The Bleak Old Shop of Stuff (2011) s01e03 Episode Script

1 Your mother's dead! You need time to mourn.
Perhaps you'd like to sign the business over to me for the moment? I thought you could do with a chum.
Your son is missing, presumed dead.
What is the good news? You won't have to tell your daughter the bad news, because she has run away.
Papa! I thank you for saving my life.
I want paying.
To London! I may yet save my family! The vision of his dead wife inspired this help-the-poor nonsense.
Jedrington! I remember every Well, I shall provide him with a vision of my very own.
It's all your fault! Aaah! Aaah! Aaaah! Sir! Sir! Noooooo! Oh, lawbs! You've turned French on me! Alouette, je te plumerai.
Matches! Get your matches! Matches! Get your matches! Petrol! Hot petrol! Get your hot petrol! Madam, hot petrol for you? Extra, extra, read all about it! Rich businessman Jedrington Secret-Past hurls self in river, copying wife who did the same after being revealed as secretly French! Now his son's missing presumed dead, his daughter's disappeared and his business lies in mysterious ruins! Ha-ha-ha! I've come about the leaflet.
Ah! Disguised as a freak to avoid trouble.
People don't like a Frenchie.
Is she the real thing? Ooh-la-la! Excellent.
Pusweasel! Perhaps there might be some consideration for my service? You want money? No, I don't want money! Maybe a recompense, a thankeetoken.
Well then, hold on.
Here, take this jade sculpture of a piglet and be gone, low woman.
No, I do want money! I was just trying to be delicate! Give me some money! And if you slouch, the string releases the deportment tiger, My father trusted you, but it turns out you are a vile fiend! Yes I am.
In fact, I once won Vile Fiend of The Year.
You monster! Look out! The tiger! Aaah! Maybe the deportment tiger wasn't my best idea.
Is this heaven or hell? This is the East End of London in the mid-19th century, so I'd say hell.
Oh Lord, why did you spare me? I wanted to die! I could help you die for a small consideration.
Do you mean money? No! I Yeah, money.
I want money.
Alas, I have none.
All I own is my silk trousers, my gold shirt and my cravat made of five pound notes.
Now, young lady, meet your new tutress.
You'll be locked in with her until you learn to speak French.
Why must I learn French? Oh, you'll find out soon enough.
Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! I really must grow a moustache to twirl.
Ha-ha-ha! There, everyone's happy.
I've got your credit-clothes and you can die here.
Thank you, crone.
Already, I feel the cold stealing the very life from me.
Oh, curse you, life-giving sun! Oh, why do you save me, oh Lord? Is it to strive with every sinew to make amends for the harm that I've done? Oh no, it's to drink gin.
Argh! But not bad.
Oh, Mama, you are not dead! Je suis ta maman? You do not remember? But I shall help you remember! And if you are alive, maybe father and Victor are too! Woo! Once I wore opulent clothes.
Now I wear nasty clothes.
A mud hat, a potato-sack suit, and seagull shoes.
Oh Lord! Why hast thou emptied my bottle? To make me get more gin? OK.
At last, London! Where I might be reunited with my remaining family.
Ah, not London.
Meaning London is even further away.
But at least you shall have a chum for company, dear Victor! Smalcolm! You too have escaped from St Nasty's! I have! And where'er you go, I go too! Chums forever! Chums forever indeed! Now, to London! Not that good chums.
Sorry.
My shop! If people as feeble-minded as the French can learn French, how hard can it be? Jedrington! You are alive.
Grimstone, dear partner.
What has happened to my lovely shop? In your absence, I sold the company's assets to myself for a penny, leaving it with only the debts.
It instantly collapsed.
On the plus side, though, I am now incredibly rich.
I thought you were my friend.
Oh, almost forgot.
Your wife's secret, the one that drove her to her death? I revealed that.
And Victor's caning accident at St Nasty's? Me again.
My poor betrayed family! My poor betrayed me! Pathetic.
You splubber! You drayling trink-pot! Shall I kick his stomach out, sir? No, Pusweasel.
Let Mother Gin take her course.
He is already at rage.
Blindness will soon follow.
Who said that? Why's it gone dark? And then death.
And as you die, know that I hold your daughter captive.
She is mine now.
Not my littlie Ha-ha-ha! Are you gin-death, come to claim me? Servegood! Servegood, Servegood! Servegood! Couldn't let a good man like you end up gin-dead, sir.
Alas, I am not a good man.
Oh, but you are.
Thanks to the money you have given me, I have become middle-class.
Well, lower-mid Thank you, Servegood.
Thank you.
Least I could do, sir.
Now, breakfast? Glass of gin, please.
No, sir.
No more gin.
Please? Pretty please? Beautiful please? No, sir.
Angry please? No.
Give me some gin! No, sir.
You are a gin-addict, and must be cured, and to that end, I have been studying the most advanced scientific methods known to the medical world.
Now come and get it, sonny.
I have written down everything about your life and made it into a memory soup, and for pudding there is a memory-jogging madeleine.
Now, eat up! D'accord.
Now, let's try again.
Gin, sir? No, take it away, don't hit me! Then you are cured! Victoria, dearest Victoria! Mama! You remember! Yes! Thanks to you I remember everything! Ooh, holiday in Bournemouth.
Conceptiva Secret-Past! Mr Grimst Oh! Oh how tiresome, you're still alive.
Yes, still alive and still angry.
And I am suing you for ruining my business and for the return of my daughter! Well, I shall sue you back.
But I sued you first! First worst, second the best.
Third the one with the hairy chest.
Oh, don't be so childish.
Victoria! My littlie! I will save you! Papa! Aaaah! Oh look, my posture cudgel! Miss Tightclench, I believe I have something of yours! No! You put Stoolie down! If you say so.
Stoolie! Quick, Mama! Put these on your head! Posture, Miss Tightclench.
Uh-oh! You are pathetic, unfit to have a business or a daughter.
I am not pathetic! Oh no? Would you like some gin? Aargh, don't hit me! Ugh! And now you're alive as well! Why is your family incapable of just dying? Aaah! Urgh! Mama! Oh! Run, Mama! Find Papa! Together you can rescue me! Aaah! Jedrington! Must my late wife's tones haunt me evermore? Dearest husband, it is I! Can it be? Conceptiva beloved wife? I must tell you that by running like that you have just broken the Victorian Gentlewoman's Decorum Maintenance Act of 1843.
Well, now I shall smash it to pieces! Blimey! I am French.
We are a people of passion! Oh, to see you alive! And Victoria will surely be freed by the courts! Now, if only Victor were found, we might be a family again! We have travelled far, dear chum, yet with you here beside me, it has seemed unfar.
The benefits of strong chum-nosity.
And finally we have arrived in London.
Curse these Celtic capitals! Wait, what is this? My parents are alive! And fighting for my sister! We must to court! Oh joyous day! For today, the law will return our daughter to us.
Yes, and our business, I hope.
Fear not, dear husband, for though we can afford no lawyer, we have justice on our side.
Yes, and I have read this book from cover to page four.
Plus you have a loving and devoted wife by your side, Mr Grimstone only has the finest lawyer in Britain.
Mmmm.
All rise for his honour, Judge Harshmore Grimstone! My uncle.
The book says that's not good.
So, how are you, dear boy? Very well thank you, Uncle.
Looking forward to winning this case.
Naturally.
Now, as is his right, Mr Grimstone has elected for the case to be decided by a jury of his cousins.
Hello, Harmswell! A jury is meant to be twelve But I only have three cousins.
Representing Mr Grimstone is Mr Neverlost Dunthem.
By the way, thank you very much for the present, Mr Dunthem.
And I understand you have chosen to represent yourself, Mr Secret-Past.
I have, Your Judge-iness.
Really, this won't take very long.
Right, are we all ready? Three, two, one go! I would like to call Mr Secret-Past.
Boo! Hiss! Mr Secret-Past, you claim my client deliberately ruined your company.
I do.
And yet I shall prove that it was perfectly clear from the outset that my client was evil and thus it is your own fault under the law of Caveat Idiot.
Well Did my client give you a card when you first met? Indeed, this card? I have had an enlargement made.
Here we are But I didn't see No further questions.
Apart from one.
How does my client laugh? I don't understand.
Mr Grimstone, would you please laugh for the court? Clearly an evil laugh.
But No further questions.
Apart from two.
Is this your signature? Er a bit, yes.
Interesting.
Because it's on a legally binding contract signing the company entirely over to my client.
Mr Dunthem, you said two further questions.
That was only one.
Oh.
Erm What's your favourite colour? Blue.
No further questions.
Dearest, you were brilliant! Although I thought your favourite colour was purple.
Oh, damn, of course! Well, I think we've heard enough.
I suggest we skip all the evidence and legal what-you-may-call-it, and cut straight to the verdict that Mr Grimstone wins.
Do the jury agree? Mmm Yes.
Get in! Super.
Right, lunch.
No, wait.
In the matter of the business, I concede.
But I do want my daughter back and I will be heard.
Dearest, you are so hot right now.
Fine.
But be quick about it.
Bring in Exhibit A! And a sandwich.
I would like to call my wife.
Dearest Mrs Secret-Past, would you please describe Exhibit A? She is our daughter.
Our only surviving child.
And we love her very much.
When she was a baby, she clutched my finger, looked at me and I I knew I would love her forever.
No further questions.
I would now like to call Mr Harmswell Grimstone.
Mr Grimstone, why do you want my daughter? Because I, too, love her very much.
Good answer! Well, sounds like no further questions to me.
Er I have a question.
Mr Grimstone, what is my daughter's name? Objection! Woman! Sustained.
Speak again, Mrs Secret-Past, and you will be in contempt of court and of society.
No, wait.
My wife is right, and if I had listened to her months ago, none of this would have happened.
Thank you.
Don't push it.
Mr Grimstone, what is my daughter's name? Is that supposed to be a serious question? This girl you claim to love so much, what is her name? Well, it's Exhibit A.
Her real name! Erm Exhibita? You do not know her name! How can you claim to love her? Names matter not, love does.
And I do love her so much! For know this, cousins of the jury.
My heart has gone out to this child, what's-her-name.
I myself no longer have a family.
Aah! My poor wife died in childbirth.
Aah! Worse, not even her own childbirth.
A heavily pregnant woman sat on her to death.
Oh! But - oh joy - she left me a son.
Ah! Then - oh woe - cruel fate took him too.
Well, I was left de-familied.
So when I saw young thingy-ma-bob was de-familied too, my heart wept and I took her in.
Her parents act all daughter-lovey now, but where were they when she needed them? Drinking gin and hurling themselves in the Thames! But she is our daughter.
Enough! You broke the sacred bonds of family with your gin-drinking and your Thames-hurling, bonds that I take very seriously indeed, while this noble man is prepared to offer this child a place in the best family in Britain.
Hear, hear.
In the case of Secret-Past versus Grimstone, I declare that Let the proceedings proceed no further! Victor! Dearest son! Yay! No! It cannot be! Oh yes, it can be Father.
Father? Father? Yes, I am Smalcolm Grimstone and this man is my father.
He killed my mother by dropping a heavily pregnant woman on her.
When he realised I had witnessed his crime I told him, bit of a mistake in hindsight he sent me to the worst school in the world to rot to death.
Is this true, Harmswell? Of course not! Look at this twisted freak.
As good Victorians, we should not believe him.
We should exploit him in a show! I am no freak! I am merely trapped in the same shirt I was sewn into when I went to the school years ago! Argh! Smalcolm! You are tall! And handsome, very handsome.
Which is an objective manly judgement, and nothing beastly.
Yes, I am a tall man of some looks, and I say that my father, Harmswell Grimstone, is not fit to be a parent! The sacred bonds of family ripped asunder! Intolerable! I'm sure the jury will agree with me when I say, Mr and Mrs Secret-Past, you may have your daughter back.
Oh, joy! Wait! I have something to say which may yet sway you! This had better be good.
Simply this Pusweasel, the blunderbuss! Goody, violence time! Why do you want my daughter so badly? That's quite simple.
One day soon, Britain and France will no longer hate each other, may even become allies.
That's a business opportunity.
So? Your daughter is exactly half French, half English.
I intend to float her on the stock exchange as the first Anglo-French multi-national.
I'll make a fortune! But my daughter is not a commodity.
She's just a little girl that we love very much! Oh, love! Yes, love! Not money, or power, or big houses, or diamond underpants, or any of the things you lured me with! I admit, I fell for the blandishments of wealth.
He did.
I lost sight of love, of what was important.
My children, my wife, my family.
Too right.
I was a fool.
Yup.
A complete idiot.
A total Dearest, you are not helping as much as you think.
Sorry.
For without love, what are we, other than a bald animal with a gift for admin? Love is the woolly jumper to the world's cold indifference, the custard to life's not-quite-ripe rhubarb.
And without love, we are nothing.
Pusweasel, shoot him! No.
This man has moved my wicked heart to noble feelings.
I want some love.
Miss Tightclench, will you be the custard to my unripe rhubarb? Are you suggesting a mutual bonding of two desperate, lonely people? Yeah, girl.
Hmm, sounds good to me.
Oh! Posture! So stern! Posture! Let us see love protect you now! Aaah! Servegood! Least I could do, sir.
Thanks to you, I have been middle-class.
Oh, the things I've seen! Delicate woollen coverings for toilet rolls.
I have drank tea like this! Then politely dabbed my mouth with a serviette.
I have enjoyed being middle-cl ah class Well, lower-mid Servegood, I shall avenge you! Oh, damn! Look, just give me three minutes to reload.
Ah, no! Stop! In the name of the law, I cannot allow this to happen to my client! Thank you.
Now I can allow this to happen.
No! This seems like the aptest of places.
I'll be baaaccckkk! Grimstone was right.
There is money in Anglo-French goods.
There, sir.
Half a pound of Camembilton.
And enjoy your ale with snails, sir.
Or, how about this? Half-top hat, half-beret.
All the rage.
One day, we may even be rich again.
But we are happy as we are, are we not? Yes.
Happier than ever.