Will you offer a prayer for my soul
as you stand over my corpse and confirm my passing?
Oh, I shall.
That is Samuel Drummond. His friends call him Drum.
And that is Francis Thatcher. Which do you consider the more handsome?
- Drum. - Yes.
Miss Reid.
(Jackson) ♪ Little girl, don't you lie to me. ♪
♪ Tell me where did you sleep last night. ♪
This is the only peace he's known.
I don't think Mr. Drake would care for that very much.
[Dog barking]
_
[Distant whispering]
[Bell tolls]
[Carriage approaching]
_
[Neighing]
[Distant whispering]
[Door opening]
[Gasp]
[Footsteps]
[Door opening]
[Door closing]
[Footsteps]
[Sigh]
[Footsteps]
[Scream]
[Neighing]
[Metal creaking]
[Scream]
[Theme music]
Sync & corrections by PetaG www.addic7ed.com
(Reid) Mathilda, you'll be late.
Tild... wait. Have you been sat here this whole night?
What is this robs you of your rest?
Vampires? Really?
Go. Ready yourself.
When the Count comes to London, he makes his lair in Whitechapel like you.
[Door opening]
[Child crying]
It's just a bad dream.
What was that song, my love?
(Rose) Hm?
The silly thing before.
You know, the one about the little girl. You were teaching me.
[Clearing throat]
- Um... - It's all right.
- Um...
♪ Little girl, little girl. ♪
♪ Don't lie to me. ♪
♪ Tell me where did you sleep last night. ♪
What sort of song is that for a child?
It works, though, doesn't it?
[Humming]
♪ Tell me where did you sleep last night? ♪
[Man yelling in distance]
[Dock workers yelling in distance]
Croker!
What?
She's gone.
What are you? Simple? You didn't keep lookout, you goddamn imbecile.
Careful now, Captain.
Nathaniel isn't fond of such invective.
Besides, your lady is no rash girly.
I doubt she now rows a skiff to Dunkirk. She will not be far.
You best hope he's right.
[Chatter]
Jesus Christ, Caitlin.
Have you lost your mind?
I awoke.
I reached for my son.
And my son was not there.
He is safe, and he is cared for. And he will be yours again. Just time, darling.
- Come here. - The burden of it is all.
The sun is out, girl.
And that face shines out like a ruby in the rubble.
I cannot shield you if you will not confine yourself to quarters.
Do not lecture me, Abel. I know the risk I take,
and it is a breath of dockside air, not tea at the Savoy.
All fine and fair and understood.
Could you not snarl? We are fond of you.
We prefer you safe where we can see you.
Not back on a gibbets where we cannot.
Now will you return yourself to your bunk
or will Nate here put you over his shoulder?
You just let him try.
Ah. Come on. Business to run.
[Chatter]
Hurry.
Oh, Inspector Drake, Inspector Reid.
It is the new cold stores, sir. It's this way.
They may keep meat for six months before it spoils.
Six months?
Who wants mutton that's half a year old?
Number 25.
Sirs, a word of caution. It ain't pretty.
[Door opening]
God's teeth.
- Jackson. - Jackson.
Oh, the American, sir?
Yeah, I've... I've banged that drum, Mr. Drake.
Ordered that, the, uh, carbon lights be brought and all, sir.
The man learns.
The hanging man's wrists are bound.
And someone else restrained here, therefore.
Here's their spray... a lot of it, too.
- Mr. Thatcher! - Yeah?
Whoever sat here was either spirited away or left on their own engine.
If the latter, having lost this weight of blood, they will not have gone far.
I'll have the men pick the market clean, sir.
- You do that, Sergeant. - (Thatcher) Yeah.
[Buzzing]
Skin penetrated at the jugular,
at the radial beneath the bicep.
- This? - It's another lancing.
Older, however, less precise instrument.
And this is what killed him? The bloodletting?
No, ligature marks.
Then he was strangled, killed.
And only then is his blood let.
To what end, however?
The blood is the end.
This poor bastard's cadaver's been exsanguinated.
Every last droplet syphoned out of him.
Why, do you suppose?
The other party... bound to that chair... she's found, sirs.
Get more. Get everything.
Another puncture wound.
Same method.
But no ligature marks, however.
She was alive while they tried to syphon blood from her.
- But escaped. - She held her neck.
She hoped to staunch the blood flow even as she ran for her life.
[Sigh]
No defence wounds.
[Sigh]
Downside pillar...
inner mucous membrane undamaged.
No hemorrhaging of the capillaries.
Third and fourth. Oh, shit.
What's up? What more?
What do you think this is? A crystal ball?
Did you find the other?
Young woman, puncture wound here.
No strangulation, however.
Well, have Thatcher bring 'em home.
I need my knives.
Where do you go?
About my work, Drake.
_
[Yelling]
The hematoma about the man's neck is from a rope.
The insides of his cheeks are unbitten.
There are no burst capillaries in his eyes. Therefore, he's not strangled.
His neck is fractured clean at the third and fourth cervical vertebrae,
and he's at least 120 pounds.
Do you see where I'm going yet, Doctor?
Now such a break on the neck of a man of such weight, that's a drop of around,
what? Seven feet, at least.
Professional work.
The kind of work that puts me in mind of you, Probyn.
Standing over your hangman's recent execution, pronouncing 'em dead.
Ah, that's, uh, impressive police work, Captain.
Yet no policeman you.
I wonder have you shared your expert
imaginings with your friends on Leman Street?
No?
I wonder why that might be.
If not because you fear what I might choose to tell them.
Do you not recall my promise to you? Or is that you doubt my sincerity?
Now will you assist in my inquiry or won't you?
Which recently hanged cadavers have you
seen diverted from burial pits no longer than two days passed?
[Sigh]
Two details.
His name and where you sent him.
Meet Percival Monks.
He staved his mother-in-law's head in with a fire iron.
Got the rope for his troubles.
Newgate hanged him yesterday, sent his body to the London hospital for evisceration.
How have you done this, Jackson?
Just merely read the signs, Inspector.
Now are we moving on, or do you wish me to showboat further?
Oh, no. Please, move on.
Right, see...
Uh, scorbutic tongue.
Teeth as loose as the keys in a saloon piano.
Drake?
Scurvy.
Privation suffered on a migrant's passage perhaps.
Polish. Prayer card.
It's Mark 3:11.
Curious it is in English.
It said Mark what? 3:11.
There we are.
"And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him."
There's more here, however.
You see here? This is indigo staining in here.
That's the model scarring of seamstress needles.
- She's been sweated. - That'd be my assumption.
Polish Catholics are only recently so visible in the city there.
And the numbers are not so swollen that finding one
such from a Whitechapel sweatshop should be beyond us.
Might you say what made an end of her, Jackson?
I'm at a loss, Drake.
Genuinely.
It's not the bloodletting that done for her, then?
No, not at all. Point in fact, she ain't been bled at all.
Can you account for the blood that covered her?
I cannot.
The sole wound on her is the exact same puncturing
of the neck with the same instrument, but it's not been used to drain her.
On the contrary, she's, uh... well, replete.
As we discussed, perhaps, it is not the end that is germane...
it is not the end, but the means. This is a clean wound, is it not?
There's nothing savage. It is precise.
One might even say skilled.
And whether it is drained or not, it is the blood that is a chief interest here.
Why preserve a dead thing?
What is it that happens to blood when it decays, Captain? It clots, does it not?
Unless you keep it cold, Reid.
Puncture wounds administered with skill and with clean instruments...
an act carried out in the full knowledge of a clinical need for refrigeration.
Such as the cold store at the meat market.
This man... this executed cadaver...
a recent property, we are told, of the London hospital.
It is a medical stripe of man we search for.
Mr. Reid. I do not forget what the place once meant to you.
Would you take a turn around to London this afternoon?
- See how it is they misplaced this corpse. - I shall, Inspector.
And I shall pay a visit to our Polish community.
Sergeant Thatcher.
Yes. You and I are out to kick some rocks over.
You.
You find what killed her.
I cannot fathom while it's allowed to continue unabated, sir,
this flood of aliens. We need to close the city gates.
Can they not take their suffering elsewhere?
Plenty enough of our own.
All compassion, are you not, Sergeant?
- Well... - Just kick the door down lad.
[Chatter]
[Thud]
[Whispering]
She's a Polish woman... 20 years old.
Most likely absent only since last night.
[Whispering]
Now...
[Whispering]
have a look at her photograph here.
She is dead. See?
Murdered not half a mile from here.
Does she not have one friend who would speak for her?
[Coughing]
Will you not look, miss?
[Speaking Polish]
I'm sorry, miss. I don't speak Polish.
[Coughing]
- Why will you not look, miss? - (Woman) Please, sir.
- You need to talk with the foreman. - Pardon me, miss.
This wound needs attention.
- Will you let us see to it? - No.
I have made no request for your help.
Now, please, the foreman will return, I must work.
[Sigh]
To hell with your wretched foreman, miss. You're coming with us.
- [Speaking Polish] - Come on! Calm down.
[Speaking Polish]
Agniezka.
This was her name.
A friend?
Our mothers were.
She was given an address where to find me. I...
I helped her find work.
Captain Jackson, the young lady has an infected wound.
- Would you mind... - You see a starched cap
atop my head, Drake? A high white collar about my neck?
- I do not. - Well, then I cannot imagine
why you mistook me for a nurse.
Bandages and iodine.
You know how to use them.
Here, let me.
Basic training, you know, sir.
Pardon me, miss.
And she left not word of where she was going?
She just vanished, you say?
If she had left word,
it would not have been a vanishing, would it?
Now, please, I must leave.
Or there will be no work when I return.
I will starve, and that will be on your conscience, Inspector.
Uh-uh-uh, no, miss.
You will not talk to me of conscience.
That girl down there looked to you for leading.
Seems to me you led her nowhere but her death.
Now you wish to leave us, you will speak to me.
Or I will arrest you, miss.
Put you in a cell and forget for why.
She said only that she had been asked to meet a man.
A man who said that she had only to come with him,
and she would be paid 1,000 times over what she would make with a needle in her hand.
She was to sell herself.
Spread her legs for money, you mean?
No, I did... I... I... I nev... I asked...
- But that was not it. She swore to me. - So I...
[Sigh]
It must be that she was robbed.
- Killed for the money she earned. - No, miss.
It wasn't a robbing of her that caused her death.
There was a good deal too much trouble taken for that.
Then if you, a policeman, do not know,
I cannot see how I, a seamstress, can help you.
Now may I return to see if I have been discharged from my work?
See her returned.
Yes, Inspector.
Don't you miss it then? Your home?
- Krakow? - Yeah.
I chose to leave.
It came to not feel like my home.
Home is a kind place, and there was too much unkindness.
So you're happy never to return?
I did not say that.
You... you are from here?
Near enough, yeah.
But only today you see the street signs and the sound the Christchurch Spire.
You know you live where you're from,
and are reminder therefore of who you are.
I suppose so, yeah.
Those things I miss.
[Clears throat]
That him?
She knows trouble from you, sir, and you will know worse. Huh?
The sight of blood frighten you, Drummond?
Not in small amounts, Captain.
Well, it frightens some, however.
It's a... instinctive phobia,
as inescapable a part of any man as,
well, his blood itself.
You know where Wyoming is, Drummond?
It's in America, I imagine.
Take a prize.
There's big mountains there and big, high mountain passes...
full of virgin snow.
Now I saw a man...
a friend of mine, as it goes...
Comanche brave put a hunting knife through his guts before I could get a shot off.
My friend died.
And I'm a doctor, understand? So...
well, the... the impotence of it.
All I could do was watch as blood spread through the eyes.
A white world made red.
[Knocking]
Miss Mathilda.
Your visits are a ray of sunshine.
Here, come, sit. Join me.
I am eager to know what latest there is concerning Samuel Drummond.
Have you now spoken with him?
I have, but he is, I believe, bashful.
[Laughs]
And timidity, so the world insists, is the preserver of our sex.
You seek to draw him out then?
I seek to know him a little...
what might make him sad or happy or excited or afraid.
There are means by which you might discover such, Mathilda.
It is no magic. Merely offer him the opportunity to know something of yours.
Show him something about which you might own a passion.
See if then he might share his thoughts on it with you.
That is wise counsel. Thank you.
There is no one else with whom I might share such questions.
- Not your father? - No.
Do you travel somewhere, Miss Castello?
Paris.
It is no gentle tour, however, but work of the sort.
The story hunted down.
Is it related to that photograph you take with you?
Of the man who was my father's friend?
Who that?
Mr. Isaac Bloom and the man, the rabbi,
Ritofsky, who all thought was killed by Isaac Bloom.
He lived in Paris, did he not?
And how would you know such things, Mathilda Reid?
[Sigh]
My father keeps some of his work at home.
On occasion, I'm interested to read it.
Mathilda, there are few women who will tell you this.
But one of the greatest qualities we might own
is that of disobedience.
[Laughs]
[Chatter]
[Neighing]
[Coughing]
(Treves) The moniker Elephant Man was, of course, a showman's adjectival indulgence.
Joseph looked no more like an elephant than I do.
[Laughter]
We are keen as a race to throw back,
to attribute animal, primal qualities to that which we do not understand.
Here, deformity.
Elsewhere, perhaps, foreigners.
We can describe such conditions to ourselves
only in terms that are animalistic.
Important then to think not on what separated
Mr. Merrick from we, his brother-men,
but rather what joined him to us.
Thank you.
[Chatter]
Mr. Red.
[Door closing]
Mr. Treves, hello.
Inspector no more, as I heard it?
Inspector yet again, I'm afraid.
Afraid, sir?
- Turn of phrase. - Hm.
He was consenting of these, Mr. Merrick?
He was.
His abnormalities sketched to aid the study of our similarities.
Mr. Reid, forgive me.
Do you come seven years since your last visit to question my science?
I do not, Mr. Treves.
But the dissections carried out here... there are indeed certain questions
that I seek answers for.
The cadavers that are sent to you from Newgate.
A valuable resource, certainly.
You have records from them?
Of course.
My thanks, Martins.
Yesterday, you say?
Yes, the name Monks, as I have it.
No. As you see, no such name.
No, indeed. A wasted visit then.
Oh, never that, Mr. Reid.
Mr. Treves, tell me.
The cadaver whose origin I seek... we have him currently.
He was found perhaps one day after his Newgate execution.
His neck punctured.
His body inverted. And it entirely exsanguinated.
Now were it a means rather than an ends?
I know it is not orthodox. See, I understand that. But...
but the fringes of medical practise, to take blood and then preserve it.
What purpose can you imagine for such an action?
Knowledge.
To know.
Blood is life.
How might that life be taken, preserved, handed on?
Mr. Treves.
I always recommend a smoke when you're two pints down.
Never known a head rush like it.
Ah, Inspectors.
You've come for some answers, and now I have a few.
Your, uh... your lady there...
Her name was Agniezka.
Ah. Well, now I know her name.
And what killed her.
And so?
It was organ collapse.
Almost total internal collapse... heart, kidneys, bladder, liver.
And the cause of that failure was a corruption in her blood.
Come see.
Now you know what, ah, hemoglobin is, Reid, I assume that?
It is the compound which carries oxygen through the blood to the organs.
Ever eager student, this one.
Now this is Agniezka's blood. Take a look.
Her blood ain't carrying nothing no where.
That's the organ failure?
Now...
Have you bled the whole division?
Save you two, almost.
Now I take two different samples.
Reid, make a comparison.
- It is clotting. - Mm-hmm.
The men's blood meet and corrupt.
We say then that the blood that covered her as she ran... it was not hers.
But his... piped from him into her through the puncture in her neck.
Only she feels her body rebel, the panic of it, and runs.
But why? Why do this?
The care taken... it cannot be for cruelty, for death alone.
Even a vampire inflicts death so that he may live.
But what if two men's blood does not always corrupt?
Now what if my blood is somehow different from yours but akin to Drake's?
- As if I don't have troubles enough. - Thatcher here, for example.
Now I mixed his blood with, uh, your hanging man there, Monk's.
Take a look.
It prospers.
Thatcher.
Thatcher, you... you are a match for him.
So together they make life.
This earlier lancing you identified, Captain...
The puncture wound infected.
Could this be the means by which a... a sampling took place?
The pre-selecting of a correlating blood match.
Inspector Drake, the, uh...
the wound I bound on the girl, Magdalena, it's the same infection,
do we... do we say perhaps it meant that Magdalena was the match?
And not Agniezka
who has no such infected wounds.
Did she go in Magdalena's stead therefore?
Her blood, no match.
It corrupted, and her death brought down.
And this man, Monks, here... his sampling
could only have happened before his execution for the blood to be alive.
Mr. Drummond, run a records search.
Magdalena Dobrowski, 23.
I expect you'll find she spent some time behind the walls of Newgate.
It is curious, this, Captain.
But Mr. Treves' records show no transfer of this man's cadaver from Newgate to London.
Oh.
Do we must assume your source corrupted, also?
[Ringing]
Drummond!
Yes. Thank you.
Four months for the theft of bread.
You find that girl. You bring her back.
- I imagine we are to Newgate, Inspector. - Quite so, Mr. Reid.
Oh and Jackson, best you come, too.
Introduce us to that source of yours.
You lied to me, Probyn.
Who did you pass Percival Monks' cadaver to, sir?
Uh, the disposal of prison remains is very far from my responsibility, Inspector.
The London hospital is where such cadavers are, under normal circumstances, sent.
If one has gone astray, then it has not done so from within my remit.
Where is it you keep your needles, Doctor?
You have the key about you?
Instrument's much used, sir.
Blunted, in fact.
I am provided with but a modest stipend, Mr. Reid.
I'm sure.
Mr. Monks had a needle fester wound on his arm,
you know, here, in the crook of his elbow.
A Polish woman, Magdalena Dobrowski, likewise, Doctor.
So, to what end such needling, Doctor?
I, uh... in... in an enclosed environment, er, ah, such as this,
outbreaks of... of disease are all too common.
My... my duty would be neglected if I did not attempt to contain them by inoculation.
And this?
If you please.
No, sir.
No, I... I will not be so suspected. I am a doctor.
My entire life given to the care of... of these incarcerate wrecks and villains.
I... I will have some respect, dammit!
[Glass breaking]
Oops.
Magdalena. Magdalena.
[Speaking Polish]
Magdalena! Where is she? Where is she?
[Whispering]
As I heard it, Frank, you were asked to return in company, not alone.
Drum. Do you wish me to take that reading machine of yours and bury it in your head?
Not overly, Sergeant.
Then stop being a lobcock and tell me where they put Probyn.
_
Hello?
Please, I have come as asked.
That is understood.
Thank you, Governor. Of course.
- His alibi is sound? - It is.
The night Agniezka Yannis was killed, Dr. Carlyle Probyn
was enjoying supper with the Newgate board of trustees.
In any event, I did not have him pinned for this type of work.
One way or another, he is part of this chain, however.
Sirs, you must come.
[Yelling]
Where?
Where? You tell me where she is.
[Grunt]
Huh?
- Explain yourself, son! - She's gone, sir.
- Who has? - Magdalena is gone.
Get out!
Captain Jackson to attend an injury in the cells immediately.
(Probyn) Who do you think I am?
Some drunken [INAUDIBLE]?
I am not.
I'll have your warrant cards for this.
What if I took blood from our inmates?
Is there a law that says I cannot?
No.
- I am a public servant. - No, sir.
You are an accessory to murder.
You have no option but to release me, and you know it.
Well, let me, uh, patch you up at least before you go, huh?
[Panting]
[Groan]
[Gasp]
No. Uh, they do not improve your health, I believe.
Shit, Probyn. What does?
[Groan]
Ah, it's superficial. You'll live.
[Sighes and groans]
No.
You do her the honour of looking at her.
_
I thought you were a doctor, Probyn. For such sights were humdrum.
[Wincing]
Then why the discomfort unless you, uh...
you feel some responsibility for her.
I have never once met her.
Not what I'm saying.
Now, come close.
This is where he ran the tubing in.
Now your Magdalena... the one whose blood
you took while she served her Newgate time...
all of this was meant for her.
And it would have been you that sent her there.
Her sample...
and that of the murderer Monk here also...
you matched them.
_
[Scream]
Shit, sorry. It's the rubbing alcohol. My mistake.
Still, there are worst mistakes to suffer, wouldn't you say?
By way of example, a transfusion experiment on a girl with the wrong
- blood? Now! - [Scream]
You matched Magdalena and Monks.
- I did. - At whose instruction?
A name.
He was French, I believe.
He did not give it.
Well, what did he give you?
Money. A promise of more.
Now we know how motivated you are by that currency, don't we?
It was for the saving of a child.
His child.
And he was a doctor, correct? I mean, he would have had to been to
attempt such a thing with a need to employ another such as yourself, Probyn. Did he...
er... did he say he'd been struck off, or...
Uh, no. Uh, but I... I imagine it so.
You know, Probyn.
I think me and you may yet escape this particular pickle in one piece.
I never had a daughter, you know.
I should have liked one, however.
What benefit do you imagine she might have carried?
Well...
no ship's head was ever made from the figure of a man.
[Laughter]
She would have been pleasing to have about the place is all.
Kind words, a pot of coffee.
Sons do not offer such?
They do not.
They're altogether a more bother.
- Huh. - The man, Nathaniel.
- He's yours? - My responsibility, I feel,
if not my blood.
You? You have a child?
I do not believe you would allow me to rest here ignorant of who I am.
[Laughs]
Or my monstrous crimes.
Certainly that is true.
They do not trouble you?
The crimes? Should they?
There is, uh...
one blacker.
It felt blacker, I mean, in my heart.
Oh, believe me, child...
many is a fellow to have lost his life on my account.
You be calm in this score.
Mine is not a place of judgement or justice.
I leave some refined notions to others.
Scotland Yard, British Medical Association,
the French Confederation, Genarmerie Nationale.
All that have been barred in the last three years, say.
Suggestion for the cause of such barring is illegal transfusion of bloods.
Yes, Mr. Reid.
Do no harm.
It's the first and most abiding maxim by which you practise by.
And yet you have done plenty, Captain. I've seen it.
Only when sorely pressed and never to a soul that didn't have it coming.
You had a moral imperative.
You want to call it that, I did.
This man, likewise.
A child... his child.
No sin too great to save her, I imagine.
Perhaps you know how he feels, Reid.
Drum, I'm sure I saw a bottle back here somewhere.
You hope to get a little reading, are you, Sergeant?
Uh, no. Uh, I mean, well, yes.
At... at a... quiet moment.
"Dracula."
The evil Transylvanian Count.
Because all foreigners are dangerous predators
set on the parasitic cannibalism of our young women.
_
I shall see this returned then, shall I, Sergeant?
Yes, I would... um, a, uh, a...
kind thought, Inspector.
[Tapping]
Is that...
It is, sir. French Police.
There is a pursued felon, sir. Thus the urgency of their response.
And his crime?
(Drum) His wife found bled out in their Paris home
and neither he nor their daughter seen since.
And his name, Drummond.
[Tapping]
Blanchard, Tristram. 48.
His wife? Why would he perform the same experiment on his wife?
- Perhaps she was sick, also. - With the same disease.
An inherited disease of the blood... haemophilia.
Ah, that... that can be bad, but it can be managed with skill and care.
Worse than, rarer, incurable even.
Porphyria.
It's a discolouration of the teeth, anaemia, photosensitivity.
Break down of the bones.
One might consider it a moral imperative to seek to spare a child from such suffering.
Thatcher!
How's your French, Sergeant?
- Uh, worse than my Polish, sir. - Then simply shout louder.
Get a hansom to, ah, Albert Gate. French Embassy. Wake them.
Do not leave until they have provided you with full,
photographic details of this man. Blanchard.
Miss Dobrowski.
I'm relieved to finally meet you in person.
I did not mean to deceive you, sir.
Before, I mean.
When you sent another in your name, hm?
She who is now gone.
I made a sacrifice for a greater need.
The only mercy is that it was a final trial.
Else, you would now also have the sacrifice of my daughter's life on your conscience.
Your life transformed, hm?
In return for the transformation of my Camille.
But you are here now.
They moaned a good deal, sir.
This is because they are French.
But as Mr. Reid suggested, I shouted.
And they soon packed up their moaning.
That is also down to their being French.
May I, Inspector?
This man.
_
I have met this man.
It begins now, my Camille. Hm?
[Doors opening and glass breaking]
- You'll need a feuder. - With me.
With me.
[Whispering]
Mister!
We can't just go in there thundering with our irons out.
- You tell us why not. - What he does in there is delicate.
We jump, if it goes badly, start to bleed out, they won't stop. Understand?
Let me talk to him, Drake.
Surgeon to surgeon.
Go.
[Door opening]
Has she lost consciousness yet?
[Door closing]
Who are you? Hm?
Huh, what do you want?
Has the board of this fine hospital approved the
carrying out of discredited medicine by fugitive outlaws?
So you are police?
Just another physician.
Of sort.
I performed the autopsy on the other girl.
Saw what catastrophe this science caused to her organs.
[Mumbling]
It's OK, darling.
Shh, shh, shh. It's OK.
Well, then you know, huh? Death was a result of, uh, an opportunistic falsehood.
This girl will come to no harm.
You take all of her blood, sir, she's going to die.
Now I expect you didn't tell her that when you struck this deal.
- Who is this man, Father? - No, no, no, no. Be still, my Camille.
Be still now. Huh, you trust in me?
- Yes. - Then rest.
Close your eyes.
You can't save her.
You can't.
Even if this transfusion is completed, the symptoms will only regress for a while.
Whatever it is, there's no way yet on earth found to alter those cards.
No! You... step back.
What do you know?
You judge me, but any father would do the same.
This is my life's work.
She will recover. She will transform. She will live.
Gentle sir. I beg you. Do not do this.
As you wish, sir.
Reid, Drake! Get in here!
Get after him.
Thatcher, you're with me.
I need your help, man.
There's too much blood. There's too much goddamn blood.
We're going to try a vessel ligation. Hand me those forceps.
For Christ's take, man. Right there. Forceps!
Got it.
If I can clamp the vessel, that might buy us enough time.
Come on, Magdalena.
[Crash]
Stay back!
How can I let her suffer?
Without me, what hope does she have?
(Drake) There is always hope, sir.
No.
In Heaven, she will know the love of her mother.
Such love, sir.
All that you are... put to the protecting of her.
I do not believe you will now do this thing.
Goddammit!
It's too late. We lost too much. We lost her, Thatcher.
No, no! No. Look.
Captain, take mine. Remember?
It... if I was... if I was a match for the hanging man,
I'm also a match for her, am I not?
- Thatcher, you son of a bitch. - Yeah.
Hold tight, girl.
Frankie Thatcher's coming for you.
[Crying] My Camille.
I have killed you.
[Crying]
[Sobbing]
[Sobbing continues]
♪ Little girl, little girl, don't you lie to me. ♪
♪ Tell me where did you sleep last night? ♪
♪ In the pines, in the pines, in the cold lonesome pines. ♪
♪ Will you shiver when the cold wind blows. ♪
♪ Little girl, little girl, don't you lie to me. ♪
♪ Tell me where did you sleep last night? ♪
It is a song, Bennet.
Only a song. And you launch such
- conclusions at me. - No, Rose.
You think you can hide such a truth from me. You cannot!
How often? And do not think to lie to me again.
- Once a week. In the month since. - Oh, Jesus.
But it was not planned, Bennet.
He found me all frantic with the strain of it... helped us.
Brought us home and... and Connor... he...
he calmed with him.
[Baby cooing]
And I could not deny him that.
And does the boy...
does Connor know him?
I mean, know who he is?
You are the only father he has ever known.
The only father he will ever know.
[Crying]
No, no. I'll see to him.
It's all right lad.
I'm here now.
It's all right, noisy.
_
- Is it that you do not like him? - I barely know him. That is my point.
Neither do you.
And yet I like him.
That... that is a guess, Mathilda.
And so instead you would prefer I created experiments
to test what matter he is made of.
I might, yes.
But do you not see this is that experiment?
He appreciates it the way he does not appreciate it.
These things are guides for you.
Well, is that not fair?
Fair? I'm not sure, Mathilda.
When these human transactions were writ, fairness was not much of a consideration.
You make your test, Mathilda.
But be sure to let me know if he passes or not.
_
(Probyn) I, uh, served for a time in Alexandria.
Ah, and grew fond of the blend there.
Quite so.
I was not, uh, misinformed then?
You do have access to the Egyptian brand of tobacco I favour?
It has taken me an age to hunt down a supply.
[Laughs]
Well, you may rest gentle, sir.
- That hunt is now behind you. - Ah.
Mister...
(Woman) His name's Probyn.
Not a tobacconist, then?
No.
He is a doctor. The Newgate doctor.
I am relieved of my duties now, however.
How have you found me?
How?
I am shocked you asked.
That husband of yours stalking back into my life with his threats.
It is his colleague has me reported
and deprived of my work.
200 pounds.
Otherwise, my own further harm, or know your secret will be told
and that wretched son of yours will never see your spiteful little face again.
Abel, I think, on reflection, you should not.
(Abel) For why?
No more but the dome headed sack of jelly had this one.
No threat, certainly, and I cannot believe he will be missed.
I shall tell you for why, Abel.
Between first and second rib, is it not?
It is, my dear.
Oh.
[Choking]
Nate, two ox and a tarpaulin, if you please.
Speak to me of my son, would you?
Here.
Here, yes, yes.
Brandy.
Here we are.
Fit for a king.
Had the French not done away with such things as kings.
What am I, Abel?
Why, a princess.
Ah... how now?
Why do you weep? Not for him, surely.
[Crying]
No.
The other.
The dark secret I spoke of.
- Ah. - The last definite death by my hand.
And who he?
My father.
It was my father.
I killed my father.
[Crying]
Ah.
[Music playing]
Sync & corrections by PetaG www.addic7ed.com