The Ghost And Mrs. Muir Script - Dialogue Transcript

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The Ghost And Mrs. Muir Script



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.



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

 O years ago.



May he rest in peace.



Mr. Boles?






Then you're Mr. Coombe.






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.






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...




  O deposit.



I'm afraid that's

a little too expensive.






Labernum Mount.

First-class residential street...



four bed, one recept,

sun parlor, offices...



company's gas and water,

beautifully planted, short walk--



This one.

Uh, 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   . That's very little

for a furnished house.



It's a ridiculous price.



I suppose

there's something wrong.



Is it the drains?



When Itchen, 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.



[Blows Out Candle]



I shall drive you to Gull Cottage

in my motorcar.



That's very good of you,

Mr. Coombe.



Uh, 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.






Office is back there.

Living on the right.



Dining off the living.






Of course.

It's a painting.



I thought for a moment...



Who is it?



The, uh, former owner,

a Captain Gregg.



A sea captain.



That explains the scheme

of decoration, doesn't it?



Which is in frightful taste.



Oh, 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.






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.






But what...



That's what it is.

You're clean.



I beg your pardon,

Mrs. Muir.



Oh, not you, Mr. Coombe,

the telescope.



[Ghostly Laughter]



Did you laugh,

Mr. Coombe?



[Ghostly Laughter]



Mr. Coombe?



You would come.

I didn't want to show it to you...



but, oh, no, no,

you had to see it.




How perfectly 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   OO.



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--I suppose so.



Why does he haunt?

Was he murdered?



No, he committed suicide.



Uhh! 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  Oth 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,




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.






Uh, there.



Nothing like soap and water

to make everything shipshape



in Bristol fashion.






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.






That's what my old mum

always used to say.



I was the     th.






Hurt yourself?



Here, let's have a look.



Oh, it's nothing,

just a scrape.



But I am tired. I think

I will take a little rest.



Begging your pardon,

Your Highness.






This will keep you

nice and warm.



Thanks, Martha,

you're an angel.



Ha! Ain't noticed any wings

sproutin' lately.



I'll call you in plenty

of time for tea.



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]


















Oh, 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?






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.



Oh, 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!






You'll--You'll forgive me

if I take a moment



to get accustomed to you.



You're Captain Gregg.






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, 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?



Oh, 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...




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. Ha ha!



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,




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.






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




you'll notice your kettle's

about to boil over.



Oh, so it is.



Oh, 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.



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.



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



My dear, never

let anyone tell you



to be ashamed

of your figure.!







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.






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.






Ah, that's a--that's

a pretty rig you have on.



Oh, 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--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?






I don't really know.



He was an architect.



He came down

to plan an addition



to my father's library.



I was only    .



I remember I'd--

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--or a poem.



""Magic casements,

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.



Mmm. 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.



[Carriage Approaching]



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--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.




What an ugly room!



Oh, it isn't really.



Whatever do you want

with that telescope?



I--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--I'm very fond of it,

really I am.



Ha ha ha! 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.









Avast now.



Don't make a scene

in front of these swabs.



I don't intend

to make a scene.



Oh. Oh, of course

you don't.



You're my brave little girl,

that's what you are.



Oh, Lucy.

My little Lucy.






Make her stop that

eternal caterwauling



or I will take a hand!



You keep out of this!



Oh, Lucy!



Ha ha ha!



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--I could

explain, I suppose...



but--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?






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! Aah!



Oh! Oh!



- Oh!

- Oh!



[Arf Arf Arf]



[Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf]



Mummy's coming aboard

in a motorcar.



Mr. Coombe is invited for tea.



Oh! 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  Oth 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.



[Engine Starts]



I only hope when

I reach the afterlife



I have a little more 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.









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   O for it.



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.



Ha ha ha!



Ha ha ha!



Well, what's the matter?



You haven't finished

the sentence.



I know. It's--



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.






Now, at this point,

having had a drink...



I, uh, I went upstairs.






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?



   . It was me first voyage.



Only    .



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?






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    .



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, uh, you still

have freckles.



Only seven of them...



and I'm told

they're most becoming.



They are at that.



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



Good heavens!     :OO.






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.



Oh, 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.



Oh, 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.



Ah, now then...



there's only one more

chapter to do.



Better be at it.






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.



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-- 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--



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.



Ha ha ha!



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.



Mmm, 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.






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--it's all dark

and confused...



like--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.



Good night.



My dear.



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



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.






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. Edwin Muir.



Gull Cottage,




Can't I have just a few moments

with Mr. Sproule now?



I've come all the way in

from Whitecliff.



[Bell Rings]



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?



Oh, 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     :OO.



I arrived at   O: O

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.






Oh, no, no.

I couldn't.



It's quite all right.



Oh, 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--I'm-- That is--



Who let you in?



Why, the gentleman outside

said it was all right.



Oh, he did, did he?



Well, it isn't all right...



and I'll trouble you

take yourself elsewhere.



Oh, please, Mr. Sproule.



I simply had to get in

to see you. I--



I have a manuscript.



Of course you have.



 O 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.!






Tsk, tsk, tsk.



You're such

a nice-looking woman, too.



Oh, 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?



Oh, a great deal,

believe me.






Unvarnished, you say?



Well, perhaps I have time

for a few pages, at that.



What's your name?



Mrs. Muir.






Heh heh heh!



Ho ho ho ho!



I have been waiting here

for three hours.



I consider it outrageous!



Still in there?



Sent luncheon in at  :OO.



For two?



Well! You're not going to pretend

that you wrote this.






No. It's a man's book...



and what a man.



Is he-- Is he your husband,

Mrs. Muir?



Oh, no.



This Captain X,

I'd like very much to meet him.



Oh, I'm afraid

that's impossible.



He's--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.



Tsk tsk tsk!



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.






Mr. Fairley.






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. 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.''






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., uh...



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, 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?



Oh, yes, quite all right.

Thank you.






[Engine Chugging]



[Captain Gregg]




Oh. You've been




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?




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.



[Whistle Blows]



Just as we planned.



I'm not sure

I want you to have



the blasted house after all.



Oh, Daniel, please.



Oh, 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



I said men, not perfumed

parlor snakes.



He's a man

and a very nice one.



Anyway, I shall never

see him again.






Cheer off, you blasted mud turtle!

There's no room!



I beg your pardon, madam.



Ha ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha ha!



Ha ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha ha!



[Children Laughing]



Will my name stay there

forever, Mr. Scroggins?




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, 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.



Oh, 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?






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...



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--I didn't.

He took me unaware.



Ha ha ha! 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.






Like my picture?






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  Oth century.



We must rid ourselves

of the old fetishes and taboos.



Huh! 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.






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?






Oh, I've never

felt like this before.






I don't know.



Tell me.



Like...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,




two lifetimesful,

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...



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



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 your 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.



Oh, I...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   OO

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...I can't possibly

leave here now just 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--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.






""Dear Mr. Sproule...



""I find that I am unable to leave

Whitecliff 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?






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.




and thank you again.



Goodbye, Mrs. Muir.



Would you please give me

Mr. Fairley's address?



Miles Fairley?



Yes, please.



Uh, here it is, Mrs. Muir.




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.






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--I'm a writer.



We, uh... 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...



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.






Oh, there, there.



He ain't worth it.

Blast his hide.



He ain't worth it.



[Arf Arf]



[Arf Arf]



[Arf Arf]



[Arf Arf]



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.






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.



[Door Closes]



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]



[Ding-Ding Ding-Ding]






Hello, Anna!



Anna! Darling!

This is a surprise.



How did you get off

from the university?



They don't know I'm away.






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.






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--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.






Miss Anna.



And you'll find a strange young man

in the living room.






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.



Oh, 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.






Oh, 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.



Oh, no, darling.



Oh, 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--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?



Oh, 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, 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.



Oh, 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.



Oh, 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.



Oh, 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.



Oh, I've been lonely

at times...



but there have been




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--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.







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