Miss Potter

'There's something delicious about writing the first words of a story.'

'You can never quite tell where they'll take you.'

'Mine took me here.'

'Looking back, the city and I never much liked each other.'

'An unmarried woman, after all, was expected to behave

in very particular ways, which did not include

traipsing from publisher to publisher with a gaggle of friends.'

Now, listen to me. You must not be afraid.

And don't talk too much.

'Friends who, sadly, others were not so keen to meet.'

Well... Hmm.

I've been selling my drawings for greeting cards, place cards, etc,

for seven years.

A-ha.

Hmm.

Hmm.

Bunnies in jackets with brass buttons.

-However do you imagine such things?

-I don't imagine. They're quite real.

-They're my friends.

-Ah, you base the animal characters on your friends.

No. The animals are my friends.

Before Peter Rabbit, there was Benjamin Bunny.

And then Sir Isaac the Newt. I have their drawings as well if you'd...

-That's not necessary, Miss Potter. It is

-Miss

-Potter, is it not?

Yes, of course. How silly of me. Unfortunately the market...

Of course. I completely understand. It was silly of me.

F Warne and Company would like to publish your book, Miss Potter.

But best not to get overly hopeful. I know publishing your book

will not sell a lot of copies, but I think we can turn a small profit.

My dear Mr Warne. Well, I'm pleased. Very pleased indeed.

I shall do everything possible to ensure you've not made a mistake.

Miss Wiggin, I believe we can go.

Thank you very much indeed, Messrs Warne, for your time.

Our pleasure.

My brother always knows what he's doing.

Oh! I'm quite particular about book size and price,

and I'd like to avoid that dreadful gothic typeface

your children's books usually have.

Everything will be to your satisfaction.

Miss Potter.

-Your...

-(GASPS)

Of course. (CHUCKLES)

Portfolio. (CHUCKLES)

Come along, Peter.

-Sir Isaac the Newt.

-You can't be serious.

-That book won't sell ten copies.

-Of course not!

However, the thought did occur to me...

-Norman.

-We promised our little brother a project.

If he makes a muck of it, what will it matter?

Miss Potter may turn out to be a godsend.

Home, Miss Potter?

No, Saunders. Drive me through the park.

-Through all the parks!

-I beg your pardon, Miss Potter?

Drive!

Walk on.

We did it! Did you hear my heart? It was a kettle drum!

You see? We cannot stay home all our lives.

We must present ourselves to the world

and we must look upon it as an adventure.

Faster, Saunders!

-Faster, Saunders, if you please.

-No, Miss Beatrix. No.

-Fast as you can, old boy.

-Go on!

Oh! I say!

Whoa.

Saunders.

Beatrix, where have you been? It's after four o'clock.

I'm not a child. I can do things without my mother's permission.

I hoped to use the carriage myself this afternoon. Where were you?

I took a drive. With my friends.

-You don't have any friends.

-Yes, I do, Mother.

Every time I draw.

Some of your paintings are quite pretty, Beatrix,

but I'm not going to deceive you as your father does

and call them great art.

Well, my friend, when I am a published author,

then you shall see.

Beatrix, Bertram, time for good nights.

-But I haven't finished yet!

-Come on. Hurry up. Bertram!

-There! I got him!

-Bertram, you're barbaric.

-Come on, you two. Hurry up. Down you go.

-(MOUTHS)

Slowly.

Hurry, Rupert! It won't do to be late to the Hydes'!

Doesn't Mama look beautiful, Beatrix?

-Being in a temper puts such a rose into her cheeks.

-When you grow up,

and you have to run a household, keep a social calendar

and put up with a man who's never been introduced to a clock,

your cheeks will glow, too. Look at this ribbon! That's unsightly.

Change her into something decent, and give this night dress away.

-(MUMBLES)

-You're impossible, Rupert. We are so late!

-What have you drawn today, Beatrix?

-Benjamin Bunny having a rest.

Oh! His ears are getting better and better.

-This shading here is very good, Beatrix.

-Rupert...

Say your good nights now, children.

-Good night, Mother.

-Good night, Beatrix.

-Good night, Father.

-Good night, Beatrix.

-Good night, Mother.

-Good night, Bertram.

-Father.

-Come on. Mustn't make Mama and Papa...

-Later than they are.

-Children!

-What now?

-On my way home,

I walked down Piccadilly. What do you think jumped into my pockets?

Something very special for the young entomologist.

(MAKES BUZZING NOISE) And something very suitable for the young lady

who's very soon to grow up to run a fine home just like her mother.

-We'll open them upstairs. Come on.

-Thank you, Father.

-Thank you, Father.

-Come on!

-Late, late, late.

-We are not.

-We'll never be invited again!

It's polite to be a little late. Now, get in the cab.

This isn't polite late. This is late.

Right, wee ones. One story and then bed.

I want Beatrix to tell a story. Hers are funny.

Indeed they are, and I know exactly what it'll be about.

-Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca!

-Precisely.

Tom, Hunca, are you ready to play in a story?

"Oh, yes, we're excellent actors."

Well, we shall see about that. This will be your test. Over there.

Once upon a time those two excellent housekeepers,

Lucinda and Jane, bought some shiny new porcelain food

which they set out on their perfectly appointed dining-room table.

Then they decided to go for a walk. (HUMS MERRY TUNE)

Suddenly, there came a scuffling noise from the kitchen.

Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca crept out.

The two mice saw that the dining table was set for dinner.

Tom Thumb leapt up and took a big bite from the first plate

and broke his tooth. "Ow!"

-(KNOCK AT DOOR)

-Were we expecting someone?

-It's my publishers.

-Oh.

It's not a social call. In fact, I'm rather dreading it.

I wish you wouldn't invite tradespeople into the house.

-They carry dust.

-Well, next time I shall go to their office.

Mr Norman Warne.

Miss Potter. I hope you will forgive my intrusion into your routine.

-I was expecting one of the...

-Yes. I am Harold and Fruing's brother.

I have recently joined the firm and they have done me the great honour

of assigning your book to me. Thank you.

-It's most gracious of you to invite me to...

-Tea.

Yes, I would love some. Thank you. Er, lemon. Thank you.

Oh! How funny! (CHUCKLES)

Delightful and magical and so beautifully drawn.

I am utterly, utterly speechless.

Perhaps we should discuss our business, Mr Warne.

I put your drawings aside with the greatest reluctance.

Your brother's letter makes two proposals

which I find quite unacceptable.

First, they'd like the drawings to be in colour.

I'm adamant they be in black and white.

But Peter Rabbit's blue jacket and the red radishes.

-Surely you'd like these drawings reproduced as they are?

-Of course,

but colour will make the book cost more than little rabbits can afford.

I'm adamant. Which brings us to your brother's second point.

They wish to reduce the number of drawings by nearly a third.

-Totally unacceptable.

-Let me explain.

The idea of reducing the number of drawings was actually my idea.

If we can reduce the number to 31 precisely,

the illustrations for the whole book can be printed on one sheet of paper

using the three-colour process you desire

and at a relatively low level of cost, yes.

-Oh.

-I've given your book a great deal of attention, truly.

I'd like it to look colourful on the shelf

so that it stands out from ordinary books.

You have given it some thought!

-What other books have you supervised, Mr Warne?

-Personally?

-Yes.

-This will be my first.

-Ah.

Miss Potter, I have recently informed my brothers and my mother

that I'm no longer content to stay at home and play nursemaid

solely because I'm the youngest son. No. I would like a proper job

working for my family's firm and they have assigned me you.

Does that make things clearer?

In other words, you have no experience whatsoever

but, because you've made a nuisance of yourself, demanding a chance,

-they've fobbed you off on me.

-Miss Potter,

I know all too well that my brothers intended giving me your...

..your bunny book, as they call it,

but I find your book quite enchanting. Delightful.

And if they intended to fob me off, as you say, we shall show them.

We shall give them a bunny book to conjure with,

in colours mixed to your satisfaction at the printer.

At the printer? Oh, I could never...

I will escort you there myself, if you will allow me the honour.

Why would I never? Of course I'll go.

I'm a grown woman, Miss Wiggin will be there.

I see absolutely no reason why an artist shouldn't visit her printer.

Excellent, Miss Potter. Jolly good. Thank you.

I shall make all the arrangements

-and I am in every way, my dear lady, at your service.

-Oh!

You and rabbits. Extraordinary. Excuse me.

'When I was ten, my mother badgered my father into spending the summer

in the Lake District, as did other fashionable families.'

'Like an animal released from its cage, I fell under its spell.'

Mind your frocks, now. Come here.

The woods are full of fairies

and folk that look for children that get their clothes dirty.

And when they find them, they send the fairy beasts at night

with sharp teeth and ready appetite for young flesh.

-Coming to get you, Bea!

-No!

-Hello!

-Bertram, no! Don't integrate with the farmer's children.

Their hands! Germs. Come on. Bertram! Bertram!

Catch him, Bea!

-There he is!

-Oh, yeah!

Come on!

Out! Out of the way!

There!

There!

I don't think a thrashing will be necessary.

I'll just leave the nursery window unlatched.

-The fairy beasts will take care of the rest.

-No! I'll stay clean!

(LAUGHS) Bertram.

Really, what young man will marry a girl with a face full of mud?

-Well, I shan't marry, so it doesn't matter.

-Of course you'll marry.

All girls marry. I did, your grandmother did.

Even Fiona will one day.

-Well, I shan't. I shall draw.

-Oh, those silly drawings.

-Then, who will love you?

-My art and my animals.

-I won't need more love than that.

-Perhaps not at 11,

but see if you feel the same at 18. I drew Mama when we first met

and she married me. And, Fiona, doesn't mud wash off?

Bertram, come with me.

-Die, you little devil!

-Yuk.

Right. Even Prince Charming himself couldn't resist such a bonny girl.

-Not when he meets my brother, Vlad the Impaler.

-Got you!

Bed time, my young reprobates.

-Now, shall I leave a window open or...?

-No!

-I don't like fairy beasts!

-Well, it is a well-known fact

that fairy beasts never eat a child when he's tucked up in is own bed.

The fairies have been in the north country for hundreds of years

and have had many adventures.

-Have I told you about the changeling child?

-No!

-Yes. Several times.

-I want to hear it!

Oh, go ahead, Fiona. I'll tell myself a story.

Right.

Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen.

Once upon a time, there were four little rabbits.

Their names were Flopsy, Mopsy...

..Cotton-tail and Peter.

"'Now, my dears,' said old Mrs Rabbit one morning,

you may go into the fields, or down the lane,

but don't go into Mr McGregor's garden.'"

"'Why not, Mother?'" Because your father had an accident there.

He was put in a pie by Mrs McGregor.

"Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight to Mr McGregor's garden...

..and squeezed under the gate."

I like it.

"But round the end of the cucumber frame, whom should he meet

but Mr McGregor."

"Peter was out of breath and trembling with fright

and he had not the least idea which way to go." It's muddy, actually.

-One more. Lighten it up, would you.

-"Mr McGregor caught sight of him

but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate

and was safe at last in the wood outside."

Not quite. See here...

"When Peter came home, his mother put him to bed

with a tablespoonful of camomile tea,

but Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail

had bread and milk and blackberries for supper."

-This book, it's changed things for me, Mr Warne.

-How so?

Well, for one thing, it's given me the chance to prove to my mother

that an unmarried woman of 32

can do more than attend tea parties and smile at dull conversations.

Yes, indeed. My family never wanted me to get into publishing, either.

-We do make rather a good team, don't you think?

-Mmm.

Provided, of course, we prove them wrong.

Mother. This is Miss Potter.

Oh! At last. We poor, forgotten folk in Bedford Square

get to share some of Norman's excitement.

Mrs Warne, it's so kind of you to invite me.

Nonsense. It was the desperate act

-of a woman who is starting to forget what her son looked like.

-Mother!

-My sister, Amelia.

-Hello.

-Norman allowed us a peek at Peter Rabbit.

We found it utterly charming. So we absolutely insisted

that Norman bring you round for tea. I have decided that you and I

-are going to be friends.

-Have you?

Well, Norman tells me that you're unmarried, as am I,

and that you're not unhappy about it. That pleases me greatly!

Why can't you talk about the weather like other girls?

Well, all the other unmarried daughters in our circle

sit around all day gossiping and unaccountably bursting into tears.

But you have done something. You've written a book!

-I warn you, I am prepared to like you very much.

-Well, in that case,

-I shall have to like you, too, Miss Warne.

-Call me Millie.

-And there'll be no more Miss Potter.

-Absolutely. Beatrix, by all means.

Thank goodness. I'm starting to feel quite ill with all this bonhomie.

Oh, do let's have tea in the garden. It's too beautiful a day

not to share it with the flowers.

Well, I love gardening. Mother disapproves, but I can't help it.

-I love flowers shockingly.

-That's why you have a greengrocer's hands.

-I do not!

-Thanks heavens Norman sometimes deigns to read to me.

If I only had you for companionship, I'd expire of loneliness.

Mother's taste in books and in life runs to the, erm, melodramatic.

Oh, nonsense! I like good, English biographies and you know it.

I loathe silly romances. Such as the ones your brothers publish.

My brothers and I, Mother. I am part of the firm now, too, you know.

A sweet-natured boy like you does not need to work.

Your brothers provide quite well for all of us. I need your smile here.

But then no-one listens to a crotchety old lady in a wheelchair.

Indeed they don't. My mother may be crotchety,

but she does have an eye for beauty. She was fascinated by your artwork.

-Oh! Oh.

-Utterly unique.

Oh! (CHUCKLES) When I see something unusual,

I'm not content just to look at it. I must capture it.

Last summer, in the farmyard,

I was drawing something that was quite lovely in the sun.

Then suddenly I realised I was drawing the pig's swill bucket.

I had to laugh at myself! (LAUGHS)

-I feel a bit of a chill, Norman. Can you take me inside?

-Of course.

-Please excuse me. It was delightful meeting you, Miss Potter.

-And you.

-Do stay longer. And teach Minnie how to behave!

-Mummy!

-I think that means she likes you.

-Ah!

Did she say she likes to draw swill buckets?

Indeed she did, Mother. Indeed she did.

I think by Wednesday you could hang the lace curtains upstairs.

Then at least it'll look like summer even if it doesn't feel like it.

-Yes, madam.

-Oh, Beatrix, what is this stain on your blouse?

-Jane says it won't wash out and she's tried everything.

-It's ink.

-Ink.

-I must have brushed against something at the printers.

-Jane, I'm very sorry for causing you extra work.

-Take the blouse away.

Give it to the poor.

-This behaviour shows scant regard for your father's money.

-Well,...

..one day I shall make enough money to buy my own clothes.

I'm too old to live off my father's generosity.

You're too old to be spending so much time in the company of a man

who takes you to printers. Your father does not approve. Nor do I.

-Mr Warne is publishing my book.

-(SCOFFS) That book!

I can hardly wait till it's finished and forgotten.

I don't understand you. Your father and I introduced you

to so many suitable young men of your class. Young men of fortune

-and impeccably good family.

-Certainly!

Like that charming fellow Lionel Stokely.

Lionel is a particular favourite of his uncle, the earl,

who we visit every summer at Stokely Hall.

Oh, and I do regret terribly that I didn't accept Harry Haddon-Bell.

Harry's great-grandfather went to Sandhurst, as did his grandfather

-and his father.

-And so I went to Sandhurst. (SNORTS)

Father and I go out riding in the morning and shoot breakfast.

-Ashton's a crack shot.

-(LAUGHS)

But, no, you're just a pig-headed girl.

-Mr Warne is asking for you at the door, miss.

-Mr Warne?

-He's not expected.

-Unannounced. Perfection.

Two sold while we were at the booksellers.

That amounts to 40 in a week, which is 160 in a month and...

I'm trying to remember my 12 times table.

..1,920 in a year!

-I can't breathe.

-And that's just in one shop.

My dear Miss Potter, you are an author.

We have achieved what we set out to do.

We have created a book.

Yes.

What's the matter? A cloud just passed across your face.

You've been very generous with your time, Mr Warne.

Shown me things that I never would have seen.

Printing houses! (CHUCKLES)

-I shall miss your company.

-Are you losing my company?

Well, it just occurred to me that the book is out

and our association is coming to an end.

Miss Potter, I,...

-..I had hoped that you might have other stories.

-Really?

Really?!

Do you know, I recently remembered one, I thought I'd forgotten it,

about a duck.

A very stupid duck.

-Based on one of your friends?

-Based on myself, I think.

-It's a story I told a friend once.

-Yes?

My family summers in the Lake District and there was someone there.

The groundsman's son, who was always interested in my stories.

Ah! Miss Beatrix. Are you skulking?

No such thing! No, I was drying off my sketchbook.

Not bad, Miss Beatrix. Do you have any animal stories for me today?

I don't. Sorry. Nothing new.

Oh. That's Jemima. She doesn't have a story yet.

-Not a proper one.

-Jemima a duck?

-Jemima Puddleduck.

-And a stupider duck the world has never seen.

-(LAUGHS)

She goes looking for a safe place to lay her eggs,

then meets a charming gentleman with a long bushy tail and sharp teeth.

A-ha! (GROWLS)

Precisely. The gentleman offers her his shed,

and Jemima is surprised to find that there are so many feathers in it.

-But then, as I told you, she's a very stupid duck.

-I like it.

I'd love to paint every view in this valley,

but I'm not very good at landscapes.

-Wait too long and it won't be here to paint.

-Really! That's ridiculous.

No, I'm serious. The large farms are being broken up into small plots

-and sold off.

-Well, you can't stand in the way of progress.

-So they say.

But I say it is worth preserving.

I know you do, but nobody could disagree with you about that.

(CHUCKLES)

-Well, I'll see you soon, then.

-Perhaps not, Miss Beatrix.

-I'm leaving for Manchester next week.

-To study the law?

-Yes, indeed. Have to better meself somehow.

-Good luck.

-Send me some drawings.

-I will.

'He encouraged me to take my writing seriously.'

We must start on the new stories straight away. Jemima Puddleduck.

The public will like it. Tom Thumb, Hunca Munca. What do you think?

-Well, if you think.

-Your book has been very important in my life.

-You have been very important in my life.

-And you in mine.

-You must do it again and again.

-And again!

I promise you, I intend to be a nuisance.

'When did you decide you wouldn't marry?'

Just before my 20th birthday. Mother came to my room

and announced that Lionel Stokely was to marry Gwendolyn Alcott

and they would live at Stokely Hall, which Lionel had just inherited.

And I knew right then that she would bring no more suitors

and that I would never marry.

-And that shocked me.

-Mmm.

But I felt relieved.

-And that shocked me.

-(CHUCKLES)

So I went into the garden and filled up an entire notebook with sketches.

Men are bores. They are useful for only two things in life,

-financial support and procreation.

-Millie!

-You say outrageous things!

-(CHUCKLES)

-Ah, but the price.

-What price?

Domestic enslavement, childbirth. Terrifying.

No, unmarried women have a better life. I swear, it's true.

No houses, no babies, no husbands demanding things all the time.

As long as one's lucky enough in life to have a good friend...

I'm so glad Norman found you, Beatrix.

I was missing something I didn't even know.

'Dear Miss Potter, I enclose with great pleasure

the latest in what I hope will be a long line of tales.'

-'Yours affably, Norman Warne.'

-Mr Warne,

would you and Millie like to come to a Christmas party?

My parents hold one every year and I think it's time I invited someone.

Yes, we'd be delighted to attend. Thrilled, in fact.

Be still, little imps!

Peter, you naughty boy. Look what an example you're setting.

That's better. Any more of that and I'll paint you out.

(CLEARS THROAT) Your father is home.

-How was your day at the club, Father?

-Interesting, as always.

We seem to have a situation. We need your resolution.

-I'd like Norman and Millie to come to our party.

-With Lady Armitage!

And Sir Nigel and Sybil! A tradesman, Rupert!

-How will anyone have fun?

-He's the gentleman who publishes my books.

-Rupert...

-I have something here, Beatrix.

I went into Hatchards bookshop and I purchased this with good money.

Well, Hugh Whitteford bearded me in the club. He rattled on for hours.

You know Hugh, jowls all aflutter.

"Wife's bought three of your girl's books."

"Sending some to chums in Bombay." Soon the whole club was telling me

of some purchase they had made of our daughter's creations,

so I thought it was time I bought one.

-I went into Hatchards and got one.

-I would've given you one.

But I wanted to buy one, like everyone else.

I owe you an apology, Beatrix.

When you showed me your books, all I saw was my little girl

bringing me clever drawings for me to comment on.

You're not a little girl any more. You're an artist.

The genuine article.

I would have been proud to use that word about myself.

-And now I'm proud of you, Beatrix.

-Thank you, Father.

So I don't see any reason why we cannot make a little social effort

to welcome the gentleman responsible for this blessing into our home.

Thank you, Father.

Thank you!

I think it will be good for all of us.

Merry Christmas, Rupert.

Don't serve Sir Nigel punch with brandy unless he demands it.

-Yes, ma'am.

-And after dinner he'll take port.

-Come and give me a little signal if he's had four glasses.

-Yes, ma'am.

The house shimmers, my darling. You've done it again.

-Oh!

-(DOOR SLAMS)

-Good evening.

-Mr Warne! Millie!

How wonderful! Thank you, Jane.

Thank you. Thank you.

Mother, Father, I would like you to meet Miss Amelia

and Mr Norman Warne.

How charming of you to be so punctual.

(STRING QUARTET PLAYS CHRISTMAS MUSIC)

(ALL CHATTER)

-Go on. One wouldn't hurt.

-(CHUCKLES)

I think Wiggin is under strict orders never to leave our side.

How festive(!)

(ALL CONTINUE TO CHATTER)

-Such scintillating conversation.

-Oh, mine as well.

The weather in Amsterdam in July.

Could I interest you two ladies in an after-dinner coffee?

Some of the gentlemen wish to play cards, but they need a fourth.

-I don't suppose you play whist?

-I never had an aptitude for cards.

-Oh, that is a pity.

-I play.

-This is to play with Sir Nigel, Miss Warne.

-Sir Nigel takes his whist seriously.

-I play rather well, actually.

Do you, Millie?!

Well, I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about without me

and if they can't play without a fourth...

Come along, Miss Warne.

Carols in the music room, my dears.

-Perhaps I could show you your Christmas present.

-Yes!

It's upstairs.

I will bring the coffee.

-Mrs Wiggin.

-Miss.

-Miss Wiggin.

I have taken the liberty of adding a splash of brandy to our coffees.

-Oh?

-Well, it is Christmas.

-Is this where you paint, Miss Potter?

-Yes.

And it's where we shall find your Christmas present.

Oh, my!

Other than Bertram and Father, you're the first man to come in here.

-Would you like me to leave?

-No, no. Wiggin is here.

And if this is the best I can do for scandal at my age,

-I'm hardly worthy of my reputation for creativity!

-(CHUCKLES)

-Here.

My, that is beautiful.

Is it the new story? Miss Potter, is it the new story?

-Is it...?

-I'm not going to tell you!

Come over here.

-Ah, this is Jemima Puddleduck.

-Mmm. The first drawing I ever did of her.

I was, er, eight, I think. (Jemima, stop that!)

-Stop what?

-Just some silliness.

-And what's this?

-Oh, it's a music box.

My father gave it to me for my sixth birthday. He did the painting himself.

-Your father is an artist, too.

-He always wanted to be an artist,

but the family disapproved so he took up law.

The joke is, I've never once heard him discuss a case.

He goes to his club every day and never his office.

-I don't really know what he does.

-(LAUGHS)

-Oh, dear.

-Oh! Wiggin is fallible!

I'm afraid, Miss Potter, your reputation is now officially dented.

-(GENTLE MUSIC)

-Ah, let me teach you how to dance. Do you dance?

No. Well, not well.

I make a terrible hash of it, too, when I try, but the words are sweet.

You know the words? Will you sing the words?

Well...

# Let me teach you how to dance

# Let me lead you to the floor

# Simply place your hand in mine

# And think of nothing more

# Let the music cast its spell

# Give the atmosphere a chance

# Simply follow where I lead

# Let me teach you how to dance #

Miss Potter...

..I know you have decided not to marry.

All my life I've thought that I would not marry, either,

-but something has happened that has caused me to change my mind.

-Mr...

No, if I do not say what I have to say now, I fear I never will.

Miss Potter, I would like you to consider...

-Mr Warne...

-..doing me the honour,

-and I do not expect an immediate answer...

-Beatrix?

I was just showing Mr Warne his Christmas presents.

I'm an impeccably genteel unmarried lady.

I haven't begun to invite men to my room. Mr Warne.

Wiggin!

What is the picture, Beatrix?

Oh! Erm,... er,...

..I've, er, written and drawn little children's books

which have been published. The man who published them is here,

Mr Norman Warne. To thank him for his assistance and generosity,

er... well...

..I'm writing him a Christmas story.

-Can we hear it?

-Oh, it isn't finished.

-Oh, go on!

-Ohhh!

I suppose, before we part for the evening,

I could share a glimpse of the unfinished tale

of... the Rabbits' Christmas Party. (ALL CHUCKLE)

One particularly snowy Christmas Eve,

a young rabbit and his fearsome older brothers

and fiercely brave sister set out on a journey

they make every year to celebrate with their friends.

Now, rabbits are highly sociable creatures and legend has it

that wherever they find themselves on Christmas Eve,

they get together and throw a jolly party.

Now, I know such a legend exists because I made it up.

(ALL CHUCKLE)

The rabbits travelled through the woods

to the well-appointed burrow of their cousins,

where a warm fire was waiting for them.

They take off their frosty coats and the party begins!

Now, I know on this night that they will eat and talk and dance

and laugh and roast apples on the fire,

but I'm not certain how the story ends,

because I haven't made that part up yet.

But, in any case, Mr Warne will have to read it first

as he is my strict censor.

And, well, it is his present.

-Merry Christmas, Mr Warne.

-Thank you, Miss Potter. It's so beautiful.

-(ALL CHATTER)

-Thank you.

-Here, here!

There'll be no problem with presents for the grandchildren next year.

-Oh, you must be very proud, Helen!

-It's just a children's story.

Outstanding!

-Can I talk to you?

-Of course.

-What is it? Is there something wrong?

-No.

-As my confidante...

-Oh! You have something to confide? Delicious!

Your brother has asked me to marry him.

And I feel, quite irrationally, that I may say yes!

I'd like your approval.

My approval?

Beatrix, don't be a fool.

Marry him!

Tomorrow. Don't waste a moment. How could you hesitate?!

-You're not upset?

-Why would I be upset?

Well, both Norman and I... You will be alone.

You have a chance for happiness and you're worried about me?

I wouldn't worry about you...

If someone came along who loved me and whom I loved,

-I would trample my mother. Do you love Norman?

-(Yes.)

Then, marry him! Don't you dare think about anyone else.

-But what about all the blessings of being alone?

-Hogwash.

What else is a woman on her own supposed to say?

You have a chance to be loved.

Take it!

And leave me happy knowing that the two people I love are happy.

That is the most thought you should ever have for me.

There you are, Beatrix. The guests!

Yes, Mother.

Millie...

(Go.)

What is going on tonight?

Why do I feel like a... stranger in my own home?

-You have a clever daughter, Rupert. You must be very proud.

-Yes, we are.

-To write and draw like that!

-Beatrix should meet my niece, Anne.

-She makes pots.

-Ceramics, Nigel.

-Well, they look like pots to me.

-(ALL LAUGH)

Yes. As for you, madam, I suggest you take up knitting.

-Merry Christmas!

-(ALL) Merry Christmas!

-What was all that about?

-Sir Nigel disapproves of the way I play whist.

-I'm afraid I won two guineas from him.

-Mr Warne!

-Your painting.

-Oh, yes. My Christmas present.

Yes.

(ALL CHATTER INDISTINCTLY)

-Goodbye, Mr Warne.

-Goodbye, Mr Warne.

(GENTLE MUSIC)

-Sir?

-I have an appointment to see Mr Rupert Potter in the Eagleton Room.

-He's expecting you, sir.

-Thank you.

Come along, Norman. It's only her father.

Come in.

Thank you very much for taking the time out of your very busy day.

Goodbye, Mr Warne.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER, BUILDING INTO A HEATED ARGUMENT)

Oi! Go!

-I've said that I'll do it and I will.

-Norman Warne is a tradesman.

-No Potter can marry into trade.

-And what are we?

Our money comes from Grandfather's printing works in Lancashire!

A trade, Mother. And if Grandfather hadn't run for parliament,

we'd still be living in the shadow of his factories.

Your legacy came from Grandfather Leech's cotton trade.

When did we become so high and mighty?

We've parvenus, mother. Social climbers.

Your father and I will not allow this marriage for your own good!

-And there's no reason to become insulting!

-It's the truth!

Our lives are pretension and social aspiration.

Sir this and Lady that.

Norman Warne is a gentleman of comfortable means

and not one bit beneath us, and I intend to marry him.

Not if you expect to take one penny of your inheritance.

You haven't disinherited Bertram

for going off with a wine-merchant's daughter! I'm a published author.

I have means of my own. This discussion is over.

(KNOCK AT DOOR) Come in, Father.

Why is that after any difficult situation she always sends you?

Your mother didn't send me.

I don't like tension in my home, and I want to resolve this matter.

Well, you can't. I've made my decision.

Your mother wants what is best for you, as do I, Beatrix.

An impulsive, inappropriate marriage is something you will regret.

You can't allow me to marry and leave.

-Who would take care of you?

-You don't think we would deny you happiness

because we needed a nursemaid? That is a knife in my heart.

-Then, what is it? I can't understand.

-You cannot make us the villains.

Your mother trotted out countless suitors, all of them acceptable.

-You rejected every one.

-I know that, Father.

I didn't want to be a silly woman marrying a man

simply because he was acceptable or rich enough to take care of me!

But does that mean that I'm never to be loved?!

Father!

Wiggin, wait here, please.

I'd like to enquire about my royalty earnings, Mr Copperthwaite,

and whether...

..I might at some stage, afford a house of my own in the country.

You have enough to buy an estate.

Several estates. And a house in town.

You're quite a wealthy woman, Miss Potter.

-Am I truly?!

-Yes.

Your income has become quite regular.

If your fortune continues to grow,

you should have no financial worries for the rest of your life.

Extraordinary.

-Beatrix.

-Beatrix.

-Come and sit with us, please.

-I'd rather not, Father.

We have something to discuss. A proposition.

And for heaven's sake, Beatrix, let the servants carry your dishes.

-Tea?

-No, thank you.

-Nonsense. You always take tea.

Contrary to what you think and what you have so vehemently expressed,

your mama and I want you to be happy.

We simply doubt that this marriage will do the trick.

Helen, please, sit down, Beatrix.

What we don't want is for you to rush into something

-you may later wish to reconsider.

-I won't want to reconsider.

-We are not convinced.

-Helen, please.

We are not convinced.

Yet neither have we hearts of stone.

Therefore, this is what we propose.

You may accept Mr Warne,

but must remain a complete secret, even from his own family.

This summer, you, Mama and I will go, as always, to the Lake District.

If at the end of the summer you still wish to proceed,

then, we will announce your engagement

and you can marry with our blessing and our love.

-Why must no-one know?

-So there'll be no public embarrassment when you...

-If. If you change your mind.

-(If.)

Beatrix, if you care for this man as much as you say you do,

then, in a few months, the ardour will still be there.

If your mother and I are correct and this emotion cools in time,

then, we will have protected you against humiliation and unhappiness.

-It will not cool.

-Beatrix, listen to me.

-A woman at your age...

-Mother, the only thing true at my age

is that at my age every day matters.

Very well, Mother, Father, I accept your terms.

Norman and I may decide to wait in any case.

But make plans. There will be a wedding in this house by October.

Beautiful.

Which carriage, Rupert? Saunders?

Four carriages down. This way.

-This is the Potters for Windermere.

-Right you are, sir.

Beatrix!

Mr Warne!

Oh! Oh, I do apologise.

-Miss Potter!

-Mr Warne!

I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come. You're soaked!

I brought you the proof of the new book!

-Oh, you'll catch cold.

-I couldn't miss seeing you off.

-You know nothing would stop me.

-This is going to be

-the longest summer I've ever spent.

-But it's only the summer.

-Yes!

-And this time is not for us, but your parents.

How can they know what we're feeling? They've never felt it.

-We can afford them this three months.

-I suppose. (WHISTLE)

-Oh!

-This is not how I wish to say goodbye to you.

Goodbye, Miss Potter. I look forward to your speedy return.

As do I, Mr Warne! (TRAIN TOOTS)

-Quickly!

-Yes!

-Here.

-Goodbye, Miss Potter.

-Goodbye, Mr Warne.

Goodbye, Norman.

'Dear, dear, Norman, this absurd false separation

is surely a kind of madness, most notably that of my mother.'

'But you are here, my dear, for me.'

'The beauty of this place seems magnified somehow

with you in my mind. In my occasional lonely moments,

I imagine conversations between us,

and yesterday startled a duck with my declaration of love for you.'

'All of my thoughts are with you, my darling.'

'I know that you find Harold and Fruing terribly boring,

but I am having what I could almost describe as wild enjoyment

working with them. You may wake up one day to find yourself

married to a businessman!'

'Praise the day when I can wake up to find you beside me.'

'I took one of the boats out on to the lake at sunset

to watch the water hens feeding.'

'They made noises like kissing. I closed my eyes and pictured you.'

'I find I love my heart more now,

because that is where I know I can find you.'

'Amelia sends her love and wishes for us all to be together again,

as do I, multiplied a hundred fold.'

Sir? Hill Top Farm. May I ask, is it a working farm?

Aye. Another great one falls.

-But this one breaks your heart.

-Really? Why?

Ah, Miss, a body would have to be a poet, which I certainly am not.

Excuse me, but I'd swear you were someone I once knew.

-Good heavens! Willie Heelis.

-Miss Beatrix! Er, Miss Potter.

-Is that you?!

-How good to see you!

-Well, hello!

I see you've given up on the law.

-Have you decided to make an honest living?

-Ah, yes. The law.

Well, not exactly. No. No. A country solicitor needs to be proficient

-in many skills.

-Oh! Of course.

And it suits me to be out of the office now and again.

I could show you Hill Top if you have the time.

Erm,... yes! Yes, time is exactly what I have.

Good.

-Not a bad outlook, Miss Potter.

-It's sublime.

'I met an old friend today, who showed me a beautiful farm for sale.'

'It would be a perfect country home,

but though I know we'll live mainly in the city,

I'm very keen to share my favourite places with you.'

The post has arrived and, once again, no letter from Mr Warne.

Is it time for me to start getting just a little hopeful?

He did mention he might take a few days' holiday.

The post is no doubt slow from wherever he's gone.

But there is something

-that appears to be from that interesting sister of his.

-Millie?

How delightful.

Excuse me.

Norman is ill.

-I'm Beatrix Potter.

-Please come in.

-Ah, Miss Potter.

-Hello.

-Please, come in.

-Thank you.

-I came as soon as I heard.

-Yes, it's very kind of you.

Very kind indeed.

How is he?

Beatrix.

-Millie.

-(Beatrix!)

Millie?

I'm too late.

He was so happy.

(TEARFULLY) He sang songs.

He made me dance with him in the parlour.

He laughed all the time. Everyone noticed the change in him.

Only I knew the reason.

But all summer he had a cough

and then the cough got worse,

and then one night he was gone.

It was so sudden. I keep thinking that it hasn't happened.

I keep expecting to see him in the garden.

Oh, er, when's the funeral?

It was yesterday.

It was only the immediate family

and I couldn't think of a reason to ask them to delay it for you.

It was considerate of you to come and pay your respects, Miss Potter.

Our mother is particularly moved

and is sorry she isn't well enough to come down to greet you.

I'll be taking over our late brother's business affairs.

Fine.

I want to assure you that F Warne will do everything in its power

to ensure our tragic loss causes you the least possible inconvenience.

Please accept the gratitude of the entire family.

-(They want me to go.)

-I'm sorry.

(MOUTHS SILENTLY)

Miss Beatrix! What are you doing in London? Is something wrong?

-A friend died.

-Oh, sorry, miss.

Was she a close friend?

Miss Beatrix?

Miss Beatrix?

I'll leave your dinner outside your door, then, miss.

Saunders is here, Miss Potter, to take you to the station.

I shan't be going back to the Lakes.

Can I get you anything, then?

Nothing, Hilda.

Very well, Miss Potter.

(KNOCK AT DOOR)

Beatrix, it's Millie.

Look, I know I'm unannounced, but they sent back all my messages.

Please, please, please let me in.

We've got to get you out of here.

Come on. Come on.

Let's get you washed and dressed and out of this room.

(TEARFULLY) I can't.

(SOBBING) Millie!

I can't!

I've been torturing myself.

I should never have encouraged you with Norman.

I'd have saved you all this terrible grief.

I loved him!

I loved him, too.

But he's gone.

I must leave this house.

I will leave this house.

Congratulations, Miss Potter.

You are now the proud owner of Hill Top Farm. Thanks, George.

Well, I'm sure you'll be very happy at Hill Top.

-I spent some time there as a child.

-Is that so?

I did have other plans for it,

but I'm sure that I will love it in any case.

Yes. If you need any other assistance or help...

Thank you very much, Mr Heelis. Good day.

Good day, Miss Potter.

What I don't understand is how you're going to pay for this farm.

I'm a writer, Mother. People buy my work.

Our daughter is famous. You're the only person who doesn't know it.

What I don't understand is why you find it necessary to leave home.

It is not a choice, Father.

Beatrix, if I could undo anything...

There's nothing to undo. This has nothing to do with you or Mother.

I must make my own way.

So you must.

So you must.

Everybody out.

You see? I told you we could not know where our journey would lead.

It has led us here.

This is your new home.

No tears!

(SOBS QUIETLY)

Miss.

Millie!

-It's wonderful to see you!

-Oh, this place is perfect.

Millie!

-Well, what have you brought?

-Oh.

Er, I thought it best not to bring this,

but then it jumped into my hand as I walked out the door.

I'm sorry.

Thank you.

It's getting easier.

It's getting easier for me, too.

-I'm painting again.

-(GASPS)

My mind's going mad with the story.

-I've got pigs running amuck up there!

-(CHUCKLES)

Well, it's this place, isn't it?

Who'd want to be cooped up in London when they could be up here?

-I'm so glad you came.

-Me, too.

I've been so lucky with visitors.

First my brother, Bertram, then my mother.

You think that's lucky? Your mother is a monster!

No, it's fine! My mother and I have come to an understanding.

-We've agreed to not understand each other.

-(LAUGHS)

Look, if some city slicker wants to offer me a half-decent price

for a derelict property

and then pay me and my lads good money to knock the place down...

-(ALL SHOUT / CHATTER)

-Let him build what he likes.

If we allow these city developers to buy up our land,

there'll be no more farming. And all you're left with

-is a ruined landscape and no community.

-(ALL) Yes!

Miss Potter.

Ah, Mr Heelis!

I see you've found me.

I played here so often as a child.

-I know your farm very well.

-Oh!

Swam in the stream, played hide and seek with cousin Charles.

-I brought you the executed deed for the farm.

-At last! Thank you.

-Busy.

-Yes. Yes, I've asked Mr Cannon

to stay on and run Hill Top as a working farm.

I'm learning a great deal.

I wish everyone who bought land up here could be so... enlightened.

You've bought a farm, kept the workers on, you're working the land

-and you're preserving this place.

-Yes. It makes me happy.

Mr Cannon says the two farms adjoining mine are for sale.

I'd hate to see the developers get them. Know anything about them?

-Morning, Mr Cannon.

-Miss Potter.

My, they've grown!

-Handsome lot, wouldn't you say?

-Yes!

-Have you named them?

-We don't often give 'em names, Miss Potter.

Makes it a bit hard, come slaughtering time.

Hello, Miss Potter!

Hello yourself, Mr Heelis. To what do I owe this pleasure?

I've come with a message. Mr Hubbard is ill

-and will be unable to show you the neighbouring farms today.

-Oh, dear.

-Not serious, I hope.

-Chronic illness. Recurs several times a month,

usually after a night at the Rose And Crown.

I see!

Mr Hubbard wondered if I might show you the properties instead.

I'd be pleased to have so knowledgeable a guide.

I'll just get my shawl.

Well, it's prime land. There's a lot of profit in building houses on it.

Ah, but more value as a working farm, surely.

-Spoken like a true Lakes woman, Miss Potter.

-Indeed, Mr Heelis.

-You do realise I've never been to an auction.

-Well, it's simple enough.

Don't bid too early and stick to your limit.

I know my limit, Mr Heelis!

Craven's Mill Farm. 40 acres of splendour.

£1,100 anywhere? 1,100 I'm bid.

1,150? Come along, gentleman. A splendid little farm, this.

Lots of development potential. £1,150.

1,200 anywhere? 1,200.

1,300 anywhere? Bidding, Madam? £1,300.

Seated at £1,300.

£1,400. £1,500.

1,600. 700.

800. 1,900.

At one thousand... £2,000 at the back.

£2,000. Any more. At £2,000.

2,300.

Thank you, sir. £2,300.

At £2,300.

Any more, then, at £2,300?

£2,500.

The lady at £2,500 against you, sir. 2,500. 2,800.

(Miss Potter, you've bid more than that farm is worth!)

£3,000. At £3,000 seated, with the lady,

against you, sir. Are we all done at £3,000?

Going once, going twice...

Sold to the lady. £3,000.

Sir, you should control your client.

-She has allowed her emotions to get the better of her.

-Really!

She has squandered any possibility of profit from that farm.

-It was prime development land.

-This community is an inspiration!

It should be conserved for future generations and not destroyed.

-It deserves protection.

-Your observations are woefully...

Please, sir, I am no longer in the habit of being lectured to

and, thankfully, I do not require your approval, or anyone else's.

So, if you'll excuse us. Mr Heelis.

I hope you're not going to make a habit of this, Miss Potter.

Do you know, Mr Heelis, I think I might.

Now, will you have time tomorrow to show me those other farms?

-I certainly will.

-Excellent.

Come in.

Oh, my!

-Goodness me!

-I'll just be a moment.

Now, then, young man, how are you taking to your new home?

I know it's not London, but Hill Top might suit a young rabbit better.

-He seems to be taking to the place.

-As am I, Mr Heelis.

-Now, the road.

-Oh, yes. Yes, of course, Miss Potter.

How would you feel about calling me William

instead of this infernal Mr Heelis? I sound like an undertaker!

Of course, William. I believe Beatrix might be perfectly appropriate, too.

'There's something delicious about writing those first few words

'of a story.

'You can never quite tell where they'll take you.

'Mine took me here,

'where I belong.'

# When you taught me how to dance

# Years ago, with misty eyes

# Every step and silent glance

# Every move, a sweet surprise

# Someone must have taught you well

# To beguile and to entrance

# For that night you cast your spell

# And you taught me how to dance

# Like reflections in a lake

# I recall what went before

# As I give, I'll learn to take

# And will be alone no more

# Other lights may light my way

# I may even find romance

# But I won't forget that night

# When you taught me how to dance

# Cold winds blow

# But up on those hills

# You'll find me

# And I know

# You're walking

# Right behind me

# When you taught me how to dance

# Years ago, with misty eyes

# Every step and silent glance

# Every move, a sweet surprise

# Someone must have taught you well

# To beguile and to entrance

# For that night you cast your spell

# And you taught me how to dance

# And you taught me

# How to dance. #