All language subtitles for Sister Boniface Mysteries Season 03 e05

That's all for this week
here on "Glory Be."

We'll see you next Sunday
live from St. Vincent's Convent

in Great Slaughter
to bring you the final

of the Chorister
of the Year competition.

Until then...
# Glory, glory, glory be #

Glory be.

Stiffen your wimples
and summon up the blood.

We have less than 48 hours
before the eyes

of the entire country plus
the archbishop are upon us.

If we give anything less
than a heavenly performance

I shall never live it down.

You, you, you
will never live it down.

- Oh, crumbs.
- Deep breaths, Sister Peter.

Now raise the rafters,

or I will raise you
through the roof.

# All things
bright and beautiful #

# All creatures
great and small #

# All things
wise and wonderful #

Ugh. Stop. Stop.
Stop this caterwauling.

This choir will be
the death of me.

##

##

##

##

##

This is the worst possible time
to have a migraine.

Last one lasted a whole week.

Who's going to take charge
of the choir?

Technically speaking,

Sister Peter
is second in command.

Though I'm not entirely sure
you could run a bath,

let alone a rehearsal.

Television crew
have arrived.

Take charge, Sister Peter.

- Right.
- I'll pray for you.

I suspect you could use

all the divine intervention
you could get.

Oh, my. This is most thrilling.

Sarge.

What happened to
"Meet me early at the station

to go through the duty rota"?

Oh, it's that
hymn-singing programme.

Didn't have you down as a fan.

Sergeant Livingstone
and I watch every Sunday.

There's Barry.
Barry.

Good Morning, beautiful people
of Great Slaughter.

Good morning.

That's the presenter, right?

He had a number one
hit single at Christmas.

You see, Donald?
Barry's the star of the show.

He needs more air time,
not less.

Be careful, Marion.

Mrs. Clam, that must be
Marion Kane,

the show's director.

Oh.

Who's that man
she's talking to?

Mrs. Clam: Oh,
that's Donald Merriweather.

He's the programme's
musical director.

He plays the organ,
and he wrote the theme tune.

He's chief judge

of the Chorister of the Year
competition.

There's Sylvia.

Wave to the fans.

Who's that?

That -- That is Oliver.

He's one of the show's finalists
in the competition.

Well, he's got my vote.

Actually, Sergeant Livingstone
and I

would prefer Sylvia to win.

- Is that right, Sarge?
- I-I really don't mind.

She has the voice of an angel.

At least look
like you're happy to be here.

Oh, the bells.

Dottie, did you remember
to bring the bells?

It's the theme tune
to "Glory Be."

We've been practising.

I don't think I've ever...

heard bells jingled
so f-fervently.

Take charge. Take charge.
Take ch--

Oh, there you are.
Thank goodness.

You're the only one
with any volume.

I do my best.
Shall we?

Sister Peter: Oh, yes.
The opening hymn.

Welcome to St. Vincent's.

When we say we'll be
there with bells on,

we jolly well mean it.

Can we get the cleaning ladies
out of here please?

We need to set up.

I beg your pardon!

Do excuse me, ladies.

Sorry.

# All things
bright and beautiful #

# All creatures
great and small #

# All things
wise and wonderful #

- Sorry. Excuse me.
- # The Lord God made them all #

Hello.

Tomorrow is a big day.

It's the last show
in the series

and the live final of the
Chorister of the Year contest.

So we really need to make
this a stellar performance.

No pressures.

Can I have a word?

##

So the choir need...
a lot of work.

Is there somewhere you can go
and practise whilst we set up?

- Uh, I can try to find...
- Wonderful.

And I would suggest
more volume --

except for
that particular nun.

Pardon me interrupting,
Lady Director,

but shall we cut to the chase?

The running order of the show
is as follows --

Barry will warble
through the opening theme tune,

then the choristers
will perform their solo pieces

the judges will
deliberate -- that's myself

and you and Barry --

whilst the convent choir assault
our ear drums.

And at the end
of the live broadcast

the Chorister of the Year
will be crowned.

I want to rehearse
the solos first.

Get the cat's choir out of here.

Okay, can we clear the stage?
Please? This way.

Just this way,
let's clear the stage.

##

Oh, my goodness!
I'm so sorry.

No, I-I'm sorry.

No, no, it was
entirely my fault.

I wasn't at all looking
where I was going.

- Ready for the live final?
- I'm not sure, to be honest.

Me neither.
Did you hear us?

I'm not really
cut out for this.

How on earth can I teach a choir
to sing in 24 hours?

Sisters? Sisters.
Please will you listen?

Donald: Sylvia!

Yeah.
I'm looking at the figures now.

Where's Sylvia?

I'll have to call you back.

Would you mind not referring
to me as "lady director"?

I'll call you whatever I like.
Who was that?

The viewing figures
of the series.

Unless we can pull off some sort
of miracle tomorrow,

we'll be lucky to be
in a job this time next week.

"We"? Oh, the channel
will look after me, sweetheart.

I'm the one
pulling the strings.

And you would do well
to remember that.

I know, I know, it's "Glory Be,"
not "Top of the Pops."

But gotta give the public
what they want.

Cheer up.
It's nearly over.

"Once more with feeling"
and all that.

It's nearly over for you,
maybe.

He doesn't own you.

He doesn't.

Just get through tomorrow, and
you never have to see him again.

I wish it were that simple.

Ready for you.

First positions,
then please.

Ready for rehearsal?

Imagine the cameras
are rolling.

And cue the music.

Going by the distorted
facial expression

and the foaming mouth,

this doesn't look like
natural causes.

I must say,
this is most unsettling

to be starting an investigation
in our own chapel.

What is that?

Some sort of resin or oil,
perhaps?

Oh, look at that.

That's St. Aquilina's
college tie.

The music school that
my sister Persephone attended.

Graduated top of her class,
of course.

So I would say

that Donald Merriweather
ingested some sort of poison.

I'll have to bag that.

Everybody else who had
tea and biscuits is fine.

Donald's the only one
who left his unattended.

Felix: We'll need to check
Donald's hotel room.

The "Glory Be" production team,

they are staying in
Great Slaughter for the weekend.

How many of the production
were here when he died?

Only the presenter,
the director,

and the Chorister
of the Year finalists.

All right.
Let's talk to them.

Poisoned?

Barry: Poor Donald.

Can you think of any reason

why somebody might
have wanted to kill him?

The man was a narcissist
and a bully.

He terrorised half the crew.

And the rest.
He made all of our lives hell.

So you all had motives?

No, that's not what
he's saying.

Well, until we identify
our culprit,

you must all stay in the area.

Please.
I need to speak to him.

I have to go.

There you are.

Who was that?

The producers.

Really?

This may be the end
of "Glory Be."

It's not looking
to good for Donald, either.

Barry, it's not funny.
A man is dead.

And so are our careers.

Then get we to a nunnery.

We're going to have to cancel
tomorrow's broadcast.

What? Because Donald's dead?
Nonsense.

He would want the show to go on.
Preferably in his honour.

True, but we don't have
an organist.

It's a convent.
There must be someone who plays.

Huh.

Sister Peter: That would be
Sister George.

But there's no guarantee
she'll hit all the right notes,

at least not in the right order.

Look who I've brought
to save the day.

Why am I here?

Would you believe our
very own Miss Thimble

has run her fingers
over many an organ?

Why would a confirmed bachelor
want the honeymoon suite?

Because it's the biggest?

Recording equipment.

He travels
with a lot of luggage.

And fan mail.
Good heavens.

##

Oh, my.
Listen to this.

"Not everyone will dance
to your tune, Merriweather."

Not much of a fan.
Who sent it?

It's anonymous.

Well, let's take those with us.

Look at this.

Oh, my.
A cassette tape.

Electromagnetic recording.

Oh, yes.

I shall have a jolly good go
at salvaging that.

Sam: Oh.

An engagement ring?

Was Donald planning
on proposing?

How romantic.

If he wasn't dead.

##

##

Very pretty.

They're Sylvia's.

She's been wearing them
this year on "Glory Be."

And I have clearly been spending
too many Sunday evenings in

with Mrs. Clam and Felix.

Adjoining rooms, connecting
doors, an engagement ring.

Do you suppose
that Sylvia and Donald

were romantically involved?

He was going to propose?
I'd never have escaped.

Sister Boniface: Escaped?

Him.

Did the producers of "Glory Be"
know that one of the judges

was in love with one
of the contestants?

Love? I'm not sure that's
what I'd call it.

How did you two meet?

Donald heard me singing
in the congregation

one Sunday.

They were recording
the show in my parish church.

He flattered me,
offered me private lessons.

- I bet he did.
- It wasn't like that.

At first.

He said I should enter
the chorister competition.

I thought it would be
a chance to get away.

Away from what?

Home.

But once Donald had got me away
from my family,

he wanted me all to himself.

He never let me out
of his sight.

He took control of everything.

Where I went,
who I saw, even what I wore.

Movie-star looks
and the voice of an angel.

I will make you a star.

I've been thinking...

Oh, no.
We can't have that.

I'm not entirely sure
I want to be a star.

All I really want to do is...

If I say you'll be a star,
you'll be a star.

I might not even win
the competition.

Oh, you'll win.
I'll make sure of it.

You're my muse.

Sylvia:
I thought he was my way out.

My father's a bully.

I dreamed my whole life
of getting away.

I ended up wanting
to get away from Donald, too.

Perhaps you thought
there was only one way

to stop his control?

No. I could never.

Is that what you think?
Am I under arrest?

No.
At least not yet.

But we may
want to talk to you again.

Make sure
you don't go anywhere.

I don't have anywhere to go.

Now This is a swab that I took
from Donald's saliva.

Now if I mash it
in some water...

...and add iron sulphate.

##

Hey presto.

Prussian blue.

Cyanide.

Fast-acting
and extremely effective.

- The queen of poisons.
- How fast-acting?

Well, it would have had to have
been administered mere moments

before he died...

- But...
- There's always a but.

Well, Donald's tea and biscuits
tested negative for any toxins,

which means he must
have ingested the poison

some other way.

How?

Well, that I've yet
to find out.

What about the cassette tape?

Well, it's going to take longer
than anticipated to untangle,

let alone tape back together.

Oh, heavens.
I'm meant to be rehearsing.

# Ave Maria #

# Gratia plena #

# Maria #

# Gratia plena #

Together: # Maria gratia plena #

# Ave, ave Dominus #

# Dominus tecum #

I didn't realise anyone else
was here.

You have a beautiful voice.

A gift from God.

I used to have such a love
of singing.

All the joy
has gone out of it now.

Oh, I know how that feels.

Reverend Mother rather
squishes the fun out of it.

I envy you. Really.

Life under the veil
seems so peaceful.

Usually.

Perhaps this is
where I belong.

I only ever really
wanted to sing for God.

That's what gives me real joy.

We need to find the joy again.
That might give us confidence.

Where did you find the
greatest pleasure in singing?

Oh, family Christmases.
Carols around the piano.

I wonder...

I thought I heard singing.

Sisters, can you think
of anywhere with a piano

where we might use for our
choir rehearsal?

Oh, there's the Village Hall.

I know just the place.

Come in, Sister Peter.

- How did you...
- I heard your knees knocking.

What do you want?

Two things.

One, there's been
a slight murder in the chapel.

There's been a what?!

Two, we're all going out
for the evening.

But everything's
under control.

Woman: Well done!

Nice one, Reg.

Can I have
everyone's attention?

We're here to have fun,
remember.

What shall it be?
"Jerusalem"?

"Morning Has Broken"?

Something fun.

Really?
Goodness.

##

# Knees up, Mother Brown #

# Knees up, Mother Brown #

# Under the table you must go #

# Ee-aye, ee-aye, ee-aye-oh #

# If I catch you bending #

You know, we could take a leaf
out of their hymn book.

How do you mean?

Well, with Donald gone, we could
shake the show up a bit.

Drag it kicking and screaming
into the Swinging Sixties?

Marion: Yeah!

- Hallelujah.
- Excuse me, excuse me.

Sister?
We've got something.

# If I catch you bending #

# I'll saw your legs right off #

# Knees up, knees up,
don't get the breeze up #

# Knees up, Mother Brown #

So, we sorted the mail
according to senders.

Some fans had written in
more than once.

No.

Thank you, Peggy.

Which one's are Felix's?

Okay, in -- in my defence,

I had requested
an autograph for Mrs. Clam.

Three times?
Putting the "fan" in "fanatic."

Oh...

Some were not so enthusiastic.

"Dear Mr. Merriweather.
You have made my life a misery.

And you should know
that actions have consequences.

One day -- even you
will be silenced."

It's definitely threatening.

Hmm.

Here we are.
Personal information forms.

Everyone has to fill one in
when they join the show,

in whatever capacity.

Sister Boniface:
Handwriting samples.

Barry, Sylvia, and Oliver.

And your own,
if you don't mind.

Oh.

What do you need them for?

What is that?

- Sister Boniface: Aha.
- You have a match?

Yes, indeed.

Thank you.
That's all for now.

Oh.

Look, in both examples
the graphology is identical.

The person who wrote this letter
is the same person

who filled out this form.

Sister Boniface: "One day even
you will be silenced."

Sam: That sounds like a threat
to me.

I was being poetic.

- Poetic?
- One day we'll all be silenced.

When God claims us for his own.

Somehow I don't think
that's what you meant.

Why did you say
Donald made your life a misery?

Because he did.

Donald, please,
I need to talk to you.

What now?

It's just -- Sylvia gets
so much of your attention,

I'm not sure it's
entirely, well, fair.

Worried about the competition,
are you?

Worried that your matinee-idol
looks won't swing it for you?

Well, you should be worried.

Because there's
only one contender

for Chorister of the Year
as far as I'm concerned.

And it isn't you.

Sam: Is that
why you killed Donald?

Because you thought
it was your only way

of winning the competition?

Of course not.
I'm a coward, not a killer.

And if you're
not going to arrest me,

I'd quite like
to see what Great Slaughter's

nightlife has to offer.

# My old man
said follow the van #

# And don't dilly-dally... #

I love you, do you hear me?

My round.

Barry!

Listen, um, I know Donald
was trying to sideline you.

The old vocal cords aren't
what they once were.

But the audience love
your cheeky charm.

So why don't we put it
front and centre again.

What, "Congregation Conga"?
"Twisting in the Aisles"?

Put a bit of fun
back into the show?

Exactly!

# I stopped on the way
to have the old half-quartern #

# And I can't find
my way home #

Woman: Whoo!

# My old man
said follow the van #

# And don't dilly-dally
on the way #

Woman: Way-hey!

# Off went the car with me
home packed in it #

Good morning.

I know
how the poison was ingested.

The sheet music found
at the scene.

It's laced with cyanide.

Every time Donald turned
the page, he licked his fingers.

Ahhh.

Sadly, the only prints
on the paper are Donald's.

But what's also interesting
is this. Here, have a look.

Felix: What is this?

I took a sample.

No? Pollen.

- Bee pollen?
- In the grease.

Some sort of beeswax,

though there's
something different

about the structure
of the pollen.

Something I can't quite put
my finger on.

Excusez-moi.

Oh. Hello.

Uh, one moment.

What are
you looking for?

Something is niggling.

Can I be of any help?

Thank you, but, um,
why are you...

So stylish?

So styli--

The pollen structure.

It's from a lavender
that's only found in France.

The bees that made this beeswax
were not British bees.

They were French.

Sam:
French or whatever.

Couldn't the beeswax
just be furniture polish?

Well...

Oh, yes, yes, look.

The same grease as
on the poisoned sheet music.

But if it was furniture polish,

shouldn't it
have been rubbed in?

WPC Button told us

that you'd finished
with the scene of the crime.

We very much need to rehearse!

Cyanide isn't easy
to get ahold of.

Meaning that this murder
must have been well planned.

It wasn't an impulsive act.

Which suggests an old grudge.

Which one of our four suspects
knew Donald the longest?

Barry Gold and Donald
were very old friends.

The two of them
created the programme together.

Although Barry's
the one with the star quality.

I will not entertain the notion
that he had anything to do

with Mr. Merriweather's death!

The two were like brothers.

Like Cain and Abel.

I heard Barry say

that he wished he'd rammed that
cassette down Donald's throat.

##

- Where did you get that?
- The same place we found this.

Mr. Merriweather's room.
It took some repairing but...

Sylvia:
# Glory, glory, glory be #

That's Sylvia.

# Music that amazes #

# Ancient, modern -- #

What the hell is going on?

Barry.

I thought Sylvia might sing
the show out

after she wins on Sunday.

I'm not stupid, Donald.

I know you want Sylvia
to replace me

as the face and voice
of "Glory Be."

- What?
- Oh, let's face it, Barry.

The ratings are nosediving.

The show needs someone new,
someone young.

Over my dead body.

Barry:
Over my dead body.

Yours?
Or Donald's?

Sam: Hardly the Barry Gold
that Mrs. Clam knows and loves.

Because that's not me.
I'm not a violent man.

Well, this suggests otherwise.

This show means everything
to me.

And if Sylvia took over as the
face and voice of "Glory Be,"

you'd be ruined, right?

It would certainly hit
your record sales.

If I was that scared
of losing my job,

I would kill the director,
surely.

She's the one who hires
and fires.

Is Marion aware of this tape?

No idea.

She and Donald
weren't exactly close.

I mean,
he treated her like dirt.

Between us, I think
she was looking for another job.

She's been making so many
furtive phone calls late--

What do you mean, "furtive"?

I checked with the exchange.

Calls were made
to the same number from the pub

and Reverend Mother Adrian's
office.

Chesterfield 4942.

Hello?

Can I talk to
your mother, please?

But can't a mother call
her own son to say good night?

Sam: A secret son.

You've gone to quite
some effort to keep him hidden.

Because I'm not married.

I don't believe
that God sits in judgment.

But the director of a religious
programme, a single mother?

Can you imagine the scandal?

And Donald found out?

Yes.

He was blackmailing me.

We?

Oh, the channel will
look after me, sweetheart.

I'm the one
pulling the strings.

And you would do well
to remember that.

Is that a threat?

I've got photographic evidence

Of you and your
snotty-nosed little secret.

Don't you call him that.

So, unless you want me
to tell the world,

you will run this show exactly
as I see fit.

Which includes casting
your vote for Sylvia on Sunday.

I really can't lose this job.

Fear can make people do
terrible things.

But I wouldn't risk
leaving my son without a mother.

Look, I have a live broadcast

to direct in just a couple
of hours.

This might be the last episode
of "Glory Be."

I'd really like
to make it a good one.

First positions, everyone.

For the joy of it, yes?
For God.

Yesterday was so much fun.
Thank you.

You know, sometimes
the smallest voices

have the biggest impact.

Sorry. Sorry.

Only me.

Going live in five, four...

Good evening.

After much soul-searching,
we have decided to push on

with tonight's broadcast
as tribute to the man

who made the music --
the show's creator

and its musical director,
Donald Merriweather.

At least it's a level
playing field now.

May the best singer win.

This programme is for you,
Donald.

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that amazes #

# Ancient, modern,
fast or slow #

# We bring to Him our praises #

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that inspires #

# Glory be #

# Ave Maria #

# Gratia plena #

# Maria gratia plena #

He's like a holy Elvis.

# Maria gratia plena #

# Ave, ave dominus #

# Dominus tecum #

# Benedicta tu
in mulieribus #

# Et benedictus #

# Et benedictus
fructus ventris #

##

# Ave Maria #

# Amazing grace #

# How sweet the sound #

# That saved a wretch like me #

# I once was lost #

# But now I'm found #

##

Uh...

A-And now
uh, before we announce

the Chorister of the Year,

I would like to sing one
of my favourite songs --

with the help
of the St. Vincent's choir.

The St. Vincent's choir.

# The Son of Man
said lift up your hands #

# And don't dilly-dally now
to pray #

# I lift my hands
to the Lord Almighty #

# Clasp them
to worship my Lord God nightly #

# I won't dilly or dally #

# Dally or dilly #

# If you lose your way
and don't know where to roam #

# You can trust in Jesus #

# For to come and guide you #

# And He'll show you
your way home #

You don't know anything.

We know that someone
switched the music on the organ

for a presoaked
murderous melody.

##

##

##

##

But whilst you
didn't leave any fingerprints

on the poisoned sheet music,
you did leave a trail, Oliver.

Like a greasy
Hansel and Gretel,

though without Gretel,
obviously.

A very unusual brand
of French hair pomade.

Containing beeswax made
by French bees.

And I suspect -- I suspect
that I know why you did it.

You have a photograph of your
mother on your dressing table.

The letters
that you wrote to Donald,

they were about her,
weren't they?

She has a pin on her lapel.
I've seen that emblem before.

On Donald's tie.

It's the emblem
of St. Aquilina's Music College.

If I call them,

will they confirm
that your mother was there

at the same time as Donald?

She was.

Until they threw her out.

For cheating.

But she didn't.
She wouldn't.

She never told a lie
in her life.

Not to me, not to anyone.

Donald framed her
because she had the nerve

to break up with him.

Donald didn't like
his girlfriends

to have minds of their own.

Leave Sylvia alone.

- I beg your pardon?
- I see what you're doing.

- You've done it before.
- What are you talking about?

My mother.
Christine Carraway.

Your mother's Christine?

She told me how you tried
to control her.

The same way
you control Sylvia.

Except my mother tried
to get away.

Well, she did get away.
I haven't seen her since --

Since you ruined her life.

You convinced everyone

she'd stolen the end-of-term
exam papers.

But you planted them
in her room.

- You can't prove that.
- She never got over it.

Her own parents disowned her.
Her friends.

You stole her education
from her, her whole future.

So, no, she never got away
from you.

She ended her life
because of you.

Christine always was weak.

What are
you telling me this for?

To give you one last chance
to say sorry.

Or you will do what?

Go to the newspapers?

Who'll believe you?
Especially after tomorrow.

You'll just come across
as a sad sore loser.

Like mother, like son.

When she saw him on television,
something inside her broke.

But she couldn't
stop watching.

It ate her up --
the misery, the bitterness.

But she was never bitter
towards me.

Only ever sweet.

And sad.

At herself,
I think, more than at Donald.

Eventually she took
her own life.

But it was Donald
that took it, really.

She blamed herself,
but I blamed him.

She cut her life short
because of Donald.

I had to cut his short, too.

By killing Donald you've let
him ruin your life, too.

But at least he won't ruin
anyone else's.

I'm arresting you
on the suspicion of the murder

of Donald Merriweather.

You are not obliged
to say anything

unless you wish to do so,

but anything you do say
may be put into writing

and given in evidence.

And finally,
without further to-do...

I mean ado...

I am delighted
to announce

that the Chorister of the Year
is Sylvia!

- A truly deserved winner.
- Thank you.

Barry: I wonder if you'd do me
the very great honour

of helping me
to sing out the show?

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that amazes #

A murder arrest
live on television.

That'll be
the nail in the coffin.

Why are you smiling?
It's not funny.

I've just been
onto the producers.

They think the publicity for
this show is going to be huge.

And they loved
the dilly-dallying nuns.

Wait?! What?
We still have our jobs?

Oh, yes, and they are
very much looking forward to

discussing the next series.

I've had a fabulous idea
about a regular soloist.

- Glory be?
- Glory be.

Marion: Mmm!

You haven't been here all night?

I've been praying,
trying to find an answer.

About a life under the veil?

I should like it.

To give my life to God.

But the "Glory Be" team
have asked me

to join the show
as a regular soloist.

It is possible to serve the Lord
and have a career.

Oh, I should say so.
Amen to that.

Never.

Never have I been
so ashamed!

Nuns taking part
in a Cockney knees-up,

live on television.

And in the publican house.

Oh, yes,
I have eyes everywhere.

Oh, heavens.

You have all been led astray by
somebody who should know better.

Stand up, Sister Peter!

Actually the pub was my idea.

We had to practice
somewhere.

Sister Peter,
have you anything to say?

Well, I-I mean...

They did sing in tune.
Mostly.

Mostly in tune?

It was a complete disgrace
to the convent

and indeed to
the entire the order!

However, much as it pains me
to say,

Canoness Basil insisted
you did an admirable job.

And despite my protestations,

she is insistent that,
henceforth,

all choir rehearsals will
be conducted by Sister Peter.

God help us all!

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that amazes #

# Ancient, modern,
fast or slow #

# We bring to Him
our praises #

# Glory, glory, glory be #

# Music that inspires #

# Glory be #