All language subtitles for Shakespeare.And_.Hathaway.Private.Investigators.S03E05.720p.BluRay.x264-BEDLAM

Thank you.

Hey. This is the life, isn't it?

We have been invited here as esteemed
members of the business community!

Could you just start looking a bit more
esteem-worthy?

I hate museums.

Yeah, but this isn't some sort of dusty old
fossil-y place anymore, is it? Look.

They've even got a Shakespeare-aoke booth.

Oh!

Dropped your shopping list there.

Speech, actually. For my sins.

Oh... Here you are, neck that.

- I haven't even had a sip.
- Best not.

I need my wits about me.

You know what you wanna do?
Just picture everybody here naked.

Thank you, Sigmund Freud.

What? That's what you're supposed to do...

♪ We'll never be defeated! ♪

♪ Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated! ♪

♪ Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated! ♪

Hashtag "what the hell"?

Oh, the evening's looking up.

Get rid of them! Get rid of them!

♪ Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated! ♪

Um, hello and welcome.

Um...

Please excuse the interruption

although what's a party
without a few gate-crashers?

Typical man, dodging the awkward questions.

So, do tell...

why have you deleted
the important women of the town's history?

No, no, no-one's been deleted.

Suffragettes, lawyers, warriors, academics.

All consigned to storage while we make way
for yet more Shakespeare.

I would like to thank my venerated colleague
for her opinion

but I am proud to be at the helm of a new
Shakespeare centre of international repute.

Yes, you keep telling yourself that, Sir Tim.

I would like to introduce the man
who was inspirational in this reinvention

the curator, Mr Lucian Shaw.

Uh, well...

perhaps the champagne
has got the better of Lucian

so I will ask Jasra, our Head of Antiquities,
to help me with the ribbon cutting.

Um, perhaps my wife would do me the honour

of standing at my side?

Shoot me now.

And this is prosecco, not champagne.

Go home, Athena.

Happily.

Wonder where my bloody curator is?

The actual Society of Herstorians?

Yeah, with placards and everything.

Oh, that's like seeing a herd of unicorns.

Angry, feminist unicorns.

I can't believe you took Frank and not me.

Yeah, sorry,
but Frank's like the old museum, isn't he?

- In need of a cultural overhaul.
- That's true.

Frank could be way more interesting
and relevant.

I am sitting here, you know?

I, um... I need to report a missing person.

Lucian Shaw, he's my curator.

He hasn't been seen
since his no-show last night.

- Yeah, but how do you know he's missing?
- Well, he wouldn't just not show up.

This is an important day for the museum.

Could he have just felt a bit pressured,
and decided to go AWOL?

Or do you think some well-meaning idiot
could've said something

really inappropriate and made him run away?

He didn't go home,
he's not answering the telephone...

he hasn't been admitted to hospital,
it's just completely out of character.

My gut says it's Dr Middleton
and those... those fearsome feminist scolds.

Your gut really ought to refer to them
as The Society of Herstorians.

Yes, well, they'd do anything
to torpedo my museum...

with me in it.

Small thing, why not just go to the police?

No, no, not the police.
This is a potential PR disaster.

We've already stirred up
quite enough controversy.

So how long have you worked with this Lucian?

Ah, well, I-I-I hired him
straight out of Cambridge.

He was the best pick of the bunch.

I brought him to the British Library
and then the Museum of Scotland

and now the Arden Museum,
about, um... about 12 years in all.

Ooh.

Ah!

Look!

"Sorry about your lost property."

Yeah, Middleton!

Yes, it's got her toxic,
female fingerprints all over it.

Well, we don't know that for sure, do we?
It's important for us to be methodical.

I'm gonna get over there. Excuse me.

"Here lies a wretched corpse..."

Hi-yah!

"...of wretched soul bereft."

Hi-yah!

"Seek not my name...

a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left."

Hi-yah!

Middleton!

Ah, Middleton!

Where is he?

Maybe he's lost somewhere in the 19th century

along with your attitudes.

Lucian?

Oh, for the last time,
I don't have your curator.

- Have the Herstorians got him?
- I don't know, you'll have to ask them.

If you can find them.

Good luck with that.
No-one knows who they are, not even me.

Please. You're one of them,
I-I-I'd bet 5,000 crowns on it.

Well, thank you, I'm very flattered.

But no.

No, I'm far too old
to get up to that kind of mischief.

Anyway, anonymity's not my style,
as well you know.

Well, if anything has happened to Lucian,
his blood will be on your hands.

Ooh, gosh. Bit early for melodrama.

I warn you, I've got top investigators
looking into this.

Then let battle commence.

I will crush you.

Not if I crush you first.

Yah!

Oh, she's pleading ignorance.

These angry women types
are all in bed together.

Uh, metaphorically speaking.

Let's not jump to any conclusions.
There's lots of other leads we can follow.

Do you know anything about his personal life?

No, why should I?

Well, we're gonna have a look at this,
check his recent movements

talk to museum staff...

From security. It's all they had,
they only keep 48 hours' worth.

Right, great.

Well, that should keep Sebastian busy,
shouldn't it?

It's all interior CCTV, public areas only,
so I'm not sure how useful it'll be.

Yes, we've been having teething problems
with our new security systems.

- Teething problems?
- The new humidity and temperature controls.

Vital for conservation purposes.

They make massive demands on the circuits.

Anyway, I've been called down to
the Arts Council

so I shan't be back in my office till late.

Here's my address in Woods Lane.
I shall be there tonight.

- Thank you.
- Great, thank you.

Well, I better get back,
make Sebastian's day.

Here, just...

- Oh.
- Better take this as well.

- Safe side.
- OK.

- See you.
- See ya.

Where are you up to?

Camera seven, manuscript gallery.

Care to share 20 gripping minutes
of one woman and her vacuum cleaner?

It's tedious, I'm sorry.

Tedious? This is Kafka-esque.

I feel like I'm stuck in some black-and-white
CCTV nightmare.

Oh, well, here's a bit of colour for you.

That's alarming.

It's really good, isn't it?

Do I spy a potential new recruit?

Yeah, I did actually think that would
be a good way in, but it's impossible.

Cos you click on their "Contact Us" bit
and you just get a load of shouty manifesto.

Don't you mean "womanifesto"?

Oh... That's very good.

There's loads of pictures of them online
doing demos and sit-ins and stuff

but you just can't identify any of them.

They're really mysterious,
they're like a group of Banksies.

I'm a bit stumped, to be honest.

Progress?

Well, look, I've traced Lucian's
every word, thought, and deed

since this time last week.

Found sod all except his bicycle.

Well, you must have found something?
He can't have just vanished.

Yeah, there was a banana in a bag.

Are you eating it?

No.

You are, aren't you?

Well, look, it'll only go to waste otherwise.

Right, well, when you've finished
one of your five-a-day

could you get yourself down to Dr M's house
and ask her some questions?

No, I can't, I'm afraid.

I've got a date with a strong,
blonde Belgian.

Right, let me guess.
A guest ale at the Mucky Mallard?

Oh, busted. Hm!

Come on, Frank. One of us has got to find
something out before Sir Tim checks in later.

Fine, but if they run out of
Donker Oudekiirk

it'll be on your conscience forever.

It won't be.

From now on, I'm just gonna eat fruit.

Jaffa Cakes don't count!

"Prepare for mirth."

You're supposed to say, "For mirth..."

Never mind.

I'm done, 11 hours
and 43 minutes' worth.

Brilliant, what have you found?

We've got Lucian here,
camera four, 18:31.

He's here, he's holding his index card,
practicing his speech.

Oh! That must be around when he met him.

He loiters by the drinks table
for a couple of minutes

but then the footage blips out

until camera five picks him up at 18:46

as he heads towards
the Shakespeare-aoke.

Oh, Sebastian, you would have loved that.
It was amazing.

I gave my Lady MacBeth at Sydney Opera House.

It was a wonderful stage.
It was actually surprisingly intimate...

Are you trying to ruin my epiphany?

No, sorry, go on.

But then we lose his trail again
until camera seven

finds him near the cloakroom at 18:49.

- Where does he go then?
- Nowhere.

- He's gone.
- Are you sure?

I have checked every camera.
That's the last we see of him.

No, but if the Herstorians did
take him out...

how did they get him out?

And when?

Oh!

Oh, I think I know.

So, the security guards took the Herstorians
back outside

and then Sir Tim stepped up
onto stage to make a speech.

18:53.

Yeah, but they were still chanting outside,
so I remember I looked outside

and I saw a van.

- A van?
- Yes.

It was a van and it was revving its engine
while he was talking

and it was blue, and...

It was bit grubby,
had a dent in the driver's door.

Methinks the lady finally hath a hot lead.

Yes! Well done, me.

Huh! Right.

Get yourself down to that museum
and track down that van.

Although 'tis pity the lady
hath not remembered it

before I endured an eternity of CCTV footage.

Yes. Sorry about that.

Mmm...

- It's a celebration one.
- Mm-hm.

Halt!

So, Sir Tim says you've got it
in for him and his museum.

Ha! Museum?

That glorified gift shop that ordinary people
now have to pay to enter?

Oh...

I don't suppose you've got any idea
where Lucian is, do you?

He's a grown man.

People should stop treating him
like a missing child, or a lost puppy.

- So you don't know anything?
- Well, if I did...

I wouldn't tell.

Hoo!

Huh?

So you and Sir Tim have got history?

Sir Tim has proved to be yet another
male philistine

who knows the price of everything

and the value of nothing.

As far as I'm concerned,
Sir Tim is history.

- Allez!
- Oh!

Oh, bless you!

You alright? What happened?

Cats.

"Purr-icles, Stratford's Favourite
Shakespearean Cat Café"?

Oh dear.

Thank you.

I went to the museum, I tracked down
your blue van to a cat café

but the manageress would only let me
speak to her if I was a paying customer.

You're so brave.

Kenneth Branagh wouldn't get off my lap.

Dame Judi kept trying to lick my crumpet

and after all that, it turned out
the van was only just delivering leaflets.

Oh...

Hello?

Why didn't you warn me I was walking into
the bloomin' Battle of Agincourt?

What?

I could've been skewered
like last night's kebab.

- I'm missing something.
- Yes, you are.

The fact that I stared death in the face.

Oh, stop being dramatic!

That's my thing.

Lucian was last seen
at the cloakroom at 18:49

and the van left during Sir Tim's speech.

But if he wasn't in it...

If you make me watch one more minute of CCTV,
I am running away to join the circus.

Ooh!

There was another getaway vehicle?

Or... he never actually got away at all?

Urgh...

Never mind him, me!

I was wondering...

Yeah?

D'you think Sir Tim cares this much
about all his employees, or just Lucian?

What are you getting at?

Some of the boxes are humidity controlled.

Ask if you want to look inside.

- Lucian?
- Lucian?

Homo stultus?

Latin.

"Idiot Man".

- Is it alright if I...?
- Go ahead.

Don't just stand there.

It was awful. They didn't hurt m...

Custard cream?

They said they were teaching the museum
a lesson by removing me from public view

consigning me to storage
and leaving me there to be forgotten.

Like the suffragette exhibition?

- Exactly.
- You want another custard cream?

Ahem. Well, you weren't forgotten about,
not for a second.

Do you, uh... think you could identify them?

No. Possibly their voices, but they kept
those creepy masks on the whole time.

And look...

"Payback time."

They said that if I don't re-instate
the important women of the town's history

they'll tattoo it on me...

like a human placard.

Nice...

And then they made me spend a ghastly night
alone with that horrific mummified woman.

Give us half an hour and I'll drive you home.

Don't worry, I'll drive you home.

Yeah, Sir Tim, this is Frank Hathaway.

Good news, one curator found and returned.

Yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.

It was just a basic facial,
cos he's still quite puffy.

Y'know, he's quite sensitive to cats.

Well, I'm glad you've spent
our hard-earned fee

before we've even cashed the cheque.

What the...

Sorry.

I really can't tell you any more than that.

Yeah, you can tell us though, can't you,
PC Deacon?

Not unless you're museum staff.

Well, we are contracted labour
in the pay of the museum, so technically...

No, I'm sorry.

What's happening?

The museum's been sectioned off
until further notice.

Well, what about my artefacts?

The dust alone is a constant daily battle.

- I have to temperature-control things.
- Are you museum staff?

Um... Yeah.

Well, then I'm sorry to have to tell
you this

but the museum director's been found dead
this morning in suspicious circumstances.

- Oh, that's awful.
- In his own museum.

I only spoke to him yesterday evening.

In that case, you're gonna need
to give a statement to the DS.

- We're, uh, really, really sorry.
- Yeah.

But we're late with the rent,
so if I could leave that with you...

Sir Tim hired you, personally.

We couldn't possibly pay you
out of museum funds.

- But I...
- If you'll excuse me.

Wow, that was insensitive.

I know!

- Thinks a lot of herself, that one.
- No, I meant you!

- What?
- You! That was...

Oh, just when I thought things
couldn't get any worse.

- What are you two doing here?
- Just passing.

This isn't one of your shabby
scratch-n-sniffs.

This is a murder investigation.

It behooves you to remember the boundaries,
Frank.

Behooves? Behooves my backside.

- Did I just say that out loud?
- Yeah.

You know the difference between you
and a real detective, Frank

is instead of weighing up the facts,
you always see the worst in people.

Which is why you will always
be a bottom-feeder.

- Y...
- It's not worth it. Ahem.

- Say hi to Sebastian for me.
- Yeah, will do, Viola.

So, looks like the Herstorians
have chalked up their first murder.

I think we should pay our condolences
to the widow.

Very decent of you.

What is the definition of "behooves"?

Lady Forbes-Allen, hello.

- Um, we met briefly...
- I remember.

Right, yep.

So we were just passing, and, um...

we wanted to come and tell you how sorry
we are to hear about Sir Tim.

Must have been a terrible shock.

Thoughtful of you.

Oh. Gardening?

It's, uh... Yeah, I suppose that's a good way
to take your mind off things, isn't it?

Well, of course I've had all manner
of demands on my time today

but the helianthus simply won't wait, so...

There is one thing, er...

the small matter of an outstanding invoice.

You'd better come inside.

This really is a lovely house.

Yeah, it's, er sumptuous.

There you are.

Thank you.

Must say, you do seem remarkably OK,
under the circumstances.

I suppose it hasn't really sunk in yet?

Possibly not.

I might even miss the old fool,
though it's common knowledge

- ours was a marriage of convenience.
- Really?

He was cultured, I was wealthy.

Not what you'd call a love match,
but it suited us.

We were about to mark our 40th
wedding anniversary.

Oh, wow, that really is a milestone.

Indeed.

"Celebrate" would be the wrong word,
considering the banal sacrifices one makes

within the confines of a marriage...
There it is.

I don't suppose you've got any idea
who did it?

I've already told the police.

Sir Tim's social media was a toxic swamp.

The man literally had millions of enemies.

And now, if you don't mind...

Sorry.

- Ey...
- Thank you!

That's it then, isn't it? Job done.

Yeah. Bit of a relief, really.

Wouldn't wanna be the one
to have to find the killer.

Yeah, lucky escape.

Not for Sir Tim, poor bloke.

What a way to go, eh?

Yeah, it's hard to believe, isn't it, really?

Because he seemed so posh and clever.

Talking of posh and clever.

Aw, hello! How's the puffiness?

Abating, as long as I keep my feet up.

- Poor lamb.
- Lazy sod.

Just a quick one,
I've seen on Dr Middleton's online feed

that's she's about to make a statement
outside the museum.

You're welcome.

- Shall we?
- Yeah.

Yes, yes!

A crime!

A crime committed not just
against the women of history

but against us, their descendants.

My forthcoming book...

Debunking An Outdated Legacy"...

Ooh!

...attempts to address this particular
patriarchal injustice

but there are times in life
when the sword is mightier than the pen.

Therefore...

I solemnly confess to the murder

of Sir Tim Forbes-Allen.

Are you sure you want to do this here?

- Cuff me!
- That's really not necessary...

Cuff me or I'll resist.

Dr Helen Middleton, I'm arresting you
for the murder of Sir Timothy Forbes-Allen.

You do not have to say anything,
but it may harm your defence

if you do not mention when questioned
something which you later rely on in court.

Anything you do say may be given in evidence.

"Sound trumpets!

Let our bloody colours wave!

And either victory, or else a grave!"

Wow.

Was that a confession
or a plug for her new book?

There's no such thing as bad publicity.

means, motive, opportunity.

Nah, she's an insufferable,
self-promoting narcissist

but I don't think she's the killer.

Another day, another dollar.

Why do I feel like I've been invaded
by fruit?

Just trying to be healthy.

Might have got a bit carried away.

Oh, Sir Tim certainly has his
fair share of death threats.

They're not killers, they're trolls.

Going nuclear over whether Shakespeare's
got a Van Dyke beard or a common chinstrap.

Any fool knows a common chinstrap
connects transversely to the side burns

whereas a Van Dyke
is a totally different matter...

Thank God.

I didn't know where else to turn.

So, when did you last have this letter?

It was tucked it into my breast pocket
last week.

Could have fallen out anywhere between
home and the museum

it could even be among Sir Tim's things.

If you're hiring us to find it,
it must be pretty important.

The content is... somewhat personal.

If it fell into the wrong hands,
it could be disastrous

especially now that Sir Tim...

Sir Tim is...

Was there something else?

It was a love letter.

The last one he ever wrote to me.

Bless. You must be devastated.

"Poor honest lord..."

brought low by his own heart."

Did Lady Forbes-Allen know?

No.

We were meticulously careful.

That is, until I was careless enough
to lose it.

Look, don't worry. We'll find your letter.

Do you want a satsuma?

I mean, fair do's, Frank,
you actually called that.

See? Just goes to show ya that even someone
as unrefined as myself

can be finely attuned to the foibles
of human nature.

Do you think Athena really didn't know?

That was your cue to say,
"You're not unrefined, Frank."

I mean, imagine... imagine finding out
that your husband has been writing

love letters to a man half your age.

Huh!

Oh!

- What's going on?
- It's Keeler.

Tsk! Says I'm a bottom-feeder.

Ugh!

Well, if I'm a bottom-feeder, Joe Keeler,
at least you and me are in the same pond.

I hope you don't mind me asking...

Loose leaf or bags?

Um...

Always loose, and oolong must be brewed
between 85 and 95 degrees

otherwise the nuances are lost.

Top tip.

- We'll remember that, won't we, Frank?
- Loose, nuances, roger that.

"Oolong."

And also, um...

Um, we were wondering if...

If you knew your husband was cheating on you?

Oh...

Well... Where to even begin?

I'm guessing you mean Lucian.

Sweet boy, rather intense.

He wasn't the first, of course,
and I very much doubt he'd have been the last

though I suspect he was rather more
smitten than most.

So you knew?

Of course.

Well, Lucian's hired us to find a letter
that Sir Tim wrote to him.

Just wondered if you'd come across it
in the last week or so?

Afraid not.

I'm really sorry to have to bring it up,
cos it must be painful for you.

Oh, nonsense.

Our marriage survived all manner
of peccadilloes, on both sides.

It was probably stronger as a result.

Really?

What about, well...

I don't know, love?

Clearly neither of you are married?

- Oh, no way...
- Almost, actually.

- But no, basically no.
- Never again. No.

Indeed. Well, marriage...

is like yellow.

Doesn't suit everyone.

- More tea?
- No, thanks.

Whew!

Mmm. Mm!

What's that?

It's good for my gut bacteria.

So, what do we know?

Ugh, God...

Pickled radish is a bad idea...

What was I thinking? Ugh!

I meant about the letter, Masterchef.

Perhaps the better question
is what don't we know?

Ugh. Well...

Athena said she didn't have the letter,
and I believe her.

Based on what?

Well, you heard her, she just...
She just didn't seem to care.

As Hazlitt said, "Love turns,
with little indulgence, to indifference.

Hatred alone is immortal."

- Who's Hazlitt?
- No idea.

Well, Dr M, she's a museum trustee,
maybe she found it?

If Dr M had it,
the entire world would know about it.

Maybe it's just lost.

Like, gone.
You know, down a drain, in a bin...

shredded in someone's rabbit hutch.

"Lost" is not an option, because "lost",
may I remind you

means no fee.

It seems to me Lucian had it
before the kidnapping

but he didn't have it after,
so surely the Herstorians have it?

What possible use could the Herstorians have
for the intimate musings of their arch enemy?

Yeah, talk about "payback time".

So, all we need to do is track down
the Herstorians.

Did you say just "payback time"?

They were gonna tattoo that on Lucian's back.

I heard someone say that recently...

Yeah, I know. Well, one of these days,
it'll be payback time.

Put that in the fridge, mate, will ya?

- Lu!
- Yeah, coming!

Hello? Hi.

Looking for Lucian?

Er... wanted a quick word with you,
if that's OK?

Sure. Come in.

Have you met Alvecote Woman?

She's usually up
in the Copthorne Gallery.

I'm hoping she doesn't mind
being down here now

since she's been in a peat bog
since the Bronze Age.

Is that an elbow that's...?

Uh, don't answer that.
Listen, I'm gonna cut to the chase.

We know you're a Herstorian.

Oh...

Oh!

Lu?

Don't leave me in here with her. Lu? Lu!

- How could we have lost her?
- I dunno.

But I am not looking in any more
storage boxes, I'll tell you that for free.

For God's sake!

I didn't catch that.

Jasra?

Please choose your speech
and press the orange button.

Look, we're not the police.
We just wanna ask you something.

Yeah, Lucian asked us to find a letter

- and we thought the Herstorians might have it.
- What letter?

It's a love letter, actually,
to Lucian from Sir Tim.

- We didn't kill him.
- We're not here for that.

We just thought he might have lost it
when you kidnapped him.

Nope. The Herstorians don't have it.

How can you be so sure?

Because I'm their leader.

You?

Wait...

If Lucian and Sir Tim were lovers,
then there was something...

The evening Sir Tim was stabbed,
he'd just got back from London.

No, it's too late!

- Just tell me what I need to do...
- You know what to do.

You simply refuse to do it.

Lucian, listen!

So Lucian lied to us.

He said the last time he saw Sir Tim
was at the museum opening.

I think it's time we paid
our lovelorn curator a visit.

Sarge... you might wanna come down
to the front desk.

Yeah, now, I reckon.

So, it's Marie Corelli.

- One "R" and two "L"s?
- Yes.

Right, take a seat.

I don't suppose any of you have any ID?

Right, what is so important?

Uh, Sarge, here we have Mary Arden

Marie Corelli, Annie Justins
and Elisabeth Scott.

And?

They all claim to have killed Sir Tim.

What, all four of them?

Five, actually.

The Angel of Stratford
just popped to the loo.

What?

Oh, here she is, Emily Minet.

Well, whoever they are, get 'em
off my front desk and into custody.

Let's see what Middleton's got to say
about this.

Lucian?

We'll just have to doorstep him
at work tomorrow.

Do you think he's alright?
Did you see his little misery pit?

Candle and photos, box of tissues.

Lucian, it's Frank Hathaway,
just checking you're alright.

Er, give us a call when you get this.

I'm just gonna say it out loud.

I think that Lucian going missing
at this point is a little bit suspect.

- Should we call the police?
- Not enough information.

Guess we call it a day then.

My gosh... I'm so sorry, Frank.

Must be the pickles.

How should I know if it's a hungry cry
or a tired cry?

She's a baby!
What's she got to be angry about?

I gotta go, babe.

Sorry.

Custody Sarge wants to know how longer
we're keeping the ladies.

He's worried about the backlog.

Those bloody Herstorians.

"Mary Arden",
that should have been a give-away.

There's also Annie Justins,
Stratford's first female mayor.

And Elisabeth Scott,
she designed the RSC building.

Did it not occur to you
that they're all dead?

I don't know why, but those women
are trying to do a Spartacus

and I am not having it.

Yes, ma'am?

In hindsight, yes, yeah.

Publicity stunt. Mm, of course.

What, all of them?

Immediately? Y-yes.

Yes, ma'am.

Well done, girls!

Uh.. Oh!

Hello!

Thank you!

I have a message, to those who condemn us

for throwing a stone at the window
of patriarchy

by confessing to a murder we didn't commit.

I give you the wisdom of Emmeline Pankhurst.

"The argument of the broken window pane
is the most valuable argument

in modern politics."

- Yes?
- Yes!

Yes! So, let's break some windows!

Yeah!

Clock's ticking, Frank. Come on.

Yeah, I'm just checking
the message board again.

You don't think we should offer a reward,
do ya?

Ha! What, how much for a letter
that's basically worth nothing to anyone?

Except one person.

The mild-mannered curator
who loves his mum and his bicycle

and also possibly murdered his lover
in a jealous rage.

Surprise visitor.

- I don't suppose you've seen Lucian?
- No.

- Why? Haven't you?
- He was in this morning

and then he went out, he said
he was going to "meet the monster".

The monster?

Yeah, I'm not gonna lie, he had this kind of
dangerous gleam in his eye.

- That doesn't sound good.
- And then I found this on his desk.

Ahem.

"It was I who stole them both.

The life cannot be returned,
but the letter awaits thee this day

in the Woods, at the eleventh hour."

Oh, brilliant. A riddle.

That's all we need.

Simple. The murderer has the letter.

Obviously they can't return Sir Tim...

Oh! But they can return the letter.

In the woods. What woods? Any woods?

They've made a mistake,
they've written "woods" with a capital W.

Hang on.

What if it's not a mistake?

It's a street. Woods Lane.

Do you think Lucian's in danger?

Or is he the danger?

Look, Frank!

Look! Come on, we need to be quick.

- Eh?
- No time to explain!

- How'd you know she wrote the note?
- The "T" s!

- Athena's "T" s!
- What?

Find the cheque. You'll see what I mean.

What? Oh...

Oh, yeah. A few snacks in there...

A few!

- What, the...?
- The "T" s!

The "T" s are the same, see?

Oh, the "T" s!

I thought you were having some kind of
posh caffeine withdrawal.

We should call the police.

What you doing?

- Huh?
- I do this every day, Frank, I do know!

Watch the wall!

- Where you going?
- I'm going round!

- The entrance is there!
- Yes, I know that, Frank!

I have done this before.

Come on...

She'll have left the country by now!

There we go!

- Right.
- See?

- Right...
- Go, go, go!

I am going at the correct speed
for the tunnel!

Let me do it!

Thank God! He's gone mad.

Stay where you are!

Let-let's talk about this.

She's the murderer, not me, so don't
speak to me like I'm some petulant child.

- Stop acting like one.
- Lucian, just give me the knife.

No.

Anyway, it's not a knife,
it's Sir Tim's garnet-encrusted letter-opener

- and I'm not afraid to use it.
- Please don't.

- Why not?
- Because...

she doesn't deserve it.

Her plan was to make me eat
every single one of those letters.

Washed down with Sir Tim's favourite red,
I'm not a monster.

And then murder me in cold blood,
so I'd say she does deserve it!

She deserves to be tried by a jury
in a court of law.

I want the truth!

And I want to hear it from you!

Want, want, want.

The whining, needy voice
of the avocado-on-toast generation.

Athena, maybe you could just try
and co-operate a bit.

Fine.

She killed him...

...over a letter!

It wasn't just a letter!

Though finding that squalid note
on the museum floor was a low point.

It was all the other letters, the photographs

the nauseating love tokens...

What is it, Athena?

A roasting from those Arts Council despots...

I've got mutinies breaking out
right, left and...

Oh.

We had an agreement.

I can't do this anymore.

No, no...

You don't get to revise the rules.

We are both allowed a measure of freedom,
as long we don't... fall in love!

Well, I...

I didn't mean to...

but I did.

- And so did he.
- Nonsense!

We're married.

That's how it's always been,
and that is the way it will continue to be

so you tell that... boy that it's over

and we'll say no more about it.

I'm sorry, Athena.

I'm leaving you.

Now, now, steady, darling...

you could actually hurt someone with those.

Well, darling...

maybe you should know how it feels
to be stabbed in the heart.

Tim...

Tim!

I'm sorry! I didn't mean to...

You actually really loved him, didn't you?

Even though you tried to convince
the whole world you didn't care.

Probably even convinced him I didn't care.

He was the love of my life!

No, he was the love of my life.

Please, don't do anything you can't undo.

Don't listen to her.

Do it. Kill me.

Go to prison.
The world will be better off without you.

Stop her!

5960 on scene,
further assistance required, over.

Where's a battalion of Herstorians
when you need one?

Lucian's having a lie down, then he's gonna
present himself at the police station.

Oh. Is that necessary?

Well, he might be charged with ABH after his
little tangle with Sir Tim's letter-opener.

Lady Forbes-Allen, you alright?

Actually, I'm somewhat relieved.

Yes, I can imagine the life of a fugitive
not being quite your cup of oolong.

Ha! Is it?

I had to abandon my doctoral thesis
some years ago

and I'm quite looking forward to having
time in prison to finish it.

Good for you.

The title is "Shakespeare Was A Woman:
The Incontrovertible Truth."

Hathaway. Sticking your fingers
in other people's pies as usual, eh?

Pulled you out a murderer though, didn't I?

- Yeah, you seem pretty sure about that.
- Bottom-feeders instinct.

It behooves...

It behooves you to take it from here,
Detective Sergeant Keeler.

Stick her in the car.

You know, the only statue of a woman

in this town is of Lady Macbeth.

A figment of Shakespeare's imagination.

Well, I didn't know that about the statues,
did you?

No. Definitely time things changed.

When are women gonna stop banging on
about their "rights"?

All I want now is my right to a pint
in the Mucky Mallard.

Of course! I'll run you over, shall I?

Thanks!

When you say "run me over",
you don't mean...

Do ya?

Lu?

- Lu?
- Frank.