Death and Nightingales (2018) s01e02 Episode Script
Episode 2
That child is not my daughter! She's not kin to me and she will not inherit.
The heartbreak of this place? Love it and hate it like no place else on Earth.
Tomorrow, I leave it forever.
Do you know a not so young man called Maurice Fairbrother? And you think this Fairbrother's a Dublin Castle agent? A spy? I don't know what he is, Billy, but he intends to call on you.
Say what it is that has you moody.
The last time you came in and sat on my bed, kissed me, not fatherly.
Oh, God! I'm Liam Ward of Brackagh.
You have a problem, Liam? You know, since that first time in the yard, you've seldom been far from my mind and heart.
You've done this before, Liam? A question? A statement.
One night, when I was 12, he got very drunk, opened the big safe in the gun room and showed me his gold.
Why not take what we need? I couldn't kill anyone.
Nor would I want you to.
There are bromides.
Opiates that will pacify a nervous horse.
When will he next have drink taken? July 10th, my birthday.
One thing is certain sure - God will not smile on what is planned for tonight.
Is this the gentleman? That's Albert.
And a very stout gentleman he is.
Albert? Come on, Albert.
Come on.
Come on, Albert.
Fetch us a scald of water, Mercy, will you? Poor Albert.
Blinky Blessing's here.
You'd wonder sometimes about killing creatures at all.
Small wonder.
We seem good at it.
Jesus, is all the help going? Tip the scald for me at least.
How about it, Mercy? Huh? Hey! All you'll get from me, Blessing, is a thick ear or a scrabbed face! Let me out.
What, are you counting your wee beads? Saying your rosary? Jesus, Boyle! You've me pants destroyed! No, but you're the sudden wee bunt! Huff I am! It's a sight sweeter than your smelly danglers! He's a bad dog, that fella.
Blessing? He's strange, certainly.
Bad.
My father says that bad dogs should be put down.
"You'd wonder sometimes about killing creatures at all"? We should shape to go, Miss.
Right, let's see.
Boss! A gentleman for you here.
Maurice Fairbrother.
Are you free to talk a little? Are you buying or selling, Mr Fairbrother? Inquiring.
Then you'd better come with me.
I'll not waste your time, Mr Winters.
My brief here has to do with Irish-American plots to bomb England.
As you see, on Saturday, the 24th of January alone, three bombs exploded in London.
One in the House of Commons, in Westminster Hall and in the banqueting room of the Tower of London.
What has that got to do with me? The plots are Irish-American, Mr Winters, the dynamite stolen from closer to home.
The man we suspect is both a neighbour and a tenant of yours - Liam Ward.
Surely you know the man, sir? I know him.
He was in this room a few hours ago.
Is he one of them? A Fenian? He's listed Clan na Gael and Republican Brotherhoods in Boston and New York.
Dear God! We arrested a known associate of Ward's in Liverpool.
When we searched his room, we found a case beneath the bed.
It contained 60 pounds of dynamite, some of the dynamite sticks marked with the name of your quarry.
So why haven't you arrested Ward? That's none of your concern, Mr Winters.
What we need from you is information.
Well, I can't help you, I know nothing.
But you will if you can? But how? If I know nothing? The British Administration here relies on three things, Mr Winters - the Army, the Royal Irish Constabulary and landlords.
No, sir, you can't shrug it off.
We're not talking about back-street cut-throats.
We're talking about the evil that guides them - the cells in Dublin, Boston, New York, Paris and God knows where else.
We're talking about hatred versus loyalty.
What the Fenian Dynamite Campaign aspires to, what it declares openly it has sworn to obtain, is not merely the repeal of the Union but the establishment of a perfectly independent Irish Republic.
As you can see, I have a quarry here, a stone-cutting business.
And my cows milk, my hens lay, my pigs fatten .
.
my garden yields and I have orchards full of bramleys and ditches, full of damsons, and bogs full of turf.
And when it rains, the grass grows, and when it shines, we make hay.
I believe in that, Mr Fairbrother, and very little else.
Nor am I overfond of informers.
Now, there's the door.
I think you should use it.
What's this? It's a copy of a complaint lodged by your late wife, Catherine, at Enniskillen barracks 14 years ago.
You must know what it's about.
It says you punched her drunkenly and locked her out in midwinter.
Police reports tend to use words like molest.
I looked it up.
It means interfere harmfully, to cause acute distress, to abuse, to brutalise, to debase.
You have a foreman down there.
Would he, for example, know or suspect anything about missing dynamite? You have six tenements in the village, a farm and two cabins on your land.
Are you saying from all these people there's none can tell you anything, none in your debt can oblige a query? I think you can help, Mr Winters, and I believe you should.
You're in the wrong shop, so .
.
and your telltale foolscap can't dock me for old sorrows.
Not just old sorrows, it would seem.
There is fresh detail.
You have a daughter.
I have.
Dearer to me than all of this.
Apparently, your daughter has twice this past year sought refuge in the bed of a maidservant, Mercy Boyle, to avoid and again the word used in the report is molestation.
Get out! Oh! Shall we swap? Let's sit a minute.
Ah! Oh! Does the stealing not worry you? Surely it must? It's not stealing.
It's taking back what was stole from us long ago.
I've never taken so much as a farthing in my life.
Think about what we could do with that gold, Beth.
Not just for ourselves, but for Ireland.
Life on the run.
Billy Winters owes you, Beth.
For the beatings, the humiliations heard long ago.
For using you as a dairymaid-come-housekeeper.
For all the drunken gropings, for the shameful suggestions.
He owes you.
What? We should go.
Go, go, go! It's a class of slavery.
What is? All the go we're at now and every day, slaves to the fire, lugging grub miles to feed men, baking and boiling and cooking, sloistering with buckets and mops, Sunday to Sunday, Christmas to Christmas, till we're fit for nothing but the chair in the corner or the box in the ground.
Do you know, it's a wonder there aren't more whores in the world? It's a short life but more sport in a week than we have in a lifetime.
God forgive me.
If we hadn't this to lug to the bog, we'd have missed the sun in the fields, talking here like this.
You could be right, though, in a way.
You'd need to be fierce brassy for the like of that, and begging your pardon, Miss, I'd make a better whore than you.
I'm going to miss you, Mercy Boyle.
When we do part.
Part? Are you going somewhere, Miss? Come on, now, they'll be shouting for their food.
Are you, Miss? We'll talk later.
About time, too! What did I tell you? It's a class of slavery.
What time is it? It's gone half past five.
Oh, I must go.
Go where? Boss's orders.
I have to go into town with him to see Percy French.
He'll be too grand to talk to us plain folk after this outing.
Oh, Jesus, it's the Dummy McGonnell! He put the heart across me! What the hell's he staring at? What the hell are you staring at? Well, you carry your share of the tea things back to the kitchen, at least, and don't leave empty-handed.
I'm leaving, Mercy, early tomorrow, and I'll not be back.
I doubt I'll ever see you again.
I couldn't leave without telling you, without saying goodbye.
That's put very bare.
I can't tell you more.
Does the boss know? No.
And he mustn't.
If you hear movement in the house tonight, please stay in bed.
Well, he'll grieve something awful, Miss.
When you're gone for a day, it's, "Miss Beth this, "Miss Beth that, have you told Miss Beth? We don't want to worry Miss Beth!" The man dotes on you.
That's partly why I'm leaving.
It'll break the man's heart.
And mine.
You're having me on, Miss! There's no sense to it.
There is.
Are you not happy here? I'd be happier elsewhere.
Do you think? Yes, I do.
Is it Is it because of the boss touching you? In part.
Jesus, you're never running off with a fella? Don't be silly.
Oh, Jesus, you are, you're eloping! You've gone all red, Miss! You're running off with a fella! It's never any of them dull dogs the boss brings out betimes? Is it anyone I know? It's no-one anyone knows, least of all me.
Beth! Whisht, there's the boss! I heard.
There's a salad set out for him.
Mercy! But someone will need to wet him a pot of tea.
Let him drink whisky.
Beth! Mercy! This is a quare turnabout.
Beth! Mercy! Go on! Go on! Any sign, Mickey? I've just seen Mercy, sir, up on Feenan Hill.
She'll be five minutes off at most.
And Miss Beth? Mercy's alone, sir.
Hurry up.
Get Punch in the gig, bring him to the front and wait.
Aye, Billy.
Sure.
And what do you think, Captain Winters? Am I a gullible fool, a push-over, to be spied on by a maidservant .
.
reported to constabulary, questioned by an Englishman? So much for the Christmas bribes to the barracks, stout for the constables, whisky for the sergeant.
And what does it add up to? A bucket of piss! And who informed? Oh, Mercy's knight in blue, her constable companion, shit Shanley, Seamus Grin Shanley, her well-informed, uniformed informer! Christ, Mercy, he's like a bag of weasels in there, shoutin' after you a fright! We heard - for why, Mickey? Well, whatever it is, he's in there, talking to himself.
A sure sign he's in wicked form.
Oh! Is that you, Mercy? Yes, sir.
Can I see you a minute, in the dining room? Coming, sir.
You brought tea to the bog, Mercy? We did, sir, yes.
How did they manage today? There's a sight of stuff spread, sir, tomorrow'll be the end of it, they wrought well.
That's good.
The weather's been lucky.
Yes.
Where's Miss Beth now? Gone for the cows, I'd say.
Have you anything else to tell me, Mercy? Blinky Blessing came and Albert got the business.
A Blessing in disguise? Yes, sir.
Death comes to us all in this way or that, isn't that so, Mercy? Yes, sir.
You fell to your knees to kiss Bishop Donnelly's ring this morning, do you remember? Yes, sir.
Has he housed you, or fed you, or paid you .
.
forgone rent for years on end .
.
helped your family in every possible way, employed your disadvantaged brother? No, sir.
Have I been unkind to you ever? No, sir.
Well, then? I don't know what you want me to say, sir.
Oh, no, not say, Mercy - tell.
I want you to tell me now what you've told about me outside this house! All the malice, and the slander, and the lies! Why are you hiding your mouth, girl? I say I've done I've done nothing, sir, I said nothin' about you to anyone.
Now you lie to my face! Time was you'd be whipped for what you've done, and you will be when I'm back, if you're not gone, you and your gulping half-wit brother! Now pack your bags and get out! Go on, then! Constable Shanley, what are you doing here? Better ask Mercy, Miss.
She's inside.
Mercy, what are you doing? Mercy? The boss, Miss.
He's told me to go.
He says if I'm still here when he gets back he'll have me whipped.
What? I've said things I shouldn't have, please don't ask me more.
What things? What things have you said? Things about you and the boss.
Never nothing unkind about you, Miss, just about how you came up here to me some nights to escape him.
And who did you say such things to? You know who.
Him outside.
I didn't mean nothing by it.
I don't know who it is could have told the boss.
Shanley will know.
Ask him.
I'm sorry.
Miss, I'm sorry.
I wouldn't harm you for all the oats in Ulster.
I'm fonder of you than any fella, ten times fonder than Shanley with his barefaced lies.
Are you really leaving? I know.
Why would you tell me? Why would you trust me ever again? Oh, no, Miss Beth! No! Oh! Oh, Mercy! Stable Punch and be back here in half an hour.
And stay sober! Aye, Billy Sir.
He swears he's an atheist's son.
Billy Winters.
Twice in one day, Jimmy - you're spoiling me.
Could you not persuade Elizabeth? It's her mother all over again, punishing.
It's not a dislike of Percy French, it's a dislike of anything I like.
What's that you're drinking? Tea.
Bewley's most likely and very good.
How in hell do you people stay on the straight and narrow? Or do you? I have a cathedral to finish.
That's putting money in your purse, Billy, and there's pastoral work, and I read and travel a lot.
All that keeps me half-decent for whatever judgment's pending.
I saw Billy Winters on the road.
Where's he gone? Come inside.
He's on his way to see Percy French in Enniskillen.
He presented me with a ticket this morning, a birthday gift.
I know what that would mean.
He'll sit in the front row and clap too loudly.
And then afterwards most likely take me backstage to meet Mr French.
And then the drunken groping on the way back in the gig, and the obligatory piano recital and the singing, and no time to prepare the bromides.
So I refused him.
Have you prepared them? No.
Where are they? What if he stays overnight? He won't.
How many should I use? Use all of them.
Really? Tomorrow at dawn, we'll be in a rail yard at Enniskillen, looking for the guard's wagon of a goods train bound for Belfast.
From there, we'll take a cab to a hotel on Royal Avenue.
That night, we'll board a packet steamer to Glasgow, and then a train down to London and the beginning of a new life together.
Can you do it? Yes.
I'll be waiting by the broken silver birch.
One more thing about your daughter.
What's that? She knows him.
What? I've said it - she knows him.
Talk plain, sir.
Your daughter spent a night with Liam Ward in a shack on Corvey Island.
Is that plain enough? You're mistaken.
No mistake.
Also, at least two other protracted assignations at night - one in his cabin, one in the woodland that flanks your avenue.
That's what the report says.
Assignations.
Have you tortured me enough, sir? I tell you this only because I think you should know what is happening in your own house.
Well, you know where to find me if your daughter lets anything slip, or if you should happen to remember anything of significance about Ward.
You can find your way to hell, Fairbrother, if they'll have you! Excuse me! That's beginning to show.
Drunk, my lord, and for good cause.
Can I share? I think you know.
What do you mean by that, Billy? Oh, I think you know.
Fairbrother.
Did he call? Did you not just see him here now? Here? No, not at all.
Blackmail, of a sort.
I suppose I can't ask? No, you can't.
I inquired because possibly I can help.
I hope you didn't concede.
I gave him the toe of my boot.
Good for you.
Excuse me, Padre.
Excuse me.
Shall we? Well, Mr Parnell is right about them, at least.
There can be no peace here till the British Army's gone.
Them? Them? That's me, sir.
That's my people.
Them is me, Billy Winters, and if they go, well, then, what happens? I want no truck with your Infallible Man in Rome.
None.
It's almost 300 years now, Billy, six generations - that's how long you've been with us.
How long more before you become part of us? 300 more? Never.
A pity.
A great pity you feel that way.
You say you want to help when what you really want is information.
About what? Fairbrother's quest? Beth? Ward? You know it all anyway - oldest secret service in the world.
Cathy always running to confession, forever quoting you, "Father Jimmy this, Father Jimmy that, tattle, tattle, tattle," telling tales in a darkened box! You're a ridiculous man sometimes, Billy - blunt, coarse, Ulster and proud of it.
Ticking me off for drinking? Jesus, you don't need whisky, you're intoxicated with yourself! Still got half a notion you'll make a convert of me! No bloody fear, not my soul, not my gold, not my land.
I'll defend it to the death! Ladies and gentlemen, I have just received the most agreeable confirmation.
Mr French is making his way up the street, towards the Town Hall, with all possible dispatch.
Oh, it's about time! Yes.
About time, indeed, yes, yes.
Members of the Percy French Appreciation Committee may avail themselves of further refreshments downstairs in the Council Chambers after the performance, where you will be able to meet and greet in person one of the most celebrated and loved Irishmen of this or any other century! Hup, come along, as quick as you can! No, mate, not tonight.
No! I'm with Mr Winters.
He has a ticket for me.
No, come on.
Mr Billy Sir! Go away! Go away, go on! Get out! Mr Billy Sir! Get out! Go on! Hands off! Where the hell are you at? This hoeboy has no business here tonight, I'd swear.
And I'd swear he's no hoeboy - he's my friend, Michael Dolphin, and he's my guest.
Should we not go, Billy Sir? The concert's started.
You go, Mickey.
I'm staying here.
Why, Billy Sir? I don't feel like seeing Percy French tonight.
I wouldn't want to be going in there on my own, Billy Sir.
Then, Mickey Dolphin, be so good as to have a drink with me.
Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Above all beasts, I bow to you.
Lord of all.
Never cross the lough for a woman.
Breed with your own kind.
Three months gone so she was .
.
so she was, my .
.
late, lovely, lynx-eyed wife.
Long buried now with What did I do? What did I do, that you did that to me? God in heaven What did I do!? Hah! Caw-caw! There's no nightingales in Ireland.
No solitary nightingale in the whole bloody island of Ireland.
But there's larks in Brackagh! They sing and sing, till their little hearts become unstrung.
A lark in the dark .
.
chancer to a maiden's prayer.
Goodnight.
Goodnight, Mickey Dolphin.
Goodnight, Mr Billy, Sir.
Go on.
You missed it, girl, the best night ever in the town of Enniskillen.
You might say the best night ever in the province of Ulster.
And you out here on your own .
.
with Mr Keats.
The place was packed to the gills, high, middle and low gentry.
Two bishops, ours and yours.
Your wee fella Donnelly with his chain gang.
Maguires and liars, small squires.
And then, of course, myself, William Hudson Winters without his daughter Elizabeth.
You missed it badly.
Perhaps I did.
Is there a splash of spring water? Percy's the man for me.
By God, you fairly lashed on the mustard, girl.
I know you're partial to it, sir.
Percy's my hero.
They often end as clowns or criminals.
Who? Heroes.
The greatest Irishman of this century or any other .
.
a clown? A criminal? Who the hell do you think you are? You can tell me that, sir.
How do you mean? You know what I mean - my real father.
You're being impertinent.
No, sir, pertinent.
You ask me tonight above all nights? My dead love, Cathy .
.
hawk-proud and wren poor .
.
the dodgy daughter of a dodgy horseman.
23 years ago I made a solemn covenant with the Roman Catholic Church that all children born to us would be of that faith.
A small matter, I thought.
I' I'd no faith much to lose, and I'll grant you I was no saint/ And gold can put a halo on the devil.
But to marry as she did, knowing what she knew.
There was no there was no giddy mishap, no drunken blunder.
She coldly .
.
and deliberately duped me.
And I loved her.
I loved her.
My my Jezebel.
I I loved her.
A brazen, barefaced bitch! And you ask me now, I asked her then.
I asked and I asked till she screamed in my face.
She didn't know.
It was "one of two".
She loved neither, it was just "a wee bit of bad luck".
That's your answer.
The only thing I gave you was your name, Elizabeth.
That much I was allowed.
You ask hard, you'll get a hard answer.
"One of two.
" "A bit of bad luck.
" And that's all she told me.
Come back, Elizabeth.
Sit by me.
I'm not out to hurt.
Want me to pass on my cup of sorrow.
A thimble of tears I wouldn't wish on you, girl, for all your days.
How you came into this world is not your doing.
The truth is you're all I care about now.
The whole world.
My crime is that I raised you and I loved you over-much.
But even the best of men can make the worst of blunders and be heart sorry.
And the best of women, I suppose.
I'll tell you more.
No.
I've told you enough.
Now you tell me.
Tell, sir? Yes .
.
tell.
Hm? Nothing? What is there to tell, sir? Except you must be very tired.
You should be in your bed.
Oh, Beth.
Beth.
Kiss me goodnight.
What at you staring at? I heard you stumble, sir.
You thought the drunken fool had broken his neck? Are you honest, girl? What? Would you deceive me? How could I, sir? You tell me.
Could you, huh? Would you? Will you? Ought you? Could you pretend I'm your confessor? Or are you loyal to Rome, like your mother? Rome is as much to me as your bowler hat is to you.
And what's that? Dressing up to keep others down.
By God, you have all the answers, girl.
Do I, sir? Your mother's daughter, for certain.
You'll lock up? Of course.
You're worth your weight in gold.
Am I, sir?
The heartbreak of this place? Love it and hate it like no place else on Earth.
Tomorrow, I leave it forever.
Do you know a not so young man called Maurice Fairbrother? And you think this Fairbrother's a Dublin Castle agent? A spy? I don't know what he is, Billy, but he intends to call on you.
Say what it is that has you moody.
The last time you came in and sat on my bed, kissed me, not fatherly.
Oh, God! I'm Liam Ward of Brackagh.
You have a problem, Liam? You know, since that first time in the yard, you've seldom been far from my mind and heart.
You've done this before, Liam? A question? A statement.
One night, when I was 12, he got very drunk, opened the big safe in the gun room and showed me his gold.
Why not take what we need? I couldn't kill anyone.
Nor would I want you to.
There are bromides.
Opiates that will pacify a nervous horse.
When will he next have drink taken? July 10th, my birthday.
One thing is certain sure - God will not smile on what is planned for tonight.
Is this the gentleman? That's Albert.
And a very stout gentleman he is.
Albert? Come on, Albert.
Come on.
Come on, Albert.
Fetch us a scald of water, Mercy, will you? Poor Albert.
Blinky Blessing's here.
You'd wonder sometimes about killing creatures at all.
Small wonder.
We seem good at it.
Jesus, is all the help going? Tip the scald for me at least.
How about it, Mercy? Huh? Hey! All you'll get from me, Blessing, is a thick ear or a scrabbed face! Let me out.
What, are you counting your wee beads? Saying your rosary? Jesus, Boyle! You've me pants destroyed! No, but you're the sudden wee bunt! Huff I am! It's a sight sweeter than your smelly danglers! He's a bad dog, that fella.
Blessing? He's strange, certainly.
Bad.
My father says that bad dogs should be put down.
"You'd wonder sometimes about killing creatures at all"? We should shape to go, Miss.
Right, let's see.
Boss! A gentleman for you here.
Maurice Fairbrother.
Are you free to talk a little? Are you buying or selling, Mr Fairbrother? Inquiring.
Then you'd better come with me.
I'll not waste your time, Mr Winters.
My brief here has to do with Irish-American plots to bomb England.
As you see, on Saturday, the 24th of January alone, three bombs exploded in London.
One in the House of Commons, in Westminster Hall and in the banqueting room of the Tower of London.
What has that got to do with me? The plots are Irish-American, Mr Winters, the dynamite stolen from closer to home.
The man we suspect is both a neighbour and a tenant of yours - Liam Ward.
Surely you know the man, sir? I know him.
He was in this room a few hours ago.
Is he one of them? A Fenian? He's listed Clan na Gael and Republican Brotherhoods in Boston and New York.
Dear God! We arrested a known associate of Ward's in Liverpool.
When we searched his room, we found a case beneath the bed.
It contained 60 pounds of dynamite, some of the dynamite sticks marked with the name of your quarry.
So why haven't you arrested Ward? That's none of your concern, Mr Winters.
What we need from you is information.
Well, I can't help you, I know nothing.
But you will if you can? But how? If I know nothing? The British Administration here relies on three things, Mr Winters - the Army, the Royal Irish Constabulary and landlords.
No, sir, you can't shrug it off.
We're not talking about back-street cut-throats.
We're talking about the evil that guides them - the cells in Dublin, Boston, New York, Paris and God knows where else.
We're talking about hatred versus loyalty.
What the Fenian Dynamite Campaign aspires to, what it declares openly it has sworn to obtain, is not merely the repeal of the Union but the establishment of a perfectly independent Irish Republic.
As you can see, I have a quarry here, a stone-cutting business.
And my cows milk, my hens lay, my pigs fatten .
.
my garden yields and I have orchards full of bramleys and ditches, full of damsons, and bogs full of turf.
And when it rains, the grass grows, and when it shines, we make hay.
I believe in that, Mr Fairbrother, and very little else.
Nor am I overfond of informers.
Now, there's the door.
I think you should use it.
What's this? It's a copy of a complaint lodged by your late wife, Catherine, at Enniskillen barracks 14 years ago.
You must know what it's about.
It says you punched her drunkenly and locked her out in midwinter.
Police reports tend to use words like molest.
I looked it up.
It means interfere harmfully, to cause acute distress, to abuse, to brutalise, to debase.
You have a foreman down there.
Would he, for example, know or suspect anything about missing dynamite? You have six tenements in the village, a farm and two cabins on your land.
Are you saying from all these people there's none can tell you anything, none in your debt can oblige a query? I think you can help, Mr Winters, and I believe you should.
You're in the wrong shop, so .
.
and your telltale foolscap can't dock me for old sorrows.
Not just old sorrows, it would seem.
There is fresh detail.
You have a daughter.
I have.
Dearer to me than all of this.
Apparently, your daughter has twice this past year sought refuge in the bed of a maidservant, Mercy Boyle, to avoid and again the word used in the report is molestation.
Get out! Oh! Shall we swap? Let's sit a minute.
Ah! Oh! Does the stealing not worry you? Surely it must? It's not stealing.
It's taking back what was stole from us long ago.
I've never taken so much as a farthing in my life.
Think about what we could do with that gold, Beth.
Not just for ourselves, but for Ireland.
Life on the run.
Billy Winters owes you, Beth.
For the beatings, the humiliations heard long ago.
For using you as a dairymaid-come-housekeeper.
For all the drunken gropings, for the shameful suggestions.
He owes you.
What? We should go.
Go, go, go! It's a class of slavery.
What is? All the go we're at now and every day, slaves to the fire, lugging grub miles to feed men, baking and boiling and cooking, sloistering with buckets and mops, Sunday to Sunday, Christmas to Christmas, till we're fit for nothing but the chair in the corner or the box in the ground.
Do you know, it's a wonder there aren't more whores in the world? It's a short life but more sport in a week than we have in a lifetime.
God forgive me.
If we hadn't this to lug to the bog, we'd have missed the sun in the fields, talking here like this.
You could be right, though, in a way.
You'd need to be fierce brassy for the like of that, and begging your pardon, Miss, I'd make a better whore than you.
I'm going to miss you, Mercy Boyle.
When we do part.
Part? Are you going somewhere, Miss? Come on, now, they'll be shouting for their food.
Are you, Miss? We'll talk later.
About time, too! What did I tell you? It's a class of slavery.
What time is it? It's gone half past five.
Oh, I must go.
Go where? Boss's orders.
I have to go into town with him to see Percy French.
He'll be too grand to talk to us plain folk after this outing.
Oh, Jesus, it's the Dummy McGonnell! He put the heart across me! What the hell's he staring at? What the hell are you staring at? Well, you carry your share of the tea things back to the kitchen, at least, and don't leave empty-handed.
I'm leaving, Mercy, early tomorrow, and I'll not be back.
I doubt I'll ever see you again.
I couldn't leave without telling you, without saying goodbye.
That's put very bare.
I can't tell you more.
Does the boss know? No.
And he mustn't.
If you hear movement in the house tonight, please stay in bed.
Well, he'll grieve something awful, Miss.
When you're gone for a day, it's, "Miss Beth this, "Miss Beth that, have you told Miss Beth? We don't want to worry Miss Beth!" The man dotes on you.
That's partly why I'm leaving.
It'll break the man's heart.
And mine.
You're having me on, Miss! There's no sense to it.
There is.
Are you not happy here? I'd be happier elsewhere.
Do you think? Yes, I do.
Is it Is it because of the boss touching you? In part.
Jesus, you're never running off with a fella? Don't be silly.
Oh, Jesus, you are, you're eloping! You've gone all red, Miss! You're running off with a fella! It's never any of them dull dogs the boss brings out betimes? Is it anyone I know? It's no-one anyone knows, least of all me.
Beth! Whisht, there's the boss! I heard.
There's a salad set out for him.
Mercy! But someone will need to wet him a pot of tea.
Let him drink whisky.
Beth! Mercy! This is a quare turnabout.
Beth! Mercy! Go on! Go on! Any sign, Mickey? I've just seen Mercy, sir, up on Feenan Hill.
She'll be five minutes off at most.
And Miss Beth? Mercy's alone, sir.
Hurry up.
Get Punch in the gig, bring him to the front and wait.
Aye, Billy.
Sure.
And what do you think, Captain Winters? Am I a gullible fool, a push-over, to be spied on by a maidservant .
.
reported to constabulary, questioned by an Englishman? So much for the Christmas bribes to the barracks, stout for the constables, whisky for the sergeant.
And what does it add up to? A bucket of piss! And who informed? Oh, Mercy's knight in blue, her constable companion, shit Shanley, Seamus Grin Shanley, her well-informed, uniformed informer! Christ, Mercy, he's like a bag of weasels in there, shoutin' after you a fright! We heard - for why, Mickey? Well, whatever it is, he's in there, talking to himself.
A sure sign he's in wicked form.
Oh! Is that you, Mercy? Yes, sir.
Can I see you a minute, in the dining room? Coming, sir.
You brought tea to the bog, Mercy? We did, sir, yes.
How did they manage today? There's a sight of stuff spread, sir, tomorrow'll be the end of it, they wrought well.
That's good.
The weather's been lucky.
Yes.
Where's Miss Beth now? Gone for the cows, I'd say.
Have you anything else to tell me, Mercy? Blinky Blessing came and Albert got the business.
A Blessing in disguise? Yes, sir.
Death comes to us all in this way or that, isn't that so, Mercy? Yes, sir.
You fell to your knees to kiss Bishop Donnelly's ring this morning, do you remember? Yes, sir.
Has he housed you, or fed you, or paid you .
.
forgone rent for years on end .
.
helped your family in every possible way, employed your disadvantaged brother? No, sir.
Have I been unkind to you ever? No, sir.
Well, then? I don't know what you want me to say, sir.
Oh, no, not say, Mercy - tell.
I want you to tell me now what you've told about me outside this house! All the malice, and the slander, and the lies! Why are you hiding your mouth, girl? I say I've done I've done nothing, sir, I said nothin' about you to anyone.
Now you lie to my face! Time was you'd be whipped for what you've done, and you will be when I'm back, if you're not gone, you and your gulping half-wit brother! Now pack your bags and get out! Go on, then! Constable Shanley, what are you doing here? Better ask Mercy, Miss.
She's inside.
Mercy, what are you doing? Mercy? The boss, Miss.
He's told me to go.
He says if I'm still here when he gets back he'll have me whipped.
What? I've said things I shouldn't have, please don't ask me more.
What things? What things have you said? Things about you and the boss.
Never nothing unkind about you, Miss, just about how you came up here to me some nights to escape him.
And who did you say such things to? You know who.
Him outside.
I didn't mean nothing by it.
I don't know who it is could have told the boss.
Shanley will know.
Ask him.
I'm sorry.
Miss, I'm sorry.
I wouldn't harm you for all the oats in Ulster.
I'm fonder of you than any fella, ten times fonder than Shanley with his barefaced lies.
Are you really leaving? I know.
Why would you tell me? Why would you trust me ever again? Oh, no, Miss Beth! No! Oh! Oh, Mercy! Stable Punch and be back here in half an hour.
And stay sober! Aye, Billy Sir.
He swears he's an atheist's son.
Billy Winters.
Twice in one day, Jimmy - you're spoiling me.
Could you not persuade Elizabeth? It's her mother all over again, punishing.
It's not a dislike of Percy French, it's a dislike of anything I like.
What's that you're drinking? Tea.
Bewley's most likely and very good.
How in hell do you people stay on the straight and narrow? Or do you? I have a cathedral to finish.
That's putting money in your purse, Billy, and there's pastoral work, and I read and travel a lot.
All that keeps me half-decent for whatever judgment's pending.
I saw Billy Winters on the road.
Where's he gone? Come inside.
He's on his way to see Percy French in Enniskillen.
He presented me with a ticket this morning, a birthday gift.
I know what that would mean.
He'll sit in the front row and clap too loudly.
And then afterwards most likely take me backstage to meet Mr French.
And then the drunken groping on the way back in the gig, and the obligatory piano recital and the singing, and no time to prepare the bromides.
So I refused him.
Have you prepared them? No.
Where are they? What if he stays overnight? He won't.
How many should I use? Use all of them.
Really? Tomorrow at dawn, we'll be in a rail yard at Enniskillen, looking for the guard's wagon of a goods train bound for Belfast.
From there, we'll take a cab to a hotel on Royal Avenue.
That night, we'll board a packet steamer to Glasgow, and then a train down to London and the beginning of a new life together.
Can you do it? Yes.
I'll be waiting by the broken silver birch.
One more thing about your daughter.
What's that? She knows him.
What? I've said it - she knows him.
Talk plain, sir.
Your daughter spent a night with Liam Ward in a shack on Corvey Island.
Is that plain enough? You're mistaken.
No mistake.
Also, at least two other protracted assignations at night - one in his cabin, one in the woodland that flanks your avenue.
That's what the report says.
Assignations.
Have you tortured me enough, sir? I tell you this only because I think you should know what is happening in your own house.
Well, you know where to find me if your daughter lets anything slip, or if you should happen to remember anything of significance about Ward.
You can find your way to hell, Fairbrother, if they'll have you! Excuse me! That's beginning to show.
Drunk, my lord, and for good cause.
Can I share? I think you know.
What do you mean by that, Billy? Oh, I think you know.
Fairbrother.
Did he call? Did you not just see him here now? Here? No, not at all.
Blackmail, of a sort.
I suppose I can't ask? No, you can't.
I inquired because possibly I can help.
I hope you didn't concede.
I gave him the toe of my boot.
Good for you.
Excuse me, Padre.
Excuse me.
Shall we? Well, Mr Parnell is right about them, at least.
There can be no peace here till the British Army's gone.
Them? Them? That's me, sir.
That's my people.
Them is me, Billy Winters, and if they go, well, then, what happens? I want no truck with your Infallible Man in Rome.
None.
It's almost 300 years now, Billy, six generations - that's how long you've been with us.
How long more before you become part of us? 300 more? Never.
A pity.
A great pity you feel that way.
You say you want to help when what you really want is information.
About what? Fairbrother's quest? Beth? Ward? You know it all anyway - oldest secret service in the world.
Cathy always running to confession, forever quoting you, "Father Jimmy this, Father Jimmy that, tattle, tattle, tattle," telling tales in a darkened box! You're a ridiculous man sometimes, Billy - blunt, coarse, Ulster and proud of it.
Ticking me off for drinking? Jesus, you don't need whisky, you're intoxicated with yourself! Still got half a notion you'll make a convert of me! No bloody fear, not my soul, not my gold, not my land.
I'll defend it to the death! Ladies and gentlemen, I have just received the most agreeable confirmation.
Mr French is making his way up the street, towards the Town Hall, with all possible dispatch.
Oh, it's about time! Yes.
About time, indeed, yes, yes.
Members of the Percy French Appreciation Committee may avail themselves of further refreshments downstairs in the Council Chambers after the performance, where you will be able to meet and greet in person one of the most celebrated and loved Irishmen of this or any other century! Hup, come along, as quick as you can! No, mate, not tonight.
No! I'm with Mr Winters.
He has a ticket for me.
No, come on.
Mr Billy Sir! Go away! Go away, go on! Get out! Mr Billy Sir! Get out! Go on! Hands off! Where the hell are you at? This hoeboy has no business here tonight, I'd swear.
And I'd swear he's no hoeboy - he's my friend, Michael Dolphin, and he's my guest.
Should we not go, Billy Sir? The concert's started.
You go, Mickey.
I'm staying here.
Why, Billy Sir? I don't feel like seeing Percy French tonight.
I wouldn't want to be going in there on my own, Billy Sir.
Then, Mickey Dolphin, be so good as to have a drink with me.
Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Above all beasts, I bow to you.
Lord of all.
Never cross the lough for a woman.
Breed with your own kind.
Three months gone so she was .
.
so she was, my .
.
late, lovely, lynx-eyed wife.
Long buried now with What did I do? What did I do, that you did that to me? God in heaven What did I do!? Hah! Caw-caw! There's no nightingales in Ireland.
No solitary nightingale in the whole bloody island of Ireland.
But there's larks in Brackagh! They sing and sing, till their little hearts become unstrung.
A lark in the dark .
.
chancer to a maiden's prayer.
Goodnight.
Goodnight, Mickey Dolphin.
Goodnight, Mr Billy, Sir.
Go on.
You missed it, girl, the best night ever in the town of Enniskillen.
You might say the best night ever in the province of Ulster.
And you out here on your own .
.
with Mr Keats.
The place was packed to the gills, high, middle and low gentry.
Two bishops, ours and yours.
Your wee fella Donnelly with his chain gang.
Maguires and liars, small squires.
And then, of course, myself, William Hudson Winters without his daughter Elizabeth.
You missed it badly.
Perhaps I did.
Is there a splash of spring water? Percy's the man for me.
By God, you fairly lashed on the mustard, girl.
I know you're partial to it, sir.
Percy's my hero.
They often end as clowns or criminals.
Who? Heroes.
The greatest Irishman of this century or any other .
.
a clown? A criminal? Who the hell do you think you are? You can tell me that, sir.
How do you mean? You know what I mean - my real father.
You're being impertinent.
No, sir, pertinent.
You ask me tonight above all nights? My dead love, Cathy .
.
hawk-proud and wren poor .
.
the dodgy daughter of a dodgy horseman.
23 years ago I made a solemn covenant with the Roman Catholic Church that all children born to us would be of that faith.
A small matter, I thought.
I' I'd no faith much to lose, and I'll grant you I was no saint/ And gold can put a halo on the devil.
But to marry as she did, knowing what she knew.
There was no there was no giddy mishap, no drunken blunder.
She coldly .
.
and deliberately duped me.
And I loved her.
I loved her.
My my Jezebel.
I I loved her.
A brazen, barefaced bitch! And you ask me now, I asked her then.
I asked and I asked till she screamed in my face.
She didn't know.
It was "one of two".
She loved neither, it was just "a wee bit of bad luck".
That's your answer.
The only thing I gave you was your name, Elizabeth.
That much I was allowed.
You ask hard, you'll get a hard answer.
"One of two.
" "A bit of bad luck.
" And that's all she told me.
Come back, Elizabeth.
Sit by me.
I'm not out to hurt.
Want me to pass on my cup of sorrow.
A thimble of tears I wouldn't wish on you, girl, for all your days.
How you came into this world is not your doing.
The truth is you're all I care about now.
The whole world.
My crime is that I raised you and I loved you over-much.
But even the best of men can make the worst of blunders and be heart sorry.
And the best of women, I suppose.
I'll tell you more.
No.
I've told you enough.
Now you tell me.
Tell, sir? Yes .
.
tell.
Hm? Nothing? What is there to tell, sir? Except you must be very tired.
You should be in your bed.
Oh, Beth.
Beth.
Kiss me goodnight.
What at you staring at? I heard you stumble, sir.
You thought the drunken fool had broken his neck? Are you honest, girl? What? Would you deceive me? How could I, sir? You tell me.
Could you, huh? Would you? Will you? Ought you? Could you pretend I'm your confessor? Or are you loyal to Rome, like your mother? Rome is as much to me as your bowler hat is to you.
And what's that? Dressing up to keep others down.
By God, you have all the answers, girl.
Do I, sir? Your mother's daughter, for certain.
You'll lock up? Of course.
You're worth your weight in gold.
Am I, sir?