All language subtitles for ripper.street.s04e04.1080p.bluray.x264-turmoil

Will you offer a prayer for my soul

as you stand over my corpse
and confirm my passing?

Oh, I shall.

That is Samuel Drummond.
His friends call him Drum.

And that is Francis Thatcher.
Which do you consider the more handsome?

Drum.
Yes.

♪ Tell me, where did you sleep
last night? ♪

This is the only peace he's known.

I don't think Mr. Drake
would care for that very much.

(DOG BARKS IN DISTANCE)

(BELL CHIMES)

(HOOVES CLATTER)

(HORSE WHINNIES)

(BREATHES HEAVILY)

(DOOR OPENS)

(CLAN KING)

(DOOR OPENS)

(CREAKING)

(DOOR CLOSES)

(FOOTSTEPS)

(SIGHS WITH RELIEF)

(ANIMAL SHRIEKS IN DISTANCE)

(DOOR CLANKS OPEN)

(SCREAMS)

REID: Mathilda, you'll be late.

Tild... Wait. Have you been sat here
this whole night?

What is this robs you of your rest?
Vampires?

Really? Go. Ready yourself.

When the Count comes to London,

he makes his lair in Whitechapel...
like you.

(DOOR OPENS AND SHUTS)

(CONNOR CRIES)
DRAKE: It's just a bad dream.

What was that song, my love?

ROSE: Hm?

DRAKE: That soothed him before.

You know, the one about the little girl.
You were teaching me.

(ROSE CLEARS HER THROAT) Um...

It's all right. It's all right.

Um...

♪ Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't Lie

(DRAKE JOINS IN) ♪ To me

♪ Tell me, where did you sleep

♪ Last night? ♪

What sort of song is that for a child?

It works, though, don't it?

(ROSE HUMS TUNE)

(BOTH HUM)

ROSE: ♪ Tell me, where did you sleep

♪ Last night? ♪

(SHOUTS IN DISTANCE)

Croker!

Huh?

She's gone. What, are you simple?

You didn't keep lookout,
you goddamn imbecile!

Careful now, Captain.
Your lady is no rash girlie.

I doubt she now rows a skiff to Dunkirk.
She will not be far.

You best hope he's right.

Jesus Christ, Caitlin.
Have you lost your mind?

I awoke. I reached for my son.

And my son was not there.

He is safe and he is cared for,
and he will be yours again.

Just time, darling.

The burden of it is all.

Oh, Inspector Drake, Inspector Reid.

It is the new cold stores, sir.
It's this way.

REID: They may keep meat for six months
before it spoils.

Six months? Who wants mutton
that's half a year old?

(DOOR CLANGS OPEN)

God's teeth.

Jackson.
jackson.

Oh, the American, sir? Yeah, I've...
I've banged that drum, Mr. Drake.

Ordered that, the, uh, carbon lights
be brought an' all, sir.

The man learns.

The hanging man's wrists are bound.

And someone else restrained here,
therefore.

Here's their spray. A lot of it, too.

Mr. Thatcher!
Yeah?

Whoever sat here was either spirited
away or left on their own engine.

If the latter, having lost this weight
of blood, they will not have gone far.

I'll have the men
pick the market clean, sir.

You do that, Sergeant.
Yeah.

(SWITCH CLICKS)
(FAINT BUZZING)

(SWITCHES CLICK)

Skin penetrated at the jugular...

at the radial beneath the bicep.

This?
It's another lancing.

Older, however, less precise instrument.

And this is what killed him?
The blood-letting?

JACKSON: No, ligature marks.

Then he was strangled, killed.

And only then is his blood Let.

To what end, however?

The blood is the end.

This poor bastard's cadaver's
been exsanguinated.

Every last droplet siphoned out.

Why. do you suppose?

The other party... bound to that chair...

she's found, sirs.

Get more. Get everything.

REID: Another puncture wound.

Same method.

But no ligature marks, however.

She was alive while they tried
to siphon blood from her.

But escaped.

She held her neck.

She hoped to staunch the blood flow
even as she ran for her Life.

Tonsillar pillar...
inner mucous membrane undamaged.

No hemorrhaging of the capillaries.

Third and fourth.

Oh, shit.

What's up? What more?
What do you think this is?

A crystal ball?

Did you find the other?
Young woman,

puncture wound here.
No strangulation, however.

Well, have Thatcher bring 'em home.
I need my knives.

Where do you go?

About my work, Drake.

(FAINT SHOUTS)

The haematoma about the man's neck
is from a rope.

The insides of his cheeks are unbitten.

There are no burst capillaries
in his eyes.

Therefore, he's not strangled.

His neck is fractured clean at
the third and fourth cervical vertebrae,

and he's at least 120 pounds.

Do you see where I'm going yet, Doctor?

Now, such a break on the neck
of a man of such weight,

that's a drop of around, what?
Seven feet, at least.

Professional work.

The kind of work that
puts me in mind of you, Probyn.

Standing over your hangman's
recent execution, pronouncing 'em dead.

Ah, that's, er, impressive police work,
Captain.

Yet no policeman you.

I wonder, have you shared your expert
imaginings with your friends

on Leman Street? No?

I wonder why that might be...

if not because you fear
what I might choose to tell them.

Do you not recall my promise to you
or is that you doubt my sincerity?

Now, will you assist in my inquiry
or won't you?

Which recently hanged cadavers
have you seen diverted from burial pits

no longer than two days past?

(COCKS GUN)

Two details. His name

and where you sent him.

Meet Percival Monks.

He staved his mother-in-law's head in
with a fire iron.

Got the rope for his troubles.

Newgate hanged him yesterday,

sent his body to the London Hospital
for evisceration.

How have you done this, Jackson?

Just merely read the signs, Inspector.

Now, are we moving on,
or do you wish me to showboat further?

Oh, no. Please, move on.

Right, see...

Er, scorbutic tongue.

Teeth as loose
as the keys in a saloon piano.

Drake?

Scurvy.

Privation suffered
on a migrant's passage, perhaps.

Polish.

Prayer card.

It's Mark 3:11.

Curious it is in English.

St Mark what?

3:11.

There we are. "And unclean spirits, when
they saw him, fell down before him."

There's more here, however.

You see here?
This is indigo staining in here.

That's the model scarring
of seamstress needles.

She's been sweated.
That'd be my assumption.

Polish Catholics are only recently
so visible in the city there.

And the numbers are not so swollen
that finding one such

from a Whitechapel sweatshop
should be beyond us.

DRAKE: Might you say
what made an end of her, Jackson?

I'm at a loss, Drake. Genuinely.

It's not the blood-letting
that done for her, then?

No, not at all. Point in fact,
she ain't been bled at all.

Can you account for the blood
that covered her?

I cannot.

The sole wound on her

is the exact same puncturing of the neck
with the same instrument,

but it's not been used to drain her.
On the contrary, she's, er...

well, replete.

As we discussed,
perhaps it is not the end

that is germane.
It is not the end, but the means.

This is a clean wound, is it not?

There's nothing savage. It is precise,
one might even say skilled.

And whether it is drained or not,

it is the blood
that is of chief interest here.

Why preserve a dead thing?

What is it that happens to blood
when it decays, Captain? It clots,

does it not?

Unless you keep it cold, Reid.

Puncture wounds administered with skill
and with clean instruments...

an act carried out in the full knowledge
of a clinical need for refrigeration.

Such as the cold store
at the meat market.

This man, this executed cadaver,

a recent property, we are told,
of the London Hospital.

It is a medical stripe of man
we search for. Mr. Reid...

I do not forget what the place
once meant to you.

Would you take a turn around the London
this afternoon?

See how it is they misplaced
this corpse.

I shall, Inspector.

I shall pay a visit
to our Polish community.

Sergeant Thatcher.

Yes. You and I are out
to kick some rocks over.

She's a Polish woman, 20 years old.

(WOMEN WHISPER)

Have a look at her photograph here.

She is dead.

See?

Murdered not half a mile from here.

Does she not have one friend
who would speak for her?

(WOMAN COUGHS)
Will you not look, miss?

(SPEAKS POLISH)

I'm sorry, miss. I don't speak Polish.

(WOMAN COUGHS)

Why will you not look, miss?

(POLISH ACCENT) Please, sir.
You need to talk with the foreman.

Pardon me, miss.

This wound needs attention.
Will you let us see to it?

No. I have made no request
for your help.

Now, please, the foreman will return.
I must work.

To hell with your wretched foreman,
miss. You're coming with us.

(SHOUTS IN POLISH)
Come on!

Calm down!

Agniezka.

This was her name.

A friend?

Our mothers were.

She was given an address
where to find me. I...

I helped her find work.

Pardon me, miss.
And she left not word

of where she was going?

She just vanished, you say?

If she had left word...

it would not have been a vanishing,
would it?

Now, please, I must leave

or there will be no work when I return.

I will starve...

and that will be on your conscience,
Inspector.

Uh-uh-uh. No, miss.
You will not talk to me of conscience.

That girl down there
looked to you for leading.

Seems to me you led her
nowhere but her death.

Now, you wish to leave us,
you will speak to me.

Or I will arrest you, miss.

Put you in a cell and forget for why.

She said only that
she had been asked to meet a man.

A man who said that
she had only to come with him...

and she would be paid 1,000 times
over what she would make

with a needle in her hand.

She was to sell herself.

Spread her legs for money, you mean?

No, I did... I-I... I asked...

But that was not it. She swore to me.

It must be that she was robbed.
Killed for the money she earned.

No, miss. It wasn't a robbing of her
that caused her death.

There was a good deal
too much trouble taken for that.

Then if you, a policeman,
do not know...

I cannot see how I, a seamstress,
can help you.

Now... may I return to see if
I have been discharged from my work?

See her returned.

Yes, Inspector.

The sight of blood frighten you,
Drummond?

Not in small amounts, Captain.

Well, it frightens some, however.

It's, er... instinctive phobia...

as inescapable a part
of any man as...

well, his blood itself.

You know where Wyoming is, Drummond?

It's in America, I imagine.

Take a prize.

There's big mountains there...

and big, high mountain passes...

full of virgin snow.

Now, I saw a man...

a friend of mine, as it goes.

Comanche brave put a hunting knife
through his guts

before I could get a shot out.

My friend died.

And I'm a doctor, understand? So...

Well, the... the impudence of it.

All I could do was watch as blood...

spread through the eyes.

A white world...

made red.

Miss Mathilda!
Your visits are a ray of sunshine.

Here, come, sit. Join me.

I am eager to know what latest
there is concerning Samuel Drummond.

Have you now spoken with him?

I have, but he is, I believe, bashful.

(LAUGHS) And timidity, so the world
insists, is the preserve of our sex.

You seek to draw him out, then?

I seek to know him a little,

what might make him sad or happy
or excited or afraid.

There are means by which
you might discover such, Mathilda.

It is no magic.

Merely offer him the opportunity
to know something of yours.

Show him something about which
you might own a passion.

See if then he might share his thoughts
on it with you.

That is wise counsel. Thank you.

There is no-one else with whom
I might share such questions.

Not your father?

No.

Do you travel somewhere, Miss Castello?

Paris.

It is no gentle tour, however,
but work of a sort.

A story hunted down.

Is it related to that photograph
you take with you?

Of the man who was my father's friend?

Who that?

Mr. Isaac Bloom, and the man,
the rabbi, Ratovski, who all thought

was killed by Isaac Bloom.

He lived in Paris, did he not?

And how would you know such things,
Mathilda Reid?

My father keeps some of his work
at home.

On occasion, I'm interested to read it.

Mathilda...

there are few women
who will tell you this.

But one of the greatest qualities
we might own...

is that of disobedience.

The moniker "Elephant Man"
was, of course,

a showman's adjectival indulgence.

Joseph looked no more like an elephant
than I do.

(LAUGHTER)

We are keen, as a race...

to throw back,
to attribute animal, primal qualities

to that which we do not understand.

Here, deformity.

Elsewhere, perhaps, foreigners.

We can describe such conditions
to ourselves

only in terms that are animalistic.

Important, then, to think

not on what separated Mr. Merrick
from we, his brother men...

but rather what joined him to us.

Thank you.

(CHATTER)

Mr. Reid.

(DOOR CLOSES)

Mr. Treves, hello.

Inspector no more, as I heard it?

Inspector yet again, I'm afraid.

Afraid, sir?

Turn of phrase.

Hm.

He was consenting of these - Mr. Merrick?

He was.

His abnormalities sketched

to aid the study of our similarities.

Mr. Reid, forgive me.

Do you come seven years
since your last visit

to question my science?

I do not, Mr. Treves.

But the dissections carried out here,
there are indeed

certain questions
that I seek answers for.

The cadavers that are sent to you
from Newgate...

TREVES: A valuable resource, certainly.

You have records from them?
Of course.

TREVES: My thanks, Martins.

Yesterday, you say?

Yes. The name, Monks, as I have it.

No. As you see, no such name.

No, indeed. A wasted visit, then.

Oh, never that, Mr. Reid.

Mr. Treves, tell me, the cadaver whose
origin I seek... We have him currently.

He was found perhaps one day
after his Newgate execution.

His neck punctured,

his body inverted

and it entirely exsanguinated.

At the fringes of medical practice,
to take blood and then preserve it,

what purpose can you imagine
for such an action?

Knowledge.

To know.

Blood is life. How might
that life be taken, preserved...

handed on?

Mr. Treves.

I always recommend a smoke
when you're two pints down.

Never known a head rush like it.

Ah, Inspectors.

You've come for some answers,
and now I have a few.

Your, er... Your lady there...

Her name was Agniezka.

Ah. Well, now I know her name...

and what killed her.

And so?

It was organ collapse.

Almost total internal collapse,

heart, kidneys, bladder, liver,

and the cause of that failure
was a corruption in her blood.

Come see.

Now, you know what hemoglobin is,
Reid, I assume that?

It is the compound which carries oxygen
through the blood to the organs.

Ever eager student, this one.

Now, this is Agniezka's blood.
Take a Look.

Her blood ain't carrying
nothing nowhere.

That's the organ failure?
Now...

Have you bled the whole division?

Save you two, almost.

Now I take two different samples.

Reid, make a comparison.

It is clotting.
Mm-hm.

The men's blood meet and corrupt.

We say then that the blood that covered
her as she ran... it was not hers.

But his... piped from him into her
through the puncture

in her neck.
Only she feels

her body rebel, the panic of it,
and runs.

But why? Why do this?

The care taken...
It cannot be for cruelty,

for death alone. Even a vampire
inflicts death so that he may live.

But what if two men's blood
does not always corrupt?

Now, what if my blood is somehow
different from yours

but akin to Drake's?

As if I don't have troubles enough.
Thatcher here, for example.

Now, I mixed his blood with,

er, your hanging man there, Monks.

Take a look.

It prospers.

Thatcher.

Thatcher, you...

You are a match for him.

So together they make Life.

This... earlier lancing you identified,
Captain.

The puncture wound infected.

Could this be the means by which
a... a sampling took place?

The preselecting
of a correlating blood match.

Inspector Drake, the, er...

the wound I bound on the girl,
Magdalena, it's the same infection.

Do we...? Do we say, perhaps,
that Magdalena was the match?

And not Agniezka...

who has no such infected wounds.

Did she go
in Magdalena's stead therefore?

Her blood, no match. It corrupted...

and her death brought down.

And this man, Monks, here...

his sampling could only have
happened before his execution

for the blood to be alive.

Mr. Drummond, run a records search.

Magdalena Dobrowski,

23.

I expect you'll find she spent some time
behind the walls of Newgate.

It is curious, this, Captain.

But Mr. Treves's records show no transfer
of this man's cadaver from Newgate

to the London.
Oh.

We must assume your source corrupted,
also.

(PHONE RINGS)

Drummond!

Yes. Thank you.

Four months for the theft of bread.

You find that girl. You bring her back.

I imagine we are to Newgate, Inspector.

Quite so, Mr. Reid.

Oh, and Jackson, best you come, too.
Introduce us to that source of yours.

You lied to me, Probyn.

Who did you pass
Percival Monks' cadaver to, sir?

The disposal of prison remains is very
far from my responsibility, Inspector.

The London Hospital
is where such cadavers are,

under normal circumstances, sent.

If one has gone astray, then it has
not done so from within my remit.

Where is it you keep
your needles, Doctor?

You have the key about you?

(CLUNKING)

Instrument's much used, sir.

Blunted, in fact.

I am provided with but a modest stipend,
Mr. Reid.

I'm sure.

Mr. Monks had a needle fester wound
on his arm, you know, here,

in the crook of his elbow.

A Polish woman, Magdalena Dobrowski,
likewise, Doctor.

So, to what end such needling, Doctor?
I, er...

In... In enclosed environment, er,
such as this, outbreaks of... of disease

are all too common.

My... My duty would be neglected
if I did not attempt

to contain them by inoculation.

And this?

If you please.

No, sir. No, I...
I will not be so suspected.

I am a doctor. My entire life given

to the care of... of these incarcerate
wrecks and villains.

I... I will have some respect, damn it!

Oops.

(DOOR BURSTS OPEN)

Magdalena!

Magdalena?

(SPEAKS POLISH)

Magdalena! Where is she? Where is she?!

As I heard it, Frank, you were asked to
return in company, not alone.

Drum... do you wish me to take
that reading machine of yours

and bury it in your head?

Not overly, Sergeant.

Then stop being a lobcock
and tell me where they put Probyn.

(WIND WHISTLES)

(POLISH ACCENT) Hello?

Please, I have come as asked.

(YELLS)

(MOANS)

Where? Where?

You tell me where she is.

(DOOR OPENS)
Huh?

Explain yourself, son!
She's gone, sir.

Who has?
Magdalena is gone.

Get out!

Captain Jackson to attend an injury
in the cells immediately.

PROBYN: Who do you think I am?
Some drunken navvy?

(SOBBING) I am not.

I'll have your warrant cards for this.

What if I took blood from our inmates?
Is there a law that says I cannot?

No.

I am a public servant.

No, sir. You are an accessory to murder.

You have no option but to release me,
and you know it.

Well, let me, er, patch you up,
at least, before you go, huh?

(BREATHES HEAVILY)

(GROANS) No.

Er, they do not improve your health,
I believe.

Shit, Probyn.

What does?

(PROBYN GROANS)

Ah, it's superficial. You'll live.

(PROBYN GROANS)

(CLATTERING)

Agh!
No.

You do her the honor of looking at her.

I thought you were a doctor, Probyn.
Such sights were humdrum.

Then why the discomfort
unless you, er...

you feel some responsibility for her?

(YELLS)

Shit, sorry. It's rubbing alcohol.
My mistake.

Still, there are worse mistakes
to suffer, wouldn't you say?

By way of example,
a transfusion experiment

on a girl with the wrong blood?

Now... you...

matched Magdalena and Monks.

I did.
At whose instruction?

A name.

He was French, I believe.

He did not give it.

Well, what did he give you?

Money... and a promise of more.

Now, we know how motivated you are
by that currency, don't we?

It was for the saving of a child.

His child.

And he was a doctor, correct?
I mean, he would have had to have been

to attempt such a thing with a need to
employ another such as yourself, Probyn.

Did he...?
Did he say he'd been struck off, or...?

Er, no. Er, but I... I imagine it so.

You know, Probyn, I think me and you
may yet escape this particular pickle

in one piece.

ABEL: I never had a daughter, you know.

I should have liked one, however.

What benefit do you imagine
she might have carried?

Well..no ship's head was ever made
from the figure of a man.

(LAUGHS)
(CHUCKLES)

She would have been pleasing
to have about the place is all.

Kind words, a pot of coffee.

Sons do not offer such?

They do not.

They're altogether more bother.

Huh.

The man Nathaniel...

He's yours?

My responsibility, I feel,
if not my blood.

You?

You have a child?

I do not believe you would allow me
to rest here ignorant of who I am.

(ABEL CHUCKLES)

Or my monstrous crimes.

(CHUCKLES) Certainly that is true.

They do not trouble you?

The crimes? Should they?

There is, er...

one blacker.

It felt blacker, I mean...

in my heart.

Oh, believe me, child,

many's the fellow to have lost his life
on my account.

You be calm on this score.

Mine is not a place of judgment
or justice.

I leave such refined notions to others.

RED: Scotland Yard,
British Medical Association,

the French Confederation,
Gendarmerie Nationale.

All that have been barred
in the last three years, say.

Suggestion for the cause of such barring
is illegal transfusion of bloods.

Yes, Mr. Reid.
jACKSON: Do no harm.

It's the first and most abiding maxim
by which you practice by.

And yet you have done plenty, Captain.
I've seen it.

Only when sorely pressed and never
to a soul that didn't have it coming.

You had a moral imperative.

You want to call it that, I did.

This man, likewise.

A child. His child.

No sin too great to save her, I imagine.

Perhaps you know how he feels, Reid.

Drum, I'm sure I saw a bottle
back here somewhere.

You hope to get a little reading,

are you, Sergeant?
Er, no.

Ah, I mean, well, yes,
at a... quiet moment.

Dracula.

REID: The evil Transylvanian count.

Because all foreigners
are dangerous predators

set on the parasitic cannibalism
of our young women.

I shall see this returned,
then, shall I, Sergeant?

Yes, I would... um... er...

A kind thought, Inspector.

(TAPPING AND BUZZING)

Is that...?
It is, sir. French police.

There is a pursued felon, sir,
thus the urgency of their response.

And his crime?

"His wife..."

(TAPPING)

"found bled out... in their Paris home

"and neither he nor their daughter
seen since."

And his name, Drummond.

"Blanchard... Tristan.

"48."
His wife?

Why would he perform the same experiment
on his wife?

Perhaps she was sick, also.
With the same disease.

An inherited disease of the blood.
Haemophilia.

That... That can be bad, but it can
be managed with skill and care.

Worse, then. Rarer. Incurable, even.

Porphyria.

It's a discoloration of the teeth,
anemia, photosensitivity...

breakdown of the bones.

One might consider it a moral imperative

to seek to spare a child
from such suffering.

Thatcher!

How's your French, Sergeant?

Er, worse than my Polish, sir.

Then simply shout louder.

Get a hansom to Albert Gate.
French Embassy. Wake them.

Do not leave
until they have provided you

with full photographic details
of this man.

(FRENCH ACCENT) Blanchard.

(FRENCH ACCENT) Miss Dobrowski.

I'm relieved to finally
meet you in person.

I did not mean to deceive you, sir.

Before, I mean.
When you sent another in your name...

hm? She who is now gone.

I made a sacrifice for a greater need.

The only mercy
is that it was a final trial.

Else you would now also
have the sacrifice

of my daughter's Life
on your conscience.

Your Life transformed, hm?

In return for the transformation
of my Camille.

DRUMMOND: They moaned a good deal, sir.

This is because they are French.

But as Mr. Reid suggested, I shouted,

and they soon packed up their moaning.

That is also down to their being French.

REID: May I, Inspector?

This man.

I have met this man.

It begins now, my Camille. Hm?

You'll need a few.
With me.

With me.

(WHISPERS) Hey, stop!

We can't just go in there thundering

with our irons out.
You tell us why not.

What he does in there is delicate.

We jump him, it goes badly, she starts
to bleed out, then won't stop.

Understand?

Let me talk to him, Drake.

Surgeon to surgeon.

Go.

(DOOR CREAKS)

Has she lost consciousness yet?

Who are you? Hm?

Huh, what do you want?

Has the board of this fine hospital
approved the carrying out

of discredited medicine
by fugitive outlaws?

So you are police?

Just another physician...

of sorts.

I performed the autopsy
on the other girl,

saw what catastrophe this science caused
to her organs.

(MUMBLES)

It's OK, darling.

(MUMBLES)
JACKSON: Shh, shh, shh. It's OK.

Well, then you know, huh?
Death was a result of, er...

an opportunistic falsehood.

This girl will come to no harm.

You take all of her blood, sir,
she's going to die.

Now, I expect you didn't tell her that
when you struck this deal.

Who is this man, Father?

No, no, no, no. Be still, my Camille.
Be still, now.

Huh, you trust in me?

Yes.

Then rest.

Close your eyes.
You can't save her.

You can't.

Even if this transfusion is completed,

the symptoms will only regress
for a while.

Whatever it is, there's no way yet
on earth found to alter those cards.

No! You... step back!

BLANCHARD: What do you know?

You judge me, but any father
would do the same.

This is my life's work.

She will recover. She will transform.

She will live.

Gentle sir, I beg you.

Do not do this.

BLANCHARD: As you wish, sir.

Reid, Drake! Get in here!

Get after him.

Thatcher, you're with me.

I need your help, man.

There's too much blood.

There's too much goddamn blood.

We're going to have to try a vessel
ligation. Hand me those forceps.

For Christ's sakes, man.
Right there. Forceps!

Got it.

If I can clamp the vessel,
that might buy us enough time.

Come on, Magdalena.

(CRASHING)

Stay back!

How can I let her suffer?

Without me, what hope does she have?

DRAKE: There is always hope, sir.

No.

In heaven, she will know
the love of her mother.

Such love, sir. All that you are...

put to the protecting of her.

I do not believe
you will now do this thing.

Goddammit!

It's too late.

Lost too much. We lost her, Thatcher.

No, no! No. Look...

Captain, take mine.

Remember? It... If I was...
If I was a match for the hanging man,

I'm also a match for her, am I not?

Thatcher, you son of a bitch.

Yeah.

Hold tight, girl.
Frankie Thatcher's coming for you.

My Camille.

I have killed you.

(SOBS)

JACKSON: ♪ Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't you lie to me

♪ Tell me,
where did you sleep last night?

♪ In the pines, in the pines

♪ In the cold lonesome pines

♪ Will you shiver
when the cold wind blows?

♪ Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't you lie to me

♪ Tell me, where did you sleep
last night? ♪

It is a song, Bennet. Only a song.

And you launch such conclusions at me.

No, Rose. You think you can hide
such a truth from me. You cannot!

How often?

And do not think to lie to me again.

Once a week.

Oh, Jesus.
In the month since.

But it was not planned, Bennet.

He found me all frantic
with the strain of it,

helped us, brought us home, and...

And Connor, he...

He calmed with him.

(CONNOR WHIMPERS)

And I could not deny him that.

DRAKE: And does the boy...?

Does Connor know him?
I mean, know who he is?

You are the only father
he has ever known.

The only father he will ever know.

(CONNOR WHIMPERS)

No, no. I'll see to him.

It's all right, lad.

I'm here now.

It's all right, boysie.

Is it that you do not like him?

I barely know him. That is my point.
Neither do you.

And yet [like him.

That... That is a guess, Mathilda.

And so instead you would prefer

I created experiments
to test what matter

he is made of?
I might, yes.

But do you not see
that this is that experiment?

He appreciates it or he does not
appreciate it. These things are

guides for you?

Well, is that not fair?

Fair? I'm not sure, Mathilda.

When these human transactions were writ,

fairness was not much
of a consideration.

You make your test, Mathilda.

But be sure to let me know
if he passes or not.

PROBYN:
1, er, served for a time in Alexandria.

Ah, and grew fond of the blend there?

Quite so. I was not,
er, misinformed, then?

You do have access to the Egyptian brand
of tobacco I favor?

It has taken me an age
to hunt down a supplier.

(CHUCKLES) Well, you may
rest gentle, sir.

That hunt is now behind you.

Ah.

Mr...

His name's Probyn.

Not a tobacconist, then?

No.

He is a doctor. The Newgate doctor.

I am relieved of my duties now, however.

How have you found me?

HOW?

I am shocked you asked.

That husband of yours stalking back
into my life with his threats.

It is his colleague has me reported
and deprived of my work.

£200.

Otherwise, my own further harm,
or know... your secret will be told

and that wretch son of yours will never
see your spiteful little face again.

Abel, I think, on reflection,
you should not.

ABEL: For why? Naught but a dome-headed
sack of jelly, this one.

No threat, certainly,
and I cannot believe he will be missed.

I shall tell you for why, Abel.

(METALLIC SWISH)

Between first and second rib, is it not?

It is, my dear.

Oh.

(GURGLES)

Nate...

two ox and a tarpaulin, if you please.

Speak to me of my son, would you?!

Here.

Here, yes, yes.

Brandy.

Here...

Fit for a king...

had the French not done away
with such things as kings.

What am I, Abel?

Why, a princess.

Ah... how now?
(SOBS)

Why do you weep? Not for him, surely?

(SOBS) No.

The other.

The dark secret I spoke of.

Ah.
The last definite death by my hand.

And who he?

My father.

It was my father.

I killed my father.

(SOBS INTENSELY)
Ah...

MAN: None of my boys
at the ironworks is weak.

They live, work, sport as men of iron.

Charlie Tanner is dead.
Beaten with a hammer.

I have an obligation.
Things will get better.

Me and you,
we've got to get out of here.

You will hear me, Reid!

We coppered good together.
Maybe them days have passed.