Miss Potter Page #5

every year to celebrate

with their friends.

Now, rabbits are highly sociable

creatures, and legend has it that

wherever they find themselves

on Christmas Eve,

they get together and

throw a jolly party!

Now, I know such a legend exists

because I made it up.

The rabbits travel through

the woods to the well-appointed

burrow of their cousins where

a warm fire is waiting for them.

They take off their frosty coats

and the party begins!

Now, I know on this night

that they will eat and talk

and dance and laugh and

roast apples on the fire!

But I'm not certain

how the story ends,

because I haven't made

that part up yet.

But, in any case, Mr Warne will

have to read it first,

as he is my strict censor,

and, well, it is his present.

Merry Christmas, Mr Warne.

Thank you, Miss Potter.

It's so beautiful.

There'll be no problem with presents

for the grandchildren next year,

- I dare say.

- You must be very proud, Helen.

It's just a children's story.

Outstanding!

- Can I talk to you?

- Of course.

What is it?

Is there something wrong?

No. As my confidante.

You have something to confide?

How delicious!

Your brother has asked me

to marry him,

and I feel, quite irrationally,

that I may say, 'yes'.

I'd like your approval.

My approval?

Beatrix, don't be a fool.

Marry him.

Tomorrow. Don't waste a moment.

How could you hesitate?

You're not upset?

Well, why would I be upset?

Well, both Norman and I.

You'll be alone.

You have a chance for happiness,

and you're worrying about me?

I wouldn't worry about you if,

if someone came along

who loved me and whom I loved,

I would trample my mother.

- Do you love Norman?

- Yes.

Then marry him. Don't you dare

think about anyone else.

But what about all

the blessings of being alone?

Hogwash.

What else is a woman on her own

supposed to say?

You have a chance to be loved.

Take it.

And leave me happy,

knowing that the two people

that I love are happy.

That is the most thought

you should ever have for me.

There you are, Beatrix!

The guests.

Yes, Mother.

Millie...

Go.

What is going on tonight?

Why do I feel like a stranger

in my own home?

You have a clever daughter, Rupert.

You must be very proud.

- Of Beatrix? Yes, we are.

- To write and draw like that!

Beatrix should meet my niece, Anne.

She makes pots.

- Ceramics, Nigel.

- Look like pots to me.

As for you, madam,

I suggest you take up knitting.

Merry Christmas.

What was all that about?

Sir Nigel disapproves of the way

I play whist.

I'm afraid I won two guineas from him.

Mr Warne!

- Your painting.

- Oh, yes. My Christmas present.

Yes.

- Goodbye, Mr Warne.

- Goodbye, Mr Warne.

Sir?

I have an appointment to see

Mr Rupert Potter in the Eagleton Room.

- He's expecting you, sir.

- Thank you.

Come along, Norman,

it's only her father.

Come in.

Thank you very much, Mr Potter,

for taking the time

out of your very busy day.

Goodbye, Mr Warne.

If you will not accept our advice

in this decision,

then we will have to impose

that advice.

Respect our knowledge and

the worth of our opinions, Beatrix.

Oi! Get over there!

I said that I'll do it and I will.

Norman Warne is a tradesman, Beatrix.

No Potter can marry into trade,

- and that's final.

- And what are we?

Father's money comes from

Grandfather's printing works

in Lancashire.

A trade, Mother.

And if Grandfather hadn't

run for parliament,

we'd still be living

in the shadow of his factories.

Your legacy came from Grandfather

Leech's cotton trade.

When did we become

so high and mighty?

We're parvenus, Mother.

Social climbers.

Your father and I We will not

allow this marriage for your own good,

and there is no reason to

become insulting!

It's not an insult!

It's the truth!

Our lives are pretension and

social aspiration.

Sir this and Lady that!

Norman Warne is a gentleman

of comfortable means,

and not one bit beneath us,

and I intend to marry him.

Not if you expect to take

one penny of your inheritance!

You haven't disinherited Bertram

for running off

with a wine merchant's daughter.

Happily, I am a published author.

I have means of my own.

This discussion is over.

Come in, Father.

Why is it that after any difficult

situation, she always sends you?

Mama didn't send me.

I don't like tension in my home.

I want to resolve this matter.

Well, you can't.

I've made my decision.

Your mother wants what is

best for you, as do I, Beatrix.

An impulsive and inappropriate

marriage is something that

you would ultimately regret.

You can't allow me to

marry and leave.

With Bertram moved away,

who would take care of you?

You surely do not think

we would deny you happiness

just simply because we needed

a nursemaid?

That is a knife in my heart.

Well, then, what is it, Father,

because I cannot understand.

You cannot make us the villains,

Beatrix.

Your mother trotted out countless

suitors all of them acceptable.

- You rejected every one of them.

- I know that, Father.

I didn't want to be a silly woman

marrying a man simply

because he was acceptable,

or rich enough to take care of me.

But does that mean that

I'm never to be loved?

Father?

Wiggin, wait here, please.

I'd like to enquire about my

royalty earnings, Mr Copperthwaite.

And whether I might, at some stage,

afford a house of my own

in the country.

You have enough to buy an estate.

Several estates, and a house in town.

You're quite a wealthy woman,

Miss Potter.

Am I truly?

Yes, the income has become

quite regular.

If your fortune continues to grow,

you should have no financial worries

for the rest of your life.

Extraordinary.

Beatrix.

Beatrix, come and sit with us,

please.

- I'd rather not, Father.

- We have something to discuss.

A proposition.

And, for heaven's sake, Beatrix.

Let the servants carry your dishes.

- Tea?

- No, thank you.

Nonsense. You always take tea.

Contrary to what you think and

what you have so vehemently

expressed, your mama and I

want you to be happy.

We simply doubt that

this marriage will do the trick.

Helen, please.

Sit down, Beatrix.

What we don't want is for you

to rush into something

which you may later wish

to reconsider.

I won't want to reconsider.

- We are not convinced.

- Helen, please.

We are not convinced.

Yet, neither have we hearts of stone.

Therefore, this is what we propose.

You may accept Mr. Warne,

but it must remain a complete

secret even from his own family.

Now, this summer, yourself,

Mama and I will go,

as always, to the Lake District.

If, at the end of the summer,

you still wish to proceed,

then we will announce

your engagement

and you can marry with

our blessing and our love.

Why must no one know?

So there'll be no public

embarrassment when you change.

- If, If you change your mind.

- Lf.

Now, Beatrix, if you care for

this man as much as you say you do,

then in a few months the ardour

will still be there.

If your mother, and I, are correct,

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