All language subtitles for Bookish s01e06 Such Devoted Sisters 2.eng

Here's to Joe Stalin's next stroke.

Tinky -dink.

Who was he?

Victor. Oh, not before.

An air raid. 41.

It is true.

I switched the glasses. He drank the
poison meant for one of us.

The fear and the root here. We'd be ever
so grateful if you'd just keep an eye

on us.

This was the third attempt on our life
since we left New York. The first thing

you must do is arrest a cocktail waiter.

And you must bring in any others on the
staff.

You have a reservation?

No, my wife does.

Your what?

Aunt Philippa's death.

What does Jack know?

That my wife and I have an arrangement,
that I knew his late father.

Nothing more?

And should we trust you?

Well, I suppose you'll find out when the
next assassin comes.

Hello again.

Hello.

Fizz. For them, like Brazil.

Who is it? It's me.

Rampain?

We did not order champagne.

One more step and I'll...

Well,

let's all calm down, shall we?

You okay?

You shut up. You bloody carpet, you
lunatic.

I thought she had the gun. It was a
champagne bottle.

Oh, God.

Am I going to die? It's just a grave.

Luckily for you, your role has.

This is a very, very regrettable
incident, Miss.

Edie Rattle. Miss Edie, we live under
the constant threat of assassination.

The black mantle of death hovers over us
like the London fog.

Sometimes we make mistakes out of fear.

You must forgive.

Oh, you shouldn't forgive them. You
should press charges. Don't tell me what

do. Okay?

I've had enough of it. I've simply had
enough of it. We understand, dear.

Do you?

Because I've descended the ship that
started with the path and ended with me

getting fired.

Fired? Yeah, I've been handed my cards,
haven't I?

What? Why? What for?

Because someone sabotaged the boilers,
tipped linseed oil into them. Yeah, but

why would they think that that's you? I
have a motive.

Mr. Coyne gave me a mouthful for
standing up to that bastard.

Now I've been shot, Lee, shot.

What's that?

Morphine tartrate.

I'm not going to have you jabbing me
like a bloody pincushion. It will ease

pain. I'll live.

And if you do think that I'm just going
to hop on the night bus and say, oh, it

must be beastly that your country hates
your guts and you're forced to slum it

out here in the walls. Think again,
ladies.

No wonder you're so nervous around the
working classes.

You damn a lot to be.

I'll have that morphine now.

So, dear Ruttle, what do you suggest?

I'll stay here tonight, in the royal
suite.

There are only two beds. Then I'll have
the biggest, and I'll have breakfast in

it. I think that's a very modest demand,
considering the bullets in the wall.

I know the importance of the rules of
hospitality in your country. I've been

reading up on them.

That's right, Mr. Book.

At home, we are obliged to take in those
who need shelter.

During the war, many British officers
were parachuted into our territory. None

were betrayed.

I'll sleep on the sofa.

Right.

Now which one of you is lending me your
toothbrush?

I'll get someone to come and have a look
at this.

It's good to see you, Jane.

We lost him?

We never really knew him.

Of course, it was impossible to predict
how he'd react, but I was hoping for...

Sympathy? Understanding.

That's just the way it is with some
people.

They get down on a thing when they don't
know nothing about it.

Huckleberry Finn?

Top marks.

You can sleep on the left.

I like that Edie. She's sharp.

Sharp as her nibs. The princess.

Busy day tomorrow.

Bliss has arrested Ghazili.

Oh? It's a mistake.

So I suspect I'll spend the morning
showing him why.

Clever clogs. If the shoe fits.

Oh, it's the Dynaric Alps, by the way.
Eh?

It's the Dynaric Alps, my love, not the
Carpavians.

As I said, clever clogs.

Book. Finish

with

that mag, Sergeant?

Bagged and labelled, sir.

We'll return it in due course.

Take a seat.

Are you going to charge me?

Oh, there's plenty of time for that.

I've said it all already in my
statement.

Oh, just one thing before we start.

Mr. Book here will be joining us.

He's a specialist.

Mr. Gazili, it's very important that you
use this interview to tell us the

truth, because if you don't, I can't be
held accountable for the consequences.

We know about your affair with Edie
Rattle.

She's given us a statement, and in doing
so, has given us a possible motive, a

reason for you to kill Captain Orr.

Because he made a pass at Edie.

It must happen, like, three times a day.

What business are you in exactly?

The antiquarian book business.

I've read the Canoon of Scutari.

Have you?

I know it.

Live by it?

It was very important to my village.

Let's start then.

If I said we were going to give you the
third degree, what would you expect?

Kicking out by the beans?

Snake in the grass.

What did you say? Forget the third
degree, snake in the grass. Come on, I'm

waiting.

Vodka. At last.

Creme de menthe, lime juice, lemonade.

Where's my ice?

It went in first.

Are you shaking this drink?

Come on, come on, Mr. Gazili. This is
the Walsingham. Are you shaking this

drink? I'm stirring it. I'm stirring it.
Atta boy.

Atta boy.

I know that.

French vermouth, dry gin, grenadine,
four dashes.

Shaken. And what would you put in a
pansy?

And it's it?

No, no, no, Mr. Gazili.

Look, I'm still on probation. I'm not an
expert.

I'd say you're not.

But nor are you a murderer.

Well, what makes you say that? Because
he left a dirty great fingerprint on the

upper part of one of those glasses.

And a good cocktail waiter, as well as
knowing how to mix a third degree,

handled a rock glass lower down.

You made the drink for the captain,
which is when you left your fingerprint

his glass. But the drink was not deadly.

I'm sorry if this sounds insulting, Mr.
Ghazili, but you have yet to acquire the

skill to poison anyone in a crowded bar
in plain sight, particularly with just a

few seconds between the inciting
incident and the crime.

But I'm sure you'll get there.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say you're
already a model employee.

You're going to write me a reference
now, are you? Why not?

How long have the princesses been in the
hotel?

Four days.

And you'd already noticed they always
reject the first drink.

So you made it out of tap water.

Yes. Some employers would promote a
member of staff so concerned about

Well, Mr. Gazili, seems like you can go
and collect your things.

Our friend here is checking out. Very
good, sir.

Well, now what?

Anyone could have got that hydrochloric
acid into the drink.

Then Gazili was too clumsy to have done
it.

As I discovered late last night, the
Canoon of Scutari has very strict rules

about hospitality.

It's taboo to harm anyone you consider
your guest. Captain Orr was Gazili's

guest, strictly speaking, and the Canoon
is very strict.

Did it tell you anything else useful?

Oh, yes.

Insult my wife in front of the headman
of the village and you owe me a sheep.

If my wife insults you, I owe you five.

Well, I find it hugely best if people
are just nice to each other.

Hmm.

You were not in the army, were you?

You know where I was.

Well, no matter. Straight in your spine,
perhaps?

Eh, at the palace, a line of soldiers
would salute us just on our way to

breakfast. Oh, lucky you.

Had a mighty have fallen.

And back then, we weren't always looking
over our shoulders. We were at home

with our own people.

You boys, you must fetch the inspector.

Why, what's happened?

Another threatening letter.

Well, you've done all right.

They ordered in.

No less than I deserve.

Sure enough.

Balkan mixed, apparently.

Nice. See those little gold rings at the
end there?

I'm a capstan man myself.

Weren't you supposed to bring me for
that, Bovril?

I thought you had everything you needed
here.

It's a bit rich for my blood.

Where was Miss E .D. Rattle when the
murder took place?

Having a woodbiner. Having already
administered the poison?

Went for the princesses.

According to my intelligence sources,
she's a fully paid -up party member.

Communist. Red as Lenin's combinations.

So she might have wanted them dead?

On behalf of the new ruling class of
Scutari.

Then there's the other sister, of
course.

Other sister?

Oh, yes.

There are three of them, Inspector.

Three sisters.

A kingdom divided.

Exiled monarchs, I wonder.

Anyway, Princess Seneye went over to the
other side.

So it could be her. Striking the blow
for the work. This is where we should be

looking.

In my opinion.

Sir.

Oh, yes.

You liked the ladies, didn't you,
Captain Wall?

That's not how I would have put it.

Still... At least we have his home
number now. No, no.

Yes, this must be his wife, Sylvia.

What's that?

The only one without a star rating.

Hmm. Yeah, well, there's another
familiar name in there, too.

Oh.

As you say so.

Oh.

And Barberini, 2nd of May, 1940. I've
got race course.

Four stars, passionate Italians.

Crossed out, still legible.

What do you mean?

Obvious, isn't it?

Captain Orr didn't just like the ladies.

He was a bit queer.

What? You mean he travelled, as it were,
on the 38 bus and the 43?

He met that Italian barman at the races
and had relations.

It's all there in black and white.

That's in the race, isn't it?

That's got race, of course. There is
entry after entry.

Blackmail,

obviously.

Captain Orr threatened to expose
Barbarini.

Captain Orr's a married man. It's all a
bit... a bit far -fetched. You never

know with married men, sir.

What's your great theory, then?

That will be telling, Sergeant.

But speaking of Mrs Orr, I do think
someone should talk to her soon.

I'll ask Trotty, if I may.

Wives always know.

Whatever husbands think.

Message from that lad Jack, sir.

Princesses are requesting another
audience.

A Winston Churchill mask.

No. An Oriya flying helmet.

A piccadilly jar filled entirely with
toenail clippings. Oh.

Yeah.

It's not for the faint of heart, the
life of a chambermaid, but my dad ran a

in Bala, so I've seen it all.

And what about the murder?

I know.

I was outside, you see.

You can't pin Victor Orr on me.

I wasn't trying to, honest.

Pity I wasn't there, though.

I would have liked to see that one go
down.

So you were saying?

You got out of the clink and then you
went to work in a bookshop.

Yeah. For Mr. Book.

Yeah. And now you're working for the
Scatari royal family.

Not for much longer, I don't reckon.

I ain't much cop as a bodyguard.

Got anything by Mark?

Eh? In your bookshop.

Das Kapital.

Volume 4.

Now you're talking.

So why'd you leave?

I just don't think they're my sort of
people.

No?

It takes all sorts, you know.

As I say, the things I've seen in the
Walsingham.

Maybe it's time you expanded your
horizons a bit, sunshine.

Let me know if you fancy that thought
for us sometime, yeah?

So -called princesses.

My gourd rises as I see you in the
newspaper, your decadent bones draped in

Madame de Baviers, which will soon drip
with your filthy blood.

Yes, I can see why you might feel
discomforted.

So, what will you do about it?

My dear lady, why... You will address me
by my proper title.

Do forgive me, Inspector, Your Royal
Highness. The policeman is often a blunt

tool rather than a diplomat. Perhaps I
might... As I have said, this is the

latest of many.

Dripping with venom are enemies their
legion. Can they not let us rest?

Is it not enough that we are forced to
drag our weary bones around the world

like phantoms? You speak of the canoon,
of hospitality.

But what are we to make of yours?

What welcome do we receive in your
famous London?

Wretched food, wretched cold, a
bodyguard who fails to guard. And now,

I'll do what I can, given my limited
resources.

Yes, of course, and we're terribly
sorry.

Well, if that's the best you can do.

Oh, Miss Raffle.

Yes, Mr. Kind. I heard about the
unfortunate incident.

That's one way of describing it.

I'm okay, but I think I might indulge
myself a bit more in the...

Cream of society.

As I've been fired, I can use the hotel
as a guest instead.

Meaning?

Their Royal Highnesses.

I'm to put everything in their account.

Well, don't spend too much.

What? Nothing. Um, Miss Rattle.

Yes? Would you kindly come and see me
after you've indulged yourself?

Okay, Mr. Kind.

Edie.

Can we talk?

I don't want to apologize for the
quality of the service today.

The heating is off, the menu is cold.

I'm deeply sorry.

Ismail, none of that is your fault.

Yeah, I'm afraid it is.

It was caused by the three bottles of
linseed oil that I stole from your

cupboard.

But linseed oil is for polishing.

I use it for my new posts and my day
dose.

Yes, I know.

But I poured it into the generator.

I didn't poison Victor or E .D., but I
did poison the hotel.

I was so angry with myself, with that
man, with this place.

So I just thought I'd kill it.

I'm deeply sorry.

I shall confess everything to Mr. Kahn,
and you will not lose your job, E .D.

You? Me.

This isn't easy for me, as I'm sure you
can imagine.

Of course.

You've just lost your husband. That book
sold a long time ago, Mrs. Book.

And you're not the first of Victor's
conquests to tell a story.

If it makes it any easier, he didn't.

Then what?

Conquer?

I used to come here all the time, you
know.

To watch you.

With the latest model.

Madam?

Does he want self -hear assessed like
livestock?

You think he got what he deserved?

Well, not quite, but... I mean, what a
pig he was.

Do you know, I'd think better of him if
it was a real diary.

Something with a bit of proper
adulterous passion.

I don't really blame you.

I mean, Victor had charm to spare in his
day.

And I grew used to his adventures.

None to them.

So used to them, it became a sort of
hobby.

That sound strange?

My marriage grew cold.

And my life grew cold.

I don't really think I've felt anything
since Dunkirk.

So I come here.

Weather was light and laughter.

Usually.

Did you not worry that he might see you?

Victor hadn't noticed me in years.

There's no reason to think he'd start
now.

Is that how you were able to?

I mean, you were there. You handed me
that cloth.

It would have been easy for you to
administer it.

I didn't kill my husband, Mrs. Spooks.

I pitied Victor. Didn't despise him.

Then who did?

How is this war?

He did his service in Cairo and his
stint in the Balkans.

The Balkans.

And before that, he was here.

The home front.

Whereabouts?

Ascot.

Ah, it is you.

Would it be... What does that say?

That's a parasite.

Thank you for coming.

Everything's off.

Kippers, kidneys, ketjuri, and the
radiators. They're definitely off.

Oh.

There's a selection of cold meats.

Splendid. Well, two of those, then,
please, waiter.

And to make sure they're properly cold,
I have whoring consistency.

Sir? The service, it is appalling.

Well, call me Marie Antoinette, but I
was expecting the lavatories to flush.

Still, the heating did come on for half
an hour. That was nice.

You said it was urgent with the book.

In a way, yes.

Are you any closer?

Closer? To finding out who tried to
murder us? No one tried to murder you.

But the letter, the thread.

You said those.

What?

You're mad.

How dare you? Do sit down, Princess.

The very idea that I... I said sit down.

I may be more of a diplomat than the
inspector.

There's only so much of this exhausting
auteur I can stand.

Why don't you start sending the letters?

Not right away, I imagine.

For a while it was real.

When we fled our country, there were
eyes everywhere.

We feared to eat or drink.

We lived day by day, shoved into
stinking cellars, the hold of filthy

But the threat was real, Mr. Book.

In New York, we were fated.

They love royalty there, as you know,
precisely because they have none of

own. We were invited to all the right
parties, met all the right people.

But there is nothing more tragic than
exile, Mr. Book.

And nothing more pathetic.

After a time, the invitations dried up,
the parade moved on, and I realized that

we had gone from being in danger to
something far, far worse.

We had become irrelevant.

What did the new regime in Skutari have
to fear from us?

Why would they send assassins halfway
across the globe to make a way with us?

Why would anyone bother?

But there is glamour in death, in
danger.

And so I began to write all those
letters, both to us and to the

whichever poor nation we were imposing
ourselves upon.

I pay a woman here a modest fee to skulk
around the hotel, dropping them off now

and then.

Some suspected your other sister might
be behind those.

She's dead, Mr. Book.

I saw her shot in the face.

The communists never really trusted her.

And I will not lose another sister.

But then there was an actual poisoning.

I didn't know what to think.

And I feel you swap the glasses, as
always. And then that man, that captain,

lying dead at our feet.

My mind, it raced.

Had it all become real?

But what else could I do but continue
and plant?

It was very well done.

Thank you.

And that's where the impression of your
sister's pen nibs is very distinctive.

Indeed?

Music nib.

Narrow downstrokes, broad crossstrokes
for writing musical notation.

And she's composing those rather sad and
lovely little tunes of hers.

And the references to your wardrobe,
too, rather specific for a desperate

communist assassin.

I couldn't help myself.

So does this mean, then, that... Captain
Orr was the intended victim.

So I have to ask you, the book... In the
spirit of your British stories.

Who done it?

Well, that is the question, dear lady.

Not normally a fan of this sort of
thing.

Resident of the kind of thriller one
finds in W .H. Smith.

However, sometimes it really is better
to gather everyone together.

Unity of place and all that.

So, on the night of the murder, Mr.
Gazili here sets up the first round of

drinks. Yes. Which is rejected by the
princesses and goes down the sink.

Now we come to the brouhaha.

And a new character enters our drama.

Captain Victor Orr, kindly represented
here by Mr. Kind.

In you come, Miss Rattle. Tell us what
happened next.

Well, there's Captain Watsit soaked in
Tattinger, and he's telling me he has

some extra duties for me, which seem to
involve me going to his room and leaving

with some money.

So I decline, of course, and I'm looking
over at Ismael.

I'm looking at him because, well, I
think he might help me out. Do the

And he doesn't.

What happens next, Evie?

Well, I'm thinking, is the captain going
to hit me? So I tell him where to get

off. And then he says something. I don't
know, some threat or other. I wasn't

listening. And that's when Jack here
came to my rescue.

And then I went outside for a smoke.

Thank you, Miss Rattle.

So, Mr. Ghazili then sets up two more
glasses for a new round. Four

Walsingham sours.

In total.

Three good ones and one, as we shall
see, about to have an extra ingredient.

when precisely did one of these drinks
get a dash of hydrochloric acid?

Princess Neffier, you tell us that you
switched two of these glasses around.

Which two?

Like this, Mr. Book.

One of ours for one of theirs.

Very good. But you're not drinking yet,
are you? Because you want to see someone

else drink first.

Which is only prudent, only sensible
when there are so many assassins about.

So, you have to wait a little while
longer until the distraction is over.

And this is the Russian roulette moment
now, is it?

This was not a casual murder.

It was very carefully thought through.

Now, we know the poison was not in Mr.
Gazida's shaker. We know that Princess

Nefie deserves no reproaches. All Your
Royal Highness did was switch one

perfectly safe and effective Walsingham
sour for another.

In fact, I would suggest that none of
these drinks would have produced

worse than a hangover until the incident
with the coins.

That was the moment of opportunity for
someone here to poison one of these

cocktails. The one that he was clearly
about to pick up. Yes, there was no

mistake. Captain Orr had to die.

Why, though?

Do you remember the Aaron Doris star?

Not our finest hour, I fear.

She was torpedoed by the cherries.
Started the war.

July 2nd, 1940.

There was a set -two on board, wasn't
there? A lot of internees being sent to

Australia. Canada. Canada.

Fighting amongst themselves.

Well, that's what it said in the Daily
Express.

In Parliament, too, Mr. Book.

Does it mean it's true?

Indeed.

And amongst the passengers, your sister,

Maria.

Barberini, M. 12th January, 1940, Ascot
Racecourse.

16th of January, Ascot Racecourse.

Her captain all met at the races.

Well, there was no racing during the
war.

Quite. Of course, Ascot's where they put
the Regulation 18 B lot, wasn't it?

English Nazis, German anti -Nazis, ice
cream men, spaghetti house vendors,

waiters who'd once said something
vaguely complimentary about the cut of

Duce's jib, all put under barbed wire.

In a tournament camp?

What was the case against the
Barbarinis, sir?

Our parents were born in Italy.

So someone here claimed I was a fascist.

Marched me out during service.

Sent up north.

Nobody protested.

Particularly the man who ran the bar
here in the Blitz.

And your sister?

In 1938, my father said, why not spend
the summer with your Italian aunt?

Go to beach with them. To the Campo
Solare.

Build fires.

Get some fresh air.

They give you a nice little uniform.

Like the girl guides, but... Mussolini's
girl guides.

Ah.

So she brought the uniform home as a
souvenir.

It was enough for the men from 18B.

There it was in a wardrobe, so... Off
she went to escort.

She was interned because of the uniform.

People do take them terribly seriously.

Well, it worked for Victor.

When he was in his sailor suit.

People did what he said.

I mean, it was charm, as well as rank.
Rank charm.

That's how he got Maria's name on the
list for Canada.

Perhaps we should be generous.

Imagine that he was getting her out of
the camp to a new life away from the

He just wanted a troublesome lover out
of the way before his wife found her.

And that ship was a death trap.

I dream about that.

Those people.

Pushing at the barricades.

Great wooden axes wrapped in barbed
wire.

And then the sea coming in and drowning
them both.

Both.

Maria and the baby.

His baby.

I knew his name, that was all.

But I couldn't find him.

Method the war. Turn everything upside
down.

No, I was in a great hurry to help out
an insignificant WAP waiter.

Turned out I'd been serving in
Walsingham Sours for months.

Victor Wals, my old friend, I can't
leave you alone for five minutes, can I?

The bloody girl can't take a joke.

Let's have a couple of those. What do
you call them?

Walsingham Sours.

For the two ladies.

For their royal highnesses, you mean.

These are on me, ladies.

The man who took away my precious Maria.

My beloved sister.

So I did what had to be done.

I prepared ice.

Special ice.

Oh, oh dear.

So embarrassing.

I do apologize.

Not at all.

Look after the pennies.

The town will look after themselves.

It was her birthday, see?

Maria's birthday.

Would have been.

It seemed, uh... It seemed fitting.

Yes. Yes, it must have done.

And I took the precaution of keeping
some of the poison dyes.

Tinky -tonk.

Wait! Oh, no!

Just ordinary ice, alas.

I'm afraid I swapped it.

I'm so very, very sorry about your
sister, Signor Barberini.

But murder is murder.

Marco Barberini, I'm arresting you on a
charge of murder. You do not have to say

anything, but anything you do say may be
taken down and used against you in a

court of law.

Do you have anything to say?

Oh, by the way, Mr. Kind, the linseed
oil in the generators, that was me too.

Sorry.

Mr. Kynes, you wanted a word? Ah, yes,
Miss Rattle. I was thinking about your

position here.

Well, now I know that you were not
responsible for the incident with the

generators. Yes.

Well, your dismissal was unnecessarily
expeditious.

Yes. Yes.

And I wanted to say I would very much
like to offer that position back to you.

Well, I accept.

That's all very satisfactory.

There's a ledger here, isn't there?

A ledger? One with all the comings and
goings of the staff.

Might I see my entry?

It's over there.

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

There I am.

Edith Rattle.

Reason for leaving.

Sabotage. Well, let us strike that from
the record.

Thank you, Mr. Kind.

Now, Mr. Kind, I resign.

You resign?

Yes, I resign. Would you mind putting
that in there for me?

You can't resign.

I believe I just did.

Oh, the worker.

All this is quite correct.

Two more, please.

For those people.

Oh, messing the war, are you?

I don't know what the etiquette is.

Oh, I think that's a royal summons.

What else?

For you, Mr. Book.

For the book.

Oh, thank you.

A hundred guineas?

No, I mean, what's it for?

Oh, our copy of the Canoon of Scutari.

In our trade, it pays to specialize.

It'll bow.

Well, if it doesn't, I shall give it to
the Arandora Star Memorial Fund.

Please enjoy. Thank you.

What shall we drink to?

To us.

To the Barbarinis?

Yes. To Marco and Maria and... All the
Barbarinis.

The lost and the defeated.

All the Barbarinis.

Those who bear the name and those who do
not.

And let there be no more drownings.

He got me the job.

With the book.

He arranged for you to take me on.

The princesses were looking for a
bodyguard.

Gabriel asked if I could help.

So you think he was looking out for you,
despite your falling out?

You know him well.

We go a long way back.

Looking out for me?

Or manipulating me?

Why would you think of it like that?

He sought me out.

Found me when I come out of prison.

Set me up.

Nice job.

Nice home. Yes.

Why?

You'd have to ask him that.

I'm a monster.

It's the kind. I'm grateful.

Of course I am.

It's just... It's a lot, you know.

They're set up.

The way they are, Mr and Mrs Book, the
way he is, it's hard for me to just

accept it.

You have a moral objection?

Me?

What right do I have to moralize? I
think you've answered your own question.

Book is kind.

I mean, I know, I'm kind.

Edmund, kind.

But I once knew a girl called Joy, and
she was anything but.

There's no sinister motive, Jack.

They want to help.

Why don't you let them?

With you in just one moment.

Hello again.

Oh, Mrs Goodwin.

Jean. Jean.

After more of the same?

The Pimpernel? I'm not really sure. I
think I fancy something a little

different. The husband not with you?

No. The golf course? No. The Garrick?

The divorce course.

Oh.

Oh.

That play you gave me. Adult House.

Most illuminating. Like you suggested,
it rather made me think.

Yes, I thought it might do.

Made me realise how narrow my horizons
have become, or rather, how narrow

Gerald's have made my horizons.

Love doesn't always last forever, alas.

Never loved him.

Awful man.

But that's all in the past now.

Or in the hands of my solicitor, anyway.

So, what can I do for you then, Jean?

What have you got on...

Travel. Travel?

Lots of it.

Heaps of it.

Exotic travel.

I think it's time I saw a bit of the
world.

I've got just the thing.

I'll leave you in just one moment, sir.

Well, now you run on it.

Without tea, I am really...
Unreconstituted dust.

It's hard to let go of the past, Mr.
Book, when you have so many questions

it.

Such as?

Well, if it wasn't for you and Trotty,
I'd be... Well, I'd be

sleeping on the embankment.

But now I have a position.

If it's still available.

The Royal Highnesses have let you go.

I'll quit.

Good for you.

Yes, the job's still yours.

So, I've got a position.

Cozy little room.

I have a bookshop on Archangel Lane.

I'm thinking... Why me?

Your father gave me this.

The last time I saw him, 1935.

The last time?

He died.

Soon after.

I couldn't face looking at this book.

Not for years.

And then the war came and I was busy.

Rather busy.

It's only a few months ago that I pick
it up again.

Dared to pick it up.

And I found there was a little more to
it than I thought.

What do you mean?

Oh,

somewhere, meek, unconscious dove, that
sitteth ranging golden hair.

And glad to find thyself so fair.

Poor child, that waitest for thy love.

He's trying to tell me, you see, about
you.

About the son I never knew he had.

That's been taken around when you were
conceived.

Felix?

I never had his name.

Just that.

Just that one picture.

Your father was a German.

German?

Prussian.

In point of fact.

What was he to you, Mr. Book?

What was Felix to me?

He was everything, Jack.

He was what the war took away.

He was the whole damn world.

How did he die?

we find out.

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