Possession

They say that women change.

'Tis so,

but you are ever-constant in your changefulness.

Like that still thread of falling river,

one from source to last embrace in the still pool.

Ever-anewed and ever moving on.

From first to last. "From first to last,

a myriad water drops. "a myriad water drops.

"And you-- I love you for it--

are the force that moves and holds the form."

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

you've just heard a snippet

from one of only two copies of this poem

by Mr. Randolph Henry Ash,

poet laureate to Queen Victoria herself.

And this gorgeous ode to his nuptial bliss,

written in his own hand, begins our bidding today.

May we start the bidding please at £40,000.

- Bit of an old monster. - Yeah.

But an important monster. It's Randolph Ash's.

Yes. Who are you with again?

I'm, uh, Roland Michell. Who?

- Professor Blackadder's research assistant. - Isn't that Dr. Wolfe?

Was. Fergus got the lectureship at Saint John's... over me.

Of course he did.

Oh, yes, Dr. Wolfe mentioned you.

You're that American who's over here.

Well, I'm sure there are others.

I mean, after all, you are our favorite colony.

£10,000. Any further offers on £10,000?

£11,000.

So when do your little suffragist trinkets come up for the--

Look, Maud, it's Mortimer Cropper.

Oh, yes. That's someone you should know.

- You know him? - Of him.

Suffered through a lecture or two. That sort of thing. Really.

Mm-hmm. He's a voracious collector from what I hear.

Yes. His penchant for conquests is well documented.

It's a very male quality. Mm.

I know it's vulgar, but I have to introduce myself.

Oh, all right.

Oh, uh-- Damn. Let's begin the bidding please at £4,000.

£4,000. £4,000. Excuse me. Sorry.

£4,500. Um, Professor Cropper, Fergus Wolfe.

Um, we spoke actually after one of your papers at, uh, at Trinity.

You wouldn't remember. I'm sorry, I don't. Nice coat though.

Oh, thank you. Uh, James Blackadder. You're with?

Ah, you're one of Blackadder's boys from the British Museum.

Hello. Hildebrand Ash,

man of leisure. Oh, hello.

I don't know why Blackadder comes to these things.

He hasn't got any money.

Well, he's Irish, you see. He enjoys feeling persecuted.

Dear Madame,

Since our pleasant conversation, I have thought of little else.

I write with a strong sense of the necessity

of continuing our talk.

Dear Madame, I know that you came only to honor Crabb-Robinson

at his small, informal party

because he had been of assistance to your illustrious father.

Excuse me, sir.

Meal is served.

Thank you.

- Well, hello. - Hello.

Ah, my tenant. Your evening sherry.

Thank you.

Candy, this is Roland. Roland, Candy.

- Hello again. - Be a love and check on the duck, eh?

- Okay. - So, coming in?

So how do you always know it's me?

I'm a solicitor. I know everything.

Candy, huh? Oh, no, no, no, please.

Candy's just a friend. Why, are you interested?

I told you I'm off women. Yeah, but...

there's no reason to be off women.

Why do we always sit in your hall?

'Cause it's the best room in the house, really.

I bought this place for the hallway.

So, I found something today

I think is pretty incredible in the London Library.

- A place to sit. - No.

I found something of Ash's. You know Randolph Ash?

Ash. Oh, doesn't he have

some sort of celebration going?

It's the centenary of his love poems. Terribly mushy ones.

Found after his death or something, weren't they?

Is the table laid, darling?

Listen. What's it cost an hour?

No, no, Candy's a friend, I told you.

Not her, you.

What do you charge an hour, roughly?

Oh, uh, I don't know. Five hundred.

- Pounds? - Mm.

- Jesus, no wonder you have a nice hallway. - Thank you.

Okay, I wanna buy seven minutes

of attorney/client privilege right now.

Step into my office.

Ash wrote those. They're not the originals.

- Yeah. - Oh, my God.

How much time we got left?

I've got to think of a defense for you.

They're practically love letters.

Rather racy, actually.

See, Ash...

supposedly never even looked at another woman.

I mean, not even glanced at one his entire marriage.

Can you imagine what would happen if I could prove

that Mr. Perfect Husband had this, like,

Shakespearean-type dark lady thing going?

Darling, the duck's done.

Would you be a sweetheart and do the sauce?

Yes, yes.

- Duck, huh? - Yeah, Peking.

- It's from around the corner. -

Yeah, but that would be extraordinary.

It would be rewriting history, old chap.

Yeah, it would be.

Morning. Morning.

Ro-land. Professor.

I think I made a discovery.

It'll turn out to have been discovered 20 times already.

- I don't think so. - Surprise me.

Ash's copy of Vico in the London Library.

It's full of his own notes on loose bits of paper all the way through.

- Useful? - Very.

Better have a look. See what's what before

Cropper turns up with his checkbook. I also found-- Professor.

He made a mockery over at Sotheby's yesterday. £1900 for a toothpick.

- - Fergus. Where is Fergus?

- He's supposed to be teaching. - I'll come with you.

No need. The novice blunders on the discovery.

The scholar investigates.

You get on with those wretched requests for Ellen's stuff.

I'll go straight from there to my class.

"Thank you, Roland. What a wonderful discovery.

They're magically delicious."

- He's a meany. - That's a very nice name for what he is.

Wretched requests, please.

"How many jars of gooseberry jam

did Ash's wife, Ellen, make in 1850?"

Hmm. This is not a job for a grown-up.

Gooseberry.

Cooking. Gooseberry jam.

Cooking, 142.

What about a small, informal party?

1859.

My headache last night prevented me

from accompanying Randolph to dear Crabb-Robinson's

for a dinner honoring the poetess Christabel LaMotte.

He was reluctant to attend without me,

but I was persistent and finally persuaded him.

Ash, do you know Professor Spear?

I'm delighted.

Mrs. Jameson. Mrs. Jameson.

Charmed.

Miss Glover.

Oh, Miss Glover.

- And Miss LaMotte. - Miss LaMotte.

The highest pleasure.

Randolph reported the party went off very well indeed.

The discussion of poetry was animated,

with Miss LaMotte speaking more forcibly than anyone expected.

Surprises me, Madame, that a lady who lives as quietly as you do

wouldn't be aware of my modest success.

Oh, I'm very aware that the papers herald you weekly.

It is you, however, who surprise me.

- And why is that? - Judging from your work,

I'm surprised you'd even acknowledge my existence,

or any woman's for that matter,

since you show us such small regard on the page.

You cut me, Madame.

I'm sorry.

I only meant to scratch.

Hey, Fergus.

Ah, hello, Roland.

What is it you chaps always say, "How's it hanging?"

Well, we usually just say "hey." Unless you're gay.

Oh. Listen.

Let me ask you something.

Do you know a Dr. Maud Bailey?

Maud! Oh, yes, I know Maud very well.

She teaches gender studies at Lincoln.

Oh. Would she be helpful?

I'm checking out Christabel LaMotte.

She's a poet, writing around about 1859.

Yes, yes. Why would you be interested in her?

Oh, nothing. It's just I had some requests about Ellen Ash's papers.

But LaMotte's name came up, so--

God, the keeper of Ellen's flame.

I mean, that's the bottom of the food chain, old sport.

Yeah, but I got to stay on the food chain, old sport. That's why I do it.

Right. Well, "Publish or perish," as they say.

Or in your case, "Perish or perish."

So would she-- this Maud Bailey person?

Oh, yes, but I'd be careful if I were you.

Why? What's she like?

Well, she thicks men's blood with cold.

Oh, great. Or if you prefer the American vernacular,

she's a regular ball-breaker.

Mr. Michell?