The Ghost and Mrs. Muir Page #4

well, that's up to you.

I'm sure you didn't come here

merely to criticize the decorations.

No, we did not.

Oh, poor Lucy,

we've such bad news for you.

I suppose it's all for the best,

everything considered.

Don't you, Eva?

And in my opinion,

we're just in time.

So perhaps our bad news

is good news after all...

and now we can all

go home and live together

and forget all this nonsense

about living alone.

What news is this?

Your gold mine, Lucy.

It's petered out.

They've stopped

paying dividends.

It was in The Times

this morning.

Oh.

Oh.

Avast now.

Don't make a scene

in front of these swabs.

I don't intend

to make a scene.

Oh. Oh, of course

you don't.

You're my brave little girl,

that's what you are.

Oh, Lucy.

My little Lucy.

Please.

Make her stop that

eternal caterwauling

or I will take a hand!

You keep out of this!

Oh, Lucy!

Ha ha ha!

Oh, blast!

Oh! Did you hear her, Eva?

Yes, I heard her.

Stop sniveling, Mother.

If that's what you want,

we will keep out of it.

I didn't mean you.

Then just whom

did you mean?

Well, I--I could

explain, I suppose...

but--but you

wouldn't believe me.

All I know is

that you're acting

in a most peculiar fashion.

The only charitable explanation

is that the solitude

has preyed on your mind.

She thinks you've got

bats in your belfry.

Oh, pipe down!

I mean, I want to think.

Very well, I will pipe down,

as you put it...

but it should be

perfectly obvious

that with your income gone

there's only one course

for you to follow...

and that is to come

home now, with us.

You mean

give up this house?

Naturally. It was idiotic

to take it in the first place...

and now that you're a pauper,

how can you possibly stay?

Don't do it, Lucy.

Do you want me to stay?

Yes.

Do you really mean it?

Of course I mean it.

Tell them to shove off.

We'll think of something.

I'm sorry. It's very kind of you

to want me back...

but I'm going to stay.

I'll manage somehow.

So, please be good enough

to shove off.

Very well.

You're obviously insane...

and I for one want nothing more

to do with you.

Come, Mother.

Captain Gregg--

Captain Gregg,

where are you?

Don't forget your promise.

It's too ridiculous!

I'm going to give her

one more chance.

Stop pulling me, Mother.

I'm not pulling you, Eva.

Stop it, I say!

I'm not touching you, Eva.

Off we go!

Let me go! Aah!

Oh! Oh!

- Oh!

- Oh!

Mummy's coming aboard

in a motorcar.

Mr. Coombe is invited for tea.

Oh! I'm so glad you found

the house suitable after all.

I'm convinced now that

we were unduly concerned

about the possibility

of a ghost haunting it.

As you say, how could

such things exist

in the 2Oth century?

Indeed. How could they?

Still, you must admit

it's a very isolated location...

and I've often thought of you

out here alone

without the protection of a man,

the right man, could offer you.

I only hope when

I reach the afterlife

I have a little more dignity.

Dignity?

Do you call it dignified

to throw yourself

at a herring-gutted swab

like that?

I asked Mr. Coombe here

because he's the logical man

to help me find lodgers

for the summer.

Lodgers?

Oh.

Here, weigh your anchor.

Forgive me, my dear.

I've been seriously misled.

I thought you wanted

to sign him on for a husband.

Mr. Coombe?

That walrus!

It's my experience that women

will do anything for money.

Now you and your blasted

experiences have ruined everything.

No. No. No.

There's no harm done.

I couldn't allow you to

take in lodgers in any case.

They're worse

than passengers at sea.

It's them or starve.

Not at all, my dear.

I've solved all your problems.

You're going to write a book.

A book?

But I couldn't.

I find it hard enough

to write a postcard.

No, but I can.

I can write a book...

and you can put it

down on paper for me.

What will the book be about?

Me. The story of me life.

And we'll call it,

uh, let's see.

We'll call it, uh...

Blood and Swash.

Yes. Blood and Swash

by Captain X.

I don't think that's

at all a nice title.

It's not meant to be.

It's meant to be sensational,

like the subject.

But it takes months

to write a book.

What are we to live on

in the meantime?

You have jewelry?

A little.

Pawn it.

But I couldn't!

Blast your eyes, madam.

Will you understand?

You're trying to

crawl off a lee shore.

Can't afford to be squeamish.

I do understand,

and don't swear at me.

Start with that

ugly broach.

But Edwin's mother

gave it to me.

All the more reason

to pawn it.

You don't like

Edwin's mother...

and you hate her broach.

Really, Captain Gregg.

I'll have you know

I'm very fond

of my mother-in-law.

Very well. If you're

so fond of her...

you can go back

and live with her.

I think I can get

about 1 O for it.

I'm glad you're

going to be sensible...

and since we're

to be collaborators...

you can call me Daniel.

That's very good of you.

And I shall call you Lucia.

My name is Lucy.

It doesn't do you justice,

my dear.

Women named Lucy are always

being imposed upon...

but Lucia, now there's

a name for an amazon...

for a queen.

I don't feel much

like a queen.

I feel frightened

and confused

and wondering what

the future will bring.

Don't you trust me?

Oh, I do, Daniel,

when I'm talking to you.

When you're not here, I--

Well, it's asking a great deal

to expect anyone

to trust her whole

future to a--

To someone who isn't real.

But I am real.

I'm here because

you believe I'm here.

And keep on believing...

and I'll always

be real to you.

Yes, Daniel.

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha!

Well, what's the matter?

You haven't finished

the sentence.

I know. It's--

It's-- It's that word.

I've never written

such a word.

It's a perfectly good word.

I think it's a horrid word.

It means what it says,

doesn't it?

All too clearly.

What word do you use

if you wanted to

convey that meaning?

I don't use any!

Well, hang it all, Lucia.

If you're going to be prudish,

we'll never get the book written.

Now, put it down

the way I give it to you.

Good.

Now, at this point,

having had a drink...

I, uh, I went upstairs.

Why?

Why what?

Why did you go upstairs?

Because I saw no harm in it.

You must have been

very young and foolish.

I was young,

but I was never foolish.

Inexperienced, perhaps...

curious, as young men are,

eager for adventure.

I matured early.

I wish I'd known you then.

How old were you, Daniel?

1 6. It was me first voyage.

Only 1 6.

I suppose you'd

run away from home.

Yes. I was an orphan.

Brought up by a maiden aunt

in a country village.

Now, let's get on with it.

Where was I?

Upstairs.

Ah, yes!

The customs of Marseilles

are different to any--

Different from.

To or from, who cares?

This isn't a blasted

literary epic.

It's the unvarnished story

of a seaman's life.

It certainly is unvarnished.

Well, smear on

your own varnish.

Change the grammar

all you please...

but leave the guts in it.

I think it would be nice

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