The Mystery of Edwin Drood

Ned!

Have another, dearie.

Won't do you no harm.

Smoke another pipe.

Never make out a word them saying.

Foreigners...

English...

Makes no odds.

Nonsense.

It's just nonsense.

We all talk nonsense, dearie, when the dream's upon us.

When the wicked man turneth away

from his wickedness that he hath committed...

and doeth that which is lawful and right...

he shall save his soul alive.

I acknowledge my transgressions,

and my sin is ever before me.

Repent ye, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.

Something to keep an eye on.

Mr Crisparkle! Thank you, Reverend.

Thank you for your forbearance. Not ill, Mr Jasper?

Only that sleep is hard to find.

My mother will be thrilled

to offer you her famous medicine chest once again.

Previously she only had me to experiment on.

The lady's very kind. But I expect my nephew today.

I'm very glad to hear it!

Edwin will do you more good than a dozen medicine chests.

If he does not come soon I will die of longing!

Rosa has no idea how lucky she is.

For heaven's sake, you know nothing about it.

There he is! Look at his lovely hair!

Will you please be quiet?!

It's so romantic I could faint.

Mr Edwin Drood to see Miss Rosa Bud.

It is just so absurd.

What is so absurd, Rosie?

The whole thing. Girls and servants scuttling about giggling,

when it's only you come to call.

That's a nice way to welcome your fiance!

Rosie...

I can't kiss you, Eddy, because I've got a pear drop in my mouth.

Miss Twinkleton.

How do you do, Mr Drood?

Very glad indeed to have the pleasure once more.

Pray excuse me.

Tweezers.

Shall I just go?

No. No, not so soon, the girls will only want to know why.

So, how are you?

I'd like to reply much the better for seeing you, Rosie.

Jack?

Jack?

Jack, you monster!

Ned! Put me down! Ned! Ned, at last.

Are you wet? Cold? Hungry?

Not wet, not cold. Hungry, yes, hungry as a horse.

Don't mollycoddle me, Jack, there's a good fellow.

Let me look at you.

You're late.

I looked in on Rosa first.

That's a dreadful old picture, Jack. I've more skill now.

I'd draw you another one tomorrow,

but I can't be sure she'll ever show me that smile again.

To a young bride, nervously awaiting her nuptial day.

Nervous!

Miss Rosa is all thorns and no petals.

Ned! But the girl provokes me so!

Miss Pert. Miss Scornful.

Nothing I say ever pleases her.

That young lady is too good for you, boy.

God, if only I could choose, Jack.

The loveliest girl in the world is yours,

and you should thank God as well as your father for it.

You can say so, it's all very well for you.

Your life's not mapped out for you, your work and your marriage,

all to scale and lined and dotted out like some infernal surveyor's plan.

You can choose for yourself. Ha!

Jack, you look ghastly.

What is it? You're frightening me!

Now, don't you mollycoddly me. My medicine's at my bed.

My Jack's an opium eater!

You disapprove?

No, no, no. If laudanum helps to ease the pain...

To forget. To forget the pain. To forget this place.

You can't be unhappy here, Jack.

Not when you've so exactly found your niche in life?

You're so deeply respected in this queer old place.

And you've your heavenly music. I hate it, Ned.

I hate the grinding monotony of it.

What is a man's life,

where his only choice is which hymn number to select today?

See how even a poor choirmaster may suffer the itch of ambition,

but these are private thoughts and this is a confidence between us.

Of course. It shall be sacredly preserved.

Take it as a warning, then.

My dear fellow, you need never fear

that I will give in to the same despair. Look at me, I'm smiling!

For in a few months, I shall carry Rosa away from school

as Mrs Edwin Drood, and she shall set sail with me

for our new life in the east.

And we shall be happy, because we shall have made up our minds to be.

You won't be warned, then?

Dear Jack!

Hah! Surrender, wicked mirror! Your money or your life.

While you're waiting for the poor item to decide,

I have a job for you.

That's far too many. Our poor guest will boil.

On the contrary, Sept,

our climate will be a freezing torment to a tropical soul.

What?

What if the bellringers disturb his sleep?

I'll move the cathedral, shall I?

Come on, then.

What we got today, Mr Durdles?

Who's this "we" when he's at home?

This is Durdles' dinner entirely,

what he is sharing with a workhouse ragamuffin

out of the goodness of his heart. Cheese! Yeah.

Blooming racket's enough to put an honest man off his lunch.

Stop, stop, stop, stop!

I know there are a lot of low notes,

but when did you hear me say you're allowed to growl

like a pack of Bengal tigers?

Keep it bright, keep that smile in your mouths.

The key note is IS G, but it is an odd form of G minor,

so don't root down in mud and boots, think upwards, think of heaven.

And this time prove to me you can sing sharp as well as flat.

Ethelinda, reverential wife of Mr Thomas Sapsea.

Mayor, estate agent, auctioneer, etc, etc, etc,

of this very city, whose knowledge of the world,

though somewhat extensive, never brought him acquainted

with a spirit more capable of looking up to him.

That spirit being your late wife?

Stranger, pause, and ask thyself the question.

Canst thou do likewise?

If not, with a blush, retire.

A fine tribute.

I do not reproach myself, sir.

A little long, perhaps?

But there have been times when I have asked myself the question,

what if her husband had not been so very superior to her?

If she had not had to look up so high,

what might have been the stimulating effect upon her liver?

Durdles, what say you as to length?

Hold it up for us.

It'll fit within an eighth of an inch. Give us the key.

Surely this fine inscription

is not to be hidden from public view inside the crypt?

When Durdles goes back to put a touch or a finish on his work,

Durdles likes to check the whole job.

Inside and outside.

Key, Mr Mayor, if you please.

Why, Durdles, you're overloaded with ironmongery.

Weighed down by life, is Durdles.

And I'm sure the mayor's key is the heaviest of all.

Indeed, sir, it shall be.

May I?

Most impressive.

You may retain the key, Durdles, for I have another,

and how the cold is creeping into my bones.

Good day to you both.

Good day, Mr Sapsea.

Yours is a curious existence.

Yours is another.

In as much as we both inhabit the same old earthy,

chilly, never-changing place.

But there's more mystery and interest in your work.

Nobody knows this place like Durdles.

Every corner of it has Durdles' handiwork upon it.

Find his way round it blindfold.

Day or night.

You shall show me.

Durdles got better things to do.

Excuse me, boys.

Miss Landless?

Welcome to Cloisterham.

I'm Reverend Septimus Crisparkle. How do you do?

How do you do, sir?

And this must be... My brother, Neville.

Splendid.

My dear children, such a dreadfully long voyage, but you're home now.

100 miles south of Jaffna, I believe?

Yes, sir.

Dutch, and then French, till we British got hold of it.

The harbour, you see. Very fine.

Trincomalee! What a tongue-twister.

It means Lord of the Sacred Hill in our mother's language.

Yes, your mother...

Was a Christian lady.

Of course.

The letter from the mission school related to us

the sad news of the death of your stepfather.

To be orphaned twice...

We have each other.

"Trincomalee! What a tongue-twister?"

It's like talking to a pair of brick walls.

Perhaps in the company of other young people...

Round some up, Sept. Quick as you can!

Boilers again. Boilers and pyramids and canals.