There's something delicious about writing the first words of a story.
You can never quite tell where they'll take you.
Mine took me here.
Looking back, the city and I never much liked each other.
An unmarried woman, after all, was expected to behave in
very particular ways.
Which did not include traipsing from publisher to publisher
with a gaggle of friends.
Now, listen to me, you must not be afraid.
And don't talk too much.
Friends who, sadly, others were not so keen to meet.
I've been selling my drawings for greeting cards, place cards,
etcetera for seven years.
Bunnies in jackets with brass buttons.
How ever do you imagine such things?
I don't imagine them.
They're quite real. They're my friends.
Are you based the animal characters on your friends?
No, the animals are my friends.
Before Peter Rabbit there was Benjamin Bunny,
and then Sir Isaac the Newt.
I have their drawings as well, if you'd like to see them.
That won't be necessary. Unfortunately, Miss Potter.
It is 'Miss' Potter, is it not? Yes. Of course. Silly of me.
Unfortunately, the market for children's books...
Yes, of course. I completely understand.
It was silly of me, with no experience of these...
F. Warne and Company would like to publish your little book, Miss Potter.
But best not to get overly hopeful.
I know publishing your book will not sell a great number of copies,
but I think we can turn a small profit.
My dear Mr Warne, well, I'm pleased. Very pleased indeed.
I shall do everything possible to ensure that you've not made a mistake.
Miss Wiggin, I believe we can go.
Thank you very much indeed. Messrs Warne, for your time.
Our pleasure. My brother always knows what he's doing.
Oh, I'm quite particular about book size and price,
and I'd like to avoid that dreadful Gothic typeface
your children's books usually have.
I'm sure everything will be to your satisfaction.
Miss Potter.
Your...
Of course.
My portfolio.
Come along, Peter.
-Sir Isaac, the newt! -You can't be serious, Fruing.
-That book won't sell ten copies. -Of course not!
-However, the thought did occur to me... -Norman!
We promised our little brother a project.
If he makes a muck of it, what will it matter?
I think Miss Potter may turn out to be a Godsend.
Home, Miss Potter?
No, Saunders. Drive me through the park.
Through all the parks.
-I beg your pardon, Miss Potter? -Drive!
Walk on.
We did it!
Did you hear my heart? It was a kettle drum.
You see? We cannot stay home all our lives.
We must present ourselves to the world.
And we must look upon it as an adventure.
Faster, Saunders!
-Faster, Saunders, if you please! -No, Miss Beatrix. No!
-Fast as you can, old boy. -Go on!
Oh, I say!
Saunders.
Beatrix, where have you been? It's after four o'clock.
I'm not a child. I can do things without my mother's permission.
I was hoping to use the carriage myself this afternoon.
Where were you?
I took a drive. With my friends.
You don't have any friends.
Yes, I do, Mother. Every time I draw.
Some of your paintings are quite pretty, Beatrix,
but I'm not going to deceive you as your father does
and call them great art.
Well, my friend, when I am a published author
then we shall see.
Beatrix, Bertram, time for good nights.
-I haven't finished yet. -Come on, hurry up.
-Bertram. -There! I got him.
-Bertram, you're barbaric. -Come on, you two.
Hurry up. Down you go.
Slowly!
Hurry, Rupert! It won't do t be late to the 'Hydes'.
Doesn't Mama look beautiful, Beatrix?
Being in a temper puts such a rose into her cheeks.
When you grow up, Beatrix, and have to run a household,
plan parties, keep a social calendar and put up with a man
who's never been introduced to a clock,
your cheeks will glow too.
Look at this ribbon.
That's unsightly. Change her into something decent.
And give this nightdress away.
Oh, this will never do. I'm just all fingers and thumbs!
You're impossible, Rupert! We are so late.
What have you drawn today, Beatrix?
Benjamin Bunny having a rest.
His ears are getting better and better.
This shading here is very good, Beatrix.
Say your good nights now, children.
-Good night, Mother. -Good night, Beatrix.
-Good night, Father. -Good night, Beatrix.
-Good night, Mother. -Good night, Bertram.
Good night, Father.
Now, hurry upstairs.
-Come on, mustn't make Mama and Papa. -later than they are.
-Oh, children. -What now?
On my way home, I happened to walke down Piccadilly.
And what do you think jumped into my pockets?
Something very special for the young entomologist.
And something very suitable for the young lady
who's very soon to grow up to run a fine home,
just like her mother.
-We'll open them upstairs. Come on. -Thank you, Father.
-Thank you, Father. -Come on.
-Late, late late! -We are not late.
We will never be invited to the Hydes' again.
Heaven's sake, Helen, it's polite to be a little late.
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