me.
[Roland Reading] | "I understood at the time | that Mr. Ash was inquiring...
"after the spirit of | a departed child ofhis own,
"but I am told that | this could not be the case...
as Mr. Ash is childless."
Was there any mention | of Heloise in your research?
I don't know... | nor do I care.
[Sighs] | Look, I've got to get back.
What's going on? | Nothing. I'm just tired, | that's all, so I should...
Come on. | What's wrong, seriously?
I don't actually | want to discover | anything else about them.
You know?
I'm finding things out | that are just...
It's horrible when you | think about it really... | men and women together.
[Sighs]
She gave up her life, | didn't she?
A perfectly decent life | that I've always admired. | And for what? For nothing.
No. Not nothing.
Oh, really? For what then? | A child who died, a lover | drowned, and to what end?
She and Ash, | my own parents...
and every relationship | I've ever had...
It's all doomed. | We can't seem to help but | just tear each other apart.
Well, what about us? | You didn't include us. | What about that?
Look, l...
I can't think about | anything right now.
[Sighs] | So, okay.
So this is the, uh... | this is the icy pull-back | part then, huh?
- What? | - You know, you get close, | you pull away, you get...
I mean, this is part | of the pattern, right?
- What are you talking about? | - Your fear of men mantra | from Yorkshire.
That's what | I'm talking about.
I get it. It's cool. | If that's the way you play it, | that's the way play it.
Do you honestly believe that?
Is that what you think | this is to me? A game? Is it?
[Scoffs]
Well, finally, then, | all this talk of us really | comes to nothing, doesn't it?
Yes, I guess you're right. | It's nothing.
[Door Slams]
[Sighs]
[Sobbing]
[Roland's Voice] | Dear Professor Blackadder: :
I did try to tell you | about my discovery before...
but found that I couldn't.
Please read these two letters,
and you will begin | to understand.
I'm sorry for deceiving you.
Sincerely, Roland Michell.
[Creaking, Clattering]
And it's well documented | that Ellen Ash set a box | on Ash's coffin...
a kind of sealed container.
We'd always imagined | it was just trinkets,
but in the light of Michell's | discovery, who knows what | treasures might be buried there.
[Sir George] | That box is mine, isn't it? | It's my property.
[Cropper] | Once you get it from Lord Ash, | it's absolutely yours.
Until then, | we keep it a secret.
Any discovery amongst | Lord Ash's things,
and, uh... | and I purchase it from you.
It's all above board, | no one the wiser.
Cropper, are you | absolutely sure of that?
Listen. | Uh, where is it?
Yeah. "I place this | letter in his hands,
"and if ghouls | dig it up again,
then perhaps justice | will be done when I am | not here to see it. "
[Christabel's Voice] | Dear Madam: : We are older now | and my fires at last are out.
I know that you are | more than aware of my name,
but I find you must see it | in print one last time.
It has been made known to me | that your husband | is near to death,
so I have writ down, | for his eyes only, some things.
I find I cannot say what things | and have sealed the letter.
If you wish to read it, | it is in your hands,
though I must hope that he | will see it first and decide.
I have done great harm, | though I meant none to you.
I'll see they get back, | no questions asked.
You're more enterprising | than I gave you credit for.
Was there a compliment | in there somewhere?
Hmm? Yes, probably. | [Laughs]
What I can't believe | is Fergus Wolfe | conniving with Cropper.
I thought I was | a better judge of men.
Well, see, that's | where you went wrong. You | gave him credit for being one.
[Whispering]
Thank you.
Hi. | Hi.
Thank you | for coming. | Sure.
I believe | that may be her.
l, uh... I'm sorry. | No, I'm sorry.
No, listen. | I lost it totally. | It wasn't you.
So, why don't we all | talk some strategy?
Let me introduce | you to, uh... | All right.
[Clears Throat] | Professor Blackadder, Paola, | this is Dr. Bailey.
Maud. | Maud.
How do you do?
So, do we really think that | Cropper's capable of something | like this, of robbing a grave?
[Man Grunting]
It's creepy, the idea | of opening a grave.
Let's just keep going.
[Sighs] | Jesus.
"The moping owl does | to the moon complain." | Complain.
Are you ready?
Yeah. | Hold the light up.
[Grunting]
[Thudding]
Fergus! Fergus! | [Fergus] | Is that it?
Yes. It's gotta be.
I found it, Fergus. | I found it.
Oh, my God. | I found it, Fergus.
Great!
Hey, Cropper! | Cropper!
This has nothing | to do with you people.
Wait! | Get off of me! | Get off of me!
No you don't! | [Grunts]
Traitor! | Bloody conniver! | Please!
[Grunting Continues]
Wait!
What are you doin'? | [Grunts]
[Chuckles]
[Gasping] | Oh, shit.
[Maud] | Are you sure | we should be doing this?
[Roland] | I told Blackadder | we'd just take a look...
before we handed it over | to the museum.
Can you hold that there?
Maud, look at this.
It's her handwriting.
[Clears Throat]
" My dear, my dear:
"They tell me | you are very ill.
"Perhaps I am wrong | to disturb you at this time...
"with unseasonable memories,
"but I find I have, after all, | a thing which I must tell you.
"You will say it should have | been told 20 years ago,
"but I could, or would, not.
"You have a daughter...
"who is well and married...
"and the mother | of a beautiful boy.
"I've sent you a picture.
"You will see she resembles | both her parents,
"neither of whom she knows | to be her parent.
"When I said | at that terrible seance that | you had made a murderess of me,
"I was speaking of poor Blanche, | who then torments me daily,
"and I thought, | 'Let him think so then...
"ifhe knows me so little. '
"I had a secret fear, you see.
"I was afraid that | you would wish to take her...
"you and your wife... | for your own.
But I could not let her go."
Over here.
[Christabel's Voice] | And so I hid her from you...
and you from her.
She loves her adoptive | parents most deeply.
Me, she does not love.
So I am punished now, | living at Seal Court with them | and watching her grow.
I have been angry | for so long...
with all of us,
and now, near the end,
I think of you again | with clear love.
Did we not...
Did you not flame | and I catch fire?
Was not the love | that we found...
worth the tempest | that it brewed?
I feel it was. | I know it was.
"If you are able or willing, | please send me a sign | that you have read this.
"I dare not ask | if you forgive.
Christabel LaMotte."
Ash had never read this.
He never knew | he had a child.
You're descended from both | Christabel and Ash.
My God. | [Sobbing]
All these clues, | they're for you.
For us.
You're so beautiful.
[Randolph's Voice] | There are things that happen, | not spoken or written of.
Apoet walked out | one summer's day...
seeking forgiveness | from a love long lost.
He found | something else instead.
This is how it was.
Morning. | Good morning.
What's your name?
May Bailey, but I have | another name I don't like.
Do you? What's that?
Maya Thomason Bailey.
Well...
Maya was the, uh...
the mother of Hermes,
and I know a waterfall | called Thomason.
A waterfall? Really? | Yes.
In Yorkshire. | With a lovely cave | hidden behind it.
Where do you live?
I live in that house | down there.
And my mother lives there | and my father...
and my two brothers.
Oh, and my Aunt Christabel too.
Yes, I think | I know your mother.
You have | the true look of her.
No one else says that. | I think I look like my father.
You look like | your father too.
Can you make daisy chains?
Yes.
Yes, I'll make you a crown.
But, um... will you | give me a lock of your hair?
Like fairy story.
Just so.
Now, would you | take this note...
to your aunt.
Tell her that | you saw a poet...
who was coming | to meet her...
but met you instead.
I'll try to remember.
Thank you.
[Boys Laughing]