Original subtitles

My husband, Norman Henry,

was a good man, generally speaking.

But he was also a man riddled with insecurities...

You heard of Thomas Edison?

When are you due for supper?

Anyone here know a chap by the name of Mark Twain?

...self-doubts...

I see how she looks at you.

My wife.

You...

...and fear.

Fear that the world was constantly laughing

at his every move.

This fear was not unfounded.

You see, when he was just a boy,

the world did just that.

You're off key.

He's off key.

We've practiced this part over 100 times,

but some students are simply more gifted than others.

And that's okay, Norman.

Oh, darling, we're not done.

Let's try it again.

I'll admit my husband has a flair for the dramatic.

Whether he was actually laughed at that day or not

is quite beside the point.

I'm really sorry about that.

I'm really sorry about that. I'm really sorry about that.

...laughing stock of the entire congregation.

- I'm really sorry about that. - It's fine.

It's fine. He can't be good at everything.

Well maybe he can be good at something.

I'm really sorry about that. I'm really sorry about that.

I'm really sorry about that.

He would spend his life yearning for approval

from a father who would offer him nothing in return.

It's you who's embarrassing us.

You know that, don't you?

I'm really sorry about that.

I didn't know it then, but the day I met Norman Henry

was not one week after his father had died,

leaving him with nothing but a fragility

he would never be able to overcome.

Fuck!

Of course.

You couldn't be any stupider.

Norman, you really just could not be...

Excuse me.

That's not a very polite way to speak about yourself.

- Oh, hi. - Hi.

I'm sorry.

Was I bothering you?

I didn't think anybody would be here.

Well, they... they told me nobody would be here

and that I could just let myself in through the side door.

- Am I bothering you? - You're not bothering me.

I'm not a robber.

Well, how could I trust that statement now?

No, really. Really, miss.

I promise, I'm not.

It appears as if you're stealing

all the cutlery from the dining hall.

- Giving it new life. - The cutlery?

- It's fallen into neglect. - The cutlery?

- Yeah, the cutlery, yes. - Oh.

Forks, knives, little spoons.

I... I give them renewed purpose.

Oh.

You're an artist?

- No. - No?

No, I'm... I'm an opportunist.

But you... you make little sculptures.

No, I... I know a guy that makes little sculptures.

- Out of cutlery? - Out of whatever I give him.

My sister's an artist.

You seem passionate like an artist.

Yes?

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint.

You didn't... you didn't disappoint.

The thing... the things I get excited by

are... they're not exciting.

- You're not exciting? - I try not to be.

Having just ended my relationship

with a certain fraudulent inventor,

I was intrigued by this humble man who saw beauty in the world

and wanted no credit for it.

A beauty that I had hoped he might find again, in me,

all these years later.

This penultimate chapter,

dear reader,

is as close as we came to falling back in love again.

Hello?

Service!

Service!

Hello?

Will you all shut up?

But we was invited.

We wasn't invited.

Well, I don't work for you woman.

Um...

Hello?

We was all invited. It says right here.

Excuse me?

Who are you?

Replacing the driver, I hope.

He's about to die.

- A creditor. - He's a lawyer.

It says so on his bag.

My occupation and identity are none of your concern.

I am looking for my client's wife.

Evelyn Nesbitt-Thaw.

- Who? - Who?

If you could show me the way to the... to the main house

where the real people are.

Okay, so Mrs. Nesbitt-Thaw.

Oh, just Nesbitt.

For the purposes of these legal proceedings,

it is preferable for you to identify

as your husband's property.

Ah. Okay.

- You are the lawyer. - I am.

So let us begin.

I'm so sorry, right now?

Yes, this very instant.

We're due back in the city by 4PM for you to be sworn in.

How exciting.

I will be speaking to you as though I were the prosecution,

but rest assured, I am a friendly.

It's merely an act for you to...

I'm so sorry, what's your name?

Delphin Delmas.

Right.

Well, you see,

I have acquired an audience for my dress rehearsal,

and they're all waiting for us.

- Waiting for us? - Mm hmm.

Hello and welcome, ladies and gentlemen,

to the first and only dress rehearsal for...

"The Crime of the Century."

Isn't that good?

We worked on that jingle together.

Oh god, sorry.

This is... this is my lawyer, Mr. Mrs. Delphus Finimas.

It's... it's Delphin Delmas.

- Right. - Prickly fellow.

Take a bow.

I'm not... I'm your... not her lawyer.

Ma'am, may... might I have a word?

Okay.

Wouldn't you prefer to do this in... in private?

Are you sure you don't want to do this in private?

Mr. Delphos,

am I not to testify in front of the entire world tomorrow?

It's Delmas.

Yes, but...

I think the name is Demas.

- Demas? - Yeah, Demas.

- Demas. - Okay.

It's Delphin Delmas,

for those of you who aren't sure.

Ma'am, I do implore you

to trust your husband's counsel on this.

I believe that we should find a private suite,

and rehearse confidentially.

Oh, Mr. Alphys, come now.

I trust these people completely.

They're my friends.

Very well.

- Mrs. Thaw. - Nesbitt.

Nesbitt-Thaw.

Could we switch them perhaps?

- Thaw and Nesbitt? - Wouldn't you like that?

I knew you'd understand.

I'll start from the beginning,

I suppose.

Yes, of course.

Where were you in autumn of 1901?

New York City, Manhattan.

Thank you.

And were you romantically involved with anyone

at that time?

Yes, I was.

- Whom? - Oh, Stanford White.

Could you explain the nature of the relationship

to the court, please?

Yes, of course.

Stanny and I loved each other very much for a time.

He was like a father to me.

Mrs. Thaw, isn't it true

that you performed sexual favours for Mr. White

in exchange for cash and gifts and travel?

Is this not a little crass for public consumption?

The real prosecution will try to frame you as a common whore.

A whore?

Why?

I mean, why would they try to paint such an ugly picture

about a lady like me?

- Mrs. Thaw. - Nesbitt.

Mrs. Nesbitt-Thaw, did Mr. Stanford White

have a studio apartment he kept in Midtown

with a velvet swing hanging from a cross beam?

Yes.

And is it true that you... you would swing naked

from the velvet swing?

It was all in jest.

In autumn of 1901, did Mr. Stanford White

not drub you with your mother in the room,

and penetrate you through multiple orifices?

She was asleep, my mother.

That was not my question.

Yes.

Yes, he did this over and over again,

day after day, month after month,

and in exchange, he paid for your trips,

your schooling, your apartment, your particulars,

the very definition of "a common whore."

Well, there are many words

with multiple definitions you'll find.

For example, the word "I love you,"

that is something that means a whole lot more to us women

than it does to you men.

And when Mr. White tired of you,

did you not turn your attention to Mr. Harry Thaw's fortunes

in an act of selfish desperation?

I don't seem to know what this has to do with...

- Is it not true, Mrs. Thaw... - ...Harry shooting a man.

It's Nesbitt.

...that you crafted a surgical campaign

to target Mr. Harry Thaw to fleece him for cash

and gifts and trips.

To fleece him?

Like a sheep?

Don't be smart.

A smart young lady doesn't play well with the jury.

What definition are you using to define the word "smart"?

You see, it's all objective, isn't it?

You traveled to Paris at no expense of your own.

Your mother traveled to Paris at no expense of her own.

So I must ask, what was the currency?

Kindness.

I believe the currency was companionship,

and loyalty, and friendship.

And the trip was a gift from Harry.

Mm.

Are gifts no longer acceptable practice

from a husband to his wife?

Ya, very good?

And come to think of it,

I do believe I know where you're going with this,

Mr. Ephram, and it is downright shameful,

because my body is and has never been currency,

not for gifts or trips or any other thing.

It is Delmas.

You call it "companionship and loyalty."

I call it "sex acts and role play."

Risqué role play for that matter,

which you performed in exchange for a home and a life of status.

So disguise it as you will, Mrs. Thaw,

but the truth remains that you reek

of putrid desperation.

You are as every woman

who trolls the Lower East Side of Manhattan

between the hours of 10PM and 2AM.

I can smell the rancid stench from here.

We all can.

Did you knowingly withhold the fact

that you were indeed not a virgin

when you met Harry Thaw?

Did you knowingly withhold this information,

because you knew that you might be able to swindle him

more efficiently?

Did you in fact steal money from Harry Thaw

under the false pretense

that you selling him your virginity,

and when he realized that you had been lying to him,

he had a mental break which caused him

to fatally injure Mr. Stanford White.

So in fact, was it not you, Mrs. Thaw,

who is to blame for the untimely demise of Mr. Stanford White?

It is your fault, because you are a dirty whore.

How dare you?

How dare you?

Me!

Wasn't it me?

All because I didn't wanna sleep with Harry.

I didn't wanna sleep with him, okay?

I didn't wanna sleep with him.

He was a beast,

and he hurt me and he whipped me,

and I didn't wanna sleep with him now,

and I don't, and I never will,

and he knew that

because a woman doesn't always need to be explicit.

She doesn't, okay?

Why the fuck does being a woman always have to be so explicit?

Do you think I wanted Paris?

Well, you certainly wanted something.

I didn't want Paris.

You never asked me what I wanted.

I wanted clothes,

and a bed that I might call my own.

And I wanted to stop supporting my whole family.

But I didn't want Paris.

And you could all sit here and judge me,

but I am not a whore.

I am not a whore.

I am a girl.

I'm just a girl.

I'm... I'm Evie, Mama.

I'm Evelyn.

My name is Evelyn Nesbitt.

It's not Thaw, it's Nesbitt.

So you do you hear me, Delphis or Dingus

or whatever it is they call you?

It's fucking Nesbitt.

We've heard enough.

We've heard enough.

No, no, no, we're not done.

We're not nearly done.

I shall only say it once more.

We are done now.

That performance was pathetic.

See how easily she was broken?

She is far from trial-ready.

I implore you to release this young woman.

I believe the shame felt in this room...

...is enough for us all.

Excuse me.

A man's life hangs in balance.

A murderer.

She is his whore.

That's enough.

That's enough.

Back to work with a lot of you.

Back, out.

Everybody out.

Go, go, go, go.

Go, out! Out!

Norman would hold her for hours that day...

...intent on being the parent

that neither of them had.

Evelyn had told us that it was common practice

for her mother to take long walks, unannounced.

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Oh, my darling girl.

She told us to send word

when her mother arrived back at the estate,

and they'd have Harry's driver pick her up.

But Mrs. Nesbitt never returned to the house.

Nor would she see her daughter,

not ever again.

I do believe after the mock trial,

the atmosphere in our home had changed ever so slightly.

A lingering air of forgiveness and gratitude,

albeit brief,

would blow through with the wind.

I do appreciate your kindness with me these past few days,

Mr. Henry.

Mm.

And you too, Mrs. Henry.

The time has come, Mrs. Nesbitt-Thaw.

Chin up.

It gets better.

Mr. Henry, you've got nothing to worry about.

I'm the girl on the swing.

I believe you're much more than that.

Yes. So do I.

All right.

Look, I shall only say this once,

so listen with your hearts.

The next time you see me, it shall be my name in lights.

And when you do,

I urge you to remind yourselves as of why.

It is because I will have broken free.

At all costs.

Evelyn Nesbitt would soon see her name in lights.

She would, in fact, fulfill her promise

to her mother.

She'd become the most famous in the entire world.

I will be a great big stage actress,

and everyone will love me, Mother.

They will all love me.

But what she truly desired was unconditional love,

and it was this that would elude her until her dying day.

Evelyn had gifted us a valuable lesson that day,

that our destiny resides solely in our will to break free.

After that speech, really?

- Okay. - Mm hmm.

So are you looking to ask me something?

Um...

It's just that it's Christmas Eve.

Yeah, well, I don't celebrate.

Sadly, my family perished.

Oh.

You said you had a sister.

She's an artist.

I don't celebrate either, but for other reasons.

Ah, yes.

Yes, right.

So are you looking to ask me something?

Well, we could not celebrate together.

Okay.

Norman, are you awake?

Marian?

- You okay? - Yeah.

Go back to sleep, Norman.

- What's wrong? - Nothing.

We're gonna be okay.

We're gonna be okay.

But unfortunately,

this could not have been further from the truth.

We bring you news from the courthouse,

Lower Manhattan District,

in the Thaw trial where his wife,

Evelyn Nesbitt-Thaw,

has just taken the stand dressed as a schoolgirl,

exuding a sense of calmness you normally only find

in the male persuasion, but nonetheless,

this reporter could not help but take note

of a certain quality one might find

in a silent picture actor.

After Evelyn had left,

I had this... this feeling that our situation might improve.

Looking back now,

I suppose I was a bit lovestruck again.

We had entered a dreamlike state,

one of companionship and happiness and trust.

All of my experiences,

had they led me here to this moment,

to a moment of grace and love where my husband

might be willing to accept the impossible?

He did not invent the light bulb.

I suppose you know who did.

This secret I had held so deeply within,

I had even convinced myself it was not true.

But for the first time,

I had felt like maybe he could hear my truth,

and set me free.

Forks, knives, spoons.

And while I would grapple with the right moment

to confide my secrets to Norman...

...Edgar and Lilith were grappling

with a truth of their own,

that they might never return to Paris.

This mounting desperation paired

with Edgar's obsessions had begun to weigh

heavily on me.

How much longer could I protect my husband...

I don't get it.

...from the inevitable?

Well, you don't read very often.

No, I just don't get the hyperbole.

It's not hyperbolic.

Do you even know what that means, Norman?

No. Just sounded good for the moment.

Excuse me.

- Yes, yes? - Hello.

The appraiser.

Yes.

Will he be here today?

Of course.

I'm not sure.

He said he'd fit it in as he could.

Well, I've been waiting very, very patiently for days.

Very, very patiently.

I would like to go home.

I've been waiting very patiently.

Well, you are still occupied on a project,

are you not?

My wife told me about your portfolio, your work.

It sounds quite exhaustive.

Happy to hear you're intrigued with our ballerina.

- Lilith? - Lilith. Yes, Lilith.

No, I have decided against it,

which is why I'm here inquiring about the appraiser.

I just said I will no longer be painting a ballerina.

And why very well not?

What happened to your passions, and desires,

and... and passions?

It seems that passion and desires are very...

fleeting in this house.

They change on a whim.

- Like hobbies, oui? - I beg your pardon.

My wife is nothing of a hobbyist.

- It's all right... - No no, quite the contrary.

I know, Mr. Henry.

I know your wife very well.

That's a very inappropriate statement,

don't you think, Artist?

Sooner or later,

we will all come to terms with this masqa-charaade.

We will all come to terms with this with this masqa-charaade.

He was not wrong.

We would soon all come to terms with the house cards

my husband had built.

But at this moment,

I was concerned that for Edgar Degas,

the statement was far more nefarious.

Norman?

Norman, are you awake?

I hear a sound from your vicinity.

Are you awake? Are you sleeping?

Oh my god, you've been killed.

Come out, you fucking coward.

Marian.

Is that you?

Marian, if you're trying to kill me,

there's simpler ways.

He was right.

There were easier ways to see him in a box six feet under.

But nothing would come easy for Norman Henry,

not even his death.

What I can divulge is that the sword was sharp,

and the cut was quick and clean.

Now you have me getting ahead of myself.

This chapter was about love.

Let us simply leave it at that.