Crimson Peak Page #5

you to realize that I didn't like you.

You made that

clear enough, sir.

But I had hoped that

now, with time...

Your time, Sir Thomas,

is up.

Could you speak

plainly, Mr. Cushing?

Plain I will be, missy.

Plainer than you

might like to hear.

In the past few days

your brother has

deemed it fine enough

to mix business with pleasure

by repeatedly engaging

socially with my daughter.

My only daughter.

Sir, I'm aware that I have

no position to offer,

but the fact is...

You are falling

in love with her.

Is that it?

You play the part well.

The other day, my daughter asked me

why I didn't like you.

Honestly, at the time,

I had no good answer.

But now, I do.

That document there

gave me my answer.

That's the first honest

reaction I've seen from you.

Does she know?

No.

But I will tell her,

if that's what it takes

to send you on your way.

Sir, I know you will

find this hard to believe...

You love her.

I know.

You're repeating yourself.

Now, you,

you seem to be the more

collected one, dear.

It's overly

generous, I know.

But if you want that check to clear,

there are two conditions.

There's a train for New York City leaving

first thing tomorrow morning.

You and your brother

better be on it.

Do we understand

each other?

We do.

What is the second

condition?

That concerns my daughter.

Tonight you must

thoroughly break

her heart.

Ladies and gentlemen,

we have an unexpected

announcement.

Sir Thomas.

Thank you, Mr. Cushing.

Ladies and gentlemen,

when I first came to

America, my heart was

brimming with a

sense of adventure.

Here, the future actually

seemed to mean something.

I have found warmth and

friendship among you all.

But for now,

farewell.

May we meet again.

Perhaps on

a different shore.

My sister and I

depart for England

just in time

for the winter.

To lasting friendship.

To lasting friendship.

Excuse me. Sorry.

Edith.

You're leaving us.

We must return home immediately

and attend to our interests.

And with nothing to

hold us in America...

I see.

Your novel.

I read the new chapters.

I'll have them delivered in the morning.

That's very good of you,

thank you.

Would you still like

to know my thoughts?

If we must.

It's absurdly sentimental.

The aches that you describe

with such earnestness.

The pain, the loss.

You clearly haven't

lived at all.

In fact, you only seem to know

what other writers tell you.

That's enough!

You insist on describing

the torments of love

when you clearly know

nothing about them.

I'm not done yet!

What do you dream of?

A kind man?

A pure soul

to be redeemed?

A wounded bird

you can nourish?

Perfection.

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