All language subtitles for Ripper Street S04E02 Some Conscience Lost test

- There is a little boy we could have.
- This boy, Connor, has a father,

Rose. When the mother is gone,
it is up to Jackson to resolve, right?

- Take him.
- Please.

- Please, Connor, it's for the best.
- (CONNOR WAILS)

- Don't ever die for real.
- This borough here

- has a taste for monsters.
- Then let us hear of

the man behind that monster.

He's Isaac Bloom.

It would not be so hard a thing to
have a warrant card made for you.

Needs must you would
work under me, however.

(STREET HUBBUB)

- MATHILDA: You are anxious.
- REID: No, I'm not. I'm not anxious.

This work I am set to, my
research in Whitechapel,

you do not wish
me to undertake it.

That I do not, no.

You think I'll be set upon
by wolves and demons.

But I told you before,
I'm equal to them.

We are, none of us,
equal to Whitechapel.

Then you are not
only anxious for me,

for today you return to
your duties at Leman Street.

I am not anxious for that,
Mathilda. I am not anxious at all.

Then I may go
about my work alone.

You know you may not.

It is your first day at it, and
you will go with me or not at all.

And so you win yourself
an hour or two's delay

before you walk through those
doors and become a policeman again.

Idle, drinking, violent.

I shall mark these houses
lowest class, loafer, vicious.

I have my doubts of these
categories of Mr Booth's.

They do not do justice
to the human reality.

These people are not
vicious or idle or violent.

They do not choose
this existence.

And yet in but three
words they are condemned.

Mr Booth's categories
are none of your concern.

This is not your
work. It is mine.

I shall see to this
house myself, alone.

(KNOCKS AT DOOR)

(CHILD WHIMPERS)

(WHIMPERING CONTINUES)

(WEAKLY) I die.

Father!

Father!

- Father, he's dying!
- There, boy.

Open your chest. What's your
name? Where's your mother?

- I'm dying. I die.
- I am here. You are not alone.

- What is your name?
- (BOY MURMURS)

- Tommy.
- Tommy.

There, Tommy, do
not be afraid. I am here.

I'm here.

(LABOURED BREATH)

Where is it, my
love? I shall be late.

Well, I'm quite sure I washed
at least one of your shirts.

- And then there's so much linen.
- All right, it's all right. Here it is.

Yeah, a little damp, but, er...

Here you go, Connor. Here.

- No.
- Come on, Connor.

- No.
- All right, all right, all right.

- Connor.
- Give us a go.

Now, little fella, how are you
gonna grow up big and strong

unless you drink your milk?

Ha!

Connor Drake, I hereby arrest
you for the criminal waste of milk

and the destruction
of police property.

Eh?

- Now, what do you think about that?
- (GIGGLES)

What you gonna do
about that, young sir?

- Eh?
- (GIGGLES)

JACKSON: He is safe.

He is loved, our boy.

Even now, your Rose holds him in
her arms. Do you find no comfort in that?

You're free.

You're alive.

And we're together.

Yeah.

We are. We are safe.

Let us delight in that.

900 days we were apart...

but I counted them, every one,
and I bled each and every hour.

You can't leave.

900 days.

All the hours we have lost.

We must make amends.

Captain Jackson will be along
shortly, I have no doubt, sir.

It's a workhouse boy.

His red scalp is iodine.

Workhouse practice
against ringworm.

Sergeant, get on to the
workhouses between here and Poplar.

See who's gone missing.
Find out who he is.

His name is Tommy, and he has
a birthmark here behind his left ear.

And how shall I mark
the case, sir? It is murder?

It is not a case as such.

I mean to find his family,
give him a proper burial.

But... But I must log the
action, sir. It's how it is done now.

- And what is your name, lad?
- Drummond, sir.

Samuel Drummond.

Do not worry yourself,
Samuel Drummond.

It is a matter only for me.

Very good, sir.

And if you come with me now,
Mr Drake is expecting you, sir.

I, Edmund John James Reid,
being appointed a constable

of the police force of the
Metropolitan Police district,

do solemnly, sincerely,
and truly declare

that I will serve our sovereign lady
Queen Victoria, and in all respects

to the best of my skill and knowledge,
discharge the said office faithfully

and according to law.

Who'd have thought, eh?

Welcome back, Inspector.

You have heard me speak often enough
of this gentleman, Mr Edmund Reid.

We are lucky indeed to
have him back with us.

I see this wall soon
empty, now he has returned.

And if I may, a little something
to ease you back to work.

A curious case,
a spate of attacks,

the victims separated
from their right hands.

I have other business
I must attend to,

but Sergeant Drummond
will see you fitted

with all the particulars of the
case and show you to the suspect.

Give this silent fellow a stir.
See if you can't make him whistle.

- Your name and business, sir.
- I told them slops before.

I don't talk to the police.

- Slops?
- Mm.

You've been accused of
severing the hands of four men.

It's a most particular crime, in some
cultures, the punishment for thieving.

Slops, coster speak for police.
You're a costermonger, a market trader.

And you serve your own justice
on those who would thieve from you.

You part them from
their light-fingered hands.

It's old coster practice, this.

These scars, you must
need knives for your trade.

You are a butcher.

But the scars are on the
underside of your palm.

So you hold your work in
your left, your knife in your right.

You are an oyster shucker.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

Mr Reid, you are asked for,
sir. The boy's mother is found.

(DOOR CLANGS)

You have my boy.
Where is he, sir?

I was at my interviews
down Durwood Street

and along comes this lady,
knocking on all the doors just as I was.

- Looking for her boy, she says.
- Madam, be advised,

the boy that we hold is dead.

Oh, God, save us.

Oh, God, forgive
me. I've lost my boy.

I couldn't keep him no more.

I must put him in the
workhouse. I couldn't feed him.

I... I thought he would be
safest there, but look at him.

Oh, God, look what
they did to him. (WEEPS)

Poor boy.

The boy, sir, is Tommy Riggs, missing
from Whitechapel Union Workhouse.

Go to the mother. See
she wants for nothing.

I have questions that must
be answered at the workhouse.

I wish to know how a boy in its
care may die in such abjection.

Mr Wilde, I have in my morgue in
Leman Street a young boy, Tommy Riggs.

I am concerned, sir,

at the state in which I found him -
underfed, neglected. Mortally, sir.

Tommy Riggs?

Yes, a...

a runaway, missing
this week past.

I'm afraid I can not account for what
became of him beyond these walls.

These poor souls whose
parents have neglected them,

so many feel
compelled to run away.

They do not see that the
workhouse is for their own safety.

It is our... our
greatest sorrow.

Nevertheless, sir, I
should like to see for myself

the conditions in which
the children are kept.

Here, you see we teach literacy.

Along here, domestic skills.

For too long, the workhouse has
been a form of incarceration for the poor,

no hope of release,
no hope of a future.

We must let go of
this notion of deterrent,

of threat, and instead give
the poor hope and possibility.

I will not consign these people
to despair, sir, nor to sickness.

We have separated
the children's infirmary

from the rest of the workhouse,

a kind of cordon sanitaire.

We must take the spread of
disease very seriously, even ringworm.

And this, what is this place?

The casual ward for tramps and
vagrants, those who stay only one night.

We're obliged to feed and water
them, let them return to the streets.

We are, as you see, in
the process of fumigating it,

for they bring the filth
of the world with them.

Salus populi suprema est lex.

The health of the people
is the highest law. Indeed.

Well, I hope you'll agree that
the workhouse has much changed

since you knew it.

It is indeed a marvel of order and
hygiene, which gives me to wonder, sir,

why Tommy Riggs should wish
to run away from such a place.

Pauper spirit, Inspector Reid.

The spirit of the streets, it
is... it is too strong in some.

They insist upon their freedom.

His mother blames the
workhouse for his demise.

What say you to that?

His mother?

- Why, sir, that cannot be.
- How so?

His mother is dead.

This is braided from my
hair for remembrance of me.

And they had us make
them for our loved ones

that they might
share their mourning.

Jesus, he's English.

(KISSES)

And I'll grieve for you
every hour, on the hour.

And you...

oh, my Caitlin,

you will stay within the bounds
of this place, within these walls,

and you will show yourself to
none but Croker. Promise me.

I promise.

And for that, Matthew, you
must stay away from our boy.

You made a promise to Drake.

You must keep that promise,
lest you ruffle his feathers.

For they'll not trouble us here.

Ah, Mr Reid, sir, I've been
seeking word of the coster.

Yes, yes, yes, the woman,
the grieving woman.

Oh, she's gone, sir.

- She's gone?
- She packed up suddenly, lit out.

She left no word, she gave
no sign, no clue to her identity?

Indeed, sir.

It was found in
the waiting room.

Bromide of potassium.
Greasepaint. She treads the boards.

I know how she may be found.

Sir, about the oyster
seller. I found three stalls

on Hanbury Street, Mitre
Square and Middlesex Street.

Middlesex Street.

Trader there some years ago charged with
several accounts of violent affray. Ah.

Orton, Orton, his name.

This may be his son.

Seek him in the archives.
Learn what you can of him.

And I would have an autopsy
done on this boy, Tommy,

though I do not imagine Captain
Jackson is of a mind to work.

On the contrary, Mr Reid.

Work is my mind's only refuge,
after the old oak smoke, that is.

Captain.

Captain.

You are not expected here.

- Go home, man.
- Riot victim.

Straight to the morgue, boys.

But it would seem I am needed.

Blessed murder.

What's the case,
Sergeant Drummond?

This riot we've had at the
Salvation Army shelters.

The Salvations are again set upon,
and their captain is now dead, murdered,

and strung up.

Captain Solomon Shaw, stabbed in
the guts multiple times, head sheared,

strung up like a piece
of meat for all to see.

A statement.

This is the work of
the Skeleton Army.

It's a ragtag army of the poor.

They've risen against the
Salvationists and their so-called charity.

JACKSON: Jesus, that's
some kind of frenzy, huh?

Nuts.

DRAKE: Mr Reid, who's
this boy in our morgue?

Tommy Riggs, workhouse runway.

I would request an autopsy.

I am concerned it is
negligence caused his death.

DRAKE: Well, you can see
the work waiting to be done here.

You will get your
autopsy, Inspector Reid,

but we have a murder
must be solved first.

Thank you, Mr Reid.

JACKSON: These
are double wounds.

My guess is blades,
some kind of shears.

See the lateral splits in the wound,
most likely the impact of the hinge

as the shears hit the flesh.

(STREET CHATTER)

Mrs Drake, I wonder if you
might be able to help me.

Er, I seek to discover the identity
of a woman who came to me

and since disappeared.

She is, er, I believe, a fellow
performer, an actress or a singer.

She's dark, perhaps your height.

She left this. Recognise it?

There is a... handkerchief.

- It's embroidered with a swan.
- Um...

She wears a cluster
of flowers in her hair.

Leda Starling.

She had a spot at Blewett's
for a while, but they let her go.

Last I heard, she was singing
for her supper at the Four Knives.

- No.
- Come on, Connor.

No.

(SIGHS DEEPLY)

He will eat for
Bennet, but not for me.

Smile for Bennet,
sleep for Bennet.

(SIGHS) What am
I to do with him?

Well, you are grieving, both.

It is only to be expected.

It's good to see
you again, Mr Reid.

- (KNOCK ON DOOR)
- Who is that now?

Augustus!

- Hello, old friend.
- (SIGHS HAPPILY)

Oh.

Commissioner Dove.

Er, Augustus and I were at
the ragged school together.

He taught me to
write the perfect R.

But, Augustus, I don't... doubt
you've met Inspector Edmund Reid.

Indeed, I have not.

Sir.

The honour is mine, Mr Reid.
Whitechapel rejoices at your return.

Hm!

♪ Shall we never
meet again, love

♪ As we used to in the past?

♪ And the bright links
in love's chain, love

♪ Be rudely snapped at last?

♪ Yet my...

♪ Heart will
still be thine, love

♪ And its thoughts
still cling to thee

♪ Like the tendrils
of the vine, love

♪ Around the old oak tree... ♪

(APPLAUSE)

Ah, thank you.

- Thank you.
- Madam.

You do not remember me?

I'm Inspector Reid from the
police station at Leman Street.

You are Leda Starling.
This is yours, is it not?

Oh, er, you must excuse me, sir.

I am, as you can see, a
little mops and brooms.

There was a boy.
You came to see him.

No, he was not my boy.

Madam, you must
explain yourself.

You had me believe that you were
the mother of the boy in my morgue.

No, I am the mother
of a boy who is lost.

How is he lost?

I gave him up.

God bless him.

I would have kept him, but
you see what I'm reduced to.

So I... put him
in the workhouse.

Oh, God, what has become of him?

Do you believe some
harm has come to him?

- Sir, I do fear it.
- In the workhouse?

It's a fearful, dark place.

But they say he's not there,

but if he were not there,
he would be here with me.

Where else in the
world could he be?

Shall we not go there, get
to the heart of this matter?

And find my boy?

The master is not in
his office, sir, at present.

Then find him. We're
here for a boy-Starling.

What's his Christian name?

Um...

My boy.

- My boy!
- Ma?

Yes.

Yes, your ma's here. Come to me.

- Ma!
- My boy.

Oh!

Uh...

No, you're... you're not my boy.

This... This is my boy.
Come to your ma now.

Are you my ma?

Miss Starling, you must come away now.
You must come away. You must come away.

What is this now? Please remove
her. She is disturbing the children.

I... I know I left
him. I know I left him.

My office, if you please.

She seeks her son.
She is much distressed.

Inspector Reid, is this woman the
origin and cause of your earlier visit?

For you must understand, sir,
she is deranged. Do you not see?

She has lost her wits.

I do not doubt that it was she claimed
to be the mother of Tommy Riggs.

She is distracted, I own, but she is
driven to it by the absence of her son.

Then I grieve for her,

but she comes here twice,
often three times in a week,

to ask after him, and every time I
must tell her that she is mistaken.

We have no knowledge of her son.
He has never been an inmate here.

I... cannot help her.

She is unwell, sir.

Provision must be made for her.

- I will call the Mile End asylum.
- No, no.

No, do not trouble yourself. I
will see that she's taken care of.

Very well.

- Will you take me away from this place?
- Yes.

- Come.
- Please.

I see now, Inspector Reid, how it
is that you take such an interest.

You insinuate, sir?

I merely remark that it is not a
criminal case you pursue here, is it?

I do not doubt you have more
pressing police matters to attend to.

(JACKSON WHISPERS)

I have something
for it. Take one more.

(DOOR CLOSES)

Loss of short-term memory,
neurasthenia, insomnia.

She's taken
bromide of potassium.

Tertiary syphilis.

It's in her brain.

At one moment,
she'll be lucid, rational,

the next, she'll be scattered,
maniacal, bewildered.

- The asylum's her only future now.
- Oh, dear God. What a road.

What sanctuary is there?

I will take her home for
tonight. Er, she needs rest,

and I would know more of this story
of her boy and how he is missing.

And perhaps she will be
calmer when she is rested.

- Perhaps she will remember more.
- You cannot take her home, Reid.

She is suffering the
general paresis of the insane.

For that I will find some place for
her tomorrow, somewhere better.

She's not your concern.

Morning, ladies.

Jake Carter, otherwise
known as Redskin Jake,

- chief of the Skeleton Army...
- (BELL RINGS)

and soon to be
convicted of the murder

of Captain Solomon Shaw.
Caught him trying to shear

a Salvation Army lad
with these little beauties.

It's the black cap for
you, my friend. Come on.

Hallelujah! Look at him now.

He's a proper little
workhouse boy, ain't you, lad?

- Come here to my sergeant.
- Can you tell me what happened?

Wilfred Higgins... That
man, he grabbed me.

You sheared this boy.

I have two other such
assaults, or am I wrong?

This is your
practice, is it not?

Explain yourself.

Ah, to teach him a lesson.

You ever had a
Salvation Army breakfast?

Cos they make you beg for it.

(CHUCKLES) I've had many a Salvation
breakfast. Never once was I made to beg.

Good people, merciful, who filled
my belly, and I was glad of it, grateful.

They want your soul in return.

I sheared the boy just to
show he's one of us - human.

And for that, you sheared
Solomon Shaw an' all.

It was not for
this you killed him.

He came upon your territory,

threatened your criminal dominion,
and you made him answer for it.

Stabbed him in the
guts, strung him up.

Do you think me stupid?

I began my days in a
prison, a workhouse.

What, d'you think I mean to
end them locked up an' all?

We, the Skeleton Army,
are the army of the free poor.

We've known the
paupers' punishments.

"You may leave,
but if you're worthy."

"You may live, if
you're deserving."

We defy 'em.

We will live as we choose,

without shame of our poverty,

without apology!

Beef, good beef!

Beer, good beer!

- Banger!
- Shut your noise!

- Yes, miss?
- I'm here to take Mrs Starling home.

Miss Reid, oh, good evening.

Mathilda, come.

(CLEARS THROAT)

(DOG BARKS IN THE DISTANCE)

There is soup, should
she be hungry later.

Thank you for this care
of her. It's only for tonight.

Tomorrow we'll find the
right and proper place for her.

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Inspector Drake... Given the late
hour, I assume this is not a social call.

It is not.

(DOGS BARK)

Oh, I think you know it.
You overstepped the mark.

And I cannot help but
wonder why this is so,

when I ask you to pursue one task
for me, this amputating costermonger,

yet I must find you
inventing quite another.

Inspector Drake, I do not
act in opposition to you.

I mean no disrespect. It is...

It is only my doggedness
that drives me.

I think you know
that well enough.

(CHUCKLES) Oh, I
know that, Edmund Reid.

What of this lady, hm?
This Leda Starling?

Jackson tells me
you've brought her home.

And no doubt that I've lost
my judgment in this matter.

But she is ill... and she
will be given proper care,

but first she must rest so that I
might pursue my inquiries of her.

And these inquiries are?

She's lost her son.

She says that in dire straits she
gave him up to the union workhouse,

but he has since gone missing.

She haunts the
union for news of him,

but the master there claims
no knowledge of the boy.

I have some sense,

a sickening thrum, that there is
some kind of malice at work here.

The master, this Cornelius Wilde, he
has a needling, deflecting way about him

that resists all inquiry.

I wish to talk to the Redskin.

He was a workhouse boy.

I should like to hear what
he has to say of the place.

I, er, must say, Mr Reid,
I have my doubts for this.

Well, I fear this case is food for
the pigs, there are that many scraps.

You are working on a say-so
of, forgive me, a lunatic.

Workhouse boys. I mean,
they run away every day.

What is there to see in this?

Your boy Tommy is dead.

I grieve for him, but you
forget, this is Whitechapel.

For all that we have done here, she
is still the merciless bitch of the east.

And it gives me to ask, what
possessed you to come back here?

You've seen Hampton...

the promenade...

the parasols, the polite
conversation amidst the teacups.

There is nothing
of it that breathes.

There is nothing of it that is alive
and quick and stinking and bright.

Whitechapel is life, in all
its wild and rotten splendour.

Beside it, the rest of
the world seems a tomb.

It is rotten and wild.

It is heaving and
pitiless and ignorant.

And I have yet seen
nowhere to match it.

It is our heartland,
Bennet Drake.

It is our life's work,
Edmund Reid.

(TRAIN RUMBLES PAST)

LEDA: No! No!

(SOBS) Will... William.

William? William, William.

Leda.

Where's William?

- Hm?
- William is your boy?

Where's Barnabas? Where's William?
Where's Barnabas? Where's William?

They're missing.
You must listen to me.

My mind is so often clouded,
but it is clear now for a moment.

Hear it, please. M-My
little boy was afraid.

His friend William and his friend
Barnabas, they disappeared.

- Disappeared?
- From the house, from the workhouse.

He was afraid for 'em.

Well, I'm afraid.

- You do believe me, do you?
- Yes. Yes.

Oh, God, and now
my boy's such another.

You will find him for me,
hm? Say you will find him.

If he be...

dead,

I do not care who or why or how.

I do not even ask for justice.

Only that my boy be
not alone in the world

- and forgotten and unknown.
- I will find him.

I vow it. I will
find your child.

- MATHILDA: Is she mad?
- REID: She is on that path, yes.

My mother...

was she so?

She was very like.

I should not have brought
her here-Leda - forgive me.

I have wondered at it so
often, my mother's madness.

I could not imagine
it. I dared not.

But I know it now.
I have seen it.

I am no longer so, so afraid.

And... to have her here...

It's almost to be
near her again.

You brought Lady
Luck with you, sir.

Ah, this winning is too easy.

- (CHUCKLES)
- You mean to make me generous?

You think me some feeble-headed
girl with her brains in her tits.

No, sir. No, indeed. (CHUCKLES)

I will give the job the man
who offers me the best price.

For three, four... We'll
do it for half your fee.

(CREAKING)

Well, then make
yourself useful. I am dry.

Not cripple, I think. There is
the wine, and there are your legs.

Now, forgive me, my dear.

You have not been introduced.

This is...

Jenny.

I bought her to
pretty things up.

How much?

How long have you
been waiting in dock,

while you float around
for this cheap price?

And all the while paying
in port fees and interest?

What is interest on your cargo?

It is not for this that
you are yet unloaded.

It is not the best price that
you seek. It is discretion.

Clever little whore.

- Uhh!
- If you mean to do business with us,

you will learn to keep a
civil tongue, Bo Nystrom?

(TUTS) Yeah, you
have a memorable name.

You have not traded in the Port
of London for many years, sir.

Not since the steamship
Gustavus went down with all hands.

An unwarranted
wreck in a calm sea.

Nevertheless, the insurance
was paid handsomely, fraudulently.

Our friends at Lloyd's
would be interested

to know of your return
to the London Docks.

These are our terms.

The job is ours and no others.

The price is double.

And there is a premium
to pay for my silence.

One minute and
the offer is closed.

If you betray me... I will
carve you like scrimshaw.

Jenny's a wildcat.

Inspector Reid, is it not?

Your name travels ahead, sir.

My name is Castello.

Castello of the Star.
Yours travels, too, miss.

And who is this wonderful girl?

I am Mathilda Reid.

Miss Castello, you have
some business with me?

Er... Your marvellous
return to us here,

it is owed to the fate of
Isaac Bloom, I understand.

- You understand how?
- We have a mutual friend.

- And who that?
- Deborah Goren,

- of the orphanage on Woodseer Street.
- Come, Mathilda. We'll be late.

She asks herself why it is you have
not sought her out since your return,

wonders if that return is
motivated by the execution

of your other mutual friend, Mr Bloom,
if the murder of the rabbi Ratovski

still occupies that
restless mind of yours.

As you know, that
case is now closed.

And yet so much of its
detail still stands injuncted,

withheld from the public by the
unseen hand of police officialdom.

Why is that, sir, if,
indeed, that case is closed?

Will you now leave us, Miss
Castello, or allow us to leave you?

Be my guest, Mr Reid.

And a good day to
you, Miss Mathilda Reid.

Cornelius Wilde told me this
boy had been missing for a week.

Can a mere week out of the
workhouse reduce a child to this?

JACKSON: Fingernails missing...

sores in the mouth
and the tongue.

And this cracking about the
lips, that's severe dehydration.

I'd say that's chronic in
nature, a matter of months.

Then no more delay.

An autopsy must
be done on this boy.

Well, my work's done
here anyway, so...

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

Got a, er, fragment of
steel lodged in the vertebra.

Broken blade.

Redskin's your man.

You wished to have words with
him, Mr Reid. Do you come, then?

Redskin Jake, murderer.
These your shears.

The missing piece found in
the backbone of Solomon Shaw.

What say you now?

We have you, boy.

Your motive, sir? What
drove you to this act?

My protest...

my defiance against
the disposing of the poor.

I charge you with the murder
of Captain Solomon Shaw.

Inspector Drake, if I may.

You were a workhouse boy, sir.

Here is another
fine institution.

I should have killed him.

The master, should
have killed him first,

for it is he that started
this pretty business...

- peddling the lives of the poor.
- This pretty business, expound it.

Well, he shut down
the casual ward,

pays the Salvation Army a penny a
man for the vagrants he now turns away.

- Shut down the casual ward when?
- Two months since.

There is a lie told.
This Cornelius Wilde,

he claims he shut
it for disinfection.

It's cheaper to pay off these souls
at a penny a go than to keep 'em.

He is managing his costs.

Here are boys, one
dead, three missing,

and here is a man
obsessed with his books,

his accounts, disposing of the casual
wards. What else is he disposing of?

- Your name, these... these markings?
- I'm a redskin and proud.

A redskin. These are the infirmary
boys shaved and painted. This is iodine.

My badge of honour.

You think the workhouse
is the lowest of the low, hm?

Wrong.

It's the workhouse infirmary.

That's the lowest.

The sick and the weak.

You're just a burden, ain't you?

Left to rot, or...

better yet, they give
you the old black potion.

What is the black potion?

Poison.

This old black
potion, it is folklore.

You ask at any workhouse, you'll hear
them talk of it. It is a pauper's myth.

Scarring in the intestinal tract,
severe bleeding in the lower intestine,

- dehydration, blood in the faeces.
- Caused by?

Well, it's many
possible causes, er...

Excessive ingestion of iron or lead.
But, equally, it could be hog's cholera.

It's a savage son of a bitch. It's
found in dustheaps and bad meat.

You do not rule out that
Tommy Riggs was poisoned?

I do not.

That's reason enough for me.
Bring him in. Bring in Cornelius Wilde.

- We will not bring him in.
- (SIGHS)

We do not have enough
to justify it. We will go there.

We will make a full and thorough search,
then I may at least take your reins.

Find Cornelius Wilde.
Detain him here.

Scour this place. Seek
out any hidden place,

any locked cupboard. Bring me
whatsoever you may find there.

Do you see it? There's
something inhuman here.

- It is neat and correct, orderly.
- This order,

this marvellous efficiency,
this systematisation,

I believe that here yet
attends some unforeseen evil,

some coldness to humankind,
some conscience lost.

- This way.
- (CHILD COUGHS)

- What is this you give them?
- Cod liver oil, sir.

- This?
- An outbreak of scarlet fever.

You may not go in,
sir. It's quarantined.

- (DOOR RATTLES)
- Mr Reid, it's quarantined.

You cannot go in there.

- (RATTLING CONTINUES)
- Mr Reid, you are going beyond here.

- Where to now?
- The casual ward.

It was recently fumigated.

Some poor kind of building
work. Ceiling's in the wrong place.

Stinks of carbolic.

POLICEMAN: Mr Drake,
sir, Cornelius Wilde is found.

You see me here, Inspector
Drake, an innocent man shackled.

You will not hear
the end of this.

Here is a man with a vision.

He means to invest
in his young inmates,

teach them skills, build
them up ready for life.

It's a worthy vision, but it costs
money, a great deal of money,

and he has only
limited resources.

And we see here

busy accounts indeed, as
money moved from here to there,

robbing Peter to pay Paul.

You pay a small fee to the
Salvation Army to rid yourself

- of the great cost of the casual ward.
- There's nothing illegal in that.

The casual ward was a drain
on my resources. I freely own it.

These men, the...
these loafer paupers,

they are the lazy, the
indolent, the residuum.

They are irredeemable.

Undeserving of sympathy, of
kindness, undeserving of life.

Tommy Riggs, a boy in your care,
and yet he died in abjection in my arms.

- Tommy Riggs ran away.
- Tommy Riggs escaped from you.

He... He fled for his life!

Mr Reid, here is
something you must see.

The boy, Starling, marked here.

Jabez Starling...

lost to his mother.

She dying of grief, and you
denied all knowledge of him.

You denied her her boy.
You told her she was mad.

That woman... That woman,
she... She gave him up to the house.

- She is a prostitute, a lunatic!
- You bluster, sir.

You could not acknowledge
him for you could not produce him.

What have you done with him?
What have you done with him?!

- How have you disposed of him?
- Mr Reid, Mr Reid.

I will find you out, sir.

You have taken leave
of your senses, Mr Reid.

You accuse me of
killing the boys in my care!

Inspector Drake, will you allow
this obsession, this... this mania?

You stop your yapping
now and be silent!

The money from
the casual ward, then.

Yes.

Here. You pay the salaries
of three schoolteachers,

and yet you are
still in the red!

Now, let me see. Where is
the greatest expenditure made?

I will warrant it
is in the infirmary.

The children's infirmary.

Costs fall month on
month this last quarter.

Says the children are dispatched. How
much does a sick child cost, Mr Wilde?

How many do you need to be rid
of before you balance your books?

Why would I want to kill my boys when
my only purpose is to give them life?!

A locked cabinet, Mr
Reid, and inside, these.

"Blaud pills, treatment of
anaemia, sulphate of iron."

Huge cupboard, full of
them. Hundreds of bottles.

Tommy Riggs died from scarring
of the intestinal tract and dehydration

caused by the excessive
ingestion of iron.

- He's killing the sick.
- For it is cheaper than keeping 'em.

Dear God, he
is killing children.

Tommy Riggs ran away.

Jabez Starling ran away.

Inspector Reid has taken leave
of his senses not for the first time.

Deaths.

They are not marked here.

He is not taking
them to the pits,

- or he must document them.
- Where's he putting them?

The casual ward.

It was not the ceiling
that was too low.

It was the floor.
It was too high.

Sweet Jesus.

You will dig up every single one of
these boys that you have buried...

- (COUGHING)
- and you will identify them!

You will identify this boy, or
you will join him in the earth!

(COUGHS) This...
Jabez Starling...

you... you... you do not
understand. You cannot.

This place, the waste of
life, it is... it is intolerable.

This... This... This
boy... This Jabez...

himself blighted with syphilis,

his mother deranged,
his... his father absent.

There... There is
no hope for him,

only poverty and degradation.

These... These... These
others, polio, rickets.

I only hasten the inevitable.

And there is... There
is a kindness in it.

There is a kindness
in it for them.

Their sufferings, their...

pitiful lives are shortened.

These useless boys...

I have given 100
children, 100 children,

the start in life they deserve.

At what cost, hm?

Deserving poor, the undeserving
poor, who are you to judge?

Connor.

- Come.
- (GROANS)

Come.

Connor, calm yourself.

Rose.

All day it is like this.

He will have nothing of me.

Why don't you quit your
fooling, little man? Huh?

You gotta behave...

for your mum.

(CONNOR GIGGLES)

JACKSON: ♪
Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't you lie to me

♪ Tell me where did
you sleep last night?

♪ In the pines, in the pines

♪ Where the sun never shines

♪ Shiver... ♪

The only kind of song I know.

Oh...

You will come see him again?

I don't think Mr Drake
will care for that very much.

Well...

he need never know.

LEDA: I lost my boy.

I know where he lies.

It's a bright spot

- beside the trees, where birds sing.
- (WOMAN WEEPS)

Why do you weep, sir?

The comfort you
have for your son...

I could not give to my wife.

Our girl was lost
to her forever.

You're a good man, Mr Reid.

Do you not know it?

You're a mighty heart.

(SOBS) I lost my boy.

But I know where he lies.

Beside the trees...

among the birds.

Edmund Reid...

you are forgiven.

MATHILDA: When the Count comes to
London he makes his lair in Whitechapel.

(SCREAMS)

JACKSON: Skin's
penetrated at the jugular.

You find what killed her?

- What purpose?
- Blood is life.

- With me.
- Your secret will be told.

Do not do this.