Miss Potter Page #4

So I went into the garden and filled

an entire notebook with sketches.

Men are bores.

They're useful for only

two things in life

financial support and procreation.

Millie!

You say outrageous things!

- Ah, but the price.

- What price?

Domestic enslavement.

Childbirth. Terrifying.

No, unmarried women have

a better life.

I swear it's true.

No houses, no babies, no husbands

demanding things all the time.

As long as one's lucky enough

in life to have a good friend.

I'm so glad Norman found you, Beatrix.

I was missing something

I didn't even know.

Dear Miss Potter,

I enclose with great pleasure

the latest in what I hope

will be a long line of tales.

Yours affably, Norman Warne.

Mr Warne.

Would you and Millie like to

come to a Christmas party?

My parents hold one every year,

and I think it's high time

that I invited someone.

Yes, we'd be delighted to attend.

Thrilled, in fact.

Be still, little imps!

Peter, you naughty boy!

Look what an example you're setting.

That's better. Any more of that

and I'll paint you out.

Your father is home.

How was your day at the club, Father?

Interesting, as always.

Rupert, we seem to have a situation.

We need your resolution.

I want to invite Norman Warne and

his sister to our Christmas party.

With Lady Armitage?

With Sir Nigel and Sybil?

A tradesman, Rupert!

How will anyone have fun?

He's the gentleman

who publishes my books, Father.

- Rupert.

- I have something here, Beatrix.

I went into Hatchards bookshop and

I purchased this with good money.

Hugh Whitteford bearded me in

the club and rattled on for hours.

You know old Hugh, jowls all aflutter.

Wife's bought three of

your girls' books

for her granddaughter's nursery.

Sending more by ship

to chums in Bombay.

Very soon, the whole club was

telling me of some purchase

that they had made of

our daughter's creation.

So I thought it was time

that I bought one.

So I went straight into Hatchards,

put my shilling onto the counter.

I would have given you one.

But I wanted to buy one

like everyone else.

Now, I owe you an apology, Beatrix.

When you showed me your books,

all I saw was my little girl

bringing me clever drawings

for me to comment on.

You're not a little girl anymore.

You're an artist.

The genuine article.

I would have been proud to use

that word about myself,

and now, I'm proud of you, Beatrix.

Thank you, Father.

So I don't see any reason why

we cannot make a little social effort

to welcome the gentleman responsible

for this blessing into our home.

Thank you, Father.

Thank you.

I think it will be good

for all of us.

Merry Christmas, Rupert.

Glenys, don't serve Sir Nigel

the punch with brandy

- unless he demands it.

- Yes, madam.

And after dinner, he'll take port.

Come and give me a little signal

after he's had four glasses.

The house shimmers, my darling.

You've done it again.

- Good evening, sir.

- Good evening.

- Mr Warne, Millie,

- how wonderful!

Thank you, Jane.

Thank you. Thank you.

Mother, Father,

I would like you to meet

Miss Amelia and Mr Norman Warne.

How charming of you

to be so punctual!

Go on, one wouldn't hurt.

I think Wiggin is under strict

orders never to leave our side.

How festive!

Such scintillating conversation.

Oh, mine as well! The weather

in Amsterdam in July.

Could I interest you ladies

in an after dinner coffee?

Some of the gentlemen would like

to play a few hands of cards,

but they're short of a fourth.

I don't suppose you play whist,

Mr Warne?

I'm afraid I've never had

much aptitude for cards.

- Oh, that is a pity.

- I play.

This is to play with Sir Nigel,

Miss Warne.

Sir Nigel takes his whist

very seriously.

I play rather well, actually.

Do you, Millie?

Well, I'm sure you two have

plenty to talk about without me,

and if they can't play

without a fourth...

Come along, Miss Warne.

Carols in the music room, my dears.

Perhaps I could show you

your Christmas present.

Yes.

It's upstairs.

I will bring the coffee.

- Mrs Wiggin.

- Miss.

Miss Wiggin. I have taken

the liberty of adding

a splash of brandy to our coffees.

Well, it is Christmas.

Is this where you paint, Miss Potter?

Yes, and it's where we shall

find your Christmas present.

Oh, my!

I think, other than Bertram and Father,

you are the first man ever

to set foot in this room.

- Would you like me to leave?

- No, no, no. Wiggin is here.

And if this is the best I can do

for scandal at my age,

I'm hardly worthy of my reputation

for creativity.

Here.

My, but it's beautiful!

Is it the new story?

Miss Potter, is it the new story?

- Is it?

- I'm not going to tell you.

Come over here.

That's Jemima Puddle-Duck.

It's the first drawing I ever did

of Jemima. I was eight, I think.

Jemima, stop that!

Stop what?

Just some silliness.

- And what's this?

- Oh, it's a music box.

My father gave it to me

for my sixth birthday.

He did the painting himself.

So your father is an artist too?

No. He always wanted to be an artist,

but the family disapproved.

So, he took up law.

The joke is I've never once

heard him discuss a case.

He goes to his club every day,

and never his office.

So, I don't really know

what he does.

- Oh, dear.

- Wiggin is fallible.

I'm afraid, Miss Potter, your

reputation is now officially dented.

'Let me teach you how to dance'.

Do you dance, Miss Potter?

No. Well, not well.

I make a terrible hash of it too

when I try,

but the words are very sweet.

You know the words?

Will you sing the words?

Well, er...

@ Let me teach you how to dance

@ Let me lead you to the floor

@ Simply place your hand in mine

@ And then think of nothing more.

@ Let the music cast its spell

@ Give the atmosphere a chance.

@ Simply follow where I lead

@ Let me teach you how to dance.

Miss Potter.

I know you have decided not to marry.

All my life, I thought that

I would not marry either

but something has happened that

has caused me to change my mind.

No, please, let me go on,

for if I do not say

what I have to say it now,

I fear I never will.

Miss Potter,

I would like you to consider...

Mr Warne.

Doing me the honour, and I do not

expect an immediate answer.

Beatrix?

I was just showing Mr Warne

his Christmas present.

I'm an impeccably genteel,

unmarried lady, Mother.

I haven't begun to invite

men to my room.

Mr Warne?

Wiggin!

What is the picture, Beatrix?

I've written and drawn

little children's books,

which have been published.

The man who published them is here.

Mr Norman Warne.

To thank him for his assistance

and generosity...

Well... I'm...

I'm writing him a Christmas story.

- Can we hear it?

- It isn't finished, so...

Oh, go on.

I suppose, before we part

for the evening,

I could share a glimpse of

the unfinished tale of

'The Rabbits' Christmas Party'.

One particularly snowy Christmas Eve,

a young rabbit and

his fearsome older brothers

and fiercely brave sister

set out on a journey they make

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