Lark Rise to Candleford

When Gabriel Cochrane of Fellwick was evicted

from his home and business,

it felt to the locals like a great injustice.

The cause of Gabriel's hardship was the merciless Mr Steerforth,

for he was the cold hand and the calculating eye of the bank,

who had foreclosed.

Expelled from the only life he had ever known,

rumour had it that Gabriel Cochrane took with him only two things.

Apicture of his young wife, who had died only a year before,

and the keys to Fellwick Foundry.

Bereaved, homeless, penniless,

a man recently of wealth and standing was now cast adrift.

It must have felt like the end of his life.

In fact,

it was the beginning.

I heard that Mr Steerforth has a tail and two horns.

Does he really?

That's why he always wears a hat and trousers.

Oh, Minnie, really.

That was merely a colourful turn of phrase.

Even the cruellest of financial institutions

does not commonly employ creatures from the netherworld.

Yes, ma'am.

Bankruptcy. Eviction. Ruin. It's quite a scandal.

His poor dear wife died so young.

So many sorrows in one short year.

We must consider how we might come to his aid.

I have always believed that an ounce of practical assistance

is worth a pound of sympathy.

Miss Ruby. Another letter from Pontefract.

Return to sender.

Miss Ruby, it has been some while now, and if I may say,

Mr Dallas' persistence in writing to you perhaps shows...

What I mean is...

Might it not be better to know what is in so many letters?

What I want, Miss Lane,

is for you to return to Pontefract...

I mean, return to Lionel...

- Return to... - Senderer?

Once again, Miss Lane,

you have caused untold distress with your mission to meddle.

I only felt that I could help Miss Ruby.

Why do you suppose that every single soul who crosses your path

must be told how to live by the oracle that is Dorcas Lane?

Oh, Minnie, I fear I have made things worse for Miss Ruby.

Ma'am, you have. Ma'am, why do you meddle so?

Thieves! Thieves! My chicken's been stole.

My best hen. You only have one hen, Twister.

What, ain't that the creature there on the roof?

I have the courage to go up there after her,

but I don't have the courage to come back down.

She does this deliberate, to antagonise me.

She knows I can't abide rooftops.

- I'll fetch her for you, Twister. - Edmund, don't you go up there!

Suppose you fall. We need your wages.

His pa ain't been gone for more than three weeks

and that boy's off the leash.

He won't abide a word I say.

Uh, well, they call it "the awkward age".

Margaret and I have the self-same problem with Amelia-Cordelia.

Aren't you the mischievous one, eh? Aren't you?

Will that be my letter there? Coming by special delivery?

That letter is for no one.

She likes to be a part of things, so I write out a missive each morning

and put it in the sorting office to gratify her.

- That's for you. - Thank you.

Come on, girl.

What news from Robert, Emma?

The best news.

Work's going well,

and there's a postal order on its way to Candleford post office.

I shall bid them who is owed to form a line outside your door, Emma.

I will tell them not to bother.

Most of this will be going to Mrs Herring for rent arrears.

Tastes almost blessed after it's been raining, don't it?

Water is water.

A man who can't taste the rain in the well

tells you more about the man than it does the well.

That's perhaps understandable.

When there's circumstances such as yours, sir,

word travels, even to Lark Rise.

People may know the circumstances, but do they know the cause?

Gabriel Cochrane.

I knew your pa,

back in the days when he was building up that Fellwick Foundry,

heh, heh, from nought.

The sweat would shine on his brow.

And a righteous shine it were and all

I honoured my father while he was alive, I will honour him again now.

I will be restored to my rightful place.

I ain't no more than a beekeeping wife, sir,

but seems to me

taking on such as banks is like taking your fists against the sky.

I will not rest until justice has been done.

They've taken your home and your business, Mr Cochrane.

Be careful they don't take your soul.

I'm grateful for your water.

Oh, ain't my water to give, sir. Water is free on God's Earth,

as long as the rain falls. Always will be.

Ladies, this is indeed most Christian of you.

"Little children, let us love,

"neither in words, nor with the tongue, but in deed and truth."

It is sincerely moving that you should devote your spare time

to collecting for those in need.

We are ever mindful of those heathens who run naked in foreign parts.

Lark Rise?

Those heathens, Miss Pearl, at least show bodily modesty.

Thomas! Our neighbours are not heathens.

Faith abounds amongst their dirty faces.

Our cause, ladies, was inspired by a picture we saw

in the Christian Herald.

It is deeply distressing that they have no garments whatsoever,

though one does admire their skin,

the very colour of liquorice.

Liquorice?

Uh, imagine the gratitude of our distant brethren.

Oh, I am so sorry, Miss Pratt.

I did not mean to add to your sister's woe.

Does Pontefract agonise her still?

Since the day of her return from Pontefract, the topic is forbidden.

I live in hope that it may pass, but that wretched man

persists in writing to her. Letters full of contrition, no doubt.

I do hope their return stings him as much as he deserves.

I've been thinking all day, do I love Alfie more than he loves me,

or does he love me more than I love him?

What does it matter, so long as we love each other?

Well, that's what I decided, only,

it took me peeling three bowls of potatoes before I knew it.

There are regulations.

I cannot disregard them simply because you are my brother.

What is the problem, Laura?

Little Annie is sick, ma'am,

so Mama isn't able to come over to sign the postal order.

Oh. I see.

I have seen how worried your mother has been about money of late.

I expect more waiting will only add to her distress.

If we can find a way to provide now what is after all hers...

But, ma'am, you've always taught me

we must hold strictly to the regulations.

Yes. It's true.

And they will be adhered to.

But suppose we simply shuffle the sequence of events

in order to release the money tonight.

The order will be signed soon enough.

And no harm will be done.

Now, Edmund,

how would you like some gingerbread

to fortify you for the journey home? Hmm?

I don't like my pa being away.

I wish he would come back.

He will, Laura. Of course he will,

when there's work here for him again.

My ma ain't quite my ma without him. She...

I don't know how to describe it.

She falters.

Well, of course she does.

All women do without a man to steer them.

Daniel Parish!

- Mr Parish? - Ah. Gabriel Cochrane.

Mr Cochrane, I was intending to seek you out today.

I am here to implore you to write about the injustice of my predicament.

Sir, forgive me.

You took out a loan from the bank and you failed to repay it.

You will have to explain the injustice to me.

Nicholas Steerforth came to me, sought me out,

tempting me with a loan I did not want.

He insisted that expansion was the only means of survival.

His intention was to entice me.

Enticement is not a crime, sir.

- I understand your despair but... - I refused his oily offers.

But he returned when my wife was sick.

I was glad of the money then, it would tide us over, until she...

But Liza grew worse.

It was a struggle, I lost orders...

Surely, if you explained your circumstances to the bank?

When Liza died,

I could not keep up the payments, so I asked the bank for a further loan.

Steerforth had led me to believe

that I could borrow more in order to restore my fortunes.

He refused.

Mr Steerforth wished to benefit from your misfortune?

Are you claiming, sir, this man drew you into a trap?

Mr Cochrane, you must appoint a solicitor.

I cannot afford one yet.

So, first, I need the truth to be told.

Will you write it, Mr Parish?

I am making a special effort with your collars, Daniel.

I was not satisfied with last week's efforts.

A crisp collar is the mark of a man of distinction, I always say.

Thank you, Miss Pearl.

Aren't you going out this evening, Mr Parish?

Laura is writing to her pa.

I thought I might work on my article about the demise of the foundry.

A frightful business. What sort of world is it

when a handed-down concern is swallowed whole by the banks?

That is exactly the question my reader would ask.

Yes, well, admiring crisp collars

will not get such a high-minded article written, will it?

Well. My thoughts precisely, Miss Ruby.

Anyone would think