All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries (2008) - S04E04 - Downstairs Upstairs (1080p BluRay x265 Langbard)

Calm yourself, Nancy,

or you'll be chipping
the fine china.

Imagine the trouble then.

Don't joke
at a time like this.

Don't fret.
All will be well.

Billy, I'm worried--

Three cups, Nancy.

Make it four.
Another's expected.

So did you do it?

Did you do it?

Your tea, sir.

Ah, wonderful.
Much thanks.

Two lumps, yes?

Yes, sir.

Oh, my,
lovely aroma.

Good morning,
Constable Crabtree.

Ah, sir!

Detective, this is Mr. Heward.

Mr. Heward, Detective Murdoch.

Mr. Heward is the butler, sir.

I take it you'll be
forgoing tea, Detective?

Yes.

That'll be all, Billy.

What have you, George?

Sir, the housekeeper
discovered that...

I'm very sorry, sir.

The housekeeper discovered
the body at 8:30.

The victim's wife was the last

to see him alive
at a quarter past.

A difference of 15 minutes.

A small window of opportunity.

Mr. Heward, was there any sign
of an intruder?

No, sir, the windows
and doors were intact.

Possible murder weapon, sir.

Yes.
But there's no blood on it.

A killer could
have wiped it clean.

I'll have it dusted
for finger marks in any case.

Very good, George.

Gentlemen, if there's nothing
further required for the moment?

No, Mr. Heward,
that will be all, thank you.

Sir, if the house
was locked up tight,

the killer must live here.

Yes, we'll need statements
from the staff and family,

George.

I have the lads seeing
to that now.

Very good.
Have you notified Dr. Francis?

He's on his way, although
I fear my telephone call

may have interrupted
his breakfast.

I take it
he was less than pleased?

As usual, sir.

What will he say about
the cause of Mr. Jenkins' death?

With his gift for stating
the obvious,

he'll no doubt conclude

that this was not
a case of poisoning.

Men's clothes exclusively.

Yes, sir.

Mrs. Jenkins has a bedroom
down the hall.

I believe that's common practice
with these upper-crust folks.

Yes, well, two people slept
in this bed last night.

At last.

I was running out of rooms.

Dr. Francis, good morning.

For some it is, I suppose.

That said,
if we take this gentleman...

His condition frames
my unfinished boiled egg

in stark perspective.

Dead less than two hours.

Nasty little hole in the head.

Doctor, would you say the gaff
from a fireplace poker

could be in keeping
with what you see here?

Why not?

I'll know better

when I flush and drain the wound
back at the morgue,

my home away from home.

Away from home.

- Constable Crabtree.
- Sir?

Has the house been secured?

It has,
and I've posted a man here, sir.

Very good.
What have you?

Well, sir, we have nine people
in the home

at the time of the murder.

Carry on.

Well, as you know,

the deceased
is Percival Jenkins.

In relation to him,

we have his mother,
Mrs. Jenkins Sr.,

his wife Nora,
the youngest son Nicholas,

and his fiancée Clara Thorn.

The older son Victor
is upstairs.

Apparently
he'll be along shortly.

As for servants, we have
the housekeeper Ms. Allen,

Nancy Booth the scullery maid,

Florence Culliwick
the parlor maid,

and Billy Slater the footman.

You've left out Mr. Heward
the butler.

Well, sir, apparently
Mr. Heward was at the tailor

between 8:00 and 8:30 picking up
a suit for Mr. Jenkins.

Or so he says.

Thank you, George.
Please confirm that.

I will do, sir.

Sir, also, the parlor maid,
Florence Culliwick,

says that she heard Mr. Jenkins
and his wife arguing

about ten past 8:00.

Indeed?
Thank you, George.

- Is that the new coachman?
- Hush, Mother-in-law.

Ladies and gentlemen,

my name is detective William
Murdoch of the Toronto--

I hope I haven't kept you
all waiting.

Toronto Constabulary, I believe
you were about to say.

Please carry on.

How like you, Victor,

the grand entrance, even on
the morning of Father's death.

I'm sure you'd prefer
I slink in guiltily

as you would have,
Nicholas,

but unlike you,
I didn't kill father.

- Take that back!
- Boys, for God's sake.

All right, that's quite
enough, both of you.

The detective
has something to say.

A man was murdered
in this house.

I offer my condolences
and my assurance

that the constabulary
will bring the perpetrator

of this crime
to justice.

Now, you've given
your statements.

Over the next few days, we'll be
comparing those statements

and gathering evidence.

Detective, are you saying
that we're all suspects?

I'm merely asking
that you keep yourselves

available for questioning.

That will be all for now.

Thank you very much
for your cooperation.

Mrs. Jenkins,
if you could remain.

Will you be needing anything,
madam?

Mrs. Jenkins,
my sincere sympathies.

Yes.

I understand you
and your husband

were having an argument shortly
before he was found dead?

Who told you that?

What was the argument about?

It was a personal matter.
It had nothing to do with this.

Please answer the question.

He'd been rude
and impossible, as always.

Is that enough
of an answer for you?

Did you sleep in your
husband's bed last night,

Mrs. Jenkins?

No. I did not.

Thank you for your time,
Mrs. Jenkins.

Oh, good, a chart.

Sir, in a case
with ten suspects,

careful organization
of information is paramount.

I'll make a note of that.

First task is to determine

who had opportunity
to kill Mr. Jenkins.

Of those who had motive
and with evidence,

hopefully that list
will be narrowed down to one.

And do you have any evidence?

No, sir.

Yes, George?

Sir, I've confirmed
the butler's alibi.

Oh, bravo, Murdoch.
One down, nine to go.

Also, sir, I found two sets
of finger marks

on the bedroom poker,
the first set belonging

to Florence Culliwick,
the parlor maid--

Well, that's
to be expected.

Parlor maids generally tend
to the fires in the big houses.

The other set belonged
to Nicholas Jenkins,

the youngest son.

Yes, I used the poker,

attending to the fire in my
father's room last night.

Isn't that usually
the job of the maid?

How absurd to ring
for the maid

to do something I could
so easily do myself.

What were you doing
in your father's room?

We were having words.

About?

He had insulted
my fiancée Clara.

How so?

When the servants had told him
that Clara had gone down

to their quarters
to fetch some thread

instead of ringing them
to bring it up.

And?

He intimated that's where
Clara belonged, downstairs.

My parents feel she's not good
enough for me,

but my family,
to my shame,

is not nearly good enough
for her.

I see.

And where were you between 8:15
and 8:30 this morning?

In the library.

Can anyone confirm this?

Billy brought me tea
and the morning papers,

but that was before 8:00.

You don't think Nicholas did
his old man in, then?

Sir, the guilty
rarely volunteer their motive

or undercut their alibi.

More than anything,
he appears to be a man in love.

That's him finished with,
then.

So that just leaves
the parlor maid?

Yes, Florence Culliwick,

whom, as you said, tends
to every fire in the household.

Now, if the murder weapon
was indeed a fireplace poker,

then perhaps it just wasn't
the one in Mr. Jenkins' room.

George, see to it that every
fire poker in the house

is brought in
and dusted for finger marks.

Sir, will do.

Now, then,

I need some certainty
about this murder weapon.

Ah, Murdoch, with your usual
impeccable timing.

I'm off to an early dinner
with my wife

and then a recital.

Musical saw and spoons,
no doubt.

I only require a moment
of your time.

Cause of death:
wound to the head.

Approximately 3 5/16
inches deep.

I think your poker theory
has some merit.

Wonderful.

Could you make a mold
of the wound

so I can compare it
to potential murder weapons?

I've never done such a thing.

And I'm not about to start now.

Why not?

You know, Murdoch...

there is more to life than this.

This is all of them, sir.

No two are alike.

I assume they've been checked
for blood and finger marks?

Yes, sir. No blood.

And curiously enough,
most of the handles

have been wiped down.

I'm wondering if the killer
perhaps forgot

which one he used.

I imagine the parlor maid
could have cleaned

all of the handles during
the course of her daily duties.

So this is a model
of the Jenkins' house, sir?

After a crude fashion, George.

The dark chess pieces represent
the Jenkins' family,

and the white ones stand in
for the servants.

Ah, so this is Victor Jenkins
in his bedroom?

Yes, and Victor's brother
Nicholas Jenkins in the library.

This is Clara Thorn,
the fiancée,

in the morning room.

And Nora Jenkins, the wife,
in the conservatory, and so on.

George, I think
if we can determine

which room the murder weapon
came from,

we might have our killer.

Sir, I could imagine this
to be some sort of board game.

Players would get clues
pertaining to certain suspects.

Whoever figured out the murderer
would be the winner.

George, I'm sure people would
find murder far too grave

for it to be the subject
of frivolous entertainment.

Oh, I certainly hope not, sir.

I'm 12 pages
into my murder mystery.

I've set it in Toronto

where an ancient Egyptian curse
wreaks havoc on a--

George, have a look at this.

From this position,

the black queen

can see anyone entering
or exiting this hallway area

from either set of stairs.

Who's the black queen, sir?

Mrs. Jenkins,

you were in your chair
this morning having your tea.

Do you remember?

Of course I remember.
Why shouldn't I?

Did you happen
to see anyone go into

or come out
of your son's bedroom?

Yes, it was Alma going
to stoke the fire.

Alma was a maid here
many years ago.

Your ladyship, Alma's been gone
a very long time.

It was Alma.

Has everyone
gone stupid except from me?

Percy always liked Alma.

Pretty, she was.

Looked like a swan,

but walked like a duck.

Oh, where is Percy anyway?

He was supposed to take me
to the opera.

Mrs. Jenkins does
get confused at times.

I see.

Thank you very much for your--

What are you doing?

I was just looking
for my father's...

watch.

Oh, and here it is.

Please put that back.

And you, Ms. Culliwick...

I asked Florence to assist me.

You have no business being
in this room.

This is a crime scene.
Quite off limits.

Apologies.
I had no idea.

Mr. Jenkins,
in your written statement,

you say that you were in bed

between 8:15 and 8:30
this morning?

Sleeping off a drinking binge,
I'm afraid.

And, Ms. Culliwick,

you say you were in
the morning room cleaning

when Mr. Jenkins Sr.
was killed?

Yes, sir.

Oddly, Ms. Thorn made
no mention

of seeing you there
in her statement.

I work so quietly,
I'm sure she didn't notice me.

Are we free to go?

No.

Mr. Jenkins, what did you mean
when you said to your brother,

"Unlike you,
I didn't kill Father"?

I was getting
a rise out of him.

Nicky could no more kill father
than swear in front of a woman.

Anything else?

Yes.

Stay out of this room.

Julia.

Detective.

I thought I might see you here.

It's wonderful to see you,
though somewhat unexpected.

Yes, I know it must be.

I dropped by to offer
my condolences.

Our families are acquainted.

But you couldn't have come

from Buffalo
in such a short time?

No...

I was already in town.

Oh.

Yes, for the rest
of the week, actually.

To introduce Darcy to my family.

Your fiancé.
Yes, of course.

He's just saying good-bye
to Mrs. Jenkins.

William,

they're saying
that Mr. Jenkins was murdered.

What have you found?

The cause of death was
a single blow to the head.

I believe a fire poker was used.

I've asked Dr. Francis
to take a cast of the wound.

Yes, to determine
the murder weapon.

- But he's refused.
- Why?

It's simple enough.

The brain matter will cling
to the plaster,

so you can only do it once,
but...

Might there
another casting material

that would not disrupt
the victim's brain tissue?

What are you suggesting?

If Dr. Francis were
to never find out...

William.

I couldn't.

Such conspiratorial whispers.

Darcy, I believe you know
Detective Murdoch.

A pleasure to see you again,
Detective.

And you.

Detective Murdoch
was asking me

to help him with a case,

but I'd like to remind him

that the last time he did that,
the feathers quite hit the fan.

Yes, well,
Dr. Francis has gone home...

I would love to help you,
but I can't.

My family
is expecting us for dinner.

Nonsense.

I can tell them
you've been called away.

And I'll charm them
so completely,

they won't even notice
you're not there.

Darcy, that's lovely, but...

I can see you want to do this.
Go on, darling.

Well, Detective,

I think I may know of
the perfect molding material.

Jell-O?

It's made of gelatin.

It should take
the form of the wound

without adhering
to the brain tissue.

And you say this Jell-O
is served as dessert?

It's all the rage in Buffalo.

I brought some home
for my family.

Hmm.

How long does it take to set?

Not too long,
if refrigerated.

- Julia...
- Yes?

It's agreeable to see you
working here again.

You are missed.

Yes, of course.

You're still at odds
with Dr. Francis.

True, but aside
from Dr. Francis, I meant.

Actually, he and I
are making headway.

Oh.

- Really?
- Yes.

At last.

How well did you know
the Jenkins?

My mother and Mrs. Jenkins
were bridge partners.

I'd sometimes be
left over there to play.

What were they like?

Victor was a hellion.

He was mean to me and even
meaner to poor Nicholas.

And the parents?

Mrs. Jenkins was ruthless,

her mother even worse.

They treated
their servants shamefully.

And Mr. Jenkins?

I stayed away from him.

He was disturbing.

How so?

Well, one day
I was in the upper hallway

during a game of hide and seek.

Mr. Jenkins'
bedroom door opened,

and a maid ran out sobbing.

When I turned around,

Jenkins was standing there
in a state of partial undress.

I see.

Good, I think it's done.

Now let's see what we have.

It's somewhat stubborn.

What exactly
is going on in here?

Dr. Francis...

Dr. Ogden.

At last.

The famous Dr. Ogden.

You know, I've grown to expect
duplicity from Murdoch, Doctor,

but from a colleague...

Yes, it's quite unforgivable.

I've come to make that mold
you asked me for earlier,

but I see you didn't
trouble yourself to wait.

You told me you had no
intention of making the mold.

I said I had no intention
of making it at that moment!

I mean, surely, even here
on the edge of civilization,

a man has
the right to dine with his wife?

I misunderstood.

You know, Detective...

from the first day I arrived,

you have almost
without exception

shown a complete
lack of faith in me.

I'd like to ask you now
why the hell that is!

It's not a lack
of faith in you.

Oh, God.

I see.

Right.

15 years in Scotland Yard

to reach the top
of my profession,

all gone to a reward
of blackflies and snowstorms,

all in the service
of my wife's happiness.

I've moved to her hometown.

I valued that above all else,
her happiness, or once did.

I should never have left.

I don't belong in Toronto.

You can have your morgue back,
Dr. Ogden.

No, no, Dr. Francis,
that's not what I'm here for.

I've no doubt
you actually believe that.

But we belong where we belong.

Evening to you.

I was the one who convinced
the top brass

to bring Dr. Francis
over here in the first place,

and now, thanks to you,
I look like a bloody fool!

He's booked his passage home.

His wife telephoned Chief
Constable Stockton in tears.

Well, sir, if Dr. Francis
was truly not happy--

Of course he's not
happy here, Murdoch,

but he might not have noticed
it if wasn't for you!

And why does everyone want
to be happy these days anyway?

Besides which,
I don't care if Dr. Francis

is as happy as a pig
in its own filth.

I care if I'm happy,
and I'm bloody well not!

And...

Bloody hell,
I've lost my train of thought!

Well, then, sir,
perhaps we should discuss

the Percival Jenkins
murder case.

Aside from dancing
the two-step with Dr. Ogden,

you'd best have
something to show for this.

I do, sir.

The murder weapon
from the main floor parlor.

And who said the killer
was in the parlor?

No one, sir.

The point is,
the shape of the gaff

is the same as that of the mold
that Dr. Ogden took.

Any finger marks?

Yes, sir, a thumbprint
on the shaft here

belonging to Clara Thorn.

So she's your murderer, then.

- I don't think so.
- Of course not.

Sir, Clara Thorn
was in the morning room,

as observed by the footman
who was serving tea at the time.

She could have snuck out.

Yes, sir.

But the handle
was wiped clean of marks.

If Ms. Thorn was the killer,

she likely would have wiped off
the entire poker,

one would think.

So who wiped off the marks
from the handle?

The killer.

You've lost me.

Sir, I believe the killer
wiped off several

of the fireplace pokers

to obscure which room
he came from

and which poker he used.

But we know which poker
was used,

and we're still
not further ahead!

So now I've got
a missing coroner,

and you've got nothing.

Actually, sir,
there is something else.

Percival Jenkins
had been taking liberties

with some female servants.

Right, well,
the big toad in the puddle, eh?

Someone shared
Percival Jenkins' bed

the night he was killed.

Maybe she's our killer.

You'll need a name.

May I announce you, Detective?

Before you do, Mr. Heward,
I have a question,

a rather sensitive one.

Of course.

I suspect that Mr. Jenkins

had carnal relations with some
of the female servants.

Can you confirm this?

I really cannot say, sir.

But you have your suspicions?

Forgive me, Detective,
if I appeared to imply that.

Heward!

Is that that nosy
police detective?

Yes, madam!

Mrs. Jenkins has her moments
of lucidity.

Rather unpredictably.

Interesting.

Might I announce you now, sir?

Yes. Yes.

I'll speak with
the female servants.

Very good.

Yes, Mr. Jenkins came
to my room once.

I told the old coot I'd scream
the house down

if he ever tried it again.

And did he, Ms. Culliwick?

No.
He left me alone after that.

However, I believe there were
others who weren't so lucky.

Forced himself on me?
Why would you ask such a thing?

Ms. Booth,
I believe Mr. Jenkins

made advances toward you.

I understand you fear
for your employment

in speaking to me of this--

If Mr. Jenkins made advances
towards anyone,

it was Ms. Allen.

Ms. Allen,
the housekeeper?

I saw him put his hand
on her bottom once.

She let him keep it there.

What utter nonsense.

Mr. Jenkins conducted himself

with absolute decorum
at all times.

He never made advances
toward you?

Never.

Yet he did
toward some of the maids.

Did he?

Perhaps you should ask
his widow.

My principal preoccupation

is the smooth operation
of a large household.

Certainly not my husband's
frivolous urges.

You knew nothing?

Emphatically not.

Do you have any
further questions?

Yes, what what were you
and your husband fighting

about yesterday?

I've already answered
that question.

Mrs. Jenkins,
we only have your word

that your husband
was still alive

when you left that room.

That makes you a likely suspect
in this murder investigation.

Now what
were you fighting about?

My husband told Nicholas
he'd be disinherited

if he married Clara.

Nicholas threatened
to move to Boston.

I couldn't have that.

Clara's family wasn't
aristocratic enough.

What presumption.

Clara is educated.
She's intelligent.

She cares for
the less fortunate.

What's more important,

the pedigree of a prospective
wife or her character?

But your father threatened
to disinherit--

I didn't want
the old bastards money.

Nicky...

We would have made do.

And did you feel the same way,
Ms. Thorn?

Of course.

I come from humble
circumstances, Detective.

In fact, I'm not much
at ease in this world.

At any rate, I doubt my father
would have disinherited me.

He needed to leave his wealth
to someone,

and he had already
disinherited Victor.

Did he?

My brother is a gambler.

He would have squandered
the entire estate.

Of course I have debts.

And expediting
your inheritance

would be one way
of resolving them.

Perhaps,
but I didn't kill my father.

Certainly not
at that ungodly hour.

Besides, my father
had already disinherited me.

I would have nothing to gain
by his death.

Unless you were
to destroy the will.

That's what you were looking for
in your father's room,

not a watch.

Very good, Detective.

Yes, that's exactly what I
was doing,

but I'm not so stupid
as to kill my father

without having found
and destroyed the will first.

Nevertheless,
your father's room

is right next to yours,

and you have no alibi.

I told you I was in bed at
the time of my father's murder.

I never said I had no alibi.

So Victor the lush was milking
the maid, was he?

Florence Culliwick, yes.

The apple doesn't fall far
from the tree.

Well, sir, at least we know
why Ms. Culliwick

didn't mention seeing Clara
Thorn in the morning room.

We also know why she said she
heard the Jenkins arguing.

Victor's room is right next door
to Mr. Jenkins.

Carry on, Murdoch.

Detective?

Souvenirs from
the victim's pillow.

Trace evidence, George.
Thank you.

Gray ones are presumably
the victim's.

These longer ones,
I believe I recognize the shade.

Also, sir, we found
this handkerchief

in the housekeeper's fireplace.

Sir, I think it was used
to wipe the blood

from the murder weapon.

It's monogrammed.

Yes, sir.

"VA."

George...

Bring Ms. Allen in
for questioning.

Why would I burn it?
It's not even mine.

Your initials are stitched

into the corner of it,
Ms. Allen.

Good Lord!

My late aunt embroidered this.

I haven't seen this
in I don't know how long.

Years.

I didn't kill Mr. Jenkins.
Why would I?

We also found these hairs
in Mr. Jenkins' bed.

I believe they're yours.

I sometimes go to his bed
in the middle of the night.

It's...

it's shameful, I know, but...

I was lonely and...

In love with him?

You see, I could never have
harmed Percival.

You must believe me.

Now you don't think
she did it either.

I'm not certain of that.

It is possible that,
in a panic,

Ms. Allen used her own
monogrammed handkerchief

to wipe the evidence.

But to then leave it half-burned
in her own fireplace?

A frame-up?

Sirs, Constable Worseley
just telephoned

from the Jenkins house
to check in.

I mentioned this
handkerchief business to him.

He swears he saw it
in the wastebasket

in Percival Jenkins' bedroom.

When was this?

When he and I first arrived
at the house.

And he never thought
to mention it?

Well, he didn't want
to disturb it, sir.

He assumed we'd find it
during our search.

But it wasn't there, George.

We checked the wastebaskets
after Dr. Francis left.

Who was in that room besides
Worseley and Dr. Francis?

Just Detective Murdoch
and myself.

And Heward the butler.

Butler has an ironclad alibi.

I'm very sorry, sir.

George, Billy Slater,
the footman.

You recognize this?

Should I?

I would have thought so,
Mr. Slater.

We believe that the killer moved
this from Mr. Jenkins' bedroom

into Ms. Allen's fireplace
to frame her.

I'll take your word for it.

One of my constables saw this

in the wastebasket
in Mr. Jenkins' room

before I arrived there.

Now, only you and Mr. Heward

were in that room
while we were there.

Mr. Heward has an alibi that
rules him out as the killer.

That leaves only you.

Why would I kill Mr. Jenkins?

Because he made sexual
advances toward your sweetheart,

Nancy Booth.

She's not my sweetheart.

I saw the two of you
linking hands.

All right, I...
I took the handkerchief,

but it weren't me
that killed Mr. Jenkins.

Then why did you
move evidence?

I saw it there
in the wastepaper basket,

and I said to myself,

"I'll get that old cow."

Ms. Allen?

You dislike her enough
to frame her for murder?

I sincerely dislike her.

You've got Billy Slater
in the cells?

Yes.

But don't think
he's the killer?

No.

Go ahead.

Consider, sir.

If Mr. Slater is the killer

and planned to frame Ms. Allen

with her monogrammed
handkerchief,

placing it in the wastebasket
would have done the trick.

Why then move it
from the wastebasket

to the fireplace
in Ms. Allen's room?

- Why frame her twice?
- Exactly.

He's a footman, Murdoch.

Not many geniuses
in that line of work.

I don't believe Mr. Slater
for a minute

when he says he moved
the evidence

out of a sincere dislike
for Ms. Allen.

But if he's not the killer,
as you say,

he took an awfully big chance
to frame her.

He gets caught
with that bloody thing,

he could hang for that.

So either Mr. Slater
is a reckless fool

or he had motive
for moving the evidence

that he hasn't admitted to.

Why would Billy do
such a thing?

I've never done him any wrong.

Then perhaps you've wronged
someone Billy was partial to?

No.

Nancy Booth comes to mind.

I might have done.

She's the reason I went to talk
to Mr. Jenkins

when I found him dead.

Nancy was proving
to be unsuitable.

Oh? How so?

She wasn't
doing her job properly.

I've forgotten the cutlery.

She's lying.

There's no harder worker
than Nancy.

She does whatever
Ms. Allen asks and more.

Then why would she want
Nancy dismissed?

Nancy wouldn't
have been the first.

From what I've heard, they've
fired more than a few girls

over the years who have found
themselves in trouble.

Three months, I'd say.

Has your morning sickness
subsided yet?

Mm-hmm.

Who's the father,
Ms. Booth?

Was it Percival Jenkins?

And Ms. Allen knew?

Of course I knew.

Nancy was sick in the mornings
and looking fuller in the face.

Weren't you, dear?

I've seen that too many times
in this house

not to recognize it.

And that's why you went
to speak to Percival Jenkins?

You knew he was responsible.

He certainly was not.

Nancy is no better than all
the other dolly mops

who paraded in front of him
all these years,

seducing him with their glances
and their smiles.

These dolly mops,
as you call them,

were coerced and made pregnant

by the man you are so eager
to defend,

then thrown out onto the streets
with child by you!

How many were there, hmm?

What became of them?

It appears that
in the Jenkins household,

there is a history of young
girls meeting the same fate

as Nancy Booth.

What options would such
a girl have?

Not many.

More than likely
take to the streets.

George.

Sir?

Find out what you can
about young women

that have been dismissed

from service
in the Jenkins household.

I'll make some inquiries.

To what end, Murdoch?

There's no law against
dismissing a pregnant maid,

no justice to be found here.

Except the one
that would put a noose

around Nancy Booth's neck.

You think she did it?

She certainly had motive.

Her life was about
to be destroyed.

Scullery maids
don't usually go upstairs.

She'd be taking a hell
of a risk.

Not if Billy Slater
made sure the coast was clear.

He was serving tea at the time.

He would have
known everyone's whereabouts.

But why let Nancy do
the old man in?

And why let her walk in full
view of old Mrs. Jenkins?

They probably thought she was
too senile and nearsighted

to be a reliable witness.

Was she?

Mrs. Jenkins has her moments
of lucidity.

Sir, it's possible
that old Mrs. Jenkins

knows more than we've
been led to believe.

Ah, Detective Murdoch,
there's been a development.

Yes. Thank you.
Bye-bye.

Well, you've got your wish.

The college of physicians
and surgeons

is granting Dr. Ogden special
dispensation just for this case.

Excellent.
Thank you, sir.

You've got some cheek.

Sir, Dr. Ogden is calling
for you at the morgue.

Very good.

It's only temporary, Murdoch.

Yes, sir.

Dr. Ogden, what have you?

Well, Detective,
as I suspected,

Mrs. Jenkins' heart
did indeed give out.

She died of natural causes?

I thought so initially,

but then I found
petechial hemorrhages

on the surface of the lungs.

Asphyxiation?

Well, usually in the case
of smothering,

the hemorrhages appear around
the face and the eyes.

But with her age, the trauma
likely induced a heart attack

before she actually suffocated.

Murder, then?

Thank you, Doctor.

Excellent work
as usual.

My pleasure, I'm sure.

Murdered?
Bloody marvelous.

Actually, sir,

assuming the same
person committed both murders,

anyone lacking opportunity
to kill old Mrs. Jenkins

can be stricken off our list
for the first murder.

Billy Slater was in our cells,
so he couldn't have done it.

What have you, George?

Sir, I've confirmed
that Nancy Booth and Ms. Allen

were in the kitchen at the time
of old Mrs. Jenkins' death.

Victor Jenkins
was drinking in a pub.

Nicholas and Clara Thorn

were in the library
with Nora Jenkins

discussing funeral
the funeral arrangements.

Leaving only Mr. Heward.

The butler is the only one
with an alibi

for Percy Jenkins' murder.

This is a waste of chalk.

My theory might be flawed.

Really?

Well, sir, also I obtained
the servant records

from Nora Jenkins.

Not without protest,
I might add.

But over the past 20 years
or so,

seven girls have been dismissed
from the household.

On what grounds?

Two of them
for insubordination,

two for poor work habits,
and three for loose morals.

Meaning they were pregnant.

Unfortunate but irrelevant,
Murdoch.

I'm not so sure,
sir.

Have a look at the third name
on the list.

Alma Parsons,
dismissed August 30, 1876.

It was Alma.

Has everyone
gone stupid except for me?

I haven't seen this in
I don't know how long, years.

George, find out what's become
of Alma Parsons.

Sir.

Then I'm going to return
to the Jenkins mansion.

What's going on, Murdoch?

Sir, I believe I know
who committed both murders.

Good afternoon.

I have asked you all here
because an arrest

in these murders is at hand.

Ms. Allen,

you told me
that it had been decades

since you last saw this.

It's true, I swear it.

What day, specifically,
did you last see it?

What day?

Could it be August 30, 1876,
by any chance?

Do you recall what happened
that day?

But how would I?

It was so long ago.

Hmm.

Alma Parsons, were she here,
would be able to tell you.

Because that day, Alma Parsons
was relieved of her duties

at this house...

by you.

Do you remember that?

Yes.

It was such a flood of tears.

I gave her the handkerchief
to mop up her face.

I just couldn't have her
leaving

this house in that state.

Do you know what became
of Alma Parsons, Ms. Allen?

I heard that she passed away
a couple of years ago.

But I can't see
that this has anything to do

with a former servant girl.

Well, Mrs. Jenkins,

Alma Parsons was sent
from this house

for having the audacity
to become pregnant

by your husband,

very much against her will.

Police reports
from the day confirm

that Alma turned to prostitution

so that she and her child
could eat.

That's what this has to do
with a former servant girl.

Now, old Mrs. Jenkins
was adamant

that it was Alma she saw
walking down the hall.

But her eyesight was too poor

to make out any detail
from that distance,

so why did she think
she saw Alma?

We all know that we inherit
our physical appearance,

as well as our mannerisms,
the way we speak,

our smile,
the way we walk.

It wasn't Alma returning
from the grave

to avenge the wrongs
she'd endured

at the hand of your husband.

No, it was the child
that Alma bore.

And by my count,
she would be 23 years old now.

Isn't that right, Ms. Thorn?

This is absurd.

Clara is not a murderer.

Sit down, Mr. Jenkins.

Ms. Thorn,

you never imagined
that the woman

who was too blind and senile
to even recognize you

would mistake you
for your own mother.

Pretty she was.

Looked like a swan,

but walked like a duck.

I was in the morning room
with Nicky and his mother

when she died.

I didn't kill her.

Yes, I know you didn't,
but someone did.

Someone who recognized you

as Alma's child the moment
you walked in this house.

Mr. Heward, would it be correct
to state that you came

to care for Ms. Parsons during
the time that she was here?

Yes, sir.

Very deeply.

And that's why you felt
a sense of responsibility

to protect her daughter.

You'd overheard my instructions

to dust the fireplace pokers
for finger marks.

That's why you wiped down
the ones in the upstairs,

not knowing which one Clara
had used.

Then when you and I witnessed

that unpredictable moment
of lucidity from Mrs. Jenkins,

it must have occurred to you

that Clara's secret
would never be safe.

So when I telephoned to say

I wanted to re-interview
Mrs. Jenkins,

you killed her
to ensure her silence.

I'm sorry for all of it,
Nicky.

I truly am.

Come along.

We mustn't keep
the detective waiting.

You didn't have
to do this for me, Heward.

On the contrary, Ms. Clara.

It revolted me,
what Mr. Jenkins did to Alma.

We lived in such fear of him,

and there seemed nothing
to be done.

Nothing?

Yes, I know.

If I'd gone with her
or helped in some other way...

Were you there
the day Alma was let go?

Yes.

Coward that I was,
I stood mute.

The murder of an old woman
is hardly an act of bravery.

She knew what her son
was doing

to those poor girls
all those years.

She raised him
into what he became.

She gave the carnage he caused
not a second thought.

In other words,

Detective Murdoch,

she deserved it.

My mother kept
that handkerchief

because she didn't want
to forget.

After she died, I swore I'd get
revenge on those responsible

for the life she endured.

So you hatched a plan.

When I read that
Nicholas was at Harvard,

I moved to Boston,

encountered him
by chance,

and allowed him to pursue me.

I genuinely came
to care for him.

Of all of them,

he's the only one
that didn't deserve to be hurt.

But that was the price
of keeping my promise.

Constable.

William?

We've come to say good-bye.

It may be some time
before we're in Toronto again.

We still need a coroner,
Julia.

Are you certain I can't
convince you

to extend your leave
a little while longer

until we find
a suitable replacement?

I'm sorry.

Julia, please answer me
honestly.

If it were possible,

would you want
to come back here to this work?

Darcy...

my future is with you
in Buffalo.

But you don't seem
entirely happy there.

At least not as happy
as you seem here.

The Victoria hospital
for sick children here

is one of the best
in the world.

They've approached me
in the past,

and I'm sure I could secure
a position.

But your home is in Buffalo.

My home is wherever you are.

And from what I've seen,
you belong here.

Are you sure?

Absolutely sure.

In that case,
I would love to stay on.

I would have to apply
for the job, of course.

There'd be a process.

I'm certain the inspector
would give you

a strong recommendation.

Well, Detective.

It appears we'll be seeing
a great deal more of each other.

I look forward to it.