All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S11E02.1080p.BluRay.x264-YELLOWBiRD

I'm sorry, sir, but if
you do not have an invitation

- I cannot let you in.
- It must be an oversight.

- I'm afraid not.
- Mr. Firenzo and I

- are lifelong friends.
- That may be.

But it does not change the fact

that you are not invited
to this wedding.

- But...
- And even if you were...

...you are too late.

Mr. Firenzo's son
is now married.

Good day.

Thank you for having us.

Today is a special day,

for it is the day
that a son takes a wife.

It may have taken my son
a long time to find her,

but it was worth it.

Carissima Karina,

it is my honor
to welcome you to our family.

Ah! Bellissimo!

And now to the wine.

Now, Enrico,
you're not working today.

Si, si, amore.

Today we toast
with a very special bottle.

If you bought it with money,

it would have been a pittance,
almost free.

It's the age and the vintage

that have given this bottle
its special character.

Its color...
The blood of noblemen...

...Its bouquet

the scent of the earth...

and its legs...
That of the finest ballerina.

What about the taste, Papa?
When are we gonna have that?

Va bene.

Allow me the honor
of the first taste, no?

Che cavolo!

What's wrong, Papa?

This wine.
It...

Enrico! Oh!

Papal.

Enrico!

He intended to pour
everyone at the head table

a glass from the same bottle.

So someone wanted
the entire wedding party dead.

If the poisoning was by design.

There is plenty of wine
left in the bottle.

Oh, good.

I'll take that.

For testing, of course.

Was it a heart attack?

I'm afraid not.

Then what?

We suspect your brother
may have been poisoned.

By the wine?

But that is too cruel.
Wine was his life.

Please, sir.
We'll be with you in a moment.

And his death, it would seem.

And what side of the family
are you with?

I think we can take them
one at a time, Detective Watts.

It was an attempt
at a witticism.

It certainly was that.

- George.
- Sir.

Once you finish questioning
the remaining guests,

- you can let them go.
- Sir, I've already started.

A terrible shame, sir.

I mean, this happening
on his son's wedding day.

It is, indeed.

I imagine, sir,
it might put a bit of a damper

- on the honeymoon.
- The guests, George.

Sir.

I have no idea
where it came from.

Enrico was the expert.

Papa was
always going on about wine.

None of it meant a thing to me.

It was all rather a bore...

...until this.

He never told me
a thing about that wine.

Enrico.
Poor soul.

I'm terribly sorry
for your loss.

At least he got to see
Ricardo wed before God took him.

I suspect God may have had help.

We believe
the wine was poisoned.

But we were all to drink...

Someone wanted
to kill all of us?

It's possible.

Does your family have enemies?

Don't all families?

This was supposed to be
a blessed day.

Not a cursed one.

You have my sympathies.

Is it really possible that
some fiend wanted us all dead?

I think only your father.

Do you know
where the wine came from?

I would imagine his cellar.

Could you show me?

His cellar
is under lock and key.

And I don't have access to it.

Mm, who does?

Mr. Hatch.
My father's butler.

He shared more of his life
with him

- than he did his own son.
- Mm.

Oh, criminy.

This is amazing.

Please...

- don't touch.
- Oh.

Is that a Le Corton?

1880.

Exceptional.

Mr. Firenzo has bottles
from over 50 chateaus

registered
in the Appellation of 1855.

Good Lord.
May I look around?

Detective Watts.

Are you sure now is a good time?

Of course.
This place is sacred.

Mr. Firenzo thought so, as well.

No one other than he
was permitted entrance.

No one?

Are you sure?

Well, Mr. Firenzo's supplier
comes here from time to time,

but only under
strict supervision.

- Perhaps they shared a taste.
- Hmm.

And his name?

James Merchant.

He's the finest wine provisioner
in all of Ontario.

In fact, all of Canada,
I'd wager.

And how long has he been
providing this service?

Ever since I have been
in Mr. Firenzo's employ.

At least 45 years.

Please, Detective Watts,
do not touch.

Arsenic.

A poison that keeps
its efficacy for generations.

So it could have been added
any time?

Yes.

But if it was meant
to kill Mr. Firenzo,

I imagine
it was added more recently.

After it was opened?

That's for the detective.

Dr. Ogden?

Julia.

Since I've finished
my schooling, I...

You're looking for another job.

Only if you approve.

Well, of course I approve.

Thank you.

Professor Ferguson has been
making inquiries on my behalf.

He seems to think that
there might be a position for me

at Queen of Mercy Hospital.

That's wonderful, Rebecca.

Although I can't say
I won't miss you.

- I haven't got it yet.
- But you will.

Don't be talking
yourself down, Rebecca.

Mr. Desmond.

My girl's gonna be a doctor.

She already is one.

A real one.

Working on live people.

No offense.

None taken.

It would appear
Enrico was unfaithful.

You aren't familiar
with this wine?

"Angolino."

No.
It is unfamiliar.

And certainly not something
I stock.

Can you tell me
anything about it?

It is an old bottle.

The label would suggest Italian,
not French.

I could tell you more
if it was the latter.

Why is that?

Sadly, to understand
the lineage of Italian wine,

you have only your nose
as a guide.

Now, the French, at least with
regard to the wines of Bordeaux,

are much easier to identify.

You are familiar with
the Grand Appellation of 1855?

I can't say that I am.

If this were French,
the label would tell you

exactly where and when
the wine was bottled.

All I can tell
from a bottle of Italian wine

is that it is...

well, Italian wine.

Well, it must be special.

If you say so.

Why do you say so?

It was opened on the occasion
of his only son's wedding.

It may not be special.

It may only have
sentimental value.

Which is worthless.

Also, Detective Murdoch,
if this wine had been of note,

he certainly would
have written about it.

Mr. Firenzo wrote regularly
about wine in The Vine.

He was "The Good Gentleman."

Certainly you have heard of him?

I'm afraid not.

The Vine is a quarterly

dedicated to the appreciation
of fine wine.

Mr. Firenzo, under the guise
of The Good Gentleman,

would pen a column which was
both entertaining and edifying.

If this wine had been of note,

he certainly would
have mentioned it.

George, I need you to find out
where this came from.

Oh, that should be easy enough,
Sir.

I think there are only three
wine merchants in the city.

No.
I mean the winery.

This label
is obviously a painting

of what I believe
to be a winery in Italy,

but there is
no other information

save for the name Angolino.

Get yourself to the library

and see if you can find a winery
matching that name.

Sir.
Right away.

George, I must say, you seem
in rather high spirits lately.

I am...

Don't say a word.

In fact, one more word
out of the pair of you,

and I'll fire you
quicker than Fred Spiksley

scored against the Wolves
back in '96!

Now bugger off
and make me a cup of teal.

Speak to you in a bit.

I think things are
getting back to normal, sir.

The world is in her usual orbit.

Save for Constable Jackson.

Well, I've been thinking
about that, sir.

And I think he died
doing something that he loved.

Serving a cause
that he believed in.

A cause that you and I
continue to serve.

I think
he would have wanted that.

Indeed.

I'll be in touch
upon my return from Italy.

This is interesting.

What's that?

Enrico Firenzo was promising
the unveiling of a scandal...

"the revealing of a charlatan
of the highest order."

A bit flowery.

You're familiar
with this journal?

Oh. I would guess that
any well-bred and informed...

I have many other interests
that don't include imbibing.

Of course.

Who is this charlatan
that The Good Gentleman

was preparing to unmask?

A man by the name
of Baron Trotter.

Interesting.

He's not a real baron.

No, Mr. Hatch, the butler,

said that a Mr. Trotter was
denied access to the wedding.

That makes sense,
especially if Mr. Firenzo

had accused him
of creating illegitimate wine.

Illegitimate?

Counterfeit wine,
Detective Murdoch.

And according to Firenzo,

Mr. Trotter
has been doing it for years.

Right here in Ontario.

"Wine is proof that God loves us

and wants to see us happy."

I highly doubt that.

Oh, you reject the words
of Benjamin Franklin?

Even a clever man
is capable of a bad idea. No.

Wine, like any alcohol,
is a depressant.

It hinders the mind.

Ah, but "in wine,
there is truth."

Pliny the Elder.

Writers and philosophers
are seldom the best of judges.

Especially
when it comes to alcohol.

Well, no one less than
Louis Pasteur called wine

"the most healthful
and most hygienic of beverages."

Is it that you don't enjoy
the taste?

There he is.

Oh, I was aware of the article.

Everyone was,
and it was going to ruin me.

- He was telling the truth?
- Of course not.

But once declared a fraud
by The Good Gentleman,

I would have been powerless
to fight the accusation.

I'd already had
a number of orders canceled.

Being a Canadian wine maker
is not an easy business,

and Mr. Firenzo
is intent on destroying me.

I don't think
you can speak of him

in the present tense any longer.

Mr. Firenzo is dead.

Murdered, we believe.

- He's dead?
- Yes.

Really? Dead?

Oh, that is
the most wonderful news.

Thank you.

Will his article
still be coming out?

I had nothing to do
with the man's death.

Then why were you
at the Firenzo estate?

Mr. Hatch, the Firenzos' butler,

told us he escorted you
off the property.

He did no such thing.
I left of my own accord.

Then why were you there?

I was there to ask him

to reconsider
publishing his column.

So, you are not a fraud?

I didn't say that.

I can create a wine of as high
a quality as any European.

And put it
in fraudulent bottles.

No one would buy
a wine created in Ontario.

I created a fine wine
at a fraction of the cost.

And do you charge
a fraction of the price?

I charged
what the market would bear.

But on my word,
I did not kill the man...

...no matter how happy
I might be that he's dead.

Detective Watts.

Why wasn't I asked
to help with this?

Oh, are you an aficionado
of the grape, Inspector?

Well, I don't mind
the odd tipple

if there's no scotch around.

French?

Produced right here in Ontario,
I'm afraid.

Some time ago, I'd wager.

That's what
we're about to find out.

I'll keep hold of this.

These labels are all new.

They've simply been bathed
in tea

to create the illusion of age.

It's a common
forger's technique.

This label was aged
by time alone.

Also, unlike the labels

from the bottles
we obtained from Mr. Trotter,

this label was affixed with
an adhesive no longer in use.

Current adhesives
are all rubber-based.

This one...

...is fish glue.

So the wine is as old
as Mr. Firenzo said it was.

So it would appear.

Well, then it follows
that the arsenic was added

at the time of its bottling.

- Not necessarily.
- Oh.

This evening?

I most certainly can.

Thank you.

That was the hospital.

They want to interview me
in person.

Well, that is
the normal course of events.

Of course.

I'm just so excited.

Well, perhaps
you should try not to be.

Most patients
don't want an excited doctor.

They'd much prefer one
that's calm and professional.

That is exactly what I will be.

Calm and professional.

I'm gonna be a doctor!

Now, it would be possible

to inject the arsenic
through a new cork,

but the old cork
is completely dried out.

It would have been
very difficult.

- But not impossible.
- No.

Although I believe your initial
assessment to be correct...

The poison was added
prior to bottling.

So this was a lottery?

Years ago, someone poisoned
a bottle of wine

without ever knowing
who would purchase it,

but knowing they had just given
someone a death sentence.

An unsolvable crime.

Well, no crime is unsolvable.

Some simply take longer
than others.

Well, there is one thing
that still confounds me.

And what's that?

The idea that counterfeit wine
exists at all.

After all, I doubt them

to be that much different,
one from the other.

They all use
the same base ingredients.

You can't be serious.

- I am.
- Oh.

Wait right there.

I'm going to show you
how wrong you are.

Well, this certainly is
a progressive hospital.

That's one word for it.

Thank you for your patience.

I wonder if I could have a word
with Miss Rebecca James.

Of course.

Oh. I see.

You see, that is
a Right Bank Bordeaux.

Its component grape
is the Merlot,

as opposed to the Cabernet
Sauvignon found on the Left Bank

that you drank earlier.

Do you notice
the difference in sweetness?

I think so, but can I try
the Left Bank one again?

Oh, yes.
The difference is apparent, yes.

Now, this one is trickier.

A Pinot Noir versus a Merlot.

Is that gooseberry?

- More like red cherry.
- Oh.

"Wine can of their wits
the wise beguile,

make the sage frolic,
and the serious smile."

I can see
it is doing just that.

Oh, my.

There we go.

Julia.

William.

You're still awake.

That's nice.

What are you reading?

Oh, it's a new journal.

About kinesiology.

Fascinating.

- Where have you been?
- At work.

William, have you been drinking?

I've been conducting a number

of scientific experiments
on alcohol.

And these experiments
involved consuming the liquid?

The results
could only be judged orally.

Julia, do you know there are

several different varieties
of wine,

each with
its own characteristics?

I did.

This is not just red and white.

Although all wine
is made from the grape,

some retains notes of tobacco

and prunes and mushrooms.

Mushrooms!
If you can believe that.

Julia, do we have any here?

I think you may have had
enough for this evening.

Just a tipple.

I think it's time for bed.

Bed.

Oh, I very much like that idea.

William.

William?

A drop of tomato juice.

One egg.

Maybe two eggs.

A splash of hot sauce.

Well-stirred.

And Bob's your uncle.

Right, then. Get that down ya,
and you'll be right as rain

within half an hour.

Trust me, I've been there.

So, did
last night's investigations

produce anything
other than a throbbing headache?

No.
Uh, I mean yes.

We determined that the wine was
poisoned before it was bottled.

But we may have been wrong.

Could someone remove the cork

and replace it
without damaging it?

- A corkscrew leaves a hole.
- Yes, it does.

But when I got on the trolley...

Or maybe it was...

Doesn't matter.

- I started thinking.
- Of course you did.

What if someone were able
to remove and replace the cork

without damaging it?

Could there be a device
that would enable you

to do such a thing?

Of course there is.

Have a look.

Two prongs...

...slide down
either side of the cork...

...enabling someone to remove
the cork without damaging it.

Ah. So...

The same device could then
be used to replace the cork,

leaving
little or no trace at all.

So the arsenic
was recently added to the wine.

Sirs.

What's this?

Another of Murdoch's inventions.

I just came up with it.

I've seen something
just like it.

What? Where?

Mr. Hatch, the butler...
I saw him using one.

A new invention, eh?

Looks like someone beat you
to it, me old mucker.

You told us you kept
this place under lock and key.

We can see very well
what you are doing.

What do you want?

We'd like you to accompany us
to the station house.

We have some things
we'd like to discuss.

What things?

We believe you to have been
in possession of a device

crucial in the poisoning
of your employer.

He was more than an employer.

He was a lifelong friend.

Well, that may be, Mr. Hatch,

but we still have questions.

What are you doing with him?

Make way, Mr. Firenzo.

He did it?

He killed my father?

After all he did for you?!

This is how you repay him?!

That's enough, Mr. Firenzo.

Yes.

Yes, it's mine.

That concerns us, Mr. Hatch.

As does the fact that we found
you in the selfsame cellar

you claimed
never to set foot in.

I know how it looks.

I sneaked down there
and popped some poison

into that bottle, yes?

That is how it looks.

The thing is, I didn't.

Then why do you own
one of these devices?

To steal wine.

That's why the thing
was invented.

You expect us to believe that?

In the words of Diogenes,

"What I like to drink most
is wine that belongs to others."

How long have you been
stealing Mr. Firenzo's wine?

Since the beginning.

The man was kindly,
but he paid me a pittance.

Sol...

...helped myself
to the occasional mouthful.

And what?
Replaced it with some Malmsey?

Surely he would notice.

Firenzo thought himself
an expert,

but his palate
was hardly without flaw.

One time, he said an 1870 Lafite

- had notes of saffron!
- Ha.

So, you lied to the police.

A man has been murdered,
and you lied to us.

It was only a little lie.

I didn't want to tell you
I'd been, uh, naughty.

So, you know Firenzo's cellar.

What can you tell us
about this bottle?

I recognize it.

He'd had it for some time.

- How long?
- I don't know precisely.

You see, the current house
is only 40 years old.

Before that,
Mr. Firenzo's cellar

was only a few crates
stacked up on a dirt floor.

But it's at least 40 years old?

Yes.
It was there from the beginning.

I'd considered tasting it myself
many times,

but I could never discern
its provenance.

Imagine if I had.

Professor Ferguson said
he told them about me.

Well, you should have
seen the man's face

when he saw what color I was.

Oh, Rebecca, I'm so sorry.

The man had the gall
to tell me that my "presence"

might "upset
the other patients."

What was his name?

I know people at Queen of Mercy.
I'll talk to someone.

You know
that won't change a thing.

The doctors there are
more likely to share his view

than yours.

You can stay here.

I'll bring you on full time.

I suppose our patients
won't mind my presence.

But no.

Thank you all the same,
Dr. Ogden.

It's important work
we do here, Rebecca.

Even though our patients may
be dead, our work saves lives.

I know.

But it's my dream to work
with people face to face.

To help ordinary people,
people who need me,

people I'll know
for the rest of our lives.

Once more, the inebriated mind
proves its worth.

Wine "makes a man mistake words
for thoughts."

Who said that?

Samuel Johnson.

Johnson?
Really?

I'd swear
Boswell labeled him a drinker.

Perhaps he was
more of an ale man.

At any rate, we are no further
ahead than we were last night.

Now, hold on, Murdoch.

Just because that butler
says he didn't do it

doesn't mean he didn't do it.

Yes, but we have no proof.

At least the butler
confirmed the age of the bottle.

But we still don't know
its provenance.

Nor can we say with any
certainty when it was poisoned.

Sirs, I hate to be
the bearer of bad news,

but I'm not convinced this wine
is what it pretends to be.

Why do you say that, George?

Sir, I've been through
the catalog

of every wine enthusiast
in the city.

I've examined
thousands of bottles of wine.

I've read through lists
of hundreds of wineries.

I've even telegraphed
with experts in Italy.

All right, Crabtree.

No need to relive
every heart-stopping moment.

Sir, my point is,
as far as I can tell,

Angolino wine doesn't exist.

So it's a fake.

I believe so.

A new wine
masquerading in an old bottle

makes sense for the murder,
but...

But the butler claimed
it has been in his cellar

at least 40 years.

Could he be lying?

I don't see what he could
stand to gain from it.

He's lied to us before.

Perhaps he's hiding something.

I have an idea.

I believe there is a way
to determine the age

of the liquid inside the bottle.

I had the identical thought,
Detective.

- And I know just the man.
- Uh, man?

Someone who can unlock
the truths that lurk

in the depths of the bottle.

I don't believe
that will be necessary.

Nor will it be reliable.

I intend to prove it
scientifically.

What? How?

Spectroscopic analysis.

Ah, yes.
Not reliable in my experience.

How's it meant to help us?

By comparing
the wine in question

to the light profile
of other wines of varying ages,

we'll be able to discern
precisely how old it is.

The older the wine, presumably,
the lighter the color,

thanks to the blanching effect
of sunlight.

Mm, but it was kept in a cellar.

Depending on conditions, two
bottles of the same provenance

could be wildly different.

There's absolutely no way
to determine...

Thank you, Detective.

- Please.
- All right.

- Ready?
- Yes.

It's 4.3.

It's 5.2.

8.5.

Well?

They are all different.

Really?

Every grape, every year,
every bottle.

Hm, you don't say.

It compares to an 1880 Merlot...

a 1902 Tempranillo...

and... several others.

Well, I suppose you told us so,
Detective.

All right.

Call in your expert.

Uh, not my expert.

My sommelier.

Sommelier.

Detective, may I introduce
Jean Michel LaRoche Couture 11?

Le vin, s'il vous plait.

Mon temps est précieux.

Ainsi que le mien,
Monsieur Couture.

Ne le gaspillez pas.

I see you know the language.

But not the wine.

Uh, how do we know you'll be
able to determine the vintage?

Were you the same at 13
as you were at 30?

Just as a man changes over time,
so, too, does a wine.

And you can see these changes
at a mere glance?

This eye has decades
of training, Detective.

This is the finest eye
in North America.

One of the finest in the world.

This is the wine in question.

Oh, my.

It's quite old.

45 years if it's a day.

45?

So, 1860, then?

If only an eye test

- could establish provenance.
- That's not a problem.

I can tell you what it is
from a small taste.

No, no, no.

This wine has been laced
with arsenic.

Oh, my.
That will make it difficult.

Some of the subtleties
may be overshadowed

by the adulterant.

This is a fox grape.

Catawba, I would venture,

but, as I say, the subtleties
may be obscured.

So, where is Catawba grown?

Catawba is from right here.

This wine is not from Italy.

It's from Ontario.

There are over 35 wineries
active at present in Ontario.

But only one of them
goes back as far as 1860.

Barker Family Wines and Spirits.

Barker wine.

Lacks a certain je ne sais quoi.

Does Barker use fox grapes?

Sir, as I understand it,
nearly all indigenous grapes

are fox grapes, but the variety
in question... Catawba...

Only grow
in certain soil conditions.

Such as the area
around the Firenzo estate.

So the vintner
could be local, then.

Well, that makes sense.
A neighbor, a friend,

someone he knew who had intended
to kill him back in 1860.

Except none
of the Catawba-growing wineries

go back that far.

Well, perhaps it's one that
existed then, but doesn't now.

I'll go to city records
and get any files

that might be of interest.

We can comb through them
back here, Constable.

No. Let's meet halfway.
Café Lorraine.

This is work to be done
over a glass of fine red.

I'd invite you to join us,
Detective, but, well,

perhaps it's best
you stay on the water cart.

I love you
for not giving up, Rebecca.

- But?
- I'm just wondering

how long you're planning
on not giving up for.

You don't think I'll succeed?

I know you will.

But even Rebecca James can't
change the world overnight.

Well, I don't care
how long it takes.

I'll be a doctor
even if I have to wait

for the whole world to catch up.

All right, then.

In the meantime,
I'll stay on at the morgue.

No, you won't.

We can make do on my wage.

I want you
spending every waking hour

going after
what you're going after.

Now, what we really need
is for all them white doctors

to disappear.
Just for one day.

Once people give
Dr. Rebecca James a try,

they'd never let
another doctor see them

the rest of their lives.

How would you know?

You won't even let me
take a look

at that cut
you got on your elbow.

This little scratch?

Oh, come on, girl.

Murdoch.
We've found it.

Murdoch.
We... Oh.

S-Sorry, sir.
I'm not drunk.

- Oh, really?
- He had a few.

- Just speak for yourself.
- Pbht!

I had half a glass.

Well, two half a glasses.

May I ask what exactly
what it is you two have found?

Uh, look here.

A business license application
for a winery.

Filed in 1859.

All the details line up, sir.

It's the right region
for Catawba.

Who is the owner?

Unfortunately,
the form is incomplete.

It's blank.

There is one very intriguing
detail, though, sir.

Have a look
at where the address is.

Avalon Road.

Where's that?

Steady, Crabtree!

The Avalon Road, sir,
is now known as Rural Road 2.

And it intersects
with this laneway.

On which sits
the Firenzo estate.

So the winery
is right around the corner.

A neighbor.

Shall we?

Oi, Crabtree.

Where do you think you're going?

Well, sir, we're off to...

This is my favorite part.

We're off to catch the culprit.

I mean, there might be a chase.

Or a tearful
heartfelt confession.

- You're not going anywhere.
- What? Sir.

Perhaps I deserve to be punished
for drinking on the job,

but I hope you will consider

that it was
Detective Watts' idea.

You're not about to be punished.
Sit down.

I need someone
to help me kill this bottle.

Awful business, drinking alone.

From here,
you can see the neighboring lot.

There is nothing here.

Certainly no winery.

What about in 1860??
Do you recall?

I married Enrico in 1864.

There was nothing here
back then.

The map.
Did you bring the map?

In the carriage.

Mrs. Firenzo,
if this is Avalon Road,

what's this building here?

Our home, surely.

This is our estate.

Begging your pardon,
but your home is located

much further west
along Avalon Road.

- Here.
- Oh. Of course.

This map was made
before the new house was built.

The old house was
in the east end of the property.

- So none of this was here?
- No.

This is it.

The label.
The image on the bottle.

What? Impossible.

Look.

In 1860, the home was located
much further along Avalon Road.

When he built the new house,
the address changed.

The Firenzo estate
is the vineyard.

The wine was made here.

So it was "special"
because he made it himself...

but what can that mean?

He made a batch of wine,
forgot he'd poisoned a bottle,

and drank it?

Not something
you'd be likely to forget.

This doesn't make any sense.

My husband never made any wine.

No, you didn't know him then.

This was four years
before you married.

Who knew him back then?

Likely someone
who was close to him.

Someone close to the wine.

Detective, I believe
we have the identical thought.

I told you...
I didn't kill the old boy.

Well, someone did, and
that someone knew him in 1860.

If not you, who?

1860?

Most of the people
who knew him back then

are probably dead by now.

Except...

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

I suppose you're here
to take me away.

You know why we're here.

Of course.

You poisoned your brother.
Why?

He and I were partners,
but it was me

who poured my heart and soul
into our business.

Into our wine.

Enrico took one sip,
and he spat it out.

He said
no one would ever drink this.

You were going to pass it off
as Italian.

I tried to tell him
that we could use the profits

to make a better wine
the next year.

But he wouldn't listen.

He drained every single cask.

I was left with nothing.

Not quite nothing.

You had a bottle.

Mr. Firenzo, you realize we are
going to have to arrest you?

Of course.

But allow me a drink.

- No, wait.
- Mm.

Don't worry, Detective.

The second bottle
was never poisoned.

In fact,
it has aged quite nicely.

Would you like a taste?

That's quite enough,
Mr. Firenzo.

You're coming with us.

You see?

All we needed was time.

Not half bad.

As I'm sure you've guessed,
I have good news to announce.

I've taken a position
as a physician.

That's so wonderful.
What hospital?

No hospital.

In fact, Nate and I
are leaving the city altogether.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,
Miss James.

Dr. James.

Quite right.
Dr. James.

Where will you be going?

Well, it was Nate's idea.

If the city of Toronto
doesn't need a doctor,

I'll go somewhere that does.

I have cousins in Chatham.

They're always short
of physicians.

When she telephoned
to suggest it,

they all
almost lost their heads.

Congratulations, Doctor.

Thank you, Constable.

I have to admit
my disappointment.

Felt like things were
just getting back to normal,

and now
we're losing a colleague.

You've acquitted yourself
admirably these last two years.

The morgue won't be the same
without you.

The inspector is quite right.

Perhaps we'll call on you

if we ever find ourselves
short of an investigator.

There's always
a place for you here.

I couldn't have done any of this
without you, Julia.

That's not true.

It may have taken you longer
without my help.

But you were always going
to be a doctor, Rebecca.

Thank you.

To Dr. James.

- Hear, hear.
- Cheers.

I must admit, I'm happy

to have another wine drinker
in the house.

Oh, no.
You've gone off it already?

In the words of Shelley,
"I have drunken deep of joy,

and will taste
no other wine tonight."

What is that supposed to mean?

I believe it means,
who needs wine

when you have joy in your life?

Shelley killed himself
before the age of 30.

Or so it's been said.

It was also said
that he was a great lover.

William, the wine.

The wine!

Oh, I don't mind.