SCENE 78
EXT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE PARK. AFTERNOON
Poirot is still sitting on his bench, his legs now covered with a woollen rug, when Edith walks into view. She seems to be heading for Poirot, but just then the children and their nannies return from their excursion to the lake. They spot Edith, and Marigold runs towards her as fast as her little legs will go. Edith catches her, lifts her up with a laugh and plants a loving kiss on her forehead. When the others reach them, Edith listens patiently to the excited account of their adventures. But when they move on back towards the house, Edith leaves the group and approaches Poirot instead. He has been watching all this time, and now smiles in welcome.
POIROT: Lady Edith.
EDITH: Hello, Mr Poirot. Are you feeling better? It's good to see you up and about. (She seems determined to be friendly this time.) I hope the children haven't bothered you? They can be quite a handful.
POIROT: A very lively lot, indeed. Mr Barrow introduced me to them.
EDITH: He should get extra pay for being our third nanny, really. (A pause. Edith links her gloved hands in front of her, bracing herself for what she's going to say next.) Mr Poirot, I came to apologise. For my unkindness to you at dinner last night.
POIROT (instantly): Oh, no. No, please, Lady Edith. Do not apologise. Grief makes us say and do the strangest things. It is in the human nature. And you must feel your grief even more sharply, since it was delayed so long by such treacherous false hope.
Edith is in danger of tearing up. Poirot, seeing it, gestures at the empty seat next to him.
POIROT: Please to sit down, my lady. Sit and collect yourself.
She sits fingering the edge of her fine woollen scarf, but she doesn't seem to trust herself to speak.
POIROT (in a gentle voice): I know that you have carried a great burden, Lady Edith, and I wish I could have lightened it for you. But I was singularly unsuited to take a case that depended entirely on mutual trust and cooperation with German authorities.
EDITH: I understand that now. I had no right to tear into you like that, last night.
POIROT: Sometimes it is good to let one's anger out.
EDITH: I keep thinking that, but nobody else ever seems to agree.
They exchange a fleeting smile. There is another pause. Poirot waits patiently.
EDITH: I also keep thinking about something else you said last night. That every house and every family has its secrets.
POIROT: Ah. Do you wish to confide something to me, my lady?
EDITH: Well – as a matter of fact, there is something that I very much do not wish to tell you. But in case you should find out by accident, I want you to know that it has absolutely nothing to do with your search for that missing man. Nothing whatsoever.
More silence. Finally, Poirot speaks.
POIROT: I think I understand you, Lady Edith. I have the greatest sympathy for your predicament, and the utmost respect for the enormous sacrifice that you're making in order to contain it.
Edith seems to find this reaction frustrating rather than helpful.
EDITH: But you think what I'm doing is wrong?
POIROT: No. I would not judge. But if I may offer you my advice, I would suggest that you take comfort from the holy scriptures.
Edith laughs incredulously.
EDITH: There's not much comfort in the Bible for a woman like me.
POIROT: Then you have not looked closely enough. For is it not written in the Gospel of John, in the 32nd verse of the 8th chapter: "The truth will set you free"?
SCENE 79
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE GREAT HALL. AFTERNOON
The three Downton children have been put to sit side by side on the carved wooden bench at the bottom of the great staircase, cheeks pink from the cold, short legs dangling like so many pendulums. Thomas, squatting on the floor in front of them, is helping to unlace their winter boots. In the background, the nannies carry off a mountain of little coats, scarves, mittens and woollen bobble hats. While he works away, Thomas is talking to the children in a low, urgent voice. They listen earnestly.
THOMAS: Look, I'm not scolding you, nobody is. But this is important. You have to tell me the truth.
GEORGE (shaking his head vigorously): We didn't do it, Mr Barrow.
THOMAS: Cross your heart?
GEORGE: Cross my heart.
He does.
SYBBIE: We don't go in there. Mr Bates would get scary.
THOMAS: All right. Then let's forget all about that now. (The last boot comes off, and he straightens up.) And now I must go and fetch Mr Poirot in, or he'll have icicles hanging off his nose. (The three children dissolve into giggles. Thomas lifts them down from the bench one by one.) Off you go.
SCENE 80
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE KITCHEN. AFTERNOON
Molesley comes down the stairs and looks into the kitchen, where for once, things are quiet. Mrs Patmore is at her little desk, going over the menus for the next days, while Daisy sits at the end of the central table, reading a book.
MOLESLEY: Tea for Mr Poirot and Captain Hastings in the Blue Room, please.
MRS PATMORE (looking up): Oh, is the Captain back at last? There must have been quite a queue at the chemist's.
Daisy gets up to fill the kettle.
DAISY (to Mrs Patmore): Don't be silly, they've been investigating! I wish I could have been a fly on the wall!
MRS PATMORE (grumpily): Flies on the wall get a swat if they don't watch out.
DAISY (miffed): Don't you want him to solve the case?
MRS PATMORE: I want you to keep your nose out of other people's business, that's all.
Daisy looks across at Molesley for support, but there's none to be had there.
MOLESLEY (gravely): She's right, you know.
SCENE 81
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. AFTERNOON
Poirot is back in his bed, listening with a face like a thundercloud as Hastings concludes his report of his enquiries in Thirsk. A tea tray is on the sideboard. Hastings, in the chair by the bedside, is balancing a cup in his hand. Poirot is not.
HASTINGS: So I'd have said that it all fits perfectly, but it's the wrong name. I'm afraid we've drawn another blank.
POIROT: Hastings, sometimes you are remarkably slow. What's in a name?
HASTINGS: You mean this is Coyle, but he gave a false name because he was planning to leave without settling his bill?
POIROT: Ah, but was he planning it, or was he prevented from returning? And if the latter, by whom, and why?
HASTINGS: We don't know that.
POIROT (highly irritated): We don't know because you and Mr Branson have managed to ask all the wrong questions, and omitted to ask all the ones that really matter!
HASTING (deeply hurt): Give us break, Poirot. We were in a hurry. It was getting late. Mr Branson wanted to skip the place altogether, we were lucky I insisted on checking it at all. You can give me a list next time.
POIROT: Yes, I will do that. And I will do it now, because tomorrow, you must go back and do better. Have we an accurate description of this Mr Alex Green? Does it fit the one we have of Philip Coyle, or does it differ? The manager says they sold his belongings to cover a part of the bill – what belongings were there? What happened to those that could not be sold? And the message that Mr Green received on the 6th that made him leave and never return – is there a way to tell what it contained? When did it come, and when did he leave that night? Is there any indication where he went? Did he ask the way to somewhere? When was he first missed? Why are you not taking notes?
Hastings scrambles to put down his tea cup and get a notebook out of the inner pocket of his jacket. Poirot makes a noise that is half sigh, half growl.
POIROT: No, there is no point. I will go myself, tomorrow, and give you a demonstration how this work is done properly.
HASTINGS: How are you going to explain that you're up and about again?
POIROT: I will not. It will be a very unreasonable thing to do, and my poor back will need twice the time afterwards to recover from such folly.
He reaches over to ring the bell, then lies back and pulls the bed covers up to his chin. With a sigh, Hastings accepts his dismissal and gets up from his chair.
HASTINGS: Well, if there's nothing useful I can do, shall I leave you alone until you've regained your native amiability?
Poirot only gives his friend a dark look. The door opens, and Molesley appears.
MOLESLEY: You rang, sir? Shall I take the tea away?
POIROT: Yes, please.
Molesley picks up Hastings' empty cup and then walks over to the sideboard to retrieve the tray.
POIROT (to Hastings, in a slightly kinder tone than before): There is something you can do, Hastings. Make a phone call to London for me and find out who is, or was, the occupant of Flat 36 at The Albany. (Hastings nods.) Oh, and Mr Molesley, I have two more requests, if I may.
MOLESLEY: Of course, sir.
He needs to clear his throat and say it again to make his voice heard.
POIROT: Would you furnish me with some writing paper? And would you please ask Lady Edith if she could find me the book we were talking about this afternoon?
MOLESLEY (hesitantly): Lady Edith?
POIROT: Yes, she recommended a particular book from the library here, to while away the time.
MOLESLEY: Can't I get it for you, sir?
POIROT (with an apologetic smile): That is a kind offer, Mr Molesley, but I'm afraid I don't remember the title.
SCENE 82
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE SERVANTS' HALL. AFTERNOON
Much like Mrs Patmore and Daisy in the kitchen, Anna and Baxter are enjoying a moment of quiet in the servants' hall, too. Baxter is cleaning jewellery while Anna looks through a fashion magazine.
ANNA (showing Baxter a photo): Look at that hairstyle. It would look great on Her Ladyship.
BAXTER: Mmh. Nice.
Bates appears in the doorway, looking rather put out. Anna turns to look at him.
ANNA: Oh, what's got you in a grump?
BATES: Mr Barrow, who else. (He sits down at his wife's side.) He's just told me that it wasn't the children who put the paper in His Lordship's shoes.
BAXTER: How can he be sure of that?
BATES: Well, in his words, 'I know them, and I know when they're telling the truth.'
ANNA: He's probably right there, actually.
BATES: But then who did it?
BAXTER: Why does it even matter?
BATES: Because I thought it was all in Mr Poirot's head, but now I'm starting to think that he may have a point.
ANNA: What point, exactly?
BATES: Mr Poirot thought there might have been a secret message in the paper. But His Lordship had me throw it out without even looking at it.
ANNA: So there was no message.
BAXTER (thoughtfully): Or there was, but he missed it?
BATES (to Baxter): Exactly. So laugh at me if you will, but I just went back to the wood shed and looked for the stuff. It was gone.
BAXTER: That could have just been the hall boys doing the fires, though.
ANNA (to Bates, shifting uncomfortably in her chair): Are you saying that Mr Poirot is using Mr Barrow to spy on us?
BATES: Either that, or he's freelancing. Knowing Thomas Barrow, it's probably both at the same time. (He gets back to his feet.) At any rate, now you're warned. (To Baxter) I assume that Thomas won't dare pester Mr Carson about his lost hat, but he's probably going to pester you about Her Ladyship's lost gloves next.
BAXTER (with a smile): Thank you. If he does, I'll pester back.
SCENE 83
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE KITCHEN. EVENING
With dinner approaching fast, the place has come back to life. Molesley and Andy have just brought down the various tea trays from the library, the sick room and the nursery. Daisy takes the silver tea pots to the sink to rinse them out. One of the them is still surprisingly full.
DAISY (peering inside): Oh! Doesn't Mr Poirot like our tea?
But nobody pays her any attention. Molesley, Andy and Mrs Patmore stand in a tight group on the other side of the table, conversing in an urgent, low tone.
MOLESLEY (to the other two): … and then he asked to see Lady Edith. I've warned her, of course, but if he's got this far, all it takes is one call to The Albany and -
DAISY (calling across from the sink in a loud, annoyed voice): Don't mind me!
The group breaks up, looking guilty.
SCENE 84
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. AFTERNOON
A knock on the door announces the arrival of Edith. She comes in hesitantly, carrying a leather-bound folder.
POIROT: Ah, Lady Edith. Thank you for coming to see me.
Edith hands the folder to Poirot.
EDITH: Here is your paper, Mr Poirot. But Molesley rather confused me just now about that book you wanted. I don't recall that we talked about any book this afternoon. Other than the Bible, but there's one in your bedside drawer, of course.
POIROT: No, indeed. I must ask your forgiveness for this little ruse. But I hope you will agree with me that my true request is not a matter for the ears of the servants.
EDITH (attempting a light tone): That sounds rather mysterious.
POIROT (gravely): Please, my lady, do not be offended. But would your confidence in me extend so far as to let me see the birth certificate of your daughter?
Edith takes a deep breath, then releases it again.
EDITH: You want to see the name of her father, don't you? Well, can't you guess?
POIROT: I'm very nearly sure, my lady, but I should like to see it with my own eyes.
EDITH: It's not Philip Coyle, if that's what you're thinking.
POIROT: Nor Alex Green?
EDITH: Who is Alex Green?
This is deadlock, and Poirot knows he needs a new approach. He adopts a fatherly but sensible tone.
POIROT: Lady Edith, you must be aware that your situation makes you vulnerable to attack, both from the malicious and the righteous. Various people could derive various kinds of benefits either from revealing your secret, or from threatening to do so. There must be others who know the truth about the child. Can you be sure that none of them wish you ill? And that they would all be safe from temptation if they realised that their knowledge could be turned to profit? Is it not possible –
EDITH (firmly): Possible, maybe, but not in this case. I give you my word. There is no connection.
There is another pause, then Poirot puts his smile back in place.
POIROT: Well, it was just a thought that I had. I'm sure I'm wrong.
Edith nods stiffly and heads for the door.
SCENE 85
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. MARY'S BEDROOM. EVENING
Mary sits in front of the mirror at the dressing table while Anna brushes her hair ahead of dinner. Mary looks rather irritated.
MARY: Why should Baxter worry about it? It was I who took Mama's gloves, I told them so. Case closed.
ANNA (awkwardly): Well, you know how it makes a servant look when something of value goes missing. I don't mean to be pushy, but… could you maybe still give them back? Even if they're torn? Just to make sure there's no –
MARY: I threw them away, Anna, I can't give them back. (She rises impatiently from her seat.) I just wish we could be rid of Mr Poirot. He's got all of us on edge for no reason.
ANNA: I know, I'm sorry. He seems very inquisitive. Mr Bates told me he's been asking all kinds of questions about His Lordship's shoes, too, and about the guns.
MARY: Oh, has he? Well – (Her expression softens.) If it means so much to Baxter, I will ask Mama to reassure her. I'm sure she's got nothing to fear.
ANNA (sincerely): Thank you, my lady.
MARY: And now let's hear no more of Mr Poirot and his crazy case.
There is a knock on the door, and Tom Branson looks in.
MARY: Tom! There you are. You took your time.
TOM (dead serious): I'm sorry, but I need to talk to you right now.
He glances across at Anna, who takes her cue and leaves, taking Mary's discarded day clothes with her.
SCENE 86
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. EVENING
Hastings enters, barely taking the time to knock. He's out of breath, as if he's just run up the stairs. Poirot, who sits in bed writing with his pince nez on his nose, looks up in surprise.
HASTINGS: Quick warning. Dr Clarkson's here, he'll look in in a moment, but we've also brought Mrs Crawley. She insisted, I'm afraid. So you may want to make it look real.
POIROT: Thank you, mon ami. (He closes his fountain pen, removes his pince nez and picks up a letter from his bedside table, where it was propped against a large white porcelain pot with a chemist's label.) Please put this in the postbox in the village for me when you get back there.
Hastings reads the address on the envelope and raises his eyebrows.
HASTINGS: Inspector Japp? (He pockets the letter.) I'm sorry, I just feel bad going behind everyone's backs. They're all so friendly and helpful… I really can't bring myself to think ill of any of them.
POIROT: Well, that is the problem, isn't it? Neither can I. And yet…
HASTINGS: I'll tell you what. I'm not very fond of this Mr Barrow. He seems like a sly fellow to me. I don't trust him, to be honest, and I am wondering whether you should.
POIROT: I appreciate your concern for me, Hastings, but I do not feel any less safe in the same room with Mr Barrow than you should feel in the same car with Mr Branson.
Hastings frowns at this cryptic statement, but they're interrupted at that moment by another knock at the door. It opens to admit Isobel Crawley and Dr Clarkson. The Doctor hangs back while Isobel takes Poirot's hand to express her concern and her good wishes.
ISOBEL: I'm so sorry this had to happen, Mr Poirot. I hope you're feeling better now. Captain Hastings told me you were up and about already this afternoon. (To Dr Clarkson) I hope this was wise?
DR CLARKSON: Well, moderate exercise…
POIROT: I am so well again, Madame, that I'm planning to go in to Thirsk tomorrow. Captain Hastings and Mr Branson have made a valuable discovery there today that I should wish to see confirmed in person.
ISOBEL (with a smile): What, at the chemist's? May I? (She picks up the salve pot from the bedside table, opens the lid and sniffs it gently.) Ah, comfrey and arnica?
She smiles at Dr Clarkson, who nods.
POIROT: Yes, it is wonderfully warming.
Isobel puts the pot down again and steps aside to make room for the Doctor. Hastings fetches a chair for her.
DR CLARKSON: Ah, Captain Hastings, before I forget – Patrick sends his regards.
HASTINGS (guiltily): Oh. Well, I – I've rather neglected him, I'm afraid.
DR CLARKSON: No, he's not cross, he understands that your work comes first. But he's thinking of going a bit further north, to the Tees Valley, for the next couple of days. His wife's cousin has a farm there. He asks if you'd mind.
HASTINGS (relieved): Not at all. Please tell him to go, by all means.
Dr Clarkson nods, then sits down by Poirot's bed.
POIROT (to Dr Clarkson): You don't think it's outside the realm of the possible for me to go on this little trip tomorrow, do you, Doctor? Hastings here has struck up quite a friendship with Mr Branson, I'm sure he'll let us borrow the most well-sprung of the cars.
DR CLARKSON: Well, at this stage, you yourself are the best judge of what feels right and what's too much. If you promise me to rest again afterwards…
POIROT (sincerely): Thank you, Doctor.
DR CLARKSON: So if that's all I can do -
POIROT: As a matter of fact, there is something else. When I first arrived here, you spoke of the local school's headmaster as being an expert on the weather, did you not? Would you be so kind as to take him this note?
He picks up the note he's been writing and hands it to Dr Clarkson, who folds it up without looking at it.
DR CLARKSON: Yes, of course.
Isobel looks intrigued, but Poirot does not elaborate.
POIROT: And I have some more questions for you, too, Doctor, also concerning the disappearance of Philip Coyle. But it is a matter of which I hesitate to speak in the presence of a lady.
ISOBEL: Is it a medical matter?
POIROT: Yes, it is.
ISOBEL: Then please go right ahead, Mr Poirot. I was a nurse in the South African war when my husband was there with the Medical Corps. Nothing concerning the functions or malfunctions of the human body can shock me any more.
Poirot inclines his head to her, then addresses Dr Clarkson again.
POIROT: When you viewed the body of the unfortunate Edward Wilkinson, Doctor – did you notice a gunshot wound anywhere on it? Specifically, from a shotgun?
DR CLARKSON: Well… I couldn't be completely sure about the face and the frontal neurocranium, as they were pretty much destroyed by the impact. But no, not that I could see. I'd say all of his injuries were directly attributable to the collision with the train.
He glances at Isobel, but she is bearing up bravely.
POIROT: There wasn't a formal inquest held, was there?
DR CLARKSON: No. Nobody requested one. Dr Latimer knew what had happened, of course, and he explained it to the police, so they had no questions either.
POIROT: But your verdict was that of accidental death?
DR CLARKSON: For the sake of the vicar's conscience, yes.
POIROT: Thank you. And how would you describe the state of Mr Wilkinson's clothes?
DR CLARKSON: Bloody. (Hastings pulls a face.) Well – what can I say? None of them could be salvaged, not even the shoes.
POIROT: But would you say they were the clothes of a man who had been out in the woods and sleeping rough for several days before this tragic incident occurred?
DR CLARKSON (thoughtfully): I… no, I couldn't tell you that. I didn't look for that sort of thing at the time, I'm afraid.
POIROT: Well, thank you, Doctor. This is all most helpful.
But in truth, Poirot seems somewhat disappointed.
SCENE 87
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. UPSTAIRS CORRIDOR. NIGHT
Mary and Edith, both in evening dress, emerge from their rooms at the same time and meet in the corridor ahead of the family's dinner. Both of them look preoccupied, Mary possibly even more so than Edith.
MARY: Oh, there you are. I was looking for you earlier.
EDITH: Mr Poirot asked me to come and talk to him.
MARY (alarmed): What? Don't tell me you did!
EDITH: Don't worry. You needn't think that just because you're a good liar, nobody else is.
MARY: What did he want?
EDITH: He thinks I'm being blackmailed.
MARY (with a dismissive laugh): Oh, good. Who would blackmail you? Keep him thinking that, and we'll be fine.
Edith looks very injured, but Mary just brushes past her and leads the way downstairs.
SCENE 88
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE SERVANTS' HALL. NIGHT
With both the family's and the servants' dinners over, the light is low and the place is winding down for the night. Molesley and Baxter, who were sitting by the fireplace, pack up their newspaper and embroidery, respectively. On the other side of the room, Thomas stubs out his cigarette and closes his book.
MOLESLEY (with a glance at the clock, to Baxter): Well, it's time. Good night, then.
BAXTER: Good night.
Molesley leaves. Baxter means to follow, but Thomas calls her back.
THOMAS: Do you have a moment?
BAXTER: What is it?
Thomas leans over to check that Molesley really is gone. He is.
THOMAS: Do you remember what you did on January 6th?
BAXTER: Of course not. Why would I?
THOMAS: Wasn't that the day you lost Her Ladyship's gloves?
Baxter takes a deep breath.
BAXTER: Mr Barrow, firstly, I did not lose them. Lady Mary borrowed them. Secondly, I have no idea when they were last there, except that they were gone last Sunday, when Her Ladyship wanted to wear them to church. And thirdly, you can tell Mr Poirot to ask me himself, next time.
She turns and marches out of the servants' hall without another word. Thomas purses his lips, then gets up and leaves, too.
SCENE 89
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. DOWNSTAIRS CORRIDOR. NIGHT
Daisy walks past the far end of the passage, taking covered bowls with leftovers from the kitchen to the larder. Thomas exits the servants' hall, switching off the lights, and walks off in the direction of the staircase. Outside the door of Mrs Hughes' sitting room, he pauses and frowns. There are voices talking inside, but it's impossible to make out the actual words. Thomas glances over his shoulder, then moves closer to the door when -
DAISY: Are you looking for Mrs Hughes?
Thomas nearly jumps out of his skin. Daisy is standing at the end of the passage, arms crossed.
THOMAS: Don't sneak up on me like that!
DAISY (tartly): Do I hear the pot calling the kettle black?
THOMAS: I was going to knock, but I hear she's got company.
It's supposed to be a question, but Daisy shows no intention of answering it. There's a silence.
THOMAS: Don't you hate it when they treat you like a child?
He's close enough to the mark, but she won't be moved.She merely stares him out of sight, and it's only when he's gone that she wipes away an angry tear.