Scripts

Ballet Shoes

999, indeed. I haven't heard of such a number for a house.

Yes?

Forgive my boldness, sir, but wooden leg or no wooden leg, you are this child's last surviving relative. Her father named you as guardian in his will.

Yeah. I don't dispute that. I merely point out that this house is a shrine to paleontology. There's no corner in it for a small girl... or her nurse.

We require two rooms. That is all. Some of these stones could go to a museum.

My fossils? In a public museum?

This has got nothing to do with fossils. If you don't want the child, you should say it straight out.

But she'd be miserable here.

My parents are dead. I'd be miserable anywhere.

Smilodon Popularis. Why don't you just stick a knife in my heart?

They're all magnets for dust, and that big cat was plain unpleasant.

It's a saber-toothed tiger, Nana. It's lovely.

An armadillo skeleton!

Goodbye!

I keep a pack of women in this house! There isn't one of them about anywhere when they're wanted!

Oh! Darling Gum! We weren't expecting you.

Oh, ship sank... iceberg.

If you don't mind me asking, what have you got in the bag?

Ah. A surprise.

Let's hope it's not another fossil.

The worid is full of entrancements, woman. Not all of them are made of stone.

A baby? Found it... floating on a lifeboat. Both parents drowned. Awful bloody shame.

A baby? A baby just like that? What will people say? Have you no regard for your great-niece's reputation?

Well, I-I'll put a notice in The Times... "Professor Matthew Brown adopts entirely unrelated child." -

But, Gum... - I thought women liked babies.

They like babies that are in good order... babies with names.

Ah. Well, I thought perhaps Pauline.

And surnames.

Fossil.

It's not as though we've got an empty room to put her in.

You don't mind, do you?

Gum, I came here with nothing once.

That's the spirit.

Where are you actually going?

Siberia. I'll bring you back a souvenir.

No. Not another one.

Mm. Red Cross hospital outside Vladivostok. Mother died when it was born.

What about the father?

Salt mines... worked to death. Awful bloody end. Yeah, they called it Petrova. Needs feeding up a bit.

It is to be hoped this one has brains. It's easy to see who's going to be miss plain in my nursery.

"Dearest niece, another small Fossil from your Great-Uncle Matthew. Daughter of a dancer. Mother has no money and no time for her offspring. She sends a pair of ballet shoes enclosed." He says, " I regret not delivering the child myself, but I ran into a friend about to leave for the Galápagos. There's enough money in the bank to last you for five years. P. S... Child's name Posy. Unfortunate but true."