Son of Fury
- APPROVED
- Year:
- 1942
- 98 min
- 64 Views
A good blow, Sir Arthur.
Someday I'll learn never
May I speak
with Your Worship?
I found him, Your Worship.
I found him.
- Where?
- Near St. James's Gate.
He lives with Amos Kidder,
a gunsmith.
- Amos Kidder, eh?
- Yes, Your Worship.
- Wait for me outside.
- Yes, Your Worship.
- Grandfather?
- Aye, Ben?
Why do they say
I have no name?
- Who says it?
- The boys at the school.
I fought one
for it yesterday.
I'll fight them all
if I must.
Aye, Ben,
you'll have to fight
fight all your life,
belike.
- But why do they say it?
- You're young yet, Ben.
Where's my father
and mother?
Dead both of'em.
They died in India.
Is that why they say
I have no name?
Because my mother
and father are dead?
Ben, when you're older you shall know
the whole story. Now look here, Ben.
Any fool can make a firearm...
but only a craftsman,
one that the user can trust.
You'll learn
the gunsmith's trade...
and someday the shop will be yours,
for I'll not live forever.
Think of it, Ben.
The gentry comin' in and orderin' pistols
and no better in the land.
I'll make pistols,
none better.
But I'll shoot them myself.
- Good morning, Master Kidder.
- Good morning, Your Worship.
- Do you remember me?
- Aye, Your Worship.
Why haven't I been informed
that my brother left a son?
No, no, no.
This is my son my own.
Don't take me for a fool.
Look at him.
The Blake eyes, the Blake chin
Come, man, the truth.
It'll do you no good to lie to me.
Aye, he is Sir Godfrey's son,
and my daughter Bessie's.
That's better.
Now then, what do you call him?
- Ben, Your Worship.
- Ben, eh?
Well, Ben, how would you like
to live with me at Breetholm?
A gunsmith's forge
is no place for a Blake.
Plague take me, you have the blood, even if
you were born on the wrong side of the blanket.
You'll be brought up
as a gentleman.
No handle
to your name, perhaps...
but horses and a servant
of your own and all the rest that goes with it.
Begging Your Worship's pardon,
I'd like to keep him here with me.
Would you deprive the lad
of his birthright?
No, Your Worship.
I know his father was a gentleman.
And his mother was a lady
by her gifts if not by birth.
But he's mine. I brought him up
since he was a tiny baby.
Can you read?
No, Your Worship.
'Tis a writ naming me
the boy's guardian...
and charging me with the responsibility
of his welfare.
Get the boy's clothes.
Well, my dear, here he is.
Your new mistress, Ben.
Mistress, Arthur?
Naturally. I expect to give the boy
something to occupy his time.
- The stables I think.
- Arthur!
The lad has pride,
just like his father.
Oh, the pattern fits.
You'll be surprised how well it fits.
Godfrey would take nothing
that didn't belong to him.
If the lad is the same, he'll be only
too eager to work for his keep.
Well, speak up, boy.
I will take nothing
that is not mine.
Well spoken.
A true Blake, you see,
in speech, manners and pride.
That'll be all, Purdy.
- Oh, Paddy.
- Yes, Your Worship?
This lad is young and green.
I put him in your charge.
See if you can make
a stable boy out of him.
Yes, Your Worship.
The boy is Godfrey's son.
I think I know why you want him here.
- Do you, my dear?
- Because he is the rightful heir to Breetholm.
- Nonsense.
- And you're afraid that someday,
somehow, he'll prove his right.
You know as well as I do,
there's no record of Godfrey's marriage.
None except Godfrey's own record
while he lived.
He could do
nothing dishonorable.
My noble brother
he always made fools
of his women.
And now, my dear...
shall I tell you why I want
that brat of his here?
As a gift to you.
His presence here
will remind you of his mother
the woman Godfrey
preferred to you.
We cleans the harness.
Then we eat.
Here.
Take it to bench yonder and mind
you don't drag it in dirt.
I told you not to dirty it.!
Now we've twice the work.!
Fight me, will you?
There!
- Paddy! Give over!
- How 'bout that?
Give over!
You wanna kill him?
- Master put him in my care.
- I'm master in this stable...
and there'll be
no beatings, hear?
He's calling for his chestnut mare
and Miss Isabel's pony.
Go and saddle 'em.
Ben?
Ben, lad,
are you bad hurt?
- I'll kill him.
- Oh, no, no, no.
No talk of killing, Ben.
I worked for your father,
and I loved him.
We all did.
He let a man be a man...
whatever his position.
From now on you're bound to Sir Arthur
his servant for life.
He can do with you
what he will...
and he'll always
have the law on his side.
You'll have to make
the best of it, lad.
- And if you're wise, you'll submit like the rest of us.
- No.
Aye.
You'll learn as you grow.
Come to my cottage
when you've finished your work...
and my wife will give you
a good supper.
I ran away.
You're limping, lad.
- Are you hurt?
- A stone in my shoe.
Why did you run away?
He He made me a stable boy,
and I've been beaten.
- God forgive us.
- Why does he hate me so, Grandfather?
Because you're bred true.
Because you have the blood of the family.
Because he knows that it's only the lack
of a parson's blessing...
that makes him
cock of Breetholm walk.
He shakes in his ugly boots
every time he looks at you.
I'm not going back.
No. No, you can't go back.
We must leave
before he finds you're gone.
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"Son of Fury" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 Apr. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/son_of_fury_18499>.
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