And now my mind is made up.
Oh, Lucy.
I never heard of such a thing.
Oh, Lucy, Lucy.
Please don't make it more difficult.
I know you've tried to be generous and kind,
but it simply won't work, my living here.
Eva, speak to her.
Are you serious, Lucy?
Yes, Eva, I am.
And poor Edwin barely cold in his grave.
He's been dead almost a year now.
Still you might have some consideration for your husband's memory.
I don't see what Edwin's got to do with this.
I'm not leaving him, I'm leaving you.
Oh! After all we've tried to do for her.
You mustn't think I'm not grateful.
You've both been so very kind to me,
but I'm not really a member of the family,
except for marrying your son, and now he's gone.
I have my own life to live,
and you have yours,
and they simply won't mix.
I've never had a life of my own.
It's been Edwin's life and yours and Eva's,
never my own.
Stop sniveling, Mother.
If she's determined to make a fool of herself,
there's nothing we can do about it.
But what will I have to remind me of poor Edwin?
Lucy, have you considered Anna?
Yes, Eva, I have.
You're willing to take responsibility for what might become of her?
She's my daughter, Eva.
And what do you mean by that?
Only what I said.
You're insinuating that I interfere with Anna.
Don't deny it, Lucy.
Don't deny it, I say!
I'm not denying it, Eva.
Please, can't we discuss this without quarreling?
I'm sure I don't know how you'll manage, Lucy.
You haven't any money.
I have the income from Edwin's gold shares.
Anna and I can live quite cheaply with Martha.
Do you mean you're taking Martha Huggins?
And why not? She was with me before I came to live with you.
Of all the ungrateful...
Please, Eva. I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind.
But where, Lucy, where can you go?
The seaside, I think.
I've always wanted to live by the sea.
Oh, goody.
Well, that's all I have to say.
I should think it's quite enough.
Apparently there's nothing we can do about it,
but when you realize your mistake
and try to come crawling back to us,
don't expect any encouragement from me.
I won't, Eva.
Well, it's done.
Oh, it's a blooming revolution, that's what.
Isn't Whitecliff beautiful, Martha?
Oh, I am sorry.
It's quite all right.
Are you Mr. Itchen?
Mr. Itchen passed on 30 years ago.
May he rest in peace.
- Mr. Boles? - Likewise.
Then you're Mr. Coombe.
Junior.
Of course. You answered my letter. Please eat.
Thank you.
I'm Mrs. Muir.
Mrs. Muir, of course. You were desirous of renting a house.
Yes.
Well, I've selected several prospects
suitable to a young lady in bereaved circumstances.
Bowles Yard. Seaside villa. Three beds, two recept,
complete offices, company's gas and water,
ideally sits near bus stops, modern drains, private garden,
£120. £10 deposit.
I'm afraid that's a little too expensive.
Right.
Labernum Mount. First-class residential street,
four bed, one recept, sun parlor, offices,
company's gas and water, beautifully planted, short walk...
This one. Gull Cottage.
- What was that, madam? - This house. Gull Cottage.
It's exactly the sort of place I'm looking for.
Gull Cottage. Oh, no, no. That wouldn't suit you at all.
Labernum Mount. First-class residential street,
four bed, one recept, sun parlor, offices,
company's gas and water...
And only £52. That's very little for a furnished house.
It's a ridiculous price.
I suppose there's something wrong.
Is it the drains?
When ltchen, Boles, & Coombe put up a house for rent,
you may be sure there is nothing wrong with the drains.
Then why shouldn't it suit me?
My dear young lady, you must allow me to be the judge of that.
Now where were we? Oh, yes. Labernum Mount.
Beautifully planted, short walk from...
But if I'm going to live in the house,
I should be the judge.
You'll only waste your time.
But it's my time.
I believe there's another house agency in Whitecliff.
Perhaps they have Gull Cottage listed, too.
Very well, madam, if you insist.
I shall drive you to Gull Cottage in my motorcar.
That's very good of you, Mr. Coombe.
Mrs. Muir.
It's only a short drive to Labernum Mount.
But I want to see the inside.
The inside?
Of course. What on earth's the matter?
Very well. If you insist.
Terribly dusty.
The house has been empty for nearly four years.
Oh.
Office is back there. Living on the right.
Dining off the living.
Oh. Of course. It's a painting.
I thought for a moment...
Who is it?
The former owner, a Captain Gregg.
A sea captain.
That explains the scheme of decoration, doesn't it?
Which is in frightful taste.
I don't agree with you.
It's really a lovely room,
and most of the furniture will do as it is.
Mrs. Muir, I must beg of you not to be so precipitous.
I assure you this house will not suit you at all.
Oh, but it does. it suits me perfectly.
What a hideous tree.
What kind of a tree is it?
I believe it is called a monkey puzzle tree.
Why?
Because it defies the efforts of monkeys to climb it, presumably.
Why, it ruins the view. I'll have it chopped down.
Did you say something, Mr. Coombe?
No, I did not.
Well, I think I'd better see the rest of it.
As you wish, Mrs. Muir.
What on earth?
What, Mrs. Muir?
That table. I thought you said no one had been here.
I said nothing of the sort.
I said the house had been empty. It has.
A charwoman was here last week.
Well, she must have left in a frightful hurry.
That she did.
Did she tell you why?
She told me nothing.
She returned the key to the office whilst I was out.
Mrs. Muir, I...
I know, it won't suit me. But it does.
I'd like to see the upstairs.
The upstairs.
The, uh, main bedroom.
Of course.
He liked to watch the ships.
Hmm.
But what...
That's what it is. You're clean.
I beg your pardon, Mrs. Muir.
Oh, not you, Mr. Coombe, the telescope.
Did you laugh, Mr. Coombe?
You would come. I didn't want to show it to you,
but, oh, no, no, you had to see it.
Haunted. How perfectly fascinating.
Fascinating?
I suppose it's fascinating that this house is driving me to drink.
To drink! Four times I've rented it
and four times the tenants have left after the very first night.
The owner's in Australia, Captain Gregg's cousin.
I've written to him, cabled him begging him to release me,
but he only replies, "Rely on you."
Well, I don't want to be relied on.
I never want to see this house again.
I wish Captain Gregg had lived to be 100.
I wish he'd never been born.
I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Coombe.
Well, at least you know now why it won't suit you.
Yes, I suppose so.
Why does he haunt? Was he murdered?
No, he committed suicide.
I wonder why.
To save someone the trouble of assassinating him, no doubt.
Come. We'll go to Labernum Mount.
Mrs. Muir.
Mrs. Muir, if you please.
You'll probably think it very silly of me, Mr. Coombe,
but I've decided to take Gull Cottage after all.
I mean, if everyone rushes off at the slightest sound,
of course the house gets a bad name.
But it's too ridiculous, really,
in the 20th century, to believe in apparitions
and all that medieval nonsense.
But you heard him laugh.
I heard what might have been a laugh.
It might have been the wind roaring down the chimney.
If I may so say, Mrs. Muir, fiddlesticks.
I want Gull Cottage.
In my opinion, you are the most obstinate young woman I have ever met.
Thank you, Mr. Coombe.
I've always wanted to be considered obstinate.
Very well, Mrs. Muir,
on the understanding that I disclaim all responsibility
of what may happen,
you shall have Gull Cottage.
Don't you dare come in.
Bringing your muddy feet through my nice clean kitchen.
Landlubber.
There.
Nothing like soap and water to make everything shipshape
in Bristol fashion.
Yes.
What did you say, Martha?
Why, I said...
What did I say?
Shipshape in Bristol fashion.
I've never heard you use that expression before.
Huh.
Must have been the sea air.
Come along, Mrs. Muir.
I'll have that iron, if you please.
But I've nearly finished.
You've done enough hard work for today.
Besides, you know, you're supposed not to be...
If you're going to start telling me I'm not strong,
I'll pack you off back to London on the first train.
Dear old London, how I miss it.
Now come along, upstairs to your room
and a bit of shut-eye before tea.
I feel so useless.
Here I am nearly halfway through life,
and what have I done?
I know what I done, all right.
Cooked enough steaks to choke an hippopotamus
and kept the name of Huggins as fair as the day I found it.
You've led a very useful life, Martha.
I have nothing to show for all my years.
I suppose you call Miss Anna nothing.
Oh, heavens. I can't take any credit for her.
She just happened.
Yes.
That's what my old mum always used to say.
I was the 11th.
Oh!
Hurt yourself?
Here, let's have a look.
It's nothing, just a scrape.
But I am tired. I think I will take a little rest.
Begging your pardon, Your Highness.
There.
This will keep you nice and warm.
Thanks, Martha, you're an angel.
Ain't noticed any wings sproutin' lately.
I'll call you in plenty of time for tea.
It's you.
I crept up, not wanting to wake you
in case you was still asleep.
Tea's all ready.
Miss Anna will have it all cleared off in no time
if you don't hurry.
I've got a nice bit of fresh fish for you, too.
Martha, I had such a curious dream.
Did I close the window before I went to sleep?
You did, and scraped your finger. Don't you remember?
It's shut now, ain't it?
Yes.
It's shut now.
Sleep tight.
Good night, Mummy. I love the sea, and so does Rummy.
And so do I.
I put hot water bottles on the kitchen table, ma'am,
and the kettle's on the stove.
Thank you, Martha.
- Good night, ma'am. - Good night.
Should I leave this on, ma'am?
No. This will do nicely.
I know you're here.
I say, I know you're here.
What's wrong? Are you afraid to speak up?
Is that all you're good for, to frighten women?
Well, I'm not afraid of you.
Whoever heard of a cowardly ghost?
Now if the demonstration is over,
I'll thank you not to interfere while I boil some water
for my hot water bottle.
Light the candle.
Go ahead, light it.
How can I when you keep blowing out the match?
Light the blasted candle!
Well?
You'll forgive me if I take a moment
to get accustomed to you.
You're Captain Gregg.
Aye.
I'm sorry I called you names,
coward and so forth.
I didn't really believe in you, or I wouldn't have.
It must have been embarrassing to you.
Why?
Why, I mean because of the way you died.
The way I died, madam?
I mean because you committed suicide.
What made you think I committed suicide?
Mr. Coombe said...
Coombe's a fool. They're all fools.
I went to sleep in front of that confounded gas heater in my bedroom,
and I must have kicked the gas on with my foot in my sleep.
It was a stormy night like this
with half a gale blowing from the south-southwest into my windows,
so I shut them as any sensible man would.
Wouldn't you?
Yes, I suppose so.
Then the coroner's jury brought in a suicide
because me blasted charwoman testified
I always slept with me windows open.
How the devil should she know how I slept?
I'm so glad.
Do you have a strange sense of humor, madam?
I mean because you didn't commit suicide,
but if you didn't, why do you haunt?
Because I have plans for me house
which don't include a pack of strangers barging in
and making themselves at home.
Then you were trying to frighten me away.
You call that trying? I'd barely started.
No, that was enough for all the others.
They didn't want any part of it, let me tell you.
Didn't even stop to weigh anchor.
They just cut their cables and ran.
I think it's very mean of you frightening people,
childish, too.
In your case, I'm prepared to admit
I charted the course with regret.
You're not a bad-looking woman, you know,
especially when you're asleep.
So you were in my room this afternoon.
My room, madam.
I thought I'd dreamed it. Did you open the window to frighten me?
I opened the window because I didn't want another accident
with the blasted gas.
Women are such fools.
You, of all people, should not have brought that up.
I wouldn't call that remark in the best of taste.
Well, I'm sure it was very kind of you,
but I am quite capable of taking care of myself.
Now, if you don't mind.
Well, what's the matter now?
I just wanted to see if you were really there.
Of course I'm really here,
and I'll still be here when you've packed up and gone.
But I'm not going.
The house suits me perfectly.
My dear woman, it's not your house.
It is as long as I pay rent.
Pay rent to me blasted cousin!
He's the legal owner.
Legal owner be hanged!
It's my house,
and I want it turned into a home for retired seamen.
Then you should have said so in your will.
- I didn't leave a will. - Why not'?
I didn't expect to kick the blasted gas on with me foot!
I won't be shouted at. Everyone shouts at me and orders me about,
and I'm sick of it, do you hear?
Blast! Blast! Blast!
Temper.
Or laughed at, either. I won't leave this house.
You can't make me leave it. I won't!
Here, belay that.
Stop it now, do you hear me?
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a woman crying.
Stop it! Blast it all, madam.
I love this house. I thought I must stay here
the moment I saw it.
I can't explain it.
It was as if the house itself were welcoming me,
asking me to rescue it from being so empty.
You can't understand that, can you?
I suppose you think I'm just a silly woman,
but that's the way I feel.
Well, there might be some truth in it at that.
I felt that way about a ship once,
my first command.
Found her rusting in the Mersey,
gear all foul and a pigsty below.
Always swore she sailed twice as sweetly for me
as she would for any other master
out of gratitude.
Well, you love the house. That counts for you.
And you've got spunk. You didn't frighten like the others.
That counts for you, too.
You may stay.
On trial.
Oh, thank you.
Keep your distance, madam.
I'm sorry. You made me so happy.
No intention of making you happy.
I merely want to do what's best for the house.
Then we're agreed, and you'll go right away and leave us alone.
I will not go right away. Why should I?
Because of Anna, my little girl.
I don't want her frightened into fits.
I never frighten little girls into fits.
Think of the bad language she'd learn and the morals.
Confound it, madam, my language is most controlled,
and as for me morals,
I lived a man's life, and I'm not ashamed of it.
I can assure you
no woman's ever been the worse for knowing me,
and I'd like to know how many mealy-mouthed bluenoses
can say the same.
She's much too young to see ghosts.
Very well. I'll make a bargain with you.
Leave me bedroom as it is,
and I'll promise not to go into any other room in the house.
And your brat need never know anything about me.
But if you keep the best bedroom, where should I sleep?
In the best bedroom.
But...
In heaven's name, madam, why not?
Why, bless my soul, I'm a spirit.
I have no body. I haven't had one for four years,
is that clear?
But I can see you.
All you see is an illusion.
It's like a blasted lantern slide.
Well, it's not very convincing,
but I suppose it's all right.
Then it's settled. I'm probably making a mistake.
I always was a fool for a helpless woman.
I'm not helpless.
If you're so confoundedly competent,
you'll notice your kettle's about to boil over.
So it is.
One thing more.
I want me painting hung in the bedroom,
the one that's in the living room.
Must I? It's a very poor painting.
It's my painting. I didn't invite your criticism.
I make that part of the bargain.
I want you to put it there now, tonight. Good night.
I mean, it doesn't do you justice and...
You might at least have turned the light back on
before you left.
Such nonsense.
My dear, never let anyone tell you
to be ashamed of your figure!
There! That's the last of them.
Never held with mourning meself.
I always say life's black enough as it is
without dressing in it, too.
Cheer up, Martha.
Life isn't as bad as that.
Who said it was?
Good afternoon.
What have you done with me monkey puzzle tree?
I expect it's chopped for firewood by now.
Hang it all, madam!
I planted that tree with me own two hands.
Why?
Because I wanted a monkey puzzle tree in me garden!
Think how much prettier a bed of roses will look there.
I hate roses!
I hope the whole blasted bed dies of blight!
I wish you wouldn't swear. It's so ugly.
If you think that's ugly,
it's a good thing you can't read me thoughts.
You seem to be very earthly for a spirit.
And you, madam, are enough to make a saint take to blasphemy!
Blasted women!
Always make trouble when you allow one aboard.
Captain Gregg, if you insist on haunting me,
you might at least be more agreeable about it.
Why should I be agreeable?
Well, as long as we're living...
I mean, if we're to be thrown together so much,
life's too short to be forever barking at each other.
Your life may be short, madam.
I have an unlimited time at my disposal.
There you go arguing again.
Try to say something pleasant for a change.
Hmm.
Uh, that's a...
That's a pretty rig you have on.
Thank you, sir.
Much better than smothering yourself
in all that ugly black crepe.
I happen to have been wearing mourning for my husband.
Whom you didn't love.
How dare you say that!
Because it's true. You were fond of him perhaps,
but you didn't love him.
I suppose you're jealous
because no one put on mourning for you.
That shows how little you know about it.
Some poor, misguided female no doubt.
Three poor, misguided females to be exact.
I should think you'd be ashamed of it
instead of boasting about it.
Why? They misguided themselves.
I never raised a finger to help them.
That's not what I've heard about sailors.
Seamen, confound it!
Sailor is a landlubber's word.
Why did you marry him?
Edwin?
I don't really know.
He was an architect.
He came down to plan an addition
to my father's library.
I was only 17.
I remember I'd just finished a novel
in which the heroine was kissed in the rose garden
and lived happily ever after.
So when Edwin kissed me in the orchard...
But it was different
after you left the orchard.
He didn't beat you, did he?
Oh, no!
Poor Edwin. He never did anything.
I'm afraid he wasn't even a very good architect.
He couldn't have designed a house like this.
Who did?
I did.
It reminds me of something...
An old song, or a poem.
"Magic easements, opening on the foam
"of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn."
That's Keats, isn't it?
The Nightingale.
Strange to find a sea captain quoting Keats.
Oh, life's slow at sea.
Plenty of time for reading in the off watches.
How romantic.
Reading lyric poetry up in the crow's-nest
with the sheets bellying in the wind.
Sails, blast it all, madam!
A sheet's a line, a rope.
Ropes can't belly.
I don't know anything about the sea
except that it is romantic.
That's what all landsmen think.
Seamen know better.
Then why do they go to sea?
Because they haven't the sense to stay ashore.
Heaven help the ordinary seaman.
Were you ever one?
For several years, while I learnt me trade.
It's hard to imagine you being an ordinary anything.
You got callers.
Oh, dear! Whatever can they want?
Who is it?
My blasted in-laws!
But she's resting, ma'am.
Then we'll go up.
Quick! Hide or go away or decompose.
Dematerialize, madam.
Whatever it is, do it quickly.
No fear. They can't see me or hear me
unless I choose that they should.
Oh, then please don't choose. I'll get rid of them.
Why don't you let me? I've had plenty of practice.
Say the word, and I'll keelhaul them.
No. You're not to do anything!
Well, Lucy.
Talking to herself.
Oh, my poor Lucy.
You look so pale.
- Well! What an ugly room! - It isn't really.
Whatever do you want with that telescope?
I like to look at the stars.
You never liked to look at the stars
when you lived with us.
Sit down, Mother.
And what a hideous painting.
Anyone with a face like yours, madam,
should steer clear of expressing such opinions.
Why on earth don't you take it down?
Because I like it, Eva.
I'm very fond of it, really I am.
Liar.
Of course. If you want a portrait
of a strange man in your room,
well, that's up to you.
I'm sure you didn't come here merely to criticize the decorations.
No, we did not.
Oh, poor Lucy, we've such bad news for you.
I suppose it's all for the best, everything considered.
Don't you, Eva?
And in my opinion, we're just in time.
So perhaps our bad news is good news after all,
and now we can all go home and live together
and forget all this nonsense about living alone.
What news is this?
Your gold mine, Lucy.
It's petered out.
They've stopped paying dividends.
It was in The Times this morning.
Oh.
Uh...
Avast now.
Don't make a scene in front of these swabs.
I don't intend to make a scene.
Of course you don't.
You're my brave little girl, that's what you are.
- Oh, Lucy. My little Lucy. - Please.
Make her stop that eternal caterwauling
or I will take a hand!
- You keep out of this! - Oh, Lucy!
Oh, blast!
Oh! Did you hear her, Eva?
Yes, I heard her. Stop sniveling, Mother.
If that's what you want, we will keep out of it.
I didn't mean you.
Then just whom did you mean?
Well, I could explain, I suppose,
but you wouldn't believe me.
All I know is that you're acting
in a most peculiar fashion.
The only charitable explanation
is that the solitude has preyed on your mind.
She thinks you've got bats in your belfry.
Oh, pipe down!
I mean, I want to think.
Very well, I will pipe down, as you put it,
but it should be perfectly obvious
that with your income gone
there's only one course for you to follow,
and that is to come home now, with us.
You mean give up this house?
Naturally. it was idiotic to take it in the first place,
and now that you're a pauper, how can you possibly stay?
Don't do it, Lucy.
Do you want me to stay?
Yes.
Do you really mean it?
Of course I mean it.
Tell them to shove off.
We'll think of something.
I'm sorry. It's very kind of you to want me back,
but I'm going to stay. I'll manage somehow.
So, please be good enough to shove off.
Very well. You're obviously insane,
and I for one want nothing more to do with you.
Come, Mother.
Captain Gregg...
Captain Gregg, where are you?
Don't forget your promise.
It's too ridiculous!
I'm going to give her one more chance.
Stop pulling me, Mother.
I'm not pulling you, Eva.
Stop it, I say!
I'm not touching you, Eva.
- Off we go! - Let me go!
Mummy's coming aboard in a motorcar.
Mr. Coombe is invited for tea.
I'm so glad you found the house suitable after all.
I'm convinced now that we were unduly concerned
about the possibility of a ghost haunting it.
As you say, how could such things exist
in the 20th century?
Indeed. How could they?
Still, you must admit it's a very isolated location,
and I've often thought of you out here alone
without the protection of a man, the right man, could offer you.
I only hope when I reach the afterlife
I have a little more dignity.
Dignity?
Do you call it dignified to throw yourself
at a herring-gutted swab like that?
I asked Mr. Coombe here because he's the logical man
to help me find lodgers for the summer.
Lodgers?
Oh.
Here, weigh your anchor.
Forgive me, my dear. I've been seriously misled.
I thought you wanted to sign him on for a husband.
Mr. Coombe? That walrus!
It's my experience that women will do anything for money.
Now you and your blasted experiences have ruined everything.
No. No. No. There's no harm done.
I couldn't allow you to take in lodgers in any case.
They're worse than passengers at sea.
It's them or starve.
Not at all, my dear.
I've solved all your problems.
You're going to write a book.
A book?
But I couldn't.
I find it hard enough to write a postcard.
No, but I can.
I can write a book,
and you can put it down on paper for me.
What will the book be about?
Me. The story of me life.
And we'll call it, uh, let's see.
We'll call it, uh,
Blood and Swash.
Yes. Blood and Swash by Captain X.
I don't think that's at all a nice title.
It's not meant to be.
It's meant to be sensational, like the subject.
But it takes months to write a book.
What are we to live on in the meantime?
- You have jewelry? - A little.
Pawn it.
But I couldn't!
Blast your eyes, madam. Will you understand?
You're trying to crawl off a lee shore.
Can't afford to be squeamish.
I do understand, and don't swear at me.
Start with that ugly broach.
But Edwin's mother gave it to me.
All the more reason to pawn it.
You don't like Edwin's mother, and you hate her broach.
Hmm.
Really, Captain Gregg. I'll have you know
I'm very fond of my mother-in-law.
Very well. if you're so fond of her,
you can go back and live with her.
I think I can get about £10 for it.
Ah. I'm glad you're going to be sensible,
and since we're to be collaborators,
you can call me Daniel.
That's very good of you.
And I shall call you Lucia.
My name is Lucy.
It doesn't do you justice, my dear.
Women named Lucy are always being imposed upon,
but Lucia, now there's a name for an amazon,
for a queen.
I don't feel much like a queen.
I feel frightened and confused
and wondering what the future will bring.
Don't you trust me?
Oh, I do, Daniel, when I'm talking to you.
When you're not here, I...
Well, it's asking a great deal to expect anyone
to trust her whole future to a...
To someone who isn't real.
But I am real.
I'm here because you believe I'm here.
And keep on believing,
and I'll always be real to you.
Yes, Daniel.
Well, what's the matter?
You haven't finished the sentence.
I know. It's...
It's that word.
I've never written such a word.
It's a perfectly good word.
I think it's a horrid word.
It means what it says, doesn't it?
All too clearly.
What word do you use
if you wanted to convey that meaning?
I don't use any!
Well, hang it all, Lucia.
If you're going to be prudish, we'll never get the book written.
Now, put it down the way I give it to you.
Good.
Now, at this point, having had a drink,
I went upstairs.
Why?
Why what?
Why did you go upstairs?
Because I saw no harm in it.
You must have been very young and foolish.
I was young, but I was never foolish.
Inexperienced, perhaps,
curious, as young men are, eager for adventure.
I matured early.
I wish I'd known you then.
How old were you, Daniel?
16. It was me first voyage.
Only 16.
I suppose you'd run away from home.
Yes. I was an orphan.
Brought up by a maiden aunt in a country village.
Now, let's get on with it. Where was I?
Upstairs.
Ah. yes!
The customs of Marseilles are different to any...
Different from.
To or from, who cares?
This isn't a blasted literary epic.
It's the unvarnished story of a seaman's life.
It certainly is unvarnished.
Well, smear on your own varnish.
Change the grammar all you please,
but leave the guts in it.
I think it would be nice
if we included a chapter about your early life,
your school days.
I never went to school. I was educated by the vicar.
Poor man. He must have had a dreadful time.
He enjoyed every minute of it,
except for the time I put a snake in this bed.
You must have been a horrid little boy.
I suppose you were a model of all the virtues
- when you were 12. - Certainly I was.
I won a prize for deportment at school.
Hmm, I can see you.
Fat little girl in hair ribbons.
- I wasn't fat. I was skinny. - Just as bad.
And I wore my hair in braids.
And a thousand freckles.
You still have freckles.
Only seven of them,
and I'm told they're most becoming.
They are at that.
Good heavens! 11:00.
I had no idea it was so late.
Yes. You had better be getting some sleep.
We'll put in a full day tomorrow.
Daniel, what did your aunt do when you ran away to sea?
Oh, probably thanked heaven there was no one around
to fill her house with mongrel puppies
and track mud on her carpets.
Did she write to you?
Every Sunday for seven years.
I was at sea when she died.
It was the year I got me mate's ticket.
What are you thinking about, Lucia?
I'm thinking how lonely she must have felt
with her clean carpets.
Seen that Coombe in the village.
He give me this for you.
Thanks, Martha.
It's another demand for payment of the rent.
He did say something about sending the bailiffs
to put us out.
I've got a little money put by, ma'am.
There ain't been nothing to spend it on here.
Thank you, Martha,
but I wouldn't dream of taking it.
We'll manage somehow.
Yes, ma'am.
It's unimportant. Don't worry about it.
What if he sends the bailiffs?
I'll handle them.
Bailiffs are nothing but sea lawyers come ashore.
I'm so tired, Daniel.
I can't see straight or think straight.
Now then,
there's only one more chapter to do.
Better be at it.
Lucia!
I'm ready, Daniel.
Good, my dear.
To all who follow
the hard and honorable profession of the sea,
to the after-guard and forecastle alike,
to masters, mates, and engineers,
to able-bodied and ordinary seamen,
to stokers, apprentices, ship's boys,
carpenters, sailmakers, and sea cooks,
I dedicate this volume.
The end.
Now, tomorrow you'll take it to the publishers.
I hope they like it.
They must like it.
They will.
It's strange. I...
I didn't think so at first.
Somehow it's a very wise book.
It has elements of wisdom in it, my dear.
I didn't lead a very wise life myself,
but it was a full one and a grown-up one.
You come of age very quickly through shipwreck and disaster.
I never understood the sea before,
or the men who go to sea.
Why did you write the book, Daniel?
It wasn't merely to save the house for me.
Partly that.
For you and the retired seamen you'll leave it to in your will,
but mostly to help people understand,
to make them understand.
All those comfortable swabs
who sit at home in their beam-ends
reveling in the luxuries
that seamen risk their lives to bring to them,
and despising the poor devils
if they so much as touch a drop of rum,
and even sneering at people who try to do them some good
like you and me.
Well, uh.
Tomorrow, the publishers.
Tacket and Sproule in Great Smith Street.
Now be sure you see Sproule.
He owned a small sailing yacht.
He came in fourth in a club regatta once
and fancies himself as the very devil of a seafaring man.
To tell you the truth, he doesn't know a crossjack from a scuttlebutt.
Yes, Daniel.
Ship out there.
Too close, by the sound.
It's the loneliest sound,
like a child lost and crying in the dark.
Hmm, he's lost, all right,
with a captain cursing a blue streak
and wondering why he ever went to sea
instead of opening a grocer's shop
like a sensible man.
Fog in the channel is treacherous.
I'd rather face a northeaster.
Still, it's honest, the sea.
It makes you face things honestly, doesn't it?
There's something on your mind.
Yes.
What's to become of us, Daniel?
Of you and me?
Nothing can become of me.
Everything's happened that can happen.
But not to me.
When we were writing the book,
I was happy.
We were accomplishing something together.
Now, when I try to think about the future,
it's all dark and confused,
like trying to see into the fog.
You've been working too hard, cooped up in the house too long.
You need a change of scene.
But I love it here.
You should be out in the world more,
meeting people.
Seeing men.
I have no desire to see men.
You should, Lucia.
You're a confoundedly attractive woman,
or hadn't you noticed?
Really, my dear, you owe it to yourself.
Yes, Daniel.
Good night.
My dear.
Oh, Daniel, I'm afraid we've got ourselves
into an awful fix.
I should like to see Mr. Sproule, please.
I see you're back, Mr. Fairley.
Obviously.
Have you decided to wait?
Forever if I must.
I should like to see Mr. Sproule, please.
Can't see Mr. Sproule without an appointment.
But I have a manuscript.
So you have a manuscript. Most unusual.
No more so than your adenoids and your bad manners.
Now, take the lady's name.
Leave your name.
Mrs. Edwin Muir.
Mrs...
Mrs. Edwin Muir.
Gull Cottage, Whitecliff-by-the-sea.
Can't I have just a few moments with Mr. Sproule now?
I've come all the way in from Whitecliff.
All for now.
Is it a cookbook?
I hope not another "life of Byron".
Or is it a book of dreams?
You're trying to give me a hint.
Has it something to do with ice?
Is it really very important for you to see old Sproule?
Yes, so important.
Then see him you shall,
and it is your good fortune that I'm not only irresponsible,
but also unreasonable.
I don't understand.
I had an appointment at 11 :00.
I arrived at 10:30 and wouldn't wait.
I'm only here now because I followed you back.
So you may have my appointment,
for which you are just in time.
That's very good of you, but I'm afraid I can't...
Now, my dear young woman,
if you will set aside your book of social graces
for just long enough to seize an opportunity
that you want very much
by merely indulging a small natural selfish instinct.
Without doubt, sir, you are the most forward gentleman
I have ever encountered.
Without doubt.
Mr. Fairley.
- Forward. - No, no. I couldn't.
- It's quite all right. - No, really.
Here now...
She's mad about you. Couldn't you tell?
Come in, Fairley. Come in.
Your new book is terrible,
the most awful trash I've had on my desk since...
Who are you?
I'm... That is...
Who let you in?
Why, the gentleman outside said it was all right.
He did, did he?
Well, it isn't all right,
and I'll trouble you take yourself elsewhere.
Please, Mr. Sproule.
I simply had to get in to see you.
I have a manuscript.
Of course you have.
20 million discontented females in the British Isles
and every blessed one of them is writing a novel.
Don't tell me what's in it. I know.
Bless my soul, madam, I've got to publish this bilge
in order to stay in business, but I don't have to read it.
No, madam, I do not.
And now if you'll pardon me, I'm busy.
Come back here, you blasted grampus!
Madam.
You're such a nice-looking woman, too.
I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Sproule.
I didn't mean to say that,
but you're all wrong about the book.
It isn't what you think at all.
It's a biography.
It's the unvarnished record of a sailor's life.
A sailor's life, eh?
I ask your pardon, madam,
but what do you know about sailors?
A great deal, believe me.
Hmm.
Unvarnished, you say?
Well, perhaps I have time for a few pages, at that.
- What's your name? - Mrs. Muir.
I have been waiting here for three hours.
I consider it outrageous!
Still in there?
Sent luncheon in at 2:00.
For two?
Well! You're not going to pretend that you wrote this.
No.
No. It's a man's book,
and what a man.
Is he your husband, Mrs. Muir?
Oh, no.
This Captain X, I'd like very much to meet him.
I'm afraid that's impossible.
He's away.
On a voyage, of course.
Yes. A very long voyage.
Bless my soul, what a yarn!
What a life!
I'll tell you a secret.
If I hadn't had a mother and two sisters to support,
I'd have gone to sea myself.
Bless my soul, to live like that!
Instead of sitting there turning out
indigestible reading matter for a bilious public.
Of course we'll publish it, Mrs. Muir.
Now, you're empowered by the captain to act for him?
Yes. He's given me the rights.
Good. Well, my dear,
you presented me with a most enjoyable day.
Bless my soul, yes, remarkable.
Now, you just leave everything to me
and be happy that you know such a man.
There aren't many like him these days.
You appreciate that?
Yes, I think so.
Well, goodbye, Mr. Sproule.
Goodbye, Mrs. Muir.
Goodbye.
Mr. Fairley.
Coming.
It's easy to understand
why the most beautiful poems about England in the spring
were written by poets living in Italy at the time.
How do you do?
I'm not a poet, but I've got an umbrella,
and your hat, if I may say so,
is singularly inadequate under the circumstances.
I didn't bargain for this blasted rain.
That is, I'm afraid I shall be late
and miss the last train for home.
I could call you a cab,
if you ask nicely.
Oy! Cab!
- Where to? - Victoria.
Victoria. What a coincidence. Victoria, cabby.
I know you won't mind sharing my cab with me, will you?
Not at all.
The word you're looking for is "brass."
Brass?
To describe my behavior and me.
You don't approve of either, do you?
Not very much.
Still, in a way I should be grateful to you.
Of course, why?
Because Mr. Sproule has agreed to publish my book.
Splendid. So the old boy
has developed a weakness for feminine literature, has he?
I can't say that it's one of mine.
This book might surprise you.
It's surprising enough
to find a lady author infinitely more exciting
than her heroine could possibly be.
Do you write, Mr...
My name is Miles Fairley. Yes, I write a little.
Children's books.
Children's books? You?
I should like to see one.
I'm afraid you already have.
I write under the name of Uncle Neddy.
Uncle Neddy? You're Uncle Neddy?
Ridiculous, isn't it?
Then all of your cynicism must be nothing but a pose.
You're adored by half the children in the world.
Uncle Neddy is a pose.
Deep in my innermost heart,
I loathe the little monsters.
My little daughter is not a monster,
and she'll be very excited to know
I've been talking to her favorite author.
I shall make an exception of your daughter.
I'm looking forward to meeting her
and your husband, too.
- My husband is dead. - Oh.
Oh?
I do wish he'd hurry.
Well, there's no rush now.
We'll get there in time.
Here's an empty one.
Well, goodbye, Mrs. Muir.
Goodbye, Mr. Fairley, and thank you very much.
Not at all. Are you all right?
Yes, quite all right. Thank you.
Cheero!
- "Cheero." - Oh.
You've been eavesdropping.
"Feminine literature."
What's he mean, "Feminine literature"?
He had no way of knowing it's your book.
Brass, he says.
I'll polish his brass for him.
And the way he was smirking at you,
like a cat at a fishmonger's.
You should have slapped his face.
Why? I found him rather charming.
Rather charming. Now you're starting to talk like him.
How in blazes do you want me to talk?
That's better.
I think you're being extremely childish.
I'm only trying to protect you
from your own worse instincts.
I'll manage my own instincts, thank you.
What made you lie to the blighter?
I didn't lie to him.
You did. You told him he was Anna's favorite author.
You know perfectly well she hates Uncle Neddy
and reads nothing but Deadeye Dick, the Rover of the Spanish Main.
Well, I had to say something.
Hmm. You should have pushed him out of the cab.
In another minute, I would have.
Why, Daniel, I believe you're jealous.
Of course I'm not jealous!
Do you take me for a blasted schoolboy?
Besides, jealousy is a disease of the flesh.
I've never known you to be so disagreeable,
today of all days.
What's so wonderful about today?
The book, Daniel.
Mr. Sproule liked the book.
Of course he liked it.
And now I can buy the house.
Just as we planned.
I'm not sure I want you to have
the blasted house after all.
Oh, Daniel, please.
I suppose being a woman, you can't help it.
Can't help what?
Making a fool of yourself.
Daniel, you stop sulking.
You yourself said that I should mix with people,
that I should see men.
I said men, not perfumed parlor snakes.
He's a man and a very nice one.
Anyway, I shall never see him again.
Hmm.
Cheer off, you blasted mud turtle! There's no room!
I beg your pardon, madam.
Will my name stay there forever, Mr. Scroggins?
Mmm-hmm. Forever and a day,
and I've cut it nice and deep
so all the ships at sea can see it as they sail along.
My goodness!
Mummy!
Mummy, come and see what Mr. Scroggins has done!
I'll be right out, darling!
Mr. Scroggins says I'll always be here,
and all the captains of all the ships
will look at me through spyglasses.
Why, that's very thoughtful of Mr. Scroggins.
Just think of all the lovely shipwrecks
we'll have on this beach.
Now, in the meantime, what do you say to getting dressed
and plotting our course for home?
Oh, please, Mummy! Mr. Scroggins and I
have got to build a breakwater and a canal!
I'll be pleased to bring her home, ma'am.
All right, Skipper, but mind you're not too late.
Life is just one coincidence after another, isn't it?
Thank you for returning my handkerchief, Mr. Fairley.
I feel rather ashamed about having taken it.
You should be.
Only as a writer, of course.
It was much too obvious a device.
And in questionable taste.
But very necessary.
I wanted to have something of you
until I saw you again.
You're quite accomplished, aren't you?
I should think being Uncle Neddy
would satisfy anyone.
No. I also paint,
under the name of Renoir.
You're such a fool.
That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
And what, if anything, do you do as Miles Fairley?
Play the fool, generally.
Specifically, I behave quite idiotically
towards a certain young lady that I fell in love with
while passing on a stair.
Mr. Fairley, please.
I have no illusions about my conduct.
Am I being unforgivably offensive, Lucy?
Lucy?
That's your name.
It's been so long since anyone called me that.
No, you've done nothing really unforgivable.
It's just that I'm not...
Come and take a look at my canvas.
Why, it's me.
You've been painting me.
You've been watching me bathe.
But always from a respectable distance.
Not too bad, is it?
I think it's very flattering, really...
it will need a thousand Renoirs.
That was unforgivable, wasn't it?
But I shall not go away, even if you send me,
and I shall see you again, even if you forbid it.
I'm sure I have no control over where you go
or what you do.
Then you won't forbid it.
So now you've been kissed in the orchard all over again.
You've been spying on me.
I merely happened to be cruising in the vicinity.
I don't believe you.
Why did you let him?
I didn't. He took me unaware.
My dear, since Eve picked the apple,
no woman's ever been taken entirely unawares.
Just what do you mean to insinuate by that?
When a woman's kissed,
it's because deep down she wants to be kissed.
That is nothing but masculine conceit.
Nevertheless, it's true.
Well, now what happens?
He'll stay, or he'll go away.
It doesn't matter to me one way or the other.
I think it matters to you more than you'll admit.
Isn't that so, Lucia?
Why bother to ask me, Daniel?
You seem to know my mind better than I do.
You don't like him, do you?
He puts brilliantine on his hair.
Most men do.
And he uses perfume. Blasted near drove me out of his room.
You shouldn't have been in his room in the first place.
So you can find an excuse for everything.
Only because you're attacking him, Daniel.
I know. It's a natural human reaction.
I wish you wouldn't be so superior
just because you're not alive.
And he is, very much so.
It's no crime to be alive.
No, my dear. Sometimes it's a great inconvenience.
The living can be hurt.
I don't intend to be hurt.
No captain intends to pile his ship up on a reef, but it happens.
You yourself said I should go about in the world.
That means taking risks.
I know, my dear.
Real happiness is worth almost any risk,
but be careful.
There may be breakers ahead.
I will, Daniel.
- Hello, Martha. - Hello.
Like my picture?
No.
That's honest, anyway.
It's indecent, that's what it is.
Him painting you in your bathing costume like you was a...
I don't know what.
Oh, come, Martha. This is the 20th century.
We must rid ourselves of the old fetishes and taboos.
Learnt a lot of new words, ain't you?
We're never too old to learn.
No. Nor to make fools of ourselves either.
"Uncle Neddy."
All right, my girl. Let's have it.
What's he up to? What's he want with you?
Well, I rather think he's going to ask me to marry him.
And you'd be willing to.
I might. Why shouldn't I?
Because he ain't good enough for you, that's why not.
He's the kind of man no decent woman would associate with.
Martha, what right have you to talk like that?
Well, I got a right to me own feelings,
and I got a feeling about him.
How dare you!
I'm sorry.
It's just that I've been so worried about you lately.
Now, Martha. There's nothing to worry about.
I know he isn't perfect.
Perhaps he's conceited and erratic,
even childish,
but he's real.
Real?
I thought I was impervious to emotion,
a respectable widow woman with a growing child
and a hide like a rhinoceros,
but I'm not.
I need companionship and laughter
and all the things a woman needs.
I suppose I need love.
Well, I hope he can give it to you.
Now, suppose you go on downstairs
and make us both a cup of tea.
I'll finish up.
Yes, ma'am.
Well, Daniel,
haven't you anything to say?
Happy?
I've never felt like this before.
How?
I don't know.
Tell me.
Like looking down from high up,
all dizzy and unsure.
You won't fall. I'll hold you.
It isn't right, it can't be, to feel like this,
like, I don't know.
It is right because you're happy.
Martha's gone up. It's Anna's bedtime.
Just this once, pretend you've forgotten.
But I didn't.
Just this one night.
There'll be so many nights, darling,
two lifetimes full, till we're both old
and even Anna's grown and married, too.
What's wrong?
I'm jealous.
I'm even jealous of a little girl.
But she's my daughter.
I can't just forget my duty to her.
When you're with me,
I want you to forget about everyone else in the world,
your duty, and what the world will say.
I think you must be a magician.
You make it seem all wrong to consider my duty
and only right that I...
I thought you were one woman with sense,
but you're like all the rest of them.
Fall for any man who'll promise you the moon
and end by taking everything you have to give.
Oh, don't trouble yourself, my dear.
It's not your fault.
I should have known it was on the chart.
You've made our choice,
the only choice you could make.
You've chosen life,
and that's as it should be,
whatever the reckoning.
And that's why I'm going away, my dear.
I can't help you now.
I can only confuse you more
and destroy whatever chance you have left of happiness.
You must make your own life
amongst the living.
And whether you'll meet fair winds or foul,
find your own way to harbor in the end.
Lucia, listen to me.
Listen, my dear.
You've been dreaming,
dreaming of a sea captain
that haunted this house,
of talks you had with him,
even a book you both wrote together,
but, Lucia, you wrote the book,
you and no one else.
The book you imagined from his house,
from his picture on the wall,
from his gear lying around in every room.
It's been a dream, Lucia.
And in the morning and the years after,
you'll only remember it as a dream,
and it'll die.
As all dreams must die at waking.
How you'd have loved the North Cape
and the fjords and the midnight sun,
to sail across the reef at Barbados,
where the blue water turns to green,
to the Falklands
where a southerly gale rips the whole sea white!
What we've missed, Lucia!
What we've both missed.
Goodbye, my darling.
Listen to this. From Mr. Sproule.
It's about the book I've written.
"Our check for £100 advance royalties
"as you requested."
You mean to tell me they paid you good money for that?
Martha, have you been reading my book?
I'm supposed to dust in here,
and what falls under me eye falls under me eye.
I'm surprised at you. It's like eavesdropping.
I'm surprised at you. Such language! Lummy.
Well, if you're writing about a sea captain,
you have to use the sort of language he would use.
He'd have a hard time living up to your idea of him.
Mr. Sproule wants me to come into town to sign some papers,
but I can't possibly leave here nowjust when...
Just when what?
I'm expecting Mr. Fairley.
We're having a picnic.
You mean he is.
I heard you, Martha.
Please remember that I'm going to marry him.
Yes, ma'am.
By the way, I've been thinking
we might put that portrait of Captain Gregg up in the attic.
Don't you like it anymore?
It was a silly idea to hang it in here.
I don't know what possessed me.
Atmosphere, I suppose.
Yes, ma'am.
I'll hang it in my room, if you don't mind.
Of course not.
Perhaps you can get Uncle Neddy
to paint one of himself instead.
Martha!
"Dear Mr. Sproule,
"I find that I am unable to leave Whiteclifi' this week
"and hope that you..."
A boy brought a note for you.
A billet-doux, I dare say.
Oh, how terrible.
Mr. Fairley has been called up to London for a few days.
What's so terrible about that?
There!
Is that all, Mr. Sproule?
Except to deposit the checks to your account when they come in.
I congratulate you, my dear,
and I congratulate the captain, too.
Oh, the captain.
And I intend to hold you to your promise to introduce us.
Oh, yes, I did promise, didn't I?
You know,
someday when I've known you a little longer, Mr. Sproule,
I'll tell you the truth about the captain.
Goodbye and thank you again.
Goodbye, Mrs. Muir.
Would you please give me Mr. Fairley's address?
Miles Fairley?
Yes, please.
Here it is, Mrs. Muir.
Number 14, Albemarle Street.
Thank you so much.
Yes, ma'am?
I'd like to see Mr. Fairley, please.
Yes, ma'am.
What name, please?
It's Mrs. Muir.
Yes, ma'am. Will you wait in there, please?
Mrs. Muir? The maid said you wanted to see my husband.
Perhaps I can help you.
Husband?
Or if you don't mind waiting.
He should be back soon.
He's taking the children to the park.
I've had them abroad for the past few months. We just returned.
Miles is making up for lost time.
Please sit down.
If you're a friend of his, you know how fond he is of the children.
You are a friend of his, aren't you?
I'm a writer.
We... Mr. Fairley and I have the same publisher.
How exciting.
I don't often meet one of Miles' literary friends.
You'll wait for him, won't you?
I expect him back any minute, and we'll have tea.
No, I'll go.
I'm afraid I've made a mistake.
Mistake, Mrs. Muir?
Yes. I... I'm sorry.
I think I understand, my dear,
and I'm sorry, too.
Truly I am.
You see, it isn't the first time something like this has happened.
Mrs. Muir.
Come on in, ma'am.
I brought you some nice hot milk.
There, there.
He ain't worth it. Blast his hide.
He ain't worth it.
Where you been?
Just walking.
You've been doing a lot of walking these last few months.
You mustn't go tiring yourself out, now.
I'm not a bit tired.
Off to your room
and a nice bit of shut-eye before tea.
Martha, do you know what day this is?
Wash day.
Yes, but it was exactly a year ago that we came here.
We went up these stairs together,
and then I hurt my finger on the window.
- Remember? - Yes, ma'am.
Then I had a dream.
I remember you telling me about it.
It was a very strange dream,
the first of many dreams.
Now, then, off with your dress.
No. I'll rest in the big chair.
Whatever you say, ma'am.
Go on down, Rummy.
Thank you, Martha.
I'll call you in an hour.
Mummy!
Hello, Anna!
Anna! Darling! This is a surprise.
How did you get off from the university?
They don't know I'm away.
But...
Come on, Bill. Don't be shy.
This is Bill, Mummy.
- How do you do? - How do you do?
His real name is Sir Evelyn Anthony Peregrine Scathe,
so of course he's called Billy,
and we're thinking of getting engaged.
Anna!
Well, I haven't even asked her yet,
but if she keeps on committing us,
I suppose I'll have to.
We've come for your blessing, Mummy,
and we haven't had tea.
Anna, you quite take my breath away.
Darling, you just make yourself at home in there,
and we'll help Martha with the tea.
- Well, if I'm not wanted. - Oh.
We'll sing out when we want you.
Come on, Mummy.
There will be two more for tea, Martha.
Martha!
Miss Anna.
And you'll find a strange young man in the living room.
Who?
Well, what do you think?
Gracious. You haven't given me time to think.
I gather his name is Sir Evelyn Scathe,
and you want to marry him.
Sir Evelyn?
I met him at a dance in London.
He's a sublieutenant in the navy.
You know my weakness for sailormen.
Well, it's the first I've heard of it.
It's a lifelong vice.
But what do you want me to say?
Don't matter what you say.
She'll have her own way, same as her mother.
Don't you go making eyes at him, now.
Only a lieutenant? Captains is more in my line.
I've never been so happy in all my life.
Then I'm happy, too,
and I shan't waste time with questions.
I knew you wouldn't, and wait till you hear.
I've discussed it with Bill.
You're to come and live with us, you and Martha.
No, darling.
But you must.
You've been alone so much of your life.
You're very kind, but it's hard to explain.
You can be much more alone with other people
than you are by yourself,
even it's people you love.
That sounds all mixed-up, doesn't it?
No, not a bit, but if you ever change your mind...
Get a plate, darling.
And some extra cups.
No. I won't change my mind.
I love this house, and I've been very happy here,
and I shall live here till I die.
With Captain Gregg?
What did you say?
With the ghost of Captain Gregg?
Anna, what are you talking about?
I knew the captain very well.
When I was a little girl,
the first year we lived here,
we used to have the most wonderful talks.
You didn't.
It was all a game I made up, of course,
sort of a dream game,
but it was a very real while it lasted,
and he stopped coming suddenly.
I suppose I was growing too old and sophisticated for him,
but I grieved and grieved.
I was hopelessly in love with him.
Heavens. You look as if you've seen a...
Don't tell me you saw him, too.
No.
No, not for years.
Then you did.
Oh, Mummy, you don't suppose he really haunted us.
No, darling. Things like that can't happen.
It was only a dream.
The same dream for both of us?
Perhaps I set you off by telling you about my dreams.
Little girls are very impressionable.
I don't remember your telling me.
Tell me now. I'd love to hear about them.
Well, I can't remember them very well,
just bits and pieces,
a phrase here and there, a look,
and I think I dreamed most of my book Blood and Swash.
I must have.
I never could have thought of it.
All these years, I... I've tried to remember,
but I can't.
Do you know what I think?
I think you fell in love with him, too.
I did nothing of the sort.
I wouldn't blame you if you had.
When did you stop seeing him?
After about a year, I dreamed we quarreled,
and it was about a man.
Uncle Neddy.
Anna, did you know that Miles and I...
I used to pray you wouldn't marry him.
And you were so right.
I saw him about five years ago at a dinner party.
He was bald and fat. He drank too much, and then he cried.
It seems his wife finally had enough and took the children away.
You never can tell, can you?
Once I thought I wanted
to spend the rest of my life with him.
Perhaps he did exist, the captain.
Perhaps he did come back and talk to us.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if he had?
Then you'd have something... You know what I mean,
to look back on with happiness.
No, darling. He never existed.
We made him up, you and I.
I just wasn't intended to have that kind of happiness,
and I haven't missed it, really I haven't.
I've been lonely at times,
but there have been compensations. You,
now Bill, and dear Martha.
We sit and chatter like a pair of parrots.
And this house,
and the sea and the gulls,
and memories,
I have those, you know.
Even if it was a dream.
Now, come along,
and we'll join your young man for some tea.
You, come in here.
Catch your death.
What were you doing out there?
I don't know.
You know what the doctor said.
Oh, bother the doctor.
He's an old woman.
Yeah, and you ain't a young one anymore.
Here's a letter from Anna.
What she say?
Little Lucy's engaged
to the captain of a transatlantic plane.
Anna's very happy about it.
Says it must run in the family.
Airplanes, not in my family, they don't.
I suppose she means captains.
Here, drink your hot milk.
Not now, Martha. I'm too tired,
and I have a funny pain in my arm.
No wonder, standing out there in the fog.
Come on, drink it up.
Stop bossing me, Martha.
I don't want any hot milk.
Now, now. Don't get in a state.
I'm not in a state. I just want to be left alone.
Bossing me.
Very well. The bossing I never intended.
I only brought the milk for your own good.
Bossing me.
I'm tired.
And now you'll never be tired again.
Come, Lucia.
Come, my dear.
Martha.