All language subtitles for ripper.street.s04e01.part.2.1080p.bluray.x264-turmoil

Your wife. She who languishes
in Newgate these three years.

Yeah, I can do math, Drake.
Yet you still make no plans to visit?

- I can't lose you!

Then save me,
or else I will die, Matthew.

- The rabbi, Leon Ratovski,
visited London from Paris.

Isaac Bloom killed him in a Whitechapel
laneway and will hang for it.

Mr. Bloom, do you know why you are here?
The guilt that men assume is yours?

Isaac did not do such a thing.
It is not within him.

And who else shares this conviction?
Only myself.

- And, I hoped, perhaps yourself.

His name is Sayid Kalim Abdul Al-Qadir.
He was my son.

And extreme beliefs
beget extreme action, Inspector.

- We must put an end
to this Muslim Patriotic League.

- Is it therefore incumbent
upon us, we Muslim men,

advanced by the privilege
of our British educations...

- Mr. Drake, sir.
I believe you wish

to interview this man, Mr. Drake.

- Roy, that's your girl Kay!

Christ! No!

- No! Kay!

- Pune, India.
The Deputy Governor of that state

assassinated at a jubilee tea party
by this man javed Akhram.

He, as Mr. Hafeez,

as Sayid Al-Qadir, your victim,

also a graduate of Deccan College.

Hafeez, do you know who
this gentleman is, his back to us?

That, Mr. Dove, is Mr. Abdul Karim.

The Munshi?
The same.

Victoria's brown right arm,

an invited guest to a gathering of our
Muslim Patriotic League's top brass,

and here in pleasing colloquy with
Mr. Imran Hafeez, your murder suspect.

This, watch report number 3691,
Friday 18th jejune 1897,

which - for those hard of counting,
Mr. Drake - is this Friday ust passed.

"Subject Hafeez, Imran observed
in an urgent gesticulation

"with subject Al-Qadir, Sayid,
your murder victim.

"Shoving and punching
between both gentlemen."

And this latter gentleman now washes up,
his throat cut,

on a Whitechapel dockside.

All this but days from the most
significant act of patronage

that our glorious empire has ever known.

Makes me restive, Mr. Dove.
It makes me urgent curious.

So I shall be taking this Mr. Hafeez,
and I shall see that curiosity fed.

On whose authority, Mr. Constantine?

On my own, Mr. Drake.

On that of the realm's inviolability.

Forgive me, Mr. Dove.

These spies, it is their business
to imagine threat where none yet exists,

but what we have here in our deadroom
is a sight more real

than the fancies he summons up
of Indian cuckoos in our Queen's nest.

Mr. Dove, surely you see the greater
scale of our priorities here.

Mr. Hafeez will be remanded
to Inspector Drake's care.

And if I have you overruled?

Who here overrules me?

Do not think me gone for Long.

You are fixed to that view today,
Miss Susan.

It is of interest to me today.

Of course.

It must go hard to think...

Well, to know that you will not feel
that free sky above you after all.

Do you gloat, Doctor?
Perhaps a little.

Perhaps I am in fact relieved
that the 55 souls you accounted for

will now have their justice.

It, er... it had been troubling me,
I, er... do confess.

Well, I'm glad to have removed
such disquiet from your conscience.

I wonder...

will you offer a prayer
for my soul in return,

as you stand over my corpse
and confirm my passing?

Oh, I shall.
Hmm.

Perhaps also stand
at that commoners' boneyard,

offer greeting to that husband of yours,

as he does what he can
to comfort your boy.

No, God damn you.

By my reckoning, I'd say you were set on
one form of mischief or another.

You send no news.
You don't answer your mail.

You send none.
I don't speak for myself.

He's quite the crestfallen soldier
for a while or so.

But as you say, I am not the stripe
of man for nostalgia, not then, not now.

So, if you forgive me, Reid,
I've got bad business to attend.

Do you have any objection
to my walking with you?

Plenty.
Then call a policeman.

The sea air is agreeable, Reid.

It's brought out
the well-fed plutocrat in you.

That is silver in your beard, is it not?

It is gray, Reid.

Silver, I'd be drawing a pension.

Social visit?
It is not.

Well, why don't you
state your business, Reid?

Midsummer it may be,
but the day is short.

Isaac Bloom.

He is sentenced to hang.
On your conviction.

Not mine, Reid, not mine.
You conducted the autopsy.

You assembled the forensical evidence
for your inspector.

I did.

But why, Reid? Why the care?

You miss this all so much?

The care was asked of me.
Who by?

Well, it doesn't matter.
Oh, it doesn't, does it?

He was my friend.
So was Drake, Reid.

I don't see you giving one snide
farthing for his well being.

Bennet Drake is not one day's grace
from the hangman.

Should he find you Lurking
about the place, however,

putting that mistrustful mind of yours

to the querying
of his professional conduct...

No man was ever more loyal
to another than he to you,

but I think that even he would be moved
to your injuring in such a circumstance.

Which is why I asked you...
Excuse me.

Do you pay my wages?
You do not. He does.

And it's a poor assumption of yours
that this faithlessness you imagine

so ingrained in me would, by one simple
tug on my tit, sell Drake out to you!

No, Reid, why don't you find yourself
another pigeon?

You follow me, I'm gonna shoot you.

You are a sneaky fellow, American.

I do not like sneaky fellows, in truth.

Now, this, I imagine,
is that elephant horn

reported thieved from
the customs house.

I prefer "liberated".

That place, they burn it all, you know,
if the Crown's duty is not paid.

Why should an honest wharfinger not
profit from such thriftless squandering?

Why, indeed?

Because you thieve from the Queen, Abel.

Do you fire your cannons across my bow,
Captain... Jackson?

I cannot imagine for why,

when you owe me one sovereign ton
for the berth to New York City

I have brokered, in no little secrecy,
for you and your wife and child.

I had assumed you came to settle,

but your current manner
suggests otherwise.

Do you cancel your billet therefore?

- I hope not to.

Yeah, yeah.

Christ, Abel, what is this stuff?
Turmeric.

Sweat it down with some onions,
diced side of bacon, hot stock.

Good eating.

But the staining...

it is the very devil.

But enough of my galley skills.

I should like my cash spending from you.

- I, er...

I don't have it.
Aw...

but I have laid out, Captain,
therefore you must also.

Them's the rules.
I thought to do so

in alternative currency, however.

Until I can hand you
those 100 sovereigns.

(SIGHS) Then name your tender.

Knowledge.

We transact under different terms,
therefore.

Well, we... we renegotiate the terms.

Those being, Captain?

You, Mr. Drake, you think the man correct
in his suspicions?

This man, Constantine.

I know him not a good man, sir.

And most every thought he ever had
an evil one.

But this... What my son...

What Sayid has written -
these are not only evil thoughts.

He has written them.
He has proclaimed them.

Major, we understand, do we not,

the difference between thinking a thing
and doing a thing?

That it is action which makes
matter real, not ideas.

Yet I do not think such ideas
came to him

without the influence of Imran Hafeez.

His death, therefore, similarly so.

Well, Mr. Hafeez, he is the thinking
kind, not the doing kind.

This man Constantine, he wishes
to torture him. You understand?

Ideas do not merit such a fate,
not in my opinion.

He will not talk to me, Major.

And I believe he might to you.

It is good of you, Rose,
to come at such rapid request.

Of course, Susan.

You are forever my friend.

Then I am indeed fortunate,
as is my son.

I do not know what spell
I've been beneath

to have neglected
the thought for so long.

But I am awake now, Rose,
and awoken to a horror...

What horror, Susan?

What is to become of my boy?

Rose, I do not think
his father can care for him.

He is not equipped, in my opinion.

Then, Rose, where else will there be
for him but the workhouse?

Well...

there is... one home I might think of.

There is?

Ours.

Yours?

Oh... Oh, I would love him!

Love him fierce, Susan!

And I will forever keep him
in mind of the truth of you...

my friend.

Mrs. Drake?
Hello, Drum.

Is he here?

He is.

Rose?

Jesus Christ! What's the purpose
of such machinery if it cannot be...?

- Everything's all right, my love?

Bennet,
I have kept secrets from you.

OK, this should be good.

Well...

best you get it off your chest, Rose.

Newgate, Bennet,
in the jail there with Miss Susan.

You what, Rose?

Now, Bennet, you swallow

that rage of yours. Firstly, it's not
as if I announce your cuckolding.

Second, I'm not even close
to getting started.

You are the one in a press, so,
the quicker I say this and you agree,

the quicker you may be back at it.

Well, you tell me what it is
I'm agreeing to, then.

I am trying, Bennet!

There is a little boy we could have.

One who lives already.

One who is in desperate need of us
to give him a home, to protect him.

A little boy who...

What is it she calls him?

Connor.

This boy Connor has a father, Rose.
None that is any use to him.

Not unless it is the skill
to cheat at a gaming table

at six in the morning,

or shoot a bottle of rum off
the upturned behind of a musical hoofer,

but not what it is to be a man.

Not the man you are, Bennet.

I don't seem to recall you complaining
overly when it was your behind, darling.

Slippery soul that you are.

No.

I will not have you
stand in judgment of me.

Not you, of all!

They are up there,
Captain Jackson - your wife, your child!

And she, as you well know, soon to go
to her end, but yet you do not visit.

You pay them no mind!

Your son!

Your living flesh!
Are you done?

Er, your man downstairs,
he's got staining about the wound.

Now, at first I thought simply
contusion, discoloring therefore,

but, all these Indians,
it was caused by contact with turmeric.

It's a spice. It's powder.
50, my thinking,

it was about the cuffs
or the wrists of the sleeve

as the knife was pulled across.

Bennet...

Rose, as I said, the boy has a father.

When the mother is... gone,

it is up to Jackson to resolve. Right?

Take him.

-This hatred of my empire and
Queen, these were my son's true beliefs?

They were, Major Al-Qadir.

-I cannot believe he came
to them without you.

Hmm.

And which beliefs did he come to
because of you?

I am his father.

That is a notional term, sir.

You have a cheek. You always did.

I recall the first time
my mother asked him to eat with us.

He said, "I do not eat with my fingers."

My mother asked him why.

He said, "My father says it is so."

My mother asked him,
"And where is your father?"

Sayid replied,
"He marches to war in Kandahar."

She asked him who it was would
then rule in Afghanistan.

He replied...

"Why, the Empress Victoria." -

So we showed him how to eat
with his hands while you were at war.

If we believe another person is wrong,
which is worse?

To persuade that person with violence
or with ideas?

And if ideas bring men to violence,
if these... ideas

of Sayid's brought another to...

Why will you not speak?

Did you not... care for him?

Like a brother.

And brothers fight.

You are watched, Imran, by men who,
though, yes, we serve the same Queen,

I see no honor in them.

Why did you fight with Sayid?

I do not know who killed your son,

but, yes, we fought.

And we did so because...

he stole.

Your son was a thief.

They were zakat, Mr. Drake, alms.

And it was almost £200
for the Indian merchant seamen

on the docks.

Lascars?
Yes, sir.

Funds were raised, to be distributed
among those men

who were left without a ship to crew,
to... ease their need.

And...

my Sayid stole it.

He steals the money meant for the
lascars, therefore they kill him.

No. See, here, a draft amendment to
the Merchant Shipping Act.

Authors, Mr. R Ahmad,
and Mr. SKA Al-Qadir.

"To give more robust and far-reaching
legal protection in this country

"to the status of those merchant seamen
from the South Asian colonies."

He, Mr. Hafeez also,
they fight for lascars.

This was a cornerstone of
his legal career.

Why would he steal from them,
and why would they kill him?

Please, Inspector, there is
a particular clause that by Law

they would then be allowed to find
other work whilst they remain here.

That is cause for more than offense.

There are slim pickings
down on those docks.

And Mr. Sayid lobbied that they be
stretched even further to accommodate

men of both different color and creed.
Stevedores, lumpers, lightermen.

All of whom may have cause to handle
a cargo of turmeric.

But what of this 200 nicker, sir?

Christ knows.

Mr. Drummond, you will by morning

have found each and every shipment of
South Asian spices

to have been lumped ashore between
St Katherine's and the Isle of Dogs.

Sergeant Thatcher,

the bunkhouse for foreign shipping crews

on West India Dock Road.
The Strangers' Home, sir?

Yes - you and I are paying a visit.

We shall see what those lascars know
about the thief, Potter Chowdey.

- Inspector Drake, sir, if I may.

DS Thatcher has many
admirable qualities, but...

I'm not sure
the speaking of Urdu is one.

You crowing cock, Drum! Do you want
that snide little nose of yours broke?

Come now, Sergeant, we are one uniform.

Major, would you consider...

Word from the top, Inspector Drake.
Colonial Secretary Chamberlain himself.

You are to release your prisoner to me.

I would not have had it happen this way.

If I learn that this man has been
injured or harmed in any way,

your Secretary Chamberlain
shall hear from me, sir.

And you imagine
he shall give two tosses, do you?

He's the Colonial Secretary,
and you're the colonial.

You are to him no more than
a trained circus pony.

Best you understand that.

Here is the lesson, Major.

They dress you in this costume and puff
you full of a confected self-importance,

the purpose of which is only this -
that we here in this country

may slowly bleed your country dry,

whilst your back is turned,
parading in our honor.

Now...

I shall be taking
this little... insurrectionist

and putting him under the boot.

Mr. Drake,
there is not a thing to be done.

There may be now.

However, we will show our special branch
that they are dogs

barking up the wrong tree entirely.

Mr. Drummond, those dockside work gangs,
get to the wires.

Sergeant Thatcher. Major Al-Qadir, sir,
with me, if you please.

The spice shipments,
Assistant Commissioner,

all those from South India.

There were five in the last fortnight,

and these are names of those men
to lead those work gangs.

One such name chimes heavy with me, sir.

And which one is that, Sergeant?

Teague.

He's a union steward.

One moment, if you will, sir.

His daughter, Kay Teague,

she threw herself off of the dock gates
at the Western only this morning.

That is rich coincidence, Mr. Drummond.

Is it not, sir?

See the news communicates
to Inspector Drake.

I will, sir.

Reassure him that I myself
will investigate these others.

Very good, Assistant Commissioner.

If this man stole,
he did so with love in his heart,

and only to give
to another in greater need.

And does he have any indication as to
whose that greater need might be?

It is thought Sayid had a lover here,
who he met here.

He says... um... he says
she is a white woman.

Roy Teague's daughter?

We have a testimony here

says there is a young white woman

who shared intimacies
with Major Al-Qadir's son.

Understood, Sergeant.

Give my thanks to Mr. Dove.

There is a wake we must attend.

- Is Roy Teague here?

No, sir. He could not bear the sight
and bolted.

Ah...!

What trouble brings you here,
young Mr. Dove?

I've a worry which roots itself
in these parts.

Why, you surprise me.

This is that Indian fellow which washed
ashore at the Western, then?

This Indian nurtured opinions...
on this country, on its ruler...

she who will soon pass
not too far from here.

He not only had opinions, Abel.

He had stolen 200 sterling, also.

Two tons? Your masters fear
some plot afoot, do they?

I believe it fear alone.

Well...

But there are... other indications
bring me down here.

Spice cargoes.

Turmeric.

The work gangs who brought
such shipments ashore.

And my name among them.

It was not you nor none of your own
who opened the man's throat for him?

It was not me, Augustus.

There is not one atom of life,
human or otherwise,

which lands on this stretch of water

without that you know its nature.

This is true.

Then what is at the root of this, Abel?

Well...

£200 gone missing, you say?

No need to unsettle yourself, my lad.

This is not some grand foreign plot,
but Local mischief.

You leave dock disorders to dock folk.

Golem!

Stop! Wait!

Please, wait, wait. Wait!

Goren, Deborah Goren.
Deborah Goren?

Ah...

She will speak for me.
She will speak for me.

just wait here.

Please, calm yourselves.
My friends, please, calm yourselves!

He was there because I invited him!

I invited him!
Why would you invite Edmund Reid,

inspector as he was,

into the rooms of Isaac Bloom?

Why, Deborah?
Mr. Reid and I, we share, I hope,

a fear that Isaac's conviction
may be unsafe.

Is this true?

I had, er... I had hoped to investigate.

No, that was never proved, never.
What does he say?

There's a belief in the community
that it's being haunted by a monster.

Golem.

What gave them this belief?

Well, they said that children awoke with
a dark figure standing over their beds,

an etching scratched in the walls,
jaws of savage creatures.

Er... On occasion, they thought they had
trapped it, but it was strong and fast,

and leapt from roof to roof.

And this they believe
to have been Bloom?

Yes, they believe.

The boy'll be safe,
cared for while we,

you know, reassemble ourselves.

How will this reassembling take place?

Yeah, it's all under good control.

But then once we are prepared,
all we have to do is take him.

From Rose? It would kill her.

That is a metaphor, darling.

The killing that comes your way,
that ain't.

We have no funds with which to run,

and I will be hunted.
Don't you see, darling?

That's entirely the beauty of it.

But the man Probyn. It is he who must
confirm that the hangman's job is done,

and the bond we had,
surely it is broken now.

Ssh, ssh, ssh, ssh.

You're gonna leave Probyn to me.

Guns and horses.

No doubt this has been
quite the ugliest of days for you.

Our condolences for your daughter.

I will take the drink, Croker.

I don't think I trust you enough to sit.

Fair enough, old son.

Do you have it?

Word is you have something urgent to
relay to me on the subject of my Kay.

Word is, Roy, you do not hand
that sack of money to me,

I shall see the whole world
apprised of who it was

cut that Indian gentleman's throat
for him.

Why would you do such a thing, Roy?

Not for you to question what I do
in the interest of my family

or my community.

Oh, it is murdering has clearly advanced
the interests

of both those constituents.

Your community's suffering every
bluebottle this side of the Aldgate Pub

crawling up its fundament.

And your family, well, Roy...

it is masterful self-delusion

to think you have helped them one jot.

That gold-skinned grandson of yours...

where's his ma now?

Oh, you, you were always
a hothead and a rabble-rouser,

too eager for a moan and a bullhorn
when a moment's contemplation

might have brought you some perspective.

But you are emotional.

NAnd you are political,

always tossing on about
the rights of working man,

and forgetting that the rice-eaters
and the coolies you hate so much,

that they too are working men.

They are not of this city,
and they are not of this country.

Men like that lawyer...

Ah, the Mohammedan lad
that was up your Kay, him.

Yes, him!

Telling us we have to compete

for the same scraps as those murdering,
moon-faced bastards!

Ah, correct me if I'm wrong,
it is you what's done the murdering?

In all truth, Roy, I knew it
the moment you kicked up such rage

when I had Nate here
wash him up at the Western.

I do like me a pineapple.

How about you?

I like it good enough.

Now, you see, this pineapple

is a lascar brought here
on the world's ocean currents.

A piece of fruit is not a man.

But it... it provides for a man,
however, eh?

Its cultivation, its shipping,
its trade, and so...

such fruits become part of our lives.

Lascars, all their color,
plenty more besides.

Not if working men in this city
stay tight.

Ah... you need to take a look about.

There is a city out there

tuned to cheer its Queen
as she parades her way through it.

But what is that Queen?

She is an empress, but her empire is
not solely England, boy.

It is the world.

And therefore the world comes to London,

and London becomes the world.

This is not because Englishmen
are good or pretty...

but because we understood
quicker than all

good trade made for greater power.

Power which you will always lack for,
Roy,

until you understand that there is
but one boat afloat in this world,

and it is this.

(ROY GASPS)
You roll with the future times...

or the future times will roll over you.

It was a Burmese silk captain
showed me that.

Slip a knife between a man's ribs
without him even feeling it.

See what a man might Learn
if he opens his heart to the world, Roy?

But you, as we know,
are an ignorant fellow.

A man of the riverside,
and yet you cannot so much as place

a dead man in that river
and get him lost.

You need to weigh the cargo down, Roy,

and let your tide help you through.

Nate here knows how.

I showed him.

Yeah.

You are going deep, my friend.

Out into the estuary,

the black river mouth...

the belly of the seas beyond.

You're the husband, are you not?

I am, Doctor.

What is it you want?

Have you, er...
Have you found the wherewithal?

Of a kind.

Well, I'll show you if you ask nice.

Ssh! Ssh!

Say what?

Oh, what do I want?

Well, I want you to help her
as you contracted to do.

Are you really gonna quibble
with a pistol in your mouth?

You don't do this, I will kill you.

How does that sound?

There is no time, however.
It... it is but hours away.

I... I... I can't.

The men... the laundry.

The plan cannot work.

Well, there's a new plan, however.

Now, it's you the prison governor's
gonna look to

for confirmation of her death, correct?

Uh-huh.

Mr. Bloom.

Mr. Bloom!

Will you explain something to me, sir?

If I can.

What is a golem?

It may mean many things.

An unformed being of human shape,
but not human,

a monster made by other men
to protect or attack.

Children of Whitechapel report
seeing such a being, sir...

a dark figure entering the rooms
of the young, leaping from rooftops.

My people have avid imaginations.

Your people now imagine that figure
to be yourself, Mr. Bloom.

But I am not strong.
I have no athleticism.

Why would I seek to frighten children?

I... I am occupied!

Do you know a man named Ratovski -
a rabbi, also?

Of course. Leon Ratovski's work
on vector spaces

has been deeply influential,

but... but he... He is dead.

How is he dead?

He... He is killed.
At whose hand?

I believe you play games with me.

Then tell me.

By my hand, so it is said.

And do you deny it?

I was not believed.
Will you deny it now?

What is the use?

I might believe you!

Your instinct as regards
the tidal patterns...

your workings were sound.

Such strong forces colliding,
they will create a vortex.

But the breakwater, this, er, pier,
they have built houses the vortex.

Gives it shape,
drives it into the land.

So the pier must be removed.

That will not help.
Pier, no pier, the vortex is made.

This land...

not to be lived on.

Mr. Bloom, please.

Did you kill Leon Ratovski?

Leon Ratovski was my friend.

And did you know he was in Whitechapel?

I did. He visited me.

But he did not come to Whitechapel
to visit me.

Then why?

To see another.

He said, to right a wrong.

A wrong? What kind?

An abandonment, he said. A child.

Which?

I promised not to say.

And I would not ask my friends
to break an oath.

And he left you then, yes?

Mr. Reid,

I could no more kill Leon Ratovski

than I could kill myself.

Ah, Mr. Drake.
Kind of you to save me the trouble.

You may take
your prisoner back yourself.

Mr. Hafeez, sir, I am sorry.

I am sorry.

Yes, it is a sadness to cause
such suffering without reward.

He told you nothing, then?

No, no. Too much, in fact.

Anything I asked him,
he screamed confirmation.

Too eager to please, you see.

And I never trust the word of a man
who's too eager to please.

Nah... no monster, he.

Your prisoner, Inspector.

Inspector.

What?

I didn't know what to do with him, sir.
He waits in your office, therefore.

Who does?

Go and see.

Hello, Bennet.

And this you've done on nothing
but the suspicion of one woman?

A woman who... Forgive me, Mr. Reid.

I currently lack for energy
and therefore tact,

but this is the woman for whom
you shamed your wife, is it not?

I did warn you.

What? You knew?

You knew he was here, pushing
his refined nose into work he had

long since abandoned?
Now, Drake, I merely told him...

Do not "now" me nothing, Jackson!

I do not know why I should feel
the slightest taken aback.

The pair of you always were like
two rats in a sack!

What did he tell you?
He told me nothing, Bennet.

He made heavy point of it.

Did he tell you how we made the case?

No. As I am trying to say,
I know nothing.

Did he tell you about the clothes
we found in Bloom's apartment?

Your genius here took fingerprints from
the white breast placket of his shirt.

Quite so, Mr. Reid, fingerprints.

But accredited this time,
given as evidence.

The victim,
Rabbi Ratovski's bloody fingerprints

stuck on a shirt of Isaac Bloom.

And not one word of denial did he make,
Mr. Reid.

He did so to me.

Did you know, Bennet,
that Ratovski and Bloom were friends,

students of mathematics together
in Paris?

Mr. Reid, I do not think
you may call me Bennet no longer.

And I care not whether
they were students of mathematics

or cat shit together!

Follow me, if you will, Mr. Reid.

Have a good butcher's at this, Mr. Reid.

What's this, compressor technology?

It's a, er, evaporative cycle...
ammonia, carbon dioxide, and ether.

Listen to me, the both of you!
I do not give

two silent sods
about the technology of it.

This, Mr. Reid, you should
save your shock and awe for this.

Now, we did not release
such knowledge to the press,

but you ask him what they are.

What are they, Captain?

Those are bite marks, Reid...

flesh torn out with teeth.

The case file, clause 15... read it.

"Found beneath suspect's cot,
one morsel of human flesh.

"Weight one-and-a-half pounds
as confirmed by Captain Jackson.

"Characteristics consistent with
that removed from victim's thorax."

He will hang.

He will.

He won't be alone, neither.

You will visit her at last, then?

Yeah, last day on Earth -
I believe I will.

Please, please, Connor,
it's for the best.

A song, Rose, he likes a song.

A pinch of cinnamon and brown sugar
in hot milk.

Take him.

Come, Miss S. You must ready yourself.

The three of you in harness once again.

I'm glad you shan't be lonely.

SUSAN: Wrong corpse, Captain.

Ow! Christ, Matthew, you might at least
remove this contraption

before you have at me.

Don't ever die for real. Understand?

It is true, then.

It is.

I hope you are not angered.

Why would I feel anger, Mr. Reid?

My friend is home.

What will you do for work?

I haven't given it too much thought.

Oh.

It would not be so hard, I think,
to have a warrant card made for you,

should you wish it.

Needs must, you would work under me,
however.

And the man, Bloom, that matter is shut.

The men cannot see me challenged.

Nor will I be.

So, Mr. Reid, what is your wish?

Today you return to your duties
at Leman Street.

We are lucky indeed to have him back
with us.

Father!

Tommy Riggs, a runaway.
What possessed you to come back here?

- I have questions of the workhouse.

I know a boy in its care may die.

- You are going beyond here.

- There is no hope for him.