All language subtitles for Father.Brown.2013.S03E07.720p.HDTV.x264-TLA ENGLISH

That's the last of
your cavalry.

And that, Father, is check mate.

Yeah... never did have much luck
with my bishops.

Still, it wouldn't be summer
until you'd beaten me at chess.

So...

- time for a rematch?
- This way, Mr. Moxley.

Later, perhaps.

Right now,
I think I have some visitors.

Father Brown, I might have known.

Mrs. McCarthy,
Jeremiah...

I was just welcoming Aggie
back to Kembleford.

Bridget,
how have you been keeping?

Until this morning,
I was doing quite well.

Then I entered the church

only to find a chalice had been
snatched off the altar.

Oh, dear. I presume you have
informed the police?

We're on our way.
But first,

we thought we would
confront the culprit directly.

Your son was witnessed
by Mr. Moxley here,

- fleeing the churchyard.
- What rot. Alfons!

The bearded, brutish fellow.
I'll swear on the cross.

Alfons was here all morning.

I saw him there
with my own eyes.

Aggie and her family have been
visiting Kembleford for years.

If you would only take time to
get to know them...

I do know them.
They're all the same.

And that Chalice is worth all your
caravans put together

AND it's a personal favourite
of mine.

Let's see what the inspector says,
shall we?

You!

I've warned you about
coming round here.

I could make the same request.

Isn't there a rubbish dump
somewhere you could occupy?

Young man, we are here to
investigate a theft.

- Alfons.
- You keep away from here.

Alfons...

may I remind you,
that violence begets violence.

And, Jeremiah, may I suggest
you don't lose your head.

- In a manner of speaking.
- He doesn't frighten me, Father.

Then I'll try harder.

You're just dirty pagans,
raising dirty children

on other people's land

and it's always other people
that has to pay the price.

This is your final warning.
Keep away from this land

or you'll have to be carried away...

in a box.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd
Sync: Marocas62

Father Brown
Season 3 - Episode 07

"The Kembleford Boggart"

"On the third night,
as the fire burns to embers

"and she sits beside the cradle,

"Clarissa realises it's not the
house that's cursed at all,

"it's the baby."

"And in the corner of the room,
in the dying light,

"she sees the twitching shadow
of a wicked boggart."

- You hate it?
- No, it's thrilling.

- One thing?
- Yes?

I'm not entirely sure
I know what a boggart is.

- That's easy. It's...
- A boggart, Father,

is an unwelcome little imp
from another world.

One who causes nothing but trouble.

Forgive my daughter. She has
a fine talent, I'm assured,

but her fantasies are a little
far-fetched for my taste.

I think it's wonderful that a
young woman has such passion.

Hannah, I laid out a dress for you.
Go and change.

Yes, Daddy.

You're not one of those priests
who don't partake, I hope?

And what sort of priests are those?

I must say, again,
how surprised I was to see you

at the traveller's camp,
this morning.

Surely,
you of all people,

know that some souls
are not worth saving?

I must respectfully disagree.

The travellers may not be your sort
of people, Jeremiah,

but they're always welcome
at St Mary's.

My daughter has always been
so fond of you.

So, I must thank you for escorting
her to Lady Felicia's.

Without a chaperone it would be
out of the question.

We are all looking forward to
hearing her latest work.

Her last novel sold
very well, I hear.

- You must be proud.
- I am just happy

that she spends her
time upstairs writing,

not socialising with every
Tom, Dick and Sid in Kembleford.

Still, they attempt to woo her
through the post,

her so-called fans.

All these letters are for Hannah?

Yes, and gifts.

Perfume from Paris,
chocolates from Belgium.

Help yourself, Father.

Since they published her photograph
in Modern Profile magazine,

the letters seem to come in
almost daily.

And let me tell you, these men have
not got literature on their minds.

She's 22, Jeremiah.

She is no longer a girl.

And her work, I understand,
is very mature.

Yes, she has done very well for
herself, there's no mistake of that.

But she knows
that her duties here

are her first priority.

When the time is
right for a suitor,

it's a decision we'll take together.

Hannah.

Yes, you look very smart.

You will read your work,

take an hour to socialise,
and then return here.

- Is that clear?
- Of course.

Goodbye, Daddy.

Yep.
Eight o'clock, then.

Don't take your eyes off her.

I used to dream of losing myself
in these fields.

I'd run out as far as I could go,

but I was never more than
half a mile from home.

Daddy still thinks of me
as that little girl.

I fear, he always will.

Do you know how many weddings
I've been to, Hannah?

For the bride, it's always the
happiest day of her life,

for the father,
it's often bittersweet.

Did somebody tell you
I was courting, Father?

It's not true, I assure you.

All I meant to say was,
sometimes it's hard for a father

to let go of his daughter.

But it's necessary
to give her some freedom

or let her access her own
finances, at least.

He's unreasonably strict.

If my second novel is published,

I hope it will give him the chance
to see how I've matured.

If?

From what I hear,
the literary establishment

is waiting with baited breath.

I wanted to ask, if you'd be
the first to read it?

It would mean so much to me.

It'd be an honour.

Goodness, all these people.
They're not here for me?

Indeed, they are.

And these are just your
local fans, Hannah.

Mrs. McCarthy,

how nice of you to come
and support our local writer.

Yes. And I thought
I might see Jeremiah.

I do hope he has made a full
statement to the police

about those...
those travellers.

Daddy stayed home tonight.

In fact, I expect he's
already asleep by the fire.

We are all distressed about
this theft, Mrs. McCarthy,

but the matter is now in
Inspector Sullivan's hands.

Perhaps you could take
the night off?

- A sherry?
- Well. Maybe a little one.

Help me relax.

Father Brown, Hannah.

Let me introduce,
Harry Grandage.

Father Brown.

Harry.
I'm a journalist and a big fan.

I sent Harry a copy of
The Darkest Rose

- last year.
- And I fell in love.

Well, thank you, really.
Mr...Grandage?

Harry, please.

Harry's something
of a globetrotter,

he seeks out the truth.

Where you deal in fiction,
he finds the facts.

Sadly, my stories rarely come
with happy endings.

Your words took me away,
Miss Moxley,

at a time when I needed saving.

It's so nice to tell you in person.

Come, Hannah.

It's a sorry sight
to see the guest of honour

without a drink in her hand.

Are you staying with Lady Felicia?

She mentioned a reading by
Miss Moxley,

how could I resist?
I've only just got back
from Brussels.

I spent two months there before
travelling down to Antwerp.

I was covering the damage
from the North Sea floods.

So many lives affected.

My work always
seems to bring me

to people in times of grief.

It takes its toll.

So, when I read
"The Darkest Rose",

I was so happy to lose
myself to it.

It's a modern masterpiece.

Well,
you're certainly a fan.

More than a fan.

Miss Moxley's work offers escape.

I'm sure her second
novel will be just as uplifting.

Ladies and Gentlemen,
if you'd like to take your seats,

we're ready to begin.

Mrs. Mallory lay stiff and bloated
at Clarissa's feet.

Across her throat a tidy,
fine slash,

the stinging mark of a
whip sharp tail.

And all around the room,

she saw the messy trail
of an uninvited guest.

A fresh fall of soot
blanketed the hearth

and the floor was marked
by jagged claws.

As she rushed to the empty cot,

she saw the boggart's promise
had been fulfilled.

The housekeeper was dead
and the baby was gone.

What a frightful story.

If that's what passes for
modern literature,

I'll stick with the Woman's Weekly.

It's certainly a change
of tone from her.

From high jinks and espionage,

to things that go
bump in the night.

Still, Harry seems rather impressed.

I'm not sure it's Hannah's work

he's so taken with.

He certainly didn't
waste much time

in getting her autograph.

Now, I doubt Jeremiah would approve

his daughter talking to a
journalist.

Really!
She spends all day and night

locked up in that room
tap-tappidy, tap-tapping away,

how's she supposed
to ever meet anybody?

I don't suppose she is.

Besides, she's got a lot more to
offer than just her writing.

She's kind and beautiful
and she's...

She's vanished.

I beg your pardon?

- Where's she gone?
- I haven't the foggiest.

Excuse me.
Thank you.

Excuse me.
Thank you.

No luck finding her?

I've tried every room of the house.

All 600 of them.

She's probably away
with the fairies.

That seems to be where she's
most comfortable.

Unfortunately,
her father was very keen

on the importance of time keeping.

So, unless you'd like your parish
to be without a priest...

We could cut across the fields

and maybe meet her
on her way home.

Good idea.

Hannah?

Jeremiah?

The door was open.
We are not trespassing.

Father, what was that?

May I borrow your hatpin,
Mrs. McCarthy?

Thank you.

Holy mother of God!

Pray for graces.

What an almighty mess.

Some kind of burglary, I suppose.

Or...
or maybe an attack?

I mean, a dead body...

and Father, what do you make of
these deep scratches on the floor?

And look,
soot everywhere.

Perhaps,
Hannah's boggart was here?

What nonsense.

After this morning,

I think we both know
who is responsible for this.

And how do you think Alfons
disappeared?

Up the chimney?

Father,
it's locked.

Downstairs.

Mrs. McCarthy?
Father Brown?

Whatever's the matter?

You say you came straight
from the reading, Father?

That's correct.

Miss Moxley is a fine writer.

So I've heard.
What's she like as a daughter?

Mostly, I think, very obedient.

Does she know? About her Father?

She's distressed.

Lady Felicia is well
acquainted with the family.

She'll be looked after.

Might be an idea to get some
light in here, sergeant.

Shutter's locked tight, sir.
There's no key.

So, did anything unusual
happen at the reading?

Did Miss Moxley seem at all
distracted to you?

She was nervous
before she read.

What's her latest novel about?

It's...

it's about a murderous boggart

locked in an attic wreaking havoc,

scratches up the floor
and then disappears up the chimney.

A boggart...

Yes, I know what a boggart is,
thank you very much.

I just don't think it's likely
that one jumped out of a novel

and into this study.

That'll be all, Father.
Thank you.

You're politely asking
me to leave?

Inspector...

I can be more direct,
if you like?

Break-in gone wrong, inspector?

Possibly, sergeant.

Let's wait and see what Miss Moxley
has to say for herself, shall we?

Good morning, Father.

Well, don't you look dreadful?

You've had your nose in that
book all night, I suppose?

Well, Hannah left us
with such a cliffhanger,

I wanted to see how Clarissa faired
with her little boggart.

- How did you sleep?
- Not a wink.

I had nightmares about sinister men
and wicked creatures.

I'm going to speak with Hannah
this morning.

She seemed very upset.

Well, tell her never fear.

I'm sure the inspector will catch up
with that Alfons soon enough.

You seem certain he's involved.

The man clearly had history.

He should be taken in for
questioning at the very least.

They need to act quickly.

Aggie and her family will be
leaving soon.

Leaving Kembleford?
Well, they can't!

Mrs. McCarthy, I think you
need to make your mind up

because you are in danger of
sending mixed messages.

Where are you going now?

I'm going to the police station.

A man has been murdered and somebody
must be held to account.

There was a jewellery box
in the attic, Miss Moxley.

I was hoping you could tell me
what the contents were?

- I'm not sure.
- You're not sure?

They were my mother's,
but I never wear them.

Do you think it was stolen?

Yes. There seems to have been
a struggle in the attic.

Downstairs, however,
there was no sign

of any forced entry into the house.

Whoever was there, was most likely
welcomed in by your father.

Hannah, good morning.
How are you?

Father, I was just asking
Miss Moxley some questions.

Well, just ignore me.
Quiet as a mouse.

Where were you after the reading?

I was with Mr. Grandage,
we walked around the grounds.

Right, of course.

I was boring her
with travelling stories.

When Hannah realised
Father Brown had gone,

she hurried home.

If I had never come for drinks
in the first place...

He didn't want me to go.

Poor girl's exhausted.

Can't your questions wait?

Yes, that will be all, for now.

I'll show you to the door,
Inspector.

Thank you.

Hannah, I know this is
a terrible shock...

Excuse me, Father.

I'm sorry,
I think I need to lie down.

- Yes.
- Try and rest.

I'll bring you up some tea.

She's in shock.

It's only natural she should feel
guilty about leaving the house,

but nobody could foresee a burglary.

I think her sense of guilt
goes deeper than that.

What are you suggesting?

She seemed nervous about more
than her reading, yesterday.

And the goodbye hug she gave
her father was...

rather...

final.

How long has she known
Mr. Grandage?

As I understand,
she only met him yesterday.

You were there.

Lady Felicia, there seems
to be a disruption

in the west part of your wood.

I trust you wouldn't mind
accompanying me down there?

Yes.

Jeremiah Moxley is dead

and we must make sure his murderer
is brought to justice.

Nobody here knows anything
of that man,

besides the fact he was a sourpuss
with a face like thunder.

Speaking ill of the dead now?

That lavender will
never settle the child,

rub chamomile on the gums.

Nobody asked for your advice,
thank you.

Here, take him.

Perhaps you could
call out your son?

I've got some questions for him.

If you want to speak to Alfons,
you'll have to go through me.

My back may be shot,
but my fists work just fine.

Ma!
Go inside.

Not for all the whisky in Windsor.

Here's the inspector now.

At last, someone with
some actual authority.

What seems to be the problem, here?

While the whole of Kembleford is
reeling from the murder of Jeremiah,

your prime suspect is
about to hitch his wagon

to the next town
to sell his ill-gotten gains.

We had no business
with that man.

It's true, Jeremiah had more
enemies than friends, Mrs. M.

Yes, but which of those enemies
threatened his life

on the very day he died?

Is that right?

Did you threaten Mr. Moxley?

Perhaps you'd be
more comfortable

answering my questions
at the station.

It wasn't a threat,
it was a warning.

Father Brown heard it himself,
he was standing right there.

Father?
Can you verify this?

I don't think anybody was acting
reasonably yesterday morning...

Father Brown, did you see this man

threaten Jeremiah Moxley
the day he died?

I saw something of the sort.

That's good enough for me.

I am arresting you on suspicion
of the murder of Jeremiah Moxley,

you are not obliged to say anything,

but anything you do say will be
taken down and given in evidence.

According to my records,

Jeremiah has complained several
times about your presence.

Is there a particular reason

why you settle so close
to the Moxley house?

Her ladyship has always
offered the land.

From what I know of the man,
he was a controlling bully.

I'm sure many people wanted him
gone.

May I remind you,
you're still under caution.

And if you expect me to believe you
were nowhere near the house...

I was at the camp.

And a dozen witnesses
will confirm it.

I've no doubt they will.

But I'd rather
stick to the evidence.

So let's just wait and see
if your fingerprints match the ones

we found in the attic.

Shouldn't take long.

In the meantime,

I've requested a warrant
to search the caravans.

What are you expecting to find?

I'll know when I've found it.

"Dear Larry..."

Yes, I did correct her.

Rather charming, really.

Added to which I have
an Uncle Larry

whose birthday is fast approaching.

Mr. Grandage, are you
planning on staying long?

Hannah asked me to stay.

I think she finds some
comfort in me.

The two of you are becoming close.

I'm pleased to say, we are.

When I first read her book,
I was in the Republic of Korea,

covering the war,

a taste of hell.

Her work offered me
the chance to escape then,

and now I can do the same for her.

A distraction in the worst of times.

Father Brown,
here you are.

Hannah.

If you're ready, I thought
I would escort you home.

I did promise your father.

That's kind,
but I think I will stay put.

Felicia and Mr. Grandage
are looking after me.

Felicia said that
one of the travellers

was arrested for Daddy's murder.

Who is he?

Your father had a minor
dispute yesterday

with a man called Alfons.

The police are investigating.

How could he... To an old man?

I can't bear to think...

The Inspector is asking him
some questions.

I'm sure if he wishes
to press charges,

he will have to provide
serious evidence.

You've no right going
through my belongings.

Your son is in serious trouble,
do you realise that?

You've got an
awful lot of junk in here.

I trade door to door,

home-made jams
and wild flowers.

Things I find and make myself,
what's wrong with that?

Nothing at all.

How much for this?

Well, that's not...

- That don't belong to Alfons.
- You don't say.

I mean, I've no idea who
put that there.

Kembleford Boggart, perhaps?

That must be a very
gripping book

because you haven't said
a word for an hour or more.

I am so proud of you, Father.

It's nice to leave the investigation
to the police, for once.

On the contrary,

Mrs. McCarthy,
my investigations have been ongoing.

And if you'll be so kind
I would like you to accompany me

- to the Moxley house.
- Whatever for?

Yes, I think we both need
a lesson in perspective.

And how are you proposing
we get inside the house, Father?

Perhaps we could use this.

Come up to the attic
and I'll explain.

Miss Moxley certainly
is a popular girl,

make of that what you will.

They're fan letters.
They might cheer her up a little.

Come along.

Found in your waistcoat.

I'm not sure they're
really your style.

But you'd make a tidy sum
selling them.

I didn't steal those.

I didn't kill that man.
I've done nothing wrong,

I swear on my life.

You may well be
swearing on your life.

The jewellery in your pocket,

and now the matching fingerprints
on the attic room door.

You could well be heading
for the gallows.

When we entered this room
the other night,

what was the first thing you
remarked on?

Well, the body, obviously,

and then those scratch marks
on the floor,

and soot everywhere.

It reminded me of Hannah's story.

Like some dreadful re-enactment.

Precisely.

But neither of us had ever
been in this attic room before.

So how would we know that
what we saw was unusual?

Perhaps it wasn't unusual.

What if soot fell
from that chimney every day?

For instance, when somebody
retrieved something from it.

Like what?

For example...

A key.

And what if a badly hung door

made marks on the floor
every time it is opened,

makes the scratches
of deadly talons.

Not life imitating art,
Mrs. McCarthy,

art imitating life.

It wasn't until I finished
Hannah's manuscript

that I realised the most significant
image of all...

The missing child.

Heavens above...
A baby, hidden away!

To his shame, Jeremiah Moxley
was a grandfather.

I believe it was his influence
that kept the child hidden.

It's high time some light was
let into this gloomy place.

Father, the chalice!

What on earth is it doing here?

My guess is that Jeremiah
stole it himself

in an attempt to frame the
travellers.

But why?

Because the father of Hannah's
child was not the sort of man

Jeremiah Moxley
wanted in his daughter's life.

Two minutes.

So, what words of comfort do you
bring me, Father?

Only these.

If Hannah Moxley seemed
ashamed

of your relationship,
if she

asked you
to keep quiet about it,

it was only
at the insistence of her Father.

You must know that.

I found the nursery...

..and the key to the front door
she left for you.

You were planning to
leave together, yes?

She swore me to secrecy.

She was terrified about
what people would think of her

and of our child.

She was desperate to leave

but only if nobody
knew the truth.

Well, now your life is at stake

and I fear her father's shame

may last for the rest
of her life.

They found her jewellery,
Father, in my waistcoat.

- I see.
- She told me

to take it from the house.

Jeremiah controls her money,

just like he controls
everything else.

Those jewels were the only
thing of value she has.

We first made plans to leave
last summer.

She was freer, then.

She'd visit the camp,
read us her stories.

I never intended it to...

But...

You fell in love.

And she fell pregnant.
Her father was beside himself.

"I've just locked her up."
When she first came to see me,

just a few days ago,
she told me about the child.

She told me where to
find her door key
and she promised to meet me
from the party.

I was worried her father would catch
me sneaking back into the house, but...

Jeremiah was already dead.

And when you heard us,
you locked the study door and...

Holy Mother of God.

..hid in the nursery.

I could heard you
but I was trapped.

So you created a diversion.

Up the chimney.

Leaving me to ponder a
broken flowerpot

and a distressed geranium.

I could have killed him.

For what he'd done to us,

the way he kept them
locked up in that house

but I swear, Father,
on the Lord's name, I didn't.

I found him there, dead,
beside that letter opener.

Letter opener.

Of course.

Initially,
I thought that the murderer

must be close to home
but now,

I realise that

he has been at a safe distance

all the time.

Father, nice to see you.

You've caught me
on my way out of town.

Just come from Lady Felicia's,

looking for Hannah.

Well, that is her shawl
in the back of your car?

I've offered her a place
to stay in the city.

She's desperately in need of escape.

I presume you'll be informing
Inspector Sullivan she's leaving?

Actually, Father, we were
hoping for a bit of discretion,

a new start for the girl. I've
offered to help her in any way I can.

Things are very complicated.

Don't mind, do you?

I know about the baby, Harry.

I've just met with his father.

Yes.
A terrible business.

She feels quite betrayed by him,
obviously.

She'll be back
from the camp any moment now -

I'm sure she'd rather just
disappear with little fuss.

I'm trying to
piece together a story,

and I have a few pages missing.

I thought you might be able
to fill in the gaps while we wait.

I'm not sure I'll be much help.

Yesterday,
when she signed your book,

I saw a frown set on your face.

She got my name wrong.

It was more than that.

She had no idea who you were.

And when you first saw her
handwriting, you realised

you had no idea who she was either.

It was then, I think,
you decided to pay a visit

to the place you'd been writing to.

Writing to?
I don't know what you mean.

You had been writing to her
from Belgium for months.

And you thought that
she was writing back to you.

But you had no idea

she didn't even get
to read her fan mail.

Her father controlled that,
as he controlled everything else.

You felt betrayed.

It must have made
you very angry.

This is a wonderful
work of fiction, Father.

You're quite the fantasist.

Father Brown!

I can explain.

There's no need.

I've seen the nursery for myself
and I've spoken to Alfons.

What a beautiful baby boy
you both have.

He deserves a good life.

I wish we could we could stay,
Father, but...

but I can't imagine what people
would say if they knew.

Hannah, listen. I don't think
Alfons killed your father.

- We really must go.
- I wish I had your faith,

but I don't know
what to believe any more.

Goodbye, Father.
Pray for us.

When I went to your house,

the key you left for Alfons
was still beneath the statue.

He didn't need it to get in,

because somebody was already
there, with your father.

Why were you at my house?

I think it's time
you read some of your fan mail.

This one from Belgium
is particularly interesting.

Hannah...

You span a good story, Harry,

and now it's time
the truth comes out.

I know you think
you're trying to help the girl,

but please,
just let us go.

She's made her choice.
Hannah! Get in the car.

She is a grieving woman
who has been easily influenced.

You have manipulated her into
thinking that she is safe with you,

while an innocent man
may be sent to hang.

What does this letter mean, Harry?

Have you been writing to me?

Yes.

He has been writing to you.

He and your father have been
making plans for your future.

Harry didn't come back to
Kembleford for your latest work.

- He came back for you.
- It wasn't like that, Hannah.

I didn't know!

I thought it was you writing
back to me,

I thought we were...

You were at my house last night?

It was you.

For your own sake,
tell the truth.

I only wanted what is best for you.

Your father told me he had been
writing back to me on your behalf.

That he needed to be sure

I was the correct suitor for you.

What kind of twisted old man
are you?

I was going to explain
everything to her.
It's much more complicated...

I was furious.

Humiliated.

And then, as we spoke downstairs,
I heard the baby cry.

What in God's name?

It didn't make a difference to me.
I wanted you both.

But he wouldn't listen...

A baby.

All this while,
you've been hiding a child?

No, no, no, no! Please, please!
The girl made one mistake.

There is no reason why anyone
should know.

- I'm going back to the party.
- No, you're not!

- I need to speak with her.
- No! You mustn't! You can't.

When I threatened to tell you
the truth, he turned on me.

He was too afraid to lose you.
It was an accident, I swear.

All I wanted was to take you away,
to escape with you.

- Isn't that what you wanted?
- No!

You're no better than he was.

You want to control me.

Well, I won't let you.

I've spent too long locked away.

I want a free life.

I owe that much to him.

Hannah, please!

When that child is safely
with his grandmother,

she will take that letter
to the police.

He came at me. I had no choice.

Then that is
what you must tell them.

I don't know
how any of this happened!

All I wanted

was to escape to the
life she wrote about.

No more misery and suffering,
just...

..a family.

Some peace.

If you love the girl,
you must come clean.

- For her sake?
- No, no.

For your sake.

For the sake of your soul.

You may not get your
happy ending, Harry.

But you can give Hannah
the life she deserves.

So, has he confessed yet?

Father Brown
left in a hurry.

I don't think he's convinced
you've got your man, Inspector.

The problem with the priest, sergeant,
is that he over-complicates everything.

Alfons couldn't be easier to convict

if he'd walked into the station
and handed himself over.

Yes, sir, how can I help you?

My name is Harry Grandage.

I'm here to confess

to the accidental killing
of Jeremiah Moxley.

In nomine Patris

et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

Amen.

Jeremiah,
may you be blessed with a life

free from intolerance
and free from shame.

Would you mind?

Hello, sweetheart.

Look at them.

What a perfectly
beautiful family.

It's not hard to see why Harry
would crave such a life.

He spent so long reporting
the worst of the world.

Perhaps he'd seen enough.

Too much of the world
is better than not enough.

And for better or worse,
Hannah is a free woman now.

And in the end,
Harry did the right thing.

With the church's guidance!

Excuse me.

I owe you an apology.

You owe us more than one.

As though my Alfons
could do such a thing.

I was taken in by Jeremiah's lies,

and I feel terrible for it.

So this is for you.

For your back -
it's a muscle rub.

St John's wort and valerian,
my mother's own remedy.

I use witch hazel and beeswax.

This will work much better.
I made it myself.

All right.

Worth a try.

Well,
when all's said and done,

we're not so different,
Aggie and myself.

What's this, Mrs. McCarthy,
a change of heart?

"Absolute heathen", wasn't it?

"Nothing but a pest..."

I never said such things.
Malicious gossip. Pure fiction.

And remember, there's a fine line
between fact and fantasy.

Couldn't have put it better myself.

Walk on.

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Sync: Marocas62