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.
♪ 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.
_
Sync & Corrections by PetaG www.addic7ed.com
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.
It's just a bad dream.
What was that song, my love?
Hm?
- Hm? - The silly thing before.
You know, the one about the little girl. You were teaching me.
- 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?
♪ Tell me, where did you sleep last night? ♪
Croker!
What?
She's gone.
What, are you simple? You didn't keep lookout, you goddamn imbecile.
Careful now, Captain. Your lady is no rash girlie.
I doubt she now rows a skiff to Dunkirk. She will not be far.
You best hope he's right.
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.
The biding of it is all.
All right. 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?
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 here also.
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. - Yeah.
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.
Tonsillar pillar...
inner mucous membrane undamaged.
No haemorrhaging 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.
_
The haematoma 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, ah,
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 past?
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.
Saint Mark 3:11.
Curious it is in English.
Saint 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 has 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...
the 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 the London
this afternoon? See how it is they misplaced this
- corpse. - I shall, Inspector.
I shall pay a visit to our Polish community.
Sergeant Thatcher.
Yes. You and I are out to kick some rocks over.
She's a Polish woman... 20 years old.
Have a look at her photograph here.
- No. - She is dead. See?
Murdered not half a mile from here.
Does she not have one friend who would speak for her?
Will you not look, miss?
No, please leave me alone.
Can't you see, I'm working.
I'm sorry, miss. I don't speak Polish.
- Why will you not look, miss? - 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.
To hell with your wretched foreman, miss. You're coming with us.
- Keep your hands away from me. - Come on! Calm down.
You hurt me, it hurts.
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.
Pardon me, miss.
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...
- so as to... - But that was not it. She swore to me.
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.
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 is 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 out.
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.
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.
And timidity, so the world insists, is the preserve 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 a sort.
A 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,
Ratovski, who all thought was killed by Isaac Bloom.
He lived in Paris, did he not?
And how would you know such things, Mathilda Reid?
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.
The moniker "Elephant Man"
was, of course, a showman's adjectival indulgence.
Joseph looked no more like an elephant than I do.
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.
Mr Reid.
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.
At the fringes of medical practice, 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, haemoglobin 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 nowhere.
- 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.
Do 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, Monks'.
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 preselecting 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 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 the London.
Oh.
Do we must assume your source corrupted, also?
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?
Oh, 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, damn it!
Oops.
Magdalena! Magdalena?
Please get your hands away from me. I didn't do anything.
Magdalena! Where is she? Where is she?!
As I had it, Frank, you were tasked 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.
Where?
Where? You tell me where she is.
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.
Who do you think I am?
Some drunken navvy?
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?
No. Uh, they do not improve your health, I believe.
Shit, Probyn. What does?
Ah, it's superficial. You'll live.
- Uh! - No.
You do her the honour of looking at her.
_
I thought you were a doctor, Probyn. For such sights were humdrum.
Then why the discomfort unless you, uh...
you feel some responsibility for her.
_
Shit, sorry. It's the rubbing alcohol. My mistake.
Still, there are worse mistakes to suffer, wouldn't you say?
By way of example, a transfusion experiment on a girl with the wrong
blood? Now!
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. And 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.
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 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.
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's the fellow to have lost his life on my account.
You be calm on this score.
Mine is not a place of judgement or justice.
I leave such refined notions to others.
Scotland Yard, British Medical Association,
the French Confederation, Gendarmerie 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, er, 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.
Is that...?
It is, sir. French police.
There is a pursued felon, sir. Thus the urgency of their response.
And his crime?
"His wife found bled out in their Paris home
"and neither he nor their daughter seen since."
And his name, Drummond.
"Blanchard, Tristran. 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, then. 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.
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?
You'll need a feuder.
With me. With me.
Hey, stop!
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 him, it goes badly, start to bleed out, they won't stop. Understand?
Let me talk to him, Drake.
Surgeon to surgeon.
Go.
Has she lost consciousness yet?
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 sorts.
I performed the autopsy on the other girl.
Saw what catastrophe this science caused to her organs.
It's okay, darling.
Shh, shh, shh. It's okay, darling.
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 sakes, man. Right there. Forceps!
Got it.
If I can clamp the vessel, that might buy us enough time.
Come on, Magdalena.
Stay back!
How can I let her suffer?
Without me, what hope does she have?
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.
My Camillia.
I have killed you.
♪ 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.
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.
No, no. I'll see to him.
It's all right lad.
I'm here now.
It's all right, boysie.
_
- 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 or 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.
_
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 supplier.
Well, you may rest gentle, sir.
- That hunt is now behind you. - Ah.
Mister...
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 wretch son of yours will never see your spiteful little face again.
Abel, I think, on reflection, you should not.
For why?
Naught but the dome-headed sack of jelly, 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.
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.
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.
Ah.
Sync & Corrections by PetaG www.addic7ed.com
None of my boys at the ironworks is weak.
They live, work, sport as men of iron.
Charlie Tanner is dead. Beaten with a hammer.
I have an obligation. Things will get better.
Me and you, we've got to get out of here.
You will hear me, Reid!
We coppered good together. Maybe them days have passed.