My Cousin Rachel

Did she?

Didn't she?

Who's to blame?

I was an orphan.

Ambrose took me in.

He was my cousin...

but I loved him like a father.

Yes! Another!

They said, "the boy needs a mother..."

but the only women allowed in the house were the dogs.

Good girl. Good girl.

I came back from school.

Here, give me that.

What had I learned?

I didn't like books.

I didn't like cities.

I didn't like clever talk.

I liked it...

here.

But Ambrose fell ill.

The doctors sent him off...

Go.

For the sunshine.

How I missed him.

Every letter I shared

with my godfather and his daughter.

I've got a letter from Ambrose.

Just arrived.

Then, that summer, his letters mentioned...

Boots!

"My cousin, and so your cousin too,

Rachel, a widow, very good company,

who has kindly taken it upon herself

to show me all the glories of Florence.

She lives out here in the sunshine,

but is as English as you or I..."

She must be extremely charming

for Ambrose to have noticed her.

What do you mean?

Oh, I've never heard of him

admiring a woman before.

Oh, she's right. Your cousin never had much need for women.

Why should he?

He had me.

How old is she?

Doesn't say.

And by the autumn...

"Such wonderful news.

Rachel and I are to marry!

She's agreed.

Such happiness to be so blessed.

I'm certain the moment you set eyes on her,

you'll understand.

She is radiant, she is good,

and she is the kindest companion."

She'll have everything turned upside down in no time.

Shan't know where we bloody are from one minute to the next.

Have you thought about the future?

Hmm?

Well, a home of your own?

Why on Earth should I do that?

Well,

The position's changed somewhat, hasn't it?

When are you expecting them?

No doubt in his great happiness,

he'll have forgotten all about us.

Poor Philip. Are you being orphaned all over again?

Preposterous comment.

It's good that he's happy, isn't it?

Well, that's the whole point, surely.

- Point of what? - Getting married.

I'm sure there'll be a letter soon.

"I have written to you several times,

but she watches me like a hawk

and there is no one I can trust

to take my letters to the mail.

She is away from the house today.

That's why I am able to write this.

For weeks, I have been ill:

fevers, terrible headaches.

I am sick of the sight of the sun.

As for the doctors,

I don't trust any of them.

The new one, recommended by that snake Rainaldi,

is a cut-throat, I am sure."

Who's Rainaldi?

No clue.

May I see?

Was he drunk, do you think?

- Drunk? - When he wrote the letter.

Never.

Look.

"She has done for me at last.

Rachel, my torment.

For god's sake, come quickly."

Hello?

Good boy.

You must be Philip.

I've been expecting you.

How do you know who I am?

I am sure I'm not the first to notice

the remarkable resemblance to your cousin.

Please, come in. I'm nearly finished.

- Where is he? - Where is he?

Surely, my dear fellow, you know...

he's dead.

Where's the woman?

- The woman? - She...

The Rachel woman. Where is she?

- Gone. - Where?

I have no clue. It's the truth.

How did he die?

It was a tumor, in the head. Here.

The doctors are in no doubt. It affected his brain.

- How? - Oh.

Shouting.

Violence. Terrible distrust.

The doctors are all idiots, and I of course,

the worst idiot of all.

Things are thrown, glasses smashed.

His wife pushed up against the wall

and held by the throat.

She wants this place let. Even sold.

Your cousin Rachel, Mr. Ashley,

is a woman of very strong... impulse

and passion.

Very strong.

Do you understand?

Where are his things?

Hmm?

His clothes, his books...

The day after the funeral, she was gone.

Unbelievable bitch.

Hmm?

I said how much I was looking forward to seeing her.

My name is Rainaldi.

I am your cousin's lawyer and advisor,

and I hope friend.

Prego.

A copy of the certificate of death.

A copy has already been sent to you in England

and another one to the trustee of Ambrose's will,

your godfather, Signor Kendall.

- You know all about me. - Of course.

There are some remarkable things to see here.

Really?

Churches, paintings and so on.

- But, then again... - What?

Oh, you strike me as someone perhaps more interested

in beer and foxes than the Rinascimento.

And why not?

I believe nothing of what you've told me.

I believe had I been here,

my cousin would still be alive.

And I believe that whatever it cost him

in pain and suffering before he died,

I will return in full measure

upon the woman that caused it.

He was a good man, Master Philip.

- May he rest in peace. - Thank you, guy.

- God rest his soul. - Right.

Come on, Jericho, give me that damn thing.

You always did scythe like a girl.

More beef, Master Philip?

Master Philip?

You're the master now, Master Philip.

You're the master.

It's the same will I drew up 10 years ago.

No provision has been made for a wife.

- Are you sure? - Quite sure.

I've examined it carefully

and the accompanying letter from Signor Rainaldi.

There's no mention anywhere of any claim

on the part of Mrs. Ashley.

I'm amazed.

Why?

We know perfectly well she drove him to his death.

We know nothing of the sort.

If that's the way you're going to talk

about your cousin's widow,

then frankly, I don't want to listen.

You have been extremely fortunate.

The entire estate will fall to you on your next birthday,

as per Ambrose's wishes.

Surely you don't believe all this nonsense about the tumor?

Here is the death certificate

with an account of the post mortem.

And what possible motive could she have?

With nothing to gain from his death?

So, yes, why wouldn't I believe?

Ambrose wasn't my father...

but he was like a father.

In fact, better than most fathers.

We all miss him.

I miss him.

But you should know that the new Master Ashley

plans to carry on much the same as the old.

She's in England.

She's here.

I wouldn't worry.