All language subtitles for bradley_01x00_speedy_death

Mystery introduces its latest detective,
a familiar face in a new role.

The woman who caught the Bombay Poisoner
and the blackmailer at Belgrade Square.

Brilliant. And modest.

A winning combination.

Oh, there's water on both sides of the
bath.

Easy enough to spill a few drops getting
out.

But he didn't get out, did he?

Perhaps you'd be kind enough to show us
exactly what the butler saw.

You're not saying the butler did it.

Perhaps we should leave the detective
work to you.

I'm just observant, Inspector.

Not a witch.

Dame Diana Rigg stars as Mrs. Bradley.

I'm never entirely sure if I'm famous or
notorious.

Someone once said, fame is to live in
poverty and end up as a statue.

Naturally, I prefer to be notorious.

The Mrs. Bradley Mystery.

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Tonight, we welcome a new star to our
galaxy of detectives, Mrs.

Adella Bradley.

The Mrs.

is just a formality.

Adella shed her husband years ago. He
was dull, a simply indefensible crime.

Calling Mrs. Bradley a cynic is to state
the obvious.

Her view on marriage?

Better to get it over and done with
early, like chicken pox.

The countryside, a place where animals
and birds wander about uncooked.

But beneath her breezy glamour and one
-liners beats a kind heart and a fierce

devotion to friends and family.

You could say that Mrs. B embodies the
virtues and the rather delicious vices

the Jazz Age.

She tools about in a Rolls Royce, enjoys
an array of cocktails, and displays her

jewels and her brains with equal flair.

The quintessential 20s type, Mrs. B has
been liberated from corsets and stuffy

ideas about a woman's place.

She's become quite a notorious
detective, but she is selective in her

If a mystery wants solving, it must come
to her.

As it does on an otherwise happy weekend
at the Bing estate.

A loving couple, a well -lubricated
engagement party.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, a suspicious death, for starters,
followed by a bit of late -night

gunplay. Scary biscuits, as one of the
suspects is wont to say.

Yet it would take more than murder to
ruffle Mrs. Bradley's coiffure. She

remains as cool as the proverbial
cucumber, as elegant as Chanel.

I liked her a lot.

I hope you do, too.

...the soul of our dear brother here
departed. We therefore commit his body

the ground, earth to earth, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain

hope of the resurrection to eternal life
through our Lord Jesus Christ, who

shall change our vile body that he may
be likened to his glorious body

to the mighty working whereby he is able
to subdue all things to himself.

I'm afraid you're going to be late,
madam.

Oh, no.

My mother.

Ferdinand, you appear to have something
on your lip. It looks like a

caterpillar. I think it makes him look
distinguished.

He is distinguished.

That thing makes him look seedy.

I'm sorry about your papa.

Thank you. Hermione, I trust you're
well. Yes, thank you.

We thought you were an American. I was.

Would you rather I hadn't come? I think
it's more a question of what my father

would have wanted.

Precisely. He'd have wanted me here.

Vicar, allow me to introduce what I can
only describe as my mother.

Condolences, Mrs. Bradley.

A good man.

Yes. Dull, but good.

Honestly. Today of all days. Is the day
for truth.

The only exciting thing your father ever
did was to divorce me.

Even his obituary calls him the legal
profession's... Face is fair of hand.

There are worse crimes than being dull.

Really?

Excuse me.

See? I said she'd learn to like you. She
actually asked how you were.

Only because she's petrified we might
make her a grandmother.

What is she doing?

Cigars. He loved cigars.

My husband's mother marches to the beat
of a different drum.

My mother has an entire orchestra of her
own.

Are you all right, madam?

Might I trouble you for a cigarette,
George?

Today, a funeral.

Tomorrow, an engagement party. Life goes
on, Nespa.

Yes, madam.

On and on.

For me, marriage was a terminally
tiresome condition, for which the only

was the healing balm of divorce.

I was branded a bolter, but what else
could I do? I was in danger of being

to death.

Still, marriage is one of those things
it's best to get over and done with

in life.

Like chicken pox.

You're the cream in my coffee.

You're the salt in my stew.

You would always be my necessity. I'd be
lost without you.

You're the starch in my collar.

You're the lace in my shoe.

You would always be my necessity. That
tie looks familiar.

You gave it to me.

Longer ago than I care to remember.

Sorry to hear about Randolph.

How's the boy taking it? Comfortably.

I see your son's more handsome than
ever. Hello, God.

Always a pleasure.

Now, where's my darling mouse?

Darling mouse, all present and correct.

Goodness, you changed. You look
positively radiant.

Well, that's love for you. Love and
jewelry.

Oh, divine.

She deserves nothing but the best.

You see, if you want people to be nice
to you, you have to lose the ease of

legs. Eleanor.

All right, Father. One is allowed to
joke at one's own expense.

I take it this is the lucky man.

I'm the lucky one.

May I present Mr Everard Mountjoy. This
is Eleanor's godmother, Mrs Adela

Bradley. I feel I know you terribly well
already, thanks to Eleanor's scrapbook.

Talk about drafty. You'll catch a death.

What the hell?

I can't smell anything.

This way.

Your room.

Thank you.

I wonder if I might trouble you for a
dictionary.

This is a private residence, not a
public library.

She's here, and she's gorgeous.

Who? Miss Manners, Mr Garth's young
lady. So elegant.

You were supposed to be washing up, not
gawking at ladies.

Staff's up for a fix.

Puntuality expected.

Hello.

Oh, Mabel.

George Moody.

How do you do?

She's all puff and no blow.

Mrs Mothballs, I call her.

Oh, Mothballs.

Kensington.

Must be worth a few, Bob. You're Mrs
Bradley.

Must she?

What's it like, London?

Never been?

No.

You should.

Careful. I might take you up on that.

Huh. Fair enough.

Toodle -oo.

My wife is on the diet, and since she's
on the diet... I can't tell you what a

thrill this is. I'm such an admirer. In
that case, Miss Marner, I'm going to

adore you.

Look, here you are in The Times, The
Literary London News, Atlas.

I'm never entirely sure if I'm famous or
notorious.

Someone once said, fame is to live in
poverty and end up as a statue.

Naturally, I prefer to be notorious.

Look, you and Mrs. Pankhurst, shoulder
to shoulder.

Was he really Scary Biscuit?

Scary Biscuit.

Dorothy had a way with work.

If you say so.

Mind if I ask how you know Mr. Freud? We
met at the conference on

psychoanalysis. Freud? Mr. Fraud, if you
ask me. I gather that's what you call

yourself nowadays.

Psychoanalyst. Don't mock.

It's very important.

It's the study of secrets people keep
from themselves.

There are no secrets in this family.
I've picked up fishing, thanks.

And what about you, Miss Marchoy?

Oh, Everard's going to be hugely famous
after his expedition to Africa.

A humble explorer hardly compares with
the woman who caught the Bombay Poisoner

and the blackmailer at Belgrade Square.

Toxicology and graphology, nothing could
be easier.

Brilliant and modest.

A willing combination.

Isn't he just heaven on a stick?

Is he here? Yes, sir.

Is he here?

A little pre -party surprise.

To Bertie Phillips.

Hello, ma 'am.

Hello, Noah.

It's nothing, really.

Hello, Bertie.

Do excuse me.

Edward, you don't want her?

Shall I fetch a doctor?

I think you've done quite enough.

I take it Bertie was driving the night
of the accident.

Yes, on our way back from the opera.

And you were very much in love with him.

It was a long time ago.

Two years.

Judging by your reaction, you haven't
seen him since.

No.

He wrote.

Said he was sorry, but he couldn't
return my affection, so...

All things considered, it was best if he
stayed away.

I assume she was over you when she was
engaged.

And she is, I assure you.

Perhaps I should leave.

What a capital idea.

You'll do no such thing.

Have you forgotten what he did to your
sister?

No. Nor have I forgotten he saved my
life.

Bertie's my friend.

And he paid his debts.

More than we said for some people.

It wasn't a loan. It was an investment.

You knew that? Darling, I'm sure Everard
has every intention of paying what he

owes. Are you indeed?

What's that?

She has to be carried downstairs.

May I help, sir?

No need.

Your turn soon enough.

How are you, my angel?

Perfectly fine. I feel such a fool.

Bertie's still here? Yes.

I do wish you'd let me send him packing.

Not till I've had a chance to talk to
him.

Tell him I'll be in the funnel house.

Will you be warm enough, miss? Stop
fussing. I'm fine.

Not a day goes by I don't wish I could
turn back the clock. I've never blamed

you. It was an accident.

I'm glad you came.

Same here.

Do you remember the day we took tea
here? I made a fool of myself, gutting

over you like a love -sick schoolgirl.

You didn't make a fool of yourself.

I was highly flattered.

Don't patronise me, Bertie.

Sorry.

Manjoy seems a decent sort.

Potty about you.

Can you blame him?

He's a lucky man.

I do.

Who are you potty about?

No -one.

Too busy making ends meet.

Maybe you'll meet the girl of your
dreams tonight.

You will today.

I don't think you're a father. I don't
think you're a father.

I hope the accidents will do anything to
make me happy.

Excuse me.

I'm sorry, not till six, is it, staff
supper? Honey, I'm a bit peckish. And

we're a bit busy.

Shilling off your wages, Mabel Jones!

Oh, well.

I'll be deaf.

Do you think Mr. Bing would mind if I
borrowed a book from his library?

Print it off.

Uh -huh.

Soffred Rhodes.

Made by yours truly.

Thank you.

I, um... I don't suppose Mrs. Bradley
needs a new maid?

I don't know. Why?

Well, I don't want to be stuck in this
dump all my life, do I?

What do you think?

Tasty. Very tasty indeed.

Saucy. I meant the sausage roll.

I know what you mean, George Moody.

What's this?

My references.

If I worked for Mrs Bradley, you could
have something nice and tasty like that.

Every single day.

Mabel, work to do. Chop, chop.

I think you should know Mabel's spoken
for.

Well, she doesn't act like it.

Oh, well.

Her admirer hasn't quite found the words
to convey his feelings.

You give him a tip from me, Mr. Baxter.

A single rose speaks volume.

Adela! Lovely Adela. Thank you.

When's everybody due?

8th birthday. I hate this bit, just
before they all come. It's so nerve

-wracking.

Do you realise this is the first one of
my parties you'll ever have been to?

It's nonsense.

We had birthday parties every year.

Yes, but Pa never came to mine. Too
busy.

Well, we just have to make up for lost
time.

Now, God's going to say a few words of
congratulations.

No! Thank you. This is my night. I don't
want Big Brother stealing the show.

As you wish. As you wish. Does anybody
want to see my fiancé?

He has a terrible habit of just dropping
off.

Marriage will change that.

For a time, at least.

That's it, Bertie. Time for bubbles.

Darling mouse.

She's quite the life and soul of the
party. Oh, total transformation since

met Mountjoy. Remember how we wrote
things?

That's the Eleanor you remember.

Thank you.

As for Dorothy Manners, flibbertigibbet.

Not too hateful, is to rub together.

You think she's after God's money?

Trust you to call this great display.

What is that in Carmel Racket?

It's called Jack.

We'll never catch on.

Dear Alistair, were you ever young?

No. Do you ever think of that very war
in Cambridge?

The night of the woman.

And afterwards, swimming in the river.

I caught a terrible cold. You should
have worn more clothes.

Still, you found happiness.

Poor Marjorie.

You must miss her.

Yes.

I do miss the old girl.

She'd have hated tonight.

Can't you just hear her?

Who are these oiks drinking all my
money?

Yes, what is it, Baxter? I think you
should come to her.

It's Mr Mountjoy.

Nearly got away with it. Sir?

Couple more hours and I would have been
off duty on my way to Whitstable.

No one goes in or comes out, right? Yes,
sir.

It hasn't been moved, Inspector.

Darky, ma 'am, and you are?

I'm sorry we meet under such
circumstances.

I'm a great... Admira, how kind.

I take it the gentleman's body is...
Yes, Inspector.

Might I suggest you brace yourself for a
shock?

Thank you.

But there's not much I haven't come
across in 22 years.

Famous last words.

Good grief.

Do you seriously expect us to believe
that Everard Mountjoy was really a

I'm afraid it's true, sir.

But the fellow was engaged to be married
to my sister.

Nevertheless, Mountjoy was not wholly
themed.

In fact, he wasn't a he at all.

That's preposterous.

Well, not wishing to be indelicate, sir,
but I've seen the evidence with me own

eyes. What kind of woman goes around
pretending to be a man? It's unheard of.

Uncommon, but not unheard of.

We women live in a man's world.
Sometimes getting on requires a little

subterfuge. How do you mean?

When Walter went to Khartoum in 84 to
rescue General Gordon, he had a Captain

Jack Tremaine at his side.

Tremaine died of malaria.

And a post -mortem revealed his secret.

He was Miss Wilhelmina Nash.

Good Lord.

She wrote in her diaries, to be a woman
with ambition beyond that which society

will allow is to endure a slow death.

I was determined to live a life.

Are you saying that Mountjoy had the
same feelings?

Many of us do.

Mountjoy's ambition was to explore the
world.

No investor would accept a mere woman
explorer.

I thought that the most beastly thought.

Who's going to tell Eleanor?

I can't begin to comprehend how Everard
thought he would ever get away with his

Gerard.

After we were married, I mean.

Did the subject of physical love never
arise?

Of course not.

I was thinking he might have assumed,
given your condition,

that he would never be put to the test,
so to speak.

You mean an invalid wife would never be
expected to do with other wives?

Precisely. His secret would be safe.

But why marry me in the first place?

Forgive me, but your mother left you a
considerable amount of money in trust.

Which I only narrowed upon marriage.

Horrible. I have a sedative. I brought
it back from America. It's very

effective. I don't want a sedative.

I just want things to be as they were.

I know this is hard, but I must verify
something.

You said Everard had the habit of
falling asleep at odd times.

Often, at mealtimes, his head would just
slump.

At the theatre, once almost at the wheel
of a car. Why?

Is it important?

So you agree with Mrs Bradley, Doctor?

Well, narcolepsy is a distinct
possibility, yes.

It's reasonable to assume that he...
he... just blacked out in the bath and

drowned. A possibility?

Or a likelihood?

Well, in the absence of any other
explanation, more than a likelihood.

Perhaps you'd be kind enough to show us
exactly what the butler saw. By all

means, Inspector.

I'm not... No reply, so I went in.

I saw the lady gentleman and went down
to inform Mr Bing.

The door unlocked?

And the window open?

Yes, madam.

And what time was it?

I remember the hall clock striking eight
just as I came up the stairs.

Pardon me, don't you find that strange
that the window should be open on such a

chilly evening?

Well, I always bathe with the window
open.

Prevents condensation.

Oh, there's water on both sides of the
bath.

Easy enough to spill a few drops getting
out.

But he didn't get out, did he?

What do you suggest, then? Oh, just
being inquisitive, Inspector.

Terrible habit.

Your call, Doctor?

Call to death?

Well, if, as I expect, we find water in
the lungs, then I'll be satisfied that a

deceased fell prey to a bout of
narcolepsy and drowned.

Inspector, the musicians would like to
know how much longer.

Oh, I think we're done in here, sir.

And, uh, Miss Bradley would like to
interrogate everybody.

One by one?

No, thank you.

And don't let us keep you from your
holiday. I hear Whitstable is charming.

Your train ticket was clipped to your
notebook.

I'm just observant, Inspector.

Not a witch.

I recommend the oysters, Inspector.

Could you spare a moment, madam?

What's he looking for?

What on earth made you retrieve these
pieces from the waste paper basket?

Five years working for you, madam.

A cheque for £100 drawn on Bertie
Phillipson's account and made out to

Mountjoy. Why would someone throw away
£100?

There's only one reason I can think of.
If Bertie's account were overdrawn...

Then the cheque would be worthless.

I think we'll prolong our stay.

The house will be empty during
Mountjoy's funeral. I shall plead a

you and I will conduct some experiments.

Mind if I ask why?

Because Mountjoy's death had nothing to
do with narcolepsy.

And because someone in this house is the
murderer.

at 8 o 'clock.

Between 7 .30 and 8, we were all in our
rooms dressing for the party.

So no one has an alibi?

Three questions.

If Mountjoy had a blackout and drowned,
why was there water on both sides of the

bath?

Why was the window open? And why was the
door unlocked?

People do forget to lock doors.

Not if you have a secret like Mountjoy.

In which case, his assailant must have
unlocked the door in order to escape.

you're assuming the murderer climbed in
through the window.

It does rather look like it.

You'd have to be quite an acrobat to
climb through that window from here,

Perhaps he used a ladder.

In which case, there'd be marks on the
flower bed.

Ah, a branch snapped off quite recently
by the look of it.

collapse under the weight of someone
using it to climb up.

Thereby cutting off the escape route and
forcing the culprit to leave by the

bathroom door.

May the bereaved among us draw comfort
as the Lord gives light to them that fit

in darkness and in the shadow of death.

Mountjoy would have it back to the
window so he wouldn't see his assailant

enter.

The water would be running.

So he wouldn't. He had a window open.

Right, then.

Hey, Bob.

I myself was not overly familiar with
the poor departed soul we have come to

know as Everard Mountjoy.

But by all accounts, he was a most
remarkable character.

In more ways than one.

Ready when you are.

You are sure this is it?

It's there.

I open the window and climb in.

As I cross the room...

He sees me for too late. I seize the
heat and pump them into the air like so.

To head it completely submerged.

And trouble though he may, his only hope
of survival is if I let go.

He is dead.

We turn off the tap.

The floor is wet.

There is water on either side of the
bath.

Note. consistent not with him being
lifted out from one side or the other

he was dead, but of his frantic
specialness when he was alive.

Time to escape.

But the branch that helped me up is
broken, so it's risky.

I'd better go raking my neck.

For what we are about to receive, may
the Lord make us truly thankful.

Amen.

Eleanor's favorite. Well done, Mrs.
McNamara.

Nothing for me.

You should eat something, miss.

Thank you. I'm no longer seven years
old.

Life's rich pageant must go on, Eleanor.

Well said, father.

We've all had a shock, Eleanor in
particular.

But life does go on.

Which is why I have an announcement.

I've asked Dorothy to do me the honour
of becoming my wife.

I'm happy to say she has accepted.

Somebody say something.

You've taken leave of your senses, boy.

Miss Manners.

Isn't it about a sudden?

Not really.

We just didn't want to steal Eleanor's
thunder, but now that... I'm sorry, I

think it's appalling.

Bertie!

I mean, for Eleanor's sake.

It's the most insensitive timing I can
imagine.

I don't mind, really.

I'm truly happy for you both.

See, Bertie, as you should be.

You've just been sweet, haven't you?

Naughty boy, what's this?

That was your mother's.

And she bequeathed it to me with strict
instructions to present it to my

betrothed on the day of our engagement.

Oh, it's sublime.

The glass appears to be broken.

Broken?

What the devil do you mean?

It's worth a fortune!

All right, darling, nothing that can't
be fixed.

I'll pop it in here.

I'll have it repaired next time I go up
to town.

I'm sorry.

Dorothy's right.

No harm done.

No harm?

You announce your engagement without a
word to me and say no harm? I'd hoped

you'd be happy for me. Well, I'd hoped
you'd treat me with a little respect.

A toast.

To the happy couple.

Guard's always had a temper, but since
the war, he has these rages which flare

up for no reason at all.

Bertie is a little shell -shocked.

How did he save Guard's life?

They didn't talk about it much, but I
got Bertie squiffy one night.

He told me it was at Passchendaele.

Guard was hit by a sniper.

The others left him for dead, but Bertie
refused to give up.

Carried him for miles through the mud.

How very brave.

Well, much obliged.

I see you found your dictionary, then.

A new word every day.

Broaden your vocabulary, broaden your
mind. That's what Mrs. Bradley says.

Unusual for a lady to take such an
interest in a chauffeur.

Serendipity. Making happy discoveries by
accident.

Of course, the challenge is to use it in
an actual sentence.

She's no better than she could be, if
you ask me.

Divorced, indeed.

My Albert and I were married for 21
years.

We stuck it out through thick and thin.

Poor old Albert.

There you are.

I've been looking everywhere.

I was just thinking, I'll never marry
now.

I've only met two men I could ever love.

One couldn't love me and ask for the
other.

Just remember your Montaigne.

Marriage may be compared to a cage.

The birds without despair to get in and
those within despair to get out. It's

all right for you. You've done it. No
one could accuse you of being on the

shelf, could they?

Oh, I think I can safely say I've been
taken down and abducted once or twice.

I've been burgled!

I took a bath after croquet and when I
got back...

What's missing?

My handbag.

And the necklace God gave you?

Was inside.

Where's Bertie Phillips?

Something the matter?

Mind if we ask where you've been?

I went for a spin about an hour ago.

After your man finished washing the
motor.

Why? It's been a burglary.

Dorothy's necklace.

Am I being accused of something? Of
course not.

Come and have a drink.

There's no bigger alibi than George.

We've only got the fellow's word he left
an hour ago.

He could have sneaked back in and robbed
the place.

Or... Surely not.

He's only been with us a month.

Or... You're not saying the butler did
it?

Perhaps we should leave the detective
work to you.

Let's not call the police for the time
being. Quite.

Something tells me this is best kept in
the family.

Alistair.

Just, uh... Just get me some water.

I don't sleep much nowadays, not since
Marjorie passed on.

Full moon tonight.

I hate the May ball.

I don't think we'll be swimming tonight.

Sometimes I think I should have fought
if you were there.

Queensbury rules against Randolph. He
wouldn't have stood a chance.

We could have had a good life together.

Maybe. But he was very handsome.

And I was very smitten.

The folly of youth.

I still see shades of the young you.

Age cannot wither her.

Nor customs stale her infinite variety.

Alistair.

Dear Alistair.

There are two things in life you would
never do.

One.

Catch a waiter's eye before he's ready
to see you.

And two, turn back the clock.

Never say never.

I have an increasing inability to trust
people.

Even old friends.

Alistair has every right to creep round
his own house. Still, with a murderer on

the loose, one can't help but wonder.

Come on.

Do you bother me?

What's going on? Bertie, put down the
gun.

Bertie, what are you doing?

I swear, it wasn't me.

Looks like a break -in, madam. The
kitchen door's been pulled.

See, I told you, it was a burglar.

Exactly what happened.

Anyone mind if I help myself to a drink?

You've got a damn cheek, sir.

Father, it's Bertie.

Look, I know it looks bad, but the truth
is very simple.

I had a thumping headache.

And I couldn't sleep.

And I knew Dorothy had some aspirin.

And there wasn't any light under the
door.

And I was about to go back to bed, but
the pain was getting worse.

So I crept in, and I saw Dorothy.

She's fast asleep.

It's her sleep mask, as usual.

And the aspirin were on the bedside
table. And I was about to leave when I

someone coming in, so I stepped behind
the wardrobe.

Sort of reflex action, I suppose.

I could see the rifle, but not who was
holding it.

And I called out, and she moved. Thank
God.

I ran for fear she was all right, and
then I rushed out, but whoever it was

gone.

And so I came back in. The rifle was on
the floor.

I picked it up, and that's when Mrs.
Bradley came in.

So you were wearing a sleep mask.

Oh, I do.

And you didn't actually see anything?

No.

I woke when Bertie yelled my name. All I
saw was him.

And the rifle.

Why would I want to harm Dorothy?

I neither know nor care. Call the
police.

Father, please, be reasonable.

Someone obviously broke in. At the very
least, Bertie deserves the benefit of

the doubt.

I tell you what he deserves.

Ten years' hard labour.

For God's sake, you're talking about the
man who saved my life.

I want you out of this house tonight.

An injection would take effect more
quickly.

Needles? No, thank you.

This will do fine as long as it helps me
sleep.

Thank you.

No trouble, miss.

You're sure you'll be all right?

Hunky -dory.

Thank you for being sweet.

Lock the door.

I will.

Good night.

Anything you care to tell me about you
and Dorothy Manor?

I don't know what you mean.

You said when you went to her room, She
was wearing her sleeping mask, as usual.

I'm curious.

How would you know about Dorothy's usual
sleeping habits?

And why go to her for aspirin when
you've got your own?

I forgot they were there.

Tell me, why did Mountjoy tear up your
cheque for £100?

And why were you arguing with him in the
library?

How the deuce did you know about that?

You were observed.

It was for his expedition to Africa, but
the bank sent it back in sufficient

funds.

Mountjoy was livid because it left a
hole in his finances.

We argued he tore up the cheque. Why go
back for it after his death?

I thought it might look peculiar if
someone found it. Quite right, it does.

So, according to you and Mr Bing, I'm a
thief, a liar, and I tried to kill

Dorothy. Anything else you'd care to
accuse me of?

I haven't actually accused you of
anything.

But you were hardly ecstatic about
Dorothy becoming engaged to God.

Mrs. Bradley, I'm sure your reputation
is well deserved.

But I'm afraid this time you're barking
up the wrong tree.

It was that business about the cheque
and the row with Monkjoy that seemed to

unnerve him.

Lucky I was passing when they were
arguing, madam.

One might almost call it serendipity.

I suppose one might.

Good riddance to bed, Robbie.

Perhaps.

Good night, George.

Eleanor, telephone the doctor.

Now!

What happened?

Is she... Eleanor.

Eleanor, can you hear me?

She suffered minor concussion,
contusions to both arms, parietal

hematoma over the occiput. I need hardly
have rushed my sausage.

Well, you must be more careful, young
lady.

An accident like this could be fatal.

It wasn't an accident.

Someone pushed me.

I've never cared much for the
countryside.

To me, it's a soggy sort of place where
animals and birds wander about uncooked.

Or don't wander about, as the case may
be.

Dear.

This visit promises to be rather more
memorable than most.

Morning! Morning!

There's been an accident.

Eleanor says someone pushed her down the
stairs.

My God!

Is she all right?

Bruised, shaken.

Otherwise fine.

Well, Bertie Phillipson's in the clear
for once.

Even so, sometimes I wish to God God had
never met him.

He did save God's life.

Saved one child.

Paralyzed the other.

Message from Mrs. Bradley.

Change of plan.

You're staying.

Your lucky day.

Since when have roses been part of the
uniform?

Since someone left it in my room.

A secret admirer.

Don't talk such stuff.

I'm not. Am I, George?

George?

Mr. Moody to you, young lady. Go and
fetch the shoes for polishing.

If I find your lead in her wrong...

It's

a holiday today. It's the wedding of the
painted doll.

Come to me. It's a jolly day.

I pronounce that they be man and wife.

Dorothy.

I'm so happy for you.

Remind me, am I bridesmaid or matron of
honour?

Both. I'm best man.

She's crumpled. Quite a cat.

Congratulations, Mr Bing.

Mrs Bing.

A somewhat unorthodox occasion.

But I hope you'll be very happy.

Thank you.

Now all we have to do is tell father.
You don't just go off and get married.

It's not done.

I doubt if it's even legal. We signed an
affidavit for the vicar. It's all

perfectly legal, I assure you. As long
as you've lived in the parish for 15

or more.

Look, I know it was impetuous.

But after what happened last night, she
needs looking after.

God, your mother is not alive to see
this.

I've been proud of that boy all his life
until now.

Children disappoint their parents. It's
one of the immutable laws of nature.

Your son's made an unsuitable match.
Mine became a lawyer. We just have to

the bullet and carry on.

She sees pound notes every time she
looks at him.

When Randolph asked for my hand, father
said, why marry such a colossal poor?

I told him, you're missing the point. He
looked like a Greek god.

Marrying Randolph was a mistake.

You've said so yourself a thousand
times. Yes, but it was my mistake.

And we must allow our children to make
theirs.

It was so romantic.

God knocked on my door at sunrise and
said, marry me.

I said, silly, I've already said yes.

He said, I mean now.

So I telephoned my bestest friend in the
whole world and the next thing I knew

we were Mr and Mrs.

However did you persuade the vicar?

He's still very grateful for a rather
large donation to the church roof fund.

Uh -oh.

Scary biscuits.

Dorothy!

Mrs. Bean.

Welcome to the family.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you so much.

I think I'm going to cry.

God said you were livid.

What's done is done.

Congratulations.

Baxter!

Listen.

Thank you, Baxter.

Whatever you did, thank you.

Thank you, Baxter.

A long and happy life.

A long and happy life.

And the best of British luck.

Now, who have we here?

My dearest friend, Miss Pamela Thorbin
from New York.

Mr. Bing, my father -in -law.

Delighted.

Thorbin? The Thorbin Bank on Wall
Street?

Yes. I hope you're not going to ask me
about money, Mrs. Bradley.

As my poor old pa would tell you, I only
know how to spend it.

Dorothy, who is this gorgeously
disheveled man?

Berthy, you look an absolute fright.

Nothing some sleep wouldn't put right.
You've got a damn cheek.

Strolling in here as if nothing had
happened.

Well, that's precisely why I'm here,
sir. Nothing did happen.

Where were you at 8 .30 this morning?

In my flat. Why?

Somebody pushed Eleanor down the stairs.

Good Lord.

Are you all right?

A few bruises, that's all.

Who could do a thing like that?

Now, hang on a minute. Can anyone vouch
for your whereabouts?

Nobody needs to. Bertie would never do
such a thing.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

Bertie, I'd like you to know Dorothy and
I were married this morning.

Well, talk about quick off the mark.

I suppose congratulations are in order.

I wish you both health and happiness.

How very sweet of you.

Bertie, I don't believe you've met
Dorothy's bridesmaid, Pamela Staubin.

Staubin?

The banker?

Yes. How do you do?

I do very well, thank you.

Very well indeed.

If you'd like to follow me, Miss
Staubin.

I'm sure Mrs. McNamara will be able to
find you a room.

I'm afraid all the rooms on the first
floor have taken me.

I'll put you in the blue room on the
second floor. Fine. The exercise will do

good.

Sorry. Foot in mouth.

Not at all.

How brave you are.

I hope we're going to be friends.

Anything you need, let me know. Thank
you.

You're not leaving.

According to Mr. Bing, I've outstayed my
welcome.

What a shame.

Yes.

I was rather looking forward to messing
about on the river.

What a delicious idea.

I'll be right down.

Oh, Mabel.

You see Mrs. Bradley?

No.

Have you showed her my references yet?

Georgie, Georgie.

Mabel, this has to stop.

She doesn't need a maid. There is no job
in London. I'm sorry.

But what about us?

Us? You gave me a rose.

That wasn't me. That was Mr Baxter.

I don't believe you.

You led me on, George Moody.

Shame on you.

Anything I should know about George?

No, madam.

A misunderstanding.

Pretty girl.

Not my type, madam.

I just came to tell you that I found
this.

Dorothy's necklace? Well, what?

I saw something catch the light.

I never dreamt it'd be diamonds.

Look down.

It's what's left of Dorothy's handbag.

We seem to be dealing with the world's
most careless thief.

It doesn't make sense.

Why would someone steal diamonds only to
throw them away?

Unless they went after the diamonds, but
the bag itself.

Or something in it.

I think we do well to look inside this
room.

It might help if

I knew what I was looking for, madam.

You'll know when you find it.

George, go out and come back in again,
will you?

Stop.

Last night, Bertie said he was standing
exactly where I am now when he heard the

door open and saw the gun aimed at
Dorothy.

He said I could see the rifle poking
through the door.

But not who was holding it.

Sounds right. The wardrobe would have
blocked his view.

Yes, but from this angle, the mirror
would have given him a perfect view. Not

only of the rifle, but of the person
aiming it at Dorothy.

But if he saw who it was, why keep it to
himself?

Especially when Mr. Bing was accusing
him.

Why, indeed.

Mabel?

What happens to the contents of the
waste paper baskets after you've emptied

them? What do you think?

Young lady, we are not at home to Mr.
Rood.

Sorry, ma 'am.

I don't know. You'd have to ask Mrs.
McNamara. She won't be long.

Thank you.

Carry on.

He's very stylish.

Miss Eleanor's, ma 'am.

From London.

May I help you?

Silly on me.

I threw away an important document by
Mr. Dick. What happened to the household

refuge?

The stable boy takes it to the tip.

He's just left.

A nun who's mad like her.

There to lock her up.

She's not mad that she's unique.

It's not Mrs.

McNamara's fate.

Well, she should mind her own business,
and you should mind your manners.

When I interviewed George for the
position of chauffeur, he told me his

left him, gone off to better herself.

There was a daughter, Cecily, and a
brother, Tom, but he was in France. Oh,

nice, I said. Touring? No, he said.

He's buried there.

He died at the Battle of the Somme.

Then I asked him his greatest fear.

And he said, being bored, madam.

So naturally I engaged him on the spot.

This might be it.

You mustn't go through with it.

You're breaking my heart.

B.

That would be B for... Birdie!

It's definitely Bertie Philiston.

The handwriting matches the cheque he
gave Marjorie.

I don't quite see the significance.

If I saw Bertie slip this note into
Dorothy's handbag, it stands to reason

somebody else did.

And that someone stole the handbag
purely in order to read this note.

A trip round the island, boatman?

Oh, well, I'd love to, but Miss Dorby...
George will take care of Miss Dorby.

About an hour should do.

I say, we've been kidnapped.

Some years ago, I enjoyed a dalliance
with an ambassador who was, shall we

not entirely unmarried.

At an embassy reception, I made the
fatal error of picking lint from his

His wife, a charming woman with just the
hint of a squint, saw me make this

small but unmistakably intimate gesture.

Two months later, one of the great loves
of my life was posted to Ulaanbaatar.

Am I supposed to be shocked?

I saw Dorothy pick a piece of lint from
your jacket.

You and she are lovers with a taste for
the good life and not a brass farthing

between you.

I wasn't aware being hard up was against
the law.

I also saw you slip this note into
Dorothy's handbag.

You mustn't go through with it.

Care to tell me what it might be?

It's my belief you and Dorothy decided
she'd marry God for his money, and you'd

continue your affair behind his back
just as you have been doing for months.

This is slander.

Only if it's untrue.

Why did you go to Dorothy's room?

To talk her out of marrying God.

It seemed so simple at first.

He comes into a fortune now he's
married.

We could all have had what we wanted,
and he'd have been none the wiser.

When it came to the crunch, I just
couldn't bear it. How noble.

I know my faults, Mrs. Bradley.

Even weak, greedy men fall in love.

And if you couldn't have Dorothy, nobody
could. Is that how it was?

I did not try to kill Dorothy. No.

But you saw whoever did reflected in the
mirror.

And you're covering up for them.

I don't know what you mean.

Tell me about Marjorie's check.

I told you it was for his expedition.

Poppycock. I think he found out about
you and Dorothy and was blackmailing you

both.

Pity he's not here to tell the tale.

Yes.

Murder does have a way of keeping people
quiet.

Murder?

He drowned in the bath.

That's the official version, yes.

I don't think I'm not proud of Mrs.
Bradley.

But I swear on Dorothy's life, I did not
murder Everard Mountain.

Isn't it a risk letting him go? I had no
choice.

And he was genuinely shocked when I
mentioned murder.

So we're no nearer finding Mountjoy's
killer?

I have my suspicions.

What I need now is proof.

Or better still, a confession.

Wonderful.

Did you really compose that yourself?

Yes. It's called Love at First Sight.
It's my wedding present to Dorothy and

Garth. It's lovely, thank you.

Dorothy knows all about love at first
sight, don't you?

Certainly do.

The moment I clapped eyes on Garth, I
knew he was Mr Right.

I hope you've returned the compliment.

Rather slow on the uptake, I'm afraid.

But I soon saw the light.

What about you, Adela?

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Of course. Of course.

Ever since my Cambridge days.

Sadly, it never stands the test of time.

Well said.

Surely love at first sight must be
superficial by its definition.

Shame Bertie isn't here to give his
opinion.

Bertie? Oh, come now.

Surely you must have seen the look of
sheer rapture the moment he set eyes on

Miss Dorbin.

Love at first sight, mark my words.

Pamela, are you hiding something from
your bestest friend?

No.

We just had fun.

Then you'll see him again?

Well, yes.

He's invited me to the opera.

How romantic.

Which one?

La Boheme.

Are you all right?

Yes, yes, I'm fine.

It's just a headache.

Excuse me.

Good night.

Did I say something wrong?

My sister used to be in love with
Bertie, Miss Dorbin.

He was driving her back from La Boheme
on the night of the accident which

paralysed her.

Well, I expect the happy couple are
dying to turn in.

Pamela, you're incorrigible.

Yes.

Well, I'll see you later.

And I'm going to bed with Sigmund Freud.

That boy will never amount to anything.

That's what Freud's father said about
the young Sigmund.

Odd. How we can be spot on about
strangers, yet blind when it comes to

dears.

Still, I hope I'm wrong about what's
likely to happen here tonight.

If not, the family may never forgive me.

And I may never forgive myself.

I'm saving.

Jesus, it's... You're walking.

My God.

What has she done?

She thought that was Pamela Torpen.

I'm sorry, Miss.

Mrs Bradley's orders.

But if she could walk, why keep it a
secret?

You're not telling me she was never
paralysed? Of course not.

But paralysis changed her life.

Plain old Mouse became poor darling
Eleanor.

Suddenly you cared.

And if being in a wheelchair earned her
what she craved, your love, it was a

price she was prepared to pay.

You mean I'm to blame?

Yeah.

That's exactly what you mean.

Well, I'm such a bad father.

You never get anything.

Well, I'm saying it now. All I wanted
was to matter.

Can't you understand?

Understand?

I understand you lived your life a lie.

That you tried to kill Pamela Stormy.
You barely noticed I was alive till I

in a wheelchair.

How can you say that thing? What was the
name of my best friend at school?

And the nursery cat. Did I like
strawberry jam or lemon curd? My hair

plant or a ponytail.

I might as well have been a complete
stranger.

But not God. Oh, no, look.

Brave God.

Handsome God. The road God.

Where am I?

You'll hurt yourself.

I don't begin to understand.

Why? Because despite the accident,
despite being spurned by Bertie, Eleanor

still loves him to the point of
obsession.

And she tried to kill Pamela out of her
jealousy that she might steal beloved

Bertie's heart.

But he's the one who pushed you down the
stairs, miss.

Not Bertie.

Why would he want to hurt me?

Because he knew it was you that tried to
shoot Dorothy.

And he still said nothing.

Because he knew no one would believe
him, least of all your father.

He couldn't stand by waiting for you to
strike again.

So he took matters into his own hands.

All that talk about love at first sight.

About Bertie and Pamela.

You were deliberately trying to make me
jealous, trying to trick me into giving

myself away. I needed to give you an
overwhelming desire to go to Pamela's

to walk up to the second floor.

What made you think she could walk?

The murder of Everard Mudjoy.

What are you saying?

The hardest thing I've ever had to say.

Mouth is a murderer.

Tell me it isn't true.

He didn't have narcolepsy.

I killed him.

Hush, child.

You don't know what you're saying.

What gave me away?

Your new shoes.

The soles were worn.

Odds for someone who hasn't walked a
step in the last two years.

So marrying Mountjoy...

With just a way of getting your
inheritance.

When he first proposed, I was ecstatic.

That'll show Bertie.

And then the bombshell. He wasn't a he.
I don't know which was worse, that or

the realisation he was only after money.

You could have called off the
engagement.

He convinced me.

He said we could both have what we
wanted.

He'd have money for his expedition and
I'd have a husband, dignity, a place in

society.

Dignity.

Married to a freak.

Perhaps when you're made to feel like a
freak all your life, ignored, unwanted,

you seek out others to make you feel
less alone.

So, the marriage was going ahead.

Yes.

Until three days ago, when Bertie came
back into my life.

Seeing him again made my heart...

And I realised that whatever happened
with Bertie, I couldn't continue the

charade with Mountjoy.

He was furious.

Said he'd borrowed a fortune to finance
the trip to Africa. He was counting on

my money to clear his debts.

He refused to release me from our
engagement.

So I threatened to expose his sordid
secret.

But he said if I did that, he'd kill the
man I love.

I didn't think twice.

On the night of the pardon...

I waited till everyone was changing, and
I climbed into the bathroom.

As I crept in, he saw me.

But too late.

His feet forced him underwater.

I'd planned to escape the way I came,
but the branch had broken on my way up,

I had no choice but to leave by the
bathroom door.

And I then began to get ready for the
party, to celebrate my engagement to the

person I'd just killed.

In cold blood.

When this is all over, I'll ask Bertie
to marry me.

Not for love. You can't make someone
love you, but he'll have money.

I'll have him.

We'll be so happy.

What's going to happen to her?

I want you to know that I'm...

I'm sorry, too.

Mass is very sorry.

The truth at all costs.

Is that it, madam?

You realise what you've done?

How could you?

She's going to die, Adela.

My little girl, she's going to hang for
murder.

Thank you for your candor, sir.

I felt it was my duty.

I'm sorry for your troubles.

Inspector, I thought you were
invincible.

Well, I was, till the wife tried an
oyster.

Food poisoning.

I take it Miss Bing is still asleep.

Yes, I'll show you her bedroom.

She should wake soon. It was only a mild
sedative.

Well, under the circumstances, I don't
think I can wait. Yes, of course.

Inspector, it's the room at the end.

Thanks, sir.

Mr. Bain!

Do you normally carry quantities of this
hyoscyamine, Mrs. Bradley?

No.

It's a new compound from America.

I brought it back for analysis.

Are you a qualified medical
practitioner?

You know very well I'm not.

Yet you gave your goddaughter a drug
unknown and untested outside America.

Oh, that's with your permission.

Yes, of course, she was... She was in a
terrible state.

I gave her a single ampule, precisely
the amount I gave Dorothy two nights

with no ill effects whatsoever.

Were you fond of your goddaughter?

What are you implying?

Oh, merely formulating one or two
theories.

Dazzle me.

You say you saw Mrs Bradley administer
the sedative?

Yes.

So, that's one dose administered to Miss
Bing last night, and the other night,

one for you, ma 'am.

Yes. I was fine.

That's two out of a box of 12, which
should leave ten, yet

only eight remain.

Can you account for the two missing
ampules?

No.

Miss Bing had confessed to murder.

She knew she was going to the gallows.

Given that unhappy circumstance, someone
fond of her might well decide to put

her out of her misery, save her from a
fate worse than death.

Some might call it a mercy killing.

A jury would call it murder.

Doubling enough for you?

You're quite right, Inspector.

Anyone who cared for Eleanor would much
rather she met a peaceful end than swing

from a noose, but the angel of mercy was
not me.

The high siren was in here?

Yes. And no one has touched the bag
since you arrived, apart from yourself?

No, it was locked in my wardrobe.

Except for last night.

I kept it by my bed.

Someone could have sneaked in while you
were asleep, madam.

True.

In which case, that someone... Prince
would be on the bag.

I've never been so insulted in my life.

Do you realise who my father is? Can't I
do, miss? Last one, sir.

Extraordinary.

Quite extraordinary.

What's extraordinary?

Two sets of fingerprints on the bag.

One's Mrs. Bradley's.

The other doesn't belong to anyone here.

Are you sure that's everyone? Positive,
sir.

Not quite.

You're forgetting Eleanor herself.

It's my belief she woke in the night,
still groggy from the sedative, and the

false severity of her plight began to
dawn.

Disgrace, trial.

Hideous death by hanging.

Who wouldn't be tempted by a mirthful
oblivion and speedy death?

Mr. Bing.

The second set of prints do belong to
your daughter, sir.

I'm afraid Mrs. Bradley's right. She did
commit suicide.

Was she?

Thank you, Inspector.

Excuse me.

You've got a handkerchief, George.

If you don't mind my saying, you're not
to blame yourself. She was a murderer.

You did the right thing.

Anyway, I put it down to hypercathexis.

Hyper -what?

Cathexis. It's a technical term for Miss
Eleanor's state of mind.

The excessive concentration of desire
upon a particular object or person. That

person being Bertie Phillips.

George.

You will give Mr Bing his dictionary
back, won't you?

Of course, madam.

So, case closed.

Nearly, George.

Very nearly.

She said you were like a mother to her.

Eleanor said that?

Yes.

When I held her hand this morning, I
noticed a small mark on her arm, as

someone had given her an injection.

Really? Easy enough for that someone to
wear gloves, administer the injection

with my hypodermic, and then afterwards
put Eleanor's prints on my bag in the

ampule.

If you're suspicious, why not tell the
police?

Because whoever gave her that injection
would face trial for murder.

What exactly are you trying to prove?

Oh, nothing.

But I had the oddest experience last
night.

A strange smell, so pungent that it
worked me.

And I had the distinct impression that
someone had been in my room.

The smell was still there this morning.

Mouthfuls.

Will there be anything else, madam?

Assuming someone loved Eleanor enough to
help her to a merciful end.

It would be hard to bear that secret
alone.

Not quite alone.

I hope.

What are you doing here?

Dorothy telephoned me about Eleanor.

Shocking. Yes.

I don't suppose you've seen Miss Dorbin?

Why? Got your eye on the next goose to
lay the golden egg?

I'd say that's a bit strong.

Bertie!

Thank God.

You came as soon as I heard.

It's so awful. Poor Eleanor.

No, poor you.

This rather puts me in mind of that old
parlour game, Consequences.

Poor Bertie Philipson met rich Pamela
Staubin at a country house weekend.

He said to her... May I offer you a lift
back to town?

She said to him... What a delicious
idea.

And the consequence was... Look

at this.

It's inexpensive, Mary.

Spent me.

Present from Pamela's father.

What do you think of that, Mrs. Bradley?

I think you're a very lucky man.

You make your own luck in life, that's
my motto.

Evidently. Drive carefully, won't you?

Thank you so much for coming. I hear
you're going off on a joint honeymoon

Garden Dorothy.

Yes, Dorothy's idea.

Isn't she clever?

Oh, yes.

Dorothy's very clever indeed.

We gather you two are next.

Congratulations. Thank you.

Come on, Henry.

Love is in the air, eh?

Apparently so.

I take it you're in no hurry to have
another crack at it, the old

wedded bliss?

I can't say I am, no.

Well, that's fair enough.

Well, goodbye, Adele.

Goodbye, Alistair.

Everything all right, madam?

Yes, George.

And with you?

Never better.

Branded.

Home, I think, don't you?

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