Mrs Brown Page #3

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## [Bagpipes Continue]

Oh, God, the pipes.

- What are those?

- What?

- Those over there. There.

- Ah... [Speaking Scottish]

[Speaking Scottish] How can I

possibly say that with a straight face?

I'm thinking of publishing

my Highland journals.

- Are they worth readin'?

- I'm told so.

- By whom?

- Sir Henry Ponsonby tells me

they're charming.

What does he know

about the Highlands?

He has been attending

at Balmoral for many years.

Well, that hardly makes him

an expert.

His remarks were directed at the quality

of writing, not at subject.

I don't groom a horse

to have it admired by others.

I groom it

because it needs grooming.

I do not do it for others,

but Ponsonby thinks they are good.

Just say what you have to say, woman!

What other people think

shouldn't matter to you.

Of course I shall say

what I have to say. I always do.

Well, if it's a good opinion

you're lookin' for,

he's the very man

to oblige you.

What Mr Ponsonby was appreciating

was their literary merit,

a skill not intimately associated

with a knowledge of grooming.

Literary appreciation does not begin

and end with Tennyson.

[Sighing]

I mention you in them.

In particular, the occasion

when Albert was alive.

The royal carriage overturned

during a storm,

and you demonstrated

such loyal service...

in returning the Queen

and princesses safely to Balmoral.

For friendship.

She'll be gone between 8:00

and 6:
00 on Friday...

visiting the Grant family

at Glasalt.

In order to make the journey

there and back in one day,

she must have no distractions

the night before.

She'll take a light supper

in her private drawing room

and retire early.

She'll need to sign dispatches

before she retires.

That can wait

until the weekend.

- They're important papers!

- It can wait! Anything else?

Are you sure Her Majesty

is up to such a long journey?

She's only just recovered

from a severe head cold.

If I didn't think she was up to it,

I wouldn't let her go, would I?

Surely it is for the gentleman

to decide when to stop.

It is a disgusting habit.

It should be discouraged.

- Yes, but isn't midnight

a little excessive?

- It's quite late enough.

But, Mama, the room was built

expressly for that purpose.

It has been a smoking room by tradition

ever since Father built it.

Brown's responsibilities

are onerous enough already.

He has far too much to do during the day

without having to stay up all night...

waiting for you

to go to bed.

The smoking room will be closed

and the lights put out at 12:00.

- Mama.

- And that is my last word

on the matter.

Well, I'm sorry, but I really

do think it's intolerable...

the gentleman of the house

should be dictated to by a servant.

It's the Queen's decision.

I beg your pardon?

Mama!

I think you should go now.

You've tired your mother enough.

[Brown] There's really no

need for this, you know.

- I'll not have her

seein' it like it is.

- It's the last thing she expects.

That's as may be, John, but I just

wish she'd warned us she was comin'.

Had she warned ya,

you'd be throwin' water on the fire

and hiding knitting under cushions.

- You can't stop a wife

from bein' house-proud.

- [Chuckling]

- All right, show her in.

- Fine.

They're ready

for you now, ma'am.

- I hope they didn't go

to any trouble, John.

- Ah, well.

Ma'am.

Mr Grant, how good it is

to see you.

- Your Majesty.

- Mrs Grant.

- How's your knee?

Has the pain eased a little?

- Not so bad, ma'am.

Good.

Oh, and here are

Douglas and John.

Haven't you grown?

Growing all the time, ma'am.

- Would you care to sit, ma'am?

- Thank you.

I know that.

That's Cairn Lochan.

- We picnicked there once,

John, did we not?

- Aye, we did, indeed, ma'am.

[Chattering]

Thank you so much.

Ah, the greasy pole.

Don't be facetious, dear.

Remember your position.

It's my position

I'm thinking of.

I see the Prince of Wales

is here.

I hope he's got

his mama's permission.

- Oh, Salisbury.

- Madam.

Why is the Queen

penny-wise and pound foolish?

Because she looks

after the Browns...

and lets the sovereigns

take care of themselves.

And in your opinion,

is she foolish?

- Well... What I mean to say...

It's hardly right, is it?

- What?

Well, the Queen

and Mr Brown.

La superstition met le monde

entier en flammes.

I beg your pardon?

Has anyone seen

this, uh, Mr Brown?

He is her personal servant,

I believe.

He follows her

wherever she goes.

He would hardly make a very good

personal servant if he did not.

Excuse me.

It's not my best china.

I mean, it is my best china now, but

the family set got stolen last summer.

-I'm sorry.

-Of course, it was no one on the estate.

More like one of the lads

out from Braemar.

Or further even.

I'll fetch the salt.

Mr Disraeli.

- Ma'am.

- Your Royal Highness,

what a pleasure to see you here.

Have you met Mr Lyle?

He's in sugar.

I don't think I've had

that pleasure.

Mr Lyle,

the fascinating thing...

[Woman Laughing]

No doubt you've heard

the rumours.

I take no account

of gossip, Your Highness.

My concern is the reputation

of the monarchy.

Of course.

I fear the influence

he has on her.

The man's word

is not to be credited.

He is an arriviste

of the very lowest water.

You know, she's having

a bust cast of him...

in Nero Marquino marble.

I'd talk to her myself,

but she won't listen to me.

She must be persuaded by someone

she respects to abandon this...

ridiculous favouritism...

before...

a situation develops.

A situation?

Look, I don't imagine you

frequent the republican clubs,

but the fact that

neither you nor I are members...

should not blind us

to the significance of their existence.

The Tory party

has always been our party.

I'm flattered you think so.

I tell you, if we don't

stick together on this,

you could very well find yourself

first president's opposition.

[Speaking Latin,

Indistinct]

Yes. Quite.

I really don't think we can overstate

the seriousness of this.

What did he want?

To know

when he'll be King.

So Grant and myself

are riding over Lochnagar...

on the worst

imaginable night.

The rain is coming down in sheets,

and all we can think about...

is gettin' home

for a wee drink.

Suddenly, through the gloom,

Grant sees a couple of poachers,

gives me the shout, and we were off,

gallopin' down the hill after them.

We chased them right down

to the loch side.

He got there first, leaps off

his horse like a man possessed,

grabs the two unfortunate men

by the throat against the stack.

He was shoutin'. He was swearin'

at the top of his voice.

He looks into the eyes

of the smallest one, and he says,

"Why are you poachin'

on royal land?"

And the poor wee man

looks up at him,

completely terrified

and says,

"Because we've come up

in the world."

[Brown]

Whoa!

Your Majesty,

thank goodness you're safe.

I'll have a bath prepared

immediately. I recommend

MacDonald's African embrocation.

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