Crimson Peak

Ghosts are real.

This much, I know.

The first time I saw one, I was 10 years old.

It was my mother's.

Black cholera had taken her.

So, Father ordered a closed casket, asked me not to look.

There were to be no parting kisses.

No goodbyes.

"And the Lord said unto me..."

No last words.

"...take thy place beside me..."

That is

until the night she came back.

(WHISPERING) My child.

When the time comes

beware of Crimson Peak.

It would be years before I again heard such a voice

or understood its desperate warning.

A warning from out of time

and one that I came to understand

only when it was too late.

Barley mead and ale! I got sweet and bitter!

Barley mead and ale!

Apple, sir?

Straight out of the oven this morning.

Edith!

Alan. When did you get back? Two weeks ago.

I thought Eunice had told you.

No, I hadn't heard.

Oh. She made a conquest in London.

What are you doing here?

I'm setting up my practice upstairs.

I'm to meet Ogilvie at 10:00

to see if he wants to publish my manuscript.

You do know it's only 9:00.

I know, but I couldn't wait any longer.

And I want to make some corrections anyway, so...

If you have any free time, please come and visit.

We met him at the British Museum

last fall, when we were visiting Alan.

Mother. You wouldn't believe it. He's so handsome.

And he has crossed the ocean with his sister, only to see Eunice again.

Mother, he's here on business.

It seems he's a baronet.

What's a baronet?

Well, an aristocrat of some sort.

A man that feeds off land that others work for him.

A parasite with a title.

This parasite is perfectly charming and a magnificent dancer.

Although, that wouldn't concern you, would it, Edith,

our very young Jane Austen?

Though, she died a spinster, no?

Mother, please.

That's all right. Actually, Mrs. McMichael,

I would prefer to be Mary Shelley.

She died a widow.

Alan.

Ah, Miss Cushing. You're early.

Just a little.

A ghost story.

Your father didn't tell me it was a ghost story.

Oh, it's not.

It's more a story with a ghost in it. Mmm-hmm...

The ghost is just a metaphor.

A metaphor?

For the past. Well...

Lovely handwriting. Nice confident loops.

Miss Cushing,

may I offer a word of advice?

He told me it needed a love story.

Can you believe that?

Ogilvie's old-fashioned.

He said that just because I'm a woman.

Everyone falls in love, dear. Even women.

I don't want to write a love story like that.

Well, my darling, I was hoping to make this a celebratory gift.

I'm a builder, dear.

If there's one thing I know,

it's the importance of the right tool for the job.

It's beautiful.

But actually, Father, I was hoping to type it,

in your office.

Type it?

I'm submitting it to The Atlantic Monthly,

but I realize now that my handwriting is too feminine.

It gives me away.

Without a doubt.

But what you must appreciate,

is the way that the molding is incorporated into

the overall design of the clock.

It'll take me all day,

but it does make it look rather handsome, don't you think?

Yes.

Good morning, miss.

Forgive the interruption.

I have an appointment with Mr. Carter Everett Cushing.

Goodness. With the great man himself.

I'm afraid so.

"Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet."

He'll be here shortly. Thank you.

You're not late, are you?

He hates that.

Uh, not at all. In fact, I'm a little early.

Oh, I'm afraid he hates that, too.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry,

but this is a piece of fiction, is it not?

Yes. Who are you transcribing this for?

It's to be sent to New York tomorrow, to The Atlantic Monthly.

Well, whoever wrote it,

it's rather good, don't you think?

Really? It's certainly captured my attention.

I wrote it.

It's mine.

Ghosts?

Well, the ghosts are just a metaphor...

They've always fascinated me.

You see, where I come from

ghosts are not to be taken lightly.

Sir Thomas Sharpe.

Welcome to our fair city.

Sir. It's my pleasure.

I see you've already met my daughter, Edith.

The Sharpe clay mines have been royal purveyors

of the purest scarlet clay since 1796.

In its liquid form,

it is so rich in ore and so malleable

that it can produce the strongest bricks and tiles.

Excessive mining in the last 20 years

has caused most of our old deposits to collapse.

This is a clay harvester of my own design.

It transports the clay upwards

as it digs deep.

I have absolutely no doubt

this machine will revolutionize clay mining as we know it.

Turn it off, please.

Have you tested it? Full-scale?

Not yet, sir. We're very close.

But we hope that, with funding...

So, actually, what you have is a toy, and some fancy words.

Mr. Cushing, I...

You've already tried, and failed,

to raise capital in London,

Edinburgh,

Milan. Yes, that's correct, sir.

And now you're here.

Correct again, sir.

The men at this table,

all of us,

came up through honest, hard work.

Well, maybe not all of us. Mr. Ferguson, here, is a lawyer.

But even he can't help that.

I started as a steel worker

raising buildings before I could own them.

My hands.

Feel them.

Rough.

The reflection of who I am.

Now, you, sir,

when I shook your hand...

You've got the softest hands I've ever felt.

In America, we bank on effort, not privilege.

That is how we built this country.

I'm here with all that I possess, sir.

A name, a patch of land

and the will to make it yield.

The least that you can grant me

is the courtesy of your time

and the chance to prove to you and these fine gentlemen

that my will, dear sir,

is, at the very least, as strong as yours.

I need a corset.

No, you don't. You look very handsome.

Do I?

Yes, you do, young man.

I do wish you'd change your mind and come along tonight.

Mrs. McMichael has gone to a lot of trouble.

Little Lord Fauntleroy will be there.

You mean Thomas Sharpe?

Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet.

Apparently, he's taken an interest in young Eunice.

I saw you spying on us, child.

Was his proposal so outrageous

as to merit such a harsh answer from you?

It wasn't his proposal, my love.

It was him.

There's something about him that I don't like.

What, I don't know.

And I don't like not knowing.

What I saw was a dreamer facing defeat.

Did you see his suit?

It was beautifully tailored, but at least a decade old.

I can see that you observed far more than I did.

And his shoes were handmade, but worn.

That'll be young Dr. McMichael.

He's brought his new motorcar to collect me.

Come and see it. Say hello to him.

He's just opened his new practice.

And he's always been awfully fond of you.