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Starring:
Adrian Paul (Duncan MacLeod) Guests:
Roger Daltrey (Hugh Fitzcairn)
Written by Morrie Ruvinsky |
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England, October 1929
Fitzcairn Manor, North Tidworth
It's night, outside the manor. Pierre, the butler, is walking up the drive, adjusting his tuxedo as he prepares to the meet the car driving up. The car pulls up and stops, the front wheel coming to park squarely on Pierre's foot. Pierre grabs at his leg, making choked noises of pain as the door opens and Hugh Fitzcairn emerges from the car. Oblivious to Pierre's moans of aunguish, and his gestures to his trapped foot, Fitz stands up and addresses him briskly.
Fitz: "Give it a polish, Pierre." He taps him on the chest. "Put her to bed." He walks of toward the house, leaving poor Pierre with the car still on his foot. He goes to the front door, ignoring Pierre's increasingly loud moans of pain, and enters the house. He goes in and walks down a nicely furnished hall, and emerges into a smaller parlor, where he's greeted by the applause of the men sitting there. There's a small stage area, where two musicians already wait, and Fitz walks up to the microphone and spreads his arms.
Fitz: "Welcome. Welcome to Fitzcairn Manor's annual grouse shoot and executive witch hunt."
The guests laugh and applaud again. Simon Loxley and Percy Tynebridge are sitting on the sofa, with Norbert Drimble in a chair close by. After a brief, insincere chuckle Loxley leans over to Tynebridge.
Loxley: "Why are we all laughing? It's not as if it's even funny, it never was funny, and it never will be funny."
Drimble, matching his whisper: "Just enjoy it. With a touch of luck, who knows, we might never ever hear it again."
Fitz is going on: "And now, ladies and gentleman, I would especially like to welcome the three men who made all our good fortunes. My beloved partner, Percy Tynebridge." Aside, to one of the musicians. "Cloak, Ernest." He hands him his cloak, and returns to the guests. "The finest solicitor in the whole of Great Britain, Norbert Drimble." Drimble nods uncomfortably. Tynebridge closes his eyes in boredom. Fitz goes on. "Last but not least, this many-sceptered isle's only honest accountant, Simon Loxley." Loxley shakes his head, smiling modestly. Fitz turns and picks up a clarinet, then turns to Juliette. "And may I introduce a special guest for tonight. Joining us on vocals, the apple of my orchard, the fire of my heart, the woman who makes it all worthwhile, my beautiful wife, Juliette."
He holds out his hand, and Juliette gets up, taking his hand but dodging neatly when he tries to kiss her.
Juliette, tittering: "Lipstick, lipstick!" She trots up to the microphone, pulling Fitz with her, and giggles as he joins her.
Fitz: "Oh, you're so naughty." He kisses her on the neck.
Juliette: "Oh, I do love you, Fitzy."
The three other guests shift uncomfortably, bored, while they dote on each other for a few minutes. Then Fitz turns to the band.
Fitz: "Two, three, four . . ."
The guitarist and bassist start to play, and Juliette begins to sing.
Juliette, singing: "Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee / The fly has married the bumblebee. / Says the fly says he, will you marry me? / And live with me, sweet bumblebee. / Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee / The fly has married the bumblebee."
As she finishes the verse, Fitz starts playing a solo on his clarinet. He plays for a few measures, then starts squeaking, and hits a few wrong notes. Juliette looks at him, her smile growing strained. Fitz pauses, wiping his hand over his forehead, but then smiles brightly to the audience and starts again. He plays a few more notes, but they're little more than tuneless squawks, and Juliette's smile is beginning to look pained. Then Fitz starts choking, and Juliette looks at him in horror. The other guests start up, realizing that something is wrong.
Juliette: "Fitz!" Fitz tries to play one last note, then falls on his knees, and collapses. Juliette kneels down beside him. "Fitz!"
Fitz, choking: "Juliette . . ."
Tynebridge kneels at Fitz's side, and after a moment looks up at Juliette.
Tynebridge: "Good God. He's dead."
Juliette stares for one shocked moment, then screams, loudly and at length. In the background, a glass shatters. She looks down at Fitz, lying dead on the floor.
A close-up of a tombstone, which reads, "Hugh Fitzcairn. My Romeo." Juliette, dressed in black and wearing a veil, is standing by the grave with the other mourners.
Juliette: "As it is for me, as it was for my dear, dear Fitz. The heart is everything. When a heart such as his beats, it powers the world. When it stops, it makes us all a little smaller." Tynebridge, Loxley, and Drimble are standing in a row by the graveside, and as Juliette continues Tynebridge takes out his watch, pointedly checking the time. "It gives me some comfort to know that the last thing my dear, departed husband heard was my special love song for him." As she goes on, Duncan MacLeod walks up, dressed in a black suit like the rest. He takes up a position facing Juliette, and stands quietly. "It was a song that brought him great joy, and it is with those words that I lay him to rest." She begins to read dramatically. "'Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee / The fly has married the bumblebee. / Says the fly says he, will you marry me? / And live with me, sweet bumblebee." She breaks down on the last word, crying, and Duncan rolls his eyes. The other men merely look bored. Juliette, still sobbing, "It meant so much to him." Duncan, still standing, senses another immortal. He looks around, then turns and walks off quietly to the house.
Back at the graveside, Juliette is still crying, and Loxley reaches out and blots the tears from her face with a black handkerchief. She looks at him gratefully, then turns to the grave. At the priest's gesture, four men begin lowering Fitz's coffin into the open grave.
Meanwhile, Duncan enters the greenhouse, and as he looks around Fitz pops up from among the greenery, smiling broadly.
Fitz, waving a bunch of lilies: "A dozen lilies? Too guache?"
Duncan, dryly: "Not for you."
Fitz, indignant: "Have little respect for the dead, laddie."
Duncan takes off his hat, pressing it over his heart as he says soulfully: "Oh. It was a lovely funeral."
Fitz, his voice turning bitter: "Yes." He looks out at the graveside. "Half a dozen people. For a man of my stature, my standing."
Duncan, exasperated: "You're a personality, Fitz. It's the first time in eight hundred years you haven't been broke." His voice becomes cheerful as he concludes, "--and it's made you a complete jackass!"
Fitz, lofty: "I'm a late bloomer. Still, at least you came."
Duncan, grinning: "Oh. Just to see what you're up to this time."
Fitz, aghast: "You think I organized this?"
Duncan, snorts: "A chance to drop in on your own eulogy? I wouldn't put it past you."
Fitz: "Ah, yes. I might have enjoyed it." He becomes indignant. "Had I not been murdered."
Duncan, annoyed: "Oh, you'll do anything for attention, won't you?"
Fitz: "Excuse me! May I point out that I died of a heart attack? And immortals do not die of heart attacks."
Duncan, hopping up next to him: "Unless they're induced heart attacks."
Fitz: "Exactly. And the timing could not have been worse!" He punctuates the last word by thrusting the lilies into Duncan's hands. "Everything I own has been funneled into American stocks. You know, sort of a 'return from the dead' fund, if you will."
Duncan leans around him, saying smugly: "But, correct me if I'm wrong, you're a little behind on your paperwork?"
Fitz: "Yes. Details, details . . . Problem is, I was murdered before I had time to create a new me. Ipso facto . . ."
Duncan howls with gleeful laughter: "Ha ha! You're broke!"
Fitz: "Well, if you want to be crass about it, yes!" He points. "All my assets might as well be buried with that coffin."
Duncan: "What do you want me to do about it?"
Fitz smiles: "Find the person that murdered me."
Duncan laughs derisively: "Fitz, I am not a cop. And besides--" He smiles cheerfully. "--it's only money." He starts to walk off.
Fitz leans down: "No, Mac. It's much more."
Duncan: "Oh, is it?" He grins, and pats Fitz playfully on the cheek with his hat.
Before Fitz can retort, he and Duncan turn as they hear Juliette's voice waft through the greenhouse.
Juliette: "Duncan . . ."
Duncan pushes his hat into Fitz's face, shoving him away, then assumes a somber, grief-stricken expression as Juliette comes in.
Juliette: "Duncan?" She walks up to him. "Are you all right?"
Duncan, sighing tearfully, staring at the lilies he's still holding: "I just needed a moment with my thoughts."
Juliette: "Fitz used to love to spend time in here. If you close your eyes, it's almost as if he's still here."
Duncan, swallowing his grief: "I know what you mean."
Juliette: "He meant a great deal to you, didn't he?"
Duncan: "Oh, you'll never know."
Fitz, watching from above, makes a sympathetic face.
Juliette starts to walk away, but Duncan looks down at the flowers he's still holding, and stops her.
Duncan: "Juliette . . ." She turns, and he hands her the flowers. "Just a little token of my affection."
Juliette, taking the flowers: "Thank you, Duncan. Thank you." She kisses his cheek and walks away.
As soon as she's gone, Duncan jumps back up to the platform where Fitz is waiting. Fitz is still watching Juliette.
Fitz: "God, she's beautiful." They push through the plants until they've reached a wall with a view of the direction that Juliette took.
Duncan, watching her retreating figure: "For a grieving widow."
Fitz: "Yes." He watches as Juliette sashays down the path. "The way she walks in that dress. Taut muscles, passion simmering below the surface, like a volcano about to erupt."
Duncan, appreciatively: "Mmm."
Fitz: "She's a lioness in heat, MacLeod."
Duncan: "She's in mourning." On the path, Juliette turns and looks back briefly, then resumes her walk. "And you're dead."
Fitz looks at him sharply: "You wouldn't."
Duncan: "Oh, no, no." They look at Juliette again, then cast each other a last, suspicious glance.
Back at the manor, Drimble is in full cry.
Drimble: "As his personal solicitor, I knew everything--everything--concerning his legal matters."
Drimble, Loxley, Tynebridge, and Juliette are all sitting in chairs in front of Fitzcairn's desk, while Duncan lounges behind it.
Juliette: "Apparently not, Norbert." She turns to Loxley. "And I gather that this comes as something of a surprise to you, too, Simon."
Loxley: "And what are you suggesting?"
Duncan, inspecting a book with a magnifying glass: "I believe she's suggesting that if you'd been attending to business, then you would have been aware that I've been made sole executor of Mr. Fitzcairn's estate."
Juliette, haughtily: "Exactly."
Duncan: "Precisely. I'm afraid I can't read the will until two days after the funeral."
Juliette's jaw drops in shock, and the three men are outraged.
Tynebridge: "Be serious."
Loxley: "We are busy men."
Duncan: "Apparently." He pauses again as he senses an immortal, and looks around for Fitz.
Loxley: "You cannot expect us to wait around for two days on a whim of yours." As he speaks, we see the room through a different perspective, through two small round holes, as of someone peering through a peephole.
Tynebridge: "Ridiculous." Behind him, the eyes of a painting on the wall disappear, leaving two blank holes.
Tynebridge, getting up: "I don't have to put up with this."
Loxley, following suit: "Nor I. Can I get a lift back to the city with you?"
Duncan, sitting up: "I'm afraid you haven't understood me, gentleman. Maybe I haven't made myself clear." He gets up. "Nobody has to put with anything. It's just that in the absence of any Fitzcairns by blood, it makes you four the primary beneficiaries of the will. But a codicil states that only those present at the reading will be beneficiaries of the estate."
Tynebridge, after a brief pause: "Well, perhaps I've overreacted."
Loxley: "Quite right."
Tynebridge: "After all, with this dreadful weather, it's hardly a good time to be on the road."
Shot of the outside of the manor, showing blue skies, the sun shining, and birds singing.
Back in the office, the eyes have reappeared in the picture. Duncan, pacing around the room, has spotted them, and stops in front of the painting, staring at it.
Duncan: "Extraordinary." Dryly. "How lifelike." He turns and smiles at the room. "The eyes seem to follow you everywhere you go."
The four seated in front of the desk turn and look at him. Duncan spreads his arms, gesturing to the other side of the room.
Duncan: "Amazing paintings." They turn to look, and he lifts his hand and pokes at the eyes of the painting. The eyes vanish, and Fitz's voice makes muffled noises of pain. The four turn back, and Duncan quickly conceals Fitz's moans with his own, bending over as if in pain.
Duncan, choking: "The artist's genius actually pains me. Oh." He puts a hand to his chest, then peers through his magnifying glass at the rest of the room. "I say it again, I must find more of them." He rushes out. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
Loxley turns to look at Juliette, and she rounds on him.
Juliette, through her teeth: "Loxley!"
In the adjoining room, Duncan leans on the door, shutting it firmly behind him. He lets out a deep breath, then turns to Fitzcairn. Fitz is just lowering a clock back in place over the two eyeholes, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. He turns to Duncan.
Fitz: "What the devil did you do that for?"
Duncan, firm: "You want me to help? Then don't interfere."
Fitz, intent: "We're a team. A team, laddie!"
Duncan, sarcastic: "Yeah, some team. Now look, they think that I've got the real will. How long do you think before one of them wants to kill me?"
Fitz, thinking it over: "You're right. Damn risky business, this."
Duncan, bitter: "Thanks for your concern."
Behind him, Juliette peers through the door.
Juliette: "Duncan?" Fitz quickly sidles behind a curtain, and Duncan hastily yanks it further in front of him. Juliette steps in. "Duncan?"
Duncan, casual: "Hmm?"
Juliette walks toward him, looking around the room: "Did I hear you talking to someone?"
Duncan: "Uh, no. Just myself."
Juliette: "I could have sworn I heard Fitz's voice."
Duncan: "Oh." He gestures lamely. "I sometimes think I hear it myself." He laughs weakly.
Juliette: "We must be imagining things."
Duncan takes her hands: "It comes from my grief."
Juliette: "Yes. I'm so cold and empty inside." Fitz peeks around his curtain, frowning. "If only I knew what was in the will, I'm sure it would take the sting away a bit."
Duncan: "I'm sorry. I wish I could help."
Juliette: "My heart is broken." She reaches down for Duncan's hand, lifting it and shoving it against her breast. "Can you feel it, Duncan?"
Duncan, looking thoughtful: "Uh, it doesn't feel broken."
Behind the curtain, Fitz clears his throat.
Juliette: "That noise."
Duncan: "What noise?"
Juliette: "I didn't hear a voice?"
Duncan: "Must have been me."
Juliette: "Oh. Right." She smiles up at Duncan, continuing softly. "You were going to tell me about the will."
Duncan: "Uh, no, I wasn't."
Juliette, looking up seductively: "Is there something . . . wrong with it?"
Duncan: "The will?"
Juliette: "The breast."
Duncan: "Oh, no, no. It's--it's . . . fine."
Behind the curtain, Fitz mouths incredulously: "Fine?"
Juliette, getting indignant: "Fine! Fitzy said that they were extraordinary."
Duncan: "Oh, they--they are! But you know, um . . ." In a rush. "Juliette, I'm sorry, I can't help you with the will."
Juliette: "Duncan, I would have thought that you of all people would've understood my needs." She pulls away, beginning to sob. "Really." She leaves. Duncan clears his throat, turning to where Fitz is hiding.
Fitz leans out from the curtains: "Fine?"
Duncan, smiling: "Mmm."
Fitz: "'Fine' is a well-kept motorcar. A good wine. Decent china. But fine is hardly a way to compliment the perfect breast."
Duncan: "Would you try and keep your attention to the matter at hand?"
Fitz, dryly: "Yes, I certainly was." He raises his glass.
Duncan, rushing forward to take the glass from him: "What's that?" He snatches the decanter away and puts it back. "No, Fitzcairn . . ."
Fitz, ignoring him: "Listen, I've got it. It's definitely Drimble. He dragged his feet drawing up the papers I needed." He pours another measure. "Yes. Now there's a suspicious character for you."
Duncan: "He's no more suspicious than anybody else. And nothing points to him."
Fitz: "Exactly. Which is why we need to set a trap."
Duncan: "A trap?"
Fitz: "Yes. You have got to re-arrange the grouse shoot."
Duncan: "Are you insane? Give them all guns?"
Fitz: "It's brilliant. Give them all guns, and the killer is bound to shoot you!"
Duncan, broadly sarcastic: "Oh, yeah. That is brilliant."
Fitz, laughing: "Yes. I thought so, too!" He chuckles happily, and holds out a glass to Duncan. "You'll need this."
Duncan takes the glass, and walks off.
The next morning, the five of them set off on the grouse shoot, all carrying guns and followed by men with dogs.
Duncan: "I don't think this weather will hold. I feel a storm coming."
Drimble: "At least."
Loxley puts a hand on Juliette's shoulder: "Tell me, Juliette. Was this little hunt your idea?"
Juliette, whispering: "Me? No. You know I deplore guns."
A bird is flushed in front of them, and they start firing. Duncan, however, simply raises his gun and looks from side to side at the others, trying to catch one of them in the act. None of them actually manage to hit the bird, and after it's flown out of range the shooters lower their weapons.
Tynebridge: "Damn!"
As they're standing there, Drimble suddenly topples over.
Huntsman: "Drimble's down."
Duncan rushes to Drimble's side, rolling him over.
Tynebridge: "I say, is he all right?"
Loxley: "Of course he's not, you bloody idiot. He's been shot."
Duncan looks up: "He's dead."
Juliette screams, setting the dogs to howling.
The storm that Duncan predicted has arrived, and the manor is surrounded by wind and rain, with a little thunder and lightning thrown in. The four remaining guests are gathered in a parlor. The others are sitting, but Duncan is standing behind them, pacing back and forth and tapping a little notebook with his pen.
Loxley, indignantly: "Are you suggesting that one of us is a murderer?"
Tynebridge, bored: "Yes, Sherlock, that's exactly what he's saying."
Juliette squeals in horror: "Then was my poor Fitzy murdered, too?"
Duncan: "Two deaths in two days is more coincidence than I care for."
Loxley: "Well, I don't mind telling you that I'm getting a little on edge as well."
Duncan: "Then why don't you find Pierre?"
Juliette: "Pierre? You don't think Pierre did it?!" She laughs. "I can't possibly believe that." She laughs again, and waves her hand at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. "No, no, no no no."
Duncan: "What I was going to suggest was that Pierre go down to the village and fetch the local constabulary."
Juliette: "Oh, yes. That's what I thought you meant."
Duncan turns as the door opens, and Pierre walks, or rather, limps in.
Duncan: "Oh, the very man." Pierre takes a step forward, limping carefully on the cast around his left foot. Duncan looks again. "Maybe not." He turns away, making a note in his book.
Pierre limps carefully to the front of the room, opening his mouth to speak, but Marie interrupts him.
Marie: "Dinner will be served in half an hour."
Pierre, smiling: "Marie, it is my foot that is broken, not my mouth." He looks around, giving a little sheepish laugh, then announces, "Dinner will be served in half an hour." He smiles. "Roast grouse."
Juliette gives a pathetic sigh: "Oh. Poor Fitzy. Grouse was his favorite, you know. Oh, how his face would light up when he'd tear their little drumsticks off. How I miss that. Silly, sweet little man." Marie sets a tray down in front of her, and picks up the glass that was on it, holding it to her. Juliette begins to sob, and Marie pokes her impatiently with the glass, sloshing the contents and then thrusting it roughly into her hand before stalking out, followed by Pierre.
While this is going on, Duncan has taken a seat and is writing in his notebook, making a list of all the people that were at the manor. Fitzcairn is first, followed Loxley, Tynebridge, Juliette, and then Drimble. He makes the list, then crosses out Fitz, and then Drimble. When he's done, he glances at the list.
Duncan: "Hmm." He puts the book away, and makes ready to stand. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"
Juliette, confused: "Where are you going, Duncan?"
Duncan: "I'm going to see about the port." He leaves.
In the kitchen, Marie is working at the table when Duncan comes in. She looks up as he opens the door, then returns to her work.
Duncan, cheerful: "Hello." Lightning flashes. "Oh, nasty weather." Marie doesn't answer. Duncan takes a step in, rubbing his hands. "Marie, right? Can I call you Marie?"
Marie: "Yes."
Duncan, pacing around her: "Marie, I couldn't help noticing the look that you gave Juliette."
Marie, not looking at him: "What look?"
Duncan, trying to reassure her: "You can talk to me."
Marie: "Please, Monsieur, it would get me fired."
Duncan, putting his hand on his chest: "Fitzcairn was my closest friend. Any confidence would be held in the strictest privacy, naturally."
Marie: "No offense, but if you were that close, then you would already know." She looks at Duncan, and his brows lift in enlightenment.
Duncan: "Oh, it's that kind of confidence." He paces away again.
Marie: "Monsieur Fitz never loved that woman."
Duncan, muttering darkly: "Yes, well, he did get around."
Marie, firmly and loudly: "He loved me, Monsieur!"
Duncan, recovering quickly: "Of course, yes, I'm sure he did." He pauses. "But how can you be certain?"
Marie: "Because I'm carrying his child." Duncan looks down at her middle, staring as if he can X-ray her with his eyes and make sure. Marie looks at him. "We were more than just lovers."
Duncan: "Are you sure it's Fitzcairn's child?"
Marie whirls on him: "What are you saying? Do you think I would love somebody else?"
Duncan, backpedalling furiously: "Oh, no, I was just suggesting that--"
Marie: "Do you think that I would give this body, this temple, to another?"
Duncan: "It's just that, uh, Fitzcairn never talked to me about a family." He smiles, but Marie is off already.
Marie: "You think what? The butcher? The baker?"
Duncan, surprised: "The baker?" He reaches for his notebook. "I didn't know he had a baker . . ."
Marie: "The chauffeur?"
Duncan, firmly: "No." Muttering under his breath as he writes. "Chauffeur.
Marie: "Mr.--Mr. Tynebridge? But only once!"
Duncan, scribbling furiously, muttering: "Only once, Tynebridge. Tynebridge."
Marie: "You make me sick, all of you!" She grabs her chopping knife, and points it at Duncan. "Get out. Stay out of my kitchen!"
Duncan: "Yes, absolutely. Yes, fine. Yes." He turns at the door. "I just have one more--" [CC: "And just one more--"]
Marie: "Get out!"
Duncan: "Okay." He leaves. Marie walks back to the window, standing while the rain comes down. She opens her mouth, as if to say something to herself, then stands there, worried.
Duncan is walking down the main hall when he hears Fitz's voice.
Fitz: "Psst!"
Duncan stops, and glances at the suit of armor next to him, then moves on to the next. He lifts the visor, but finds it empty.
Fitz: "Psst! Over here!"
Duncan strolls over the next suit, and finds Fitz standing stiffly inside it, holding a mace in his hand.
Fitz, hissing in an undertone: "Did you see Marie?"
Duncan: "Oh, yeah."
Fitz, anxious: "Did she see anything? Say anything?"
Duncan: "Well, for starters she says she's carrying your baby." He reaches out and lifts up Fitz's visor, staring him in the eye.
Fitz, pleased: "Really?"
Duncan: "Mm-hmm."
Fitz: "She sure?"
Duncan: "Oh, quite."
Fitz, thrilled: "Oh, now that's news worth dying for." Duncan stares, but Fitz goes on. "Just imagine it, Mac. A bonny lassie, or a wee laddie, bouncing on my knee."
Duncan, playing along for a moment: "Yeah, watching them take their first steps."
Fitz: "Yeah, riding their first bicycle."
Duncan: "Teaching them how to swim." Fitz laughs, and Duncan joins him, then glares at Fitz. "You idiot, Fitzcairn. Immortals can't have kids."
Fitz, instantly aghast: "The slut! All this time she's been cuckolding me with that damn butler!"
Duncan paces a little ways, muttering: "Or maybe the butcher."
Fitz: "No, it was the butler, Pierre."
Duncan: "It was probably the baker."
Fitz: "I haven't got a baker!"
Duncan, now insufferably smug: "Yeah, And once with Tynebridge."
Fitz: "Tynebridge! He's a married man."
Duncan: "Yeah, well so were you!"
Fitz, stammering: "But-but . . . she's my maid!" Duncan turns and gives him a look. "Look, enough of these trivialities. We have got to come up with some hard facts."
Duncan: "Yeah, well try this one on for size. Drimble is dead."
Fitz, his voice cracking: "Dead?"
Duncan, definitive: "Yeah."
Fitz, defensive: "So I was wrong about him."
Duncan: "We can safely cross him off our list of suspects."
Fitz: "So it must have been Marie."
Duncan: "I don't think so. She might have been after your money, but she didn't murder you."
Fitz: "Yes, well." He chuckles. "Yes, that was definitely the old Fitzcairn charm working."
A gong rings.
Duncan: "Dinner." He turns to go.
Fitz: "Wait! I haven't finished yet."
Duncan turns: "Oh, yes, you have."
Fitz: "No, Mac! We have got to come up with a plan to get my money back.
Duncan: "After I've had my dinner."
Fitz: "What about me?!"
Duncan: "You're dead! Dead men don't eat." He comes back and slams the visor back down over Fitz's face.
Fitz: "Oh! My nose . . ."
Duncan is walking through the back halls, making a note in his book.
Duncan: "And Marie . . ." He taps the pen on the page, and snaps the book shut. "I'm sure there's something there . . ." He walks on, through a storage room, and sees Fitzcairn's clarinet lying on a table. Lying near the mouthpiece is a dead rat. Duncan stops, picks up the clarinet, and finds the reed and mouthpiece have turned red. He sniffs at the reed, muttering, "Of course." He lays the clarinet back down. "Of course."
In the dining room, Juliette, Tynebridge, and Loxley are sitting at the table, silent except for the sound of Juliette drumming her nails on the table. She looks up as Duncan walks in.
Juliette: "We've been waiting for you, Duncan. What took you so long?"
Duncan shuts the door with a dramatic bang, and saunters into the room, one hand on his hip, under his jacket.
Duncan: "I know how Fitz died."
Tynebridge: "Well, so do we. He had a heart attack."
Duncan looks around: "Actually, he was poisoned."
Tynebridge, just about to take a bite of soup, looks up. Juliette and Loxley do likewise.
Tynebridge and Loxley: "Poisoned?" A thunderclap punctuates their words, and Duncan looks at them levely.
Juliette: "How do you know?"
Tynebridge and Loxley look at their spoons of soup, and put them down in the bowls.
Duncan: "A little rat told me." He takes his hand from his hip, revealing the dead rat in his hand, and tosses it on the table. Juliette gives one of her patented shrieks, breaking a glass. Duncan ignores her, strolling around to confront Tynebridge. "You got into Brazil last year with Fitz, didn't you?"
Tynebridge: "Well, it was a business trip. I don't see that it matters now."
Duncan: "Get into the back country at all, did you?"
Tynebridge: "So what?"
Duncan leans down, saying significantly: "Come across any poisons?" He glances at Loxley, and moves on. "Something that would kill a man and make it look like a heart attack? Something like curare."
Juliette gasps, then gestures to Tynebridge: "You remember, Tynebridge. We came across a small tribe of South American Indians. They put it on their blow darts--" She levels her gaze at Tynebridge. "--to shoot monkeys." The sound of a monkey screeching is heard faintly.
Loxley: "Shoot monkeys?" He looks at Tynebridge. "Why on earth would anybody want to shoot monkeys?" More screeching monkeys.
Tynebridge: "I didn't shoot anything." He addresses Duncan. "What are you suggesting?"
Duncan: "Well, the Indians eat monkeys. Draw your own conclusions."
Tynebridge, pointing a finger at Duncan: "Be careful, MacLeod. Be very careful."
Loxley, still fixated on the monkeys, turns to Juliette: "You ate monkeys?" The monkeys screech again.
Juliette: "Not me." She points a dramatic finger at Tynbridge. "Him!"
Tynebridge: "Damn you, Loxley."
Loxley: "Preposterous. Monkeys." More screeching monkeys.
Duncan: "Well, actually they're not too bad. They taste a little bit like--"
All four: "Chicken." A chicken clucks.
Duncan looks at the others sharply, and Juliette rolls her eyes at him, realizing she's just revealed her fib. But before Duncan can confront any of them, Marie runs in, screaming.
Marie: "I found him in the garage, bludgeoned to death. He was lying by the car."
Duncan steps to her side: "Who?"
Marie: "Pierre."
Juliette screams again, and another glass bites it.
Marie, tearful: "God, how I loved him. My life is over." Duncan whips out his notebook, and starts scribbling. "I loved him like a butler--like a brother." Duncan, writing: "Brother?"
Marie: "Brother."
Loxley stands up, nearly sputtering in indignation: "I don't believe this!"
Duncan: "Well, I don't think there's anybody here we can send out in this storm tonight." On cue, the lights go out. "Not on a night like this."
Loxley subsides: "Monkeys."
Marie: "It's--it's a sign. We're all going to die!"
Juliette starts to cry. Duncan paces around the table, notebook in hand, watching them all.
The door to the meat locker opens, and Juliette walks in, holding a candle. Duncan staggers in behind her, carring Pierre over his back. Drimble's body is already there, hung by his suit from one of the hooks.
Tynebridge, following Duncan: "This is distinctly unpleasant."
Duncan: "Well, it's the only way to keep him until the storm lets up." He stands up as Loxley and Tynbridge take the body off. "Unless you want them going off."
Loxley, outraged: "A meat locker?!" He and Tynebridge prop the body against a pillar, and Duncan stands back, hands on hips as he regards the scene.
Duncan: "It's getting decidedly . . . packed in here."
Juliette: "Oh, Pierre." She looks at Duncan. "Who could have done such a thing to him?"
Loxley: "Bludgeoning his skull."
Tynebridge: "Breaking his ribs."
Duncan looks at him suspiciously: "How did you know his ribs were broken?"
Tynebridge: "Well, he looks like a man with broken ribs. Doesn't he?" He looks at the others. "Stop staring at me like that!"
Duncan: "Suspicion is an ugly thing, Tynebridge. Especially in the face of motive."
Tynebridge: "I'm not the only one with a stake in the will."
Loxley shivers: "It's getting cold in here." He moves up behind Juliette, putting his hands on her shoulders.
Juliette: "I'm not hungry anymore." Loxley starts easing her towards the door.
Duncan: "Yes. Well, I think we should hang him up later." He heads for the door. "We should all go to bed." He starts to walk out, then turns at the door. "That is, make sure your doors are locked." They all leave, and Duncan shuts the door behind them.
Juliette, holding a candle, creeps into the hall, peering around carefully before starting down the hall. At the other end of the hall, Loxley likewise emerges, and starts toward her. Neither of them notice Fitz, still standing in his suit of armor near the midpoint of the hall. They put down their candles on a table, then Loxley makes a growling noise and they fling themselves at each other, groping and kissing. Fitz, watching, makes a face.
Fitz: "Grrrr . . ."
Juliette breaks away: "What was that noise?"
Loxley, impassioned: "It is only my heart. Beating."
They kiss again, while Fitz watches, his mouth twisting in anger.
Juliette: "Take me now. Take me." She holds out her hands to Loxley, and he grabs them, pulling her along with him back to his room.
Fitz watches them go, saying hoarsely: "I'm hardly cold in my grave." He looks from side to side as thunder crashes again.
Duncan is in the parlor, having a drink while he reads over his notebook.
Duncan: "Juliette and Tynebridge were both in Brazil. Both shot monkeys."
Meanwhile, Fitz, still encumbered by the suit of armor, is making his way to the stairs, grunting with every step.
Duncan muses on: "Marie and the butler, the baker. The chauffeur."
Fitz reaches the stairs, and promptly loses his balance, tumbling down with a loud clatter of armor. In the parlor, Duncan hears the noise and looks up, making a face as he realizes what happened.
Duncan: "Oh, no . . ." He gets up and dashes to the hall, not even bothering to keep his footing on the slick floor, just skidding down it to the door. He finds Fitz lying on the floor, groaning, and rushes to him.
Duncan, hissing: "What are you doing?"
Fitz: "I knew it. I knew it all along." Upstairs, Juliette starts screaming. "It was Loxley." Duncan looks around, and grabs Fitz's leg, pulling him back under the stairs, Fitz talking the whole way. "So damn obvious. I'm almost embarrassed." Duncan pulls him out of sight, then leaves him, his armored leg still sticking up in the air.
Duncan, patting his leg: "Stay there."
He rushes around just in time to meet Juliette running down the stairs, followed closely by Tynebridge.
Juliette: "What was that awful noise?"
Duncan, looking around innocently: "I don't know."
Tynebridge, sarcastic: "More rats?"
Duncan: "Oh, definitely." He glances around. "Where's Loxley?"
Juliette: "Well, he must have slept through it."
Tynebridge: "Sounds like an excellent idea." He leaves.
Duncan: "Well, I'm . . . I'm going to do some reading."
Juliette: "Okay." She nods faintly, and starts up the steps again.
Duncan: "Good night, Juliette."
Juliette: "Good night, Duncan."
Duncan waves casually: "Good night." He saunters slowly down the steps until she's gone. As soon as Juliette's out of sight, he dashes down the rest of the way and goes back to Fitz, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back through the hall and all the way in the parlor, ignoring Fitz's cries of pain.
Fitz, even as he's pulled along: "Right in front of my eyes! I never did trust that swine of an accountant Loxley." Duncan drags him in front of the fireplace and dumps him. "Ouch! That's my arm."
Duncan: "Will you shut up? Or I won't get you out of there." [CC: "Or I won't get you out of here."]
Fitz: "Me, shut up? I'm the victim here, the murderee. MacLeod, you've got to do something. Oh, if I could just let Juliette know I was all right."
Duncan, straddling him: "Maybe I should just tell her that you're an immortal." He heaves Fitz up, struggling with the weight of the armor.
Fitz: "Mac!"
Duncan, in pain: "My finger."
Fitz, ignoring him: "Mac, the will is going to be read tomorrow! And you expect me to sit around here doing nothing because you can't come up with a suspect."
Duncan, his voice rising as Fitz tries to shush him: "Oh, I hate to put this to you, Fitz, but I believe that you were poisoned by your poor grieving widow! She killed you." He grabs Fitz's arm, tugging down to free the locked joint of the armor.
Fitz: "No. You're wrong."
Duncan, working on the other arm: "Not to mention the butler and Drimble. She had access to the poison, she had motive: Your money, lots of it." He punches Fitz in the chest to try to free the recalcitrant arm.
Fitz: "Oh!"
Duncan, shaking his bruised knuckles: "Damn!"
Duncan and Fitz look up as Juliette's voice is heard again, screaming once more.
Fitz: "Juliette!"
Duncan, as Juliette's scream continues to undulate through the house, setting the dogs to howling again: "Really?" He glances at Fitz's armor. "Stay here." He darts off.
Fitz, frozen in place by the abused armor, begins to teeter slowly backward.
Fitz, choking: "You're making . . . a habit . . . of stating the obvious, MacLeod." He falls backward.
Upstairs, Loxley is sitting in a chair, a knife embedded in his chest. Juliette and Tynebridge are standing there when Duncan comes in.
Duncan: "What are you doing in his room?"
Juliette: "Nothing. I'm not doing anything." She looks at Tynebridge. "I just heard a noise and I simply noticed that the door to his room was open, that's all."
Duncan: "I think you're lying."
Tynebridge, mildly reproachful: "MacLeod."
Duncan ignores him, pacing around Juliette: "I have a witness who saw you kissing Loxley in the hallway. What do you say to that?"
Tynebridge: "Bad taste doesn't necessarily lead to murder."
Juliette, turning to him politely: "Thank you."
Duncan: "Not to mention, I think you killed Loxley. And you killed Fitz."
Juliette shrieks, sending another glass to its reward.
Duncan, losing his temper: "Would you stop that screeching?"
Juliette, haughty with indignation: "Me? Kill my darling Fitzy? I'm just so glad he's not alive to hear you say that. You must be mad, Duncan." [CC: "I'm so glad . . ."]
Duncan, pleasantly: "Mad or not, I'm locking you in your room for the night." He takes her arm. Juliette pulls away, flinging herself at Tynebridge.
Juliette: "Oh, help me! Can't you see what he's doing? He's the murderer, and he's just trying to set us up."
Tynebridge, prying Juliette's fingers from his robe: "Us? He's not accusing me." Duncan finally succeeds in getting Juliette away from him
Duncan, wrestling Juliette out the door: "You'll be comfortable in your room until I can get to the police in the morning."
Juliette, protesting as she's taken away: "Big, hairy brute. Unhand me! I'm innocent!"
Tynebridge follows them out of the room, leaving Loxley still sitting dead in the chair.
Morning at the manor. Fitzcairn's voice is heard at the front door.
Fitz: "Open up there!"
Marie comes downstairs, her hair undone, shaking from head to toe. She's holding a cross, and she waves it all around her as she comes cautiously down the stairs. She finally reaches the door and flings it open to reveal Fitz standing on the steps, wearing a grey wig and a fake grey beard. He's carrying a cane, and his clothes are padded to give him a much stouter figure. When he speaks, his voice is disguised as a blustery old man's.
Fitz: "And about time, my dear. About time." [CC: "It's about time."] He steps over the threshhold, crying, "It's disgusting! Bloody disgusting!" Upstairs, Tynebridge and Duncan come out to see what the fuss is. "I'm shocked! Absolutely shocked!" Duncan leans his hands on the rails, looking down in amazement as Fitz goes on. "Poor Fitz, the most wonderful of men, suddenly dies, obviously by foul means, and I am not even notified." Duncan comes down the stairs, looking at Fitz in horrified wonder as he goes on. "I--" Fitz pauses. "Or is it 'me' . . .?"
Duncan, dryly: "It is definitely you."
Tynebridge clears his throat: "Excuse me, sir, but just who are you?"
Fitz turns to him, declaring: "I am Hugh Fitzcairn, senior, father of Hugh Fitzcairn, junior, and sole heir to his estate."
Duncan steps forward: "Hmm. Funny, I don't see the resemblence."
Fitz shoots him an evil look, then clears his throat and goes on: "I can assure all of you--" He looks at all two of his audience. "--both of you, that I will not be kept at a distance in a matter of such extreme important to my son!" Duncan, a pained expression on his face, wipes away a spot of extraneous spittle from Fitz's blustering. He rolls his eyes as Fitz continues. "A man I consider to be one of the finest in this fair land! It's bloody disgusting! Humph!" Duncan stares for a second, then walks off without saying a word. Fitz hmphs once more at Tynebridge, then follows. "Well." [CC: "What?"]
Upstairs, Marie is screaming, holding her cross in front of her as she stares in horror. Duncan and Tynebridge come in, and Duncan kneels on the bed beside Juliette's still form. Fitz follows them in.
Fitz: "What the devil's going on here?" He looks, and realizes what's happened. "Oh, no. Not this. Not this two-timing, adulterous, little slut that he loved so well!" He walks to the bed, looking up at Duncan. "Are you sure?" He looks down at Juliette's face. "My God. She's dead." Duncan looks up at him. Marie crosses herself frantically, and Duncan and Fitz depart, leaving Tynebridge and Marie with the body.
In the study, Fitz is beside himself.
Fitz, giving a cry of aunguish: "I do not belive it!" He's taken off the wigs and coat, leaving him standing with the false stomach still strapped on over his undershirt. He paces over to Duncan, his voice rising in hysteria. "I ask you here to help me, and now this happens!"
Duncan, leafing through his notebook, says absently: "I'm sorry, Fitz. I'm really sorry."
Fitz, still nearly hysterical: "You're sorry? My beloved Juliette is dead, and all you can say for yourself is you're sorry?!"
Duncan: "I know how much she meant to you."
Fitz laughs hollowly: "Oh, no, you don't. To you, she was just another one of Fitzcairn's little follies." He chokes a little. "But I loved her, Mac. Trysts and all. And you couldn't believe that when it mattered."
Duncan, looking guilty: "Fitz, I--I . . ."
Fitz: "And you, you even accused her of killing me!"
Duncan, waving his notebook feebly: "But--but Fitz . . . Fitz, I swear, I swear I'll find the guilty party!"
Fitz snatches the notebook away: "Oh yes! And how bloody difficult is that going to be?!" He points out the door, shouting, "Now there's only one bloody suspect left!" He flings the notebook down and paces off, hands in pockets. Duncan bends down and picks up the notebook. Fitz turns around. "Even you couldn't screw that up!" He turns back.
Duncan looks at his list, and draws a line through Juliette's name, leaving only Tynebridge.
Duncan comes into Tynebridge's room, and discovers him packing.
Duncan: "Where do you think you're going?"
Tynebridge, fastening his suitcase: "As far away from this lunatic asylum as possible."
Duncan, firmly: "Not yet, you're not."
Tynebridge looks up, startled: "Oh? Who died and made you king?"
Duncan, speaking crisply: "You're the only suspect left, Tynebridge. It doesn't take Scotland Yard to figure that one out."
Tynebridge: "You're mad."
Duncan: "The phone lines have been repaired, and I'm calling the police. And you're not going anywhere until they get here."
Tynebridge: "I know I didn't kill anybody. So if there's a guilty party here, so far as I'm concerned, you're it."
Duncan, taken aback: "But--but Fitzcairn was my friend."
Tynebridge: "Yes, mine too. But the dying didn't start until you arrived. And is it merely coincidence that you control the estate? I don't think so." He tries to walk past Duncan, but Duncan steps in front of him, barring his way. Tynebridge laughs. "Ah, you going to kill me, too?"
Duncan: "No, but I'm going to stop you from going anywhere."
Tynebridge: "Well, we'll see about that." He punches Duncan in the stomach with his suitcase, and Duncan pushes back hard, sending Tynebridge reeling against the fireplace. Tynebridge's suitcase slips from his hand, popping open as it hits the floor. A cascade of gold and china spills out. Tynebridge looks at the ruin, then up at Duncan. Duncan stares at the array of gold candlesticks, silverware and plates, and looks up at Tynebridge.
Tynebridge, defiantly: "He isn't going to need it!" He glances aside, then dodges over and grabs a book, hurling it at Duncan's head. Duncan ducks, and Tynebridge seizes a vase. "I won't go quietly, MacLeod!" Duncan dodges the vase, too, and Tynebridge comes after him, shouting, "Not like the others!" He hurls himself at Duncan, and Duncan steps aside, grabbing his shoulders and allowing Tynebridge's own momentum to knock him out against the door. He lets go, and Tynebridge slithers to the floor.
Tynebridge wakes up to find himself tied to a chair, and Duncan kneeling beside him, fastening the last of the knots.
Tynebridge: "MacLeod? Let me go!" He turns to him. "You murderous bastard!" Duncan merely raises his brows. "You won't get away with this!" Duncan gets up. "I'm not afraid of you, you bloodthirsty maniac." He raises his voice. "Help! Help! He--" Duncan sticks a small vase in his mouth, muffling his cries, then pats him on the cheek and heads for the door.
Duncan: "I'll be right back." He leaves.
After Duncan leaves, another door opens near Tynebridge, and a hollow tube is pushed through the crack. Someone blows a dart through the tube, and Tynebridge slumps down, dead. A moment later, Duncan returns.
Duncan: "Well, Tynebridge. The Yard is on its way." He shuts the door behind him, and walks toward Tynebridge. "Tynebridge." Tynebridge doesn't move, and Duncan leans down, finally spotting the feathered dart sticking from his neck. Duncan gapes for a moment, then digs in his pocket for his notebook. He counts down the list, then looks up, his face puzzled.
Duncan brings Tynebridge's body to the meat locker, gasping with effort as he finally wrestles him into place. He looks up, and sees an empty hook swinging, and the three bodies still there. Holding Tynebridge up with one hand, Duncan feels in his pocket with his free hand and pulls out the notebook. One by one, he matches the bodies to the names on the list, and comes up short one Juliette.
On cue, Juliette appears around the corner, holding a gun.
Juliette: "Looking for me, Duncan?"
Duncan whirls to stare at her. He lets go of Tynebridge and the body slumps to the floor. Duncan glances at him, then back at Juliette.
Duncan: "You were dead."
Juliette tsks as she paces around towards him: "Why is it the cute ones are always so slow?"
Duncan looks up: "Of course. Brazil. You found another poison like curare, one that would slow down the body's heartrate . . ."
Juliette: "I'm impressed. Yes, you're right. And it wears off after a few hours. Anyone but a doctor would be fooled."
Duncan: "I was right. You killed them all!"
Juliette: "A girl's gotta do . . ."
Duncan, darkly: "Yes." He pulls out his notebook again and starts muttering over his list.
Juliette: "Only it's not quite all of them just yet." Duncan stops writing. Juliette raises the gun. "I'm afraid you know too much.
Duncan: "What about the maid?"
Juliette: "She'll be joining you shortly."
Juliette fires twice. Duncan falls back, dropping his notes, and sprawls dead on the floor. Juliette strolls over to him, looking down at her handiwork.
Juliette: "Next life, sweetheart." She suddenly hears a noise, and whirls around just in time to see Fitz, in disguise once more, walk into the locker. He looks around, then stares at Juliette.
Fitz: "You really are a nasty piece of business, aren't you?"
Juliette points the gun at him: "It was a mistake for you to come down here."
Fitz paces around her: "Fancy killing Fitz, your husband, for money. Oh, a man who loved you with all his heart. With every fiber of his--"
Juliette, interrupting impatiently: "Oh, please! He loved every woman this side of the Thames."
Fitz whirls on her: "He married only you!"
Juliette: "And I married only him." She raises the gun. "Now, say good-bye."
Fitz: "Aren't you, um, forgetting something?" He turns to her again. "Don't you need to keep someone alive to take the blame?"
For an answer, Juliette puts a hand to her head, feigning a near swoon as she shows Fitz just what she'll say to the police.
Juliette, pitifully: "Detective, detective. Ever since my dear departed's heart attack, everything just went crazy. Drimble shot himself in a hunting accident, and Pierre was bludgeoned to death by Tynebridge in a jealous rage over the maid. I mean, you know how French these maids can be." She bats her lashes, then looks up. "How am I doing?"
Fitz: "It's hard to see what Fitz ever saw in you."
Juliette's mouth twists in rage, and she fires, hitting Fitz in the chest.
Fitz: "Bitch!" She fires again. "Harlot!" Juliette fires again, and he falls to his knees. "Whore!" One last shot, and he's finally down.
Juliette: "So much for his side of the family." Her face softens a little, and she walks over to Duncan. She kneels down beside him, and kisses her finger. She touches it to Duncan's lips, and he surges up, gasping for breath as he revives in front of her eyes. Juliette falls back with a shriek, then scrambles up.
Juliette, still trying to get away: "Oh! Oh, no." Fitz is awake now, too, and she gasps in horror as they both begin to stand up. "But--Oh, no. Help!"
Fitz: "Full of surprises, my dear." He gets to his feet.
Juliette: "But--"
Fitz: "Blanks."
Duncan, taking up his cue: "Yes, I expected this, so I exchanged real bullets for blanks."
Juliette: "It's impossible!" She starts shaking her fists. "It's not fair!" She goes to Duncan, putting her arms around his neck. "No, no. Oh, Fitz left me a very rich woman. I could use someone to share it with."
Duncan, fending her off: "I don't think so. I've gotten used to getting up in the mornings."
Fitz: "Slut."
Juliette ignores him, sliding her arms around Duncan again: "Oh, why would I want to kill you? Just think about it."
Duncan looses her hands, and pulls the dart she was holding from her fingers: "Because one little prick is all it takes." He hustles her away, leaving Fitz looking up at the dead men. He pokes at Pierre with his cane, then looks down at Tynebridge thoughtfully.
A police arrive at the manor, and a detective and two uniformed policemen get out, walking up to the house as two men emerge from it, carrying one of the bodies between them. Juliette and Duncan are right behind, Juliette pleading as Duncan urges her out. The first bars of the song Juliette sang with Fitz begin to play.
Juliette: "Oh, please, Duncan. Oh, have a heart. I'm a free woman now." Duncan looks at her, making an unconvinced noise. "And terribly rich. You could have anything." [CC: "And totally rich."]
Duncan: "Here you go, boys."
Juliette, still trying: "Anything, Duncan."
Duncan hands her over to the police: "Careful. She's a tricky one."
Policeman: "Come with us." They nod to Duncan, and take Juliette off his hands.
Juliette, as she's spirited away: "Duncan! Duncan!"
Policeman: "Come on." They start to put her in the car.
Juliette: "Oh, stop! Oh, Duncan!"
The song gets to the lyrics, and the singer begins singing the lyrics as Juliette pounds on the glass, screaming in fury at Duncan.
Juliette: "Duncan!" Her voice turns harsh as she screams, "You scheming ingrate!"
Duncan, as they shut the doors: "She screams a lot, too."
Juliette shrieks with outrage, proving him right. Behind them, Fitz, sans disguise, appears at the front door of the manor. Juliette spots him.
Juliette: "Fitz! What are you doing there!" She starts shaking her head. "No! No! Help me!" She starts pounding on the glass again as the car drives away. "Let me out! Let me out!" The police drive away, Juliette screaming epithets the whole way.
Duncan strolls back to the house, meeting Fitz on the bridge.
Duncan: "Well, it's been quite a week, Fitz."
Fitz, waving jauntily at the departing car: "Yes, good riddance."
Duncan: "Will you be okay?" He takes his newspaper from under his arm and opens it.
Fitz: "Well, nothing that a few hundred thousand pounds--I mean dollars--won't sort out." Duncan, looking at his paper, hmms in agreement, then stares sharply at the headline. Fitz goes on. "A few notary signatures, and Hugh Senior can pick the money up on the other side of the pond." Duncan folds the paper up as Fitz sighs happily, saying feelingly, "God bless America."
Duncan: "Yes. God bless America." He sighs, then turns to Fitz. "Well, I'll see you around, Fitz." He thrusts the paper at him, and Fitz takes it automatically.
Fitz, shaking his hand: "Yes. Thanks, Mac."
Duncan: "My pleasure." He walks off.
Behind him, Fitz opens the paper, and sees the headline: "Greatest Crash In Wall Street's History." Fitz takes one look, then shrieks in aunguish, falling to his knees, then collapsing backwards. Duncan winces, then turns back.
Fitz: "Oh, I'm ruined! Mac!"
Duncan, not terribly sympathetically: "Yes, you're bankrupt."
Fitz starts beating his head on the ground: "Oh." Duncan starts to walk away. "Wait! Wait." He gets up and runs to Duncan's side. "I have an idea." Duncan makes a derisive noise, and starts walking. Fitz trails along. "Yes."
Duncan: "I think I have about enough time to get the train to London."
Fitz: "No, listen, Mac." He points at the paper. "This is a great idea."
Duncan: "I know, but I have a much better idea." He puts his arm around him. "There's a position vacant for a manservant in my household."
Fitz: "Manservant!"
Duncan: "It's really very nice."
Fitz: "Me?!" They walk on, retreating down the road, Duncan talking and Fitz trying to butt in with his great idea.
Duncan: "It'll pay handsomly, at least two pounds a week." [CC: "2 bronze a week."]
Fitz: "My idea is--"
Duncan, ignoring him: "You should be able to pay the mortgage off in about five hundred and fifty years, I'd say."
Fitz finally stops, shouting and waving his arms: "Will you listen!!!"
Duncan natters on, oblivious, and they walk off down the road together.
Whew! Why is it that the Fitzcairn episodes seem to take so many more words to tell about . . .? :)
Now that I'm able to use the closed captioning, I'm discovering that they don't always seem to hear the same things that I do. "Totally" for "terribly," "bronze" for "pound" and so on. When that happens, I just put in what the closed captioning says in brackets, like this [CC: "2 bronze a week"]. All this means is that I think I heard something different, and I just want to list all the options.
This was another relatively painless episode, name-wise. In a few places I had a hard time telling Loxley and Tynebridge apart, but I think I got their words in the right mouth.
Next time, "Justice"
These pages are written by Jinjifore and are translated into HTML and maintained by Ian.
Disclaimer: All the dialogue, characters, situations, and darn near everything else belong to a bunch of fine and talented folks at Rysher Entertainment and Panzer/Davis, and in particular the dialogue belongs to the credited writer of this episode. Me, I just wrote the rest down in my own words, which belong to me, but the episode itself was made by the aforementioned people and is owned by them. This humble synopsis isn't meant to infringe on their rights, and I'm sure as heck not making any money from doing these.
Everything not belonging to Rysher, et al, ©Copyright 1997 by Jinjifore
Feel free to copy and distribute as long as this copyright notice and disclaimer are included, except where local bandwidth laws apply.
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Celtic clip art courtesy of the Celtic Art Web Page.
| Last Rev: CCH [12 Dec 97 ] |
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