All language subtitles for S06E02 The Last Vampyre

Thank you.

Get me to hell.

Burn forever as a cave.

May thy foul conscience be blue on the
devil.

And thy blood great for Christ.

I thought I persuaded her. We'd have the
baby baptised here, in this church, by

you. Well, you know women.

Well, there's a Catholic church in the
next village.

Carlotta has found it. On Sundays we go
our separate ways.

And the child?

No, no, no. He stays with me.

I'm resolved on that.

Well, in most other things, your wife
has adapted well.

Oh, indeed.

Our climate?

No, not the climate.

And your boy Jack, how has he responded?

Well, we'll resolve that too in good
time.

Not easy for you.

No, but I love my wife about this.

Love conquers all, as you've always
preached from your pulpit.

Oh, Starkton, dinner tonight, eight o
'clock.

Eight o 'clock.

Interesting man.

And you were right, he has spent some
time in Peru.

I've invited him over to make Carlotta
feel at home.

Away from here!

Murderer!

You upset baby, don't you hear?

I'll stop if you let me kiss you.

Kiss?

You kiss me, Jack.

Where?

Where you wish.

On the lips.

On the neck.

On the boot.

You kiss my boot.

Come on.

If you want it so bad.

What?

Fioroso!

We've got a guest coming for dinner
tonight.

Yes, sir. Let's stop.

I tell him to stop and he insults me,
señora.

Déjame.

Jack, stop at once.

Stop!

¿Qué atreves a despaciarme?

¡Desgraciado! Vamos a ver quién es dueño
de esta casa.

Give it to me.

¡Dámelo!

I did nothing, Father.

I heard you from the yard, boy.

Why are you doing this?

Why?

I shall die of cold.

No, you won't.

A convivial evening will soon warm your
bones.

I'm sorry what happened earlier.

But the boy was rude to Dolores, very
rude.

You must leave him to me.

Even so, this is for a new violin.

Of course, why not?

My boy, your stepmother. I guess you're
right, Father.

Stop, my dear son.

My wife, Carlotta.

Mucho gusto.

You were minty.

My boy Jack.

The violinist.

You met each other?

In the village, Father.

We talked about Haydn.

He will play for us after dinner.

I'm not good enough.

And our pride and joy, my son Ricardo.

Holmes?

Are you all right, old man?

Sorry to have alarmed you, Watson, but
your reaction was instructive.

So you believe in their existence?

What?

Vampires.

No, of course I don't.

Your attitude suggests the contrary.

Well, one doesn't have to believe in
something to be frightened, Holmes.

two different parts of the brain.

Right. So you rule them out?

Vampires. The rational part of you
insists upon it.

Well, do you believe in them?

Cross your eyes over this.

46th Old Jewry, April 12th. Reeve
Vampires.

Our client, the Reverend Augustus
Meridue of the Vicarage Lamberley, has

some inquiry from us in a communication
of even date concerning... concerning

vampires.

As our firm...

Specialised entirely upon the assessment
of machinery, the matter hardly comes

within our purview.

Oh!

Oh! My dear Miss Roelock.

Wretched, wretched woman I am.

What disturbed you?

We have therefore recommended the
Reverend Meridue to call on you and lay

matter before you.

We have not forgotten your successful
action in the case of Matilda Briggs. We

ask the faith of yours, Morrison,
Morrison, and Todd.

This cup of sauce has been here for the
last three days.

Matilda Briggs was a ship associated
with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story

which the world is not yet prepared.

You consider, though, that vampires
should come within our purview.

No, anything is better than this
stagnation.

Really.

We seem to have been switched on to some
Grimm's fairy tale.

Well, this Meridue is a man of the
cloth, a man of Christian belief.

That is of marginal interest.

Make a long arm, Watson.

Let us see what the V has to say.

Voyage of the Glorious God. That was a
bad business.

I have some recollection that you made a
record of it, Watson, though I was

unable to congratulate you upon the
result.

Victor Lynch and the Forger, Venomous
Lizard and Healer.

Remarkable case, that.

Victoria, the Circus Pearl, Vanderbilt
and the Yegma. I should like some tea,

Holmes. Vipers!

Vigor and the Hammersmith Wonder. Did
you say something? Shall I call down for

some tea?

Good old index. You know, you can't beat
it. Listen to this.

Vampirism in Hungary. And again.

Vampires in Transylvania.

My dear friend, what has happened?

Will you come at once?

Yes, of course.

Rubbish. Rubbish.

What are we to do with walking corpses
that have to have stakes driven to the

heart to keep them in their graves?

Are we to give serious attention to such
things?

It's pure lunacy.

No. No doubt you're right.

This agency must stand flat, put it upon
the ground, and then it must remain.

The world is big enough for us.

No ghosts need apply.

Ah, well, now, ghosts need apply.

Are you prepared to tell me who supplied
you with these and to what purpose?

Well, I had them made for me by a
dentist from Peckham.

It was a necessary disguise. I needed
one.

I forgot.

Enter.

Did you put them to use?

Borky humour again, Watson. You really
must guard against it.

Albert. A man gave me this in the
street, sir.

Elderly gent.

Susie's got to see you urgent.

It's your man of the cloth.

Show up.

With care.

Yes, sir. Oh, Albert.

Sir? Do you believe in the existence of
vampires?

Oh, yes, most definitely, sir.

There speaks the voice of wisdom.

None experienced, I trust.

Yes, thank you, young man. I'm not quite
in my grave yet.

Oh! Oh, Mr Holmes, it is so good of you
to see me at such notice.

I know how busy you are. Sit down.

Thank you. Will you tell me where you've
hidden the key?

Yes, sir. Thank you, Albert. This is my
friend and colleague.

Dr Watson.

Yes, yes, I know.

Now, my solicitors, Morrison, Morrison
and... Dodd?

Well, in point of fact, they're not
really my solicitors. No, I had some

dealings with them long ago, which...

I forget quite what about... Machinery.

Was it?

Well, anyway, I'm here on behalf of a
friend of mine, and myself too,

and I'm very anxious you shouldn't take
me for a complete old fool.

Please.

You must take your time.

Well, where to start it all?

I am vicar of Lamberley, and I've been
there longer than I care to think. Only

time to go, but... Let me tell you about
Bob Ferguson.

No. Not Bob Ferguson of Richmond.

He remembers you too, Doctor, from the
rugby field.

Possibly the finest three -quarter never
to have been capped for England.

And my sentiments precisely.

I love the game, and if modesty permits,
I once turned up myself and Scrum Half

forgot me.

Well, Bob has spent most of his working
life abroad, cotton -broking. Now, his

first wife, by whom he has a son, Jack,
she died of fever some years ago.

Look, it's absolutely essential that I
put you in the full picture.

Continue just as you are doing,
Reverend. It is often Holmes' method to

all relevant detail with his...

Eyes tight shut.

Well, Bob arrived home recently with a
new bride and a baby from Peru.

Difficult transition for all concerned,
as you may imagine.

Jack. No, of course you're right. Hey,
Tom.

Told you everything, didn't I, Jack?

But I must turn your attention to a
stranger who came into our midst not

before our Peruvian family.

His name is John Stockton.

Well, at first I welcomed him as a man
of intellect, a writer, and stimulus to

our little community.

Oh, thank you.

I can't say that I warmed to him
personally, but he did have a certain

someone like myself buried in the
backwater.

Now, he was no threat to me, but he
upset the locals.

Ah, blacksmiths, carters, some argument
over a wheel.

Who are you? Come tell me my job, damn
you!

If you don't like it, you can kick it
away!

Find somebody else!

Until you stop with it! And don't come
back!

We don't want you here in this village!

Carter,

a lion of a man in the prime of life,
stalwart of village life, dead within

moments of it.

Now, Miss Ruddock, spinster of my
parish. She has the cottage facing

and she speaks of him as the man who
never sleeps.

She sees a candle in his window many
nights through till dawn.

Well, writer at work, it's not uncommon.

Possibly, but I myself am something of
an insomniac. Also, I have seen him

in my graveyard at dead of night.

And his explanation?

Surely you raised the matter.

Explanation?

Plausible, I suppose.

I believe that I'm related to a family
called St. Clair.

Indeed, my middle name.

St. Clair?

They had a large house up beyond the
village.

Ah, yes, now you mention it.

I'm...

puzzled to find no trace of them.

Are we not welcome here?

No, the truth was that I knew full well
the story of the St Clairs.

They were powerful landowners, had the
village in their pocket sometime in the

last century.

The Lord St Clair himself was a cruel
monster.

Those who incurred his displeasure
disappeared, or found with their throats

Young servant girls, one in particular,
was left pregnant and dying at the

church door.

Her child stillborn.

There's not a Sinclair to be found.

What did we do to offend?

Did you tell him?

Oh, the bare bones of it, yes.

The church incident and how the
villagers exacted their terrible

Burnt us out?

I regret to say, nothing personal to
you, of course.

And the girl?

She's buried over there.

Well, what I neglected to tell him,
because it seemed to be inappropriate,

that the family Sinclair were deemed to
be vampires.

All this is very interesting, revered as
a piece of history, but how did it lead

to the present?

Well, Sinclair, by his own admission,
has returned, hasn't he? But how does

affect the village?

Why should they care?

All this happened 100 years back.

Yes, well, word gets around, you know.

You mean the church?

The fount of all gossip.

Answering your second question, the
girl, the dead girl.

Her family is still in the village.

The wife of the landlord of the local
inn, for instance.

She was a pirate.

So too was the blacksmith's wife.

Has Scotland to your knowledge ever set
foot inside the church?

Oh, no, not once. As far as I'm aware of
it, never.

Even so, I'm unclear how I can be of
service to you. No crime has been

committed. No crime.

No, no crime, but... You have

something more to tell us?

Four days ago now, it seems a lifetime,
Bob Ferguson invited Stockton to dinner.

You see, Stockton had travelled in Peru
and...

I think it was I who suggested that it
might be a good thing for his new wife

have some contact again with her native
country.

And the evening?

Not a success?

All I know is the outcome of it was a
tragedy.

The very next morning, the household
worked to a terrible discovery.

The baby, little Ricardo, lay dead in
his cot.

And the doctor's verdict?

The doctor? Well, he could find no
reason for it.

No... earthly reason.

Tragedy indeed.

But no blame affixed to the dinner
guest, surely?

Well, he touched the baby's hand.

Oh, so they told me.

Look... I am a man of God, gentlemen,
and far be it from me to judge a fellow

being on hearsay and superstition. But I
also have my parishioners to think of,

and they're frightened and may well take
steps outside the law to drive him out

as they once did his forebears.

You see my dilemma.

So you wish us to make an investigation
into this man, his personality, his

habits, and disprove the common fear?

Disprove, disprove what you will.

Your presence alone would have a
steadying effect.

Well, now, I... I must leave you.

Among my other concerns is sickness in
the village, and I have the baby's

funeral to prepare for tomorrow.

Your story is complex, Reverend.

But not without some interest.

Yes, I'm sure there's a rational
explanation for it.

Watson and I will visit your community.

Oh, I'm so pleased.

You mentioned an inn.

Yes, the Chequers. It's a decently round
place.

Well, thank you.

I'm so grateful, so grateful to you
both, sir.

So grateful.

All right.

Two sudden deaths.

The blacksmith and the child.

Shortly after contact. Natural causes,
as the coroner's report will inform us.

Stockton's nocturnal habit.

The light in the window.

Writer's block.

His morbid interest in graveyards after
dark. No, I object to the word morbid.

It's emotive, not fact.

Right, never entering the church.

You raised that point yourself.

Never seen to enter the church, and does
that make a man a ghoul? Because he has

no interest in religion.

The evening spent in Ferguson's house.
Was the vicar there?

No, but Mary didn't tell us.

That stops and touches the baby's ass.
Is that your case?

So what is our mission here?

Possibly to prevent a crime. A man
having escaped, driven to his car.

We have our timing right.

Holmes, you can guess me in two.

Not intrude, Watson.

Observe.

I wonder if Stockton's here.

He's hardly likely to show his face on
this occasion.

A recent dinner guest? A friend of the
family?

In the circumstances, no.

Yes, I'm sure he'll arrive.

But I know he's not far away.

Man that is born a woman hath but a
short time to live and is full of

He cometh up and is cut down like a
flower.

He fleeth as it were a shadow.

and never continueth in one stay.

In the midst of life we are in death.

Of whom may we seek for succor but of
thee, O Lord, who for our sins are

justly displeased.

We meekly beseech thee, O Father, to
raise us from the death of sin unto the

life of righteousness, that when we
shall depart this life we may rest in

as our hope is this our brother does.

And that at the general resurrection in
the last day we may be found acceptable

in thy sight and receive that blessing
which thy well -loved son shall then

pronounce to all that love and fear thee
say.

Come, ye blessed children of my Father,
receive the kingdom prepared for you

from the beginning of the world.

Thank you.

Jack fell from a tree when he was eight
or nine.

Damaged his spine, boy, oh, Jack.

The father, was he here abroad when it
happened?

I do believe he was away, yes.

A boyhood almost without mother or
father.

Well, I was here as his spiritual
guardian, and Mrs Mason, the housekeeper

the farm, she brought him up with her
own boy, Michael.

These recorded death, so many of them,
so young.

An influenza epidemic, perhaps.

As we have now, Apollo.

If Dr. Neal perceived some sort of
avenger, why should he light up on the

Fergusons? I mean, they weren't here a
hundred years ago.

Even now they're carefully part of the
village life.

So why?

Why is he drawn to them?

Well, they were in the connection with
Peru.

Or is it something near a home?

Did you make friends with the local
doctor?

Hardly friends, but I was greeted with
deep suspicion.

I had to plead my rugby acquaintanceship
with Ferguson. That goes back 30 years.

He threw me over the ropes into the
crowd at the old deer park.

How are we to explain your presence
here?

Well, I can't believe that we'll be
detained here long.

And the colonel's report?

Blacksmith Carter died of a hemorrhage.

He may have looked robust, but he was
overweight and he drank too much.

And the baby?

Put down to pneumonia.

That's not advanced.

No.

It's everything.

What now? Is it to Ferguson, pay our
respects?

No.

I'm hungry.

Jack!

Where's Jack?

Is he down with you?

No. I haven't seen sight nor sound of
him since this afternoon.

He didn't come back here after the
funeral.

I'll ask Michael if he's seen him.

Yeah.

Is that from Mrs. Ferguson?

Yes, chicken broth.

She must eat something.

I'll take it up to her.

Thank you, my dear.

No food.

She's asleep now, sir. No wake her up.

I'll decide that, Dolores.

Thank you.

Don't touch me! Go away!

Thank you.

Anything more I can get you, gentlemen?

This is excellent.

No, thank you. A glass of water, thank
you.

You were sane, Michael.

Yes, you were, and there's no denying
it.

Clutching your arm right through that
service.

It wasn't my doing, Vera.

She was grieving. She needed the support
of a man.

Just because she's foreign and
beautiful?

I can't ride a horse like you. Oh,
what's it matter riding horses?

I'll bet you kissed her, knowing you.

Kissed her?

I'd get my jaw broken with that one.
She's fiery.

That's just how you like it. That's
right.

All ruffled feather at night, dear.

Come on.

No, get off! No, Michael!

I'm not feeling very well tonight.

This bacon kidney pudding is every bit
as good as its reputation, wouldn't you

say, Watson?

Yes, every bit.

You're famous in Beggy Street, Mrs
Dresdy.

Our housekeeper, Mrs Hudson, put it on
to you.

Mrs Hudson?

She has a sister who lives nearby.

Oh.

Well, it's my husband you have to
compliment.

It's him who does the cooking, mostly.

So you are Sherlock Holmes.

That's your service.

What a case, then, are you?

Oh, surely there's no crime in this part
of the country.

Drink for our host, Watson. Drink's all
round.

Yes, of course.

Oh, Dr. Watson is an old rugby -playing
friend of Mr. Ferguson.

It's a tragedy about him and his family.

You want to talk to Michael about that?

He was there when they found the poor
Mike.

And it wasn't no accidental death,
neither.

Whatever else it was, it wasn't no
accident.

Where have you been?

I was worried.

I thought you'd want to be alone with
Carlotta.

I needed you.

I needed us together.

Family, this time.

You're right, Reverend.

There is a dangerous mood in the air.

But no fresh evidence against Stockton.

Though I'm still struck by the
coincidence.

Well, answer me this, Holmes.

Why has so much been written and
reported on the subject of vampire?

Because there's absolutely nothing in
it.

Man's need, Watson.

is me to explain fear.

Then you do admit to the inexplicable.
Oh, yes, there's plenty of evidence for

that.

But do we believe in dragons and fairies
and ghosts?

Because much has been written about
them?

Ghosts?

Watson has a ghost story.

Oh, man.

No, carry on, Watson.

I was in Afghanistan.

Long nights of fatigue.

In a field hospital.

A young subaltern who had died.

virtually in my arm, appeared some weeks
later, quite unmistakably, when I was

on leave in Constantinople.

That's amazing.

Gentlemen. Mr.

Sherlock Holmes. Yes, of course, Mr.
Holmes. And Dr. Watson, I believe you

Watson, my dear fellow.

Come inside, come inside.

My good chap, I've been seeing you.

Thanks. Thank you.

Coffee for our guests, Miss.

It's ready and waiting, sir.

My treasured housekeeper.

The last of that.

Oh, uh, sit down, please.

Oh, Gaspard has explained your presence
here, and I heartily endorse his

initiative.

It's been a wretched time, not just for
me and my family, but for the whole

community.

The sooner we make sense of it, the
better.

Your dear wife?

Yes, I would have liked her to be here,
but she's upstairs in her room.

Have you met Stockton yet?

We've not had that pleasure, Mr
Ferguson.

Pleasure?

Yes, it seemed he was pleasant enough on
my first acquaintance.

May I ask you... Ask anything, Mr
Holmes.

Anything.

Are you in some way holding Stockton
responsible for your child's death?

Perhaps we're all responsible to some
degree.

Certainly my wife holds me responsible.

For bringing her here to England.

A child not a year old. The climate.

Europe.

Perhaps I'm looking to alleviate
responsibility.

By directing it at another.

Please, you must excuse my frankness.

But it is necessary that we confront the
truth about ourselves if we are to

reach the heart of this matter.

You're absolutely right, Mr. Holmes.

The truth of the matter.

Could you bring yourself to tell us
about the evening Stockton came over to

dinner?

Which I understand was the start of your
misgivings about him.

Yes.

That night, I didn't see it clearly
myself at the time.

Dinner had passed, uneventfully.

Though I confess, I was somewhat
disappointed by our guest.

His demeanour.

The real nature of the soul.

Well, what is it?

The thumb of merely a manifestation of
the will.

But the soul returns to God.

Like a sound that vanishes from the air.

So thought the Greeks.

Life is death, said the philosophers.

But I'm afraid I don't follow that.

He's saying you don't believe in God.

The Incas, of course, were thumb
worshippers, as you, Signora, know well.

The reason was meteorological.

Without sun at night, being mountain
dwellers, they shiver.

They freeze.

What about those on the coast?

The sun was constant.

A tyrant in the sky.

So it was the lesser god they
worshipped, the moon.

Theon.

The house of the moon.

Where young children were sacrificed.

Lying on beds of coloured wool and
cotton.

Why?

Why must the children be sacrificed?

Well, not just the children, Jack.

When a chieftain died, it was customary
to bury him with the most beautiful and

best -loved women.

Good God.

His wife?

His wife.

His favourite concubines.

And a considerable number, more or less,
of his servants.

His jewels, wrought silver, llamas,
weapons, food and clothing.

So in his philosophy, death was life.

Of course, why not?

It continued in that vein for hours.

All kinds of mysticism.

Mostly beyond my comprehension.

The riddles of Malabar.

Burnt themselves in the blaze of the
remains of their husbands as a

demonstration of fidelity.

What I can't describe is the effect it
had on the company.

The ladies in particular.

It was as if he had them mesmerised.

And yet, after he left...

Carlotta.

He was repulsive.

You found him?

Repulsive.

You'd rather we didn't see him again?

He's your friend.

Come to me.

The following morning, and subsequently,

I became the object of her pain.

But the connection with Stockton...

And your baby's death. I mean, as you
described the evening, it's hard to

a link.

I know.

But it all went wrong, Watson, from that
evening.

This house was as if there was a black
cloud.

I can't describe it. I wish to God I
could.

There's so many coincidences.

Ah, Jack.

My son Jack.

Come and meet my friends, Dr Watson.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

I'm interrupting.

Jack, you're not interrupting at all.
Come and sit down and do it.

How's the music, Jack?

You still practicing the violin?

Jack's been given a new violin, a gift
from his stepmother.

The old one plays rather, well, rustily.

Holmes plays the violin.

I look forward to meeting your
stepmother, Jack, when she's

recovered.

Indeed.

Well, let us see if now is not the
moment.

Mrs Mason, would you go upstairs?

Oh, she's not in her room, sir.

She went out early.

Not?

Well, why didn't you tell me this? Well,
I thought you knew.

They both went out, Father.

Alone? Mr Stockton came for them.

He came to pay his respects, sir. When
you were out riding, Father.

And you saw them leave with him?

My wife and the maid?

Willingly?

You both witnessed this?

Oh, just for a short drive, they said.

To take the air, put colour in their
cheeks.

I really should have been informed of
this. My wife is not herself.

Was it Mr Stockton who persuaded her on
this foolish drive?

Who instigated it?

Why does it worry you, Father?

All's well, Mr Ferguson. We're coming
home.

Here, leader, up there. Happy commerce.

Stockton.

Morning.

I didn't realize you'd come by.

I wish you'd tell me.

How are the ladies?

Very well.

We had a pleasant drive in the
countryside.

The air is fresh this morning.

Walk on.

You keep an open mind, then? Against all
logic, I suppose, yes.

And Sherlock Holmes?

Such things do not happen in criminal
practice in England.

The notion of the undead walking this
earth, feasting off innocent females,

offends against all his reasoning.

What is your own view, Reverend?

As a man of the church.

Life and death are mysterious states,
Doctor, and we know little of the

resources of either.

Carlotta, my darling, open the door.

Carlotta, open the door, please.

Carlotta, open the door!

Jack?

Jack?

Holmes, the local doctor's taken to his
bed. It seems my service is a call for

him. I hope he's not catching. No, I
never catch anything.

What are you up to?

My first call's the daughter at the inn.
She's not at all well.

He took the crippled boy into his house
after the funeral all afternoon in his

house. The boy didn't come back till six
o 'clock.

I can die if you doctor.

No, but she will pass through a crisis
and needs the greatest care.

She should sleep now.

This village is plagued, like many
another at this time of the year, with

influenza.

You dirty, filthy, big... I'll leave
her. What are you doing? You think I

couldn't see you and Vera lying at
death's door?

Vera? Don't pretend you didn't know.

She's your girl, Michael.

Not that foreign trash.

Oh, ma 'am.

Ma 'am, don't cry.

He wants to say come here and nothing
but trouble.

And what with him now, that man?

What man? Mr Stockton? He's killing
everyone.

Mr.

Holmes?

This is a privilege.

So loud, I think, on such a balmy
evening.

In the village?

I have my carriage.

The countryside, how delightful.

So why are you?

Here, for my health. In a village
riddled with death and rumour? But no

You will lay your hand on your heart and
say you're not investigating me?

Why, what have you done?

There are several who will tell you what
I'm allegedly done and what I am.

Bad angel, precarious death.

No truth in the rumour.

I'm living my life, Holmes.

What more does a man do?

You teach the violin?

Jack, yes.

But that is not... My main occupation,
no.

I study antiquities, religious cults and
customs among the South American

Indians. I have a modest reputation in
that field.

Published? Two books.

You're familiar with my subject?

My travels took me east.

Tibet.

And now the quiet of English
countryside.

I'm tracing a little family history.

This is your family home.

The seat of Lord Stamford.

The villagers believe my forebears were
vampires.

Some incident involving one of their
maidens.

Janet Burrows, whose grave you honoured
with a rose.

Observant of you.

They burnt this house.

An act of unbridled revenge.

And now they suffer from a guilty fear
that I've come back to punish them.

Is that your purpose?

What a pointless exercise.

Come, let me show you around.

I am like yourself, an investigator.

May I share your findings?

No.

I want your opinion.

Do vampires exist in your philosophy?

In human terms, perhaps.

And are you looking at one now?

From this house must have emanated one's
warmth and conviviality.

I may come back to restore it.

Life in the village holds few delights
for me.

Why did you bring Mrs. Ferguson here?

What is it?

I... I... I... How

do you... To what?

Are you a friend?

Yes, I'm your friend.

I cannot tell Olivia, so I cannot, I
cannot, I cannot.

What can't you tell?

Mistress Death.

She is with us.

Insane summer!

Keep on away!

My wife has bolted her door.

My boy Jack has banished me.

I've failed the village. Oh, medicine
should cure variables.

Does your wife have a fever? Let me
visit.

What she has is beyond medicine.

It's taken charge of her soul.

Her very bones.

Is it not grief?

No, I recognise grief.

I understand grief.

Stand aside and let me destroy it all.

Easy, old man.

What did Holmes make of it?

Think we're all mad?

I've seen a ghost.

That I don't believe.

You?

They don't appear to you.

This one, dear.

Appears to her.

It seems I got too close. Too close to
what?

I'll explain later. How's the girl?

Oh, she'll recover. Nothing more
sinister than influenza, which seems to

struck the young in particular.

The young?

Half a dozen young girls of the village.

Influenza? All the usual symptoms. Night
sweat, drowsiness, lethargy.

Oh, Ferguson's downstairs.

We'll join him.

First, we must understand this.

Thank you, Mrs. Christie.

Must survive. Yes.

The vampire, even of legend, was not
necessarily a dead man.

A living person might attempt such
behaviour.

Do you think Stockton is one of these
creatures?

There are people we know who suck up the
energies of others like a sponge, draw

out their resources and pocket them,
leaving them fatigued, no longer master

their wills.

It's a psychological phenomenon.

Doctors have acknowledged it.

Yes, they exist.

What you say does describe in some
measure that night he came to dinner,

And the effect he had on Carlotta.

And the maid.

I had a taste of it myself just now.

And your ghostly experience?

I don't for a moment believe what I saw.

But I don't get hallucination.

The mind forced by another, the plate
fakes.

Hypnosis?

Stockton has spent much time with the
South American Indians, studying their

ancient mysteries.

It's quite possible that he learned
something out there.

Or was affected by an experience.

But you don't exonerate him for that,
surely?

No, but he could be suffering a form of
illness which may respond to treatment.

And meanwhile we let him run amok.

The man is destructive.

Holmes, you're not denying that.

He's only destructive if we let him be.

If we believe too many tales.

Or use him.

as nothing more or less than a
depository for our own ills.

Are you suggesting that I'm doing that?

I think there's a danger of it in this
village.

I stand with this village, Holmes. I
live here. And I have seen his direct

influence over people, loved ones.

A defenceless, innocent baby is dead.
Now, if you can justify that, we part

company.

Good night, Holmes.

It's one thing to diagnose the problem,
Watson. It's quite another, often, to

resolve it.

Here, you lady, here is a charm that
cannot fail.

Pin this to your pillow, and you can
laugh.

Laugh in the face of vampires and
hippogriffs.

The visit in the night.

Your head's dead.

There's a jackal at work.

I'm off to London.

London? Till nightfall. Will you hold
the fort? Certainly.

I thought a visit to Carlotta Ferguson
might be useful.

As a doctor, I might get in to see her.
Interesting.

Also, patch things up with her husband.

No point in having him against us. Quite
so.

Saint Sebastian, you will protect your
heart from vampires.

and prevalent malignants, such as
wolves, bats, and bloodsuckers.

Yours. For nine pennies only.

Or your loved ones.

Ah, take him back, was she?

This will be the devil and his night
visits.

was smuggled in the habit of a nun all
the way from Rome and was forged in his

holding this own smithy. Oh, he's so
beautiful.

Now I am safe from all bad people.

What's that, Michael?

What?

You've been with her?

No, Vera.

Get out.

Vera? Go on, get out. Vera. Leave me.

Don't touch me. Vera.

In here, Dr Watson.

How is she faring? She doesn't tell me.

Dr Watson, madam.

Thank you.

Mrs Ferguson, I'm standing in locum for
the village doctor to fix.

Yes, I know who you are.

You were here yesterday.

Please, sit down.

So, what is it you wish to say to me?

Ask how you are after your tragic loss.

If you need anything for sleeping.

There are no remedies in the world that
would make me sleep at night, Doctor.

Yes, Aunt, it's not.

But the day is different.

I sleep.

At least hours fly by without me.

You wish for something to drink?

Oh, no, no, no, thank you.

Your friend the detective is not with
you today.

Gone to London.

Your husband told you that Sherlock
Holmes was in the village?

Not my husband, no.

Oh, then it was Mr Stockton.

Stockton.

It was Stockton, yes.

He was kind enough to take me out
yesterday for a drive with my maid.

Do you know Stockton? No, I haven't met
him.

Holmes knows him. He too went for a ride
yesterday to an old ruined house.

Oh, yes.

The house.

You've been there?

It's just a burnt -out house.

No interest to me.

No ghosts?

Many, I should think.

But none came out to play.

What do you make of Stockton? He seems
to arouse strong feelings in people.

Why should that be?

I couldn't tell you. It's only what I've
heard.

You want my opinion on Stockton.

Well, at first I disliked him.

Then he was interesting about my
country.

He speaks my language, and so I welcome
him.

The village... I know nothing of the
village.

Strong feelings, you say.

English.

And Stockton offered you some
consolation?

He understands.

The dead.

What happened to us?

Where we go.

Where my little Ricardo has gone.

It's the only solace I have.

You have none with your husband?

None.

Why did he bring me here to this
terrible place?

I tell you, because he wanted my little
baby to be an Englishman, like Jack.

He wanted another boy like Jack.

Is that so wonderful, to end up buried
in an English grave?

I'm sorry if I caused you pain.

Why not?

You're a doctor.

It is better to bring the truth out.

Indeed.

And now you will stay for lunch.

Thank you.

Stayed to lunch? Tea?

We had tea in the garden.

She's a remarkable woman.

Most cultured person.

I think even you would enjoy her
company.

And the maid?

Ah, now the maid.

But I still love marks on Michael's
neck.

I'm only recording the details, if you
ask for it. And Ferguson's part in all

this? Ferguson returned mid -afternoon.
And Jack?

Jack?

Jack hadn't returned.

He wasn't missed?

Referred to twice, but missed, I
couldn't tell you.

And the girl here?

Unchanged since this morning.

Your trip to London?

I thought a visit to Stockton's ruin
might be more useful.

Did anything happen?

Nothing.

Neither the living nor the dead
appeared.

But it was instructed nonetheless.

Where is he?

Curse the boy.

With your friend?

Get inside.

Stop when I want to talk to you. Get in.
Get in.

Get in!

Sit here.

Your work.

My boy, my wife, her maid.

You have them all.

And we're not part of your village
vendetta.

I'm sorry, what are you talking about?

What do you want from us?

You introduced me to your wife.

Speak English, Samuel!

Speak English!

Oh, no!

Now take her.

Take your creature. But leave my wife
and my boy.

For God's sake!

Jack, stay.

Stay, Jack! Leave him.

Let him go.

Traveling too quick.

Wet.

An accident, Mr. Holmes.

That'll be my report.

Subject closed.

No doubt, as you say, Constable.

Very good, then.

You'll be leaving the village now, then,
will you?

Now our problem's gone. No reason for me
to stay.

And I gather the village doctor is
better this morning, so you won't be

Dr. Watson's services, either.

No.

But his help was appreciated.

Well, come on, lads.

Let's get it over with.

Accident. Right, then. A little deeper
mystery.

Where will they put him?

Graveyard. Where else?

He can't go there. In my country,
sometimes they burn the body.

Well, this isn't your country.

We're civilized here.

So you will throw him out to be eaten by
wolves?

Where would you bury him, Jack?

It's your French doctrine we're talking
about.

You hungry, dear?

No.

Why do you look at me like that?

Nothing.

Well, I've got to work.

The tree that he hit was my tree.

The one that I fell from.

You mean to see it?

No, your tree, Jack.

It wasn't down that way.

It was.

The very same tree where I had my
accident.

Must have a care for it.

I want to see it.

Would you take me, Michael?

Not now.

Do you afraid?

No, of course not.

Michael?

Later, if you must.

For man walketh in a vain shadow, and
disquieteth himself in vain.

No, Christ, you're burial.

And cannot tell who gathers there.

And now, Lord, what is my hope?

Truly, my hope is even in thee.

Deliver me from all my defences.

and make me not a person to the foolish.

I became dumb and opened not my mouth,
for it was I doing.

Take thy pain away from me.

I am even consumed by means of thy heavy
hand.

When thou with rebuke dost chasten man
for sin, thou makest his beauty to

consume away, like it was a moth
fetching away a garment.

Every man, therefore, is but vanity.

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with thine
ears consider my calling.

Hold not thy peace at my tears, for I am
a stranger with thee, and a sojourner

of all my father's words.

O spare me a little, that I may recover
my strength, before I go home, and be

no more.

Go to him.

Oh, spare me a little, that I may
recover my strength.

Well, I think it was claustrophobia.

Nothing worse.

Some people get it in churches.

Yeah, but he used to sing in my choir
every Sunday.

Well, he and Stockton have become quite
close. It must have been a terrible

shock.

What a business.

The village up in arms.

But I couldn't deny the man a Christian
burial.

I mean, how could I?

What has he done?

Do you have any relatives?

As? Well, no one as far as anyone knows.

That's another problem, you see. What to
do with his cottage, his possessions?

I shall look over the premises.

Shouldn't we ask the police?

Holmes will know what to look for.

In the business of house clearing now,
eh, Holmes?

It may be instructive.

That smell in here.

Heliotrope? It's the smell of decay.

Will you light that lamp, Watson? We
must set to work.

What?

Still, they're still.

Ghost?

I'll climb up and shake him down if you
like.

If he's up there, he doesn't frighten
me.

You can't frighten me, Stockton!

You're under the sod, where you belong!

You won't bother nobody now, nor never
again.

Dolly?

Come on now, don't play silly games.

Here's one by Stockton.

Religions in Peru.

Fish god, crab god, fox god in flight.

Taboos, witchcraft, sorcery.

Is there nothing this man hasn't dabbled
in?

Vampires? There's a book here on
vampires, Holmes.

She's been attacked!

Done by the tree!

It was him!

Persons who turn vampire are generally
wizards, suicides, and those who come to

a violent end.

Tonight, two perfect specimens, whence I
draw my strength.

My two Peruvian ladies revived me.

Vampire will bring his victim to the
point of death, but not beyond.

He will nurse her back to health with
all the outward appearance of love.

And yet, am I not also possessed?

When I visit the house, is she not
commanding me to relinquish, to hand my

mantle on?

To another. Indeed, it may be love to
devour her again, whereby he is forever

nourished.

He called to me.

Tell me your dream.

She wanted me to take her there, so I
did.

I met you standing there, then she was
gone.

I couldn't see her.

Then she appeared again by the tree and
fell into my arms.

On her neck were bites and blood.

Did you make these marks?

No. No, sir, not I. It was Stockton.

You saw him?

Well, no, but he was there right enough.

Stockton is dead.

No, sir, he is not.

Or if it is, it's the living dead, as
God's my witness.

See the mark on her. See for yourself.

Vampires don't exist.

Michael, look at me!

They don't exist.

What's the matter with the dog?

It's some form of paralysis.

Did it come on suddenly?

Yesterday.

Remarkable.

And subjective.

What do you mean? What's the dog got to
do with anything?

I can't tell you at this instant.

May Watson be permitted to examine the
maid?

Of course.

Venia. The man's death, perhaps, in
part, I cause it. I don't deny that I

my temper, Holmes.

But that's nothing to the suffering
that's been brought on this family.

My wife, the baby boy, I've continued to
be brought. Now, on the bed.

Explain that to me, Holmes.

Good morning, Jack.

Mr Holmes.

The detective.

Dolores is feeling better, Father.

It's a slight fever. Nothing worse.

She was out with Michael last night.
They were caught in a storm.

Lovers, Mark?

No. Then what?

This is also the tree that Jack fell
from as a boy, that caused his injury.

Or so told Michael.

Stockton and Jack?

Now, that's too much to swallow. Jack
was lying.

I asked Ferguson.

Jack's tree is in quite another part of
the woods.

Why should he lie about that?

Why, indeed.

Out of my hands. It was the constable.
He decided.

It's outside the law. It's a violation.

What will the spirits make of it?

So we take it a little graphic back to
where he belongs where he can do this

village no harm

He

tried to strangle me black animal

A cat or a spider.

And it had air on the inside of its
hands.

And they come on my throat.

It was just a bad dream, Vera.

I don't like it here, Mr. Gressley.

Let's drop him and get out fast.

Down here.

Are we going to do the other thing?

What's that, Michael?

You know.

What do you do when there are... You've
got a mind to it, boy. I haven't, no.

I'm not going down there. I won't.

What's that?

It's coming here.

How can it be?

There's been a desecration, Watson.

Stockton has been returned to the home
of his forebears, I would imagine.

It's a matter for the police or the
bishop, no concern of ours for the

How's the girl?

Oh, she's calm, sleeping now. Marks? Not
a scratch.

Window? Bolted from the inside.

It's a case of hysteria, then.

But the Ferguson -made homes, I swear to
you... Yes, that we must take

seriously. Are you coming? Of course.

Both of them.

Vampires. Where is your mistress now?
Locked in the room. She is a monster.

Would you see me? Oh, see the devil
first.

The mage man. Where is the boy? Jack?
Oh, he's in his room, I think.

Mr. Ferguson, I don't know where he is.

It was poison.

Curare, I think.

Was she alive?

Yes. Carlotta discovered it and was
attempting to suck the venom out. You

Stolen from Stockton, or perhaps
Stockton gave it to him.

An arrow dipped in Curare.

Two small incisions into the neck.

He tried it on the dog first.

Jack!

I knew it couldn't be Jack of the Ruin.

I heard him playing the violin at
Stockton's house.

And what about the ghost?

Trigger the light.

But the rain had become Jack's
playground. I saw him there on my second

and now here.

His inspiration hidden away in
cupboards.

A dark world of imagination.

Brought to life by a disturbed
adolescent boy.

But to pretend to be a vampire.

No, Watson, believe.

Believe he is a vampire.

Remember his behavior in the church, his
fear of the cross?

And Stockton, too. Why not?

He thought Stockton's effect upon
people, his control over women.

What better thing to be?

To win respect, affection, love,
perhaps. We must find him.

He'll be at the ring with his master.

Get thee to hell.

It's a blow to the head.

See that he lives, Watson.

They're returning to her country. They
have nothing in this village to keep

them. And neither have you, my good
friends. But I, for one, shall remember

efforts with gratitude.

It's business with the doctor.

I'll remove to another parish. Quietly,
no fuss.

May he rest in peace.

Goodbye.

The baby holder.

You don't think so? I respect the
verdict of your profession.

Pneumonia, wasn't it?

And Stockton's death?

Accident, fate, who knows?

But Jack was no murderer.

Stockton's face in the locket.

Cut from a photograph.

A clever touch.

Will you be making a record of these
events?

The Vampire of Lamberley.

No.

Perhaps the world is not yet prepared.