All language subtitles for Episode 1 - Death at the Opera

We don't waste any time. No sense in
letting the trail go cold.

Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bradley.

You're even more glamorous than you
said.

Charming girl.

The chauffeur, prickly devil.

George, I need your body.

Get the police.

Hypothesis. Whoever murdered Miss Ferris
also killed Miss Dunting.

She was a very private person.

And now she's a very dead person.

I didn't do it! I think we have a
murderer. I didn't do it!

Rather too obvious, don't you think?

I actually feel rather naughty just
being here.

Think of the publicity.

You're not entirely satisfied.

It takes a lot to satisfy me, Inspector.

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Like most women educated before the
First World War, Adela Bradley was well

-schooled in the womanly arts,
temperance, piety and false humility.

Thankfully, none of it took.

Adela chose a different path in life, a
wrong turn by many standards.

She divorced her tiresome husband and
immersed herself in Freudian psychology

and criminal detection, two subjects you
can be sure she never encountered in

finishing school.

Worse, she had the temerity to excel in
these fields.

Even the Conservative Times of London
acknowledged her stature as one of the

country's foremost criminologists and
psychologists.

It's no surprise, then, that Adela had
little affection for Hadley Heights, the

school that tried and failed to suppress
her natural talents.

In her sour judgment, it's little more
than a farm for growing wives and

mothers.

One would assume she's not a big donor
to the alumni fund.

But back to school it is for Mrs B, who
must unravel a rather poignant lover's

tangle there.

Not to mention a murder or two.

Mrs Bradley in Death at the Opera.

Parapraxis?

It's what Dr. Freud would term a slip of
the tongue, or a lapse of memory

revealing an unconscious desire.

Not what you might call a useful word,
madam.

Then how about paramour, an illicit
lover?

How am I supposed to get that into an
everyday sentence?

That's the challenge, George.

Better late than never.

Perhaps if we haven't had to go back to
our speech, madam, I dare say Dr. Freud

would have something to say about that.

I dare say he would, Lord.

This brings back memories.

Happy state of your life and all that.

The longest, certainly.

How exactly would you define the
finishing school?

It's a sort of farm where they grow
wives and mothers, where young women are

sent to be finished.

Which is precisely what they will be if
they believe half the twaddle they're

told here.

Home, harmony, humility.

Half what?

Quick thing to hear about.

Don't forget, Clementine.

Bye till I see your father afterwards.
Yes, Miss Ferris.

I read the other day that smoking ruins
the complexion.

Such an honour, Mrs. Bradley. We thought
we might have the start without you.

Our

guest

of honour, Mrs. Bradley, has been
described by the Times, no less, as one

country's... foremost criminologists and
psychoanalysts. She is perhaps more at

home lecturing policemen at Scotland
Yard than young ladies at her alma

Nevertheless, she has kindly agreed to
give this year the Vadney Flint Memorial

Lecture. This will follow the mercado.

Been here.

Boring.

Who could like Gilbert and Follison?

Frankly, Doctor, I wish they'd never
met.

If you want to know who we are...

Heart attack.

No doubt about it.

Are you sure, Doctor?

Yes, she had a heart condition.

Just a matter of time, I'm afraid.

Who last spoke to Miss Ferris?

I did, Madame.

Our head girl, Clementine Prosser
-Harris.

Did she say she felt unwell?

No, just that she wanted to speak to my
father after the show.

Vital, she said.

He's chairman of the Board of Governors.

Any idea why she wanted to see him,
Miss?

Afraid not.

No.

Poor Miss Ferris.

Poor Miss Ferris, indeed.

Excuse me, Mr... Valentine, Max, music
tutor. This is Miss Mona Bunting,

motherhood and makeup.

How do you do? May I?

Of course.

I'd better write a death certificate.

That might be premature.

These marks on the door.

The varnish has been scratched away.

Clawed, I'd say. And there's varnish
under Miss Ferris's nails.

It looks to me as though she was
desperate to get out, but couldn't.

You're quite sure the door was unlocked,
miss?

Yes, positive.

Oh, thank you, girls. You may go.

Come along.

Are you suggesting something is wrong?

Probably not, but you should notify the
police, just in case.

The police?

But think of the publicity.

Think of Miss Ferris.

Mrs. Bradley, my husband and I have
worked ceaselessly to build Hadley

reputation.

We are not having it shot to pieces when
the truth is plain to see.

Poor Miss Ferris had a heart attack.

Very well.

No police.

On what condition?

You allow me to satisfy myself. There's
been no foul play.

You find the school much changed.

Since you were here. Now, do me a
favour.

This used to be out of bounds, as I
recall.

Oh, yeah, I actually feel rather naughty
just being here.

Well, I hope you'll become... Hi.

Oh!

Oh, it is everywhere.

Oh, I'm sorry.

They gave me the creeps. Same here,
miss.

Good night, Miss Bunting.

Ah, one or two of yours there, madam.

Criminal minds.

Prison reform.

Manners maketh man.

I didn't write that.

No, a guide to everyday etiquette by
Evadne Flint.

Miss Evadne Flint.

She didn't catch up on this for the
three R's. The only thing she was

in was the three E's.

Elegance, entertaining, etiquette.

If you wanted to know how to address an
archbishop, Miss Flint was the woman for

you.

They got her in the end, of course.

Embeddlement, as I recall. Did you know
a gentleman always escorts a lady on the

street side to protect her from
splashes, footpads and marauders? Yes,

the point. Did you manage to pickpocket
that key from Miss Ponting?

Well done, George.

Thank you, madam.

You know, back in Pontefract, they don't
call it pickpocketing.

They call it doing a George.

You must be very proud.

Didn't they ruin your day, madam?

No, they're all new faces.

I might ask you, but if you hated this
place, why come back?

I have a bunch of things to get off my
chest. They can wait.

Paris. Moscow.

Egypt.

Egypt.

Diary. Fitted with a lock.

Aha!

It's in gibberish, madam.

No, George.

It's in code.

So, Miss Ferris was A, neurotic, B,
compulsive, C, secretive,

to the point of obsession.

Ten bob, you can't crack that code by
tomorrow.

You're on, madam.

It's our flyer. What do teachers pay?

Could be a gift, but then, why hide it?

Trouble sleeping, Mr Valentine?

I'm just on my way for a glass of water.
You don't waste any time.

No sense in letting the trail go cold.

Assuming there is a trail.

Must be quite a shock, sir.

Suspicious death right on your own
doorstep.

The only surprise is that in hot houses
like this it doesn't happen more often.

Do you know if Miss Ferris had a regular
travelling companion?

She headed the school trip to Rome at
Easter.

Otherwise she was deeply antisocial. She
made a point of holidaying alone.

Really?

And who took all these films?

Blended, blended, and lighted,

lighted. Head, head, chin, chin.

Blended.

Posture and poise.

Why the nickname?

Anything beats Prunella. Even plum.

Mrs. Bradley, can I be of help?

What can you tell me about Miss Ferris?

Best art teacher we ever had, excuse me.

There we are.

There.

That's better.

A little bit pretty.

She also taught conversation skills and
floral displays. Do you know if she had

a lover?

Romances are not permitted during term
time.

My wife is most insistent.

My observation system, so we can see
what is going on in all parts of the

school, wherever we are.

Eyes in the back of our heads, so to
speak.

You're most ingenious.

We've had one or two jewellery thefts. I
rather hoped this would prove a detail.

Speaking of jewellery, do you know who
this belongs to?

It was found in Miss Ferris' room.

Clementine, isn't this yours?

Yes.

I reported it stolen last week.

My pearls went missing, too, and my
watch.

I gather you didn't call the police.

It was a purely internal matter.

And now Miss Ferris has passed on, I
think we'll leave it at that, don't you?

Resume, gentil, vite, vite.

Heads erect.

Baby, not a sack of potatoes.

What's the point?

It's what Nanny'd do.

Yes, but you need to know that Nanny's
doing it right.

New timetable. I'm down for art.

Just got the hang of one subject and now
I have to bone up on another one.

Merci, Missy.

Merci, Marcel.

And I've got to take over conversation
skills and floral display.

You know what Max Valentine said?

I've just got the hang of one subject,
then I have to bone up on a mother one.

He meant other.

It's actually the old parapraxis, madam.
Slip of the tongue revealing

unconscious desire.

Exactly. Or maybe these dolls triggered
thoughts of his mother.

You got that ten bob handy, madam?

You've cracked the code, George. Well,
the most common letter in the alphabet

E. In the diary, it's F or possibly T.
So if F or T equals E and we change

third vowel... You don't know what
you're talking about, do you?

Not a clue, madam. You're being too
complicated. If F equals E, let's assume

that each letter corresponds to the one
behind. B equals A, C equals B.

In which case, this reads... Mad, bad...

And dangerous to know, as Lady Caroline
Lamb said of her lover, Lord Byron.

Thank you.

Supposition. The mysterious Miss Ferris
had a secret lover.

Hence the code.

Secret because he's a member of staff.

Max Valentine.

I'll search his room. You keep him busy.
See if you can find anything in his

wallet.

And George.

Go carefully.

I first saw the original of this when I
was on holiday in Paris with my late

husband and his mother, who said, if
he's the thinker, I wonder what he's

thinking. To which my husband replied,
probably wishing he'd worn a vest.

At that moment, I knew my marriage was
doomed.

Life is just a bowl of cherries. Don't
be so serious.

Life's too mysterious.

You work.

You say you worry so, but you can't take
it all This is very good of you, sir.

I used to love painting in the nipper.

Walls, mainly.

I'll never again.

Life is just a bowl of cherries So live
and laugh when it falls

birthday love from M.

This is supposed to be a life class.

Miss Ferris promised us a male model.

Well, I do have a copy of a small
sculpture by Rodin in my room.

Anything beats bananas.

Well, if I can do two. No, sir.

No need for a sculpture, surely.

Oh, why? Are you volunteering your
services?

Certainly not.

In that case, I'll get my sculpture.

Well, I mean, on second thoughts, if it
would help.

All that meat and no potatoes Just ain't
right like green tomatoes

Here I'm waiting

Palpitating with all that meat and no
potato.

Did you need me, madam?

No. No, no, no. You're all right. Take
your time.

Thank you, ladies.

Bye,

Miss George.

Thank you, Miss George.

Bye, Georgie. Thank you, George.

I'm burning this lot.

Not! I like this one by Plum.

Interesting perspective.

I'm afraid I didn't manage to nab his
wallet. I went to a slight shorty of

hiding places.

France 10, and an Italian passport with
a photograph of Max Valentine, but

bearing the name Massimo Valentino.

What about his room?

Nothing, except a book of poems given
with love by somebody whose name begins

with M.

Mona Bonti. Yes?

Just thinking aloud, would you give this
to Mr. Valentine? He seems to have got

it.

No, please, I don't want to know.

Is that the Italian embassy?

This is Mr George Moody, headmaster at
Hadley Heights Academy.

I'm checking up on a countryman of
yours.

Applied for a position here. Mr Massimo
Valentino, can you help?

Yes, yes, of course, I'll hold.

Excuse me.

Yes, a grand seat for you two. Thanks,
bye.

I asked George to telephone for some
clothes.

I hope you don't mind.

That's a really top -notch idea, sir.
You ought to patent that.

Dear Miss Ferris, we have pleasure in
enclosing your boat ticket, final

destination, Madagascar. Jenna's
Bookshop. Dear Miss Ferris, we beg to

you the book you ordered is ready for
collection.

Postmarked yesterday.

Poor Miss Ferris.

Poor Miss.

Indeed. May I see the book she ordered?
I hardly think so. She was a very

private person.

And now she's a very dead person.

The Well of Loneliness by Radcliffe
Hall. No wonder it's wrapped.

Not book, is it? No, but it is banned.

It's about love between two women.

Oh.

Assuming Miss Ferris' secret love, mad,
bad, dangerous to know, wasn't a man but

a woman...

Judging by her reaction, I'd hazard a
guess at Mona Bunting.

That could be her who took those holiday
films.

But then she did give those poems to Mr
Valentine with love.

Maybe she buttered her bread on both
sides.

Pardon? Question.

If Mr Valentine was in love with Mona
Bunting but discovered she was also

involved with Miss Ferris, could he have
been driven to murder out of jealousy

or even disgust?

Morning, Doctor.

All ready for you.

And I've slipped in some extra
postcards.

Thank you, Mr Jedder.

Good day.

Might I inquire what the doctor bought?

Not sure he'd want me to say, madam.

Pity.

All these imported books and postcards
you sell, aren't they the kind the

would be rather interested in?

If you must know, he bought Practical
Hypnosis by Dr Jürgen Van Gelder.

And a book on sexual manners.

What Mrs Bradley's getting at, Mrs, are
you... I mean... How exactly

do you butter your bread?

Are you in love with Mr. Valentine?

And were you also involved with Miss
Ferris?

I've been looking for that.

If there was a menage a trois, it might
have a bearing on her death.

Please try and understand.

As far as Mrs. Simms is concerned, even
a conventional romance means instant

dismissal.

Anything at all unorthodox would lead to
utter ruin.

Was Mr Valentine aware of you and Miss
Ferris? Or indeed, vice versa?

Not as far as I know.

I assume you're the M who gave Mr
Valentine a book of poetry.

Then you assume wrongly.

Are you aware that Mr Valentine is using
a false identity?

That's what we'd like to know.

Why did you lie to me?

Not clear.

Keep young and beautiful.

Get your beauty to be beautiful.

Keep young and beautiful.

Come on, lady, lovely legs. Put her back
into it.

Reach,

girls, reach.

Well done, Abbeville.

Festo, festo.

I've been through the entire register,
madam. Girls and staff. Mona Bunting is

definitely the only end.

Perhaps it's the nickname.

Weren't you wearing your brooch when we
arrived?

The fool Magpie had swooped again. No
blaming Miss Ferris this time.

Telegram for Mr Moody.

I didn't know we had a new headmaster.

Are those Clementine's parents?

Yes, they're taking him on a picnic.

We're having champagne.

Confidential, Signor Massimo Valentino.
Not recommended for employment at your

academy.

Well done, George.

What do they call that in Pontefract?

Picking a lock, madam?

Well, well.

A suspect in several major jewel
robberies in Venice.

Our friend Mr. Valentine was tried, but
acquitted.

No wonder he came over here and changed
his name. But why keep all these papers?

Ego, George.

Everyone loves to see their name in
print.

But if Miss Ferris found out he's not
who he says he is... He'd want to keep

quiet. And we've just told Miss Bunting.

Matt!

Talk to me!

How dare you call me a thief! Epple,
sir!

Manners maketh man.

Goodbye, Signor Valentino.

I suppose it was you that told Mona
about my past.

Yeah? Well, the allegations were untrue.

And if you've got some crazy notion that
I murdered Miss Ferris, that's nonsense

as well.

I don't recall accusing you of murder.
I'll tell you who you should be talking

to. Dr. Sims.

Dirty old goat. He's been trying his
luck with Miss Ferris for months. If you

ask me, she was going to report him to
the chairman of the governors. But she

never got the chance, did she?

Exactly who we're looking for, madam.

Anything to tell us more about Dr. Sims.

Help!

I think I can smell gas from the kitchen
and the door's locked.

See you, Mr. George.

What's going on?

George, get the police.

Agnes, this is... Inspector Christmas,
Scotland Yard. Tell him what you told

I was just after some bickies, but the
kitchen was locked and I smelt gas.

So? You broke down the door and then you
arrived, is that right, sir? I was on

my way to get some water and I heard
Agnes shouting for help.

I'm sorry, I can't bear the guilt I
poisoned Miss Ferris.

You're quite sure this is Miss Bunting's
writing?

Positive. Her application to be deputy
principal.

Identical handwriting.

I understand she and Miss Ferris were
rivals for the position.

Is that relevant?

Motive of a thought, I suppose.

May I ask why you didn't report the
death of Miss Ferris as suspicious?

I was convinced it was just a heart
attack.

But you thought there was more to it,
madam.

I had my suspicions, yes.

And Miss Bunting's death, in your
opinion?

Suicide, as far as one can see.

Prompted by the despair of being forced
to disguise her true self.

Intense guilt at having murdered her
lesbian lover.

Suicide could have offered her an end to
her torment.

Could have?

You're not entirely satisfied.

It takes a lot to certify me, Inspector.

Did you say lesbian?

Indeed I did.

It doesn't do to deny one's nature,
whatever that may be.

Open and shut, as far as I'm concerned.
Just the way I like it.

And a chance to meet you.

Quite a bonus, ma 'am.

I've read all your books, and I found
your lecture on murder in marriage

fascinating. How kind.

If I can ever be of assistance.

Henry Christmas.

Unusual name.

Novelty wears off, believe you me.

A real pleasure, Mrs. Bradley.

Good day. Goodbye.

Charming man.

Charming. If you say so, madam.

Does anything strike you as odd, George,
about the suicide?

In what way?

Are we really to believe that two
teachers are dead because of petty

And Max Valentine up and about in search
of water for the second night running.

He seems a remarkably thirsty young man.

So you think someone could have knocked
her out, then put her head in the oven?

Before locking the door and climbing out
of the window.

But what about the suicide note?

Easy enough to fake a handwriting, a
sheet of tracing paper, steady hand,

your uncle.

If so, hypothesis.

Whoever murdered Miss Ferris also killed
Miss Bunting.

Then faked her suicide and her
confession to throw us off the scent.

Anything watermarked. Looks like the
Colosseum in Rome.

I think it's time we took a look at the
staff files.

Find out exactly who we're dealing with.

Vicky George?

Yes, madam.

Madam, but this etiquette malarkey. If I
were going to a wedding, how would I

address the eldest son of an earl? Do
you attend many society weddings? Fair

point. But would it be Lord Housyfather
or the Honourable Housyfather?

Oh, I really can't remember.

Well, would a gentleman escort a lady
into dinner on this side or this?

A gentleman would know.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

The answer to your question is, Mr.
Howes, your father, would be a Viscount.

My question is, why would Mrs. Sims keep
a secret photograph of Max Valentine?

Do you know, madam, the word paramour
springs to mind?

I was hoping it would, George.

My second question is, what is he
tearing in half?

Certificato. Italian for certificate.
And you can just make out the letters Z

-O -N.

Zion? Some sort of Jewish connection?

You're a liar. I did not steal your
stupid crucifix. You were the only one

the dorm alone.

If you don't give it back... I can't. I
haven't got it.

Oh, and trust you two to stick together.

I know all about you two.

You're disgusting.

And you're a snob and a bully.

I hate you.

I'll see you later.

Lonesome creature.

She's always picking on me.

Probably, because you're a scholarship
girl.

Is it that obvious?

I notice you darn your stockings just as
I did.

You and I, Plum, we're birds of a
feather.

But you're as rich as Rockefeller. Oh,
my family was rich.

Until my father decided to invest in a
gold mine in Basuto Land.

A word of advice, Plum. Never invest in
Basuto Land?

Precisely. Everything I have, I've
earned.

And the one valuable lesson I learned
from all the...

Bullying and snobbery I suffered from
here. Whether it can make you weep, or

can make you strong.

She's done enough weeping. Her parents
died when she was six.

Influenza. Who looked after you, miss?

Nuns in an orphanage. If you can call it
looking after.

But soon, we're going to be one big
happy family.

How so?

My parents are adopting Plum.

By Christmas, Daddy says.

Real life sister.

Best present ever.

Congratulations. I know, I can hardly
believe it myself.

What then?

How do you mean?

Dreams, ambitions.

Monte Carlo, or a flat in London, and
lots and lots of parties.

What more could you want?

I want to be a writer.

All I can remember about my father was
him saying, Read, girl, read.

Books contain all the treasures of the
world. She locks herself away, hours on

end, writing her precious novel.

And not full.

How enterprising.

I don't suppose you'd have a look?

Give me a few pointed.

I'd be delighted.

Ah, a perfect life. Thank you.

If not too bad, perhaps you could show
your publisher.

Perhaps.

I know about you two. You're disgusting.

What do you think that Agnes girl meant,
madam?

I should have thought that was fairly
obvious, George.

What?

Young girls like that?

In my day, it was called having a pass.

Short for passion.

Tell them a lifelong state of affairs.

Right, madam.

Not necessarily.

What a delightfully loose crowd.

Do you know where the tango first
originated, George?

I've no idea, madam.

In the brothels.

Buenas tardes.

Opposed to the former Mrs. Moody at a
dance.

Not Buenos Aires, of course.

Fazing Stoke.

Happy birthday, my darling.

Wonderful. Perfect.

Not what you think.

And what do we think, madam? With
birthday love from M. It's not how it

No. Because M stands for mother, doesn't
it?

Which accounts for your Freudian slip
the other day.

I have really no idea what you're
talking about.

This is... Oh, you've been looking
through my things.

I've been looking for a murderer in all
the wrong places.

Z -I -O -N. It's not Zion. It's part of
an Italian word.

Adolfioni.

You were tearing up your certificate of
adoption.

It broke my heart.

When you're 17, working in a foreign
land, and find you're expecting a baby,

what choice do you have?

The father was your employer, I take it?

A businessman from Naples, married to
the Countess Amanda.

I was governess for their children.

I thought it was love.

He said so often enough.

But when I told him I was expecting his
baby, he called me Portola.

I was packed off to their country house
until the baby was born, then back to

England alone.

But you don't have an Italian accent.

My father lost interest when I was six
months old.

He paid an English family to adopt me.

It took me 15 years to track my boy
down.

Now I take him to lunch like this every
birthday, just the two of us.

And, uh, the robbery in Venice.

I was there on holiday. It was a simple
case of mistaken identity. But the

people do love to talk. So Mrs. Sims, my
mother, gave me a fresh start.

And Massimo Valentino became Max
Valentine.

Who else knows your secret?

No one.

Dr. Sims reminds me somewhat of the
ancient mariner.

Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to
drink.

Whether or not he'd fallen overboard
remains to be seen.

This is the one that will make my
fortune.

If you'd like to press the little black
button... Oh,

look at that.

That's my government seat.

That isn't the best thing since... Well,
since I don't know what.

No, thank you.

I've been talking to your local
bookseller, Doctor.

He told me of your particular area of
interest.

Hypnotism.

Oh, yes.

Yes, a fascinating field.

Most people read Van Gelder on the
subject, but personally I think Slegman

more to offer.

Yes, I've been experimenting with it as
a cure for phobias and other conditions.

Really? Such as?

Well, nightmares.

Young Plum Fisher suffered very badly
when she first arrived, but three or

sessions seemed to do the trick.

Who else did you treat in this way?

I really couldn't say.

Almost time for your lecture, I believe.

Was Miss Bunting one of your guinea
pigs?

I'm sorry, I can't discuss patients.

Not even dead ones?

I can be very discreet when the occasion
demands.

Miss Bunting had certain sexual
proclivities of which she was deeply

And powerless to resist.

Oh, yes, yes. She wanted a cure.

Underwent several sessions of hypnosis,
but to no avail.

Were you aware that Miss Ferris shared
these same lesbian proclivities?

Not until you mentioned it, no.

Did you ever use hypnosis on Miss
Ferris, sir?

Yes, but that was for something entirely
different.

Was it a physical or a psychological
disorder?

Really, Mrs. Bradley, it goes against
the grain to discuss patients.

Well, we already know she had a severe
heart condition, sir. Yes, and I told

she had to be very careful from now on.

May I see Miss Ferris's case note?

You broke the bad news about Miss
Ferris' heart condition.

There was no one else in the room, I
take it? Of course not.

But there could have been an
eavesdropper outside.

It's possible, I suppose.

During that same consultation, did you
discuss Miss Ferris' other problem, the

one detailed here?

Yes, I hypnotised her. In fact, she was
adamant that nothing should interfere

with her holiday plans.

Madagascar. I beg your pardon?

She was going to Madagascar.

Madagascar, a lush tropical island off
the coast of Africa, famed for its

distinctive evolution of flora and
fauna, including some of the world's

spiders.

Message from Miss Sims.

Everyone's here, ready when you are.

Mrs. Bradley?

Thank you.

Why don't you come and sit down?

I'd like to talk to you about your book.
It's very good.

Thank you.

I have a theory about why some people
write fiction.

They want to impose some sort of order
on the chaos of the world to create

the neat, happy ending that life
stubbornly refuses to provide.

And we all love a neat, happy ending,
don't we?

Yes.

Especially a girl like you.

Yes.

Why don't you close your eyes for a
moment?

Just for a moment.

Good girl.

This will probably be much longer.

Hard to say, madam.

And upon a time there was an angry
little girl, furious with the world,

especially her parents for leaving her
all alone.

She knew they couldn't help it, but she
was still angry.

And the anger was so deep she didn't
even know it was there.

There were many things she didn't
understand, why she had terrible

and a compulsion to steal things she
didn't even want, but had to have.

Then, one day, she was caught red
-handed.

You little thief!

Who said that?

Miss Ferry.

He saw me take Clementine's ring.

And threatened to tell her parents. She
can't do that.

The adoption's about to go through.
She'll ruin everything.

But who's going to stop her?

I am.

Where are you now?

Shh. I'm outside the study,
eavesdropping on the doctor and Miss

She's got a very bad heart.

No sudden shocks, or else... Or else
what?

She'll die.

And there's something else, isn't there?

She's scared of spiders.

No, more than scared.

She's absolutely petrified.

Three little maids from school are we.
Three little maids from school are we.

Three little maids from school are we.

What now?

I'm watching the Mikado.

And where is Miss Ferris?

In the dressing room.

But the door is locked.

Yes. No escape.

The perfect murder.

Not bad for a scholarship girl.

Everybody's waiting.

What was it your father said about
books?

Books contain all the treasures of the
world. Why?

I believe this is your crucifix, miss.

Yes.

And my watch.

And my brooch.

My purse.

Don't look at me.

That's my crucifix, remember, and my
watch, both stolen.

Or so you said, Miss.

Well, anybody could have put those
there.

Just as anyone could have forged Miss
Bunting's suicide note.

One fatal mistake.

The Coliseum watermark, identical to the
watermark on all 206 pages of your

manuscript.

That's all I wanted.

So much it hurt.

How could I let Miss Ferris ruin my one
chance to be happy?

Haven't I been through enough?

Well, haven't I?

Try not to be too hard on her,
Inspector.

She's a very disturbed young woman.

I'll do my best, ma 'am.

I do hope we meet again.

Goodbye. Goodbye.

I'm not trying to justify what she did,
merely to understand it. She craved a

family and acceptance in what passes for
polite society.

But society is changing.

Last year, we women won the right to
vote.

Amelia Earhart flew the Atlantic.

Who knows? One day, a woman might be
prime minister.

I was expelled from Hadley Heights.

Had I stayed, I might well have come to
believe in home, harmony, humility, and

gone on to lead a life of jam -making
and gin rummy and chalfonce and childs.

So, girls, before you settle for the
little life, remember,

the world is now your oyster, and
provided you believe in yourselves...

There is nothing you cannot achieve.

There's bound to be some rather lurid
publicity, I'm afraid.

Who will...

And you know, Mrs. Bradley, some of us
rather like the little life.

Winifred?

Not exactly birds of a feather after
all, eh, madam? You and Plum.

No.

Apparently not.

Come on.

I suspect we've somewhat outstayed our
welcome.

Well, we haven't visited anything to go
by.

Apparently the Japanese have a saying.

Visitors are like fish.

They begin to stink after three days.

Clever people, the Japanese.

All set.

I've tied it to the back. Thank you.

Arrivederci. Goodbye.

Tied what to the back, madam?

Oh, nothing. Just a little souvenir.

Next time on Mystery.

Winter Central English Village.

Not the first place one associates with
murder, but consider. What else is there

to do but die of boredom?

I think we have our pillows.

Not too obvious, don't you think?

Diana Rigg stars as Mrs. Bradley on
Mystery. Murder is no business for a

You should be at home.

Throwing yourselves under horses and
tying yourselves to railings.

The Mrs. Bradley series is available
from WGBH Boston Video. To place an

please call 1 -800 -255 -9424.

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, I'd be
lost without you.

Most men tell love tales, and each tale
dovetails. You know each no way,

this way.

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