The Gentlemen

You need to finish the cordon by 14:00, but, um, otherwise, great work.

- Okay, boss. - Mm-hmm.

No, no, no, no, no, no, listen. Listen to me.

Tell them I don't care whose goats they are,

just get them off the road.

Relax, Sergeant. Hold on.

Don't want to cause an international incident.

Right, gentleman with the mustache, head in that direction, please.

Gentleman with the eye patch, head in the opposite direction.

If we can't sort this out amicably. We'll let the goats decide.

- Don't cock this up. - Yes, sir.

Bobby!

You all right?

- This man's papers are out of date. - Let me have a look.

- Hello. - Hello.

- Yeah, it's only three days. - It is what it is, sir.

Tell them they can come through this time, but this time only.

- Get them to sort it out for their return. - Sir.

- Smithy. - Boss.

- Everything all right? - All good.

- I'm on it. - No, no.

- I'll sort this. You stay here. - Sir.

Selam, merhaba.

Ah. Hello, sir.

Good afternoon, sir.

Ahmed.

I assume this isn't good news.

It was a nasty fall.

- Well, you could've just called me. - We did, sir. Many times.

Ultimately, your brother decided,

as the eldest son,

that it was necessary to dispatch me

so that I could impress upon you the severity of the situation.

Is my father gonna die, Ahmed?

His Grace's condition is... serious.

My instruction is to take you to the airport straight away.

It's all been cleared with your superiors.

Right.

Let's go.

Sergeant.

Anything we can do to help, sir?

You're in charge now, Charlie.

Till I get back.

Welcome home, sir.

- Did you miss me, Mr. Lawrence? - Terribly.

Hello, Freddy.

Eddie. Edwina, Eduardo, you made it. Come to me.

Well done, darling boy.

Well done. Let's hug it out. Bring it in. Hug it out. There we go.

Good to see you.

- How is he? -

Shit, mate, to be honest. Yeah.

I mean, his goose is... well and truly cooked.

Doc says it'll be tonight, tomorrow morning latest.

Hmm. What about you? How you doing?

To be honest, I've got absolutely no idea. I mean, I'm really just, you know...

How's Mum?

Yeah, she's the one we need to keep an eye on.

Pretty sure she's been dipping her beak in Dad's meds.

She's got eyes like fucking... hubcaps.

Right.

- Let's keep it together. - Okay.

Of course, by that time,

he's three sheets to the wind, stark-bollock naked.

He'd just forgotten he was in the Upper Chamber.

- Well, how the devil... - Hello, Chuckles.

- You okay? - Yeah.

How is he? Is he lucid?

Oh, sometimes.

He's a bit... in and out.

- When he's there, he's... definitely there. - Hmm.

Hi, Mum.

- Darling, thank goodness. - Oh my God.

He'll be glad you came, even if he doesn't show it.

Shall we go out? Come on, darling.

The first Duke of Halstead was tough as iron.

Built this place himself.

Every stone of it.

- Single-handed. - Dad...

Pinched the stone from the old monastery.

It's me, Edward.

Why'd you turn your back on us, my boy?

Do you think it's brave

to go swanning off playing tough-tough with your friends? It's not.

The estate is not to be carved up. Is that clear?

Don't worry about that. Just get some rest.

And look after your brother.

He won't survive without you.

You understand?

I understand, Dad.

The third duke, mean old bastard,

killed 15 Frenchmen

before lunch.

He was getting himself ready to fight a duel.

He shot his own foot off.

Ha!

Silly cunt.

- -

- Doctor? Uh, Doctor! -

Eddie.

And the blessing of God Almighty,

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,

be upon you and remain with you always.

Amen.

This estate has been in the family for over 600 years,

and Freddy's gonna... ...the lot by Christmas.

- We should do something about it, Edward. - Hmm.

If Dad left it to you, you'd spend it all rewilding bears in Berkshire.

What's wrong with bears? I like bears.

They leave no carbon footprint, and they were here before us.

Yes, and they'll fucking eat you.

Anyway, it's irrelevant.

The entire estate gets handed down to the firstborn son.

Freddy's the heir, and I'm the spare.

- Maybe we should topple him together. - Hmm.

Now, there's an idea.

I'm so sorry I'm late.

And here he is.

Your Grace. These narrow country lanes...

How are you feeling? You all right? Yeah, good. Hang in there.

- Won't be a moment. - Cup of tea? You all right?

Stuck behind a tractor half the way as well.

Smashing. Smash-a-roosies.

- No, no, no. - Right.

- Is everyone ready? - Hmm. Let's get it over with.

Let's get it over with.

Then I'll begin.

"I, Archibald Horatio Landrover Horniman,

the 12th Duke of Halstead,

being of sound mind

do make, publish, and declare this to be my last will and testament."

"To Geoffrey Seacombe,

in acknowledgement of his years of faithful service,

"I leave a lifetime tenancy on the gatekeeper's cottage."

"To my wife, Sabrina,

for her loyalty and faithfulness throughout our many happy years together,

I leave an annual allowance

that the new duke shall bestow at his discretion

"and my beloved Labrador, Luna."

"To my daughter, Charlotte,

I leave the Endurance,

with the condition that she sail around the world on her

"in the next six months."

Well done, Chuckles.

"As well, a trust fund of £1,000 a week

until she marries

"a man."

Wow.

"In terms of the rest of my estate,

including my title,

the house and grounds,

the extensive wine cellar,

the art collection,

the yogurt farm and dairy,

the village of Hetheringham,

as well as the property in the South of France,

I hereby leave

"to my son..."

All right, um...

"Edward Horniman."

So I think, um...

I was kind of thinking if everybody... I-If... Um...

Sorry. A-Again for me, old chap.

"I leave to my son

Edward Horniman."

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry this has happened to you. There must be some sort of... It's...

He's Edward. I'm Freddy.

Sometimes they call me Fredward, and so it gets a little bit... mixed up.

I think there's some sort of mistake, unfortunately.

I don't think so.

I get it, you're kidding. You're kidding around. Was this... This is...

Did you...? Did you arrange...? This is a joke, right?

This... this is a sick joke. It...

I'm the eldest fucking son! It was all supposed to go to me!

What... what... what...

- What the fuck is this? - No. There has to be...

No, no, don't touch me.

Freddy! Freddy, relax.

- Don't you start. - There's got to be some mistake.

I'm the firstborn son, yeah?

That means, technically, the title goes to me.

That's not just me saying it 'cause it's what I want.

It's... it's the fucking law.

It goes back to the Bible, Old Testament, Cain and Abel.

It's the will of God. The firstborn son gets everything.

It's fucking... It's... it's... it's... it's... it's...

it's primogenital, is what it is.

Primogeniture, Freddy.

That's what I said. You know that's what I said.

- You've heard of that, haven't you? - Of course.

- But the will is clear. -

The estate goes to Edward,

and the title contains a special remainder

that allows it to pass to the second son...

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I don't give a good God shit

what the terms of the will clearly state! Here, look.

"The right of succession

to the firstborn,