All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S11E08 (EN)

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -

I think you'll be pleased with
what I'm going to tell you, William.

Are you sure I can't help
you with some of that?

- I brought it, I'll carry it!
- As you wish.

I mean, all this was my idea.

It certainly was.

Is there a problem, William?

No, it's fine.

Don't fuss, William. It's too hot.

- Let's go swimming.
- I didn't bring my trunks.

Oh. Why do we need them?

Oh, William, look. The water's lovely.

Julia...

I think there may be
someone else out here.

William!

Well, I suppose we're on
a busman's holiday now.

Yet again.

I'd say he died in the last 24 hours,

knife wound to the heart.

Likely the owner of this easel.

Perhaps the killer used this path.

Watch your step.

Hello!

Good day.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

And my wife, Doctor Julia Ogden.

- Hello.
- A detective?

- Have we done something wrong?
- Is one of your group missing?

Two, actually.

Did one of them have
a long unruly beard?

You see, I told you it was unruly.

- I thought it was handsome.
- A modern man should be clean shaven.

We regret to inform
you that he has died.

Died? How?

I believe he was murdered.

- Are we in danger?
- We don't know.

- Could you tell us his name?
- Gavin Caswell.

- And who else is missing?
- His name is Tom Thomson.

Well...

that's a terrible
shame about Mr. Caswell.

Are you done with us? We
are losing our daylight.

This man was a friend
of yours, was he not?

We were bound by mutual pursuit, but

nothing more than that.

Well they didn't seem overly concerned.

Just because they share the same hobby

it doesn't mean they like each other.

Painting is more than a hobby, William.

Of course.

Didn't the Inspector meet a Tom Thomson?

More than met.

The Inspector sold him
one of his paintings

for $10 if you can believe that.

Julia, what are you doing in there?

I thought I saw something!

This must be what Mr.
Caswell was working on.

No wonder he threw it in the bush.

I like it.

Julia...

there's someone else out here.

Mr. Thomson?

- Hello.
- Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

My wife, Julia Ogden.

I see. Are you lost?

No.

No, we're looking for you, Mr. Thomson.

Whatever for?

- May I inquire as to why your hands are...
- Oh this?

Yes. I was gutting a less
than cooperative rabbit.

I see.

Why...

why do you ask?

Mr. Thomson, one of your
compatriots was killed recently.

- Who?
- Gavin Caswell.

That's horrible.

But I certainly had
nothing to do with it.

I'll need you to accompany
me to the Station House.

I said I had nothing to do with it.

Then you'll have nothing to worry about.

And we're gonna do a reproduction

of the new musical
"The Rollicking Girl".

Now, wouldn't that be
considered stealing?

George, Mr. Rosenfeld
stole it from someone else.

She's right. Mr. Sydney Rosenfeld

is known as the thief of Broadway.

Thank you, Detective Watts.

Sir.

The woods didn't treat you well?

I can't blame him for returning.
The wilderness is an awful place.

Oh, on the contrary. I
favour Muir's observation.

"In every walk with nature, one
receives far more than he seeks."

You mean gets more
than he bargained for.

And it's always bad.

See you tonight, George.

This will confirm my whereabouts.

But please, I beg of you, discretion.

Making this public would destroy
both myself and the other party.

Ahem. If this is true,
no one will hear of it.

And you avow that you
were not with Mr. Caswell.

I do.

But you both left the
camp at the same time.

That may be, but we soon parted.

I wouldn't share the
same air with that man.

Be that as it may.

I will need you to surrender that shirt.

Excuse me, can you help me?

I'll endeavour to do my best.

- My bicycle's been stolen.
- I see.

It's most urgent that it be
found. It is very precious to me.

Could you send a Constable?

Yes of course.

I don't think McNabb
is too busy right now.

I'll... do it myself.

Oh... well, thank you.

Now when did you last have the bicycle?

I had it last evening...

Oh!

Mr. Thomson was telling the truth.

The blood is not human.

I checked. His alibi is sound.

So he's not a murderer,
just an inefficient butcher.

That just leaves one of those
painters out in the woods

as our most likely suspect.

But there's little to
warrant bringing them in.

Unless...

Unless what?

I'm sure they would accept
you, sir, given your talents.

They'd be a bit tight-lipped around
a police officer, don't you think?

Well, they're quite full of themselves.

You know that world, and you may
be able to find something I can use.

Why don't you go?

I'm ill at ease around
artistic types, not like you.

Well...

It's been a while since
I picked up the bristles.

I'm sure you would fit right in,

- given your immense talent...
- I'll go Murdoch.

No need to keep shoveling.

Very good, sir.

So, you've traveled the entire world?

Not yet, but I soon will have.

I simply have to cross the continent

and arrive in Vancouver
and then I shall be done.

- And all on a bicycle?
- Not just any bicycle.

- The one that's been stolen.
- Whatever for?

Because it is a valuable bicycle.

No, I meant, why would
you ride around the world?

Why does one do anything?

I had a desire.

Mm!

I think I could learn
from you all, that's why.

It's $3 a month to rent the studio.

I can manage that.

We do expect a certain... standard.

I can vouch for Mr. Brackenreid's work.

He's a talented amateur.

Thank you, Mr. Thomson.

And you say ou were once a policeman

I still am,

but I'm hoping to
move on from that life.

It's my painting that's
important to me now.

What are you looking at?

Nothing, apparently.

That's very good, sir. Very good.

You may just fit in here after all.

Typical artists from what I can tell.

The lady painter, Miss Coyle,

brained Mr. Armbruster with
a bottle some months ago.

That's typical?

Each were jealous f the other's
successes, no matter how scant.

What did they have to
say about Mr. Caswell?

- They all disliked him.
- Why?

Well, he was the most
accomplished of the lot.

Really?

That painting doesn't
seem anything special.

His work, apparently,
was held in high regard.

Rumour has it he was to
open that new art gallery.

- A very prestigious honour.
- And perhaps motive for murder.

All right then, gentlemen.

I'd better get back at it.

George...

what do you think of this painting?

Oh, sir, I couldn't possibly say.

I don't consider myself bright
enough to understand art.

Should I get you another?

If you promise not to tell.

So, I've alerted most
of the city's pawn shops

and the other Station Houses
of your missing bicycle.

- We will find it.
- So I guess until then I am stuck here.

I suppose so.

Well, I will admit this is
not the most interesting city

I have ever been to,

but I have no complaints
about my current company.

Was that too forward?

You're a woman ho has traveled
the world unchaperoned.

I don't imagine here is such a
thing as "too forward" in your books.

I must say, I do like you, Mr. Watts.

Oh, well. It's Detective, actually.

Sorry. Detective.

But please, call me Llewelyn.

Then I must say, do like you Llewelyn.

She's coming.

Already? Why didn't she tell us?

Bad luck, Denton.

- What do you mean?
- Well, what with Caswell dead,

you, like the rest of
us would have a chance.

That is, if you ever finished anything.

Who the bloody hell is
coming? Excuse my language.

- Lady Belinda!
- Who's Lady Belinda?

Either an angel or
devil, given her mood.

She should have told us
that she was on her way.

And what would be the fun in that?

Now...

what have you to show me?

None of you have a fraction
of poor Mr. Caswell's ability.

What is this?

The Waterdown Falls.

That's a waterfall?

It looks more like a melted candle.

Mr. Denton, wy do you even bother?

You said I had promise.

And I once had my maidenhead.

It seems that both our
early virtues have left us.

Your work is better
suited to the Grand Guignol

than the halls of this fair city.

Perhaps you should stop trying
to prove you're not a woman.

Now this is quite something.

It's not finished yet.

Oh, I can see that.

But I can also see something else.

This was painted by a man.

A real man.

- You are?
- Inspector Thomas C. Brackenreid.

A pleasure, Inspector.

How long have you been painting?

Just over an hour.

And quick witted as well.

Wherever did you find this jewel?

- He recently joined us.
- Oh, joined and surpassed.

Sir, I would like to
offer you my patronage.

Did you take a close look at my work?

Oh, Mr. Armbruster. Don't
grovel, it's unbecoming.

I will take care of your
every creature comfort.

In exchange for what?

In exchange for the...

privilege to be the
first to see your work.

In exchange for nothing
but a chance for me

to savour your talent.

Will this suit you?

Oh, very much.

You are also welcome
to share my residence.

I already have a place to hang my hat.

It's hardly your hat I'm interested in.

I'm open for you.

Day or night.

Oh, you're not at this again, are you?

I am.

Well...

- Hmm.
- What does that mean? Hmm.

I just don't really
care for it, that's all.

Everyone's entitled to an opinion.

No matter how misguided.

If you want to paint, you can
go home and spruce up the porch.

It could use a coat or two.

This? Honestly!

There is just something
in this work that moves me.

It isn't work, it's art.

And quite frankly, I think the
Inspector is a better painter.

- Well, I like it.
- Why?

It's hard to say.

I'm a relatively intelligent man, try.

You either like it or you don't.

Yes, but... why?

I just like it.

I don't think I could explain it to you.

Well I don't think it's very good.

The trees don't even look like trees.

They evoke the spirit of trees.

Perhaps that's the case due to

the artist's inability
to depict them accurately.

Well, I like it and I think
I'm going to hang it here.

Perfect.

That way, there'll be no
one to complain about it.

It's a shame Belinda
passed you by again.

I could offer you the
same sympathy as well.

Apparently she prefers
the work of a neophyte.

Just because she is rich, it does
not mean she has any expertise.

Sounds to me like
sour grapes, gentlemen.

What's his tale of woe?

I've hardly seen him
put paint to canvas.

Mr. Denton has had a hard time of it.

He was once a prodigious painter

but a fire destroyed all of his work.

- What a pity.
- More than that, it's tragic.

He needs to pick up the brush
again and get back to it.

He has tried,

but it seems his muse has left him.

It must be because of
his engaging personality.

Hm.

- Oh! I'll have a cup, please, love.
- You have hands.

Being a female does
not make me your slave.

Oh, you're one of those.

I only asked because
you're already there.

All right.

So, how does it feel?

Thank you.

Being the chosen one.

It feels good.

I can't say that it doesn't.

Mr. Caswell was
Belinda's last chosen one.

I don't think it felt good for him.

What are you suggesting?

Simply that you'd be advised
to stay on her good side.

Taking a patronage is
a double edged sword.

Lovely if you fulfill
the patron's wishes,

not so pleasant if you don't.

And Mr. Caswell didn't.

Given Belinda's past
and Mr. Caswell's fate,

I think that's a safe assumption.

What do you mean, her past?

She used to have a husband.

They go out for a tramp in the woods.

- She doesn't have one anymore.
- Hm.

- You wanted to see me.
- No.

I wanted you to see me.

Paint me, Thomas.

I doubt little impressed
me more than Constantinople.

The Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia.

A city half in Europe and half in Asia.

So where is it, then?

Eurasia, I suppose.

That's not a place. That's stupid.

Oh, Higgins! Be quiet.
Have you seen Egypt?

I camped under the visage
of the Great Sphinx.

Luncheoned by the pyramids of Khufu,

swam in waters of the Nile river.

It's incredible to walk the roads

of a civilization eons
older than our own.

Yes, I most certainly did see Egypt.

And one day, I hope to see it again.

Gentlemen.

Back to work.

What do you think, Murdoch?

It's very good, sir,

but are you sure this
is the proper place?

Oh, let them have an ogle.

As close as some of them
will ever come, I imagine.

Especially Higgins.

- Sir, have you found out anything?
- I have indeed.

What you're looking at

is not only a fine portrait
of a beautiful woman.

But also you're looking
at the primary suspect.

Oh? Who is she?

Lady Belinda Carlye.

Recently widowed and patron
of the arts and artists.

Thomas!

Talk to Miss Coyle about
her. She may know something.

- Oh, it looks marvelous.
- Lady Carlye,

- Detective William Murdoch.
- Oh. Charmed.

Lady Carlye.

Thomas, you must let this handsome man

experience the touch of your brush.

Oh, I don't think I'd be
comfortable with the attention.

Oh let them look. As you can see, I am.

Thomas, could I have
a moment of your time?

- Certainly.
- Not here.

It was a pleasure to meet
you, Detective Murdoch.

I do hope our paths will cross again.

Well, they just might.

Attention, all.

I come bearing news.

As you are no doubt aware,

I am one of the main architects

of the Fine Art Gallery and as such,

I have decided to exhibit

selections of your work
at the gallery's opening.

And I am also pleased to
announce that the featured work

will be Thomas's most recent
portrait of yours truly.

You are indeed fortunate to bathe

in this man's reflected light.

There'll be prestige and glory for all.

Close the door.

What...

is this?

- Art.
- You mean filth, don't you?

Imagine my humiliation.

I come to your office to apologize

for my dismissive behaviour
earlier and I find...

Where did you get this?

- I painted it.
- You?!

From a photograph I hope.

You...

Her?

- And I just don't...
- I'm a painter and she's just a subject.

A stark naked subject!

And nothing to my eye
but shadows and light.

Now if you will excuse me,
woman, I have work to do.

- What kind of work?
- My work.

Hm. Well...

you can work your way through dinner.

Tell me about Lady Carlye's
association with your group.

She is hardly associated with the group.

She simply has her claws

latched into that portly
fool who recently joined.

Yes. But before the "portly fool"...

She was Gavin Caswell's patron.

The recently-murdered Gavin Caswell.

I believe that's what I said.

What was their relationship like

before he was murdered?

They were inseparable...

Until Mr. Caswell developed something
Mrs. Carlye could not tolerate.

What was that?

A backbone.

Could you elaborate?

Mr. Caswell was extremely
popular with Mrs. Carlye

when he painted in a style she favoured.

- But when he didn't...
- She was furious.

And let me tell you, sir,

there are few more
dangerous than a proud woman

who feels disrespected.

But if you want to know more about her,

talk to her staff

and ask about her marriage
to her now-dead husband.

Word is she was no
lady before she met him.

Are you still feeling
comfortable, Miss Bloom?

Very. And you?

As much as I can be,
considering the circumstances.

May I see what you're doing?

No, you must wait 'til I'm finished.

What do you think Crabtree
will think of this?

He's a modern man.

I am sure he'll be delighted.

I don't like this.

Well, it's very good.

Put your eyes back
into your head, Henry.

I'm just looking at the art.

- It's a fine painting.
- Well, I don't like it.

I don't like the idea of the Inspector

seeing my girl in the altogether.

Oh, my!

That is something.

I want one.

- Well, I think there is only the one.
- Oh, no. Not that one, silly.

I want one of myself.

- Where did this come from?
- No. The...

the Inspector painted it.

Oh, well! Then you must
introduce me to the Inspector.

Yes Henry, you must.

And when did you do this?

- Just yesterday.
- I see.

I think I should feature
it at the opening.

Oh, I think not.

It is my show.

And it is my gallery. You will
feature what I tell you to.

Oh, I think not.

I do hope I have not created a monster.

- No... You've created an artist.
- Oh...

Is that what you are?

May I remind you, Thomas,

that both monsters and
artists can be destroyed.

Crabtree!

In here, now!

- Sir.
- Did you do this?

- Good gracious, no.
- Then who was in my office?

Sir, I just returned from lunch
a scant few minutes ago myself.

Oh, what a shame.

- Did you do this?
- Me? Of course not.

I suppose you're back to
featuring me at your showing.

No.

No?

My work has grown since then.

Grown? You've only been
at it for a few days.

I'm a quick study.

If you have grown so much,
then you can paint me again.

And better this time.

I will open the show.

You will not!

- Sir.
- What is it, Murdoch?

A moment?

Sir, you must remain on this case.

You're my best chance.

This woman is being insufferable.

That may be, but she
remains our primary suspect.

Lady Carlye.

I shall paint you.

Good!

Let's get at it, then.

I should not speak ill of Lady Carlye.

She did keep me on
after her husband died.

I'm not asking you to speak ill of her.

I only ask that you speak the truth.

Where was Lady Carlye two days ago?

I don't know.

Could you describe
relations between Lady Carlye

and her late husband?

They fought, those two.

She told me it was because
they were madly in love.

Looked like madness
plain and simple to me.

Could you explain that?

I saw her hit him, sir.

And he was a man twice her age.

It was not like any love I've ever seen.

Thank you.

If I had known it was stolen, I
would have reported it immediately.

- Undoubtedly.
- Someone brought it in last night.

I didn't see the notice
it was stolen until later.

Thank you for informing me. Do you
have any idea who brought it in?

- John Smith.
- An alias.

That's what made me suspicious.

Well, thank you very much.

- If it remains unclaimed...
- It won't.

I don't know.

Yes, I do know. I don't like it.

I simply paint what I see.

Well, then perhaps you'd
best start seeing better.

Start again.

So when are you going to tell her?

Tell who, what?

When are you going to tell Miss
Faust you found her bicycle?

- What are you suggesting?
- I'm not suggesting anything.

I saw you wheeling her bicycle
into the evidence lock up.

Don't worry. I'm not
going to say anything.

I'm not sure I want her to leave.

Fair enough, Watts. But it
might not be the best way

to begin a friendship.

I mean, that stolen bicycle
is gonna grow in your mind

bigger and bigger until it consumes you.

- You haven't read your Poe, have you?
- Hm.

Yes. Well...

Perhaps I'll be over her in a few days,

then I'll find it for her.

I have ample grounds to bring her in.

Did you not hear what
I just said, Murdoch?

My exhibition opens tonight.

Sir, all whom I have spoken
to regarding Belinda Carlye

state she has a violent temper.

Fiery is more like it.

Her husband died under
mysterious circumstances.

An accident is what I heard.

Sir, she was missing from her home

the day Gavin Caswell was murdered.

A socialite leaves home, how suspicious!

All that said, I would like to
bring her in for questioning.

And so you should,

but not until tomorrow,
or the day after.

I will not have my show compromised!

Sir, there is a real possibility
you could become her next victim.

Oh, is that so? Well,
if that's the case,

I would imagine it would ensure
my work is even more valuable.

- Sir?
- That was a joke, Murdoch.

I'll be careful around her.

- Mm!
- Ah! Margaret,

I'd like to introduce you to my patron,

Lady Belinda Carlye. Lady Carlye,
my wife, Margaret Brackenreid.

- Charmed.
- I'm sure.

Excuse me, ladies.

What do you want with my husband?

Oh, I imagine I want the same thing

that many women want with him.

- Well I...
- And I do believe

he is an accomplished painter.

- If you try anything...
- I am merely setting the table.

It's your husband's choice
if he wishes to dine.

- Absolutely no idea what that is.
- Murdoch, Doctor Ogden.

- Sir.
- This is a beautiful gallery.

Certainly something that the
city's lacked up to this point.

- And your work is the star attraction!
- Again. Work.

- You indeed are the cock of the walk, Inspector.
- Thank you, Doctor.

Anything troubling you?

It's just unusual being
in one place for so long.

I guess I'm out of habit.

I'll find your bicycle. It will
just take a little more time,

and then you can be on your way.

Llewellyn, I have no
complaints about the company.

You are a marvelous companion.

I just like to finish what I start.

So do I.

You are wonderful.

I do consider myself very lucky
to have found a man like you.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

I am so pleased to welcome you to
my newly-created Fine Art Gallery.

It is my hope that one day
soon this gallery will be

amongst the finest in North
America if not the world.

- Yeah.
- In honour of our opening,

I would like to present to you
the work of a bright new talent

that I had the pleasure of
recently being introduced to.

I give you Thomas C. Brackenreid.

Do you like it, Doctor?

Yes. It's...

- It's quite good.
- Murdoch?

Ahem. Well...

it's very well rendered,
but I'm certainly no judge.

Bravo, Mr. Denton!

Well... I must say, Mr. Denton,

you're back.

What?

There's just something in this
painting that I'm drawn to.

It looks like another
ordinary painting to me.

I like it.

- Thank you.
- Well, purchase it if you must, but...

please, hang it in your office.

- Congratulations.
- Thank you.

Mr. Denton...

- this is brilliant.
- Brilliant?

It's nothing but twigs and leaves.

Mr. Brackenreid, collect your oils.

- I'm through with your service.
- What?

Mr. Denton will be my new prot�g�.

- I would be honoured.
- Lady Carlye!

Enough, Mr. Brackenreid.
I'm through with you.

No, you're not. You're
under arrest, love.

- What is he doing?
- What?

Ah, finally.

I thought you were going
to keep me here all night.

I just might.

You're just mad at me because
I found a better painter.

You and I both know that's
the only reason I'm here.

Don't be ridiculous.

Or is it that you know you've
lost your chance with me?

- Denton's half the painter I am.
- No. No, he is not.

And I am confident
he'll be much more a man.

You murdered Caswell just
like you murdered your husband.

Don't be preposterous.
Where's your proof?

I'll find it.

Then talk to me when you
do. I'm finished for now.

Just think how much you stood to gain

if you'd satisfied me.

Llewelyn!

I couldn't wait.

So I got a new one.
Still getting used to it.

- And you're leaving?
- Tomorrow morning.

I thought you wanted to complete
the ride on your original bicycle.

I did, but I'm wagering
that it will never be found.

- If you would just give me a little more time...
- I'm sorry...

but I have to finish this.

Can I see you once more?

Of course! That is why I came by.

- Tonight?
- Of course.

Ah...

Well, William, the result of you
considering Mr. Caswell's painting

ghastly is that you didn't
look at it closely enough.

It struck me when I
saw Mr. Denton's work.

Can you see it now?

Just that neither are particularly good.

That Denton's a bloody copycat!

Not that either of them are any good.

You may think that, Inspector...

But take a look at this.

Julia! That may be evidence.

I'm going to show you
that it is evidence.

The thing I found appealing
about Mr. Caswell's work

was his sense of scale and perspective.

I did find his choice of tones
and colours a little garish.

But when I saw Mr.
Denton's work at the gallery

I was struck by the similarity.

Well the Dragon Lady did say that
Mr. Caswell changed his style.

It was the reason she
withdrew her patronage.

He did more than change his style.

After an oil is cured,
it's often finished

with a copal varnish
that will never dissolve.

Mr. Denton did that,
but Mr. Caswell did not.

He stole Mr. Denton's
paintings and painted over them.

He used Mr. Denton's inspiration
to create his landscapes.

But Denton said all his
paintings were destroyed.

Well, we know of at
least one that wasn't.

I think a conversation is in order.

- Excellent work, Julia.
- Thank you.

I still don't think either
one of them is any good.

Neither do I.

- Sour grapes, Mr. Brackenreid?
- Hardly.

Losing a patron of Belinda's quality,

I'm sure, is no small financial loss.

As well as other things...

- I'm a married man.
- She was a married woman,

husband only months into the ground.

I am already most aware of
what you are now missing.

- You're not in here for that.
- Then why?

Show him.

We found this beside Mr. Caswell's body.

I suppose my only question to you is

when did you learn Mr.
Caswell burnt down your studio

and stole your work?

As a fellow artist, I can
understand why you killed him.

I didn't.

Both motive and
opportunity suggest you did.

He did you wrong, sir.

He did.

And he deserved what he got.

All of them were jealous of my ability,

but I never thought one
of them would go that far.

With the ferocity of the fire,

I imagined that my
work was lost forever.

I was wrong.

He would have never attained

the heights that he did
without my... my guidance.

Without my sense of
space and perspective.

They didn't see it, but I did.

There was no mistaking what I saw.

You can't just steal a man's soul
and expect to get away with it.

- I do have to leave, Lewellyn.
- I know.

- Watch your step.
- Ooh!

As romantic as a kidnapping can be...

I just want you to leave in
the style you are accustomed to.

- You found it!
- I did indeed.

Oh, this is so joyous.

Thank you.

Yes. I almost didn't give it to you.

- I found it yesterday.
- Yesterday?

And you didn't tell me?

I thought if I hid it you would stay,

but when I saw you ride up...

Well,

- I knew I couldn't keep you.
- No, you couldn't.

Were you really gonna deny me my dream?

I thought about it, but no.

I would be lying if I didn't
say I'm sorely tempted to stay.

But you can't.

I want to finish this.

- I have to finish this.
- Of course.

And six months from now,
I will be done. So...

if you would like,

I do think a trip back
here would be a lot quicker.

I would like that.

I'm ready for my
portrait, Mr. Brackenreid.

Oh, uh... Miss Newsome. Not tonight.

I have another model.

You can leave now.

Hm!

You ready, Margaret?

Are you ready, Thomas?

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -