All language subtitles for Sister.Boniface.Mysteries.S02E00.Christmas.Special.2023.480p.x264-mSD[EZTVx.to]

-"To whomsoever shall be the
future possessor of this gem.

These lines are addressed
in mourning

before he or she shall assume
its responsibility.

"It will be packed
in seven boxes

and deposited
with my bankers..."

-Beshta soraca.
Insalla om meraca.

Insalla om orca.

Soraca esta meraca.

-"...with instruction it is not
to see the light again

until I have been dead
100 years."

"To whomsoever shall be the
future possessor of this gem,

known as
The Star of The Orient,

it is accursed

and stained with the blood
and dishonour

of everyone
who has ever owned it."

-Who'd like to do the honours?

-There's something
about the advent

that always brings out
the inner child.

-No, not in my case.

My parents are both
committed atheists.

-You didn't celebrate Christmas?

-Well, they made an exception
for the King's speech,

which was considered
suitably secular.

Right, Sister Peter,
the stage is yours.

Drum roll, please.

-It's a...

holly leaf?

-Enh...

it's a turkey, I think.

-No!
It's the manger.

Readied in preparation
for the big night.

-If that's a depiction
of a manger,

then God help baby Jesus.

-What time's your train?
-2:30.

A flying visit to Oxford
to play Santa Claus

and maintain my reputation
as favourite uncle.

I'll be back tonight, Mrs. Clam.

Oh, and don't keep supper.

I'll grab a pie and a pint
in the pub.

-Well, will the trains still
be running in this snow?

Ooh!
Note to selves, Dottie,

to fetch kerosene lamps
from the allotment

in case
there's another power cut.

-What's all this?
You never usually get a tree.

-I confessed to Mrs. Clam that
I've never had a real one.

-When it's just me and Dottie,

it hardly seems
worth the bother,

but with you
and Sergeant Livingstone here,

and him so far
from his family,

well, we're going to pull out
all the stops this year.

-I'm making a cassava pie.

Except the greengrocer
didn't have cassavas,

so I'm using parsnips.

-I'm sure it's going to be
delicious, Miss Thimble.

Are you sure you wouldn't
rather spend

this time with your family?

-As much as I love my sisters
and their husbands

and 6 children and 8 dogs --

or is it 8 children
and 6 dogs? --

peace on Earth it ain't.

-We're glad you'll be here
to keep us company.

-The four of us are going
to have a very merry Christmas.

-Oh, dear me.

That sounds all too familiar
and brings to mind

the time she went up --

-You wanted me, Reverend Mother?

-It's your mother.

-Hello?

-I've broken my elbow.
-Your mother

has broken her elbow!
-And before you ask,

your sister is playing
Nussknacker-Anzuege

at the Royal Opera House.

-Mrs. Daley has insisted
on taking Christmas off.

Typical!

-And your father is incapable
of boiling an egg

without burning the house down.

-Well, she's hardly better.

Do you remember
the chicken-pot-pie inferno?

-Needs must, Malise.

-Or we wouldn't dream
of asking you.

-Erm, well, I-I need to ask
Reverend Mother

if she can spare me --

-Oh, I'm sure we can manage
without her, Mrs. Bonham-Crane.

You leave it with me.

I'll make sure she's
on the next train.

Ah.

-Sounds hopeful!

-"Big Chill!

Worst weather conditions
on record"!

There you go.

"More blizzards forecast!"

-Running away from the convent?

-Oh, very good.

No, mother's broken her elbow,
so I'm needed at home.

-Ah, Christmas
with your parents.

That'll be nice.

Merry Christmas,
Mr. and Mrs. Scrooge.

-Bah!
-Bah -- and I cannot emphasise

this enough -- humbug!
-Humbug!

-Anyway, where are you off to?

-Oxford. Dropping presents
to the family.

-Well, how fortuitous.

We can share our journey
as far as there.

Oh, and I have a picnic.

Courtesy of Sister Lawrence.

-Excellent.

After you, Sister.

-Goodbye.

I'm -- I'm sorry.

-You have the Robertson
board meeting on the 28th.

I assumed you'd want to be there
in person.

Lunch with Lord Goldsworth
on 30th

to discuss financing
for Buenos Aires.

I've prepared you a summary
of the key points.

And the Prime Minister
has asked you for

New Year's drinks at Chequers.

-Tell him no.
Man's an idiot.

He'll only
tap me for a donation.

-Soon have you in the warm,
my darling.

-You're too sweet, Ranulph.

What would I do without you?

-Good afternoon, Sir Swinton.

I'm Fawcett, and it's
my privilege to wait on you

for the duration
of your journey.

-Henry Medwick.
We spoke yesterday.

Can you show us
where this is going?

-If you'd like to come this way.

-Cooeee!

Sir Swinton,
Deborah Fitz D'Arcy.

I believe you are acquainted
with my cousin,

Lady Violet Windermere.

Lady Violet was so sorry
to hear about your accident.

You've been so brave,
both of you.

Her words, not mine.

-Thank you.
-Please excuse us.

-I see you have
private accommodation

and would beg a favour.

First class is full,
and the problem with second is,

one never knows who
one might end up sitting with.

-Who is this woman?

-That won't be possible today,
I'm afraid.

-You are required
to verify delivery of the item.

And I'll be needing a signature.

It's magnificent.

-I'll be happy never to set eyes
on the damn thing again.

-The museum has organised
a security escort

to meet you at Marylebone.

I must instruct you to set
a new combination,

known only to yourself.

Please do not share this
with anyone,

including members
of your family.

-They're the last people
I'd share it with.

-Then it only remains for me
to wish you a safe journey.

-Goodbye, sir.
Merry Christmas.

-And to you.

-Stockings followed
by morning carols.

Then back home for sherry
and mince pies.

Present opening.

Lunch at 1:00.

And 3:00 Her Majesty's speech,

followed by tea
and parlour games.

-I'm very partial to charades.

-Well, I've no idea
what that's supposed to be.

How many syllables?

-Oh, my!

-Lord, have mercy.

Avert your eyes, Dottie!

-He's definitely male.

-Why have we stopped again?

I'm due at my cousin
Lady Violet Windermere's.

She will be very inconvenienced
if I am late.

-And where are you headed,
Mr...

-Harinder Ray.

London Airport.

I'm flying home to Bangalore
on Christmas Day.

So sadly, I'll be spending
the day in the air.

-One would hardly expect you to
appreciate a Christian festival.

-Actually, there are
startling parallels

between the baby Krishna
and baby Jesus.

Isn't that right, Mr. Ray?

-Gods born in human form,

endangered from birth
because of their divinity,

hunted by murderous Kings.

-I'm going to find a guard

to ask how much longer
we will be stuck here.

-Shortbread finger, Sir?

-Is there a newspaper at least
to pass the damn time?

Bloody debacle.

A bit of snow and the government
goes full-on headless chicken.

-Now, what the blazes?

-♪ The holly and the ivy ♪

♪ When they are both
full grown ♪

Ta-da!

-Oh.
-What do you think?

Is something wrong,
Reverend Mother?

-Grave news from our Sisters
in Wadi Fira.

"It is wonderful to hear of your
plans in place for Christmas.

We regret our tidings
lack seasonal joy.

The crops and livestock
are ravaged by drought.

The nearest water hole
now a two-mile walk.

Yet we are determined
to celebrate

the birth of our Saviour.

We pray the bells of
St. Vincent's ring out clearer

for our Saviour this year.

Enough food has been saved
to ensure all the children

will have a meal
on Christmas day."

-The poor souls.
I'll pray for them.

-Compliments from
Sister Lawrence.

She knows marzipan stollen
is a favourite of yours.

-Eh, eh.

-Would someone care to inform me
what's happening?

-The coupling snapped.

Maybe it froze?

-Why didn't they stop?

Oh, hello.
Where did you spring from?

-Got off to stretch my legs.
Then the train started to leave.

What happened?
-It appears we're stranded.

-Not for long.

They'll soon realise they're a
few carriages short of a train.

-And in the meantime?

Are we to freeze to death?

There's no heating
or light in here.

-The Pullman has a generator.

We can move in there
while we wait for help.

With Sir Swinton's permission.

-Sir Swinton?

-Fine.
Just get on with it, man.

-And he was still wearing
his socks!

-He was stiff as a proverbial!

Apologies for the whatnot.
Caught me mid dress rehearsal.

-We're all looking forward
to heckling your uglier sister.

-Oh! No, you're not!

-Oh, yes, we are!
-Oh, yes, we are!

-Why is CC Lowsley
dressed like a woman?

-It's pantomime, Sarge.

The dame's played by a man

and the principal boy
is played by a girl.

-Of course.

-So, what have we got?

-Yeah, er, male 50s to 60s.

No obvious signs of any injury.

-What did the Police surgeon
say?

-Cause of death was hypothermia.

-And he was...naked?

-It's known as
paradoxical undressing.

It's when the body temperature
falls too low

it creates confusion
and a sensation of overheating,

leading the victim to then
removing their clothes.

-They weren't at the allotment,
so he must have removed them

somewhere else before
going there to find shelter.

-Poor fellow.
Probably a vagrant.

-I hope this won't spoil plans
for Christmas?

-I think not.

At present, the death
seems rather unsuspicious.

Although we are yet
to identify him.

-Well, I must away.
The muse is calling.

-Merry Christmas, Sir.

-I sincerely doubt it.

Mrs. Lowsley's mother is
spending the holidays with us.

-Problem?

-A letter from a supplier.

Bloody man's
a professional complainer.

-Ah, don't panic.

I think there are
some oil lamps.

If I can locate one,
I can check the fuse box.

-Oh, I always keep an emergency
box of matches to hand.

Let's see...

penknife...

ball of string.

Oh, I don't know what that is.

Oh, bingo.

-Ah.
The generator's tripped.

Nothing to worry about.

-Nothing to worry about?

The train mysteriously
de-couples leaving us stranded.

Then the power goes out.
This is no coincidence.

-You think
it's an attempt to steal...

-Do you mind me asking
what you're talking about?

-What business is it of yours?

-Detective Inspector Gillespie,
Great Slaughter Police.

-Come with me.

-See? What did I tell you?
Paranoid.

-That's quite some security
you have.

-It's a ruby weighing 50 carats.

-Ah.
-Intriguing.

A priceless ruby vanishes
from a safe

to which only Sir Swinton
knew the combination.

-Could somebody have guessed it?

-Tell me you didn't
write it down.

-Do you think I'm senile?

-The thought is increasingly
starting to cross my mind.

-Could anyone have entered
the Pullman

before the train was uncoupled?

-Not without us seeing them.

-Which means the thief
is amongst us.

-I sincerely hope that I am not
under suspicion.

Lady Violet Windermere
is my cousin.

-I don't care whether
she's the Queen Mother.

But I would like to know
where she sprang from?

-I-I told you.

I got off the train
to stretch my legs.

-I will be interviewing everyone
in due course, including Miss...

-Cooper.
Carol Cooper.

-How do we even know
that he is a policeman?

Any Tom, Dick, or Harry
could fake a warrant card.

-Well, I may be able to offer
some reassurance on that score.

Along with credentials
of my own.

A very nice piece by Norman.

I was going to show you,
but I thought you might --

wouldn't...

Anyway, here's your proof
in black and white.

The Orphans Christmas party.

You know, there aren't many men

who can pull off
a pair of green tights.

-As you may have deduced,
Sister Boniface is well known

to the Police
in her capacity as the --

-Vintner of St. Vincent's.

We're wine makers.

And the police are our most
valued customers.

-Your employer is Chairman
of Usher Industries.

And his son works
for the company as well?

-He holds a managerial position
in a subsidiary company.

Ranulph didn't inherit his
Father's appetite for business.

He's always been too busy
chasing the ladies.

I understand the company
is having some problems.

-Oh, it's a temporary downturn.
Nothing we can't weather.

-"We"?

-I-I didn't mean...

I know the inner workings of
the company better than anyone,

having been with Sir Swinton
for 18 years.

I know what you're thinking, but
his bark is worse than his bite.

I've become very fond of him.

-Oh, is the jewel insured?

-For £3 million.

But only until it arrives
at the British Museum.

Sir Swinton is gifting it
to them on permanent loan.

-That's quite some bequest.

-Sir Swinton
is a very generous man.

-How old are you, Carol?
-16.

-And why are you travelling
to Cholsey?

-To spend Christmas
with my aunt.

-Do you have an address?

-20 Earlsfield Avenue.

-This ticket is only one way.

When are you planning
to come back?

-Well, what with the snow
and all,

we -- we decided it better
to wait.

-Thank you.
That's all for now.

-Fawcett.
Stanley Michael.

35 Nelson's Road.
Chipping Campden.

My credentials
and letters of authority

for your information.

I'd keep my eye on
the Indian fellow if I were you.

-We bring bad tidings.

The bells have frozen.

-There'll be no ringing out
on Christmas morn!

It's like the bloody war
all over again!

-We know it's your favourite
part of the day.

Reverend Mother?

-God works in mysterious ways.

Thank you for informing me.

Is there anything else?

-You're taking this
much better than we thought.

-Exactly how did you think
I would take it?

-Well, not like this.

-Personal effects, Sarge.

One pair of socks.

-They're clean
and they look new.

I-I don't think this man
was a vagrant.

Um, any luck finding
his clothes?

-No, no, not yet.
But it's pitch black out there.

We'll search again
when it's daylight.

-Okay. And put an enquiry out
for missing persons.

It's Christmas.

We owe it to his family
to identify him.

-The case of the unclad corpse.

Where's Sister Boniface
when you need her, eh?

-What are you playing at,
Sister?

-I deemed it prudent to remain
"undercover."

Being associated with the Police
has a tendency

to make people clam up
as I'm sure you are aware.

-Well, no offence, Sister,
but you are a terrible liar.

-None taken.

It is rather contrary
to the job description.

But under the circumstances,
I'm sure I can improvise.

So, what did you discover?

-Right, Sir Swinton Usher,

Chairman of Usher industries,

travelling with his son
Ranulph --

bit of a disappointment
by all accounts --

his daughter-in-law Abigail
and his secretary Jean Smythe.

The Steward, Fawcett, he was
hired by the security company

in charge
of transporting the jewel.

And Hari Ray's passport and
plane ticket verify his story.

-What about young Carol?

-Hmm. Something
doesn't add up there.

Oh, and sorry.
-Oh, sorry.

-Usher Industries

is in financial trouble
according to reports.

Which begs the question...

Why would you donate a jewel
worth £3 million to a museum?

-Damned if I did,
damned if I didn't.

-Oh, here we go.

-I'd never heard of it.

But then last year, I received
an unknown correspondence

about a bequest
from a great-great uncle

with me as the next
direct descendent in line.

With it were two letters.

-"To whomsoever shall be the
future possessor of this gem.

These lines are addressed
in mourning

before he or she shall assume
its responsibility."

"Known as
The Star of The Orient,

it is accursed

and stained with the blood
and dishonour

of everyone
who has ever owned it."

"My nephew Colonel William Usher
of the Bengal Cavalry

won it in a card game
in a Bombay gambling den."

-For you, my darling.

A gift.

-"After which he brought it home

and presented it to his wife."

"From that time,
misfortune attacked him."

"The loss of his wife and child,

followed by a series
of financial setbacks."

-"All the while plagued by
unsettling visions

of a horned wraith.

Convinced the gem
was responsible,

he sold it to a jeweller,

only for the buyer to return it

claiming it was haunted
by an evil spirit."

-"Two days later,
he committed suicide.

And the jewel passed

into the possession
of his brother Julian,

who, himself being convinced
of its malevolence,

cast it into a river
where it would never be found."

"Weeks later
while hosting a dinner..."

"Shortly after, the East Wing

was razed to the ground
in a fire,

claiming his life
and those of his family.

As his uncle, the jewel passed
into my reluctant possession.

Convinced it can neither be sold
nor disposed of

without risk to my life
and those of my family...

I am having it exorcised."

"After which it will be packed
in seven boxes

and deposited with my bankers,

with instruction it is not
to see the light again

until I have been dead
100 years."

-And in the other letter?

-From William Usher
to his brother.

-A ghost story worthy
of Messers James or Collins.

-Do you think
I wasn't sceptical?

When Abigail asked to borrow
the jewel

for some fancy party, I agreed,

little knowing
what would happen.

-I'll thank you to keep my wife
out of your crackpot theories.

-It was an accident.

Driving home after the party,
a stag ran in front of the car.

I lost control and hit a tree.

We were both nearly killed,

and a head injury
caused me to lose my sight.

-You say it was a stag.

-Oh, the horned wraith.

-Oh, don't be ridiculous.
-It's not ridiculous.

It's the first sensible words
she's uttered.

-It was 300 pounds
of prime venison.

Not some ghoulie or ghostie
or long-legged beastie.

-Belief in the supernatural
is integral to my culture.

-Oh, ditto.

What is God if not
a supernatural entity?

-I believe the perpetrator
to be far more human.

But there's nothing
to be done now.

I suggest we all try and get
some rest until help arrives.

-Does anyone know where we are?

-♪ My gift is you ♪

-If you're waiting
for Inspector Gillespie,

he didn't come home last night.

-Maybe he decided to spend
the night at his sister's.

-If that were the case, he would
have telephoned and told us.

-This is the BBC News.
-It's Christmas Eve!

There is a tree to decorate,
stockings to fill,

and, well, he jolly well better
be back in time

for midnight mass,
and I sincerely hope

he isn't going to wreck
our Christmas plans

for some fancy woman.

-Mrs. Clam.
-...was missing four carriages.

A spokesman for the railway
said, "We are making

strenuous efforts
to find the missing passengers.

But a search operation is
severely hindered by the snow.

-Nonetheless..."
-Wasn't that Sam's train?

-"...we are confident
it's only a matter of time."

-Between Little Sockford
and Belbury.

-Well, that's at least 30 miles.
Cross-country.

-And the snow ploughs
are unable to get through.

-So, with Gillespie AWOL, that
leaves you in the driving seat.

So, any luck identifying
our John Doe?

-No missing persons reports
have been filed locally

or by adjacent police forces.

-Post-mortem report is in.

-Oh, that was quick.
-It's not very long, Sir.

-Death by hypothermia.

-It's such a relief.

My family were so worried
I'd be working over Christmas.

-Look at this.

Do you see these marks
around the mouth?

-They look like burns.

-I have seen this before.

A kidnapping in Bermuda.
The victim was chloroformed.

I think our man was knocked out,
then his clothes removed,

leaving him to freeze to death.

This is murder.

-Splendid!

-Well, for you.

First murder flying solo.

Chance to cover yourself
in glory.

I'd better telephone
Mrs. Lowsley,

tell her I won't
be home for dinner.

♪ La, la, la, la, la, la, la,
la, la, la ♪

♪ Comfort and joy! ♪

♪ La, la, la, la, la, la,
la, la, la, la ♪

-My first murder case and I
can't even identify the victim.

I'm hardly covering myself
in glory.

What do you think Sam would do
if he were here?

-Well, there's a Christmas
wassail on at the pub,

so I reckon
he'd be in the Spitfire.

-Opening hours
aren't till 11:00.

-Oh, it's Christmas, Sarge.

-And that is why, Peggy, you
are the best WPC in the county.

Come on.

-A search turned up nothing.

Hardly surprising when
we're looking for

something the size of a walnut.

-And whoever had the ingenuity
to steal it

certainly has
the ingenuity to conceal it.

-We only have Sir Swinton's word
that it was stolen.

And a £3 million insurance
claim would give his company

a much needed cash injection.

-Yes, but why go to the charade
of donating it to a museum?

-I don't know.

And this story of a curse
is hard to swallow.

-His fear seemed genuine,

although seemingly not shared
by his son.

-Hmm. He seems more concerned
about his wife.

-Maybe not that concerned
about his wife.

-Problem?

-A letter from a supplier.

Bloody man's
a professional complainer.

-Go on.

-Curiosity is a sin.
-Noted.

-And it was only
an inadvertent glance.

-Do you remember what it said?

-"Darling soul. Still no reply
to my last letter,

so I'm blaming
the filthy weather.

Something terrible has happened.

Ronald has been posted
to Bogota in the new year.

I'd rather die.

Say the word and we can escape

somewhere warm and sunny
and be anonymous.

I'm in agonies of despair
till you say yes.

Please write back.
Ever your devoted, Helena."

Well, that was the gist
of it, anyway.

-An inadvertent glance?

-I have somewhat
of an eidetic memory.

-Of course you do.

Well, if he was running away
with his mistress,

he'd need some cash.

And I have a feeling that
his father keeps him

on quite the tight rein.

-Inspector.
We have a problem.

The generator only has
enough fuel for a few hours.

-We're on a railway line.

There must be a telephone
on the tracks,

somewhere we can call for help.

-Army man, Sir?
-Fusiliers.

-Army Catering Corps.
Corporal.

Permission to accompany you.

There's no knowing what
you might encounter out there.

-West it is.

-It's a beautiful day.
-Mm.

I feel snow coming.
-Oh, yes, quite right.

And there are snow clouds.

-I think it's true what they say
about losing one's sight

and the rest of your senses
compensating.

I hear more, smell more,
taste more.

Feel more.

-Steady on.
There's a nun present.

-I'm quite unshockable.

Although I confess this jewel
theft has left me rather shaken.

Have you a theory
as to how it was taken?

-Well, it's obvious.

He must have written down
the combination

or told someone and then forgot.

-My father's age
is catching up with him.

Why else would he believe
the ramblings

of some batty
Victorian ancestor?

No doubt who was high on opium,

penning his fourth-rate
ghost story.

-The accident didn't change
your mind?

-The only thing cursed
was our marriage.

The irony is, it took all this
to bring us back together.

-Oh, isn't it wonderful to see
such a devoted couple?

And after all you've been
through.

-Oh, you're cold, Mrs. Usher.

May I escort you back?

-♪ I've been a wild rover
for many a year ♪

♪ And I spent all my money
on whisky and beer ♪

♪ And now I've returned
with gold in great store ♪

♪ And I never will play
the wild rover no more ♪

♪ And it's no, nay, never ♪

-Gentlemen.

-♪ No, never, no more ♪

-Gentlemen!

-We have a problem.

-We're not here to read
the riot act.

Are we, Sarge?

-Well, I'm assuming, Susan,
you have a permit

to be serving alcohol
outside of licencing hours?

-Oh, are you?
-Yes, yes.

-Okay, look, look.

We need your help
identifying this man.

His body was found yesterday.

Do any of you recognise him?

-Arg.
Surra am gutten at boos.

-Did you see where he went, Tom?

-Arg.
Ud Bassy Bur.

-That's very helpful, Tom.

Wishing you all
a happy Christmas.

-What did he say?
-He went to Miss Thimble's café.

-Well, there's a turn up
for the books.

-I expect you have a theory
as to how the jewel was stolen.

-I don't think it was spirited
away by some ghost

if that's
what you're talking about.

-Ah, "There are more things
in heaven and earth, Horatio,

than are dreamt of
in your philosophy."

That's Shakespeare.

Pick up all sorts
in this profession.

I come from a long line
of "silver servicemen"

as we like to call ourselves.

My grandfather was a waiter
on the Titanic.

He died a hero's death.

My father was doorman
at the Ritz.

And our son Clive's just become
an airline steward for BOAC.

His mother and I
were bursting with pride.

The first flying Fawcett.

-Hallelujah!

-Sisters.
I have something to impart.

Yesterday I was visited
by the Holy Spirit.

The silencing of our bells
is no coincidence.

It is a sign of God's
disapproval.

That whilst we gorge
on festivity,

our African Sisters starve.

-It's a sign it's five degrees
below freezing.

-Should we say a mass for them?

-We must do more than that.

I propose a seasonal fast
in solidarity.

Nothing but bread and water
should pass our lips.

-You want to cancel Christmas?

-Well, I'll leave that to
your individual consciences.

However, we are
a democratic community here.

So if anyone wishes to dissent?

-Reverend Mother,
i-it's only one day.

-That's the attitude!

Sister Peter is an inspiration
to us all.

Anyone else?

Good.
So all this must come down.

This is a period of reflection
and not of celebration.

-And Merry Christmas to you,
too.

-It's snowing again.

-We're one missing.

Has anyone seen
Miss Fitz D'Arcy?

-She said she was going
for a walk.

I hope she hasn't gone too far.

It's getting worse out there.

-What's that?

Miss Fitz D'Arcy.

Is she...

-She's dead.

I need to you step away
from the body.

-Is that blood?
Why is it that colour?

-Fetch Sister Boniface.
-Sister Boniface?

This woman obviously
needs prayers.

-Right.

...but the cable had been cut.

And worse, then we found
her body, Miss Fitz D'Arcy.

Murdered.

-So we have a missing jewel,
a dead woman,

and the telephone lines
are down.

Is there any good news?

-Don't shoot the messenger, Sir.

-How did she die?
-I don't know.

But there was something
unnatural about it.

H-Her body looked as though
somebody had laid it out,

and her blood was bright pink.

-What are you doing?

-Someone will need to inform
her relatives.

There may be something in here.

An address book or...

It's from Lady Violet.

"Dear Cousin Deborah, I'm sorry

to hear of your situation,
and I'm able to offer you

the position
of housekeeper companion

on a salary of £5 per month
plus board.

Please find enclosed
a 2nd class ticket."

-Not so hoity-toity after all.

-Poor woman.

-Poor enough to resort to theft?

-You're not suggesting
that Miss Fitz D'Arcy

stole the jewel?

-And if she's the thief,
then who killed her?

-Who or what?

-Nifty, isn't it?

The very latest
photographic technology.

I thought it might
amuse my parents.

They're quite a tough
audience.

Peel it apart, will you?

-I only left you
for a couple of hours.

Now I've got a corpse
to add to our troubles.

-Cause of death is a puncture
wound to the stomach.

She bled out.

-Why is the blood pink?

-Extreme cold causes
the erythrocytes to haemolyse,

causing the extreme change
in colour.

-Care to have a stab
at the murder weapon?

-Too obvious?

-It wasn't a knife.

There's an abrasion rim,
radial tears.

I'd say we're looking
for something sharp-ish

and cylindrical?

-Time of death?

-Well, there's no rigour mortis,

and the body
still feels somewhat warm,

allowing for peripheral shutdown
due to blood loss

and the extreme temp--

About 30 minutes.

Presenting a conundrum.

Because during that time,
everyone was on the train.

-Are you sure?
-Quite sure.

How intriguing.

In addition
to an impossible theft,

we now have
an impossible murder.

-Stabbed?!

By who?!

-When?

-Given the body was still warm,

I estimate within
the last half-hour.

-But we were all on the train.
-What about the blood?

He said it wasn't natural.

-My father thinks
Miss Fitz D'Arcy stole the jewel

and was slain
by an avenging genie.

-T-There's a perfectly good
scientific explanation for that.

The extreme cold causes
the erydodytes to molecurlarise,

meaning the blood
looks salmon pink.

-Well, that makes perfect sense.

-Which brings me to the very
unsupernatural conclusion.

We have a stowaway.

-What have we got here?
-Stay back!

-Inspector, Inspector!
We got him!

-Stay back!

-Police.
You're surrounded.

There's no need for anyone
to get hurt.

Now drop the weapon.

What's your name?

-Nicholas Foster.
-Is that blood on his shirt?

-No. I do-- I do--
I don't know where it came from.

-It came from the dead woman.
You nicked the jewel.

She must have seen you,
so you killed her.

-What have you done with it?

-I'm not a thief!
I didn't kill anyone!

-Permission to beat the truth
out of him, Sir.

-No!
-Someone grab her!

-Enough!
No one is getting beaten up.

Now you come with me,
and you,

and we'll finish this off
in private.

-I expect you'll be testing the
stains to confirm if it's blood?

-Can you do that?

-Yes.

Right.

-Perhaps I can bring you
a clean shirt.

-What if they try
to make a run for it?

-Where would they run to?

-Don't you remember him
coming into the café?

-I didn't recognise him
with his clothes off.

-You weren't looking
at his face.

So he wasn't a vagrant then?

-We're treating it
as a murder investigation.

-But it's Christmas Eve.
-We know.

So if there's anything
you remember

which could help identify him?

-He had oxtail soup
and toad in the hole

followed by
Bakewell tart and custard.

The bill was 5 shillings
and 8 pence

and he didn't leave a tip.

-And this, the season of giving.

-Then had the cheek
to ask to use the telephone.

-I hope you gave him
short shrift.

-I said it was out of order,

and I directed him
to the nearest telephone box.

-Bravo, Dottie.

-What time was this?

-Just as I was closing up
at 5:30.

Thank you, Miss Thimble.

You've been very helpful.

I'll get onto the telephone
exchange, Sarge.

-Thank you.

-Is there any word
on the Inspector?

I mean, surely, they must
have found them by now.

-The snow ploughs, they are
trying to get through.

-I do hope you'll both be back
in time to decorate the tree.

-I'm ever so sorry
to disturb you.

I hope you don't mind.

Now, let's see
what we have here then.

-We planned to meet on the train
and get off just before Cholsey.

-Can you tell me
why you're running away?

-Why do you think?

-And you couldn't afford
the train ticket?

-I lost my job.

I'm an apprentice electrician.

Carol's dad called my boss

and said I'd been
harassing his daughter.

-It still doesn't explain
why you chose to elope

during the worst snowstorm
in living memory.

Or why you were going alone
to your aunt's at Christmas

on a one way ticket.

-Right.
Well, I tested this,

"according to your
instructions,"

and it's insoluble,
so not blood.

Probably some kind of oil-based
rust.

-I told you.

-I'm afraid that only proves
that it's not blood.

As the only one without an alibi
at the time of the murder,

I've got no choice
but to detain you

until we can verify
your stories.

-It isn't us
you should be accusing.

We heard the two
of them talking.

-The bells have thawed.

-♪ Fa la la la la la la la la ♪

-Praise be to God.

Our bodies may fast
but our souls are nourished.

-About that.
Some of us were thinking...

-Could this be another sign
from the Holy Spirit?

-You may be right.

-Hallelujah.
So Christmas is back on?

-Eh, eh, eh, eh.
I think what she meant was

this may be a sign that God
has blessed our endeavours.

Is that not right, Sister Peter?

-Y-Yes, Reverend Mother.
-Uh-huh.

-Tell everyone what you told me.

-We were in the livestock car
when we overheard them talking.

What are we going to do?
-I don't know.

-As soon as we're rescued,
you know what will happen.

-Well, then we should leave
before they get here.

Leave? We don't even know
where we are.

-Shh, shh.
-I broke no promises.

-If Sir Swinton finds out
what I did,

do you think
he'll ever forgive me?

Tell me honestly,
did you take the jewel?

-Jean.

After all this time?

You're part of the family!

-It isn't what you think.

-You don't want to know
what I think.

If you will permit me to explain.

I am Prince Harinder
Jarasandha Ray,

envoy to the Maharajah
of Kashaktar.

We believe the stone you know
as The Star of The Orient

is a holy relic of my nation.

-Oh, no. Watch out!

He may have a weapon.

The Eye of Shiva,

bestower of peace
and prosperity.

For centuries, it was guarded
in a sacred temple.

Then in 1863, the temple was
looted and the jewel plundered.

After that, we suffered
mutiny and famine,

world wars, and partition.

-You believe the jewel
will restore your fortunes?

-I believe in the power
of the mind.

Those that doubt fail,
while faith will bring success.

We've been scouring the world
for it ever since

and are prepared to pay
any price for its return.

-Including stealing it?

-I am no thief.

Merely an emissary.

We received word
the British Museum

had been offered a stone
matching its description.

And I was sent to negotiate
with Sir Swinton.

But he refused every overture.

-Because it is not for sale.

How much did he pay you?

-Nothing.
It wasn't like that.

-Miss Smythe merely provided
details of your journey.

It was my last chance
to intercede.

I'd hoped if you'd heard me out,
you would change your mind.

-Why did you help him,
Miss Smythe?

-I'm not superstitious.

I've certainly never believed
in ghosts and curses,

but since that jewel appeared,
it felt like a pall of evil

descended on us.

I thought you should hear the facts

before you
did something you'd regret.

-I don't employ you
to make decisions for me.

In fact, from here on in,
consider yourself unemployed.

And I shall make sure
you never work again!

-And then it struck me.

"The Tea-Leaf"
by Edgar Alfred Jepson.

A locked room mystery classic.

-I'll put it on my reading list.

-Death by icicle,

explaining why the body was
still warm when you found it.

The icicle staunched the wound.

And when the heat of her body
melted it, she bled out.

And here is home
to our murder weapon.

Look.

Mistletoe, which could have
been dislodged from the tree

when the murderer
snapped off the icicle.

-Now that's strange.

-What is that?

-I don't know.

Which is what makes it strange.

-Of course you realise,
this puts back...

...the time of death
by approximately 30 minutes.

I'm gonna need an account
of all your movements.

-What's he saying?

-He's saying any of us
could have done it.

-Who was last person to see
Miss Fitz D'Arcy?

-She escorted me
back to the train,

and then said she wanted
to take a walk.

-Was there anybody else
on the train?

-Swinton.
But I-I think he was...

taking a nap.

-Are you accusing me of snoring?

-It's more of a whistle.

-After about half an hour,
it had starting snowing,

so everybody
came back to the train.

-Which is when we noticed
Miss Fitz D'Arcy was missing.

We were about to send out
a search party

when Fawcett returned
with the news.

-I'm gonna need detailed
statements from all of you.

-Does that mean I'm not
under arrest anymore?

-Well, it doesn't mean
you're off the hook.

-However, given
this new information,

you are no more under suspicion
than anyone else.

Any luck identifying that?
-No.

The pattern has
a strange symmetry.

It's almost man-made.

How did you get on?

-Well, Swinton and Abigail
were on the train.

But according to Abigail,
Swinton was asleep.

-Well, so he could have slipped
out without her knowing.

-Carol and Nick were
together which means nothing.

Are they Romeo and Juliet or
a baby-faced Bonnie and Clyde?

-Well, they were very swift
to point the finger

at Mr. Ray and Miss Smythe.

-Who, along with Ranulph,
don't have alibis.

They all claimed to be
milling around outside,

but none of them can vouch
for each other

during the crucial time.

-So, if we can assume that
the jewel thief and murderer

are one in the same, and that
Sir Swinton is telling the truth

about not revealing
the combination...

-Then how did they steal
the jewel?

-Exactly.

Find the thief
and we find the murderer.

If you could assume
Sir Swinton's position

entering the combination.

-If you tell me
what we're doing.

-Seeing if there's any way
he could have been observed.

-Right.

Nothing to be seen here.

Well, there aren't any
footholds.

Hello.
What have we here?

-Is it me, or is there something
very strange about that woman?

-What is it?
-It looks like sawdust.

Thrown from the train and then
stuck to the window frame.

The question is,
where did it come from?

-Can you find out?
-It might have slipped your mind

but I'm without
my usual diagnostic kit.

-I've got a present for you.

-Oh!
What is it?

-I can't tell you.
It would ruin the surprise.

Come on.

-I say, old chap,
any chance of a cuppa?

-Right you are, Sir,
but I'm afraid we are down

to our last half packet
of shortbread fingers.

-Sir Swinton needs food
to take his medication.

-My health is no longer
any concern of yours.

-I suppose we could always
burn down the train.

-Alright, keep your trousers
on, Fawcett. I was joking.

-What is it?
What's wrong?

-I'm fine.
It's just...

-Forgive me,
but you don't look fine.

-Could she have been poisoned?

-Is it the baby?
-It can't.

I-It's too soon.
It can't.

-It isn't due for two months.

-It seems your baby
has other ideas.

-I bought it for my niece.

She's only four, but it's never
too early to start.

Wrong one.

-Just what I wanted
for Christmas.

-Erm, we have a problem.

-You poor things.
Why didn't you tell us?

-That explains a lot.

-They were sending me to a home

for unmarried mothers
to have the baby.

-Hence the one-way ticket.
-We would be married.

But she's only 16 and needs
her parents' permission.

They didn't want
a brown baby in the family.

-They're gonna make me give it
away after it's born.

-That's the power
from the generator out.

-Well, how long
before we freeze to death?

-Well...
-That's not gonna happen.

Help will arrive soon.

-It's been 24 hours.

Surely they'd have
found us by now.

-Hush! Listen.

I'd recognise those bells
anywhere.

The Treble is late
at backstroke.

And given the wind
is blowing east

that means St. Vincent's
is only,

well, a few miles
southwest as the crow flies.

-We can't trek cross-country
for miles

when there's more snow coming.

It would be suicide.

-We could rig a signal.

-Of course.
Why didn't we think of that?

Should we run up a red flag?

-No, the signal light's
still on.

Maybe I could harness
the power from it.

The cable. There's cable in
the livestock carriage.

-Good idea.
You two, go with him.

Meanwhile I'm gonna walk
the tracks east,

see if I can find another phone.

-I'll come with you, Sir.

-There, there.

-Henry Medwick.
Secure Goods Logistics.

-Good afternoon.

DS Livingstone,
Great Slaughter Police.

I believe you received a phone
call from a public telephone box

at approximately 6:00 p.m.
the night before last.

-Yes. An employee checking in
with his travel details.

He was hired to accompany
a cargo to London.

-A cargo?

-Yeah,
we provide security escorts

for the shipment
of valuable goods.

-I have some bad news.

We found a body last night,
and we believe it may be him.

-In Great Slaughter?

-Yes.
-No, that isn't possible.

I-I met him on the train
yesterday

when I accompanied the safe
to Gloucester Vale.

-What was in this safe?

-I suppose we'll have to wait
till next year.

Hmm. Still at least we know
what's behind it.

-Sister Reginald.

Look!

I've never seen that star
that bright.

Maybe Reverend Mother is right.

God sees our purpose
and has sent us a sign.

It's a miracle!

-Is it hell as like!

Come on!

-Morse code?
-I'm no expert,

but even I know what dot, dot,
dot, dash, dash --

-Eh, eh, eh, eh.
I'll inform the authorities.

-What can we do?

Without help,
they may freeze to death.

-Fetch food,
thermoses, and blankets.

-Where are we going?
-We will follow that star!

-Interesting.

Oh. I see.

Oh, dear.

There's a phone.

It's working.

-Agreeable as our acquaintance
has been.

it's time for you and I
to part company.

Sit.

-There's no need for violence.

-Oh, there's clearly a need
for some.

But you've been a pleasure
to serve, Inspector.

Which is why I'm not
going to kill you.

-It's getting worse.

-How about a marching song?

Keep our spirits up?

-Excellent idea,
Sister Reginald.

♪ Onward Christian Soldiers ♪

-♪ Jingle bells, jingle bells ♪

♪ Jingle all the way ♪

♪ Oh, what fun it is to ride ♪

♪ On a one-horse open sleigh,
hey ♪

♪ Jingle bells, jingle bells ♪

♪ Jingle all the way ♪

♪ Oh, what fun it is to ride ♪

♪ On a one-horse open sleigh ♪

-A ruby worth £3 million?

I wouldn't mind that
in my Christmas stocking.

-So, our victim's name
is Stanley Fawcett.

He worked as a Pullman Steward
for the security firm.

-The killer murdered him
and took his place.

-Yeah, but there's something
about this case

that I just can't put
my finger on.

-I know what you mean, Sarge.

Do you know...
I think I've got it.

Do you remember in February
when we got that alert

from the Gloucester Police
about the theft

of the Earl of Norton's
painting?

-The Rembrandt.

I think you might be on
to something, Peggy.

Can you dig out that file
for me?

-On it, Sarge.

-All this time you had
£3 million under your hat.

-You weren't supposed
to wake up.

My error.

I should have hit you harder.

-Shame.
-It is for you.

Now I'm going to have
to kill you.

-Wait!

At least tell me
how you stole it.

-I don't share trade secrets.

-I think I can explain.

Once I'd worked it out, it was
clear there was only one person

with the opportunity
to engineer it.

-Put the gun down, Sister.

-I believe this is what's known
as a standoff.

-Hmm. Then while we wait,

the floor is yours.

-The sawdust transpired to be
oak veneer on pine

with traces of varnish,
matching that on the door.

I examined it, you see,

and found signs that
the spy hole had been unscrewed

Then it was only a matter
of reversing it.

After gaining the combination,

it was a simple matter
to switch it back again.

Simple but ingenious.

-Very good, Sister.

If you are even a nun.

-Oh, assuredly so

and have no experience
with firearms.

So even though I would be aiming
at your leg,

the chances of me missing
and hitting a vital organ

is statistically quite high.

-Put it down.
And she's not lying to you.

She's no threat to you.
You can let her go.

-As someone whose career rests
on remaining incognito,

I beg to differ.

And now regrettably,
I must kill you both.

Ladies first.

-No!

For God sake, Sister,
put it down.

It is real and it is loa--

A little help here
would be appreciated.

-Intriguing.
So Fawcett was our thief,

begging the question,
who killed Miss Fitz D'Arcy

given he has a cast-iron alibi?

Oh, sorry.

-10 months ago, a Rembrandt was
stolen from the Earl of Norton

by a man masquerading
as a restorer,

who was subsequently
found murdered.

-Believed to be the work
of Pontius Blik,

an international thief
and a master of disguise.

He's wanted by INTERPOL.

-And you think he's on this
missing train with Gillespie?

-Yes, Sir.

The rescue services still can't
get through to locate them.

It's 30 miles.

-So we're looking for a needle
in a haystack

in a blizzard.

-I don't think we can get there!

-We've come too far to go
back again,

so we're damned if we do
and we're damned if we don't!

-I've often wondered how I'd go?

I have to say, freezing
to death in a blizzard

wasn't high on the list.

-Quiet, Sister Reginald.

I think the time for flippancy
is over

and the time for prayer begun.

Our Father, Who art in heaven,

hallowed be Thy name;

Thy kingdom come;
Thy will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

-As it is in heaven.

-It was Fawcett?

-"Fawcett" isn't
who we thought, it seems.

-And now he's escaped
with the jewel?

-It has a habit of making
its way back.

-Sister Boniface!
I need your help!

Her contractions are getting
closer together!

I'm no expert, but...

-I-I'm on my way, Miss Smythe!

Hot towels.

-In the meantime,
keep that signal going.

-Give us this day
our daily bread;

and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who trespass
against us;

and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

-Is it an angel?

-Warra u ella dun are et Susser?

-Oh, yes, look, here's one.

-Good.

-Strange.

Inspector.
Can I have a word?

Miss Fitz D'Arcy wasn't
murdered because of the jewel.

It was an entirely
different motive.

-What am I looking at?

-I think it's a glove mark
where they rested their hand

on the tree trunk
while reaching for the icicle.

-Are you sure?

-Not at all.

The image was far too fuzzy.

But there is one way
of finding out.

Lights, please.

Up a bit.

Left a bit.

Down a smidgeon.
Stop.

Don't move.

Oh, yes, the wood cells

have changed where the roots
were invaded.

-Sister Boniface.
-Reverend Mother.

It's a long story.
-Spare me.

It appears there is
a young woman in labour.

-We have to get her to
an hospital.

-How far apart are
the contractions?

-About two minutes.

-Then you aren't
going anywhere

unless you want to give birth
in the back of a tractor.

I predict baby will be with us
within the hour.

Why are you looking at me
like that?

I was trained in the midwifery.

So, uh, chop chop.

Uh, scissors, surgical scissors,
um, sheets, and blankets.

-Ow!
-Oh, and space,

maybe enough
for you to lie down in.

Ah, this will do.

-Our baby is not being born
with the animals!

-If it was good enough
for St. Joseph,

then it's good enough for you.

-You found us?

-Thank Tom.

He was out in the fields
feeding his sheep.

-Dor dor dor dar dar dar
dor dor dor.

Dar dar dar.

-Nice one, Tom.

-There's something I need
to show you.

We found him less than a mile
from here.

No signs of any injury.

He must have frozen.

-Except for the expression
on his face.

-It looks like he was
frightened to death.

-We found this clutched
in his hands.

-Sir Swinton.

-Sir Swinton Usher.
I believe this is yours, Sir.

-No. I don't want it.

-I'll fill you in later.

Button, could you please gather
everyone in the Pullman.

-Sarge.

-Our error was assuming
Miss Fitz D'Arcy

had discovered
our jewel thief

when, in fact, there's
another imposter.

-You have my word,
I did not touch her.

-Don't look at me.

-I'm looking at you, Mrs. Usher.

Can you explain what you
were doing at the crime scene?

-I don't know what
you're talking about.

-I have your glove here.

It's riddled with mistletoe
parasite

from the tree
the murder weapon came from.

-How could you possibly
know that?

-I've been economical
with the truth.

-Sister Boniface is
our Police Scientific Advisor.

As well as being a nun.

-Are you insane, man?
She's blind.

-Then how can she
explain this?

-Tropicamide.

It's a pupil dilator used
in cycloplegic refractions.

-When did you regain
your sight, Mrs. Usher?

-Three months ago.

-And when were you planning
on telling me?

I knew I couldn't hide it
forever,

but just a little while.

I didn't want to ruin it.

-Ruin what?
-Us.

For the first time
in our marriage,

I had you all to myself.

Then Helena started writing,
asking you to go back to her.

-You read my letters.

-It wasn't like you needed
to hide them from me.

And then Miss Fitz D'Arcy
saw me.

-The next day, she escorted me
back to the train

and suggested we take
a little walk

so we could talk in private.

I bared my soul to her,
begged her to keep my secret

so I could tell you
in my own time

once that woman was out
of our lives for good.

-I sympathise of course.

And naturally, you may trust
in my discretion.

I'm sure we can come to a
mutually beneficial arrangement.

-Are you blackmailing me?

-Nothing so vulgar.

Just a modest monthly stipend

in return for services rendered.

-You're despicable.

-Easy for you to say.

You have a husband
to cushion you.

Whereas I am obliged
to feather my own nest.

Perhaps you need a moment
to think about it.

-What choice did I have
but to agree

to her sordid little blackmail?

Everything that happened
after was like a dream,

like I was outside of my body
watching it.

-I'm sure you've made
the right decision.

-I'd never have left
you, Abigail.

Blind or not.

Call it an epiphany,

but there's nothing like
a near-death experience

to make one re-evaluate
one's priorities.

-What are you saying?

-Me, us.

I couldn't change
what had happened,

but I could be a better man.

And somewhat to my surprise,

I discovered being a better man
rather suited me.

It's a lot less stressful
for one.

Oh, we were happy, Abigail.

-Abigail Usher,
I'm arresting you for the murder

of Deborah Fitz D'Arcy.

You are not obliged to say
anything,

but anything you do say
may be written down

and given as evidence.

-Push!
-Oh, well done.

-Perhaps a little more effort
next time.

-You kept that quiet.

I'd never have had you down
as a midwife.

-I started my vocation
in a midwifery order

before I realised
it wasn't for me.

-Aah!
-It's not the babies I minded

so much as the mothers

who always insisted
on making such a fuss.

-Oh, I can't do it any more!
I can't.

-It's only childbirth.

You're aren't Sir Edmund Hillary

on the summit of Mount Everest.

-Ah, Carol.

I want you to stop pushing.

-Is -- Is something wrong?

-There will be if you don't do
as you're told.

Now, the baby's head is facing
the wrong way,

so I need to turn
the baby round so...

Don't push.
Do not push.

P-Pant.
Pant as quick as you can.

-Big -- Big breaths
like you're --

like you're blowing out
a candle.

Now, now. I want you to push
as hard as you can.

Push!

-Push, push!

-Push! Push!

-Push.
-Push.

-Push.
-Push.

-As hard as you can, push.

-You have a beautiful daughter.

-And I'm no expert,

but it looks like someone got
their dates wrong.

Quite the bouncer.

-Is -- Is something wrong?

Why -- Why isn't she crying?

-Ooh, they'll be -- they'll be
plenty of time for that

later on,
don't you worry.

-She -- She's dead, isn't she?

-She's a -- She's a --
She's a naughty little baby,

is what she is.

Now then, madam.

No trouble from you or you'll
have me to deal with.

-Sensible girl.

-I'm beginning to think
you were right.

Maybe the damned thing
is cursed.

-Take it.
It's yours.

-You may name your price.

-Keep your money.
It was never mine to begin with.

With the jewel, I received

William Usher's suicide
letter to his brother Julian.

And his confession.

He and a fellow officer
looted the jewel

from a temple
like common thieves.

His partner in crime
died shortly after,

and William brought
the stone back to England,

claiming he won it
in a card game.

His heirs were sworn to secrecy

for fear of ruining
the family name.

It isn't the jewel,
it's our family that is cursed

for the sins of the past.

Let's pray this brings
an end to it.

-Thank you.

-We will be needing a receipt.

Sorry.

-Where would we be
without you, Jean?

-Well, well. You'd better
get on with it.

-Right away, Sir Swinton.

-Congratulations.
She's gorgeous.

-Have you decided on a name?

-We're gonna name her
after the Reverend Mother.

-Oh, yes.
Um, Adrienne.

Very pretty.

-No.
After her christened name.

-Wagons roll.

We need to get you somewhere
warm and dry

and a decent meal inside you.

-Well, where are you taking me?

-I won't let them take our baby.

-You've no job,
and we've nowhere to live.

How are we supposed
to stop them?

-We'll have less of the
defeatist attitude, thank you.

Sister Reginald?

-There's the old
groundskeeper's cottage.

It's a bit worn and torn,

but nothing a lick of paint
won't fix.

-And we've always work
for a handyman around the place.

-It will do until you get
your feet on the ground

and a ring
on the young lady's finger.

But rest assured.

The little Hepzibah
is going nowhere.

-Charming.

And how wonderful
to have baby...

Hepzibah for Christmas.

-Well, don't hold your breath.

Christmas is cancelled.

Isn't that right,
Reverend Mother?

-A baby is born to us
this auspicious night.

How can God not want us
all to celebrate?

What's wrong with you?

-May I congratulate you
on a truly top job?

Two murders, a jewellery theft,

and the apprehension
of INTERPOL's most wanted,

albeit dead rather than alive.

-We brought brandy.
For medicinal purposes.

-Thank goodness
you're safely back,

and in the nick of time.

Listen.

-It's Christmas day.

-Happy Christmas!
-Happy Christmas.

-Of course we have a prisoner
in custody

who we can't move
until the roads have cleared.

So someone's going to be
playing guard duty.

Obviously Gillespie can't.
I mean just look at you.

You're in no fit state.

-I appreciate that, Sir.

-So...
-I'll do it.

You know, Christmas is a time
for family,

and I believe that Peggy
and CC Lowsley

should be with theirs.

I'm really sorry, Mrs. Clam
and Miss Thimble,

for all the trouble
you've gone to.

-Of course it's only right

that they should be
with their families.

-Oh, thanks, Sarge.

I'll bring you some
Christmas dinner.

My mum makes the best roast
turkey in Great Slaughter.

No offence to Mrs. Clam
or Mrs. Lowsley intended.

-Oh, none taken.

She may be the queen
of my heart,

but no one could describe her
as queen of the kitchen.

I-I-I will hold fort.

-But your wife, Sir.

-Fortunately has got her mother
for company.

So you can all drink,
eat, and be merry.

Consider it my Christmas present
to my --

to -- to -- to you all.

-Mother?
-Oh, it's you.

It's her.
-Did she get lost?

-Did you get lost?
-It's a very long story.

I'm very sorry
that I couldn't make it.

-Oh, well, it doesn't matter.

Your Sister's concert
was cancelled

'cause of the bad weather.
They're all here.

-Everything's tickety boo.
-I have to go, darling.

We're playing Bach's Sarabande
to the baby.

I'm almost certain
he's got perfect pitch.

-Merry Christmas, Mother.

-♪ God rest ye merry gentlemen ♪

♪ Let nothing you dismay ♪

-Merry Christmas, Sir.

-♪ Was born on upon this day ♪

♪ To save us all
from Satan's pow'r ♪

♪ When we were gone astray ♪

-♪ Oh, tidings of comfort
and joy ♪

-Reindeer?

-Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.

-Bambi?
-Strip poker?

-No!
It's a play!

-"Midsummer Nights Dream"!

-Yes!

-Your turn.

-Okay.

Okay, so...

-Film!
-No, no, no, no.

It's -- It's a play.
-You can't talk!

-One word.
-One word.

-Two syllables.

-"The Importance
of Being Earnest"!

-Really.

-Top up, ladies?

-Oh, I think we've had enough,
don't you, Dottie?

-Chin-chin!

-Oh, well, I suppose it is
Christmas.

-Merry Christmas!

-Merry Christmas.

-♪ Of comfort and joy ♪

-Right, let's get a photo,
everyone, shall we?

Everyone, gather round.

Sisters?

Gather round.

Can everyone see me?
Sisters?

And say season's greetings.

-Season's greetings.

-♪ Oh, tidings of comfort
and joy ♪

Perfect.