What's New OR: 'Yo, ladies ... What's happenin ?
Whatever Next ? [ Downs Lord Triptych / The Two Confessions / Amy-Faith & the Stronghold]
A
script by
( see dispatch dated 14th October 2003 )
IMPORTANT
- PRIOR TO PERUSAL.
This script contains salty, even saucy, 18th century style plain speaking, wherein a spade is unlikely to be termed a manually operated excavation implement. Or in other words and in 21st century speak, BEWARE: ADULT CONTENT.
******
******
'The
past is a foreign country:
they do things differently there.
L.
P. Hartley
( 1895 - 1972 )
'The
Go-Between',
Prologue
******
'Give
me a grain of truth
and
I will mix it up with a great mass of falsehood,
so
that no chemist shall ever be able to separate them !'
(
1727 - 1797 )
******
John Wilkes ( 1727 - 1797 ): eponymous subject of the popular London street cry 'Wilkes and Liberty !'. English Radical politician and profligate, born in Clerkenwell, son of a distiller father and pious mother. A Rake and member of the infamous 'Hellfire Club', colonel of the Buckinghamshire militia. Founder and editor of the scurrilous 'North Briton' newspaper, translator of the classics and persecuted author of the shocking 'Essay on Woman'. Four times elected and three times excluded Member of Parliament for Middlesex, Wilkes survived three government sponsored duels and assassination attempts, was made prisoner in the Tower and declared 'outlaw'. In exile, he toured Italy with Boswell and an courtesan called Gertrude, finally returning to tempestuous triumph and a serene old age. As Lord Mayor of London, MP, duellist, lover, pioneer tourist to the Isle of Wight, early sponsor of animal rights, and darling of the London 'mob' and 'middling and inferior sets of people', Wilkes dominated the political scene of his day. By his fearless efforts John Wilkes established the freedom of the press, the rights of electors to chose their candidates for Parliament and the illegality of general arrest warrants. A staunch defender of the American Revolution and tireless thorn in the side of George III's autocratic and Scots dominated government, he was the last English nationalist politician.
Far away and long ago,
in a country which no longer exists,
a single man arose,
erect.
A Member of Parliament
willing to give his all in the pursuit of
women
Liberty.
JOHN
WILKES
bestrode Eighteenth century England,
amongst other things.
The common people called
for 'Wilkes and
Liberty!'
But to the evil Emperor
GEORGE III
and his Scotch Prime
Minister,
BUTE,
he
would always be
'THAT
DEVIL WILKES!'
[
Actual Historic Personages denoted in bold ]
JOHN
WILKES. A rascal and
politician. 1727 - 1797
THE
REVEREND CHARLES CHURCHILL. Famous
poet and Anglican cleric. A huge
bear-like roisterer and talented, ferocious, versifier, notoriously caricatured
by Hogarth. Rector of Raynham in
Essex. 1731 - 1764
POUTING COMPANION. Mistress Betsy Carr of Struddleduck Hall, daughter of Sir Ogram Carr, Knight. A flighty, feisty piece, and wealthy heiress.
THE CHEVALIER D'EON aka. MADAME D'EON. A Frenchman, soldier, noted duellist and transvestite. WILKES's self-appointed fiery bodyguard.
LORD COBHAM or 'LORD GOBB'EM'. A tall, foppish, irresolute, MP, statesman and famous expectorant.
LORD HERVEY. An elderly and respectable MP.
INN-KEEPER.
PRIM
GENTLEMAN
SCOTS
READER. An outraged Highlander
in traditional dress.
KING'S MESSENGERS 1 & 2.
THE GAOLER of the Tower of London.
THE
GAOLER'S LIVELY DAUGHTER
PLUS:
VARIOUS SPEECHLESS SCOTCH WOMENFOLK, FOPS & DANDIES
******
******
THAT
DEVIL WILKES !
Tall MP ( Lord Cobham or 'LORD GOBB'EM' ): 'Excuse me, sir.
Do I have the honour of addressing Lord Hervey ?'
Elderly respectable MP [ LORD HERVEY ] amiably addressing him:
'You do indeed, sir."
LORD GOBB'EM: "An honour, sir.
Lord Cobham - at your service. And
is this your hat, sir ?"
LORD HERVEY turns to note fawn top hat beside him on bench:
"It is, sir. And how
may I assist you ?"
LORD GOBB'EM: "No, sir, how may I assist you ...."
LORD GOBB'EM takes up hat, and to LORD HERVEY's aghast - but rapidly controlled - horror spits mightily and repeatedly into it. He then hands it back. LORD HERVEY - now entirely calm and as before - briefly studies the contents.
In background, LORD GOBB'EM's gang are giggling, clutching kerchiefs to their mouths in barely suppressed amusement. LORD HERVEY gravely leans forward in his seat to note them. They continue unabashed.
LORD HERVEY readdresses LORD GOBB'EM: "Do you have further
occasion for my hat, sir ?"
LORD GOBB'EM bows. "No,
sir; my mouth is adequately voided and refreshed - but I am obliged to
you, sir."
LORD HERVEY arises and gravely bows.
LORD HERVEY: "Then I am your obedient servant, sir ..." - and departs, holding hat carefully upright.
LORD GOBB'EM returns to gaggle and they collapse together in laughter.
SCENE 2
An aristocratic 'morning room'. Amidst the wreckage of an opulent breakfast, the same gaggle are sprawled - somewhat hangdog and hungover but in good humour. LORD GOBB'EM is amongst them, at the head of the table. He is sheepishly pleased with himself. One of the party is reading aloud to them from a newspaper.
Man quoting: "'Intelligence is received that Lord Cobham has been christened anew amongst the wags and jolly-dogs and rakes of the town. With most delicate consideration for his fellow members and the floor of the august Parliament which he adorns, he yesterday relieved himself of an inopportune excess of salivary material into the hat of Lord Hervey. Said Lord, one of the nation's adornments for his glittering service to it in both war and peace, expressed unalloyed pleasure at his hat proving of more use than the mere covering of his own snowy locks. His sweet nature proved just as equal to accepting a monstrous pavement oyster in that which would shortly grace his head.
Therefore and henceforth, so we hear, Lord Cobham shall go by a new and
more fitting name: Lord Gobb'em .....'
All around the table laugh fit to burst. LORD GOBB'EM smirkingly acknowledges their tribute.
A footman enters with accompanied by a aristocratic dandy. He 'announces' him.
Footman: "My Lord, a messenger from Lord Hervey." He discreetly leaves as the newcomer bows deeply. The room is abruptly silenced.
Dandy [ DANDY ]: "My dear friend, Lord Hervey, desires that I
present his compliments to Lord Cobham, and thanks him for his kind gift
yesterday. He wishes to reply in
kind and asks that you graciously accept his sword stuck in your guts and then
waggled around a bit. He proposes
tomorrow morning: Hyde Park at dawn."
Gasps of horror from around the table. LORD GOBB'EM is shocked rigid.
DANDY: "And, pending presentation of his steely gift, Lord
Hervey desires that you accept this little cadeaux, as a foretaste of his
generosity."
The DANDY draws a slim decanter from one of his own deep pockets, advances, uncorks and upends it over LORD GOBB'EM's head. A sluggish, viscous liquid descends.
DANDY: "A small
thing, you many say, but I assure you sir, it took the combined and lengthy
hawking of the entire Hervey family, babes to grand-dames, all last night to
secure such a liberal supply of phlegm. Happily,
Almighty God saw fit to afflict the dowager Lady Hervey with a chesty cough at
just the right time ...."
The DANDY steps back.
DANDY: "Lord
Cobham - or should I say: Gobb'em - I bid you adieu and leave you.
Doubtless you have much to do."
Cut to close view of LORD GOBB'EM's horrified face. He turns, eyes widened.
The DANDY explains, airily: "Prayers:
Bible perusing, coffin selection: that sort of thing ...."
Same shot of LORD GOBB'EM as before. His eyes widen even more.
DANDY: "Prepare
yourself, I implore you sir, for your imminent encounter with the next life.
'Tis awfully bad form to greet God without some decent excuses ready
...." He bows again and sees
himself out, unnoticed in the general shock.
At the door he leans back in for a last word: "Oh - and have a nice
- last - day !"
The gaggle [ GAGGLE ] look silently at LORD GOBB'EM. LORD GOBB'EM is turned to stone with fright.
One - more composed - member of the gaggle turns to his likewise neighbour.
GAGGLE 1: "There's
only one thing for it ...."
GAGGLE 2: sadly agrees and nods.
They simultaneously turn to LORD GOBB'EM and say:
"You know what you need, don't you ?"
LORD GOBB'EM - still in shock - slowly nods.
He says - grimly and with great reluctance: "I need Wilkes !"
Scene 3
A prim Gentleman-traveller is dining alone, somewhat dejectedly, with a newspaper propped up before him, in an otherwise deserted inn. From time to time he looks around in bored contemplation. The door then opens and the Inn-keeper [ INN-KEEPER ] enters.
INN-KEEPER: "Is
all to your satisfaction, milord ?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Tolerably.
The breakfast is acceptable but the lack of conversation less so.
At home I am accustomed to a degree of liberal intercourse around the
table."
INN-KEEPER: "Ah well, I could sit and chat with yer
..."
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Alas no.
What I know of bear-baiting could be inscribed - in illuminated script
even - on a fly's backside."
INN-KEEPER: - visibly disappointed - his face falls: "Oh,
shame ...."
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Is there no one of more appropriate station
presently residing ? Someone with
whom a gentleman might profitably conversely ?"
INN-KEEPER screws up his unshaven face and considers.
"Well .... there's a reverend gentleman ...."
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "Ah,
good .... a man of the cloth ...."
INN-KEEPER: "Aye - only he didn't return to his room last
night ...."
The door bursts open with some violence. Into the room, with noise and violence, falls a huge bear of a man, tricorne askew, his arm around a lively-looking young woman. The huge man is in clerical dress.
INN-KEEPER: "Now, there's lucky.
He's back ...."
Huge Cleric ( the poet Charles Churchill ) [ CHURCHILL ]: rights himself and espies INN-KEEPER. He pins INN-KEEPER with a pointed finger.
CHURCHILL, shouting: "Beer !
Monstrous beers ! And pork
sausages. Buckets of pork sausages
!"
Moving like a man under water, he traverses to consult his pouting companion [ POUTING COMPANION ].
CHURCHILL: "Do you like sausage ? Or have you had enough sausage for one night ?" He thrusts his hips forward and the two double up with laughter.
CHURCHILL abruptly recovers and readdresses the INN-KEEPER - finger-pinning him again.
CHURCHILL: "All
right. Put a few in the pan for her
too."
The INN-KEEPER - never taking his eyes off CHURCHILL - edges round the wall and out. The door closes. CHURCHILL and POUTING COMPANION weave unsteadily to a bench opposite the PRIM GENTLEMAN and sprawl at ease. CHURCHILL realises for the first time that they have company.
CHURCHILL: "What
are you staring at, crow-bait ?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN pushes his platter aside and rises and bows.
"Sir Roderick Souter, at your service, sir - and miss.
And whom do I have the honour of addressing ?"
CHURCHILL goes to speak but pauses, puzzled. Face creased, he consults in mutters with POUTING COMPANION. Eventually it is resolved and he replies.
CHURCHILL: "The
Reverend Charles Churchill, poet and Rector of Raynham in the County of Essex -
God blast it to eternal damnation ! And
at your service, sir."
A pregnant pause. PRIM GENTLEMAN is poised between bow and re-seating himself - still expecting something.
CHURCHILL: What's the
matter ? Are you struck comical
?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN - prompting: "The
lady, sir, the lady ...."
CHURCHILL - suddenly recalls.
"Oh, her .... Um ....
Mistress Betsy Carr. Sweet sixteen
and thighs like satin. Mistress of
the Mattress - and very much at your service, sir."
She half rises to mockingly bow and then yelps, not all that outraged, as CHURCHILL pinches her bum.
PRIM GENTLEMAN - already shocked - recognises the name.
"Not the heiress Miss Carr ? The
young Miss Carr, heiress to broad lands in Middlesex, whose abduction is
the talk of the Town and outrage of every decent person ?"
CHURCHILL: "The
very same, sir - though she owns more than one sort of broad acres for which to
love her. Eh, Betsy ?"
She giggles. CHURCHILL
continues: "And is it abduction when the minx provides the ladder
and drives the coach ? I was not
capable at the time, sir, for I'd composed two poems that day and refreshed
myself in celebration. Kidnapping
and seduction were alike beyond me. It
were all I could do to raise a smile ! Eh,
is that not so, Betsy ?"
POUTING COMPANION feistily confirms it with a dig to his ribs. She winks at the PRIM GENTLEMAN - who parentally frowns back at her.
CHURCHILL: "And besides, the wench is old enough to decide. As I replied to her initial - whispered - protests - a verse of mine covers the case .....
CHURCHILL declaims:
"'When
roses are red
they're ready for plucking.
When
maids are sixteen
they're
ready for-'"
PRIM GENTLEMAN - interrupting in haste, as he sits down.
"I protest, sir ! Remember
your position ...."
CHURCHILL & POUTING COMPANION look to one another and then snigger like schoolchildren at the double entendre.
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "You should be more upright, sir !"
CHURCHILL & POUTING COMPANION are even more amused.
PRIM GENTLEMAN - red-faced and flustered.
"You are not being straight with me, sir!"
CHURCHILL & POUTING COMPANION are in hysterics: tearful and slapping the table.
PRIM GENTLEMAN - tight-lipped and angry now. "You would not laugh, sir, if you had perused the news-sheets instead of debauching the morn away !" He waves his paper at the couple.
CHURCHILL - gradually recovering composure.
"I wipe my posterior upon your canting news-sheet, sir.
I condemn it to the devil's privy. Of
what interest are such hypocrisy sheets to me ?
I live ! I compose !
I quaff ! I joust in the
field of Venus five times a night ...."
POUTING COMPANION: "Six !"
CHURCHILL pauses to consider and counts upon stubby fingers. The PRIM GENTLEMAN is outraged.
CHURCHILL: "No,
up against the wall don't count. Five
times I say, sir. And I thoroughly
recommend it to you. Take some of
the starch out of your spine and place it in your britches, sir.
Then you might not look like you're sucking a lemon !"
PRIM GENTLEMAN gapes.
CHURCHILL: "No, sir, but me no buts.
I have given you my sermon on the best path to take us through our
pilgrimage on earth. Say Amen to it
and leave your blessed news-sheets to the poor-in-spirit and dry-as-dust
book-keepers. To dust we all
return, sir, as I've said over many the grave-side, but - God puke on me
if I lie - surely there's no need to imitate it beforehand !"
PRIM GENTLEMAN disapproves, tight-lipped, but says nothing. He glowers at the two.
CHURCHILL thinks he's won and lolls back, victorious.
CHURCHILL: "There
you are then. I enter the citadel of your argument, sir; I trample on your
banner and ravish your wives. My
pennant swings from your flagpole. And
so I ask you, sir: of what possible use are your news-sheets to me
?"
CHURCHILL proclaims, mockingly, in a dreary voice: "'Intelligence
is received that his Majesty yesterday attended a levee of Scottish nobility -
many of them house-trained. 'Martinique'
was last week recaptured from the French for the seventh occasion.
Owing to installation of a pox-ridden and mad governor, its loss is
expected for Wednesday fortnight ....'"
In answer the PRIM GENTLEMAN places pince-nez on his nose and finding his
place in the newspaper, reads aloud:
PRIM GENTLEMAN: "'Item: Urgently required: Charles
Churchill: false priest and seducer, drunkard and debaucher.
And likewise, Lady Elisabeth Carr of Struddleduck Hall, his innocent
abductee. Any intelligence
regarding the location of either or both should be speedily communicated to Sir
Ogram Carr, Knight, care of 'The Gazette'.
A sum of £500 of good, unclipped, English coin is offered to any man who
shall serve Heaven, the nation and the blameless Carr family by bringing this
contemptible eunuch to justice - either by his apprehension or else
shooting down like unto a mad dog. In
the latter case, Sir Ogram shall require proof of demise by production of a
corpse or suitable identifying parts thereof.'"
PRIM GENTLEMAN lowers the newspaper and regards the now silenced couple with satisfaction. He then turns to another page.
PRIM GENTLEMAN, sarcastically: "No, no: cease your chatter.
I have still more gifts to present you.
Item number two:" PRIM
GENTLEMAN clears throat. "'
..... Nor are a tribe of lawyers and court beadles, clutching a recently granted
writ of 'Scandalum Magnatum Ex-Parte Quantum est Canis in Fenestra' alone in
their search for the two lovers. Intelligence
is received that Sir Ogram Carr and his five manly sons and the stouter members
of his tenantry are adjusting their daily constitutionals to take in those
places most likely to harbour one Charles Churchill, poet, cleric and general
loveable rascal. For some reason,
the noble Knight ( and noted duellist ) Sir Ogram and his band takes these to be
the lower sort of brothels and drinking dens that London town has, alas, to
offer in all too great a number. And
it is doubtless for this reason that they go heavily armed with a brace of horse
pistols and a cutlass apiece - for the innocent reason of their own protection.
However, this writer cannot account for why a set of bull castrating
shears should likewise accompany their perambulations .....'"
PRIM GENTLEMAN set the paper down and smiles maliciously at the much chastened couple. CHURCHILL's hands have disappeared out of sight to clutch his groin.
PRIM GENTLEMAN cups his ear:
"Oh, Lord have mercy on me, but I seem to have been struck deaf !
Can it be ? Ah, praise be - no,
it's merely that your gay banter has ceased.
Are you well, sir ? Have the
exertions of the night taken revenge on you ?
You'll permit me to observe, Mr Churchill, that your face is a whitened
as an esquimeaux's bottom. Since it seems I alone retain the power of
speech, shall I oblige you, sir, by calling the Inn-keeper ?
Some brandy, sir ? Do you
require fortifying spirits to restore your manhood ?"
PRIM GENTLEMAN playfully mimics the action of a large pair of shears and
CHURCHILL winces. PRIM GENTLEMAN
rapidly corrects himself. "I'm
sorry. I meant restore you to
manhood ?"
CHURCHILL resumes his former blustering self. He glowers at the PRIM GENTLEMAN.
CHURCHILL: "No, sir. I
stand in no need of Dutch courage, though I thank you from the bottom of my
heart - or is it the other way round ? No,
dear sir, I know precisely what I need."
CHURCHILL turns to camera, a confident smile dawning over his entirely
unclerical face. "I need
Wilkes ..."
Scene 4
A Scotsman, plainly identifiable as such in Highland dress and bonnet, sits beside a peat fire, fuming over a newspaper. Beside him are various womenfolk, all heavily wrapped in blankets and immobile, smoking clay pipes. The camera zooms in to reveal the title of the paper: 'The North Briton - Editor & Proprietor: J Wilkes Esq.'.
The Scots Reader's [ SCOTS READER ] voice is raised in anger and the camera recedes to show him reading angrily from the paper to the womenfolk. They remain statue-like - save from flashing eyes - and silent throughout.
SCOTS READER - in heavy brogue: 'And will ye listen to this ? 'Now that we rejoice under the utopian rule of a King who bids us dispense with ancient titles and no longer be Scots or English but 'North' or 'South Britons', and further now that a true Scotch gent, Prime Minister Bute, is so very close to the reins of the British Nation - and closer still, we hear, to the Dowager Queen ( to whose good name we are desperately devoted ), it behoves all patriots to familiarise themselves with the tokens of those who they may no longer plainly name. Is that Cabinet Minister, that government place-man, that monopoly holder a North or a South Briton ?. To what nation belongs that flood of richly accented - and soon enough rich in everything else - men swarming to our Capital to bless us with the blessings of their talents ? Whence comes that stranger who taxes and conscripts us and bids us be good and obedient - and passive - subjects of a ever- strengthening crown ? All these are vital questions and ones requiring swift answer before slavery descends.
Therefore, THIS ORGAN rises to meet the need.
The perplexed need fear no more. Since
we may no more straightway ask, THIS WRITER has the privilege of
imparting useful signs whereby to distinguish the breeds.
This writer INFORMS you thus: the true Scots ye shall know by these
infallible signs:
Item: does he talk and talk and talk again of the beauty and superior qualities of his nation - and yet does he live in Surrey ? And does he never ever ever go home, instead choosing to spend his life and rest his bones amongst a people he despises ?
Item: In conversation can he go no more than three minutes without
mention of BANNOCKBURN and yet does he fall deaf as stone and silent as a dead
mute upon mention of Flodden, Pinkie, Solway Moss, Falkirk and any other of the
myriad and glorious and more usual ENGLISH victories ?'"
Beside himself with exasperation, the SCOTS READER reaches beside himself for a huge bottle of whisky. He drinks generously and then noisily wipes his mouth. The silent womenfolk look hungrily upon the bottle, which he noticing, the SCOTS READER hugs protectively to himself. With many a wary glance at the female watchers he leans forward, neither hand now free, to read on.
SCOTS READER: "'And does the noble Northern Briton display
this unmistakable token of his lineage: to whit does he charge like a bull with
its balls on fire down the sweet road from Scotland to England
- and then does he creep like a boy-snail en route to snail school when
entering a tavern - for corpse-white fear he should be first and have a round to
pay ?'"
Cut to close up of SCOTS READER's face wrestling against a sore point scratched. He recovers and continues to quote.
SCOTS READER: "'And would he find the ensuing japery
true or to his amusement ? To whit:
a Scotsman was high upon a ladder a-cleaning of his upper windows - to save a
wasteful groat paid to the window-cleaner's trade ....'"
The womenfolk all mutter and nod their muffled heads approvingly.
SCOTS READER shrugs - not seeing the point and continues:
SCOTS READER: "'when - shock !
Dismay ! A farthing falls
from his sporran - implausible, I grant you, given that device's secure,
unbeaten, fastening, but bear with the jest.
'Horrors !' thinks he, 'for one of my clansmen may be round to
harvest my coin, so I shall desist from this humble task and retrieve it.'
And so he does, and descends the ladder to stand upon mother earth and
casts his eye around the ground - whereupon the coin falls atop his head .....'"
SCOTS READER: to the womenfolk - who giggle but do not otherwise
respond. "I dinnae get it !
Do you get it ?"
One mummy-like women hurriedly rises and heads for the door. SCOTS READER tears out the relevant page and hands it to her.
SCOTS READER: "Here, Morag.
And make good use of it !"
She accepts the page and disappears through the door into the night. The outside tempest of foul weather and rain is temporarily admitted.
SCOTS READER - obviously against his better judgement but unable to stop himself, surveys the pages left to him. Forgetful, his grip on the bottle loosens and every eye is fastened upon it. Almost imperceptibly, the shrouded womenfolk edge nearer. Then the SCOTS READER explodes in fury at something he's read and they freeze and retreat.
SCOTS READER: "Dear God ! Has the Sassenach no shame ? Will you look here - 'The Superiority of the Scottish School System Explained, its Curriculum exemplified and the Pressing Need for its English Adoption Outlined.
Item: Mathematics: If you should have five Bannockburns and add to them
seven Bannockburns and then divide the result by three Bannockburns, then how
many Bannockburns would you have ?
Item: Geography: The word
Burn or stream often appears in place-names: can you think of an example ?
Point to it on a map and then smile'."
SCOTS READER looks wild-eyed around, almost beyond himself, before steeling to continue.
Item: Science:
Enumerate the principle soil types and animal species adjacent to the
Burn running through Bannock ....'"
SCOTS READER arises in fury, scattering the paper everywhere. He sets the bottle aside and crosses the room to where a treadle whetstone is situated. From the wall he takes down a huge claymore. He sits at the whetstone and begins to furiously sharpen the sword, causing sparks to fly. The camera closes to his face but before it fully occupies the view we see the womenfolk behind the SCOTS READER ( unbeknownst to him ) silently descend on the bottle and fight over it - although still silently - like a pack of wolves.
SCOTS READER looks direct to camera - but indirectly addressing the inaudibly wrestling womenfolk - as sparks surround him and the grinding sound dominates.
SCOTS READER: "'Need'
is it ? 'Need', ah ?
Well, I'll tell you whit I need, shall I ?"
He raises the claymore and tests its edge with one finger. He hurts himself.
SCOTS READER: "Bugger.
Bloody urgent, bloody Onglish blade !"
He frowns and sucks the wounded digit.
SCOTS READER: "Aye
...., I'll tell ye whit I need is yon clever-dick Onglish editor with
this," - he surveys the tip of the claymore, wild-eyed - ,"shoved up
his silken arse: that's what I need, so I do.
Aye, what I need is ...."
He picks up the front sheet of the paper and, in a incongruously gentle gesture, puts on a pair of delicate spectacles to quiz it.
Close up of maniacal face. Over-the-top
'Private Fraser' style accent
SCOTS READER: "I
need Wilkes !"
************
Scene 5
Exterior shot of the tower of London.
From - just - behind the camera comes the raucous baying of a huge and
ugly-sounding mob. They are
chanting 'Wilkes and Liber-ty !'
'Wilkes and Liber-ty !'
A fusillade of rotten fruit and blue paint-bombs assault the wall. The camera rocket-pans in, 'Hawaii 5-O'-style, to one particular window and a face therein - a world-weary looking middle-aged man, the GAOLER, surveying the crowd. He takes a voluptuous tomato full in the face and withdraws.
We are now in the room beyond - an austere reception chamber. The mob's chant can still be heard, albeit more softly, beyond. Inside we find Wilkes [ WILKES ] a dapper man of middle-age and average everything, save for his exceptional ugliness. He has a pronounced squint and sardonic, amused, expression. He wears a long scarlet military coat, a very jazzy embroidered waistcoat and a powdered wig, with a horizontal line of curves on either side, somewhat resembling devil's horns. He looks with sympathy on the GAOLER as, without rancour, he cleans his face of tomato-aftermath. The GAOLER is non-descript, and harmless seeming, save for a set of huge antique keys round his waist. Two uniformed 'King's Messengers [ KING'S MESSENGERS ] stand custodially behind Wilkes, but not laying hands on him. Thuggish upper-class types, and none too bright, they look pompous and shifty throughout and, when not drawn into the dialogue, remain part of the furniture.
Speaking of which, the room is dominated by a large table behind which the GAOLER seats himself. The only other furnishings are various tatty and 'olde-worldly' tapestries, suits of armour and obsolete weapons lining the walls.
The GAOLER, pointedly in the only seat, shuffles his papers and takes up his quill.
GAOLER [ not unfriendly, somewhat resigned ]:
"So we meet again, Mr Wilkes. Mr
John 'Wilkes and Liberty' Wilkes, MP, as I live and breathe."
He is suddenly worried and looks nervously to the window and crowd noise.
"And I shall live and breathe, shan't I ?'
WILKES, reassuringly: "Rest
easy, my dear man. You will not be
the star of 'Bastille II', if
it is in my poor powers to prevent it !
WILKES crosses to the window, nimbly dodges a cauliflower, and then is recognised and acclaimed by the mob. They go wild. Like a two-centuries early rock-star working the unseen crowd, he briefly eggs them on until the 'Wilkes and Liberty's are almost deafening. Then, with a crashing motion of the arms, he guillotines them off. An uncanny silences ensues.
He returns, as though nothing has happened to resume his place meekly before the GAOLER.
GAOLER: 'I am obliged
to you, sir."
WILKES bows gracefully and graciously:
"At your service, sir."
GAOLER: "So,
what is it this time ?
WILKES cups his sharp chin in one hand and ponders, studying the ceiling. He cannot seem to recall, although his expression is mischievous. One of the KING'S MESSENGERS frowns impatiently.
KING'S MESSENGER 1; 'He said, in his accursed 'North Briton', that his majesty's revered mother, the Dowager Queen, was a 'much-loved figure'.
GAOLER screws up his face, incredulous:
'And you get the Tower for that ?
What then if he went really wild and alleged she was 'quite nice,
really'. The noose ?
Have we really come to this ? Have
you got my house surrounded by a pack of foaming-at-the-mouth shaven-headed
cockneys just because someone hinted the royal family's 'not all that bad'
? You ..... stupid
bloody pubic-school-educated powder-bonced eunuch bum-strokers, you ...."
KING'S MESSENGER 2 - unfazed by the abuse:
"It was the way he said it."
GAOLER buries his head in his arms. Outside, starting softly, the 'Wilkes and Liber-ty' call starts up again.
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "He said she was 'much-loved' by
Prime Minister Bute"
GAOLER raises his face: "Ah ...."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "And many other Scotsmen."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "Five times a night."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Up against the mantelpiece."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "In sedan chairs."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "In St. James's Park."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "And of a recent performance of the 'Scottish
Play', our amateur Theatre critic
here, reviewed that Lady Macbeth's screams and moans were much augmented from
the Royal Box ...."
WILKES: interrupting, suggestively: "If you'll pardon the
expression, sir ...."
The GAOLER sees a way out and brightens:
"Aha ! So you admit it,
sir ?"
WILKES, affronted: "I
admit nothing, sir. These outrages
may be lifted from that estimable journal of affairs, 'The North Briton',
but that is none of my concern - probably ...."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Oh no, you just fund, write and
produce it, that's all, Mr Wilkes - you and your bloody bear of a friend,
Churchill !"
KING'S MESSENGER 2: You're
up to your radical, atheistic, inky hands in it, sir !"
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "When
not up to your elbows in a silk dress !"
WILKES bridles facetiously. "Do
you allege I wear dresses, sir ?"
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Nothing would surprise me, about you,
Wilkes. But you know full well I
referred to your worship at the shrine of the goddess Quim.
You're notorious for it, sir. No
woman in Christendom is safe from your groping, questing, probing, licking
appendages ...."
WILKES bows, mock-modest: "I
have the divine and invigorating gift of unquenchable lust, I confess.
If such be a crime, then I belong here - "
GAOLER: "If so, The Tower'd need to be a sight bigger
...."
KING'S MESSENGER 1 to KING'S MESSENGER 2, reluctantly, honestly
conceding the point. "As big
as the City ..."
KING'S MESSENGER 2: "Bigger ...."
WILKES: "But sin is not yet treason, even under this present
stern father of an administration. I
have done nothing to merit bringing all these good people out ..."
WILKES gestures towards the window, and the chant achieves momentary prominence. They sound downright ugly and far from 'good' people.
WILKES: "You
cannot prove a thing, sir. T'would
be wiser to let me go."
GAOLER, listening to the mob, is minded to agree, until KING'S MESSENGER 1 meaningfully taps his royal warrant and sword.
KING'S MESSENGER 2: The
'North Briton' and all its mucky assertions are his !
He stays here till he confesses 'em, awaiting the King's good
pleasure."
WILKES, jovial: "That
long, eh ? Am I not to be allowed
out to watch Doomsday ? When Christ
our saviour separates the sheep from the goats, will you be there to stay his
divine hand and say 'Not Wilkes, Lord, he's got to stay in the Tower !'
KING'S MESSENGER 1 and KING'S MESSENGER 2, not liking the notion, look from one to the other.
KING'S MESSENGER 1, perplexed.
"I'm not sure we have authority for th-"
KING'S MESSENGER 2, sudden relieved:
"It's all right: we'll be dead by then."
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "Are you sure ?"
KING'S MESSENGER 2: Almost
positive."
Reassured, they turn back, unconcerned once more, to the prisoner.
KING'S MESSENGER 1: "He
wrote it, he serves it !
WILKES: "Prove
it !"
KING'S MESSENGER 2 to GAOLER:
"Book 'im in !"
GAOLER, resigned. "You know the drill, Mr Wilkes. Your pockets, if you please.
Plainly familiar with procedure, WILKES turns them out. The GAOLER notes each item as it arrives.
GAOLER: "Three gold sovereigns, one shilling clipped, one
shilling unclipped, one caricature by Mr William Hogarth of the accused -
defaced. One sheep's-gut cundum.
One blue garter ribbon. One
red garter ribbon. Miscellaneous
IOUs. The addresses of sundry
Hebrew lenders. Another cundum. A
lock of - curly - hair. An indecent
print. One cundum dyed blue and
inscribed 'Wilkes'."
WILKES: "Actually, you'll find its full legend reads
'Wilkes and Liberty ! Three cheers:
hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, for Wilkes and liberty and the freedoms of Old England
!'"
The GAOLER disgustedly declines to investigate.
WILKES; "Also, with your indulgence, sir, I'll ask you for my
usual dungeon. It has been kept free, I trust ?
And, of course, it may be too much to ask for in the Tower, but one would
so appreciate a cell innocent of any recent Scottish inhabitant.
Only one's only just got over the last bout of the itch,
you see ....."
GAOLER looks wearily up and then scratches out what he's written,
inserting instead the full version. He
continues in a dull monotone: "Another lock of curly hair, but
blonde. Another cundum ....."
Cut to Wilkes' face: a picture of cheerful and amiable innocence. The chant from outside loudens.
************
Scene 6
The chant is heard again, off-stage, to locate us. Wilkes is another room in the Tower, a luxuriously appointed chamber, save for an incongruous barred cell door.
WILKES is very much at ease, legs propped up the table: whistling to himself, twiddling his thumbs, and chuckling occasionally, obviously enjoying a blissful recollection/speculation. From time to time he takes a modest sip from an elegant schooner of something.
There is the rattling of keys and turning of a heavy lock. The door swings open.
Enter GAOLER and a large, hairy man who would be martial-looking were he not in drag. This is the Frenchman, the 'Chevalier d'Eon' [ CHEVALIER ]. More suited to a rugby scrum, five o'clock shadow and all, the newcomer is entirely unconvincing as a female, in gait or anything, fashionable gown notwithstanding. His hirsute chest protrudes above his bodice and his make-up is more enthusiastic than convincing. Incongruously, across his dress, is strapped a large - but empty - scabbard.
GAOLER bows. "With
your indulgence, Mr Wilkes, this .... gentleman claims your acquaintance and
urgent business besides."
WILKES springs to his feet, glad to see the visitor.
WILKES: "As
indeed he may, sir - and very welcome ! Too
long has this sad cell been parched by absence of the fairer sex's civilising
'fluence. Therefore, Mr Turnkey,
may I have the honour of presenting to you my secretary, the Chevalier
d'Eon." To CHEVALIER:
"I wish you joy, Madame !"
The CHEVALIER rushes to eagerly embrace WILKES and rain relieved kisses upon both his cheeks, all the while babbling incoherent expressions of gladness.
Close view of WILKES's stoic but less than delighted face.
WILKES, whilst still trapped in this bear-hug, to GAOLER: "I
feel some explanation is due you, sir."
GAOLER shrugs, conceding the possibility.
He has already written something on a grubby pad drawn from his myriad
pockets. "The name alone would
suffice, since his Majesty commands that I - 'pointedly' - his words,
sir, not mine - record each visitor you receive.
Yet I perceive a tale here worth a moment.
My ears are all yours."
WILKES: "The
Chevalier served with distinction in the cavalry of his sublime Majesty, Louis
XV of France, in wars against the Prussians and Turks and Croats.
He covered himself with glory and gold and such bed-fellows as the whim
took him; the deserved spoils of celebrated campaigns.
Alas, God then saw fit to transmogrify his sex.
Accordingly, he relocated his misfortune to come and live in England - in
the feminine form you now see before you."
GAOLER, dryly: "As
you do ...."
WILKES : "As
indeed you do, sir. Here he has
found asylum from common prejudice and serves as the dependable keeper of both
my diary and safety." To
CHEVALIER - possibly a ploy to secure his release.
"Is that not so, sir ?"
The CHEVALIER disengages and instantly snaps to attention.
CHEVALIER, in Gallic accent: "My oath, but it is !
If the enemies of sweet liberty threaten my Mr Weelkes, I will cut zem in
'arf !"
The CHEVALIER claps hand to his sword - only to find it gone.
CHEVALIER: "Alors, I am disarmed ! I forgot - ze took Excalibur from me at the door !" S/he manifests vast distress.
WILKES, graciously: "My
safety is assured none the less, Madame. With
Joan of Arc reborn to guard me whom shall I fear ?"
D'EON's delight is as great as her recent despair. S/he trills with joy.
WILKES: "Now, to business: I have wished you joy, sir.
What joy do you then have for me ?"
CHEVALIER whips out a tiny appointment pad and finds the appropriate place with incongruous feminine delicacy, using the accompanying little golden pen.
CHEVALIER: "Zere
are three people who so desire to see you.
Your good friend, the Father Churchill, arm in arm with his tres
charmant concubine."
WILKES, gleeful: "Joy
indeed ! My firmest friend on this
earth and conduit to the Muse to boot !
CHEVALIER: "See 'im first, I think. The young lady's famille await the lovers outside and wish to kill him dead in a bad way. Their footmen have brought ver, ver, sharp implements." He mimics clippers applied to WILKES's crutch.
WILKES, unmoved: "Really
? Then that delectable duo first,
by all means."
CHEVALIER nods in sage agreement:
"S'right. Then my Lord
Gobb-em awaits. Ze poor poppet is
pale as a ghost - and the gentleman who makes 'im so, waits alongside.
He says he is to die tomorrow. There
is a duel I think. You are required
to be a second or peacemaker ...."
WILKES, brightening: "More fireworks in the sere dusk of my
confinement ! Delicious.
I shall see them reconciled or else fair play and a decent burial."
CHEVALIER: "And
last and least we have a mad Ecossaise.
He wants to kill you today - if that is convenient to you ....."
WILKES, supremely unconcerned:
"One seems to have struck rather a chord with that nation.
He is not the first to entertain the ambition.
How, pray, does he propose to consummate his desire ?
We are in the Tower, sir and universally disarmed.
Will he bore me to death with tales of Bannockburn ? Or shall I be
suffocated in haggis ?"
GAOLER, looking shifty: "Ah,
now .... y'see, what it is ...."
CHEVALIER: "The
skirted one was not searched. He
bears a blade as big as his mouth and sharp as his brains are not."
GAOLER, sadly confirming it:
"Yes ..... well, you must realise how the Government feels about
you, Mr Wilkes. They said to me
.... if any .... y'know ...."
WILKES, prompting: "Assassins."
GAOLER, glad of the help: "Yeah,
them - or loonies or that, turn up .... well, I wasn't to ... like ...."
WILKES: "Get in their way."
GAOLER, pleased that's out in the open.
"Exactly. You
have a way with words, Mr Wilkes - a gift.
And you know how it is - I'm not that far off me pension ...."
WILKES, reassuring: "Dear
fellow, say no more. To understand
all is to forgive all. However
unpromising the material, I still think I can weave a web of delight out of
this. A silken purse shall be made
of a sow's ear ...."
GAOLER, grateful. "You're
a diamond, Mr Wilkes. A real gent !"
WILKES: "And with your cup of gratitude brimming thus, I'll
trouble you if I might see dear Churchill first.
Even before I am a loyal son of the Church of England - 'by law
established' ...." there is a general outbreak of disbelief and
sniggering, which WILKES overlooks, ".... pleasure before business was ever
my creed ...."
GAOLER shrugs acceptance and exits by the door, returning almost instantly, proceeded by CHURCHILL and POUTING COMPANION. CHURCHILL is aggrieved, perspiring and perplexed. POUTING COMPANION mounts anxious guard over his front portions.
CHURCHILL: "Bastards ! T'was an ambush ! They meant to snip me !" He indicates his parts but then recalls himself and greets WILKES warmly, rushing to enclose WILKES's small palm in two of his great bear's paws. WILKES politely winces as little as he may.
CHURCHILL; "Jack, you dog !
What is it this time ? 'Treasonable Utterances' ?
Chundering on the Act of Union with Scotland ?"
WILKES airily dismisses all charges, indicating, with a wink, the GAOLER's presence.
WILKES: "Alas,
the guilty conscience perceives even the plain truth as deadly insult.
What can the honest patriot do ? I
labour in this Babylonian captivity, " he sweeps his still injured hand to
indicate the opulent fittings and cosy fire, "bowed down under the yoke of
tyranny, an inno-cent man !"
CHURCHILL: "Of
course, of course, and I sympathise, John, but meanwhile the surly relatives of
this pocket Venus," he jabs a thumb at POUTING COMPANION, "are waiting
outside, intent on drawing out my ribcage via my backside.
So what's to do, John-old-friend ? I
knew you were the one to see, but how it's to be done is, I confess, beyond this
poor brain."
WILKES ponders, looking through the window at the - unseen - vigilantes.
WILKES: "Hmmm,
it is a big pair of shears, isn't it ?"
CHURCHILL, more relaxed now the matter is in Wilksian hands. "A tricky one, I'll grant you, John. I mean, I love her dearly but ...." Over atop POUTING COMPANION's blithely unaware head he grimaces, indicates her and alternately shakes his head or mimics slitting his throat. To make it abundantly clear he mimes 'giving her the elbow'.
WILKES: "And how
can we blame you, dear Charles. The
goddess Aphrodite has fled Olympus and alighted beside you.
God would never be so cruel as to permit your parting.
Never fear, my dears, Uncle John shall smooth the path of love ...."
WILKES: wickedly and aside, in close up, to camera: 'Though
what route it takes and where it ends is another matter !'
He sidles elegantly round POUTING COMPANION in a graceful manoeuvring to
CHURCHILL's side. POUTING COMPANION
remain in forefront,
WILKES to CHURCHILL, sotto voce, behind his hand.
"Have you done with her ?"
CHURCHILL, shrugs and spreads his hands: "10 days, all three
ways, I've had my fill ...."
WILKES, still hushed/confidential: "As has she, no doubt
....." Resumes bright,
triumphant mode and normal volume. "So
then, let me weave my Elven wand over the dun landscape of your woes !
D'Eon, admit my next visitors - both Lord Gobb'em and his would-be
nemesis."
D'EON exits. Shouting is heard - two men's voices - in the corridor ( ? ) outside.
Meanwhile, WILKES crosses hurriedly to POUTING COMPANION.
"Now, my dear, to your best advantage, if you please.
We are expecting company !"
He trims her waist, lowers her bodice to reveal more cleavage, slips her dress to show more shoulder.
WILKES; "And the
face, my sweetness. Attend to your
shop window as I have the display of goods !
POUTING COMPANION pouts and coquettes even more outrageously.
D'EON returns with the still paper-pale LORD GOBB'EM and unmollified looking LORD HERVEY.
LORD HERVEY, outraged: "So, I might have guessed -
that devil Wilkes ! Is this the
company you'd have me keep ? G*d's
teeth and bowels, Cobham, sir, you give me fresh reason to blast your guts out !
And what are you writing, sir ?"
GAOLER, who has been scribbling away on a grubby sheet of paper:
"Your name, sir - and at his Majesty's direct command !
He wishes to be apprised of all who come to pay their compliments to 'that
Devil Wilkes', as both you and he term him - with your indulgence, Mr Wilkes ..."
WILKES bows away the insult with a smile. LORD HERVEY is far less pleased, and fumes at LORD GOBB'EM.
LORD
HERVEY: "And now you'd
have me in Royal disfavour too, would you, you back-alley conception ?
Insult added to injury, is it ?
A poor ambush, sir. Permit
me to instruct you how the deed is really done.
Then my blade shall prove what the world suspects - namely your gutless
state and lily-liver. Oh, I shall
show forth what you're made of - people will only have to look and-."
WILKES, suddenly animated into charm overdrive, crosses to LORD HERVEY and shakes his reluctant hand.
WILKES: "Lord Hervey ! Oh,
if you did but know how I've hungered and thirsted for this day ! That
England's premier elder statesman and homme d'affairs - the unseen spine
concealed in this present government's backside ...."
LORD HERVEY was slightly mollified and lapping up the compliments but bridles at the last. WILKES bulldozes over his objections.
WILKES: ..."the eminence grise, the squat trunk of the
oak that is olde England ! A
political titan condescends to acknowledge the least of his fellow patriots.
The Lord bless you, sir !"
LORD HERVEY, still held by the hand: "Well, .... I cannot
say I actually intended to .... If
I'd have known it was yo-.""
WILKES: "A chair, d'Eon, if you please !
A seat for this most august noble seat ...."
LORD HERVEY would have queried this too, had not D'EON whipped a chair from behind the table and shoved it to the back of LORD HERVEY's legs, causing him to topple back. He remains there, nevertheless, glaring around, his hands rested on his gold-tipped stick.
WILKES: "And, sir, your visit is doubly honouring so soon
after your tragic bereavement ...."
LORD HERVEY has to think about it.
"Oh that ! Think
nothing of it. T'was over a year
ago."
WILKES: "Still,
sir: the loss of such a paragon looms over any span of mere years.
The Nation itself was riven by the intelligence of Lady's Hervey's demise
!"
LORD HERVEY, surprised: "Was it ?" He seems very dry-eyed himself. "Well, yes, very sad .... She was ...." he ponders for the right word, which seems to elude him.
WILKES, tentatively suggests:
"A monument to virtue, sir ?"
LORD HERVEY's lips clench.
"Aye, sir, she was that all right."
WILKES: "A
pillar of rectitude ...."
LORD HERVEY, disgruntled but in agreement: "A pillar, yes .... cold and hard as a marble pillar ...." He lapses into self-absorption, lost in unhappy recollection, visible upon his face.
WILKES: "And now
you are, alas, a free man, sir. Free
as a bird, but with no love mate to serenade with sweet exuberances.
Your energies, liberated to flow where they will, where they will,
I say, sir, drain into the desert of solitude,
deprived of a body, a body, I repeat, sir, over which to lavish
their tempestuous warmth ...."
WILKES winks to CHURCHILL and indicates POUTING COMPANION. CHURCHILL gives the thumbs-up.
WILKES continues to LORD HERVEY:
"No, sir, Your vast estates and fortune are now yours
to prowl alone....," POUTING COMPANION's ears prick up and she pays
attention to LORD HERVEY for the first time., "and so you employ your sad
and empty hours in the succouring of poor prisoners, as our Lord and Saviour
bade us ...."
LORD HERVEY, warming to the image:
"Hmmm, well ...."
WILKES: "Unless
kind fate, seeing your distress, should thrust, thrust, I say, sir,
another boon companion into your life."
LORD HERVEY shrugs, conceding the possibility.
POUTING COMPANION leans down and takes LORD HERVEY's hand and stokes it consolingly. "Poor man, poor, poor man ...." She charms him and he is first intrigued and then beguiled.
WILKES: "To
think, to think, sir, that with the world thus your oyster, you should decline
any chance of a fork and lemon juice with which to dine.
The tragedy that you should spurn the fine things laid upon - and
possibly bent over - your table and instead rush to greet death, embracing the
cold grave rather than warm satin flesh !"
WILKES, shaking his head in sad disbelief, crosses as though to talk to CHURCHILL and LORD GOBB'EM but en-route, with a barely perceptible jab of the elbow in POUTING COMPANION's back, propels her into LORD HERVEY's lap. She squeals but makes no great efforts to escape. LORD HERVEY is obliged to hang on to her.
WILKES silently urges LORD GOBB'EM on. Lord GOBB'EM accordingly tries to look conciliatory and solicitous to LORD HERVEY. The sight is none too convincing.
LORD HERVEY, recalling himself slightly, but with his arms
still around POUTING COMPANION. "It
is a matter of honour, sir. I take
no pleasure in killing any man - well, except maybe a Welshman - but I speak of
honour. You have surely heard of
the incident with my hat, sir ?"
WILKES nods regretfully.
LORD HERVEY: "And what was put in it ?"
WILKES signifies that he quite understands.
LORD HERVEY: "The
stain in my hat can only be expunged by blood.
Blood, sir, and lots of it !"
However, LORD HERVEY is increasingly engaged with POUTING COMPANION and they drift off into ( unheard ) animated conversation.
WILKES catches CHURCHILL and LORD GOBB'EM's attention and their two faces light up. Undetected, behind LORD HERVEY and POUTING COMPANION's backs, WILKES and CHURCHILL 'high-five'.
WILKES then elegantly turns his back on LORD GOBB'EM, one open palm protruding backwards. In it LORD GOBB'EM deposits what is obviously a bulging bag of coin. WILKES chucks it to D'EON who deftly catches and pockets it.
LORD HERVEY, with reluctance, detaches himself from POUTING COMPANION - who is now well snuggled into his lap, with her arms around his neck. He addresses LORD GOBB'EM, who jumps in alarm and squeaks.
LORD HERVEY: "Remind
me, sirrah: did you say you were willing to abase yourself and sign whatever
grovelling apology it pleased me to compose and publish in the 'Times'
?"
LORD GOBB'EM, gracious and composed: "If it will earn your pardon, sir, then pray compose away and my willing signature will gild it.
LORD HERVEY harrumphs. "We
shall see, sir. I have many harsh
words to say ...."
LORD GOBB'EM, relieved and joyful.
"Ransack the dictionary, sir: my offence deserves it."
LORD HERVEY: Not to
mention a new hat ..."
LORD GOBB'EM: "We
shall repair to Lock and Co's in St. James's this very day, sir.
Mr Whitbourn there shall fashion you a prince among titfers
LORD HERVEY pauses but then decides:
"Very well, sir. I
shall accommodate you" He
eagerly returns his full attention to POUTING COMPANION.
"And possibly you too, dear missy.
Now, what were we saying ?"
She giggles coquettishly and whispers in his ear. He laughs uproariously and then, red-faced, recalls his position.
LORD HERVEY, to all, unconvincingly: "A most amusing jest, Madame. You are a paramount wit amongst your sex....." They are soon lost in intimate chat again and oblivious to all else.
WILKES crosses to the window and, once seen, the chant of 'Wilkes and Liber-ty' starts up again. He cuts it off abruptly with a chop of the hands, as before. He addresses the unseen mob.
WILKES: "The
duel is off !"
Loud, disappointed "Ohhs' and boos
WILKES: "Gobb'em
and Hervey are reconciled. Gobb'em
will shortly appear before you and abase himself before Hervey as never human
did lick spittle before. He shall
gorge humble-pie until he threatens to explode and cover London in gore !"
The mob cheer the prospect.
WILKES, to mob: Is
Betsy Carr's family present ?"
A smaller roar confirms they are - and aren't happy.
WILKES: "I'm
afraid she's been had."
Sulphurous growls and incoherent angry noises greet that information.
WILKES: "But
she's betrothed to a Duke - or soon will be !"
There is a slight pause - but then the same voices gleefully acclaim the news with cheers.
WILKES turns back to the room, symbolically dusting his hands - 'done and
dusted'
WILKES to GAOLER: "Now, sir,
remind me. There was another
guest, I believe ....."
GAOLER, still in awe: "There
was, Mr Wilkes: a murderous Scotsman ...."
WILKES: "Out of
the boundless respect I bear that nation, we shall go to him, rather than the
contrary. With, of course, your
kind indulgence, sir ...."
GAOLER, with a helpless shrug.
"Even if I forbade it, within five minutes you'd have silver-tongued
me round ...."
WILKES smiles, acknowledging the plain fact.
"And, since you have been such a Christian amongst captive-holders,
I may be in a position to bestow a return favour on you ...."
They all exit: WILKES and GAOLER and LORD GOBB'EM and CHURCHILL and D'EON, in a little procession behind WILKES. Only LORD HERVEY and POUTING COMPANION remain. They belatedly notice they are alone and, lascivious looks coinciding, begin to feverishly disrobe. The camera hurriedly follows the others out of the cell.
The camera catches up with the party as they progress along a lengthy corridor, both sides of which are dotted with cell doors. At the further end is a larger room. As they pass the last cell door the sound of plaintive bagpipe music can be heard from within.
WILKES comments on it: "I
had previously noted that, in the quiet watches of the night ...."
GAOLER: "I did
my best for you, sir, placing you as far away as the Tower permits ...."
WILKES bows: "I
am further obliged, sir."
GAOLER: "He's
another one - like him we're going to see.
I mean, think how I feel ! It's
right close to my little cottage in the grounds.
I've muffled the door with woolpacks but when he blows extra loud ....
And he plays it night and day, Mr Wilkes - night and day !
Won't be told, he won't. I
said to him, that racket makes my little daughters cry, it does.
And it's playing bagpipes as brought you to this !
Weapons of war, that what the Court said. After we put it across you at
Culloden, don't strangle the cat no more, 'cause it's a 'weapon of war'.
That's how he got arrested ! But
will he have it ? Will he f- ...
Well, he just won't see my point of view, Mr Wilkes, or be considerate
about our bedtimes. "
Mimics Scottish accent. 'If
aim to be hung, whit's your punishments to me ?
Ma pipes are the only joy I have ....'"
WILKES considers. "Well,
one idea does occur ...."
GAOLER: "You go
for it, Mr Wilkes. Whatever you say
...."
WILKES seems to have a plan, paying the closed cell door more attention than it might warrant.
WILKES: "Let us
see if we cannot supply him a little extra joy."
They all proceed into the larger room, a sort of ante-chamber or reception. Various bits and pieces of administrative type stuff lay about carelessly strewn on chairs and a desk.
WILKES to D'EON: "You
say that my would-be nemesis is amply armed ?"
D'EON: "His
blade hangs beside his skirt - which is a world less chic than mine, n'est
pas ?" He performs a
coquettish twirl, but then recalls the point and ceases abruptly
"As did Excalibur before they took it from me !"
WILKES to GAOLER: "But
I believe you insist I meet him empty- handed ...."
GAOLER, reluctantly confirming:
"If it's all the same to you, Mr Wilkes.
His Majesty's ministers were most particular on the desirability
of your demise. You wouldn't want
me to lose my livelihood, would you now, there's a nice radical ...."
WILKES sighs and plucks a little letter-opener from the desk top and assumes a duellist pose with it.
WILKES: "Not even this ?"
GAOLER, sucks air through his teeth and shakes his head.
WILKES, obligingly: "Very
well then." He replaces
the letter-opener. "I shall
oblige you - even if it places me at some slight disadvantage ...."
GAOLER looks powerfully sympathetic but says nothing.
WILKES: "Though
I warn you, sir, you may force me to deploy a sharper weapon than any sword - to
wit my wits !"
Camera cut to GAOLER's momentarily panicked face.
WILKES: "So,
Gaoler, if you please, pray admit my homicidal Caledonian guest.
This David is positively dying to meet Goliath !"
GAOLER goes to the opposite door and when he opens it a buzz of conversation escapes from the apparent waiting room beyond.
GAOLER calls: "The
gentleman to kill Mr Wilkes ? "Gentleman
to kill Mr Wilkes ?"
Enter, furiously, the previously-seen SCOTS READER. He bursts into the room and looks for Wilkes. When he spots him, he brandishes both his claymore and a scrumpled up copy of the 'North Briton'.
SCOTS READER (excessive
brogue accent ): "Aye now,
Onglish. McMurray's the name and
revenge is the game. We meet at
last !"
WILKES bows low. "I'm
delighted to make your acquaintance, sir."
SCOTS READER, unmollified by such courtesy.
"Aye, well, maybe you'll be less dee-lighted when you've made the
acquaintance of one of these." He
jiggles both sword and paper. "Yee
can taste either one - the sword in your guts or this rag down y'guts -
after 'ai've wiped m'arse on it."
WILKES ponders, perplexed. "Would
I be right in saying, if I hazarded to render that into English, that you wish
for me to either embrace the blade or eat the paper ?
Even though you note I am disarmed ?"
SCOTS READER: "Aye,
that's aboot the shape of it, y' silken-tongued jessie.
You deserve the one by writing the other.
And dinnae bother me wi' all that 'fair play' crap.
Where I come from we play by harder rules.
If yuir swordless that's nae ma problem.
So, come on then, whit's it to be ?"
He proffers the two alternatives. "Metal
or dinner ?"
WILKES pretends to try and choose.
"It's a quandary, isn't it, Mr McMurray.
But while I'm deciding, perhaps you could first settle two small points
of curiosity that pique me ?"
SCOTS READER shrugs his indifference. "Well,
my nation's the famed home of knowledge. And
I would'nae have you piqued by anything save ma sharp sword.
Fire away, Onglishman."
WILKES: "Well, firstly
sir, what part of Wales do you hail from ?"
SCOTS READER, fumes to camera:
"You know full well, shite-in-a-stocking, that a'im a prood Scot.
As it happens, I'm Edinburgh born and bred."
WILKES: Sorry."
SCOTS READER: I said,
I'm Edinburgh born and bred."
WILKES: "You
misunderstand. I heard the first
time. I was merely expressing
sympathy."
SCOTS READER face purples, direct to camera.
WILKES: "But
perchance you'll hear my second question better."
SCOTS READER: "Aye
?"
WILKES: "Tell
me, was it cold in the ground for you this morning ?"
SCOTS READER, in cold ( ! ) fury.
"Reet; that's it. Newspaper
breakfast is orf the menu. It's Scottish steel for you, Onglish !"
WILKES: "Out of
consideration, I must tell you to have a care, sir.
I have fought a dozen duels against your countrymen and prevailed on each
occasion. Are you sure to wish to
cuddle up to doom ?"
SCOTS READER is adamant. "I
am, sir. I am determined on death
or glory. Your death shall be ma
glory !"
CHURCHILL and D'EON look at each other, smiling and quietly confident.
WILKES: "Well then, sir, if you are fixed in purpose, lets us adjourn to the duelling chamber." WILKES turns back towards the corridor he has just come along.
SCOTS READER takes a step forward to follow WILKES but then pauses.
SCOTS READER: "A
'Duelling Chamber' - in the
Toower ?"
WILKES is amazed it should be doubted.
WILKES: "Honour
does not stop short at these walls, sir. Or
would you have us brawl in this sordid office ?
With all due respect, sir." He
nods apologetically at the GAOLER - who holds up his hands to indicate lack of
offence. "Is this to be an
affair between gentleman of honour or a barrow-boys' brawl ?"
SCOTS READER's face thaws, admitting the reasonableness of
WILKES's case. "Well, noo ye
put it like that, Onglish ...."
WILKES: "I do,
sir."
The progress is resumed and WILKES leads SCOTS READER to the aforementioned cell door. Bagpipe strains can once again just be heard from within.
WILKES: "And to
show you, sir, there is etiquette even amongst sassenachs, it has been arranged
for you to be piped to your appointment."
WILKES signals to the GAOLER to unlock and open the cell door. Immediately it is opened, a gale of bagpipe music pours forth. The camera cuts to the SCOTS READER's appreciate eye, from which he brushes a tear.
SCOTS READER: "Very
considerate, Onglish. I shall make
it quick for ye, a cause o' that."
Out of the cell, obeying the GAOLER's gestures, marches a piper in Highland regalia, playing away. WILKES ushers SCOTS READER forward into the vacated cell, standing aside to bow him in.
After he's entered it, his voice is heard from within.
SCOTS READER: "Hey,
whit kind o' duelling chamber's this ? It's
more like a manky cel-...."
WILKES steps to one side and GAOLER swings shut the door. Its ominous clang is heard and the key swiftly turned.
CHURCHILL reaches out to deprive the piper of his pipes.
They are shredded by CHURCHILL's considerable brute strength and he then
sends Piper on his way with a boot to the backside.
He departs, bemused but grateful for his 'escape', and is seen no more.
CHURCHILL consults his pocket watch, obviously timing something. After sufficient pause, he crosses to the window to the exterior. Addressing the ever present mob he points.
CHURCHILL: "Bagpiper
! Kill !"
A savage roar from many mouths greets the incitement. We hear the sounds of struggle and a drawn-out agonised scream - and then silence.
The locked cell door is hammered upon in fury. WILKES indicates its window should be opened and GAOLER hastens to oblige. A stream of Highland invective immediately hurtles out.
SCOTS READER: [ incoherent abuse ]
"*&^%&*$&%%**^%$$. Ya'
tea-sipping, bishop-licking, trooser-wearing, poound-spending, Culloden-cheating
Onglish BASTARD !"
We see SCOTS READER's incandescent face pressed to the door's tiny grill. The tip of his claymore - all that can be fitted - protrudes out into the room, waggling furiously.
WILKES bows: "At
your service, sir."
SCOTS READER, furious: "What
about ma' duel ?"
WILKES: "And you
shall have it, sir. I have never
been known to break my word of honour yet."
CHURCHILL and LORD GOBB'EM and D'EON exchange glances and then simultaneously burst out in suppressed laughter. WILKES reproaches them with a look.
WILKES: "Unless, of course,
the joke absolutely requires it. No,
sir, reproach me not. We shall
have our mortal combat."
He reaches down to the desk and picks up the letter-opener. For all of three or four seconds he exchanges blows and parries with the SCOTS READER's ineffectual claymore. A whine of impotent fury is heard from inside the cell.
WILKES: "Ah, so
you yield, sir ? Then withdraw to
prayer and silence, I advise you. Time
is short and Judgement pressing."
SCOTS READER, in close up, at grille, suddenly cool and collected:
"Whit d'you mean ?"
GAOLER: "We're
hanging you tomorrow - or the bloke what was there before you.
I know what you're going to say but don't worry - no one'll notice
the difference. You all look the
same to us .... - and the books'll still balance ...."
SCOTS READER, close up. His eyes widen in outraged disbelief before the grill clangs shut. No more is heard of him.
GAOLER, swivelling his head round, obviously relishing the bagpipe free silence.
GAOLER: "Ah, ....
bliss."
WILKES smiles at him: "I wish you joy, sir" He turns to the cell door and the unseen SCOTS READER beyond. "Or eternal joy, sir .....
SCENE 7
WILKES, in continuance of some previous conversation with
CHURCHILL: "Fifty pounds - on
the mantelpiece !"
CHURCHILL: "Very
reasonable, considering."
WILKES: "Considering
her size ...."
CHURCHILL, reluctantly makes as if to tear himself away and yet doesn't actually stir. He checks a number of wine bottles on the table but they are all empty.
CHURCHILL: You know,
John, I really should be going. A
hot date awaits ! D'Eon's
arranged a threesome with his lesbian lover. I plan a fine old time of it, that
I promise. Believe me, sir: there
shall be monstrous libations and furry hoops !
Then I really must get to bed and write Sunday's sermon."
WILKES slightly sad but still smiling:
"Though not with Betsy, alas. Do
you not repine or mourn, just a touch ?"
CHURCHILL, cheerfully. "Just
so long as I touch someone, that's the main thing.
What with the wine and the dark it's all the same to me.
All cats - all pussies, come to that - are black at night.
And besides, I can always phase Betsy back in once old Hervey's phoenix
ardour fails. But I shall show
respect, never you fear, as befits a man of the cloth.
It shall definitely not be until after their honeymoon."
WILKES's eyes widen: "Such
patience ! Such piety !"
CHURCHILL, modestly: "I
know, I know ...."
WILKES recapitulates, ticking off the points on his fingers:
"So that's your parts preserved from the shears, and Betsy gone to
live in love and comfort, reconciled to bosom of her family.
Not only that, but Gobb'em survives to whinge another day and the North
Briton has one detractor less. Lord
preserve me, Charles, but I seem to have weaved a seamless tapestry of joy today
!"
CHURCHILL: "T'was
ever thus, John, t'was ever thus. And
that is why we love you !"
They sit together in contented, companionable silence.
There is a discreet tap at the door and enter a voluptuous wench, the Gaoler's daughter [ GAOLER'S DAUGHTER ] spilling out all over, and also bearing a covered tray.
WILKES: "Ah now.
I fear it is you who must excuse me.
I clean forgot that around the hour the gaoler's charming daughter
generally brings me something hot."
GAOLER'S DAUGHTER, a brazen, hot-eyed, hussy, giggles.
CHURCHILL winks broadly and makes haste to go, hurrying on with his coat and clerical hat. At the door he pauses and leans back in.
By then GAOLER'S DAUGHTER is sitting on WILKES's lap and feeding him a dainty tit-bit brought out from under the tray cover. WILKES has also reached within as well and drawn out a gargantuan dildo. He playfully tickles GAOLER'S DAUGHTER with it and she giggles.
CHURCHILL, admiringly, shaking his head:
"You .... devil Wilkes !
WILKES and CHURCHILL, simultaneously, beaming, to each
other. "I wish you joy !"
CHURCHILL withdraws and the heavy prison door slams.
WILKES turns to camera, close up and at his most devilish and cheeky-chappiest.
WILKES: "And
don't think I haven't noticed you. I
wish you joy !"
He prods with the monster dildo at a button ( ? ), unseen, just below screen. There is a click and the picture fades ......
THE
END
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