Curious, Beach. The Empress appears to be breakfasting on blancmange.
It was Cook's idea, my lord.
In order to entice the Empress to return here from the kitchen.
It appears Wellbeloved left the gate open when he was refreshed.
We can't have the Empress wandering the streets, cadging blancmange.
Where IS Wellbeloved?
He was last seen in the small hours, my lord,
declaring he was "going home to Tewkesbury"
to stay with his mother, the old rat bag,
"God bless her, never drew a sober breath".
PIG BREAKS WIND
Y'see? Wellbeloved goes missing, it puts her bowels in an uproar.
Her ladyship would like to see you, my lord.
PIG DEFECATES LOUDLY
Tewkesbury.
It's practically in Belgium.
HE GROANS
That tree.
Altogether too loud.
Connie! The most appalling thing.
Wellbeloved's done a bunk!
Will you stop gibbering, Clarence. Lady Littlewood arrives any moment.
You must bathe, shave - BURN those clothes -
put on a suit and hat and then go somewhere else
where you can't possibly be seen.
Now, her husband was the Marquis of Littlewood,
one of the oldest marquisates in the country.
Was? Did he, er, give up being the marquis?
Well, in the sense that he died, yes.
It behoves us to assist his widow.
She seeks comfort amongst people who know her.
- Do we know her? - No.
But there again, you entirely miss the point.
People like us know each other on principle.
Ah, Frederick.
Let's hope your arrival causes the intellectual portion
of this conversation to leap joyously.
Alcohol.
Three syllables. Hurrah.
No more women. Never.
Now you're being garrulous.
Now, Daphne Littlewood is by all accounts
a delightful and intelligent woman.
How old is she?
The Dowager Marchioness is a woman of a certain age.
Not a threat. Good.
Mumsy, you're hurting me!
Sorry, darling. Mumsy's excited about meeting new friends.
HORN BLARES
I didn't tell you to stop.
You didn't give me no money for petrol, neither.
Gin, sherry, port, brandy, pudding wine
and a substantial dash of bitters.
It's called Death Comes For The Archbishop.
It insulates the drinker against the amorous attentions of the female.
I should think it does, sir.
I've been crossed in love for the last time, Beach.
I met a girl at the Pink Pussy. Daisy Warner.
Slip of a thing.
We cut a rug, heard the chimes at midnight.
I asked her to marry me in the usual way. She accepted.
Arranged to meet at the church the next morning.
I show up, can't see her.
Bloke taps me on the shoulder. Guess who it is?
- Lady's husband, sir? - No,
it was Daisy, sans make-up.
Turns out she's a merchant seaman named Derek.
Bit of a shock.
I mean, Derek.
On the whole, I thought it best not to go through with the arrangement.
Crikey, sir.
Women have made me lose my powers of reason.
I hereby forswear 'em.
My heart shall never skip another beat on account of a floozy,
popsy, goddess,
nymph or any other manifestation of the laughably mislabelled gentle sex.
Fiver on it.
Very well, sir.
Good man. You'll regret it.
Hmm.
Her husband's death is not recent
although I think it's a subject to be avoided. Stay off it.
- I say... - Right, that's it!
THEY CHUCKLE
My dear Lady Littlewood! Welcome!
Oh, Daphne, j'insiste. But this is just too splendid!
Oh, my brother and I rattle about the place. You know.
Oh, but I thought this handsome man was your husband!
What?
Oh no! My husband is no longer with us.
My brother has never been... with us
- but his physical presence somehow endures. Clarence? - What?
Don't mention the dead husband. Oh.
Oh, not hers. Oh, that's all right.
Good, good. My dear Lady Tittlewood.
Welcome to, as it were... um...
- Blandings. - Quite.
Yes, so kind of this young girl. This car's broken.
Screamingly dull.
And all the baggages and maids and clutter, all arrive tomorrow.
Huxley, greet Lord Emsworth.
- Are you an earl? - Yes.
That's one down from the marquis.
I'm a marquis, so I'm better than you.
Isn't he divine! He's such a wit!
- So, where's the pig? - God. There's so much of her. Hello.
- Who's that person? - She's your new pig man.
I'm sorry about my brother. He's a trifle deaf.
He has sustained a terrible injury to the side of his head.
Oh, dear. When did that occur?
Later this afternoon. Do come in.
Erm... Miss, are you local...? Miss, er?
Simmons. Yeah, I'm often down this way.
I come and help my uncle out with his pig. He calls her the Queen.
Extraordinary!
The most dreadful blaggard imaginable lives round the corner here.
- Calls his pig the Queen. - Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe?
- Stinker Parsloe, I call him. - He's my uncle. - Oh.
But you're right. He IS a stinker.
Miss Simmons, you're not a secret agent,
working for the Stinker are you?
No, Lord Emsworth. I'm just me.
Absolutely not, get a grip!
Her feet must be size 16...
..I mean, think of her legs...
HE MOANS
Now Connie, dear, do tell. Your brother.
What are his interests? Is there a lady in his life?
There is!
Describe her to me.
Well! Her face is dished and bristled.
She is stupendously malodorous, she presently weighs -
and I know because Clarence gives me adoring reports, every morning -
46 stone.
But she has surprisingly delicate feet.
If God and the law allowed it,
Clarence's PIG would probably be Countess of Emsworth.
No female human would take the job.
I was looking for tea, but I'll settle for a drinky.
No, no. Actually, they're both for me. Careful! That's not for girls.
What about you? You for girls?
No. No, I'm not.
Do you bash the shuttlecock from the feathered end?
What? No, I do not! I have forsworn the company of women.
I now dedicate myself to alcohol.
You call THAT alcohol?
Tonight I'll give you something we used to mix up at my convent school.
It's called Stations Of The Cross. One sip,
you're crawling on your knees.
No. Tonight you will give me nothing.
I absolutely refuse to discuss your knees.
This conversation is at an end.
Funny little thing, aren't you?
Be still my beating heart.
Goodness gracious, I'm so sorry, my lord.
I tried to divert the course of the falling sack...
There was no falling sack!
Let us shut the gate, my lord, shall we?
We don't want the Empress loose in the grounds.
Now, Clarence. You have to make an effort with Daphne.
Of course. Daphne?
Oh, yes, to be sure, yes. Lady Littlewick, yes, yes.
You wander off while she is talking.
Whatever must she think?
Just now she expressed a great personal interest in you,
which must have cost her considerable effort!
Just make her feel welcome, Clarence.
- That her company is valued. - Yes, to be sure.
Oh look, who's that?
That's Daphne, you imbecile! Daphne! Do come and sit.
Might I have a little tete-a-tete with your brother?
Of course.
Clarence will regale you with...
..hilarious anecdotes of his schooldays.
Oh! Ha-ha!
Yes. I went to school. Erm.
I had many pleasant friends. Yes.
They called me Fathead. Did your friends call you Fathead?
Not especially...
But I do find all this... incredibly... diverting.
What a... FASCINATING man you are.
My dear Lady... Piddlefoot.
I should like you to know that your
visit to Blandings is very welcome.
Why, thank you, Lord Emsworth.
It's valuable.
Oh, you are sweet.
As a child I was teased for my particular passion.
Pigs.
Would you care to see my wiffle?
Do I have the honour of addressing a Mr Ruddock,
the Butler to the Littlewoods?
Oh, I do beg your pardon, Madam.
I wonder if I might enquire
about certain domestic arrangements at your end?
HE YELLS
If you distress this pig... or drive her from her home...
I will rub your noxious little face in that pile of dung.
Have a think about it.
Where am I going, Beach, and what am I doing?
You are fetching the book of pigs for Lady Littlewood, my lord.
Am I? What a capital idea.
Y'know, she's a damned clever woman, don't you think?
Very sporting of her to be so interested in pigs.
Indeed, my lord. The young marquis was advising me
that when at leisure, his mother likes to muck out the pigsties.
She finds it... soothing.
Well, well, that is extraordinary!
D'you know, Beach, for a minute there
I thought you said she like to muck out the pigsties!
I read in Variety Spice, my lord,
that manual labour in the farmyard is intensely fashionable
for ladies of a discerning temperament.
Good heavens!
Erm, do you suppose our guest might wish to slip down to the sty now?
Quick once-round? Mop and brush?
I shall assemble the requisite instruments, my lord.
Get some buckets, Beach, yes and a stout shovel.
The Empress has still got a bit of a runny tummy.
PIG DEFECATES LOUDLY
Beach? Give Lady Littlespade the wood.
Don't be shy.
Get stuck in.
So, how does one...?
One bends the knees, your ladyship, and gets right underneath it.
She's got a bit of a runny tummy, y'see.
Erm, it was the blancmange.
There you go. Tickety-boo!
Clarence! Under what demented pretext
have you got the Marchioness of Littlewood mucking out the pigsty?
Oh, she loves it! Can't get enough of it!
Apparently at home you can't keep the shovel out of her hands!
Charming woman. Awfully modern.
Muck-shovelling party? Excellent. Soon have the place shipshape.
Connie? There is a spare bucket.
- Your ladyship. Might I have a...? - No.
This is the stuff for the troops, marvellous.
Beach! What've you got there?
Emergency measures, sir.
Now look, I want you to know that I am agitated by this Miss Simmons.
I'd be liar to say I wasn't, but I have backbone, damn it,
and a bet's a bet. What emergency?
It's not my place to say so!
But I believe that Lady Littlewood has an ulterior motive.
Does she? By God! An ulterior motive. Hah! Erm.
- What is that? - She's not what she seems.
- She's not another bloke in drag? - No, sir.
But I have reason to believe that the Littlewood estate is bankrupt,
their domestic servants have not been paid for months.
And the Marchioness tours the country
looking for a solution to her embarrassment.
That is why she is here at Blandings.
To cast her net around his lordship.
You speak in nautical riddles.
She wishes to entrap your father in marriage.
Oh, phooey! What? Beach, you're tighter than I am!
Who could possibly want to marry my father? Eh? Utter rot.
Oh, my God. What are we to do?
No, no, no, no. NO!
I've just been assaulting the Marquis of Littlewood.
Oh. Was that... pleasurable?
Excessively.
Hot work.
Get me a towel, would you?
I cannot touch a woman.
I didn't ask you to dry me.
I don't have a towel big enough.
I don't quite know what I'm saying. Miss Simmons, you confuse me.
CLARENCE LAUGHS
I haven't done this since I was a nip nob!
Aha! A nine!
Now, look here, Connie, I want you to be the first to know.
I do believe I'm going to ask Lady Tickleputt a certain question.
Erm, Giddyfruit. Oh, dash it! What is her name?
Emsworth, by the sound of it.
Emsworth, I like that, I like that!
Two, four, six. A ten! Aha!
Bravo!
Daphne dear, I cannot permit this charade to continue.
We shall soon discover what can and cannot be permitted.
You have a brain, he doesn't.
He would be cataclysmically unhappy with you
and unable to work out why. It would be cruel.
Yes, certainly he will lose the benefit of your advice,
for you will not be here, Connie, dear.
Poor fellow dotes on me. I win, you see.
You lose.
SHE LAUGHS
Capital!
I have for-slorn love. And yet the stuff is all around me.
There's the Guv'nor, look, about to be netted in Daphne's cap.
And then there's me.
PIG BREAKS WIND
Well, that's easy for you to say. But I tell you this.
If Monica Simmons was here right now,
I should not be able to restrain myself.
I should say...
..your thundering good health..
What should you say?
I should say, "Look here, Monica Simmons.
"You Olympian pile of sizzling womanhood.
"You titanic, fabulous, double-breasted Amazon.
"I love you."
Olympian pile of sizzling womanhood?
She is. I'd say, "Monica Simmons.
"You walk into a room, it makes me want to shin up a ladder
"and kiss your big...
"red...lips."
Go on, then.
Ah...
All right. Let's just get one thing straight.
- You're not going to turn out to be a man, are you? - No.
- Are you? - Oh...
Beach?
You win.
When Lady Littlewood marries Lord Emsworth...
I expect to be banished.
I fear that you may also be removed.
I know it, your ladyship. I will take it on the chin.
Yes.
I think I shall go to my room.
Very good, my lady.
Incidentally. Is Daffers getting anywhere with your old man?
Last week she tried it on with Uncle Gregory,
and he told her to sling her hook.
Digger Daphne, he called her. So she came here.
Full marks for perseverance.
Where's the Empress?
Just hang on a minute.
Erm, erm, Miss Simmons.
You will observe, Lady Fiddleprune...
the fine prospect. There is a sun...
- ..some water. - Yes.
Lady, erm... Giddyfruit, I...
..oh! Ah!
Would you do me the honour, I wonder of erm..?
- MUMSY! - Yes. - It bit my fingy...
Hold on, darling! Mumsy's coming.
HE GROANS
CREAKING, FABRIC TEARS
Ow!
Beach! What is a fingy?
My FINGER, you stupid old goat!
Oh, right you are. It's his finger. What bit you?
- Your ruddy pig! Ow! - Darling, darling. - Did he say pig?
Now look here, Cruxley, did you or did you not say pig?
Pig! Pig! PIG, PIG, PIG!
- He said pig. - THAT PIG!
My dear fellow, that is The Empress. She does not bite.
It ruddy well bit me. Look!
You! Pig girl!
The pig has become carnivorous. Despatch it.
Give over, you ghastly old trout!
She's after you, Guv'nor.
Her husband blew the family fortune on booze -
medal for him, by the way - and now she wants to be
Mrs The Earl of Emsworth. Don'cha, Daph?
HE BELCHES
Excuse me. Moreover.
As soon as Pinkbeard's got you in the bag,
- she'll make Beach walk the plank. - And me.
And me. And her. I mean it, Guv'nor.
Beach will become a tramp,
Aunt C will fall among the Shabby Women,
you'll come down to breakfast to find the Hideous Huxley
sitting in MY chair,
scoffing the tragic sausages that are all that remains of The Empress.
But my dear Lady Littlehope. This can never be.
Constance, Frederick.
Beach. The Empress. This is my family.
If I may be permitted to clarify.
You may have decided to marry my brother,
but in fact he would like you to leave.
Would that be a fair precis?
You have no idea the contempt
the name of Emsworth shall inspire in the drawing rooms of Mayfair,
when I speak of my treatment here.
Well, be sure to take off all your clothes before doing so.
There is an aroma of fat old sow about you
that is frankly overpowering.
Better to be naked in Mayfair, Lady Earwig,
than a bad smell.
- LITTLEWOOD! - Earwig will do for you.
- Ha! - You're drunk!
I am as tight as an owl.
But in the morning, I shall have a headache,
and you'll still have a bum like a moose.
- Ha! - Cheerio!
Oh, hurry up, mother!
Oh, is Lady Pifflewit leaving?
- She is, Clarence. - Oh. I do hope nobody said anything untoward
about her dead husband?
- Mumsy, my fingy! - Move your hand, you stupid child!
- Beach. - Your ladyship.
Champagne on the terrace, I think.
I want us all to enjoy the view.
HE PLAYS BOOGIE-WOOGIE
Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd