All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S09E12 - Unlucky in Love [1080p]

Thomas.
Those are for the guests.

So, what am I?

Well, it's my new business,
so you are the help.

They should be finished.

Oh, don't worry
about it, Margaret.

Everything will be fine,
I'm sure.

Just lend a hand
where it's needed.

And keep an eye
on those milling about.

I don't want anything stolen.

Here they are.

Hurry along, Thomas.

Hello!

Bloody woman.

Hello, Mrs. Cummersworth.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Everything is in order,
I assure you.

Thank you.

Just this way.
Don't want the groom to see you.

Thank you.

Thomas Brackenreid.

Samuel Birkett.

The bride's side, I take it?

- Most definitely the bride.
- Most definitely?

The groom's a pompous windbag.

Always rapping that cane
as if he were a sergeant.

Says he was injured in the war.

I wager
he's never seen a battlefield.

I was in Afghanistan.

Were you, now?

"Writing class to be
taught by renowned novelist.

Signed book by author to be
included in price of class.

Bring writing sample."

What do you think, Henry?

Well, I suppose
it would depend on the teacher.

I'm the teacher.

You think writing one book

qualifies you
as a writing teacher?

I do.

Now, I signed 20 copies
of "Curse of the Pharaohs."

Hopefully that will be enough.

I'd imagine so.

Sir.

Shouldn't he be walking by now?

I have no idea, sir.

Perhaps he's slow.

I mean, I... wouldn't worry
about it, sir. I...

My mother said I didn't walk
till I was almost 3.

Will you love him, comfort him,

honor and keep him
in sickness and in health,

and, forsaking all others,

be faithful unto him
as long as you both shall live?

I will.

Elizabeth Cummersworth
and Oliver Pym,

having witnessed your vows
of love to one another,

it is my joy to present you

to all gathered here
as man and wife.

You may kiss the bride.

Ladies and gentlemen...

- Help him!
- Please, sir, stand aside.

Oh, my.

May be an idea
to start planning the funeral.

Oh, gosh.

His skin is pale, and his eyes
are cloudy with dilated pupils.

There are contusions
on the palm of his hand.

His hair is slightly singed.

I've already told you, Doctor.
I was there.

The poor sod was electrocuted.

The question is, was it
accidental or deliberate?

William, where's Roland?

I've left him in excellent care.

Pbht!

Uh, where are you going, George?

I'm off to see my students.

Well, you're
not gonna leave me with...

Try not to let him outsmart you,
Higgins.

Thank you.

My condolences.

Why are you still here?

I'm trying to determine
the exact cause

of your husband's death.

Hardly matters now, does it?

Wouldn't you want
to know the reason why?

I know what I need to know.

Are we almost done here?

I'm going to need to have
everything cleared away

as soon as possible.

- Mrs. Cummersworth.
- It's Pym now.

Oliver died
after the vows were taken.

Mrs. Pym.
May we have a word?

What would you like to know?

Is there anyone you can think of
who might want

your husband dead?

Not a soul.

Is everything all right?

Quite.

And you are?

Judith Baxter.
A friend.

I was the lady of honor
in the wedding party.

They've laid out some tea
for us.

Was there anything else?

We do have more questions.

Can they not wait?

This woman is newly bereaved.

Of course.

Then you'll excuse us.

We'll need to return
the wedding gifts immediately.

And, of course, we'll need
to make funeral arrangements.

- The grieving bride.
- Yes.

She doesn't seem terribly
affected by her husband's death.

No, she does not.

The groom
then kisses the bride.

- Figuratively.
- Ah.

They both turn
and head down the steps.

No.
No, they didn't.

The groom
called everyone to attention.

Right.

These lights are powered
by this electrical wire,

which seems to enter the altar
up along this pillar.

Now, there's
a significant puddle here.

This planter
appears to be responsible.

It's been over-watered.

This one isn't.

So, the deceased
was stood in a puddle

when he went to make his speech.

And the bride wasn't.

But, sir, have a look at this.

This wire
has been stripped bare,

allowing it to make contact
with the assembly

and electrifying it.

So, the groom raised his cane,
made contact with it,

and his body closed the circuit.

If the bride or daughter
had anything to do with this,

they likely
would have needed help.

Why is that?

You don't think women
are devious enough to murder?

Are we gonna get started?

Yeah.
Right.

We already know your name.

And we paid for two full hours
of instruction.

It's already five past 7:00.

So you'll be going
to five past 9:00.

Very well.
Um, right.

Why don't we begin with you
telling me a bit about...

start with each of you telling
me a little bit about yourselves

and what you hope to achieve
from the class.

You must be Eunice.

No flies on him.

Thank you.

I would like
to write my memoirs.

My life has been
full of mystery and romance.

Excellent.

Excellent, Eunice.
That's very intriguing.

Uh, you, sir.

- Howard?
- Yes.

I plan on writing cowboy stories

and selling them
to the weeklies.

I hope to make a living at it.

Oh, excellent.
Write what you know.

I take it you've spent
some time on a ranch.

No.

Did you spend some time
in ancient Egypt?

No.

Then why do you say,
"Write what you know"?

All right, that piece of advice

comes from none other
than Mark Twain...

a man I have met personally.

Well.
Bully for you.

Perhaps you could get him
to teach the class.

I'm so, so very sorry I'm late.

I apologize.

It's just, it's been
tremendously exciting

to be in Toronto
for the first time.

The clothing stores.
My word!

I went out for one little thing,
and two hours later,

well, you can see the trouble
I've gotten myself into.

Uh, no need to apologize, miss.

Where are you coming from?

I hail from Cavendish,

the most beautiful town
in all of Prince Edward Island.

Well, you've come
a long way, then.

I trust your purpose

wasn't solely to attend
my writing class?

Well, no, indeed, it was not,

but I thought this class might
do me some good while I'm here.

I've had some success
with short stories and poetry,

but I'm very keen
to crack the novel form.

Very good.

What's your name?

Lucy Montgomery.

But friends and family
call me Maud.

Whose idea was it
to run the electrical lights

around the altar?

The wedding planner's.

The woman wanted a spectacle.

I guess she got it.

Had you any previous experience
with such lights?

A light is a light.

And a wire is a wire...

unless that wire has
deliberately been stripped bare.

If the wire was damaged,

it was the fools who built
and decorated that altar.

We were exceedingly careful.

We always are.

That's why we're the best
in the business.

The electrician believes

you may have damaged
the electrical wiring.

Well, he doesn't know
what he's talking about.

We completed our work
before the wiring was done.

I would not over-water
the plants.

That arrangement
was extremely sensitive.

You couldn't have made
a mistake?

Are you questioning
my professionalism?

You took a keen interest

in Mr. Pym's metal cane.

I didn't know you were a copper.

I never offered.

Did you know that metal
conducts electricity?

- No.
- Are you sure about that?

I don't know anything
about electricity.

And if I was gonna kill him, I
would have done it face-to-face.

Why?

Because...

Elizabeth deserves better.

We might want
to consider something.

What's that, sir?

Well, that
it was just an accident.

None of that lot seem to have
the spark to electrocute a man.

Perhaps.

Did you get that?
Spark?

Yes.
Very good, sir.

Gentlemen.

How were your suspects?

Clean as a whistle.

Take a look at this.

- Can I hold him?
- Of course.

I was speaking to a woman
at the Suffrage Association

about Elizabeth's wedding
and her husband's demise.

And her response?

"Oh, no.
Not again."

Five husbands?

Elizabeth née Drabble.

Married the first time in 1884

to Paul Durrell,
22 years of age.

He died
in a fall off of a bridge.

Number two...
Lucas Gibson in 1887.

Died in a hunting accident.

Seven years later
to one Thomas McEwan.

His charred remains

were found in a fishing lodge
that burnt down.

Her most recent last name

came from Bernard Cummersworth
in 1898.

He died after a piano that was
being moved fell on top of him.

And now number five,
Oliver Pym, by electrocution.

Elizabeth Pym is either the
unluckiest woman in the world

or one very competent murderess.

I'd wager the latter.

William, with your permission,
I'd like to observe.

Of course.

Uh, sir, if you wouldn't mind...

Thank you.

Promise me you won't grow up
to be like those two.

How about a thimble
full of scotch?

I understand this isn't
the first husband you've lost.

No.

I lost all four of my husbands
prior to Oliver.

You have to admit
that's rather suspicious.

On the face of it.

The only common element
in all of these deaths is you.

I was nowhere near any
of my husbands when they died,

excepting, of course, Oliver,

whom, as you may know,
I was standing next to.

In fact, had he reached out
to touch me at that moment,

I'd likely be dead, as well.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Pym,
these deaths are connected,

and I believe
you are involved in all of them.

Indeed, I am.

They all made the mistake
of marrying me.

And leaving you their money.

If you want to try to prove

that I had something to do
with the deaths of my husbands,

be my guest.

Now...

I have many things
to take care of.

Mrs. Pym,
I'I be needing your fingermarks

before you leave
the station house.

Do you have any objections?

Not a one.

What in the blazes
do you think you're doing?!

How dare you
treat a lady like this?!

That's all right, Samuel.
I agreed to this.

Please wait for me
outside in the car.

That should do, Mrs. Pym.

Thank you for your cooperation.

The woman
is absolutely fascinating.

She makes no effort whatsoever

to hide her lack of feeling
about five dead husbands.

She puts in mind
of that insect species

where the female
consumes the male

right when they're
in the middle of...

...procreating.

Yes.
The female praying mantis

is known to devour her mate
during the sex act,

as is the widow spider.

That's the perfect name
for her...

The black praying mantis.

Only change the "a" "in praying"
to an "e"

because she preys upon...

Thank you, George.

I think
we should focus on the husbands.

I'll look into the fire
at the fishing lodge.

Sir, I'm quite intrigued
by this falling piano.

First thing tomorrow, then.

And perhaps the inspector
will be able to find someone

connected to the hunt club
where Mr. Gibson was killed.

Julia, could you look at
the previous coroners' reports?

Perhaps something
was overlooked.

Of course.

Anything else, George?

Sir, I was hoping
you might be able

to advise me on a little problem
I've encountered.

- Of course.
- As you know,

I've undertaken
to teach a writing class.

Very good.

Well, the samples of the writing
I've received, sir, are...

to put it kindly, uneven.

And I'm not sure
how to give criticism

without unduly hurting
somebody's feelings.

Well, the best advice I can give

is to look
for their positive qualities

and give those equal weight
to your criticisms.

Sir, what if there are
no positive qualities?

- Suggest another occupation.
- Sir.

Why would
one waste valuable effort

on a vocation
for which they have no facility?

"It was 1855
when my husband died.

I was not so sad.

I did not like him.

I was pretty, and
I always liked a handsome boy.

He was not handsome.

But my mother said
he was a good catch.

So I married him.

But I never did like him...

...very much."

The honesty of it
is... Is remarkable.

Admirable, poetic even.

I think perhaps the sentences
are a bit repetitive.

Perhaps it's just your voice.

But, also, I think the content

could be
more colorfully described.

- You don't like it?
- No, I didn't say that.

It's my life story.

Well, perhaps
we need to consider

that not every life story
is worth telling.

Well.

I didn't mean to suggest that.

- I never.
- Oh, please...

I never!

Right,
then who's going to read next?

Where's Mr. Raymond?

He withdrew.

Then I suppose I shall go next.

"It was just after sundown
in the Wild, Wild West.

The man with the black cowboy
hat and the sharp silver spurs

got off his high horse.

Doing evil was on his mind.

He spat on the dusty ground.

He went into the saloon
and ordered a whiskey.

He pulled out his gun.

"Is there anyone here
brave enough to fight me?"

He asked the crowd of cowboys.

Oh, sweet Mother of mercy,
please.

Mr. Howard, stop.
Just stop.

Why are you wasting your time?

Nobody would publish that.

How dare you.
You little sod.

I'm sorry, but it's nothing more
than a collection of clichés.

There isn't a single
original thought in there.

I don't want to encourage you

to waste your time in a vocation
for which you have no facility.

My writing's as good as yours!

I couldn't even
get through the first chapter

of that daft thing
you call a novel.

You're no teacher.

You're a fraud.

Looks like
it's just the two of us.

And what did you think
of my writing, Mr. Crabtree?

Please.
George.

George.

Well, I did think you had
significantly more aptitude

than any of the others.

But there were a few things
I would like to discuss.

I didn't come here to be
coddled, but for honest opinion.

That is
what I'd like to hear from you.

You sure about that?

I am.

All right, then.

Well, seeing
as it's just the two of us,

perhaps we could find
a more comfortable venue

- for our discussion.
- I'd like that.

So...

George...

...what did you really think?

There's no question in my mind,
Maud...

You have a real gift.

How kind of you.

I read
the first several chapters

of this novel
you intend to write,

- this "Anne of Green Gables."
- Yes?

And I think your style
is very good.

Excellent even.

I just wonder
if Anne should be been born

into a more interesting family.

I mean, they're all rather dull,
don't you think?

You might be right about that.

I'll give it
some further thought.

And you do tend go a bit
overboard with the nature stuff.

I mean, nature is terrific,
but after a while,

how many trees and streams
can a reader take?

And it takes so long before
anything actually happens.

And when it finally does,

I find this Anne character's
misadventures are rath...

What's the word?
Um...

Trivial, uninteresting.

And the red hair
and the freckles...

I mean, that's all
a bit overstated, isn't it?

And Anne tends to go on and on
and on about every little thing.

I think you should consider
making Anne a boy.

I mean, that way,
she could have real adventures.

Can we go back
to the parts you liked?

As I mentioned before,

I think your use of the English
language is exemplary.

Since my language skills
are exemplary,

I'll make this short and sweet.

Goodbye, Mr. Crabtree.

I...

Lucas Gibson was with
the Crothers Woods Hunt Club.

His shooting was assumed
to be an accident.

Were they able to determine
which of the hunters' guns

- the bullet came from?
- No.

But the guide
that took them out that day

was the only one unaccounted for
when the victim was shot.

He vanished shortly afterwards.

George?

Sir, I spoke to somebody
at the moving company.

He said when the piano fell
and killed Cummersworth,

one of the movers that day
was a new chap,

and right after the incident,
he disappeared.

How did it fall on him?

Improperly strapped, apparently.

It fell a full five stories.

I imagine
that caused quite a mess.

Oh, sir, the splatter
reached a call box

- across the street...
- Gentlemen.

Please.

Right, Murdoch.
What did you uncover?

Another missing man.

When the lodge
burned down to the ground,

an unknown man
alerted the sheriff.

He was also never seen again.

So there was
a suspicious male present

when each of these
supposed accidents occurred.

And all three times, he
disappeared straight afterward.

What about the first husband?
Was there a missing man there?

Dr. Ogden wasn't able
to find much detail

in the coroners' reports,
except that Mr. Paul Durrell

died from a head injury

sustained
from a fall off a bridge.

- Any mention of a witness?
- Unfortunately, no.

But it does seem likely
that this disappearing man

could all be one and the same.

And our killer.

This picture
shows the six-man hunting party.

There's the guide
that disappeared.

Hard to tell
what he looks like now.

It was 15 years ago.

We have met this man before...

The florist from the wedding...

...and
the grieving widow's accomplice.

How do you account for the fact

that each of your husbands
died after they married you?

How many is it now?
Five?

It's my bad luck, I suppose.

Your bad luck?

They're the ones
who keep on dying.

You're the one
who keeps on getting richer.

Inspector, there's no need
for that kind of tone.

And if you think
you've got such bad luck,

why is it that you keep on
getting married?

That's my prerogative and
really none of your business.

What can you tell us
about Fergus Dexter?

Who's he?

The florist at your wedding...
The most recent one, that is.

She's already told you
she doesn't know him.

I neither hired
nor dealt directly

with any of the workmen.

Talk to
that idiotic wedding planner.

Maybe you hired him
for a less savory job.

If you'll excuse me, I have
a funeral to get ready for.

We're not finished here,
Mrs. Pym.

I am, so charge me or let me go.

Well...

if she won't talk,
perhaps the florist will.

If he's still in town.

Best talk
to the idiotic wedding planner.

Miss Montgomery.

Mr. Crabtree.
Could I have word?

I was hoping
I would see you again.

I really want to apologize.

- As do I.
- No, no, no.

I never should have been
so aggressive in my critique.

And I should not
have asked for a critique

if unprepared to hear it.

Once I calmed myself, I realized
how greatly I could benefit

from your comments on my novel.

I wonder
if we could speak further.

Yes, of course.

Henry.

Tell the detective
I'm taking my lunch.

- Will you cover for me?
- What's in it for me?

A chance to prove your mettle
as a police officer

if the detective calls on you.

After delivering that insult
about his child,

I should think
you want to make amends.

Thomas,
why are you badgering me?

Where did you find
Fergus Dexter?

I didn't find him.
He found me.

He approached me at the mansion.

I have his address in here.

I'm sure.
Let me see.

No. No. No.

Oh, so many papers.

- Here it is.
- Ah.

Excellent work, Margaret.

Come on, Murdoch.

- Thank you.
- Mm.

Remind him he needs
to send me his invoice!

Thomas!

It appears Margaret
may have saved a few bob.

Sir, the bullet
appears to have entered the back

of Mr. Dexter's head,
not the side.

A clumsy attempt to make
a murder look like a suicide.

Interesting
that it happened so soon

after we told Elizabeth Pym that
Mr. Dexter was under suspicion.

Makes it pretty difficult
for him

to answer questions
about his connection to her.

At least we have this.

- Done?
- Done.

Thank you.

Father is off
to find a murderer.

Yeah.

And now
for Elizabeth Pym's fingermarks

in the exact same spot.

A little lower on the left.

There.

All right.

Sir,
what's this contraption here?

It's called
a macro lens attachment.

It magnifies the image

so that I can get
a higher-resolution photograph

of just what I need...

In this case,
the right index fingermark.

A higher resolution.

That means
that you can see more clearly?

- That's right.
- Hm.

That'll be all, Henry.

Sir...

I didn't mean to speak ill
of your son earlier.

No offense taken.

I would be proud
if he would grow up to be

a stalwart young man
such as yourself, Henry.

Thank you, sir.

It bears repeating
that I think your novel

has true greatness in it.

I just think you ought to do
away with some of the dull bits

and flesh out the parts
that are more rousing.

That is sound advice.

And have you reconsidered
making it "Dan of Green Gables"?

Absolutely not.
Why should I?

Half the world
is made up of women.

I suspect there should be
a large readership

for a novel
with a female protagonist.

You make a good case.

By the way, you need to grab
your readers right off the top,

make it exciting.

I think that's the technique
that made my novel successful.

How do you suggest
I accomplish that?

Well, you have
the haunted wood scenes.

They're just buried
a long way in.

Try bringing those
up to the beginning.

And give us some ghosts.

We need to actually see them.

And a dead body.

Maud, a dead body
would go a long way.

People wouldn't be able
to put the book down

if it had all that at the start.

I don't know
about an actual corpse, George.

It's not meant to be
that kind of novel.

Fair enough.
No corpse.

But definitely ghosts.

And they need to do something.

You may be right.

I'm certain I am.

What about a white lady who
walks along the brook at night

who wrings her hands
and utters wailing cries,

appearing when there's
a death in the family?

That's perfect.
Maud, that's perfect.

And then maybe the ghost
of a murdered child

who haunts the woods
and creeps up behind you,

and he puts a cold hand
on your shoulder.

And a headless man...

...who stalks
up and down the path.

And skeletons that glower
from between the boughs.

Headless man?

Have you ever seen
a headless man?

No.
Have you?

I have.
It's quite something.

I think it would be a good idea

if your pen name was to include
all three of your names,

like some of the greats...
Robert Louis Stevenson,

Arthur Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells.

- Louisa May Alcott.
- Exactly.

What
a wonderful thought, George.

I do like the sound of it.

Lucy Maud Montgomery.

You know, it's one of
the great tragedies of my life

that I have only one given name.

I was a foundling, you see,

so my naming
was rather a utilitarian affair.

- You were an orphan?
- Mm.

I was found on the church steps
in an extremely old carpetbag

which held me
and all my worldly possessions,

so I think it's safe to say
it wasn't very heavy.

Did you ever come to know

the mother and father
who brought you into the world?

Yeah, I did meet my mother
eventually.

I remember, as a child,
I used to pretend

that I was really the son
of some great earl

and I'd been stolen away
by a cruel and wicked nurse

who ended up dying before
she had a chance to confess.

What a positively
romantic story.

Were you
terribly sad and lonely?

No, everything worked out
exceedingly well

for me, actually.

Adversity can be
the making of a man.

- George.
- Yes?

Please come closer.

This is a photograph
of the fingermarks

that were taken from the pistol

that was found
in Mr. Dexter's hand.

As you can see,
they're undistinguishable.

But if I overlay
these two fingermarks...

like so...

Now what do you see?

It's the same image.

Precisely.

When orientated correctly,
these two fingermarks

form the one
that was taken from the pistol.

And who do they belong to?

Fergus Dexter and Elizabeth Pym.

Seems like her luck's
finally turned.

We now have proof
that you killed Fergus Dexter.

Don't be ridiculous.

I don't even know the man.

I believe you do.

Do you recognize this?

That's similar to the gun
that's kept in my car.

I assume it's a common weapon.

Well, this one was found
at the scene of the murder.

And it has your fingermarks
on it.

As I've said,
I don't know any Fergus Dexter.

And if that is my gun,

I have no idea how it was used
in the murder of this man.

Now, are we done here?

Far from it, Mrs. Pym.

You knew
that we were onto Fergus Dexter.

So you killed him
before he could implicate you

and made it appear
as though it were a suicide.

I have no idea
what you're talking about.

We can't arrest you for
the murders of your husbands.

But we can prove
that you killed Fergus Dexter.

And that is enough.

I-I don't understand.

He murdered your husbands,
and you paid him well for it.

I did not.

We can prove that Fergus Dexter

was present at all
of your husbands' deaths...

Lucas Gibson, Thomas McEwan,

and Bernard Cummersworth.

But why?

You mean...

you think
someone was responsible

- for all of my husbands' deaths?
- Yes.

And that person is you.

Someone I don't even know
killed all four of them?

Excuse me.

Something
doesn't make sense here.

She very clearly referred
to four murdered husbands

rather than five.

I wonder why.

Which one is she omitting?

Could it be the first husband...
The one who fell from a bridge?

The only one
that Dexter wasn't present for.

Did she kill him herself?

Could I talk to her, William?

Elizabeth...

...tell me about your first
husband, Paul Durrell.

Were you responsible
for his death?

I was.

He died
after falling from a bridge.

Did you push him?

No.

Were you present when he died?

No.

Then how are you responsible?

I told him
I no longer loved him...

that I wanted
our marriage annulled.

I drove him to it.

In his note,

Paul told me exactly
why he was going to do it.

It's all my fault.

I killed him.

Paul Durrell committed suicide?

I knew he was unstable.

He threatened suicide.

But I left him nonetheless.

But there was no suicide note
in the coroner's file.

It was nobody else's business.

I didn't want to shame
his memory any further.

I didn't kill the other four.

I swear.

Elizabeth, do you still have
the note that he left you?

Yes, I do.

I carry it with me to this day.

You started this writing class

as a means of meeting
young ladies, didn't you?

Don't be ridiculous, Henry.

However...

...Maud is
really quite something.

I mean, I feel she not only has
genuine potential as a writer,

but that she's also
my intellectual equal.

Is that supposed to be
a compliment?

You know, I'm having dinner
with her tonight.

I think she could be the one.

The one?

Yes.

Which one?

"Which one?"

And you're certain
about the first husband?

She's provided the suicide note.

Elizabeth Pym was overcome
with profound grief

after Mr. Durrell's death.

Then she experienced
trauma after trauma

as each
of her subsequent husbands died.

And you don't think she's lying?

I don't.

The string of traumas could
explain her detached manner

prior to this.

I suppose it's possible.

At the very least, it gives
some validity to her claim

of having no part
in the other husbands' murders.

If she didn't hire
Fergus Dexter...

...then what motivated him
to kill them all?

And who killed Dexter?

Elizabeth claims the murder
weapon was in her automobile.

Might be time
to have a word with the driver.

I saw the way you looked at her.

I won't deny I'm sweet on her.

I always have been.

But I'm not responsible
for any murder.

Where were you between the hours
of 1:00 and 3:00 p.m. yesterday?

I drove Elizabeth
to her lawyer's office

for the reading of the will.

I was in the waiting room
all the while.

Who else besides Elizabeth

might have had access
to the car and gun?

Well?

This is Dr. Julia Ogden.

She often consults with me
on police matters.

I should disclose to you
that she is also my wife.

How lovely.
You work with your wife.

And what sort of doctor are you?

A psychiatrist.

A charlatan.

You've had experience
with psychiatrists?

You also lost your husband.

Yes.
What bearing does that have?

His name was Edgar Durrell.

Is that right?

What of it?

Elizabeth Pym's first husband
was a Paul Durrell.

We were acquainted shortly
after her first husband's death.

His suicide.

Elizabeth's first husband
was your son, wasn't he?

We know that he was.

The question is,
does Elizabeth know who you are?

That witch killed him.

That must have hurt.

How did you find out
how he died?

Paul sent me a letter.

She'd told him
she was leaving him.

He was very distraught.

I booked passage to Toronto,

but by the time I arrived,
my boy was gone.

She is responsible for that.

And who was Fergus Dexter?

A dalliance, a friend, a lover.

And your own personal assassin.

A fact that he would
have disclosed to me

had I been able
to speak with him.

She killed my son.

She deserved
everything that came her way.

You then killed Mr. Dexter
to cover your tracks...

...and tried to frame
Elizabeth Pym for the murder.

Yes.

So?

All these years.

If you sought revenge, why not
take just Elizabeth's life?

Why kill all those men
who did you no harm?

Because of her,
I lost my only child.

I wanted her pain
to be as enduring as mine.

I wanted to cause her
so much guilt and sorrow

that, one day,
she could bear it no longer

and she would take her own life.

I live for that day.

Well, now you won't see it.

Coming.

I waited for you.

I'm sorry.

May I come in?

George, I must speak with you.

You're
such a robust personality,

I can't help but find you
extremely appealing.

On every level.

Well, that's a good thing.

That's why
I didn't come to dinner.

George, there's no room
in my life

- for another person right now.
- Oh.

I must return
to Prince Edward Island

to care for my grandmother.

My hands will be almost full
with that alone,

and it will be all I can do
to find ample time to write.

We've only just met.

I know.

And that's why
I must end this now.

Romance with you
is extremely tempting.

It's a detour I'm not prepared
to take at this time in my life.

I must devote myself to writing.

Don't despair, George.

Someone of your caliber
will not be on his own for long.

I've rewritten
the first several chapters.

I'd love to hear your opinions.

But if you'd rather not,
I'd understand.

It would be my pleasure...

Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Thank you.

My postal address
is on the front page.

- And, George...
- Yes?

...I don't leave
until the morning.

I will be asked
to speak in her defense.

Of course you will.

She's not of right mind.

That is for the Crown to decide,
Julia, not I.

Oh, Julia.

How long before children
are supposed to walk?

I've no idea.

We should find out.

Henry, listen to this.

"It has all my worldly goods
in it, but it isn't very heavy.

It's
an extremely old carpetbag."

Isn't that how you were found...
In an old carpetbag?

Yes, exactly.

I'm thrilled that she used some

of the ideas
that we came up with together...

The ghost of the murdered child,
the lady in white,

the headless man, and whatnot.

But there's something else here.

What's that?

Well, she's turned the character
into a spunky orphan

found in a carpetbag
who's prone to flights of fancy.

Henry...

Anne of Green Gables is me.