Crimson Peak
1
Ghosts are real.
This much, I know.
The first time I saw one,
I was 10 years old.
It was my mother's.
Black cholera
had taken her.
So, Father ordered a closed casket,
asked me not to look.
There were to be
no parting kisses.
No goodbyes.
"And the Lord
said unto me..."
No last words.
"...take thy
place beside me..."
That is
until the night
she came back.
My child.
When the time comes
Beware of Crimson Peak.
I again heard such a voice
or understood its
desperate warning.
A warning from
out of time
and one that I
came to understand
only when it
was too late.
Barley mead and ale!
I got sweet and bitter!
Barley mead and ale!
Apple, sir?
Straight out of
the oven this morning.
Edith!
Alan. When did you get back?
Two weeks ago.
I thought Eunice
had told you.
No,
I hadn't heard.
Oh. She made a
conquest in London.
What are
you doing here?
I'm setting up my
practice upstairs.
I'm to meet
Ogilvie at 10:
00to see if he wants to
publish my manuscript.
You do know
it's only 9:
00.I know, but I couldn't
wait any longer.
And I want to make some
corrections anyway, so...
If you have any free time,
please come and visit.
We met him at
the British Museum
last fall, when we
were visiting Alan.
Mother. You wouldn't believe it.
He's so handsome.
And he has crossed the ocean with
his sister, only to see Eunice again.
Mother, he's here
on business.
It seems he's a baronet.
What's a baronet?
Well, an aristocrat
of some sort.
A man that feeds off land
that others work for him.
A parasite with a title.
This parasite is perfectly charming and
a magnificent dancer.
Although, that wouldn't
concern you, would it, Edith,
our very young
Jane Austen?
Though, she died
a spinster, no?
Mother, please.
That's all right.
Actually, Mrs. McMichael,
I would prefer to
be Mary Shelley.
She died a widow.
Alan.
Ah, Miss Cushing.
You're early.
Just a little.
A ghost story.
Your father didn't tell me
it was a ghost story.
Oh, it's not.
It's more a story with a ghost in it.
Mmm-hmm...
The ghost is
just a metaphor.
A metaphor?
For the past.
Well...
Lovely handwriting.
Nice confident loops.
Miss Cushing,
may I offer a
word of advice?
He told me it
needed a love story.
Can you believe that?
Ogilvie's
old-fashioned.
He said that just
because I'm a woman.
Everyone falls in love,
dear. Even women.
I don't want to write
a love story like that.
Well, my darling, I was hoping
to make this a celebratory gift.
I'm a builder, dear.
If there's one
thing I know,
it's the importance of
the right tool for the job.
It's beautiful.
But actually, Father,
I was hoping to type it,
in your office.
Type it?
I'm submitting it to
The Atlantic Monthly,
but I realize now that my
handwriting is too feminine.
It gives me away.
Without a doubt.
But what you
must appreciate,
is the way that the molding
is incorporated into
the overall design
of the clock.
It'll take me all day,
but it does make it look rather handsome,
don't you think?
Yes.
Good morning, miss.
Forgive the interruption.
I have an appointment with
Mr. Carter Everett Cushing.
Goodness. With the
great man himself.
I'm afraid so.
"Sir Thomas Sharpe,
Baronet."
He'll be here shortly.
Thank you.
You're not late,
are you?
He hates that.
Uh, not at all. In fact,
I'm a little early.
Oh, I'm afraid he
hates that, too.
I'm sorry,
I don't mean to pry,
but this is a piece
of fiction, is it not?
Yes.
Who are you transcribing this for?
It's to be sent to New York tomorrow,
to The Atlantic Monthly.
Well, whoever wrote it,
it's rather good,
don't you think?
Really?
It's certainly captured my attention.
I wrote it.
It's mine.
Ghosts?
Well, the ghosts are
just a metaphor...
They've always
fascinated me.
You see,
where I come from
ghosts are not to
be taken lightly.
Sir Thomas Sharpe.
Welcome to our
fair city.
Sir. It's my pleasure.
I see you've already
met my daughter, Edith.
The Sharpe clay mines
have been royal purveyors
of the purest scarlet
clay since 1796.
In its liquid form,
it is so rich in ore
and so malleable
that it can produce
the strongest bricks and tiles.
Excessive mining
in the last 20 years
has caused most of our
old deposits to collapse.
This is a clay harvester
of my own design.
It transports
the clay upwards
as it digs deep.
I have absolutely
no doubt
this machine will revolutionize clay
mining as we know it.
Turn it off, please.
Have you tested it?
Full-scale?
Not yet, sir.
We're very close.
But we hope that,
with funding...
So, actually, what you have is a toy,
and some fancy words.
Mr. Cushing, I...
You've already tried,
and failed,
to raise capital
in London,
Edinburgh,
Milan.
Yes, that's correct, sir.
And now you're here.
Correct again, sir.
The men at this table,
all of us,
came up through
honest, hard work.
Well, maybe not all of us.
Mr. Ferguson, here, is a lawyer.
But even he
can't help that.
I started as
a steel worker
raising buildings before
I could own them.
My hands.
Feel them.
Rough.
The reflection
of who I am.
Now, you, sir,
when I shook your hand...
You've got the softest
hands I've ever felt.
In America, we bank on effort,
not privilege.
That is how we
built this country.
I'm here with all
that I possess, sir.
A name,
a patch of land
and the will to
make it yield.
The least that you
can grant me
is the courtesy
of your time
and the chance to prove to you
and these fine gentlemen
that my will, dear sir,
is, at the very least,
as strong as yours.
I need a corset.
No, you don't.
You look very handsome.
Do I?
Yes, you do,
young man.
I do wish you'd change your mind
and come along tonight.
Mrs. McMichael has
gone to a lot of trouble.
Little Lord Fauntleroy
will be there.
You mean Thomas Sharpe?
Sir Thomas Sharpe,
Baronet.
Apparently, he's taken
I saw you spying
on us, child.
Was his proposal
so outrageous
as to merit such a
harsh answer from you?
It wasn't his
proposal, my love.
It was him.
There's something about
him that I don't like.
What, I don't know.
And I don't like
not knowing.
What I saw was
a dreamer facing defeat.
Did you see his suit?
It was beautifully tailored,
I can see that you observed
far more than I did.
And his shoes were
handmade, but worn.
That'll be young
Dr. McMichael.
He's brought his new
motorcar to collect me.
Come and see it.
Say hello to him.
He's just opened
his new practice.
And he's always been
awfully fond of you.
I know that, Father.
Good evening, Marie.
Good evening,
Dr. McMichael.
Good evening,
Mr. Cushing.
Alan.
Hello, Edith.
My, don't we look
smart, Alan.
Oh, it's just something
I threw together.
It's Edith who should be
the belle of the ball this evening.
Don't you agree, Alan?
As I recall, Edith takes a dim view
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"Crimson Peak" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 Dec. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/crimson_peak_6064>.
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