All language subtitles for Bookish.S01E06.Such.Devoted.Sisters.Part.2.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-RAWR_track3_[eng]

Here's to Joe Stalin's next stroke.

Tinkety tonk.

-Who was he?
-Victor... Orr.

I've met him before.
An air raid, '41.

It is true. I switched the glasses,

he drank the poison
meant for one of us.

Nafije and Ruhije.

We'd be ever so grateful if
you'd just keep an eye on them.

This was the third attempt
on our lives

since we left New York.

The first thing you must do
is arrest the cocktail waiter.

And you must bring in
any others on the staff.

- Do you have a reservation?
- Uh, no. My wife does.

Your wife?

Time for a little chat.

What does Jack know?

My wife and I have an arrangement.

That I knew his late father.

Nothing more?

And should we trust you?

Well, I suppose you'll find out...

when the next assassin comes.

Uh!

Hello again.

Hello.

Fizz, for them, I presume?

-Who is it?
- It's me.

Champagne?

We did not order champagne.

Oh!

Oh, my face! Ruhije, I'm hit!

Ah!

Eadie!

Eadie, are you okay?

One more step and I'll...

Well, let's all calm down, should we?

Oh... ruddy hell, that hurts!

-You okay?
-You shot her!

You bloody Carpathian lunatic!

- I thought she had a gun!
- It was a champagne bottle!

Oh, God...

- Am I gonna die?
- It's just a graze.

Luckily for you, Your Royal Highness.

This is a very, very regrettable
incident, Miss...

- Eadie Rattle.
- Miss Eadie,

we live under the constant
threat of assassination.

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

Sometimes we make mistakes
out of fear.

You must forgive us.

Oh, you shouldn't forgive them.
You should press charges.

Don't tell me what to do, okay?
I've had enough of it.

I've simply had enough of it.

We understand, dear.

Do you? Because I've just
ended a shift

that started with a pass
and ended with me getting fired!

- Fired?
- Yeah.

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

What? Why? What for?

Because... someone sabotaged
the boilers.

Tipped linseed oil into them.

Yeah, but why would
they think that that's you?

'Cause I have a motive!

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

And now I've been shot.

- Shot... what's that?
- Morphine tartrate.

I'm not gonna have you jabbing
me like a bloody pincushion.

- It will ease your pain.
- I'll live.

And if you two think that I'm
just gonna hop on the night bus

and say, "Oh, it must be beastly

that your country hates your guts

and you're forced to slum it out
here in the Walsingham.

Well, think again, ladies.

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

You damn well ought to be!

I'll have that morphine now.

Ow!

So, Eadie Rattle,
what do you suggest?

I'll stay here tonight,
in the Royal Suite.

- There are only two beds.
- Then I'll have the biggest.

And I'll have breakfast in it.

I think that's a very modest demand

considering the bullets in the wall.

I know the importance
of the rules of hospitality

in your country.
I've been reading up on them.

That's right, Mr. Book.

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

During the war, many British officers

were parachuted into our territory.

None were betrayed.

- I'll sleep on the sofa.
- Hmm.

Right.

Now, which one of you
is lending me your toothbrush?

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

It's good to see you, Jack.

We lost him.

We never really knew him.

Of course, it was impossible
to predict how he'd react.

- But I was hoping for...
- Sympathy?

Understanding.

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

They get down on a thing
when they don't know

- nothing about it.
- Huckleberry Finn?

Top marks. You can sleep on the left.

Hmm. I like that Eadie.

She's sharp.

- Sharp as Her Nibs?
- The Princess?

Busy day tomorrow?

- Bliss has arrested Guzili.
- Oh?

It's a mistake.

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

- Clever clogs.
- If the shoe fits.

Oh, it's the Dinaric Alps,
by the way.

- Eh?
- It's the Dinaric Alps, my love,

- not the Carpathians.
- As I said, clever clogs.

Book...

This way, Mr. Guzili.

The Inspector's ready to see you now.

Finished with that mug, Sergeant?

Bagged and labeled, Sir.

- We'll return it in due course.
- Take a seat.

Are you going to charge me?

Oh, there's plenty of time for that.

I've said it all already.
It's in my statement.

Oh. Just one thing before we start.

Er, Mr. Book here will be joining us.

He's a specialist.

Mr. Guzili, it's very important
that you use this interview

to tell us the truth.
Because if you don't,

I can't be held accountable
for the consequences.

We know about your affair
with Eadie Rattle.

She's given us a statement.

And in doing so,
has given us a possible motive.

A reason for you to kill Captain Orr.

Because he made a pass at Eadie?

It must happen, like,
three times a day.

What business are you in, exactly?

The antiquarian book business.

I've read the Kanun of Scutari.
Have you?

- I know it.
- Live by it?

It was very important in my village.

Let's start then.

If I said we were going
to give you the third degree,

what would you expect?

- A kicking out by the bins?
- Snake in the Grass.

- What did you say?
- Forget the third degree.

Snake in the Grass.
Come on, I'm waiting.

- Vodka.
- At last.

Crème de menthe, lime juice,
uh, lemonade.

- Where's my ice?
- It went in first.

Are you shaking this drink?

Come on, come on, Mr. Guzili,
this is the Walsingham.

Are you shaking this drink?

I'm stirring it, I'm stirring it.

- Atta boy.
- Atta Boy. I know that.

French vermouth, dry gin,
grenadine, four dashes. Shaken.

And what would you put in a Pansy?

Pansy, pansy, pansy... um... Anisette?

No, no, no, Mr. Guzili.

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

I'd say you're not.

But nor are you a murderer.

Well, what, what makes you say that?

Because he left
a dirty great fingerprint

on the upper part
of one of those glasses.

And a good cocktail waiter,

as well as knowing
how to mix a third degree,

always handles a rock glass...

lower down.

You made the drink for the captain,

which is when you left
your fingerprint on his glass.

But the drink was not deadly.

I'm sorry if this sounds
insulting, Mr. Guzili,

but you have yet to acquire the skill

to poison anyone in a crowded
bar in plain sight.

Particularly with just a few seconds

between the inciting incident
and the crime.

But I'm sure you'll get there.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say

you're already a model employee.

You're going to write me
a reference now, are you?

Why not?

How long have the princesses
been in the hotel?

Four days.

And you'd already noticed

they always reject the first drink.

So, you made it out of tap water.

- Yes.
- Some employers would promote

a member of staff
so concerned about wastage.

Well, Mr. Guzili, ha,
it seems like you can, uh,

go and collect your things.

Our friend here is checking out,
Sergeant Morris.

Very good, Sir.

Well, now what?

Anyone could have got
that hydrochloric acid

into the drink.

And Guzili was too clumsy
to have done it?

As I discovered late last night,

the Kanun of Scutari has very
strict rules about hospitality.

It's taboo to harm anyone
you consider your guest.

Captain Orr was Guzili's guest,
strictly speaking,

and the Kanun is very strict.

Mm. Did it, did it tell you
anything else useful?

Oh, yes.

Insult my wife in front
of the headman of the village

and you owe me a sheep.

If my wife insults you,
I owe you five.

Well, I find it's usually best
if people are just, you know,

sort of nice to each other.

Mm.

You were not in the army, were you?

You know where I was.

Well, no matter.
Straighten your spine, perhaps?

Eh, at the palace, a line
of soldiers would salute us

just on our way into breakfast.

Oh, lucky you.

How the mighty have fallen.

And back then, we weren't always
looking over our shoulders.

We were at home with our own people.

You boy, you must fetch
the inspector.

Why? What's happened?

Another threatening letter.

Well, you've done alright.

They ordered in.

No less than I deserve.

Sure enough.

- Balkan mix, apparently.
- Nice.

See those little gold rings
at the end there?

I'm a Capstan man myself.

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

Well, I thought you had
everything you needed here.

It's a bit rich for my blood.

Hmm.

So, where was Miss Eadie Rattle
when the murder took place?

Uh, having a Woodbine outside,
according to her statement.

Having already administered
the poison?

Meant for the princesses?

According to my intelligence sources,

she's a fully paid up party member.

- Communist?
- Red as Lenin's combinations.

What? So, she might
have wanted them dead?

On behalf of the new ruling
class of Scutari.

Then there's the other sister,
of course.

- Other sister?
- Oh, yes.

There are three of them, Inspector.

Three sisters.

A kingdom divided.

Exiled monarchs, I wonder.

Anyway, Princess Senije
went over to the other side.

So, it could be her striking
a blow for the workers

by assassinating her siblings.

This is where we should be looking.

Uh, in my opinion, Sir.

Oh, yes.

He liked the ladies,
didn't he, Captain Orr?

That's not how I would have put it.

Still, at least we have
his home number now.

- Eh? No.
- Yes, this must be

- his wife, Sylvia.
- How do you know?

She's the only one
without a star rating.

- Oh.
- Yeah, well,

there's another familiar name
in there, too.

Oh.

As you say, Sir. Oh.

M. Barberini, 2nd May, 1940,
Ascot racecourse.

Four stars, passionate Italian,

it's crossed out, but still legible.

- What's it mean?
- Obvious, innit?

Captain Orr didn't just
like the ladies.

He was a bit... queer.

Oh. You mean...

He traveled, as it were,
on the 38 bus and the 43?

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

It's all there in black and white.

- Met at the races, eh?
- Ascot racecourse.

- There is entry after entry.
- Well, motive?

Blackmail, obviously.

Captain Orr threatened
to expose Barberini.

Captain Orr's a married man.
It's all a bit...

It's all a bit far-fetched.

You never know with married men, Sir.

What's your great theory, then?

That would be telling, Sergeant.

- Hm.
- But speaking of Mrs. Orr,

I do think someone
should talk to her soon.

I'll ask Trottie, if I may?

Wives always know.

Whatever husbands think.

Message from that lad Jack, Sir.

Princesses are requesting
another audience.

A Winston Churchill mask.
No.

An RAF flying helmet.

A piccalilli jar filled entirely
with toenail clippings.

- Urgh.
- Yeah.

It's not for the faint of heart,
the life of a chambermaid.

But my dad ran a pub in Bala, so...

I've seen it all.

And what about the murder?

Ah, no. I was outside, you see.

You can't pin Victor Orr on me.

Oh no, I wasn't trying to, honest.

Pity I wasn't there, though.

I would've liked to see
that one go down.

So, you were saying,

you got out of the clink,

and then you went to work
in a bookshop?

- Yeah.
- For Mr. Book?

- Yeah.
- And now you're working

for the Scutari royal family?

Not for much longer, I don't reckon.

I ain't much cop as a bodyguard.

Got anything by Marx?

- Eh?
- In your bookshop.

Das Kapital.

Volume IV.

- Now you're talking.
- Hmm.

So, why'd you leave?

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

No?

Takes all sorts, you know.

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

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

Let me know if you fancy
that Bovril some time, yeah?

"So-called princesses.

My gorge rises as I see you
in the newspaper,

your decadent bones draped in
Madame de Bavière,

which will soon drip
with your filthy blood."

Yes, I can see why you might
feel discomfited.

So, what will you do about it?

My dear lady, why...

You will address me
by my proper title.

Uh, do forgive the Inspector,
Your Royal Highness.

The policeman is often a blunt
tool rather than a diplomat.

- Perhaps I might...
- As I have said,

this is the latest of many.

Dripping with venom.

Our enemies, they are legion.

Can they not let us rest?
Is it not enough

that we are forced to drag
our weary bones

around the world like phantoms?

You speak of the Kanun,
of hospitality.

But what are we to make of yours?

What welcome do we receive
in your famous London?

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

And now, this.

I'll do what I can,

given my limited resources.

Yes, of course,
and we are terribly sorry.

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

Oh, Miss Rattle.

Yes, Mr. Kind?

I heard about
the unfortunate incident.

That's one way of describing it.

I'm okay, but I think
I might indulge myself

a bit more in the cream of society.

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

Meaning?

Their Royal Highnesses.

I'm to put everything
on their account.

- Well, don't spend too much.
- What?

- Nothing. Um, Miss Rattle.
- Yes?

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

Okay, Mr. Kind.

Eadie, can we talk?

I do want to apologize for the
quality of the service today.

The heating is off, the menu is cold.

I'm deeply sorry.

Ismail, none of that is your fault.

Yeah, I'm afraid it is.

It was caused by the three
bottles of linseed oil

that... I stole from your cupboard.

But linseed oil is for polishin'.

I use it for my Newel posts
and my dadoes.

Yes, I know. But I poured it
into the generator.

I didn't poison Victor Orr, Eadie,

but I did poison the hotel.

I was so angry with
myself, with, with that man,

with this place.

So, I just thought...

I'll kill it.

I'm deeply sorry.

I shall confess everything
to Mr. Kind

and you will not
lose your job, Eadie.

Ah.

You.

Me.

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

Of course.

You've just lost your husband.

That boat sailed
a long time ago, Mrs. Book.

And you're not the first of
Victor's conquests to telephone.

If it makes it any easier...

he didn't.

Didn't what?

Conquer.

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

to watch him.

With the latest model.

Madam.

You've read it?

To see oneself here assessed like...

livestock.

Oh, you think he got
what he deserved?

Well, not quite, but...

I mean, what a pig he was.

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

Something with a bit of proper
adulterous passion.

Don't worry, my dear.
I don't really blame you.

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

And I grew used to his adventures.

Numb to them.

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

That sound strange?

My marriage grew cold,

and my life grew cold.

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

So, I'd come here.

Where there was light and laughter.

Usually.

Did you not worry that he, uh,
might see you?

Victor hadn't noticed me in years.

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

Is that how you were able to...

What?

The poison.

I mean, you were there.

You, you handed me that cloth.

It would have been easy for you
to administer it.

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

I pitied Victor.

I didn't despise him.

Then who did?

How was his war?

He did his service in Cairo.

And a stint in the Balkans.

The Balkans?

And before that, he was here.

The home front.

Whereabouts?

Ascot.

Ah, it is you. Would it be...

What does that say?

Death to parasites.

Thank you for coming.

Everything's off.

Kippers, kidneys, kedgeree,
and the radiators.

They're definitely off.

Oh.

There's a selection of cold meat.

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

and do make sure
they're properly cold.

- I abhor inconsistency.
- Sir.

The service, it is appalling.

Well, call me Marie Antoinette,
but I was expecting

the lavatories to flush.

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

You said it was urgent, Mr. Book.

- In a way, yes.
- Are you any closer?

- Closer?
- To finding out

- who tried to murder us?
- No one tried to murder you.

But the letters. The threats.

You sent those.

What? You're mad!

- How dare you!
- Do sit down, Princess.

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

I may be more of a diplomat
than the Inspector,

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

When did you start?

Sending the letters?

Not right away, I imagine.

For a while, it was real.

Oh...

When we fled our country,
there were eyes everywhere.

We feared to eat or drink.

We lived day by day,
shoved into stinking cellars.

The holds of filthy ships.

But the threat was real, Mr. Book.

In New York, we were feted.

They love royalty there, as you know,

precisely because they have
none of their own.

We were invited to all
the right parties,

met all the right people.

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

And nothing more pathetic.

After a time, the invitations
dried up, the parade moved on,

and I realized that we had gone
from being in danger

to something far, far worse.

We had become...

irrelevant.

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

Why would they send assassins
halfway across the globe

to make away with us?

Why would anyone... bother?

But there is glamour in death,
in danger.

And so I began to write
all those letters,

both to us and to the authorities

of whichever poor nation
we were imposing ourselves upon.

I pay a woman here a modest fee
to skulk around the hotel,

dropping them off now and then.

Some suspected your other sister
might be behind those.

She's dead, Mr. Book.

I saw her shot in the face.

The communists
never really trusted her.

And I will not lose another sister.

But then there
was an actual poisoning.

I didn't know what to think.

Nafije swapped the glasses,
as always,

and then... that man, that captain,

lying dead at our feet.

My mind, it raced.

Had it all become real?

But what else could I do
but continue as planned?

It was very well done.

- Thank you.
- Alas, though, the impression

of your sister's pen nibs
is very distinctive.

- Oh, indeed?
- Music nib.

Narrow down-strokes,
broad cross-strokes

- for writing musical notation.
- Ah.

When she's composing those rather sad

and lovely little tunes of hers.

And the references
to your wardrobe, too,

rather specific for a desperate
communist assassin.

Oh, I couldn't help myself.

So, does this mean, then, that...

Captain Orr was the intended victim.

So, I have to ask, Mr. Book,

in the spirit of your
British stories...

Whodunnit?

Well, that is the question,
dear lady.

Hm.

Sir.

I'm not normally a fan
of this sort of thing.

Redolent of the kind of thriller

one finds in W.H. Smith.

However, sometimes it really is best

to gather everyone together.

Unity of place, and all that.

So, on the night of the murder,

Mr. Guzili here set up
a first round of two drinks.

- Yes.
- Which is rejected

by the princesses
and goes down the sink.

Now we come to the brouhaha.

And a new character enters
our drama, Captain Victor Orr,

kindly represented here by Mr. Kind.

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

Well, there's Captain Whatsit,
soaked in Tattinger.

And he's telling me he has
some extra duties for me,

which seem to involve me
going to his room

and leaving with some money.

So, I decline, of course.

And... I'm looking over at Ismail.

I'm looking at him because,

well, I think he might
help me out. Do the decent.

And he doesn't.

What happens next, Eadie?

Well, I'm thinking,
is the Captain gonna hit me?

So, I tell him where to get off.

And then he says something,

I don't know, some threat or other.

I wasn't listening.

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

And then I went outside for a smoke.

Thank you, Miss Rattle.
So, Mr. Guzili then sets up

two more glasses for a new round.

Four Walsingham Sours,

in total.

Three good ones and one,
as we shall see,

about to have an extra ingredient.

But when precisely did one
of these drinks

get a dash of hydrochloric acid?

Princess Nafije,
you tell us that you switched

two of these glasses around.
Which two?

Like this, Mr. Book.

One of ours for one of theirs.

Very good. But you're not
drinking yet, are you,

because you want to see
someone else drink first.

Which is only prudent, only sensible

when there are so many
assassins about.

So, you have to wait
a little while longer

until the distraction is over.

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

This was not a casual murder.

It was very carefully
thought through.

Now, we know the poison
was not in Mr. Guzili's shaker.

We know that Princess Nafije
deserves no reproaches.

All your Royal Highness did
was switch one perfectly safe

and effective Walsingham sour
for another.

In fact, I would suggest
that none of these drinks

would have produced anything
worse than a hangover

until the incident with the coins.

That was the moment of
opportunity for someone here

to poison one of these cocktails.

The one that he was clearly
about to pick up.

Yes, there was no mistake.

Captain Orr had to die.

Why, though?

Do you remember the Arandora Star?

Not our finest hour, I fear.

She was torpedoed by the Jerries.

- Start of the war.
- July 2nd, 1940.

There was a set-to
on board, wasn't there?

A lot of internees
being sent to Australia.

- Canada.
-Canada.

Fighting amongst themselves.

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

In parliament too, Mr. Book.
Doesn't mean it's true.

Indeed.

And, amongst the passengers...

your sister, Maria.

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

16th January, Ascot Racecourse.
Ninth...

So, it was her Captain Orr
met at the races.

Well, there was no racing
during the war.

- Quite.
- Of course, Ascot's where

they put the Regulation 18B lot,
wasn't it?

English Nazis, German anti-Nazis,

ice-cream men,
spaghetti house vendors,

waiters who'd once said
something vaguely complimentary

about the cut of Il Duce's jib.

All put under barbed wire.

An internment camp.

What was the case against
the Barberinis, though?

My parents were born in Italy.

So, someone here claimed
I was a fascist.

Marched me out during service.

Sent up north.

Nobody protested.

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

And your sister?

In 1938, my father said,

"Why not spend the summer
with your Italian aunt?"

Go to the beach with them.

To their campo solare.

Build fires.

Get some fresh air.

They give you a nice little uniform.

Like the Girl Guides, but...

Mussolini's Girl Guides.

Ah.

So, she brought the uniform
home as a souvenir.

Mm.

It was enough for the men from 18B.

There it was in her wardrobe, so...

off she went to Ascot.

She was interned because
of the uniform?

People do take them
terribly seriously.

Well, it worked for Victor.

When he was in his sailor suit,

people did what he said.

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

Rank charm.

That's how he got Maria's name

on the list for Canada.

Perhaps we should be generous.

Imagine he was getting her
out of the camp

to a new life away from the war.

No.

He just wanted a troublesome
lover out of the way

before his wife found out.

And that ship...

was a death trap.

I dream about that.

Those people pushing
at the barricades.

The great wooden Xs
wrapped in barbed wire.

And then the sea coming in
and drowning 'em both.

Both?

Maria and the baby.

His baby.

I knew his name, that was all.

But I couldn't find him.

Mess of the war,
turned everything upside down.

No one was in a great hurry
to help out

an insignificant wop waiter.

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

Victor Orr, my old friend.

I, I can't leave you alone
for five minutes, can I?

Well, the bloody girl
can't take a joke!

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

Walsingham Sours.

For the two ladies.

Uh, for their Royal Highnesses,
you mean?

These are on me, ladies.

The man who took away
my precious Maria.

My beloved sister.

So, I did what had to be done.

I prepared ice.

Special ice.

Oh, oh dear.

So embarrassing.
I do apologize.

Not at all, not at all.

Look after the pennies,

and the pounds will look after
themselves, what?

Well done.

Oh!

It was her birthday, you see?

Maria's birthday.

Would have been.

It seemed, uh, it seemed fitting.

Yes. Yes, it must have done.

And I took the precaution of keeping

some of the poisoned ice.

Tinkety-tonk.

Wait! No!

Just ordinary ice, alas.

I'm afraid I swapped it.

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

But murder is murder.

Marco Barberini, I'm arresting
you on a charge of murder.

You do not have to say anything,
but anything you do say

may be taken down and used
against you in a court of law.

Do you have anything to say?

Oh, by the way, Mr. Kind,

the linseed oil in the generators,

that was me too.

Sorry.

Oh, thank God for that.

Mr. Kind, you wanted a word?

Oh yes, Miss Rattle.

I was thinking about
your position here.

Well, now I know that
you were not responsible

for the incident
with the generators...

- Yes.
- Well, your dismissal

was unnecessarily expeditious.

- Yes.
- Yes,

and I wanted to say I would very
much like to offer that position

back to you.

Well, I accept.

Well, that's all very satisfactory.

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

A ledger?

One with all the comings

and goings of the staff.

Might I see my entry?

It's over there.

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

There I am.

Edith Rattle.

Reason for leaving, sabotage.

Well, let us strike that
from the record.

Thank you, Mr. Kind.

Now, Mr. Kind,

I resign.

- You resign?
- Yes, I resign.

Would you mind putting that
in there for me?

You can't resign!

I believe I just did.

Up the workers.

Up the workers!

All this is quite correct.

Two more, please.

For those people.

Mm. Missing the war, are you?

Well, I don't know
what the etiquette is.

Ooh, I think that's
the Royal Summons.

Your Royal Highness.

For you, Mr. Book. For the book.

Oh, thank you.

- What's that for?
- A hundred guineas.

No, I mean, what's it for?

Oh, our copy of the Kanun of Scutari.

In our trade, it pays to specialize.

- It'll bounce.
- Well, if it doesn't,

I shall give it to the Arandora
Star Memorial Fund.

- Please enjoy.
- Thank you.

What shall we drink to?

To us.

- To the Barberinis.
- Yes.

- To Marco and Maria and...
- All the Barberinis.

The lost and the defeated.

All the Barberinis.

Those who bear the name
and those who do not.

And let there be no more drownings.

Mm.

He got me the job.

Mr. Book.

He arranged for you to take me on.

The princesses were looking
for a bodyguard.

Gabriel asked if I could help.

So, you see, he was looking
out for you.

Despite your falling out.

You know him well?

We go a long way back.

Looking out for me?

Or manipulating me?

Now, why would you think
of it like that?

He sought me out.

Found me when I come out of prison.

Set me up.

Nice job. Nice home.

- Yes.
- Why?

You'd have to ask him that.

I ain't a monster, Mr. Kind.

I, I'm grateful, of course I am.

It's just...

It's a lot, you know?

Their setup.

The way they are, Mr. and Mrs. Book.

The way he is.

It's hard for me to just...

accept it.

Do you have a moral objection?

Me?

What right do I have to moralize?

I think you've answered
your own question.

Book is kind.

I mean, I know I'm Kind.

Edmund Kind.

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

There's no sinister motive, Jack.

They want to help.

Why don't you let them?

With you in just one moment.

Hello again.

Oh, Mrs. Goodwin.

- Jean.
- Jean.

After more of the same?
The Pimpernel?

I'm not really sure.
I, I think I fancy

something a little different.

- Your husband not with you?
- No.

- The golf course?
- No.

The Garrick?

The divorce courts.

Oh.

Oh.

That play you gave me,

A Doll's House. Most illuminating.

Like you suggested,
it rather made me think.

Yes, I thought it might do.

Made me realize how narrow
my horizons have become.

Or rather, how narrow Gerald
had made my horizons.

Love doesn't always
last forever, alas.

Oh, I never loved him.

Awful man.

But that's all in the past now.

Or in the hands of my solicitor, anyway.

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

- What have you got on travel?
- Travel?

Lots of it. Heaps of it.

Exotic travel.

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

I've got just the thing.

With you in just one moment, sir.

Thanks.

- I know you run on it.
- Without tea, I am merely...

Un-reconstituted dust.

Ha.

It's hard to let go
of the past, Mr. Book,

when you have so many
questions about it.

Such as?

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

well,

I'd be sleeping on the Embankment.

But now I have a position...

if it's still available.

Their Royal Highnesses
have let you go?

No, I quit.

Good for you.

Yes, the job's still yours.

So, I've got a position.

Cozy little room...

above a bookshop on Archangel Lane.

I'm thinking...

why me?

Your father gave me this...

the last time I saw him, 1935.

The last time?

He died...

soon after.

I couldn't face looking at this book.

Not for years.

And then the war came and I was busy.

Rather busy.

It was only a few months ago
that I picked it up again.

Dared to pick it up.

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

What d'you mean?

"Oh somewhere, meek,
unconscious dove,

that sittest ranging golden hair,

and glad to find thyself so fair,

poor child,

that waitest for thy love."

He's trying to tell me, you see,

about you.

About the son I never knew he had.

It must have been taken around
when you were conceived.

Felix.

Felix?

I never had his name.

Just that.

Just that one picture.

Your father was a German.

German?

Prussian, in point of fact.

And what was he to you, Mr. Book?

What was Felix to me?

He was everything, Jack.

He was what the war took away.

He was the whole damn world.

How did he die?

I don't know.

Shall we find out?