Original subtitles

- [screams]

[door opens]

[soft dramatic music]

- Aggie?

[water dripping]

[knocks]

- Sorry. - What's wrong?

- I can't find her.

- Did you turn the lights on?

- No, it was on.

- I don't think she's been in here.

Mr. Gregory and I washed up.

Did you open this door?

- No.

- You should stay here.

Aggie?

[dark music]

- Is she there?

Raphy, is she there?

[theme music]

- Morning.

- Agatha Betterton has been found at the bottom

of the cellar steps.

- Is she--

- I need you to go back to your rooms and stay there.

- Lord help us.

- This isn't happening.

- And Raphael and Father John?

- Wait in your rooms.

We'll be speaking with you all individually.

Please.

After the booze, I assume.

Maybe she'd already had a skinful and down she went.

Some of these look pre-war.

Probably some quality.

Even in death, you smell of alcohol.

- Be quiet.

- Sorry.

- Have I taught you to make assumptions?

- No, sir.

- That's the second time.

More experience, more confidence

should mean more humility, not less.

A little empathy wouldn't go amiss.

- Right.

Yeah.

- I noticed two bottles of gin concealed in the Bettertons'

kitchen yesterday. She is an alcoholic.

There'll be more.

I doubt very much she had need to come

down here in search of alcohol, pre-war or otherwise.

Let's see what the pathologist says.

Can you leave us alone, please?

- I think I should stay.

I'm warden here.

He's my responsibility, as are all the boys.

- He's not a minor.

- It's all right, Father.

- I'll dress.

I'll be in my office.

- I'm very sorry.

When did you last see Miss Betterton?

- My mother.

Last night, at dinner.

I argued with her.

She was drunk.

- What did you argue about?

- The usual.

I told her she'd had enough.

She was shouting at everyone.

She was saying that--

she was saying we should all do a dance because the archdeacon

is dead.

She said she knew who'd done it, and that she had proof.

- Do you think she was being serious?

- I don't know.

She walked out.

That was the last time I saw her, till--

- What time was that?

- About half 8:00.

Then John woke me around midnight

and we went looking for her.

- Did you see anyone else in the building,

notice anything strange?

- No.

- What made you look in the cellar?

- John said he found a light on in the kitchen,

and I noticed the cellar door was open.

Please, tell me this was an accident.

- Who else was at dinner last night?

- Actually, she-- she seemed to imply she knew something

about the archdeacon's death.

Well, it sounded-- well, it sounded like drunken bravado.

- Thanks.

What did she say?

- Oh, just that she knew something

and she could prove it.

But, like I said, she was--

she was very drunk.

- She didn't give any other details?

- No.

It's extremely sad.

John'll be devastated.

John's already fragile.

- Were you here when he was suspended

for suspected misdemeanors?

- No, I came later, but he was definitely depressed even then.

- Do you think he was guilty?

- No idea.

Not from what I know of him.

I've never seen any evidence here of inappropriate behavior.

I'd have reported it if I had.

But I'm with the archdeacon.

These places are too insular.

They do need democratizing.

I thought academia was bad.

- You were at Magdalen.

- Mm.

Yes.

- I was at Trinity.

- Were you?

Amazing where we crop up, isn't it?

- After dinner, what did you do?

- Did anyone come to the flat yesterday night, speak to her?

- I didn't hear anyone.

But then I had already taken to my bed, selfish old fool.

Left her to deal with all of it.

- Raphael said that at dinner, your sister implied

that she knew who had killed the archdeacon

and that she had proof.

Do you know what she meant?

Did she speak to you about it?

- No.

No.

[knock]

- Oh.

- I need a brief witness statement

from you, Dr. Lavenham.

- Yes, she certainly did imply that.

She said something like, we all know.

Something about proof.

- What did people say to that?

- The priests, the warden, the other one, they

were quite angry.

They tried to take control.

She was pretty vicious about them.

Said they were hypocrites.

They told her to leave, and she walked out.

- And after dinner, what did you do?

- I came straight back here.

Couldn't get back fast enough, to be honest.

Is that why she's dead?

Because she said she knew something?

- Hard to say.

- Something you read in books.

- Her fiance, Edward.

Died in North Africa, the war.

Love of her life.

They had such plans.

Aggie always wanted a farm, you know.

Lots of children, dog.

I knew, of course, but what could I?

It was my fault.

- When did she start drinking?

Around the time of the inquiry?

- No, not then.

She was my rock.

She kept me alive.

Can I-- can I tell you something in confidence?

Raphael, his real mother's name was Clara Arbuthnot.

She wrote to us after the inquiry, said she needed to see

Agatha.

The letter came from a hospital.

Aggie went.

When she came back, she said we were losing Raphy.

She was desperate.

I knew it was because of me, because of the reports

in the newspapers.

- Did anything come of it?

Any follow up?

- We waited every day for the knock

on the door, the solicitor's letter, the woman

at the gates, and--

and she started to get her through the days.

And I think-- I think she--

I think she was pushing him away,

our boy, so it wouldn't be so painful when she lost him.

- She's been dead for between six and nine hours.

Cause of death, a broken neck.

She fell with force down the steps,

struck her forehead there, and was flung face forward.

- Fell with force?

- Yes.

It's possible that she was pushed.

It's a first impression, but--

- Why?

- If she'd have stumbled down the steps, missed her footing,

she would almost certainly have come down on her back.

I'd expect to see massive and specific bruising.

It isn't there.

Broken ankles, or at least badly sprained.

She literally went head over heels,

and that usually takes force.

But it's an opinion.

I can't rule out an accidental fall.

I might never be able to.

[phone rings]

I'll try to fit her in this afternoon.

- Sergeant, Yard on the phone.

- At present, Miss Betterton's death is unexplained.

But we have some reason to suspect

she may have been murdered.

- Surely not.

Surely the woman fell?

- I understand she was making claims at dinner

last night, implying she knew something

about the archdeacon's death.

- She was inebriated, as she always is.

She was hysterical, looking for attention.

- Peregrine.

- Her death is regrettable, naturally,

but the woman was a liability, a terrible example to the boys.

She had no place here.

- She'd had a lot to deal with.

- You should have got rid of her months ago.

You should have got rid of them both.

On that, Crampton was right.

And as for who killed him, I'd say she was by far

the most likely culprit.

Incapable of self control.

- Is there anything else you think I should have done?

- What did you do after dinner?

- Came here, talked, we prayed.

- And since we're not able to enter the church,

worship is at our heart.

You and your mob seem to forget that.

Unbearable strain.

- And after that?

- I went to bed.

- As did I.

[knock]

- Background checks.

Karen Surtees, this is a good one.

She doesn't exist-- no NI number, no tax records.

They checked the last census.

Eric Surtees is an only child.

[radio playing, dog barking]

[knocking]

We need you both out.

We're searching this place.

- No, you're not.

Where's your warrant?

- Let them.

- Come out, please.

- No.

- He's the tenant.

You have no say in this, Miss Whoever-You-Are.

Excuse me.

The woman you claimed to be your sister--

- Didn't say that.

She's a friend.

More than a friend.

- What's her real name?

- Look, just ask her, will you?

- I'm asking you.

- Karen Randall.

I'm not allowed anyone staying in the cottage

except for family.

It's just easier, the sister thing.

- What do you know about her?

- She's from London.

- Is that it?

- Ask her.

- Where were you last night between

half-past 8:00 and midnight?

- At the cottage.

Why?

What exactly happened last night?

Has someone else died?

- Did you leave the cottage at any point, even briefly?

- No.

I went to the shed to get cold, but I was five minutes.

- You didn't go to the college? - No.

- Did Karen go out? - No.

She was with me.

- Karen Randall.

Is that your real name or another alias?

- Alias?

Yes, it's my real name.

- Do you know it's a crime to lie to the police?

- I doubt the judge will lock me up.

I gave you my real address.

It's their fault, the priests, their idiotic, archaic rules.

- How long have you known Eric Surtees?

- 18 months or so.

- Not long to have become so involved

with someone that you decide to fight their battles for them.

- You mean the archdeacon?

As I told you, I'd had a vodka.

It makes me feisty.

Okay.

You're going to find my notes anyway.

I'm a journalist, investigative, freelance.

I came to stay in the village when the story about Betterton

broke.

I met Eric in the pub one night, we got talking,

and that led to something else.

- You used him.

- No.

He soon realized why I was there.

I didn't deny it.

We are actually into each other.

- But you claimed to be his sister

to get through the gates, have access to the college?

- Yes, I did.

I've written dozens of articles on sexual abuse in the church.

I've put the work in.

Parish magazines, priests suddenly

moving on, a whiff of scandal, women

in mother and baby homes--

it's hard to get the nationals interested,

but once in a blue moon, something gets through.

The Betterton case was unusual because the archdeacon

threw his weight behind a criminal investigation.

- No criminal charges were brought.

The boy, the suicide, was 18.

There was no evidence.

- The parents were sure.

The boy kept diaries.

He was way too attached to Betterton.

And he'd been a pupil here since he was 14.

So even if nothing happened, would you

want your kids being taught by someone who has

sexual fantasies about them?

I wouldn't.

You want to send your kid off to Sunday school

thinking it's a safe, benign, positively

good place for them to be, then find out they'd been touched

or worse?

We're only just scratching the surface.

Sooner or later, it's going to rock the church to its core.

- What happened when you went in search of the archdeacon?

- Well, I didn't kill him.

Why would I?

I've been writing to his office for months

asking for an interview.

I never got a reply, and finally he

comes to the college, so I went to find him.

My big chance.

And it was like I said.

He was here in the church with the warden.

Only they weren't just talking.

They were arguing.

They were angry.

- About the doom?

- No, it sounded like more than that.

It was personal, bitter.

Certainly wasn't the right time for me to pop up.

Could have been huge, getting a senior cleric to talk.

- Why didn't you tell us the truth about this yesterday?

- Precious info.

I was still deciding how to use it.

I was thinking it might force the warden

to talk to me instead.

- I suppose it depends on how one characterizes an argument.

- Does it?

- We certainly had words, which I now deeply regret.

I took it personally, his plans for reform.

It felt like a criticism of my leadership.

Pride.

Matthew Crampton and I were at school together,

and we both went up to Durham.

There'd always been a touch of rivalry

in our relationship, honors, girls even.

It was a long time ago, and we should

have moved past it, but--

- Our witness says the argument was heated.

- Perhaps, at times.

- What was said?

- I hardly remember.

I accused him of relishing his position of power over me.

He denied it.

It was demeaning and unnecessary.

- Did you leave the church together?

- No, he left first.

I stayed on for a while, asked for guidance.

You have to understand, we would have sorted

it all out the following day.

- Was that the last time you saw him?

- Yes.

- You didn't seek him out again, ask him

to come back to the church? - No.

No, I swear to God.

I swear to God.

- Sorry.

- It's fine.

- Thanks for giving permission.

I should only need 10 minutes or so.

- No problem.

- I noticed yesterday you didn't pray.

- No.

Complicated, isn't it?

- Mm.

- I suppose I'm agnostic.

I certainly don't believe in God

the Father, the big bearded man looking down from above.

In fact, I resent the way spirituality

has been requisitioned by men.

I wrote my undergrad thesis on the depiction of the rejected

goddess in 18th century art.

Graphic messages.

God is male.

Church is male.

Know your place.

You?

- I was raised to believe.

My father was a rector at a church in Norfolk.

- Ah.

- But I have a stubbornly rational streak.

I miss it, the certainty, the comfort.

I do have faith that we're more than we know we are.

But as for some sort of divine purpose, I can't find that.

- You have a difficult job.

- Infinite room for regret.

I should have stayed here last night.

- You think she was murdered?

You may not have been able to save her.

- So many of them near the lake.

I thought of you both.

I'm so sorry.

If there's anything I can do, please tell me.

- Thank you, sir.

From Mr. Gregory.

He picked them by the lake.

- Father Sebastian has to be chief suspect, don't you think?

He has motive, opportunities.

His prints are on the candlestick.

Granted, they can be explained away, but--

- Yes.

- Karen Randall?

We know she can lie.

Maybe with Surtees's help.

- Her motives aren't clear.

She's passionate about her mission,

and I get the feeling she is fueled by personal experience.

- Yeah, I got that.

- But what does she gain by killing him?

And she and Surtees weren't at dinner, so they wouldn't have

known about Agatha's boasting.

- So we're definitely treating her death as murder?

- What do you think?

- I think yes.

It's too much of a coincidence.

- Agreed.

- But it'll be a devil to prove.

We'll need something cast iron.

- We can't assume that one person is

responsible for both deaths, but it seems likely,

and it seems highly likely that the killer

was sitting in the refectory yesterday evening.

- Do we rule out Father John?

She's his sister.

- I'm not ruling anything out.

- Sir, about before--

- It's done with.

- I can take it from you.

I mean, I'd rather you just said.

You're hard to read.

It's not a management style that suits everyone.

I do try.

I'm not her, but--

- All I want is that you treat the senior command

course as an opportunity to keep learning,

not as a victory parade.

You have excellent qualities.

Just remember, the job is a privilege.

Did you follow up re Clara Arbuthnot?

- Yes.

Yes, the hospital he mentioned, Ashcombe, I telephoned.

It's a local cottage hospital.

The clerk didn't even need to look at the records.

Clara Arbuthnot died around 18 months ago.

- Did they say anything else?

- No.

- Okay, let's get SOCO back and carry out a search

of Father Sebastian's room.

Let's look at the clothes he's been wearing

for the last couple of days.

I'm going to the hospital to see if there's anything

else they can tell me.

- Really?

Sorry, I mean, she's dead.

- It's bothering me, and it's a loose end, one

of the only ones we've got.

Nurse Ford.

I'm Commander Dalgliesh.

I'm leading investigation locally.

- All right.

- I'm interested in a patient who died here in September

'77, Clara Arbuthnot.

The matron said you helped nurse her.

- Yes, I did.

I remember her very well.

I wasn't assigned to her.

That was Nurse Rooney, but yes.

- Do you have a moment to talk?

- Well, during my break.

- Mary Rooney's in Australia now.

We've lost touch, which is sad.

She really liked Clara.

She was upset when she died.

Clara was only 50 years old, and she

was sparky and mischievous.

I think she'd led a pretty colorful life.

- Did she have visitors?

- Lots of friends.

Lots of laughter and cake around the bed.

- Do you remember her being visited by a lady

called Agatha Betterton?

It could have been just one visit.

- No, I'm sorry.

I can't remember any names.

- She works at a seminary, Saint Anselm's College.

Did Clara ever talk about the college?

- Not to me.

- How about children or a partner, perhaps?

- Not that I saw.

But, you know, she got married.

- What do you mean?

- Yes.

When she found out that she only had a few weeks left,

she said she had to get married.

- The hospital records list no next of kin, just the name

of her solicitor.

- Well, it definitely happened.

I know Mary organized it for her.

- Who did she marry?

- I don't know.

We all presumed it was something to do with where

she wanted her money to go.

It was quite a to-do.

Clara said it had to be in a church, which we all thought

was funny, because she wasn't exactly

nice to the poor chaplain whenever he came.

I know Mary was her witness.

- Did she say anything about the groom?

- I think she said he was handsome,

but she said it was an odd business, over in a flash.

- Do you remember the name of the church?

- Yes.

They went to the nearest one because Clara was so unwell.

All Souls, Petworth.

- What about under?

- Yeah, bag it.

Like I said, I need you to stay out.

- Brother?

- They'll close us down.

We can't to survive this.

Where will I go?

- Someone's given them a load of information.

- Was it you? - No.

I wish it was.

- One of the coppers?

- I don't know.

The vocab, it seems like someone

who knows about churches.

- Karen, what happens now this has all blown up?

I mean, is that it for us?

- No, unless you want it to be.

Silver linings.

- I'm so sorry about your sister.

Gosh, I'm sorry.

Here, let me.

[sobs]

Is there anything I can do?

- Such a mess.

Such a terrible, terrible mess.

- Would you like me to find someone?

Raphael?

- She believed in me.

The only one who knew, who knew I would never,

never have taken advantage.

I understood, that was all, what

he was trying to deny, his struggles,

the longing, a man's touch.

I fought that battle all my life, all my life, the prayers.

He knew he could trust me, confide.

And he could.

- I'm not sure, I should--

- Oh, Aggie.

Aggie.

She always knew.

She never spoke it.

She never looked at me with anything but love,

my guardian angel.

You have to understand, she would do anything for me.

- Thanks.

[tense music building]

♪

- Hi.

Somebody's given them a whole load of inside info.

Karen Randall, presumably.

They even know who found the body.

- Is everyone in the building?

- Yes.

A few of them went for walks, but they're back.

[footsteps]

What is it?

- Sorry to interrupt.

Father John.

- When did you find it?

- Not long ago, an hour.

She must have killed him.

She made him go to the church.

It was the alcohol.

She would never-- she would never

have thought of such a thing.

- Did Agatha own a fountain pen?

- No.

- What about the paper?

Do you recognize it, where it might have come from?

A notebook or--

- No.

- That's what the killer was searching for.

Has to be.

They must have left it in here for Crampton to find.

Or they pushed it under the door.

That's what I reckon.

They must have pushed it under the door.

Crampton gets up in a panic, goes to the church.

- Yes.

- Shall we go to forensics, see whose prints we've got?

- Clara Arbuthnot, Raphael's real mother, she got

married a few weeks before she died,

a cursory sort of wedding.

I think the man she married was Raphael's father, which

would make Raphael legitimate.

- It makes him heir to this place.

- If it closes.

- Christ, Raphael then.

The doom's worth a small fortune.

- I don't believe Raphael knows about the marriage.

His real father, on the other hand, he's here.

- Who?

[dramatic music]

♪

- It's open.

Commander, permission to run.

Thought I'd squeeze another one in before dark.

Do you run?

It's addictive.

What's this?

- Someone fed them a great deal of sensitive information,

information that only someone at the college would have.

- Not helpful.

Nothing to do with me.

- We spoke to the news desk.

The information came from an anonymous caller, a male.

I think it was you.

- Why would I want to give information to the press?

- Because the greater the scandal, the greater the chance

the college will close.

- Yeah, and I'd be out of a job.

- And your son will come into his inheritance.

I'm sure you were very careful to wear gloves when you slipped

this under the archdeacon's door,

but the fountain pen you use, the paper

won't be hard to match.

Graphology-- Greek, I believe, rather than Latin.

It can tell us a surprising amount,

even when someone's tried very hard to disguise their hand.

Why didn't you tell Raphael about your marriage?

Why didn't you tell him you were his father?

Presumably Clara thought you would come here

and claim him, protect him.

- I have protected him.

- You could have talked to him about

his potential inheritance, asked him what he felt,

what he wanted.

- He's a 20-year-old boy who's been

brainwashed since the day he was carried into this place.

- So you decided to make his decision for him

and deny him the truth?

- It was never the right time.

The right time would have been the instant I got here.

I know that now.

But Clara was-- she was wild when I knew her.

We were only together a few months, but by the end of it,

I actually thought she was unhinged.

And when she tracked me down, I believed her.

The dates were right.

It's quite a thing, finding out you

have a son at the very moment in life

when you started to wish you had one.

I needed to see him, to find out what kind of boy he is.

There's a lot of me in him, a lot.

And then I felt I needed to gain his trust.

And then I couldn't tell him because it

would break that trust.

I wanted more time with him,

more uncomplicated,

golden time.

- Did you speak to the archdeacon

before you killed him?

Did you tell him what you wanted and why?

- No.

He wasn't a man to change his mind.

And Raphael deserves what's his.

- And what about Agatha Betterton?

Did you speak to her?

- I didn't kill her.

- She found out the proof.

She made that clear.

- I didn't kill her.

- Sergeant.

- What have you done?

What have you done?

Raphael.

- He'd already told me.

- Raphael.

- But interesting to hear that you were sizing me up.

- That wasn't what I meant.

- Deciding what sort of boy I am,

to see if I was too stupid, too ugly, or crazy

like my so-called mother?

Then you would have run away again

back to where you came from?

- No. - Don't!

Stay away from me!

- Listen to me.

I didn't know about you.

She never told me.

If I'd known, I would always have been with you.

I would never have let her leave you in this place.

- In my home. - You don't belong here.

You know that.

- Don't tell me what I am.

- You should have been with me, living our lives,

learning, living.

I know you feel it too.

You are a fantastic boy, a miraculous boy.

I am so proud of you.

Raphael.

- No.

Let him.

- Raphael.

Raphael, listen to me.

- Murderer!

- I love you. - Shut up.

- Listen to me.

I had to stop him.

This place is yours by rights.

You don't know the world.

You don't know what he was denying you, what

this place is denying you.

- You are literally a devil.

What did you think was going to happen?

That you'd find a way to get your hands on my money,

or that we'd what, run off into the sunset

together to buy fast cars?

- No.

- I'm a priest.

This is my world!

This is my life!

Did you kill Aggie?

Did you kill my mother?

- No.

No, I wouldn't do that to you.

- You're lying.

Tell me the truth.

- I didn't touch her.

- What am I going to do now?

- Raphy!

- Raphael, wait.

Son, stop!

- Sergeant, hold back.

- Raphy.

Raphael, stop.

Listen to me. Listen.

- Get off me. - Listen to me.

- Get off me!

[yelling]

- Hey!

Hey!

I'd save your breath.

He's not going to admit it.

Way too clever.

Listen to me.

Listen to me.

Killing a man to help his son, that's one thing.

Pushing a woman to her death to save his own skin,

that doesn't read so well.

No legend there.

- Be quiet.

- All the words, all the telling you he

loves you, maybe it's true, maybe,

but it won't be as much as he loves himself.

It comes down to respect.

He doesn't respect you enough to give you the truth.

- She made it impossible.

She'd taken you from me once.

She had you all these years.

I had to make her silent.

I had no choice.

- Yes, you did.

- George Gregory, I'm arresting you for the murders of Matthew

Crampton and Aggie Betterton.

- You deserve to be free.

[soft dramatic music]

♪

- It's all right.

It's all right.

- Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever

and ever.

Amen. - Amen.

- Amen.

- Amen.

- Raphael.

- Dear Lord, we pray for the soul of Agatha Frances

Betterton, mother, sister, who knew

how to love unconditionally.

[door closes]

- I just wanted to say I'm leaving.

Finished my work.

Have to wait and see when the next trustee decides to do.

It's hard to imagine the doom being

carried out there, though.

- Yes.

I'm sorry that you got caught up in all of this.

- It wasn't quite the job I was expecting.

- Ha.

George Gregory has confessed to both murders.

Hopefully you won't have to give evidence to trial.

- I'd cope, if you were there.

In case you need me.

- Ready, sir?

- Good work, Sergeant.

[bell ringing]

♪