SCENE 105
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. EVENING
Poirot sits in the armchair by the crackling fire. He holds a sheaf of typewritten pages in one hand and twirls his pince nez around the fingers of the other, deep in thought. Hastings knocks and enters. Poirot turns around and smiles at his friend.
POIROT: There you are, mon ami.
HASTINGS: Yes, and I'm glad to see you alive and well. I'm not joking. I'd never have thought it possible, but I feel bad leaving you alone in this house. Are you really sure this is a good time for me to go back to London?
He pulls up another chair and sits down opposite his friend.
POIROT: It is very necessary that you do, Hastings.
HASTINGS: Then would you at least tell me what I'll be doing there?
POIROT: Of course. In London, you will change trains and go directly on to Hampshire, to the residence of Lord Viscount Gillingham, and you will ask him to tell you anything and everything he knows about the life and death of his former valet, Alex Green. Every little detail counts.
HASTINGS: Oh.
POIROT: Yes. And then you will return and report to me, and we will finally make sense of this strange affair.
HASTINGS: What about Inspector Japp? (He nods at the papers in Poirot's hand.) I thought you were going to ask him about Green.
POIROT: I did, but his answer is most unsatisfactory. Apparently the late Alex Green is no unknown quantity at Scotland Yard, but Japp couldn't get his hands on the file. A colleague of his is sitting on it, an Inspector Vyner. I don't know the man, but he seems most unwilling to cooperate with Japp, not to mention – (He consults the documents in his hand for the exact wording, and reads it out with a wry curl of his lip.) - 'some jumped-up foreign private eye'.
HASTINGS: Suspiciously unwilling?
POIROT: No. It is probably nothing more than petty professional jealousy. But very inconvenient. The man insists it's an ongoing investigation, so he can't show us what he's got.
HASTINGS: But what could the police have on Green? Did the hotel press charges for fraud?
POIROT: Against a man who has been dead for over two years?
HASTINGS: Oh, right. That doesn't make any sense.
POIROT: No, it doesn't.
There is another knock at the door, and Thomas comes in, carrying dinner for Poirot and his visitor on a tray. Hastings visibly tenses at the sight of him. Poirot carefully folds up his papers and puts them into the pocket of his dressing gown. Thomas starts arranging the plates, which are covered with silver serving domes to keep warm, on a small table. Poirot rises from his seat, relieved at not having to act sick for once.
POIROT: Thank you, Mr Barrow. And is that all you have for me?
Hastings looks from one to the other, bewildered.
THOMAS: I'm afraid so, sir. I haven't managed to get my hands on it yet. I tried to recruit Daisy, but she brushed me off.
POIROT: The under-cook who was so eager to help when she found you in the wood shed?
THOMAS: She says she's changed her mind.
POIROT: Now that is most interesting. Well, no matter, Mr Barrow. I'll find another way.
Hastings winces slightly at their familiar tone. Thomas places chairs for Poirot and Hastings at their little dinner table, and they sit down.
THOMAS (to Poirot): There is something else, sir, that I've been meaning to tell you.
POIROT (tucking a napkin into the collar of his dressing gown): Yes?
THOMAS: It's about the gun. Mr Branson's gun. I know I should have told you right away, but I didn't want you to think badly of Mr Branson, so…
His voice trails off awkwardly.
POIROT: Well, what about it?
THOMAS: When Mr Branson brought it back from Lake Kilburn, sir, it was me who cleaned it and put it away. Mr Branson wanted to do it himself, but Mr Carson thought it wasn't fitting, so I got the job. And a right job it was, because it was extremely dirty.
HASTINGS: Dirty?
THOMAS: Yes, sir. Covered in mud, both inside and out, both barrels chock full of slush.
POIROT (perking up his ears): Which would not have happened in a duck blind?
THOMAS: That's what I thought. It was as if it had been dropped somewhere in the woods and lain there for days. And there's more. It had been fired, but only once. The other cartridge was still lodged in the chamber, so firmly that I had to prise it out.
HASTINGS: You mean the second shot had jammed?
THOMAS: That's how I read it, yes. It didn't worry me at first, because that might happen on any shoot. But now I wonder.
HASTINGS: About what?
THOMAS: About what exactly Mr Branson was hunting that day, sir, and why.
Poirot and Hastings exchange a look. Thomas allows himself a moment to enjoy the effect of his words, then takes his leave. When the door closes behind him, Hastings lets out a long breath.
HASTINGS: You don't believe a single word of that, I hope?
POIROT: Why should I not?
HASTINGS: Isn't it obvious? Barrow knows we've been to Thirsk twice now, he knows we're on his trail. So now he's trying to incriminate Branson instead. 'Didn't want you to think badly of him', what a joke. Besides, Poirot, you always tell me to be suspicious of people who are unnaturally eager to help us out. Isn't that exactly what he's doing? He's practically thrown himself at you right from the word go.
POIROT: Hastings, let me put your mind at rest. (He takes Japp's reportout again, selects one page and hands it to Hastings.) This is the only complaint that the police, both local and at Scotland Yard, have ever received about Thomas Barrow.
Hastings takes the typewritten sheet, reads, and pulls a face.
HASTINGS: Gross indecency with a fellow worker? Am I really supposed to find that reassuring?
POIROT: An accusation that was dropped again almost as soon as it was made, as you can see. The police filed it away as a mere disgruntled employee's attempt to discredit a senior colleague out of envy and personal dislike. No further action was taken, and both the accuser and the supposed victim have since left the family's employ.
HASTINGS (with a cynical chuckle): Lord Grantham would know how to clamp down on that sort of story. Well, at least we know now why Barrow was sneaking around Thirsk, arranging a secret meeting with another man.
POIROT (impatiently): Hastings, please use what little grey cells you may possess, at least now and again. You know how easy such accusations are to make, and how hard to refute. Even if that past allegation was true, is it likely that Mr Barrow would so lack in caution and discretion that he would make another such appointment in person, openly wearing both the Grantham livery and his one utterly distinctive piece of accessory for all the world to see? And would he have brought along the witness who waited outside with the car? We know he doesn't drive, so he couldn't have come alone. No, he was not worried about being recognised when he delivered that message, which would have been madness if the purpose of their communication was what you think it was. You may not like the man, but please give him some credit. He's not an idiot. (Hastings opens his mouth to object, but Poirot talks on.) And besides, Hastings, you're not only wrong about Mr Barrrow, you're also wrong about the man who posed as Alex Green.
HASTINGS: How do you know that?
POIROT: Do you remember wondering why the little chambermaid, Lucy, could tell us so much about the messenger's appearance but so little about their guest's? And whether Mademoiselle Lucy was trying to shield Green?
HASTINGS: Of course. I'm still wondering now.
POIROT: Then let me tell you, mon ami, that Mademoiselle Lucy was definitely not trying to mislead us. But she was teaching us a valuable lesson.
HASTINGS: A lesson in what?
POIROT: In the formation of memories in the human mind.
HASTINGS: Now you're riding too high for me, I'm afraid.
POIROT: And yet this is important to keep in mind when assessing a witness statement, Hastings. Modern science tells us that the quality of a memory depends very much on the circumstances under which it was formed. Haven't we seen it time and again in our work that the more distressed or agitated or angry a witness is in a given situation, the less reliable is his memory of it, and the less relevant detail does he retain? While the distant, accidental passer-by who observes something he is not directly involved in will often give us much more accurate information.
HASTINGS: That's true.
POIROT: So what does that tell us about this striking disparity in Mademoiselle Lucy's accounts of the two men's appearances?
HASTINGS: That she - (He grimaces.) Oh. Oooh. I think I'm about to be disgusted. Am I right?
POIROT: Yes, I'm afraid you are. Mademoiselle Lucy's memories of the man who called himself Green are so hazy because they were formed under extreme stress. They were formed in situations when she was so frightened and in such terror that she could stare her opponent right in the face and yet -
HASTINGS: - not remember the colour of his eyes. Blimey, Poirot. (Angrily) I have a mind to go right back and -
POIROT: Do what? Green is gone, much to poor Mademoiselle Lucy's relief, I dare say. I trust I need not recall the other little tell-tale indications that the girl gave us to make you see what kind of man this supposed Alex Green is, or was. The messenger, on the other hand, did not appear threatening or frightening to the girl at all. She felt safe around him. I'd even say she rather liked what she saw there.
HASTINGS (grudgingly): He is a handsome fellow, I'll grant him that.
There is a long silence.
HASTINGS: You know what? Now I'm actually hoping that the man who used Green's name is not our Philip Coyle. Does a man like that deserve all this trouble we're going to?
POIROT: No, he does not. But let me quote a cousin of mine who liked to say, 'I play the game for the game's own sake'. I think I have reached that point now.
HASTINGS: I was afraid you'd say that.
POIROT (picking up his knife and fork, in a kinder tone): But no game is played well on an empty stomach, Hastings, so let us no longer despise this very appetising offer from Lord Grantham's kitchens. If I stay here much longer, I will become as plump as a partridge!
SCNENE 106
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE DINING ROOM. NIGHT
The family – Robert, Cora, Mary, Edith and Tom - are at their own dinner, attended by Carson, Thomas and Molesley.
ROBERT: I feel like we're neglecting our guest.
MARY: I asked Mr Poirot to luncheon when they came back from Thirsk, but he said he preferred to rest.
CORA: I understand. I'm sure it would kill his poor back to sit through our whole dinner again, Robert. We could ask Isobel and Captain Hastings for tomorrow, though.
MARY: No, Captain Hastings is going back to London.
ROBERT: Oh, really? (He turns to Thomas, who stands behind him.) Do we know why, Barrow?
THOMAS: I have no idea, my lord.
ROBERT: Oh. I thought you always knew things.
THOMAS: I'm afraid Mr Poirot and Captain Hastings don't confide the details of their investigative work to me, my lord.
He doesn't add 'more's the pity', but he certainly thinks it. Edith and Tom exchange a look. Carson, looking scandalised at the very idea, hastens to pick up the decanter to refill the glasses.
SCENE 107
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. NIGHT
Poirot and Hastings have finished their meal. Hastings stacks the empty plates on the tray and then rings the bell. Poirot takes Inspector Japp's report back to his armchair by the fire. Hastings joins him there a moment later.
HASTINGS: So is there more? You didn't ask Japp to look up everyone in the house, did you?
POIROT: No. But you should take a look at this.
He hands Hastings another page.
HASTINGS (looking over it, stunned): Scotland Yard have a file on Tom Branson?
POIROT: Read.
There is a silence while Hastings reads. His frown deepens with every line and every paragraph. By the time he's finished, he looks like a man who has lost his faith in humanity. He lets the paper sink down.
HASTINGS: I can't believe this. Wilful damage to property? Arson? Militant republicanism? I'd – (He's almost speechless with disappointment.) I thought he was such a decent fellow. If you'd asked, Poirot, I'd have called him a friend by now. How could I have been so mistaken? Are you sure this isn't some other Tom Branson?
POIROT: How many can there be who have Downton Abbey listed as their place of residence?
HASTINGS: But how on earth did he manage to keep this secret from the family?
POIROT: I don't suppose he ever tried.
HASTINGS: Then how can Lord Grantham even tolerate him under his roof? Never mind in a position of trust? What are we coming to, Poirot, when the great families of this country start welcoming men like that into their midst?
POIROT: Hastings, would you despise me because I had to leave my native land, driven into exile by a foreign conquering force whose brutal and tyrannical rule I could neither end nor endure?
HASTINGS: Of course not, that's not the same.
POIROT (with emphasis): Oh yes, Hastings. It is exactly the same.
There is an uncomfortable silence that only ends when the door opens and Andy comes in, bringing their after-dinner coffee.
POIROT: Ah, thank you, Andrew. (He glances at Hastings.) Or do you need something a little stronger, to digest the shock?
HASTINGS (weakly): I wouldn't say no to that.
Andy puts the coffee down and collects the used dinner things.
POIROT: Oh and, Andrew, could you ask the housekeeper to step in for a moment?
ANDY (surprised): Mrs Hughes?
POIROT: Yes, I believe that is her name.
ANDY: Is there anything wrong, sir? Anything you lack?
POIROT (with a smile): No, on the contrary, I'm very well looked after here. I just wanted to express my gratitude to her personally.
Andy shakes off his unease, nods and departs.
SCENE 108
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE KITCHEN. NIGHT
Andy has come downstairs with the remains of Poirot and Hastings' dinner. Mrs Patmore, Mrs Hughes and Daisy listen as he relays Poirot's request to speak to Mrs Hughes.
MRS HUGHES (alarmed): What, me? What does he want with me?
ANDY: He just wants to thank you, he said.
MRS HUGHES: Yes, and pigs might fly. (She sighs.) Well, there's no help for it. Wish me luck.
She departs for the stairs. The other three watch her go, looking anxious.
SCENE 109
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. NIGHT
Poirot and Hastings are having their coffee by the fireplace. Mrs Hughes knocks and enters, looking remarkably calm and composed.
MRS HUGHES: You wanted to see me, sir?
POIROT: Yes, Mrs Hughes. Thank you for sparing me a moment of your time. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going back to Birkby Manor tomorrow. Do you have anything for your sister that I could take there for you?
MRS HUGHES (honestly surprised): Oh. Oh, well, that's a very kind offer, sir. I will give you a letter for her, if I may. (There is an awkward pause.) I – I assume that you thought it dishonest of me to –
POIROT: - to keep her existence secret from those around you? Not at all. Not everyone shares Dr Latimer's admirable tolerance and indeed affection for those whose minds work differently from ours.
MRS HUGHES: Yes, that's true, unfortunately.
POIROT: I assume it has cost you a great effort to keep this secret for so long.
MRS HUGHES: Yes, it's taken effort, and nerve, and quite a bit of heartache, too, to be honest. But I still prefer it this way.
POIROT: I respect that, Mrs Hughes. Indeed, I admire it. And I see no reason to render your sacrifice null and void by thoughtlessly exposing it to the prying eyes of others.
Mrs Hughes relaxes visibly.
MRS HUGHES: You really are very kind, sir. I wish there was something I could do to repay your generosity.
POIROT: As a matter of fact, Mrs Hughes, there is. It is a request that I hesitate to put to Lord Grantham directly, or to Mr Carson, lest they should misunderstand my intentions. But I'm sure that you won't.
SCENE 110
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE KITCHEN. NIGHT
Mrs Patmore, Daisy and Andy are still gathered in the kitchen. The women have resumed their work, clearing away the remains of the family's dinner and getting the servants' ready, but they're still on the topic of Poirot and Hastings' newest plans.
MRS PATMORE: So what shock was Mr Poirot talking about there?
ANDY: I don't know, but Captain Hastings looked quite pale. Maybe they got bad news in that letter from London. I thought they had it in their hands when I came up. But I was –
MRS PATMORE (exasperated): Yes, yes, we know. Too far away to see what it was about.
DAISY (with a frown): That's not Andy's fault though, is it?
Mrs Hughes comes hurrying downstairs. She's looking quite pale herself now. The others look at her expectantly.
MRS PATMORE: Well, what did he want?
MRS HUGHES: He's asked to see the staff rota for January 6th.
MRS PATMORE (astonished): Did I hear that right?
MRS HUGHES: Well, what I hear are the footsteps of doom. There's only so long that I can pretend I haven't got round to looking it up yet.
She covers her face with her hands for a moment and takes a deep breath to calm herself down.
MRS PATMORE: Can't you say we threw it out?
MRS HUGHES: He's not going to believe that. He'll know that every house like this keeps them for a month, in case there's a dispute about the wages or about time off. (She looks around at the others.) I'm sorry, I think I have to be alone for a moment.
She walks off in the direction of her sitting room. The others exchange extremely uneasy looks.
SCENE 111
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE GREAT HALL. NIGHT
Robert comes out of the dining room, followed by Carson, who carries a tray with a decanter of whisky and several tumblers. They ascend the stairs.
SCENE 112
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE SERVANTS' HALL. NIGHT
Daisy walks in to lay the table for the servants' dinner and finds herself alone in the room with Thomas, who sits at the long table smoking. Avoiding his eyes, she starts placing the plates.
THOMAS: I told Mr Poirot that you wanted to help him investigate. And I also told him that you suddenly stopped wanting to help him investigate.
DAISY: So?
THOMAS: He said he found it interesting.
Daisy shrugs. Thomas takes another drag on his cigarette.
THOMAS: Isn't that a curious choice of words? I would've said irritating. He said 'interesting'. Why is it interesting, Daisy?
DAISY: I don't know. Why don't you ask him?
THOMAS: I'm asking you. What happened to change your mind?
DAISY: Nothing.
Daisy is saved from further questioning by Bates, who comes in together with Anna and Baxter.
BATES (to Thomas): You do know that Mr Carson doesn't like smoke in here just before a meal?
Thomas purses his lips, then takes another drag.
THOMAS: And I don't like lies in here just before a meal.
Under the cover of Bates and Thomas exchanging dirty looks and Anna marching over to throw open a window, Daisy escapes back to the kitchen.
SCENE 113
INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE BLUE ROOM. NIGHT
Poirot and Hastings are again interrupted by a knock on the door. This time, it is Robert who comes in, followed by Carson. Hastings, who was putting a fresh log on the fire, straightens up in surprise.
ROBERT: I'm sorry to barge in, gentlemen. But as Carson told me that Captain Hastings was still here, too, and we've barely seen anything of each other so far, I thought I'd look in. To quote Francis Bacon, 'If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the mountain.'
POIROT: You're very welcome, Lord Grantham.
He makes a move to heave himself out of his armchair – the only comfortable chair in the room – to give it up to the Earl, but Robert waves him down again.
ROBERT: No, no fuss, please. (He exchanges a look with Carson, who places an additional chair for him.) I come bearing a gift. Our finest Laphroaig.
HASTINGS: You spoil your guests, Lord Grantham.
ROBERT (with a chuckle): No, I'm spoiling myself and using you as an excuse.
The men laugh. Robert sits, and Carson starts pouring and serving the drinks.
ROBERT (to Poirot): By the way, Tom Branson sends his best wishes for your speedy recovery, too, but he asks to be excused. He's hoping to catch his cousin in Boston on the phone before they close the office over there.
POIROT: Of course.
Carson takes his leave. Robert raises his glass to his guests. He and Hastings drink.
ROBERT (to Hastings): I've been trying to quiz Tom about your sleuthing work in Thirsk, but he's kept pretty mum about it. All he'd say was that you didn't find any Philip Coyle there.
HASTINGS: Erm, no. We didn't.
Robert looks a little disappointed when Hastings doesn't elaborate.
POIROT: Discretion is the essence of a detective's work, Lord Grantham. You mustn't think badly of Mr Branson if he's adopted our guiding principle.
ROBERT: Oh, I couldn't think badly of Tom Branson, no matter what. It may surprise you to hear that he has a rather colourful past, but he has put his heart and soul into our family's life and livelihood for years now. (He gestures around the room.) We Crawleys would probably not even be here any more if it wasn't for him. My other son-in-law, Matthew, opened my eyes to what needed to be done, but it was Tom who saw it through. I still can't believe he's leaving. He's been talking about it for so long that we all got used to the idea that it was just that, talk.
Robert falls silent and takes another sip of his whisky. Hastings imitates him. Poirot still hasn't touched his drink.
POIROT: This decision to go to America – it has been long in the coming? It is not a recent development?
ROBERT: Oh, no. He's been planning it for years. We officially said goodbye at Christmas. He's still here only because we needed a bit more time for the handover.
POIROT (with a twinkle in his eyes): And for driving lessons?
ROBERT (with a laugh): Oh, has he told you that? Well, I admit it, I've started to feel a bit ridiculous, not being able to make my way around my own estate. And it'll be a while yet before George can drive me. But I'm afraid we haven't made much headway. But he'd still rather waste his few remaining days here on my sorry attempts to be a modern man than let me down. That's who Tom Branson is. No, I don't mind saying it - I am blessed, truly blessed, to call Tom my son, and no man could ask for more.
Silence again. With a sudden crackling noise and a shower of sparks, the logs in the fireplace collapse onto each other, illuminating the three men's faces – Robert's pensive and rather melancholy, Poirot's sympathetic, and Hastings' very, very sheepish.