Miss Potter Page #3

like you very much.

Well, in that case, I shall have

to like you too, Miss Warne.

Call me Millie, and that's to be

the last of Miss Potter too,

I'm afraid.

Absolutely. Beatrix, by all means.

Thank goodness, the tea!

I'm beginning to feel quite ill

with all this bonhomie.

Oh, do let's have tea

in the garden, Mother.

It's too beautiful a day

in every way not to share it

with the flowers.

Well, I love to garden.

Mother disapproves,

but I can't help myself.

I love flowers shockingly.

That's why you have

the hands of a greengrocer.

I do not!

Thank heavens Norman sometimes

deigns to read to me.

If I had to rely on you

for companionship,

I should expire of loneliness.

My mother's taste in books,

Miss Potter, and, I'm afraid,

in life, runs to the er...

melodramatic.

Oh, nonsense.

I like good English biographies

and you know it.

I loathe silly romances, such as

the ones your brothers publish.

My brothers and I, Mother.

I am part of the firm now too,

you know.

A sweet-natured boy like you

does not need to work.

Your brothers provide quite well

for all of us,

and I need your smile here.

But then, no-one listens to

a crotchety old lady

in a wheelchair.

Indeed they don't, Mother.

My mother may be crotchety,

Miss Potter,

but she does have an eye

for beautiful things.

She was fascinated by your drawings.

Utterly unique.

Well, when I see something unusual,

I'm not contentjust to look at it.

I must capture it.

Last summer, in the farmyard,

I was drawing something

that was quite lovely in the sun,

and suddenly, I realised I was

drawing the pigs' swill bucket.

I had to laugh at myself.

I feel a bit of a chill, Norman.

Can you take me inside?

- Of course.

- Please excuse me.

It was delightful meeting you,

Miss Potter.

And you.

Do stay longer, and teach

Millie how to behave.

I think that means she likes you.

Did she say she likes to

draw swill buckets?

Indeed she did, Mother.

Indeed she did.

I think by Wednesday, you could

hang the lace curtains upstairs.

- Then at least it will look like summer,

even if it doesn't feel like it. -Yes, Madam

Oh, Beatrix. What is this stain

on your blouse?

Jane says it won't wash out,

and she's tried everything.

- Oh, it's ink.

- Ink?

I must have brushed against

something at the printers'.

Jane, I'm very sorry for causing

you extra work.

Jane, take the blouse away.

Give it to the poor.

This behaviour shows scant

regard for your father's money.

Well, one day, I shall make enough

money to buy my own clothes.

I'm far too old to be living off

the generosity of my father.

You're too old to be

spending so much time

in the company of a man

who takes you to printers!

Your father does not approve,

and neither do I.

Mr Warne is publishing my book.

Oh, that book! I can hardly wait

till it's finished and forgotten.

I don't understand you, Beatrix.

Your father and I have introduced

you to so many suitable young men

of your class, young men of fortune,

and impeccably good family.

Oh, certainly, like that charming

fellow, Lionel Stokely.

Lionel is a particular favourite

of his uncle, the earl,

whom we visit every summer

at Stokely Court.

Oh, and I do regret terribly that

I didn't accept Harry Haddon-Bell.

Harry's great-grandfather

went to Sandhurst.

Harry's grandfather

went to Sandhurst.

Harry's father

went to Sandhurst.

And so I went to Sandhurst.

Father and I and the gamekeeper often

go out riding in the morning...

Ashton's a crack shot.

But no, you're just

a pig-headed girl.

Mr Warne is asking for you

at the door, Miss.

Mr Warne? He's not expected.

Unannounced. Perfection!

Come on, here.

Two sold while we were

at the booksellers.

That amounts to 40 in a week.

- Which is 160 in a month.

- Good gracious!

I'm trying to remember

my twelve-times table.

1,920 in a year.

- I can't breathe.

- That's just in one shop.

My dear Miss Potter,

you are an author.

We have achieved

what we set out to do.

We have created a book.

Yes.

What's the matter?

A cloud just passed across your face.

You've been very generous

with your time, Mr Warne,

Shown me things that

I never would have seen.

Printing houses!

- I shall miss your company.

- Are you losing my company?

It just occurred to me

that the book is out

and our association is

coming to an end.

Miss Potter.

I had hoped that you might

have other stories.

Really?

Really?

Do you know, I recently remembered

one I thought I had forgotten it.

About a duck...

a very stupid duck.

Based on one of your friends?

It's based on myself, I think

It's a story I told a friend once.

My family summers in the Lake District,

and there was someone there,

the grounds man's son, who was

always interested in my stories.

Miss Beatrix. Are you skulking?

No such thing, Willie Heelis. No.

I was drying off my sketch book.

Not bad, Miss Beatrix.

Do you have any animal

stories for me today?

I don't. Sorry. Nothing new.

That's Jemima.

She doesn't have a story yet.

Not a proper one.

- Jemima Duck?

- Jemima Puddle-Duck.

And a stupider duck

the world has never seen.

She goes looking for a safe

place to lay her eggs

and meets a charming gentleman

with a long bushy tail

and very sharp teeth.

Precisely.

The gentlemen offers her his shed

and Jemima is surprised to find

that there are so many feathers in it.

But then, as I told you,

she is a very stupid duck.

I like it.

I'd love to paint every view

in this valley,

but I'm not very good at landscapes.

Wait too long and it won't be

here to paint, Miss Beatrix.

- Really, that's ridiculous.

- No, I'm serious.

The large farms are being broken up

into small plots and sold off.

Well, you can't stand

in the way of progress.

So they say.

But I say beauty's

worth preserving.

I know you do, Willie.

But nobody could disagree

with you about that.

Well, I'll see you soon, then.

Perhaps not, Miss Beatrix.

I'm leaving for Manchester next week.

To study the law?

Yes, indeed. I have to better

myself somehow.

- Good luck.

- Send me some drawings.

I will.

He encouraged me to take

my writing seriously.

We must get started on

the new story straight away.

Jemima Puddle-Duck.

I think the public should like that,

and Tom Thumb and Hunker Munker.

What do you think?

Well, if you, if you think.

Your book has been very

important in my life.

You have been very

important in my life.

And you in mine, Mr Warne.

- And we must do it again and again.

- And again!

I promise you,

I intend to be a nuisance.

When did you decide

you wouldn't marry?

Just before my 20th birthday.

Mother came to my room and

announced that Lionel Stokely

was to marry Gwendolyn Alcott and

they were to live at Stokely Court,

which Lionel had just

inherited from the earl.

And I knew right then that

she would bring me no more suitors

and that I would never marry.

And that shocked me.

But I felt relieved.

And that shocked me.

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