All language subtitles for Ripper.Street.S03E04.1080p.BluRay.x264-CREATiVE24

You want to know why
those trains collided?

The people wish to know.

The girl is Reid's daughter.

The Leman Street locomotive tragedy,

55 souls killed.

The sea-can they cleaned out,

it carried bearer
bonds, American dollars.

And you think, what,
Susan was involved in this?

There are some folk claim
to have seen Inspector Reid

bloody like a butcher.

Give me the truth of it.

I have already done so.

We do right by the girl,

but she must remain dead

to her father.

Rose.

I've seen her, the girl.

What do you... ?

Hold up!

Alice!

- ... and do it...
- Shhhhh sh-shhhh.

Is he sleeping?

- Yeah.
- You sure?

Come on, light it... light it.

Oi! Clear off!

Do you see him?

Thought the roof had fallen in.

Did you smell him?

Like one of them crackers when
up him, and his arse shredded.

What?!

Who is it you speak of boy?

Mr. Reid, sir.

What brings you here, Inspector Drake?

Only a memory.

Of a weekend you once spoke of, here.

You told me of your

steamer along the
Thames, bound for Margate.

Your Mathilda.

Her first oyster,

- taken from a cultch here.
- Bennet!

Bennet, I cannot, if you
have cuffs in your jacket,

if you have men waiting beyond,

you have a judge for my arraignment.

You will not say her name again.

No judges, Mr. Reid.

No witnesses were there.

And who is there to complain
on behalf of that man?

Then what? What, why, why... ?

Why do you not leave me here?

Because I must say it, Mr. Reid.

Her name, that is.

Your Mathilda.

It is why I come.

She has been seen.

Your girl lives, Mr. Reid.

Someone saw her?

Let us get you home, sir.

Aaaaaaah!

Sync & corrections by marythecrazy & PetaG
- www.addic7ed.com -

_

55...

65...

75,000.

The first of five such exchanges.

It is your guile which
now allows us the peace

to see our bonds transacted into cash.

But your strategy, Mr. Capshaw.

You disown the credit?

I'm happy to assume it.

Credit?

You imagine me performing
private pirouettes of glee

at all this, do you?

She was my ward, my charge.

She's now disappeared, I know not where,

in those streets,

and you expect me to find
a feather for your cap?!

Tell me something.

If it is in my gift to do so,

I shall tell it.

I kept you on after the...

Loss of Duggan

because, well, there is one
with his affairs, of course...

but in truth...

I had an instinct

about what you were, as a man...

Or, rather, what you lacked.

Do not mistake me.

It is a quality I
would have all men lack.

It seemed to me you
were happy as you were.

You had no need to make the world

stand up and applaud your very existence.

Was I wrong to judge you so?

No.

But we all evolve, Miss Susan, do we not?

Adapt to the world we find ourselves in,

much like this borough

you would shape to a higher ideal.

I, too, perhaps,

feel myself advance

and, from there,

see further.

Your mistress, girl! She
is to bring herself out,

or I shall pull her forth by her ears!

Perhaps I am not, after all,

as skilled as you would believe.

What are we to do?

Mathilda!

Lock this cash with the remaining bonds.

Then leave.

Mathilda!

Mathilda Reid!

Mathilda!

In there! Mathilda!

Mathilda!

Mathilda!

Mathilda!

You are sure, Bennet?

I'm sure she said it, and she would not
say it, if she were not sure of it herself.

I see your search is exhausted, then.

What is this, Inspector?

That is, indeed,

if you're still to be given that title.

My understanding, Inspector Drake,

is that this man has a case to answer at
Leman Street for the murder of a suspect

and therefore has no business
stampeding through my house.

You know why it is I am here, woman.

Now, where is she?

Who, Mr. Reid?

Damn you.

My daughter!

My daughter, that you
had me believe was dead!

Your daughter is dead, sir.

You may kill me,

but it remains the case.

She was seen.

By who?

Whose eyes deceive themselves?

The girl was seen, Miss Susan!

Captain, please, come.

Your lies.

Your eternal lies.

I felt her captor's skull

come apart in my hands,

as you intended.

Reid.

You let her go.

She dies, you die.

Could be she's gone, sir, now
that her purpose is served.

Whichever way, she needs you hunting her.

You are watched, bitch.

Charity,

you go mix elderflower water,

two drops of laudanum within, you got it?

What is this, his daughter?

Does he think her... ?

His girl is dead.

Well, he seems to
believe otherwise, Susan.

The last the world knows of the man,

he kills another with his own fists.

He has become deranged,
as you have witnessed.

And Drake, he lost his wits, also?

I do not know and,
currently, I do not care.

I'm half-killed in my own house,

and, now, must suffer
your interrogation, also?

They have moved her.

Or she has run, Mr. Reid.

And is out here, somewhere, alone.

Drake!

You find him and bring him here?

Why, Reid, why would
you torment yourself?

She was seen, Jackson.

Rose saw her, a girl hidden,

in there, with red hair.

It is natural, I know, for a
man to want to protect his wife,

but you cannot protect her from me!

That place, her place,

Obsidian, all that lies hidden...

Reid, enough.

Now, it's understandable,
of course it is,

but your mind is scrambled.

It's not your own.

Mister, of what my addled
wits see that you and she

are not as estranged as
the world might believe,

that you are still her creature, Captain.

Drake, come on, stop him.

I have given it thought.

I've asked myself how it is

that the thieves who went to the rope

for the murder of the 55 did so

without that I could lay
my hands on their paymaster,

he who might then only be described

but by one other man,

a man named Cree, Captain.

You met him, in my cells,

and yet, then,

he is found with his throat cut,

unable to describe
that face to me further.

A face I believe, now,

may be found in your mutton wife's halls.

Yes, Captain, Mr. Capshaw.

And she, knowing full well

the part he has played,
once more calls for you,

her still-favourite dupe,

to stroke and tug our secrets free.

Reid!

Reid!

Edmund Reid!

That's quick work, Chief Inspector.

Your face is known in
these parts, Edmund.

You raise hell, word will travel.

There is hell to be raised, Fred,

and I am to raise it.

My girl is here.

Please,

you are not yourself.

Come in, no cuffs.

We shall talk, you and I,

find the truth of it together.

But you come in.

You can have me, Mr. Abberline,

my word on it, only,

you must let me be for now.

You must let me search.

I will come to you later.

No, Mr. Reid.

Sure to come to an ugly end, she said.

An ugly end.

The Frying Pan.

Oi.

Hubba, with me.

He lived from the river,

whatever he could find and sell

from that shop of his.

He must have discovered her on
that shore, unconscious, lost,

removed her to his wife, his barren wife!

And the woman, Hart,
found her, lied to me!

Lied to me!

Gave me to believe...

the trauma of her discovery,

Mathilda did not survive it.

Thus,

the man, Buckley, taken by you to...

Taken back to that place,

the place where she was...

kept,

and, there, ended.

And all he might speak of

ended with him.

Your daughter, used against you,

yet alive,

broken free from whatever gilded fetter

Susan Hart had her bound by.

She now walks free in
those streets out there.

This is your belief.

Yes.

All men,

all uniforms, whatever their arse sit on,

they will be sat on it no longer.

Thank you.

No, Edmund.

It is in hand. She is out there.

She will be found, but you will stay put.

Fred, it is Whitechapel.

I have not had call

to put irons on a man in three years.

Do not think I forget how.

Here, sir.

Thank you. God bless you.

Cheers.

How now, Harry?

Victor, one baker if you
please. Dollop of butter also.

Erm, much obliged.

"Sure to come to an ugly end,"

said Mrs. Store, "an ugly end."

Hello, beauty.

Look at you,

that pretty dress all mucked.

Sooty angel, that's what you are.

You hungry, beauty?

'Ere.

A tater, if you wants it,

bought and buttered.

What's your name, then?

I'm not Alice.

Not-Alice?

Then what are ya?

Well, not-Alice,

I am Harry,

and I am charmed to
make your acquaintance.

You eat your tater, beauty.

Wait there one sec for old Harry.

She's a right one, huh?

Pretty as a picture, mad as a flag.

A bit of comelies.

Have the word spread.

Tell 'em Harry Ward has a new popsy.

Look at that, not-Alice.

Hungry girl, aren't ya?

"See what a jolly bonnet I've got now."

Jolly, indeed.

Where to now, not-Alice?

Osborn.

Osborn Street?

Do you know the way?

Well, Harry has nowt
better to do currently.

Morning to you, Dr. Frayn.

Morning, Captain Jackson.

This is Mendeleev's

classification, correct?

It is.

You a chemist,

alongside your doctorate?

All doctoring is chemistry,
of one form or another.

Yeah, all life is chemistry,
in one form or another.

Captain, did you come
here solely to pronounce

on the self-evident,

or is there another
purpose to your visit?

It was Aristotle that said it first,

right?

That the elements from
which everything consists

must necessarily be limited.

Limited to four, he said.

Earth, water, air, fire.

Which are you, Dr. Frayn?

There are other element discovered
beyond Ancient Greece, Captain.

Hmmm, but all those discoveries
were made with the same motive.

Hennig Brand

pisses in the retort, boils it back to
a solid slurry, calls it phosphorous.

Why?

Because he wanted to know what
was fundamental in the thing.

Your benefactor, Miss
Hart, for example...

You distil her, what do you find?

Much of my life would be impossible,

were it not for her
commitment and support.

In her heart, fundamentally
Dr. Frayn, you say she is good?

I do.

You see, now I always would
have agreed with you...

I mean, she cuts her cloth with
the world the way we all must...

but, I trusted her always, when pushed...

to fall the right way.

You would hope that those that
love you, would say the same.

I would.

But these elements,

they're not stable are they. You
apply heat, you apply pressure,

they shift and on occasion...

become toxic.

If I require a lecture, on the
production of gases, Captain...

- there are many more qualified to give it
- You see,

what I'm trying

to understand is the chemistry

of how two such fundamentally good women

as yourself and my
admittedly estranged wife

can stand there and you tell a man

that his daughter is
dead when she is not.

Now you see, here's the thing...

I wasn't certain of it. Could not
believe it over, not until this moment.

Ah, Miss.

Take a look.

Something caught your eye, has it?

Thank you, sir.

No!

All right, not-Alice.

Steady.

Happy now?

No?

Well, then,

it is time we found a means

for you to repay my...

Generosity.

Little Paternoster and Hanbury.

Hanbury Street?

What are the chances?

That's just where we are headed, beauty.

You follow me.

What is it you search for, not-Alice?

My daddy.

Your pops, is it?

Well,

you come with me,

and I shall show you him.

Mr. Reid!

This man, collected on
Thrawl Street just now.

Tell the Inspectors
what you told our men.

It was the dress, sir, white.

And red of hair, correct?

Close on 15 years of age?

And you offered her your assistance?

I did not, sir.

She was already assisted.

His name is Ward, sir.

'Arry Ward.

And how is it he is known to you?

I station meself besides
The Frying Pan, sir.

A drinker on Thrawl and Brick Lane.

Indeed, he is well-known.

You tell me...

How so is he known?

He procures

and he sells.

We must find him, this Ward.

Those that pimp the young.

Ward, Harry.

Where does he take them?

Cooley's.

It's that rookery, Mr. Reid.

There's no uniform stepped
inside for 10 years.

We are not in uniform, Bennet.

No, Mr. Reid.

No!

Inspector Drake!

I brought you here so this
man could be corralled,

not spun into ever-greater
acts of lunacy!

I'm sorry your faith in me

is not better rewarded, Chief Inspector.

Edmund,

think on what you do.

For once, Fred, there
is no need to think,

only to act.

Now.

We are leaving.

Harry.

Special 7, if you please.

Here we are, not-Alice.

Up the stairs, now.

Come on, Alice.

I have to take you to your daddy.

You, Ward.

Been here nigh on an hour.

No complaints, now, are there?

You know the dance.

'Ere's wisdom.

Two ways this thing now goes.

You scream,

you get a clout.

You keep yourself peaceful

and it passes quick-like.

My daddy?

I'm your daddy now, beauty.

And I believe I shall take mine first.

Aah!

Aah!

Aah! Ah!

Harry Ward! Which room?!

Ah!

7!

Ohh! Ah.

Where is she?! Where is she?!

The roof, sir!

You, stay there.

Go to her, Drake, get her!

Go on! Do not lose her! Do not lose her!

Mathilda!

Ohh!

You.

You are Harry Ward.

You are with me.

Aah!

Get out!

Mathilda!

Mathilda Reid!

Stop, child.

Please.

Please, stay where you are.

Who are you?

Uncle Ben.

Who bought you strawberry ices

on Petticoat Lane each Sunday.

A... and your gloves would
get all sticky with 'em

and your mother would have
words with me for allowing such.

Each weekend,

we would do the same, Mathilda,

you and I.

"Strawberry ices with Uncle Ben"

was what you would say.

And my daddy?

He is my friend.

Inspector Edmund Reid,

your father, my friend.

Inspector Reid.

Mathilda.

No, please, wait!

Mathilda!

She flees, sir!

She got away from me, Mr. Reid.

But, ah...

was it her, Bennet?

I am sure of it, sir.

Mr. Ward!

That face of yours needs a wash.

You will tell me everything!

No matter how small the detail,

it will be important to me.

Do you understand?!

Everything she said, everything she did,

where she came from, where she was going.

Yes, sir.

Then begin.

You found her outside The Frying Pan.

Yes, sir.

And then?

Then I took her to where
she wanted to go, didn't I?

Where, boy?

Osborn.

And then?

S-Spitalfields Market,
B-Brushfield Street,

Little Paternoster Row, Hanbury.

What was it she used to cut you?

There was a shard of
mirror up there on the bed.

Yes, that.

Where was it found?

H-had it with her, sir.

Er, kept it in her purse.

About her neck, sir,

a white scarf with a red border, tied.

- Knotted at the front?
- Indeed.

Bought that for her, I did.

And what else? What else?

Her words.

Her words! What did she speak of?

N-nothing of no sense, Mr. Reid.

Nonetheless, her words!

She spoke of a bonnet, but there
was no bonnet on her to speak of.

Precise words!

"Perhaps, see this... ", no.

"See what a jolly bonnet I've got now."

Y-yes, but...

If... if you know
already, why do you ask?

How is that possible?

Does she follow them, Mr. Reid?

Polly and Annie,

The Ripper's first victims.

Their last wanderings, Polly Nichols

and Annie Chapman, the final hours

before they fell beneath his knife.

The streets they walked, what they wore,

what they carried.

Where The Ripper did his work,

my daughter now follows.

We have done what we can
to forget these names,

but his killings must
be remembered now, so.

Ward picks her up outside
The Frying Pan public house.

Friday the 31st of August,

12:30 am,

Polly Nichols is seen
leaving The Frying Pan

at the corner of Brick
Lane and Thrawl Street.

She returned to the lodging house

at 18 Thrawl Street,

where the deputy tells
her to leave the kitchen

of the lodging house because she

has not produced her doss money.

"Never mind," she said,
"I shall soon have it.

See what a jolly bonnet

I've got now."

Osborn, next, so Ward says.

2:30 am, er, Emily Holland meets Polly

outside the grocer's on
Whitechapel Road and Osborn Street.

Polly tells her she has
earned her doss money

three times over and drunk it all away.

3:40 or 3:45 am,

Polly Nichols' body is discovered

at Buck's Row by Charles Cross.

A coal man on his way to work.

Ward does not take
Mathilda there, however.

Spitalfields, Brushfield Street,

Little Paternoster Row, Hanbury.

She follows Polly

and then, she follows Annie.

Saturday, September the 8th,

1:35 am,

Annie Chapman is seen leaving

Crossingham's Lodging House

and entering into Little Paternoster Row

in the direction of Brushfield Street.

5:30 am, Elizabeth Long
sees Annie with a man

hard against the shutters
of 29 Hanbury Street.

Long hears the man ask

"Will you?",

and hears Annie reply "Yes."

Edmund,

how does your Mathilda know these things,

the fine details of The Ripper case?

The shard of glass

that Polly Nichols had in her purse,

the red and white neckerchief

that Annie Chapman had
tied around her neck?

Not even those hounds at The Star

have such knowledge.

Pardon me.

The American surgeon called, sir.

Wishes to speak with Mr. Reid.

He has a woman with him.

Pronounces it of current urgency.

It was a world of fantasy, sir,

of fairy tales made real,

where she was protected by her parents

from the violent and terrible forces.

"Forces"?

You mean the boat, her near-drowning,

the ah, the flames, the water, the death?

That certain trauma was helpful to them

in the immediate sense, yes.

But there were horrors,

which preceded that moment,

that were born when you
still had her, Mr. Reid.

What?

What? God damn you, woman, speak! What?!

I spoke with Mathilda at great length,

attempted to peel back the fiction

she had come to live,

to see what she lived before.

I returned her to where her trauma began.

What did you find?

There are stories she tells

the women, dead women,

their bodies brutally put apart.

It is this

which persuaded me that the wicked king

she had made of her father might, indeed,

be as wicked as she imagined.

Which women?

They did not have names, only stories.

And pictures.

She drew them.

Sergeant Artherton.

Mr. Reid.

Captain Jackson and
Dr. Frayn are leaving.

- No, Reid, wait.
- I've heard enough.

Mr. Reid, please.

I did not treat Mathilda

without becoming fond of her.

What she saw there, in
her personal history,

was it real?

In one way, yes.

Now, get out.

Both of you.

Sergeant Artherton, my
archive, the Northwest Corner,

there is a long, steel
case propped there,

rusted, I'm sure.

Would you be so kind
as to fetch it to me?

Yes, sir.

When...

people are lost to us, it is perhaps
true that we remember them as we

wish them to have been, not as they were.

The daughter of mine, who
when into the water that day.

For many weeks

she had not smiled, nor taken my hand,
without that I had taken hers first.

There is weeks,

the first weeks,

the knowledge that the killer
had begun and would go on..

This here, this station
house, I barely left.

And when I did leave, the
station house came home with me.

Unbeknown to me, she must have found it,

the map I made of his
works and his victims.

Found it

studied it.

And returns to it now.

These atrocities are all
that she now remembers

of our life together.

Edmund, she cannot

follow them all, however.

Indeed, indeed.

The Pride of Wapping, my daughter
and I aboard, sank the 15th September.

Mathilda, thereafter, in
the care of the Buckleys.

And Miss Stride,

Catherine Eddowes,

Mary Jane Kelly, did not exist for her.

Sergeant, these to be burnt.

Donald.

Men stationed at all these addresses.

Captain Jackson.

Feet on my desk, drinking my whiskey.

This is not the station
house on Leman Street,

nor am I Edmund Reid.

Yeah, his is hooch.

Yours is decent.

None of which surprises me.

What is it you want, Captain?

When last we parleyed, you
were far from receptive.

That fella I saw you with

the day the train...

Died with his head in your lap.

What of him?

You loved him.

And it's for his sake that you

mount the investigation you
informed me of, last we met.

Susan Hart,

her father, these bearer
bonds you speak of, you

understand why it is a difficult thing

for me to hear you say that, hmm?

I do.

You love her.

Would something that approached proof

be of interest?

Since I brought that telegram to you,

I have dug deeper into its details.

Theodore Patrick Swift

moves his money on a regular basis

through Whitechapel,

de facto fiefdom, you might say,

of his estranged daughter,
your beloved Miss Susan,

and that money is stolen.

And I told you that conjecture
ain't worth a pot of piss to me.

Nor to me.

Her man Capshaw,

he's a curious one, would you not agree?

Such still waters.

I have never met the man, myself.

Well, perhaps it is
time you made the effort.

The City of London,

it squirms with agents of all kind.

An unregulated pasture of opportunity,

should you have a burgled bag of

anonymous securities to see exchanged

into ready cash.

I followed Mr. Capshaw this morning

as he visited just one such an agent.

Capshaw.

Uh-uh-uh,
Captain.

Mine.

The word is out, Mr. Reid.

She cannot step foot
on one of those streets

without our men there to greet her

and see her back to you.

You do not insist on joining them?

If, in her mind I am somehow become

monstrous, no.

I cannot risk that she will run from me.

Whatever now happens, I am...

I am finished with this life.

And so now I ask only one
more request of you both.

Mathilda knew you, so, please,

be out there yourselves,
search for her yourselves,

be there to reassure
her, should she be found.

Thank you.

What is it you thought
to find here, Mathilda?

Mr. Artherton.

Inspector.

I'm leaving here, Sergeant.

Will you stop me?

Well, that depends, sir,
on where it is you go.

To fetch my girl.

There are men already about her purpose,

as you know.

This is where she will be brung,
so it's best you wait here.

But they will not find
her where they look.

Mr. Reid!

Do you trust me?

I always have.

Then you turn about, drink your coffee.

Hello.

Hello.

There was a bird caught in here once.

There was.

You trapped it.

I did.

And then, you set it free.

I remember.

And... can you say your name?

I am

Mathilda.

You are

Mathilda.

Do you know how I found you?

You remember the map, don't you?

The women.

Yes.

The dead women.

You were following them.

And then you stopped.

The map, you put pins in the map.

Where I thought they would be safe.

Here.

You put pins in here.

They would be safe here.

And why would they be safe?

Wh...

Why would they be safe here, Mathilda?

Because my daddy would protect them.

And who am I, Mathilda?

You are my daddy.

Yep.

Ohh.

Ohh.

Sit down.

The last time you brought me here,

there was a diamond in your coat pocket.

Yeah, things were,
er, different then, eh?

I'd hoped to bring you back to me.

Whereas, now?

Perhaps I'm glad I failed.

I did not agree to this
because your carping

was a sound for which I yearned.

You're gonna sit and you're gonna listen.

You've been usin' me.

Indeed?

And what possible use
could I have for you?

The day that locomotive came down,

the first occasion I have to step foot

in that station house
in almost three years,

and I find you on my doorstep,

with your cooing entreaties,

and I speak to you in good faith

and I tell you what you need to hear

and, lo,

Reid misses his man.

Excuse me.

Five men went to the
scaffold, did they not?

But not the man.

Not your man,

Miss Hart.

If you are going to make accusation

I suggest you do so clearly.

Bearer bonds.

Dollars, darlin', our native currency,

and stolen from your father.

But what I have yet to conclude...

was it your Mr. Capshaw
that fixed the job

or was it you, Susan?

Is that why you told Reid

his girl was dead when she was not?

The girl.

Reid's girl.

The lies.

What you put inside that man's head.

A man that you have known in fellowship,
and you lace him with such torment.

I want to know if I can see it,

see the evil that has
come to roost in you,

Caitlin Swift,

the woman that I once made mine.

And can you?

Can you see it?

I see what I've always seen.

What is that?

I see the face of the woman that I love.

Does it feel like flesh, Matthew?

Because, to me, it does no longer.

This world,

the world where I carve
a place for myself,

the world of men,

it would turn on me,

tear my flesh from my bones,

and feed me to the crows and so,

each step I've taken,
I've hardened myself.

Each step, every day, the
creep of it unrelenting,

until, one morning, I
touch myself and wonder

if I am not, after all, become stone.

Ah!

I have not known another, not since.

Oh!

Ah!

Will we be together?

We will, my darling.

Where, here?

No. No, not here.

Not... not Whitechapel, not London.

Then where, Daddy?

Do you remember the seaside?

We stayed in a house by the sea once.

Well, it... it's very pretty

and there are birds and a sandy beach.

And it's very quiet, Mathilda.

And the sun shines, and you may...

you may like be needed with your shoes
and socks off. And your feet in the water.

It is not like the river?

No, no.

No, the river here is a dead thing

and the sea is life.

We shall go there.

When?

Now, this morning.

We shall get you washed and cleaned

and then, we shall find a dress for you.

A little big, perhaps, but it'll serve

until we find you some new clothes.

I shall leave you whilst you change.

Please.

Where is my mother?

Reid.

Open up. I have something for ya.

Reid, it's me. Open up.
I know you're in there.

Morning, Inspector.

Fear not, I've got one thing to give you,

and then I'm gone, and
no man ever the wiser.

This is everything you need.

It's Ronald Capshaw,
named in the transaction

of U.S. bearer bonds to pounds sterling.

55 men, women, and children.

This is a warrant, Reid.

For what it's worth,

I don't believe Susan a part of it.

Mathilda,

this is Captain Jackson,
an associate of mine.

Good morning, sir.

Good morning.

You're both leaving.

No, you know what?

Forget it.

You go.

No.

Show it to me.

It is, as you say, all that is needed

for the 55 dead to have their justice.

It is, but,

you might imagine the world capable

of righting itself without ya.

To believe otherwise
is just another stripe

of selfishness.

And, yet, you bring this to me.

Because I know you, Reid.

What I say is change, the permanent kind,

the change you seek,

you will never see it.

Just like...

The rising of mountains, all of this...

You, me?

It's nothing.

It is nothing.

It is everything.

As you see fit.

Goodbye, Reid.

Goodbye, Captain.

Have bad people, done bad things?

They had.

And you will catch them
and put them in prison?

Will you not, my daddy?

Mr. Reid.

Councillor, Miss Cobden,

good morning.

My daughter, Mathilda.

You.

She has come back to me.

You are the only soul I might trust

to sit with her, for an hour only,

after which I shall return.

There is a wickedness

it is within my power to see corrected.

Mr. Reid.

I am to show you in.

Capshaw, girl. Take me to him.

This way, sir.

Mr. Reid.

Do you come with more fantasies

of children rising from their graves?

No, man. I come for you.

You are to accompany
me to Leman Street, now.

Indeed?

Am I arrested

or merely aiding the police

with their inquiries?

I cannot say,

but I am delivering you to them,

along with this.

Your name.

£75,000,

in exchange for the equivalent amount

in U.S. bearer bonds,
a portion of that stolen

from a London and India goods train.

Your name, Mr. Capshaw,

writ above the murder of masses.

Whitechapel is to be rid of you, sir.

Rid also of this place, this...

Obsidian.

You are with me,

Capshaw.

Rid of Obsidian, Mr. Reid?

It's not as easy as all that, I'm afraid.

We are the stone

and we are the brick.

Needs must you demolish

the whole of Whitechapel, sir.

And so, Edmund Reid is ended.

Oh, you are a rare one, madam.

I'd begun to think you lacking

the wherewithal to
support your ambitions.

I need not have
disquieted myself, however.

It seems the required equipment does lie

beneath those skirts of yours, after all.

This man,

he was a...

He was a friend to me.

A friend betimes when
he had no call to be so.

He was a good man.

Good.

Have you ever known what that is?

To be good.

You

you, who now dance
over him when it is I...

I... who have brought him to his end.

You believe a woman must become a man

to own such an act.

How little you have learnt, Ronald.

Miss Susan, what are you... ?

No.

Please. No.

You shot him, Mr. Reid,

in defence, once he had shot you.

Forgive me.

Capshaw.

H-h...

Help me. Help me. Help me.

What has happened, Mr.
Reid? Who has done this?

I'm shot. I'm shot.

Uh.

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