Angel

(church bell ringing)

- Huh!

(tinkling)

- Miss Angelica!

(tinkling)

Come along! Quickly now.

Now remember,

Miss Angelica,

finish your studies.

Come on, in you go.

(horses neighing)

Come on!

Nice clear voices, please.

(knocking)

Come in.

Well, well, Miss Deverell returns.

I hope this time

you have a better excuse

for your absence.

- I've been sick, Miss Dawson.

- And being sick has prevented

you from writing your essay.

- No. I've done it.

- Then perhaps you'd care

to share it with the class.

- Of course I will.

- Shh, shh, shh...!

(girl coughing)

- "In the depths of the forest,

"sheltered from the four winds

"by ancient oaks

"whose leaves in summertime

offer a blessed shade,

"stands, stark against the vast

vacuity of the empyrean,

"a great house

"cherished by the gods,

on whose steps

"iridescent-feathered peacocks

sometimes strut,

sheltered from the furious

lightening-veined storm--"

- You obviously read

a great deal, Miss Deverell.

- No, I never read.

- You're quite sure you haven't

been stealing from Mr Dickens

or Miss Corelli?

- Books don't interest me.

- So what do you do

in your spare time?

- I play the harp, mostly.

(class laughing)

- You'll get no marks

for this essay, Miss Deverell.

Your homework

was to describe where you live,

and unless I'm mistaken,

you do not live in a great house

cherished by the gods,

but over your mother's

grocery shop.

(class laughing)

And now the next one.

Miss Brown, I think.

- Angel!

Uh, I'm so sorry,

I won't be a minute.

Robert, would you take over

here for me, please? Thank you.

I want a word with you,

young lady.

- What is it now?

- You wicked girl.

How dare you say those things

about your father!

"Not my real father"?

"Daughter of an aristocrat"?

How d'you think this makes me

look in front of my customers?

- Who cares

about your customers?

- We'd have nothing today

if your father hadn't set up

this business.

D'you understand?

- What I understand

is that one day, because of me,

the name of Deverell will shine

throughout the world with glory.

- That's enough! Your lies

will be the death of me!

(laughing)

- I can just see the headlines:

"Grocer found dead -

suicide suspected as mother

of literary prodigy is discov--"

How dare you hit me!?

- I'm sorry, but I'm sick of it.

- "In 1885,

"into one of the oldest

and most illustrious families

"in all England...

"... was born a lively

and adorable-looking child,

"who, in later years,

"at the pinnacle of her glory

and renown,

"would be known to the world

as Lady Irania."

- Angel, your dinner's ready.

You're still angry with me?

- Leave me alone.

- Madam says she's looking

for a servant for her daughter,

Miss Angelica.

I'm wondering

if I should mention Angel.

She's always dreamed of going

to Paradise House, hasn't she?

- Why, Lottie...

that would be

a wonderful opportunity!

- And that way,

if she gives up school,

people won't think

she's been expelled -

which could be bad

for business, Emmy.

- Angel,

sweetheart, your aunt's got

some wonderful news.

- I shall never go

to Paradise House.

- Really?

Because school told me

you've been writing

all about your little visits.

- Never like that!

- Never like what?

- Never like you, Aunt Lottie:

serving other people.

- Serving other people's

nothing to be ashamed of.

We're all servants of God.

- Well, you won't make me

a servant of any kind.

- Of course, I was forgetting.

Humility and selfishness

count for nothing in this world!

- Calm down, Lottie. And, Angel,

apologize to your aunt.

(laughing)

She's only trying

to find you a job.

There's no reason to insult her.

- I don't want her apologies,

Emmy.

She can be out on the streets

starving for all I care.

- I am starving,

as it happens.

Mother, would you bring me up

some tea and toast,

assuming dear Aunt Lottie

has left us any.

(laughing)

- How dare you talk like that!

- Please, Lottie,

let's not get angry.

- Exactly! Both of you

keep your voices down,

so I can concentrate

on my writing.

- Coward...

(panting)

I love thee...

(panting)

I love thee

and now you wouldn't...

... she loved...

his soul...

as she looked...

into the eyes

of her lover...

(panting)

... and call...

and call...

too fast...

... and wept...

with desperation.

(exhaling heavily)

The... End.

(sighing)

- Hmm...

Nothing wrong with your heart.

Nothing wrong with you at all,

in fact.

- Are you sure?

- Why don't you want

to go back to school?

Problems with your lessons?

- No.

- Your friends?

- No.

I've written a novel.

- A novel?

Well, that's no reason

to miss school.

- I'm waiting to hear

from a publisher.

- You do realize

that publishers

are very busy people.

- Oh, yes - but I've already had

three replies.

- And?

- Well, they're still

thinking about it.

But they're all

really interested.

- Well, I'm sure

that's all very splendid,

but in the meantime,

don't you go

worrying your mother.

You must go back to school -

and tell her the truth.

(knocking)

- Angel?

There's a letter for you.

- Who's it from?

- How do I know?

It's from London.

- London?

"Dear Miss Deverell,

"it gives me great pleasure

to be able to inform you...

"the company... Lady Irania...

suitable for publication."

Oh!

- Whatever's the matter?

- A publisher wants to meet me.

- Whatever for?

- To publish my book, Mummy!

I've done it!

I'm going to be a writer!

I'm going to be a famous writer!

Ah!

(continues reading letter

very quickly)

"... market

for this kind of material...

"... depending, of course,

on the success

of the publication,

we would be happy

to consider any further..."

(continues reading: inaudible)

- Mr. Gilbright

will see you now.

- I know I'm late - I got lost

on the way from the station.

- Miss Deverell. Theo Gilbright.

Don't worry. Please sit down.

It must be your first time

in London.

- Yes.

- I have to say,

I was really expecting

someone a good deal older.

- You mean now you've seen me,

you won't publish my book?

- No, not at all.

Your age

is a delightful surprise.

Although I do have to say

that the style

and imaginative skill

of your novel

had all of us here guessing.

Some of us thought

"old lady in rural retreat,"

others were more inclined

towards "bald-headed man

in his fifties."

- Do I look like a man?

- No, it's just that, uh

- ahem -

we get a lot of submissions

under pseudonyms.

- Well, mine wasn't.

I've got nothing to hide.

I'm very proud of my book.

- Absolutely.

And do you think

you'll write another one?

- Oh, yes! I can let you have it

in a couple of weeks.

- Oh! And what will

the new book be about?

- It's about an actress.

- Are you interested

in the theatre, Miss Deverell?

- Not really.

I've never been.

- Well, I imagine

you must be a great reader.

- No. I don't have the time.

I prefer writing.

The minute I start,

my head's full of ideas.

- But you must at least have

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