The Thirteenth Tale

---

BIRDS CAW:

Is this the moors?

It is.

Good afternoon.

Miss Lea? I'm Miss Winter's housekeeper.

My name is Judith.

Very good. I'll send up

some sandwiches right away.

You must be hungry after

your long journey. Thank you.

Miss Winter expects to see

you in the library at four.

So, Miss Lea, have you

read ANY of my books?

Almost all of them, I think.

Well...

You'd better sit down.

Now, if I interpreted your

answer to my letter correctly...

...you're not exactly leaping at this

very attractive offer I've made you.

Well, I... You'd be guaranteed

a very healthy advance.

Hmm. But I can see from

what you're wearing...

...you're not particularly

interested in money.

I've written about people

who don't care for money...

...but I never actually

expected to meet one.

Are my books too popular for you?

What exactly makes you hesitate?

I'd like to know what made you

choose me as a potential biographer.

Ah.

It certainly wasn't your celebrated

biography of the Bronte sisters...

... which I wouldn't dream of reading.

BOOK CLATTERS:

No, what caught my attention, Miss Lea...

was that piece you wrote for

that pretentious little magazine.

...about the Landier sisters, the twins.

Obviously, I've been

doing some research...

...and I couldn't help noticing.

...in the couple of dozen

interviews I looked at...

...you give a different account of

your life in every one of them.

You think I'm a liar?

That isn't quite what I said.

You surely don't think I'm so dull.

...as to trot out the same

story over and over again?

I make things up so

as not to bore myself.

It's my profession. After all,

they're only journalists...

... if you take my point.

I'm not sure that I

do, exactly. I'm sorry.

You don't need to be so polite.

I can't abide politeness.

I always think that being nice...

... is what's left over after

you've failed at everything else.

You're obviously a great success.

Ah!

SHE CHUCKLES:

Oh, that's better.

Have you a love life?

Oh, wait, wait! Wait!

I have an extraordinary story.

Don't turn your back on it.

It's about twins.

Please, come back.

Come on.

Sit down.

Don't take offence. I'm only

trying to get to know you.

I can't be expected to spill

the secrets of a lifetime.

...to a complete stranger.

But this was your idea.

I thought this is what you wanted to do.

It's not that I want to. I have to. Why?

Because I'm old. I'm dying.

Dying?

Why else should I subject

myself to all this?

Hmm.

What do you need from me?

I need to be sure that you're

intending to tell me the truth.

I'm a biographer, I deal in facts.

Oh, how stupendously

boring, you poor thing.

Suppose we start by me.

...asking you three independently

verifiable questions?

And then if your answers

are true... Three questions.

Pleasantly traditional.

My first question

- what is your real name?

Ah, I could easily bamboozle you there.

It's Vida Winter. I had

it changed by deed poll.

What you really need to know is

the name I was originally known by.

That's right, yes.

Adeline March.

My next question is your place of birth.

You can check in the records

of St Bart's in London.

Next.

Um, I'd like you to tell me

something that happened to you.

...before you changed your name, which

is also a matter of public record.

Hm, I can do that, but first I

have some conditions of my own.

What are they? You must let me

tell my story chronologically.

No interruptions, no questions.

...and no sneaky peeping at the last page.

All right. Good.

Do you believe in ghosts?

That's not a very easy question.

Do you or don't you?

Certain kinds of ghosts, maybe.

I was brought up in a house

about five miles from here.

A haunted house.

I see. No, you don't.

I call it my story...

...but it has none of the familiar

consolations that word implies.

It's something far harsher...

... Much more painful.

Something I suppose we

have to call the truth.

I was brought up in a

house called Angelfield.

When I was 17, there was a

fire. The house was destroyed.

And there's a public record?

It was in all the local papers.

And I can show you a

different sort of record...

SHE GASPS:

So, you see, in spite

of what I just said...

... You know the end of my story.

The end? You said that

happened when you were 17...

...before you'd even started

writing. Oh, writing.

That was just to fill in the time.

I'm sorry if I've shocked you, Miss Lea.

One becomes so accustomed

to one's own horrors.

MUFFLED GASPS AND GROANS

CHILD:
'Don't be like that, Margaret!'

KNOCK ON DOOR:

Come in.

If you don't mind, Dr

Clifton, Miss Winter's doctor...

would like to have a word with you.

Ah. OK.

Thank you for agreeing

to see me, Miss Lea.

Miss Winter wanted me to

explain her condition to you.

Oh? Miss Winter has

cancer of the pancreas...

which we've recently discovered

has spread throughout her body.

This means she has

very little time left.

How long?

We're not able to say precisely.

Most people wouldn't

have survived this long...

...but Miss Winter is extremely tough.

She just wanted me to make you

aware that time is of the essence.

You can let her know I understand.

Thank you.

Um, have you been her doctor long?

Long enough to know that I'm

extremely impatient to read your book.

I was pleased last night.

when you didn't ask the question

everybody else always does.

What question's that? About the

first book. Oh, The Thirteenth Tale?

That's right. And everybody always

asks why there are only twelve?

That's right. Why are there only twelve?

Shall we get started?

RECORDER BEEPS:

The story begins at Angelfield.

After the mysterious, unexplained

death of their parents...

...the house now belonged to Charlie

Angelfield and his sister Isabelle.

She'd left the house less than

a year before but her husband...

Roland March, had been killed in the war.

...and now she returned.

Of course, in their parents' day...

...there had been dozens of

servants to run the estate.

...but now only two remained -

Mrs Dunne the housekeeper,

known to everyone as The Missus...

...and the gardener, John Digence...

who we called John The Dig.

Can you put it down there?

BABIES GURGLE:

Well, well.

What are they called?

Adeline and Emmeline.

Which one is which?

You know, I haven't the slightest idea.

BABIES CRY:

Where is Mr Angelfield?

He'll be in the

library, I expect, madam.

I'll leave these with you.

Truth to tell, it was not poverty

or even the demands of the war.

which brought about the

exodus of the Angelfield staff.

It was the sense of chaos.

...and unease caused by the

bizarre and unpredictable.

...behaviour of Isabelle's brother.

Charlie, I'm back.

What do you mean?

I'm back for good. I

brought the children with me.

What?

What children?

Oh. Oh, yes. It's just

you and me now, Charlie.

You shouldn't have gone

away for so long, Isabelle.

I had to, Charlie. I

explained it all to you.

All the same.

This one can be Adeline.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes