Plunkett & Macleane Page #4

from fiery maidens.

- Whereas I would have been delighted...

- Oh!

My dear Rebecca, that robbery

must have been dreadful for you.

Did they take everything?

Yes.

All my precious jewellery.

You were robbed by the so-called

Gentleman Highwayman, were you not?

Yes.

Well, that must be some consolation.

Indeed.

The Gentleman Highwayman. How exciting.

I mean, he could be...

Bit of cake.

I didn't tell her.

Good as.

This "Gentleman Highwayman" sh*t's

messed you up.

Shut up!

- This is gonna be the last one.

- I'm just beginning to get the hang of it.

You'll end up on the wrong end

of a Tyburn knot because of your lust.

My love, Plunkett. Love!

We're supposed to be

chasing money, not women.

- Have you never been in love, Plunkett?

- No.

Never.

All right?

- Stand and f***ing deliver!

- Drop it! Now!

Off! Down! Get down!

Other side.

Other side. F***ing stay there.

- Oh, merde.

- Hop out, Froggy. Out!

- Out!

- Let me, let me, let me.

Uh, bonjour, monsieur.

Bienvenu sur I'Angleterre.

Je suis un gentilhomme de la route.

Ne make pas noise and tout will be bon.

- Quoi? Que dites-vous?

- All je veux are vos valuables.

Please speak English. Murder me,

but not my language, you know.

I hope they hang you in Tyburn

for your bad French.

Merci, monsieur. I hope it rains

every day of your f***ing visit.

Oh!

Oh, f*** me! Let's go!

Run!

Come on, son.

Come on.

- Sh, sh, sh!

- Agh! Agh!

Come on.

Mr Chance, sir.

Right, come on.

Come on.

Take it.

There we are.

That's it.

So where did you learn to be a nurse?

What?

Who was she?

Hm?

A couple of years ago I had a shop.

Apothecary stuff.

Lost it.

Ended up on the streets.

And Mary got sick and died.

I'm sorry.

Right. I'm off to get the tickets.

What tickets?

For America.

Managed to save enough for both of us.

- Plunkett.

- What?

You saved my life.

In view...

In view of last night's vicious

assassination of the French ambassador...

...I intend...

I intend to bring this matter

to a satisfactory conclusion forthwith.

The prime minister is increasingly

concerned with Lord Gibson's health.

Use whatever means necessary to take

these scoundrels by the end of the week...

...and we'll find a way

to pardon your past indiscretions...

...and provide you

with a more elevated title.

Do we understand each other,

thief-taker-general?

I'm going to be generous, Gibson.

I'm giving you two days

to leave the country.

What?

You're finished, my lord.

- Face it.

- How dare you, you insolent...

I dare because I have

the prime minister's authority.

Hah! Never.

Don't annoy me, Gibson...

...or I'll send you straight to Tyburn.

- Tyburn! Me?!

- I won't go alone, I promise you that.

- I have absolution... from above.

How does it feel, my lord,

to be staring into the abyss?

You feel giddy?

Now, let's be sensible.

We could still be mutually advantageous.

After all we've been through.

Let bygones be bygones, eh?

I'll put two men at your disposal

to ensure safe passage.

Be grateful.

You're a very lucky man.

What a pretty little eavesdropper.

I can see a little

"breaking in" is required.

But no filly was ever the worse for that.

I like your tears.

They excite me.

I hope you shed many more.

Eddie.

Lord Gibson and Lady Rebecca.

Watch them.

Rebecca!

Listen to me.

My uncle's ruined.

We're fleeing to France tomorrow night.

I'll be with him and so will

the greater part of our fortunes.

- Wait a minute.

- Chance is providing an escort to Dover.

- If you and Plunkett hold up the coach...

- What are you talking about?

I know who you are.

Will you do it?

Yes or no?

Yes, I'll do it.

- You're hurt.

- It's not serious.

Plunkett.

What's she doing here?

No, wait, Rebecca. Tell him.

Tell him!

We plan to leave London

tomorrow night at ten o'clock.

I will be on that coach whatever happens.

Goodbye.

- Will...

- Got the tickets.

- Listen.

- No, don't.

- Listen.

- I don't wanna know!

You're on heat. You can't even

f***ing think straight!

Plunkett! Please!

The answer's no.

Please.

Good morning. What a hive of activity.

- Chance, what news?

- Change of plan.

Whoa! Steady on there.

Steady.

F***!

She ain't here.

Let's go!

- Where's Rebecca?

- Let's go.

- I know you.

- Where's Rebecca? Out!

Macleane, hurry up!

Where the f*** is she?

You incompetent imbecile!

What happened to my escort?

- I might have been killed!

- You were.

Rebecca didn't betray us. I know it!

I'm gonna find her. Are you coming?

I'll tell you what...

...here's your ticket.

I need your help.

It's gone!

For months I've been taking it.

I spent it on clothes, I spent it on drink,

and the rest I lost at cards.

There isn't a penny left.

F***ing scum!

We can still get Gibson's money.

It's not about the money.

Rebecca!

Rebecca!

Captain James Macleane.

This court has found you guilty...

...of the murder of

Sydney Henry, Lord Gibson.

Do you have anything to say

before I pass sentence?

Yes, m'lud.

My lords, ladies and gentlemen...

...I didn't kill Lord Gibson.

More's the pity.

But I am guilty of one thing,

for which I am heartily sorry.

Namely, cheating my friend

and fellow highwayman.

A man who has more nobility of soul

in his little finger...

...than any of you bloated bastards has

in your entire bodies.

Silence! Silence.

The law requires...

...that thou should return hence

to the place whence thou camest...

...and from thence

to a place of execution...

...where thou shall hang by the neck...

...until the body be dead...

...dead, dead!

Lord have mercy on thy soul.

I'm sorry...

I didn't betray you.

Don't worry. You'll see him tomorrow.

Dancing the Tyburn jig.

Rebecca.

Walk on. Go on.

It does not bring pleasure to my heart

to stand and deliver the sorrowful tale

of the man who now stands

in the rattling cart

Oh, for a week, for a night, for a day

For the thrash of the wind

and the pistol's bray

Friends, for that right would you gladly be

Dancing with the devil

on the Tyburn gallows tree

Proceed.

Cold-handed deliverer

Feeder of flies

Accomplice to murderer

Mother of shame

Gallows tree

Gallows tree

Bastard of history

Taker of gentlemen

Sweet James Macleane

Open your eyes!

Hold her!

Ooh!

Bless you for that, my darling.

Oh, for heaven's sakes.

Is he all right? Is he breathing?

Rebecca, leave him, leave him.

Get him up! Get him up!

- You took your time.

- I weren't sure you were worth it.

Come on. In there quickly.

Get him inside.

- Rochester...

- You know, my darling, I won't.

The New World... too far.

Too big. Too primitive.

No, my place is here,

corrupting the young.

You all right?

Yeah.

- What is it?

- Unfinished business.

- Don't be silly. We're almost away!

- I'll catch you up.

- Oh, for Christ's sake!

- Just go on.

Go. Go.

Come on. Come on! Come on!

Does that hurt?

Only when I laugh.

- Where's Macleane?

- Oi!

Come on.

Well, we've had

an exciting day, haven't we?

Stiff drink and straight to bed for me.

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