01x01 - Episode 1

[bunniefuu]

( Whispers echo ): I love you, I love you...

( Explosions echo )

Cyril! Cyril!

( Rainfall )

The, er... position is for a secretary.

Then the agency shouldn't have given you my name.

My typing and shorthand isn't good enough.

Assistant, then.

( Typewriter clacks )

With some minor secretarial duties.

I sent her all the details. She chose you.

Really?

You're a teacher?

Games mistress, yes.

Teachers are good at organising.

Mrs Owen is expecting a lot of guests.

Whereabouts in the country?

The Devon coast. Soldier Island.

The coast?

Audrey's been telling me about it from her magazines -- haven't you, Audrey?

Some Hollywood film star was supposed to have bought it, but no, it's Mr and Mrs Owen.

You've met them?

No, everything by letter.

An island?

By the sea?

Islands are generally by the sea.

The box, if you please, Audrey.

Erm... I... I don't... Maybe I'm not suited...

You are who she wants.

And it's very well-paid.

There's a permanent position on offer, if you fit the bill.

Yes, but...

For immediate expenses.

( Recording equipment buzzes, Actor warms up voice )

( Actor clears his throat )

And... and this is for a play?

In the West End?

And will I be credited in the programme?

Ladies and gentlemen!

Silence, please!

You are charged with the following indictments.

( Train engine chugs )

( Train whistle blows )

( Tyres screech, car horn blares )

Oh, my God! Bloody hell!

Damn you, you stupid bastard!

Woo! [HE LAUGHS]

( Clock chimes )

Oh, well. Here are the others...

I'm Miss Claythorne.

Mrs Owen's secretary.

Are you Mr Narracott?

Ain't no-one else holding the sign. Already taken two over.

Fussy old maid and some flashy young lad.

Been in and out of this harbour like a fiddler's elbow.

Sea dogs have their own etiquette.

Well, good afternoon.

General MacArthur.

Good Lord! What an honour to meet you.

Wargrave.

Justice Wargrave?

The honour's all mine, sir.

Retired from justice now.

Mr...?

Lombard. Philip.

And you, sir?

Davis.

Are you coming, or not?

Well... shall we?

This way, just up here...

Good afternoon!

Welcome to Soldier Island.

Right. Come along.

Sorry, is there a problem?

Well, that's as far as my fee will take me, sir.

Oh, for God's sake...

Er... Davis?

Davis?

I'd be grateful...

Of course.

Well, Rogers...

Our hosts -- when can we expect to meet them?

We should be a full house by tonight, sir.

Ah, afternoon.

Tony Marston.

Well, I look forward to meeting you all at dinner.

A stiff G&T in my room.

Sir.

Did Mrs Owen leave any instructions for me?

I'm the secretary.

Only to ensure that you were comfortable and had everything you wished for, Miss Claythorne.

Now, if the gentlemen would follow me, Mrs Rogers will escort the lady.

Well, thank you, Davis...

Did my friend, Mrs Culmington -- Mrs Constance Culmington -- did she change her plans, do you know?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

Mmm! Ridiculously vague.

Well, I'm sorry. I only just recently got the job.

No, no, no, no. Not you, Miss Claythorne.

I mean, this whole arrangement.

The Owens invited me here to meet my friend and she's not even here.

Very strange. Very strange indeed.

Can I help you? Here.

Oh, too kind.

( He sniffs )

( Ghostly moan echoes, MacArthur gasps )

Leave me alone.

Look at the state of you.

I've got to baste my beef.

And my souffles, Thomas, what about my souffle?

Well, I can't dress her, can I?

Go on.

Was it a childhood affliction?

Your eyes?

No, madam.

Came on all suddenly.

Oh... Shock, maybe? Sudden change?

Begging your pardon, madam, I don't know.

You must know.

Begging your pardon, madam, I don't.

I always think it's rather a weakness, to be so affected by something in one's circumstances.

Rather indulgent, almost vain.

We must be strong, Mrs Rogers, especially in these times.

We must be valiant... and virtuous.

And we must be Englishwomen.

Yes, madam.

And a little advice... in future, a splash of Eau de Cologne... before you come upstairs to attend on the ladies.

I appreciate it's hot, working in the kitchen, but there's no need to announce it quite so emphatically.

Beg your pardon, madam.

Tinned goods.

Troops. w*r. The w*r.

Tinned goods.

Mmm!

Judge Wargrave, I'm terribly sorry for the clumsy introduction.

I'm a terrible traveller, completely lose my bearings.

Are we on time?

Only just.

Ah, sir.

You're ready sooner than we'd anticipated.

What's up there?

Just roof space, sir.

Ah, sir -- I've been advised that the footing isn't particularly sturdy up there.

Best avoided, lest you make an unexpected entrance into one of the bedrooms, sir -- by way of the ceiling.

May I show you to the drawing room, sir?

Perhaps an aperitif, whilst you await the other guests?

Ah... Mr Davis.

You look like a man who could use a drink.

Hmm! How very congenial. Perhaps a small... snifter.

Mr Rogers, lead the way.

( Murmur of conversation )

( Clatter )

( Clunk )

Miss?

Is there something you're looking for, Miss?

Because this is the belowstairs, Miss.

For staff.

Well, I am staff.

Miss, we had very strict instructions that you were to be treated as a guest.

Guests don't come below stairs.

It rather sounds as though you're asking me to leave.

How many more are you expecting, with the Owens?

We shall know when they arrive.

And how will you cope, just the two of you?

Rogers and myself is competent.

More than.

So, if you please?

Well done, girl.

What an idyllic evening.

The sky!

How can one not believe in a creator?

Davis.

Emily Brett.

Edward Armstrong.

There's one in my room, too.

I imagine there's one in every room.

Well... Soldier Island. It makes sense.

It's amusing.

I have a strong suspicion our hosts are inclined to whimsy.

I cannot comment on our hosts.

Good little secretary.

Excuse me.

We've got off on the wrong foot, haven't we?

But you do have very pretty legs.

It would have been remiss not to admire them.

Mr Lombard... you seem to be under the impression that I am a particular kind of woman.

And I assure you that I am not.

I do not like to be looked at.

I get instincts about people.

I've an instinct about you.

I think you're pretending.

( Door opens )

A drink, Mr Marston?

Pink gin. Pink as a virgin's blush.

Didn't catch your name.

Philip Lombard.

Irish. You must know the Corkerons.

Great chums of mine.

Endlessly simpatico.

Anyone who's anyone knows them.

( Wargrave and MacArthur chuckle outside )

Are you a betting man, Lombard?

It depends.

At some point this evening, one of those crumbling old roaks will start talking about the w*r.

And then he'll ask us both if we aren't damned sorry to have missed the last one and how we should be gung ho to do our duty in the next.

Not that there's going to be a next one.

There's always a next one.

So, how about it? A bet?

The odds are too short.

( Wargrave and MacArthur chuckle outside )

Listen to them. Clinging on.

They think they still mean something but nobody at all would notice, or care, if they just...

I'm going to be exceptionally charming to them.

Oh, all right, Miss Claythorne.

If it'll make you happy, I'm sorry for staring.

Mr Lombard, I doubt you're ever sorry for anything.

Smart girl.

( Gong strikes )

Ladies and gentlemen, lobster souffle.

I hope it isn't too rich.

I always dine so modestly at home.

I won't, thank you.

Thank you.

We've met before, you know?

Oh, forgive me, my memory is not what it was.

Perhaps you gave evidence before me?

No, no, it wasn't that, I'd remember that.

It's something else...

It'll come to me.

I'm not at all sure about these.

They look very... pagan.

They're the ten little soldiers. You know, from the poem.

Hmm. I know it off by heart.

When I was a little boy, my nanny used to recite it to me.

I imagine she wanted to terrify me into being good.

Did it work?

Well, I've always been a stickler, yes.

Stickler for the rules.

I was probably a rather dull boy!

I really can't imagine that, General.

Although, you shouldn't call it a poem, Miss Claythorne.

It's doggerel.

Poetry should be uplifting.

I agree with you, Miss Brent.

Well, that shows how wrong first impressions are.

I didn't think you were the type of gentleman to appreciate poetry.

Lombard: Mr Davis has hidden depths.

The souffle is delicious.

Mmm, very light.

In over 40 years in criminal law, I have come face to face with the most depraved examples of mankind and felt no fear.

But I quail in terror, Miss Claythorne, at the thought of young ladies brandishing hockey sticks.

They're not so bad, Judge. A little over-excited and noisy, sometimes.

Oh, the prerogative of youth.

And I'm sure you set them a very fine example.

Sometimes, you dread what filth they're going to serve, but this is actually very decent.

The Owens are always generous hosts.

Friends of yours, Mr Davis?

Business acquaintances.

I'm in tinned goods.

The firm started off supplying troops with stew.

Tinned goods is what helped us win the w*r.

Well, I suppose... I suppose an army marches on its stomach.

Here we go...

God, I remember that stew.

RAMC, I presume, Dr Armstrong?

That's right.

Clearing stations and then hospitals in Belgium and France.

Perhaps you're being interviewed as well.

Interviewed, General?

Yes, Mr Owen is an amateur, but very knowledgeable m*llitary historian.

He's writing about France, about the decisive actions on the Front in 1917.

(Oh, for God's sake, it's over.)

No, I'm, er... I'm just here to get away from it all.

Interesting man, Mr Owen -- and an interesting name.

Ulick Norman.

How funny. Mrs Owen is Una Nancy...

Matching initials.

Must confess, I was a little worried about the "Ulick".

Given the current climate, it might be seen as somewhat... Teutonic.

You couldn't hope to meet a more patriotic man.

And what could be more English than "Norman"?

Oh, it's magical!

Mrs Rogers has the gift.

She might look like the undead, but she can definitely cook.

When might we expect the Owens?

Have they not telephoned?

There's no telephone on the island, Madam.

Mr Narracott brings messages, along with the post and kitchen supplies every morning.

I imagine tomorrow, he will either bring a telegram from the Owens, or they will accompany him.

Ah-ah, Rogers, give that Narracott chap a couple of bob, ask him to watch my car.

It's parked up by the harbour.

The Jensen.

Of course, sir.

I shall pass on your compliments to Mrs Rogers.

Look here, Davis. The Owens...

Are they fun-loving types?

"Fun-loving"?

Yeah, cos there's something a tad off here.

Now, I had a letter inviting me to a house party.

Pretty young things, you know? Champagne, music...

And apart from Lombard, who looks like he could cut up a bit lively, the rest of you don't really look like fun-loving house party types.

No offence.

Your car, the Jensen?

Oh, you saw her? Isn't she a beauty?

I honestly can't imagine loving a person as much as I worship and adore the Jensen.

You ran me off the road.

No, I didn't.

You ran me off the road.

When?

I was driving along, minding my own business, when you overtook me -- going God knows how fast -- and you ran me off the road.

Well, I saw someone going at a pitiful speed...

Now, look here, Marston --

I think an apology and a handshake between gentlemen would be just the thing here.

But I haven't done anything wrong!

You ran me off the road!

I might have over-taken you, but my great aunt drives with more zip.

And if you can't control your car, then you really shouldn't be behind the wheel...

You little sh*t!

You ran me off the road and then you have the temerity to tell me it's my fault?!

Careful, old boy. Getting a little red in the face there.

Gentleman, please! There are ladies present.

I'm sorry.

It's been a long week.

You're right, General.

A handshake between gentlemen.

Come on, Armstrong. Put it there.

Let's be pals.

Nearly there.

Good work, eh?

Rogers, I'm out of cigarettes.

Yes, sir.

So, what battles were you involved with, General?

Well, I served on the North West frontier, in South Africa, and of course, in France.

Win any?

I loathe this convention -- leaving men to their cigars and their "stories".

Convention, Miss Claythorne, is what keeps us together in the face of impending chaos.

Is it time?

You start serving.

No, no. No, I'll pour the coffee.

You must be very busy in the kitchen.

Miss.

Excellent dinner, Mrs Rogers.

The Owens are lucky to have you.

I'll certainly be telling them so.

Thank you, Madam.

( Tannoy feedback )

Whereabouts is your school?

I doubt you'd have heard of it. It's not particularly well-known.

Nor particularly good, either.

Why do you say that?

Otherwise, you would not be needing employment in the summer months.

Their fees are not high enough, nor is their pay.

Not that I disapprove of you seeking employment and being busy -- far from it.

But why teach in a third-rate establishment, producing third-rate girls?

Barely worth your time and attention, I would have thought.

Tannoy: ( feedback ) 'Ladies and gentlemen! Silence, please!'

Who is that?

'You are charged with the following indictments. Edward George Armstrong, that you m*rder*d Louisa Mary Clees...'

Who is this?

I don't know, sir...

'Emily Caroline Brent, that you m*rder*d Beatrice Taylor...'

Who is this?

What's the meaning of this?

'William Henry Blore, that you did m*rder James Stephen Landor...'

God almighty!

'Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that you did m*rder Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton. Philip Lombard, that you did m*rder 21 men, members of an East African tribe. John Gordon MacArthur, that you did m*rder Henry Richmond...'

Where is this coming from?

'Anthony James Marston, that you did m*rder John and Lucy Coombes...'

Let's go, Rogers.

I never heard of them.

'Lawrence John Wargrave, that you did m*rder Edward Seton.'

Get out of my way.

'Thomas and Ethel Rogers... ( Glass smashes ) .. that you did m*rder Jennifer Brady.'

Thomas?

'Prisoners at the bar... ( Crash ) .. how do you plead?'

( Record revolves )

Oh... Mrs Rogers?

She just took a turn.

I'll go fetch my bag.

She'll be all right.

I'll be the judge of that.

A record?

It's called Swan Song.

What the hell are they playing at?

Huh? What the hell are they playing at?

Get off me!

The damn Owens, what's their game?

Put him down, Marston, he doesn't know them. He's not Davis.

I'm Blore.

Detective Sergeant William Blore.

How did you know?

Instinct.

I need a drink.

Really! These grotesque, false accusations!

Indeed, General!

We should wait for the doctor and Rogers.

We should wait until everyone is together.

Well said, Tubs. Let's all listen to the policeman.

Miss Claythorne?

Here.

It's mild, but it will help you sleep.

I suspect, Rogers, that there are questions about our hosts that only you can answer.

Yes, sir.

A few minutes, then, to settle your wife.

Sir.

I told you!

I told you... ( She whimpers )

Pull yourself together, woman!

Stop flapping your trap, you dozy bitch.

Thank you.

Rogers is coming.

Well, Rogers?

See... "On my instructions... Put the record on at such a time".

We were told it was to be a surprise, a party game.

Some party game!

But you were in the room with us.

There's a delay on the record.

Somebody went to a lot of time and expense.

If I'd known what was on the record, I'd never have been a part of it.

What is said about me and Mrs Rogers? Never!

Nothing in it, then?

Miss Brady were like family to us.

'We did everything for her. She weren't well. Frail as a bird. But on account of how she left us a small legacy... Well, some folk will say anything to hurt.'

( Miss brady whimpers, gasps for air )

( He pants )

There's a lot of jealousy amongst domestic service, I'm afraid to say.

Below stairs is very often a nest of vipers.

Thank you, Rogers. We'll ring if we require anything further.

I've had more than my fair share of lazy and vindictive staff.

I believe Rogers.

Doesn't make any sense.

I've never even met a John and Lucy Coombes.

Malicious nonsense.

Louise Clees was a surgical patient.

It was risky, there were complications. Everyone knew that.

But the moment anything goes wrong, it's "blame the bloody surgeon".

No-one's blaming you, Doctor.

Well, someone is!

Henry Richmond was one of my finest young officers, who fell in the pursuit of his gallant duty for King and Country.

It is repugnant that these vile rumours should be given credence...

Repugnant!

Edward Seton was guilty.

I was party to evidence that was not admissible before the court.

But he was guilty.

The only time I laid hands on Landor was to put handcuffs on him.

He was a degenerate and a drunk.

He choked on his own puke.

Cyril... The little boy...

I was his governess.

He wasn't supposed to swim, he wasn't strong.

But he sneaked off and I...

I wasn't a good enough swimmer.

I just wasn't good enough.

I tried.

I really tried to save him.

His poor mother was broken, she was so broken.

I... I had to be rescued.

I almost drowned.

Who could say something like this?

Some sort of vicious joke.

Well, if that's your sense of humour, there's something wrong with your wiring.

Time for the funny farm.

It was pinpoint accurate about me.

21 men?

I always thought someone would blab.

It's amazing how people get an att*ck of conscience when they're safely tucked away in their beds.

( Flames crackle )

( Distant screams )

Emily: You terrible man!

You terrible, terrible man!

It's people like you -- men like you -- that put our missionaries in such danger!

Oh, your missionaries, with their God and their syphilis!

I am not the only white k*ller in Africa, Miss Brent.

Lombard, you, sir, are a bloody butcher!

And I'm holding my hands up to it.

So, either I'm embellishing a story for shocking effect, or I'm the only one telling the truth in a room full of liars.

How dare you!

Take that back, sir!

Wargrave: Enough, please, ladies and gentlemen. Enough!

What good can it do?

My feeling is that we should retire and be ready to leave tomorrow with Mr Narracott.

What if the Owens are with him?

We confront them, but we leave.

And despite Mr Lombard's devastating confession... we are all victims of a cruel hoax.

We shouldn't these dignify these accusations with any more debate.

Agreed?

Certainly.

Hear, hear.

John and Lucy Coombes -- they must have been those two kids.

I mean, what sort of parents let kids play out in the dark, for God's sake?

It's completely irresponsible.

I lost my license for six months. It was a terrific nuisance.

Oh, you were driving, were you? What a surprise(!)

It was jolly bad luck, that's all.

No, I didn't stand a chance.

Those poor children...

You're a bloody maniac, Marston!

I wasn't even driving that fast.

You can't, not in England.

It's not like the Continent. I mean, they understand motoring over there.

Say what you like about the Krauts, but their roads are magnificent.

The Jensen loves them.

I can really open her up and let her rip.

( He chuckles )

( Marston wheezes, coughs )

( Glass drops )

All right?

He's choking!

( Marston chokes )

He's bleeding!

Get him down!

Get him off me!

He's dead.

(Heavenly father, watch over this soul in torment and protect us...)

Armstrong.

Come here.

Ah.

Well, perhaps we ought to get rid of the stimulant, out of respect to the family.

Don't want to cause a scandal.

It's a police matter now, Doctor.

Same set of rules, if you're posh or not.

Very well.

We're damned, Thomas.

We're damned.

We're going to hell!

( She cries out )

( Mrs Rogers sobs )

( Knocking at door )

Yes?

Who is it?

( Floorboards creak )

( Door opens )

Echoing: Doctor, please!

Don't touch me.

I know what I'm doing.

( Knocking at door )

( He breathes heavily )

Dr Armstrong?

Yes? What is it?

Can you come, please?

She's been dead for some hours.

I'll, er... I'll inform the others not to expect too much in the way of breakfast, given the circumstances.

No, sir.

Full breakfast will be provided.

Good man.

Best not to dwell. Keep busy.

Dr Armstrong.

I heard you get up.

Has Mrs Rogers got worse?

Somewhat. She's dead.

Dead?

d*ed in her sleep.

It was quite peaceful. Nothing to be alarmed about.

Wait.

Wait, I, er... I came down here to wait for you and I saw this. Please.

Bit late for the kiss of life, Tubs.

Smart arse, you are.

Have a sniff yourself.

There were ten of them.

From the nursery rhyme, the poem? Yes.

Yes. Count them for me, please, Dr Armstrong.

There are eight, aren't there?

Eight figures for the eight people here.

Tell me I'm right.

Please tell me I'm right!

I'm sure there is a perfectly rational explanation for this.

Almonds.

Almonds be buggered.

Cyanide.

I trust you're not going to unravel on us, Miss Claythorne.

Hysterical women are so boring.

Echoing: Thank you for trying, thank you for trying, thank you, thank you, thank you for trying, oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God...'

'I want to swim to the rocks!'

Cyril, darling, you know you can't. You're not strong enough.

I am!

Cyril, behave yourself.

Listen to Miss Claythorne, dearest.

NO!

That's incredibly naughty! I'm so sorry, Miss Claythorne.

Oh, dear. He's getting all worked up.

Cyril, you'll make yourself ill.

What's all this, now?

Uncle Hugo!

I can hear you shouting from miles away, you young rascal.

Oh, thank heavens -- in the nick of time.

Olivia, you look absolutely radiant, as ever.

Empty flattery. I'm completely raddled and utterly hideous.

I don't believe I've had the pleasure.

Hugo, this is Miss Claythorne, who was doing so much to help Cyril in the schoolroom.

( Door shuts )

Have you been for a paddle, General?

What are you, Lombard?

A mercenary?

g*n for hire?

A soldier?

Not from any army I'd recognise, but still, a soldier of sorts.

You don't need to worry about what I am.

There's always a moment, isn't there?

Before the att*ck, the advance, the bombardment, the chaos...

A moment of absolute calm.

Listen...

Doesn't this feel like that moment?

I was never a man for calm, General.

We can't see the harbour from here.

Which means they can't see us.

We are cut off.

Rats in a barrel.

This is the peace before the carnage.

People do not just die for no reason!

They die because something was done to them by someone.

There's a Fenian sat over there with a bloody g*n!

No-one's coming for us. This is the end.

Don't you dare touch my possessions!

What have you got to hide?

The whole morning, clearing up guts -- you've got some right brass neck.

We are all being hunted.

There's someone else on this island, and when I find him, I'm going to make him number 22.