All language subtitles for Bookish s01e01 Slightly Foxed 1

Thank you.

They don't get any light!

bit lost, love.

158.

Just there, sweetheart.

Ta.

Hold that, would you?

What do you make of it?

Looks old. It is.

Fairly indifferent Jacobean poetry,
calfskin binding, worth a couple of bob.

What are these brown spots on the pages?

It goes straight to the heart of the
matter, Mr... Jack.

It's just Jack.

That's called foxing.

Jack, just Jack.

It's what time does to books.

To all of us.

In the profession, we say it's slightly
foxed. Interested?

You know, there's a mistake.

A mistake?

Well, isn't there?

Above the door, a sign. What about it?

Well, it's wrong, isn't it?

There's no apostrophe in books.

There is. There isn't. There is. There
isn't. There isn't. There isn't. Your

name is Book, and you own the shop,
which it is, and I do. My name's Book.

Books, Books.

Confusing, I know.

Or is it handy?

I can never decide.

Anyway, I'm Book, and I run a bookshop.
This one, obviously. You must be here

about the job.

Tea?

Not quite there yet.

I'm trying to make ginger snaps.

How much? Where were you dragged up? One
for each person and one for the boss.

Now... Where have we got to? Jack, Jack,
Jack.

This is dog, book, dog, job.

I have a little hobby on the side, and I
find it taking me away from the shop

more and more.

So, I require it.

Oh,

God.

Oh, that's better.

I must have tea.

Without tea, I am merely unreconstituted
dust.

Look, this isn't really my sort of
gaffe.

I mean, I thought they'd maybe send me
to a factory or something.

They?

Well, you know where I've come from,
don't you?

You know that I was... No need to
mention it again.

What are you hoping for now you've got
the job, Jack just Jack?

I just want to keep my head down, you
know.

Try and get back to norm... Wait, I've
got the job?

Normality is overrated.

Yes, you've got the job.

If you want it.

You must come at once.

Oh. Trotty, this is Jack. Just Jack.
Jack, this is Trotty, my wife.

Hello.

Hello. Well, what is it? The bomb site.

The men clearing the bomb site. You know
where Incommon Street used to be?

Oh, yes, that one. What of it?

Well, they found something.

In suspicious circumstances.

My favourite kind of circumstance.

I was wondering if we'd be seeing you.

Like a bad penny, Sergeant.

Yeah, well, you know my feelings.

You've made them exquisitely plain. But
as you know, I do have a special letter

from Churchill.

Yeah.

All right.

Oh, hello, book.

Mrs. Burke, I thought this might be up
your street. Almost, literally.

Start at the beginning, Inspector, and
leave nothing out, especially if it's

salacious, gory or vaguely scandalous.
Bit of a puzzle.

Mr. Bateshart here was starting to clear
away the rubble from his old bombsite

the other day. Incommon Street courted
in 44, didn't it? Yes, sir.

Terrible pounding.

Do you remember that raid, sir? How
could I forget?

Trotty and I ended up cheek by jowl in
the Anderson shelter with the man from

the Prudential Insurance Company.

He had lovely fingernails.

Terrible halitosis.

Those shelters weren't built for
sharing.

War's over, Mr. Baysard. Quite so, sir,
but I still like to patrol my route.

For old time's sake.

And to keep an eye on old Brenda there.

My trusty searchlight.

Well, here he was trying to clear away
the rubble when Lo, what does he find?

Lo. What?

Heavens to Betsy.

Tossed together like a skeletal salad.
How many?

I can't tell because they're all jumbled
up. Ten or twelve, I'd say. Quite why

Mr. Baysart didn't tell the authorities
about his discovery for Swiss.

He's another matter.

He didn't? No. Some kiddies who were
playing here let us know. As I was

I have a theory. Well, obviously they
copped it in the raid, didn't they?

What do you think, Jack?

Me? You.

Yeah, that's what must have happened.

Air raid killed them.

Died two years ago and now they're all
rotted away.

That would be a logical assumption.

So you don't think they died in an air
raid? If you recall, Inkerman Street was

already empty, wasn't it, Mr Bayshart?

Scheduled for demolition.

So nobody was living here, in which
case... Who are they?

Well, anybody, surely.

Anybody could have taken shelter from
the bombing in one of the empty houses.

A dozen of them? What about clothes?
Clothes?

All flesh is graft.

The raid was only two years ago. Even if
the bodies had rotted away, their

clothes would still be intact.

I think Mr. Bathart and I are thinking
along similar lines.

Well, that would appear to be the
clincher.

Don't you think?

The unmistakable bonds of King Charles
II.

Oh, does it have a date on it, too?

1665.

Plague Pit, yeah?

So it seems.

A what?

Plague Pit.

The Great Plague.

London's burial grounds were
overflowing, so they dug these great big

dumped all the corpses in them.

I'm a bit of an archaeologist.

On the side, strictly amateur, you
understand.

So why didn't you tell us straight away
when you found them?

Well, I knew I'd never get a chance like
this again.

I just wanted a bit of time to excavate
them.

Fascinating stuff.

I really am very sorry, Inspector.

Yes, well, no harm done, I suppose.

Not sure about that.

These skeletons might still be lively.
What, you mean it's still... Catch him.

The jury, as they say, is out.

But I think it's very unlikely.

Do you mind if I hang on to this?

You're welcome to it.

Right, Mr. Book?

Oh, hello, Nora.

Why, I'm not surprised to see you here.

Did you know that back then they used to
use great catapults to toss plaguey

corpses into besieged cities to
deliberately infect people?

That's horrible, Nora.

I know.

And a split infinitive. Even more
horrible.

I'd be worth a bit, too.

Sergeant, get this lot taken care of in
the pronto, would you do that? With

care.

Where to, sir?

Morgue. Get Dr. Golden to take a shifty.

See if there's any chance there's been
an infection.

Yes, sir.

Thank you, book.

Any time, Inspector.

Sergeant!

Why can't we collect stamps like normal
people?

Yeah, um, it's all just a bit, uh, being
coppers.

I've, uh, been away, you see, and... Oh,
yes, I know.

It can't have been very nice.

You can tell me all about it when you're
ready. Here, let me take this.

Well, you must stay with us, mustn't
you, now that you've got the job?

I have the premises next door.

Book has its books, I have my wallpaper,
and there is a darling little attic

room between the two.

Why are you helping me like this?

Why not?

What about Harcap?

Suicide, have you heard?

Heard? From your colleague over there.
All of his ruddy guts for God.

This guy's getting thought of all the
time. All right. I don't know why.

Mr. Booker's always welcome to give us
the benefit of his wisdom. As you know.

Yes.

Yes.

Bad business, not very bad. Oh, not.

But, look, Morris had a point. This is a
plain, ordinary suicide.

I mean, I can be flexible, as you know.
Weren't something a little bit more...

Recherche, I would say. Anything with an
acute accent.

Unusual. Comes along.

Like our barbed -frenzy skeleton.

This is a meat and potatoes job.

You know, the sergeant and I are
perfectly capable... Who phoned him?

Charwin. Hayden Dredge.

Pretty shook up, she is.

Dredge. That rings a little bell.

Which she'd been doing for Harker, for
Donkeys.

Ding dong.

Is there a note?

No, no, no. How did you do it?

Proper catheter.

Naughty. And intriguing, don't you
think?

It's dark up.

Right, sir. Looks like suicide.

Oh, how dreadful.

Well, I'd better get on.

Too much excitement for one day.

Jack, knit back the shop, would you?

There's a pile of newspapers, third
stack on the right as you come in,

Cross Dispatch, underneath two volumes
on Eleanor of Castile and the Wilting

Aspidistra.

Fetch them for me, would you?

Okay. Oh, and put the kettle on again.

We're going to have company.

Oh, well, see, it's from him.

Oh, I brought a coffee and walnut cake
round for Mr Harkup.

You might as well have it.

This is your usual char day?

Yes, every week, regular with clockwork.
But I only saw him yesterday.

Pop round to get some bandages.

Bandages? Oh, my son, he was injured in
the war. He needs constant attention.

The dressing.

At what time did you see Mr Harker?

Six. Six -ish, I think.

Oh, it doesn't seem possible.

Him dangling there all full of life and
then... finding him lying there like

that. You're doing very well.

And was he?

Was he what?

Full of life when you saw him. In good
spirits, I mean.

Would you be honest? He seemed a little
down.

Although I'd want to go and do an
horrible thing like that to himself.

Any vices?

Vices, sir?

We must investigate all angles, alas,
dear lady.

Man of very regular habits he was.

Church every Sunday.

Kept his accounts in very neat order. I
think that was the soldier in him.

He did play dominoes.

Dominoes? Every Monday and Thursday
night.

In the ball, with Mr Basehart and some
others.

Does that count as advice?

I hardly think so.

Do you have any family?

My mother always said, if you can't see
anything nice about someone, don't open

your trap.

So there was bad blood then?

There's a daughter, isn't there? Some
estrangement?

I wouldn't like to say.

Don't seem right.

What with Mr H not cold in his grave.
Heavens, this cake.

Yes? Oh, it's superb.

Oh, too kind, sir.

But then I'd expect nothing less.

Oh, why do you say that?

Miss Lyon's Corner House, 1921.

Oh, fancy you knowing that.

It was 1922, though. My mistake.

How the ticking?

I thought of a little tidbit like that,
mostly useless.

Must have been a lovely experience. Oh,
yeah.

Oh, I've never felt so glamorous.

I bought a new hat and the Lord Mayor
winked at me.

Winked. Fancy.

Worked there for years, I did, at the
corner house.

So I got very good with the baking.

Mr H used to love my pineapple upside
down. You know, it really would be most

helpful to know why he and his daughter,
Sarah...

Lor, Lor Mary.

Marula. Marula, that's right. Why, he
and Marula are no longer so eye to eye.

Well, seeing as you've been so kind,
sir. Very good of you.

She was a cow.

A right horrible, money -grabbing little
cow.

I see.

Apple of his eye, she was, after his
wife passed on.

But she knew how to twist him round her
little finger. Nothing was too much for

his little princess.

And then she has the gall to run off
with him.

Him?

Mickey. Mickey Hall.

It's a right man to do well. Up to all
sorts in the war's busy stuff, you know.

Black Market.

He's a motor mechanic.

They've got a garage out Marlend way.

Marlend. Charming.

And now Marula will inherit the lot.

Don't seem right, do it?

No, it, um...

Don't.

Thank you. What the hell do you think
you're doing?

Just being neighbourly, Sergeant.

Your witness, I think.

Hello again.

Oh, hi, Book.

I just wondered if I could have a
little...

Nosey around before I head out.

See if I can help at all.

Head out?

Oh, Mrs. Book and I are often pleasure
-bent. The new boy's babysitting.

Oh, for the dog?

Dog. There's no definite article.

Off to the pictures?

Rerunning a Sandra Dare at the Rialto?
The opera.

Fat ladies singing.

Speaking of which, may I, um... There's
a

door, sir.

But Mrs. Dredge said they didn't get on.

So I gather... We're endeavouring to
trace her.

She has a garage at Mile End.

Oh, right.

Thanks.

Funny, aren't they?

Not quite the same, I think. These are
jade.

Rather fine.

And this one...

The hard cap was obviously a
connoisseur.

Do you think it was suicide?

You have doubts?

I do.

What's your theory?

Evening, gentlemen.

Evening. Oh, Eric, Black Lamb and Grey
Falcon.

What? That book for Sheila to write. Oh,
smashing.

She'll come over tomorrow for it.
Righto. Wait a whistle.

Oh, thank you.

I was never keen on him myself.

Hark up.

God forgive me.

Bit of a little Hitler. Still, poor
bugger. Stop it himself like that.

So, so, what's your theory?

Patience, Inspector, patience.

The two most powerful warriors are
patience and time.

Holstoy. I couldn't get into him.

I tried that one, you know, where she
chucks herself in front of a train.

No? No.

Look, Inspector.

Too much?

No, not at all.

You look amazing.

I meant the walls.

Oh. Book says it's an affront to good
taste, but I don't know. I think you

have a certain thing, don't you?

I'm good at knocking things together. I
always have been.

Wardrobes, wireless sets, pets.

I was in the land army.

Gin? What?

Oh, yeah, please.

So you're going out, then?

My dear, we're always going out.

Well, one has to live, doesn't one?

Especially after the time we've all had.

There's some chops in the larder, I
think. Your room's up at the top. I've

that she... You're...

I mean... Thank you.

that I can't unpack.

Well?

Well?

I know that look.

You're on to something.

Mums, merely the happy look of a
contented man. I have my lovely wife, my

shop, my lovely dog.

What more could a man ask for?

Broad.

Three things, then.

Mr Harkup collected Chinese jade figures
of exceptional quality.

But dust is eloquent, as I once said.

Dust doesn't lie.

One of the figures has been replaced
with a bit of cheap trash, a chess

But the larger outline remains clear.

Mrs. Dredge hasn't cleaned in a while,
despite what she said.

Secondly, Mr. Harkup had a small lump on
the back of his head.

Not caused by him falling, I don't
think.

Or probably a blow with a blunt
instrument. A blunt instrument that

the skin.

And yet there is blood on the back of
Mr. Harkup's scalp.

Thirdly... Yes?

Darkly, I listen.

For many a time, I have been half in
love with easeful death.

Called him soft names in many a mused
rhyme to take into the air my quiet

breath.

Pardon?

Why would a chemist, with every known
gentle poison in the shop, choose to

himself with something as horrible as
pratic acid?

Well, book, there you are then.

Yes, Trotty, there we are.

Nice.

Mr. Duque, be careful.

Stop.

Ah, good morning.

How can I help?

Oh, well, I'm... I'm after a book.

You are very much in the right place.

What do you think, young man? What would
suit the lady best?

Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Henry James?

Do you have the new Georgette Heyer?

Ah.

Well, I've read all her other ones. Me
too, and what a smasher she is.

But that would be a new book, Miss...
Mrs.

Goodwin. Mrs. Goodwin.

Jean. Jean.

We don't really go in for those, do we?

We should try foils.

It's a bit of a trudge, my feet being
what they are.

I have the perfect alternative.

One who is spinning romantic yarns when
Miss Hare was still in the cradle.

Probably. Oh, well, if you think that,
then... I mean, if you'd recommend...

Beg your pardon? Sure.

Sorry. Thinking.

Ah!

Orsi. Never heard of him. Her.

Baroness. Hungarian.

The Scarlet Pimpernel. Oh, I've heard of
that.

French Revolution.

It's a delight.

You won't regret it.

When you've finished...

Come back and I'll find you the sequel.

Oh, that's very good of you.

What do I owe you?

Oh, let's call it a bob.

Hang on.

Feet. Feet, feet, feet.

Ah.

This is free.

Oh, I couldn't possibly.

Oh, it's nothing.

But sending you off happily on the bus
without further bunions is a price above

rubies, wouldn't you agree, Jean?

Thank you.

Cheerio, bye.

Come on, woman.

I'll never make any money like that,
will I?

Hey -ho.

Now then, Jack.

Excited to start the day?

There's a whole world of learning in
here.

All human life.

And some inhuman.

Still got that coin?

Well, oh, uh... Yeah. Yeah, of course.
Good.

I don't mean to pry, Mr. Book.

But, um... What exactly is it you do?

I would have thought that was obvious.

I sell books.

Yeah, but that's not all, is it?

Yesterday, out there at a bomb site, you
chatted with a charlady.

Yes. Well, is that, like, your... your
hobby?

I mean, the way you talk to those
coppers, where they let you roam around

pit, are you, like, some sort of advisor
to them or something? I mean, why

should they listen to you?

They frequently don't. More fool them.

I did the inspector a favour once,
during the war.

He hasn't forgotten.

Also, I have a special letter. A letter
from Churchill. Yeah, the cop has said

that.

A letter saying what?

It's a chaotic world, Jack.

I have a system.

Sometimes people like me to give an
opinion on things.

Impose a little order.

That's all.

You can read all sorts of things.

As well as books.

This... This is your system?

Yes.

What's wrong with it?

Well, they're not in any kind of order.

Cataracts of denial.

Diseases of the eye and their treatment.

Cataracts? I believe.

Logical.

The guillotine.

A practical guide. The life and death of
Alfred Mutting's gent.

Coins of the realm. I mean, there's no
system. There's no system at all. Well,

it's all up here, isn't it?

I'm best to explain.

Alfred Mutting's was a career criminal.

Very successful forger in his day, which
was Queen Victoria's day.

Extraordinary chap in his field. He was
a coiner, a forger of coins. But his

luck ran out in Paris and they chopped
off his head. It's why all those books

are clumped together, you see. Yeah, but
that's...

Why not silly?

Never the less.

Well, I shall leave you to hold the
phone.

Slightly foxed Slightly foxed

says it all

Yeah, can I help you?

I've come to collect an order.

Right -o.

What's the name?

Sheila Wellbeloved.

Hello.

Jack. Yeah?

I'm Nora.

We've got lots to talk about.

Again, very sorry for you. Can I go now?
Well, if you wouldn't mind answering a

few questions.

Just come with me, please.

Fascinating. Way better to hide a
tree... Than in a forest.

And these markings... Indeed.

Look. Oh, hello.

Just checking in on those skeletons with
Dr. Colding here. Oh, yes. At any risk

of infection.

Quite safe on that count, Inspector.

However... Loose lips drop slips, as
they say in the knicker trade.

Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise,
would we?

Surprise?

Anyway, back to the case in hand. This
is Miss Marula Harker.

Oh, my dear child, I'm so very sorry.

A few questions, he said.

Do you mind if I tag along?

Oh, don't forget that blood test.

On its way.

Sorry about that.

There you go.

Black lamb and grey falcon.

Sounds interesting.

Tough.

Getting the hang of it?

Slowly.

So, who are you?

Nora. I live across the road in a
Turkish restaurant.

Help out in the shop sometimes.

So, um, do you know him well, then?

Mr and Mrs Book?

Yeah.

And do you know about his little hobby?

Bloody hell, yes.

It's all I think about.

Isn't all that, I mean... Isn't that...
Unhealthy?

I should think so.

What do your mum and dad think?

Don't have any.

What do you mean?

Well, it was the war, wasn't it?

Everyone lost someone.

I lost them.

Sorry.

What happened?

So, how are you getting on anyway with
the books, Mr and Mrs?

It's not quite what I expected. What is
his Christian name, by the way?

What do you think?

Cookbook. Scrapbook, mucky book?

Gabriel.

Ah.

Like the angel?

Archangel, I think you'll find.

They're a dream, both of them. Like
sweethearts.

So, what's your story?

Do you think I'm hard?

I'm not sniffling, boo -hooing all over
the shop.

I mean, it's just not the way I'm made.

So there.

Your father.

I'm sorry that he's dead.

Of course I am. He was my dad.

In spite of everything.

He didn't make it easy to, um... to love
him, though. Can you think of any

reason why he'd want to take his own
life?

None. No, he was nicely set up with his
shop and... Well, Mum had left him a few

bobs when she died.

You don't think your estrangement... No.

Nothing to do with that.

He wasn't the type to get all emotional.

Maybe that's where I get it from.

I mean, he made it very clear that he
didn't approve of, um... me and Mickey.

But, um...

Hardly have gone and killed himself in a
fit of the glums about it. He just, he

weren't the type, as I say.

Tell us about Mickey.

What's to say? He's my fella.

How was his war?

Why do you ask that?

Well, we know how much our father
appreciated the armed forces, always

medal ribbons with great pride.

Yeah, well, Mickey wasn't lucky. His
eyes, they're not, they're not good.

I think that's why he ended up with me.

I mean, he wouldn't have been much good
against Jerry with eyes like his.

Dad didn't like that, thought he was a
shirker.

That was the start of it.

What was the finish?

Well, Dad was convinced that Mickey was
thieving from him.

What?

Morphine.

Mickey got up to some shady business
during the war, just... Stockings,

cigarettes, more stuff.

Dad had just got it into his head that
Mickey was bad.

And he'd noticed morphine had gone
missing?

Yes.

Wouldn't speak to us.

You've had a bit of news, haven't you?

I thought a little one might be the
thing that brings us back together.

What's all this about? Why are you so
interested in Mickey if Dad has gone

and... Topped himself.

Stories? Detective stories.

That's what I want to write.

I've got so many ideas.

It's such an exciting new world out
there.

Everything's all smashed up. The whole
world.

No one knows what to do anymore.

Well, I do.

The war turned everything upside down.
Shook it up.

That's great.

It's now going back to how things used
to be. Including murders.

Including murders.

Half the soldiers in Britain have come
home with pistols they stole from dead

Nazis. The country's a washroom.

So? So, we only seem civilised in this
country because we're not armed.

Think of all that fobbing, suburban
passion.

Husbands having affairs with
secretaries.

Ladies having affairs with their
chauffeurs.

All those contested wills and domestic
rows.

People used to kill each other by
boiling down arsenic from their

Now they just have to reach for a Luger.

Pow, pow, pow!

What did happen to your parents?

You're supposed to be telling me your
story.

I'm an orphan, too.

I never knew my mum.

I've got a picture of my dad.

That's all.

I'm sorry.

It's all right.

I should, um... Yeah.

It was nice to meet you. It was an
incendiary.

What?

An incendiary.

Set the roof on fire in the blitz.

Mum got me out and went back for Dad.

Then the roof fell in.

I just sat there.

In the garden, looking at the house,
just felt

sort of numb.

The ARP warden found me.

Then my uncle took me in, so now I have
to help him out

with the restaurant.

But you'd rather be.

Much more exciting over here, innit?

I gave up pleasure for Lent.

I gave up Lent for pleasure.

Well, what's your answer?

I told you before, I'm just a
bookseller.

I sell books again, like I did before
the war.

This would be...

For old times sake.

And we did help you find him.

Very kind of you.

How's all that working out?

It's complicated.

Well, yes, I imagine it is.

Delicate.

And we wouldn't want anything to go
wrong.

Now, would we?

So, what do we make of him?

Jack, put him in the attic room.

Like Mrs. Rochester, only slightly more
butch. Has it ever occurred to you that

you are such a... Bibliophile. Because
of your name?

Nominative determinism.

I mean, if you've been called butcher,
you might be slicing up choice cuts of

meat.

Flensing, that's the word.

Removing fat from a carcass. A
wonderfully descriptive word, flensing.

I should endeavour to bring it back.

Well, I wish you joy with that.

Yes, you could be slipping your black
market chops under the counter like Mr

Well -Beloved. Much more useful than
books these days.

I could have been an archer, or a baker,
or a chandler.

Speaking of which, farewell, my lovely.

Oh, are you going out again?

You're so sharp, you'll cut yourself.

Crime victim, American.

Customer put in a request.

I know it's here somewhere. I saw a lady
in the lake recently.

Anyway, Jack.

Oh.

Devon had promised. Devon had promised.

And he didn't try to flog that coin.

So jail hasn't made him a wrong -um for
life.

Touch wood.

And the, uh... other matter.

It's too soon to tell him.

What was so special about your book?

Nothing really. It's just about some
chap at school playing cricket.

And what do you think of Carol Darley?

You've read Tim?

Started it. When?

After I saved it from the incinerator.

Book.

What's your name?

Bajova.

It's a funny name.

Thank you.

Stratford Perry.

But my friends call me Trotty.

You're splendid.

You owe me.

I do.

So when I get into trouble here, will
you help me out?

Let us make a solemn pact.

Put your strong arms round me, Carol,
and raise me a little.

I can talk better so.

Carol bowed his head without a word and
kissed him, and thus their friendship

was sealed.

Good night, Mrs. Book.

Good night, Mr. Book.

The daughter, the spiv, the char, the
warden.

Who gave Harkap the ruddy poison?

Absent friends.

Sir, you never believe it. It takes a
lot to surprise me.

Well,

why is it? We've got the chemist wheel
through, sir.

Who?

Daughter doesn't get a beam.

No? No.

Well, he does.

Oh.

The charm.

Mm.

Mrs. Ada Dredge.