Miss Potter Page #2

Surely you would like your enchanting

drawings reproduced as they are?

Well, of course I would prefer colour,

but colour will make the book cost

far more than little rabbits

can afford. I'm adamant.

Which brings us to

your brother's second point.

They wish to reduce the number

of drawings by nearly a third.

Totally unacceptable.

Let me explain.

The idea of reducing the number

of drawings was not my brother's

but my own.

If we can reduce the number

to 31 precisely,

then the illustrations for

the entire book could be printed

on a single sheet of paper using

what we call the three-colour process,

that you desire, and at a relatively

low level of cost. Yes?

I've given your book a great deal

of attention, truly.

I would like it to look

colourful on the shelf

so that it stands out

from ordinary books.

You have given it some thought.

Which other books have you

supervised, Mr Warne?

Personally?

- Yes.

- This will be my first.

Miss Potter, I have recently

informed my brothers and my mother

that I am no longer content to

stay at home and play nursemaid

solely because I am the youngest son.

No. I would like a properjob,

working for my family's firm

and they have assigned me you.

Does that make things clearer?

In other words,

you have no experience whatsoever,

but because you've made

a nuisance of yourself,

demanding a chance,

they've fobbed you off on me.

Miss Potter, I know all too well

what my brothers intended,

giving me your, your 'bunny book',

as they call it,

but I find your book quite

enchanting, delightful,

and if they intended to fob me off,

as you say, then we shall show them.

We shall give them a bunny book

to conjure with,

In colours, mixed to your

satisfaction in front of

your very eyes at the printer.

At the printer?

Oh, I could never.

I will escort you there myself.

If you will allow me the the honour.

Why would I never?

Of course I'll go.

I'm a grown woman.

Miss Wiggin will be there.

I see absolutely no reason why

an artist shouldn't visit her printer.

Excellent, Miss Potter.

Jolly good. Thank you.

I shall make all the arrangements,

and I am, in every way,

my dear lady, at your service.

You and rabbits, extraordinary.

Excuse me.

Johnson, come and get

the charms, would you?

- Slowly, slowly. Put it there.

- I will be careful, ma'am.

One, two, three... ten.

When I was ten, my mother badgered

my father into spending the summer

in the Lake District,

as did other fashionable families.

Like an animal released from its cage,

I fell under its spell.

Mind your frocks now.

Come here!

The woods are full of fairies

and little folk that look for

children that get their

clothes dirty.

And when they find them,

they send the fairy beasts at night,

with sharp teeth and a ready

appetite for young flesh.

- I'm coming to get you, Bea!

- No

Yes!

Bertram. Bertram!

Don't! They're farmers' children.

Their hands. Germs. Come on.

Bertram! Bertram!

Catch him, Bea!

There he is!

Oh, yes!

Out of the way!

There!

There he is.

I don't think a thrashing

will be necessary.

I'll just leave the window

in the nursery unlatched tonight.

The fairy beasts will

take care of the rest.

No! I'll stay clean!

Bertram.

Really, Beatrix, What young man

is ever going to marry a girl

with a faceful of mud?

Well, I shan't marry,

so it doesn't matter.

Of course you shall marry.

All girls marry. I did.

Your grandmother did.

Even Fiona will one day.

- Well, I shan't. I shall draw.

- Oh, those silly drawings.

Then who will love you?

My art and my animals.

I won't need more love than that.

Perhaps not at 11, but let's see

if you still feel the same way at 18.

I drew Mama when we first met

and she married me.

And, Fiona, doesn't mud wash off?

Bertram, come along.

Die, you little devil!

Right. Prince Charming himself

couldn't resist

such a bonny, wee girl.

Not when he meets my brother,

Vlad the lmpaler.

- Got you!

- Bedtime my young reprobates.

Now, shall I leave a window

open, or?

No! I don't like fairy beasts.

Well, it is a well-known fact that

fairy beasts never eat a child

when he's tucked up in his own bed.

The fairies have been

in the north country

for hundreds of years,

and have had many adventures.

I told you about you

a changingly child?

No.

Yes, several times.

I want to hear it.

Oh, go ahead, Fiona.

I'll tell myself a story.

Right.

Once upon a time,

there was a king and a queen.

Once upon a time,

there were four little rabbits.

Their names were...

Flopsy, Mopsy...

Cotton-tail and Peter.

'Now, my dears,

said old Mrs Rabbit one morning,

'you may go into the fields

or down the lane,

'but don't go into

Mr McGregor's garden.'

"'Why not, Mother?'

'Because your father had

an accident there.

He was put in a pie

by Mrs McGregor.'

Peter, who was very naughty,

ran straightaway to

Mr McGregor's garden,

and squeezed under the gate.

I like it.

But round the end of

the cucumber frame,

whom should he meet,

but Mr McGregor!

Peter was out of breath and

trembling with fright,

and he had not the least idea

which way to go.

- It's muddy, actually.

- One more, Mr Mortimer.

Lighten it up.

Mr McGregor caught sight of him

at the corner,

but Peter did not care.

He slipped underneath the gate

and was safe at last

in the wood outside.

Not quite. See here?

It's still a bit...

When Peter came home

his mother put him to bed

with a tablespoonful of camomile tea.

But Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail

had bread and milk

and blackberries for supper.

This book, it's changed things

for me, Mr Warne.

How so?

For one thing, it's given me

the chance to prove to my mother

that an unmarried woman of 32 can

do more than attend tea parties

- and smile at dull conversations.

- Yes, indeed.

You know, my family never wanted me

to get into publishing either.

We do make rather a good team,

don't you think?

Provided, of course,

we prove them wrong.

Mother, this is Miss Potter.

At last, we poor forgotten folk

in Bedford Square get to share

some of Norman's excitement.

Mrs Warne, it's so kind of you

to invite me.

Nonsense. It was the desperate

act of a woman who was beginning

to forget what her son looked like.

Mother!

And this is my sister, Amelia.

Hello.

Norman allowed us a peek at

Peter Rabbit, Miss Potter.

We found it utterly charming.

So we wheedled, cajoled,

and absolutely insisted that

Norman bring you round for tea.

I have decided that you and I

are going to be friends.

Have you?

Well, Norman tells me that

you're unmarried, as am I,

and that you're not

unhappy about it.

And I can't tell you how much

that pleases me.

Why can't you talk about

the weather like other girls?

Well, all the other unmarried

daughters in our circle,

and, believe me, there are many

they sit around all day,

gossiping and unaccountably

bursting into tears.

But you have done something.

You've written a book.

I warn you, I am prepared to

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