All language subtitles for Father Brown S02E06 The Daughters of Jerusalem.DVDRip.NonHI.en.BBC

HYMNAL SINGING

♪ ..nor shall my sword ♪
sleep in my hand

♪ Till we have built

♪ Jerusalem

♪ In England's green
and pleasant land. ♪

Good evening.

And a rousing Institute
welcome to tonight's guests,

Lady Felicia, Father Roland,
filling as Locum Curate

during Father Brown's
unfortunate indisposition.

And last but certainly not
least, Mrs Cholmondeley-Carter,

from the National
Executive Committee

who has heroically agreed to act
as head judge at tomorrow's fair.

There was nothing "fair"
about last year's judgement.

The best jam won and
everyone here knows it!

We have a packed evening,

including a cookery
talk from Mrs Hunnisett -

Going Gay Without Meat.

And to kick off, Father Roland's
film, Educating The African Orphan

made during his recent
missionary trip to Swaziland.

So, without further ado,
Andrea, lights please.

Is there a Virginia
in the story?

- Oooh!
- Holy Mother of God!

- Father Roland, what is happening?!
- No, God. No! Avert your eyes!

This is not a film
about African orphans.

No, it isn't! It is not mine!

SHOUTS AND GASPS

Avert your eyes, ladies!

This is not happening!
This is not happening!

Well. This is
certainly educational.

And finally a cursory inspection
of the church roof account reveals

that fundraising has been, shall
we say, erratic, to say the least.

My Parishioners
give what they can.

I'm sure that with
the appropriate nudge,

they can be persuaded
to dig a little deeper.

Raise the roof!

Very pithy.

One to every household
in the village. Half

a crown each and we
have ourselves a steeple.

And here's mine
to start to you off.

Sterling, Mrs McCarthy.

I knew I could count on
you to lead by example.

Am I interrupting?

- Yes. - No.

Her Ladyship thought this
might help with the boredom.

You could do a spot of bird
watching? Feathered variety.

And talking of bird watching,
last night's WI meeting...?

Trust you to bring that up.

I can assure you, the film I
gave to Mrs Fortescue comprised

only of rainless African skies
and smiling black children.

If you say so.

No one doubts that. But
a mystery none the less.

There'll be no more mysteries
for you until that leg is mended.

Really?

Hywel!

On your way to the Post Office?

No flies on you, Father.

Mrs Clam is a comely widow
and your posy tells its own story.

Wild rosemary for warm emotion
and freesias for lasting friendship.

And featherhead for allurement.

Talking of which, I hear the WI meeting
last night took an unexpected turn.

Turns out their VIP was only the
Chief Superintendent's sister-in-law.

Taken to her bed
with the shock of it.

Inspector Sullivan
wants answers.

Father Roland gave
the film to Mrs Fortescue.

And she left it at the village hall for the
ladies coming in to set up the meeting.

If I've said it once, I've
said it a thousand times.

You can't go round leaving
doors unlocked these days.

It seems a peculiarly
unladylike crime.

Try telling that to the WI ladies
and on the day of the fair to boot.

Tensions already
at boiling point.

Sparks will fly,
you mind my words.

I can't stop!

Stay, Jeffrey!

It's always the quiet ones.

Maybe he left one of
his films lying around

and she got it mixed
up with the orphans.

If you've something to say,
Judith, perhaps you'd have the grace

and good manners
to say it to my face.

I'm waiting.

No? Then if you're done
spreading malicious slander

then perhaps you
could fetch more bunting!

Chop chop!

Come, Jeffery!

That woman will
be the death of me.

Oi. Father, give that to Father
Brown when you see him, will ya?

This being...?

Donation to the steeple
fund from Mrs Plumpton.

Do I look like a
complete greenhorn?

Yep.

I want nothing to do
with this ill-gotten money.

Keep your cassock
on. It was a dead cert

and the church roof's
got a dirty great hole in it.

Father Brown should live by example,
instead of falling so publicly to vice.

I was warned he surrounded
himself with undesirables.

But even I couldn't have
predicted the full extent.

Warned were you?
By who? The Bishop?

Bishop Talbot has been gracious
enough to take me under his wing.

I bet has!

Planted you here
as his little spy.

Recognises qualities
in me lacking in... others.

Even priests can live a little.

All right, ladies!

Looking lovely.

She's taken a shine to you.

Don't be puerile.

Listen, Father, don't take
this the wrong way but...

you're a handsome
bloke, all right?

You can have any
girl you wanted.

Why hide your knackers
under a skirt for the rest of your...

HE CHUCKLES

Maybe there is a man
under that dress after all.

I wouldn't put it past
that one. Not normal is it?

All that celibacy does
funny things to a man.

Jolly good of you to step in
for Mrs Cholmondeley-Carter.

Eleventh hour and all that.

Oh, here's Father
Roland. Righto. Cakes!

One to six are standard fruits,
seven to eleven - Victoria sponge,

12 to 15 are marmalade
loaves, 16 to 19 are lemon drizzle.

And here we have
our home-baked bread.

- Afternoon, Mrs Bunyon.
- George!

For me?! Oh!

Hello, hello.

The prize for My Favourite
Room In A Shoebox,

goes to Mrs Sibree for her
"imaginative use of materials"

and "witty" holiday
cottage bathroom.

APPLAUSE

Congratulations.
Very well deserved.

Best cake goes to Judith
Bunyon for her Victoria sponge.

That sponge is mine.

I'd recognise it anywhere.

Oh, here we go again.

Hers had sunk in the middle.
She switched the numbers.

I'm sure that's not the case.

This belongs to me.

Now, ladies!

A bitter and twisted fantasist.

No one would put it past you
after the gooseberry jam of 1948.

Was that letter
something to do with you?

Now then, ladies,
that's enough of that.

Why don't you come with
me and have a little cool down?

I'll get you for
this, Judith Bunyon!

Congratulations.
Very well deserved.

And the prize for
best scones goes to...

..Gladys Clam.

Before you say anything,
it was a blind tasting.

14 years unblemished record...
These scones are an award-winning

secret recipe handed down from
my mother and her mother before that.

This recipe was baked for
His Majesty King George IV

on his visit to Kilkenny
Castle in 1826.

Taste one. Go on.

Taste one and then tell me they
only merit a highly commended!

SHE GASPS

SHE SCREAMS

BELL RINGS

Deus, Pater misericordiarum,

qui per mortem et
resurrectionem...

- Pugh. Sir.
- No Father Brown?

Nasty accident on his bicycle,
sir. That's Father Roland, his locum.

He's staying at the Presbytery.

Does he fancy himself as
an amateur detective too?

I doubt it. Bit green
around the gills.

Needed a moment...
outside, if you get my...

..Amen.

Oh, and there he goes again.

What do we know
about the dead woman?

Mrs Judith Bunyon.
Farmer's wife.

Her husband owns Brook
Farm in Lower Kemble.

- Did she have any enemies?
- What, foul play?

The colouration of the face
looks like cyanide poisoning.

There was a bit of a hoo-ha
with Miss Thimble earlier,

but then show day does tend to
bring out the worst in the ladies.

Mrs Clackett narrowly escaped
a charge of ABH last year,

after a bust-up over
her cherry Bakewell.

And last night's incident
hasn't helped matters.

Any connection there?

Can't see it myself, sir.

Sergeant! Get this to the lab.

I want a toxicology report on
my desk by the end of the day.

- Sir.

We'll take it from here, Pugh.

Yes, sir.

By the sound of it, I think we
can rule out natural causes.

So, Mrs M, what can you
tell us about the dead woman?

Judith was a troublemaker
and no mistake,

a woman who took great delight
in spreading malicious gossip.

And he who is without sin...

And Vera Thimble wasn't the
only one she fell out with today.

Mrs Fortescue caught Judith
pointing the finger at her Jeffrey

over last night's
cinematic catastrophe.

Tore a strip off her
in front of half the WI.

Did she, now?

Mm, somebody's
got their mojo back.

Yes, well, I'm no used to
anyone stuck in this chair.

Oh, fiddlesticks. Your
brain's in one piece.

And if you need any legwork
doing, consider me at your disposal.

- You?!
- Why not me?

Well, I've always put you down
as decorative rather than useful.

Decorative?!

Tell me, Father.
Am I "decorative"?

As a rosary is both
beautiful and with purpose.

I think it's up to Father Brown

to decide which of
us is the more useful.

Quite. Father?

After you.

No, after you.

So much for your offer of help.

If I recall correctly, Father
Brown asked us both to help.

Huh!

These are Chanel gloves.

Oh, really? Well, I'm sure there's
plenty more where they came from.

Stand aside, Mrs McCarthy.

Oh, really! Oh. BUZZING

Oh, gosh.

A Kembleford postmark.

Why waste a stamp?

Proverbs chapter 19, verse 9.

"A false witness shall
not be unpunished,

"and he that speaketh
lies shall perish."

Judith Bunyon spread
malicious gossip aplenty.

And the numbers?
A code of some sort?

It's a puzzle.
That's what it is.

It's a threat, judging by her
reaction when she read it.

So what do we do now?

First things first, someone
should take it to the police.

I will.

PHONE RINGS

I see.

Well, if Father Brown says it's
significant, that's good enough for me.

I'll make sure the
inspector gets it.

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT

Is there any news on
how Mrs Bunyon died?

You didn't hear
it from me, but...

murder it looks like. THEY GASP

Cyanide poisoning.

Her Victoria sponge
was laced with wasp killer.

No!

Is this anything to do with you?

Why on earth would I
do something like that?

Then we paid a visit to the
Post Office, where we managed

to identify the writing
paper by its watermark.

Mrs Clam had only
got in half a dozen

and was obliging enough to
remember who had purchased them.

Three of those
were at the WI fair.

Vera Thimble, Dinah Fortescue...

and Mrs McCarthy.

For the parish office!

Well, you might as well say
Father Brown wrote that letter.

Or...

..Father Roland...

SHE GASPS Now you
really are being ridiculous.

..who gave the film
to Dinah Fortescue.

I think Vera Thimble also
received an anonymous letter

which sent her hurtling
to Dinah Fortescue.

I think we need to find out
what was in Miss Thimble's letter.

How on earth do we do that?

I think... we should ask her.

'..And I'm also culling
a few of these birds.

- 'You can do it
if you like, Grace.

Any good at wringing necks?
- Heavens, no!'

"The Archers" theme

Oh. I didn't hear you come in.

Ah!

KNOCKING

- Hello!
- Hello?

Miss Thimble.

Ah, Miss Thimble!

- Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
- Oh!

Oh, this is no time to
have a fit of the vapours.

I think she's had a visitor.

I suppose it's up to me
to go and get help, then.

Well, stay there.

And don't touch anything.

DOOR SHUTS

Sorry.

DOOR CREAKS THEN SLAMS

Oh, dear...

Indeed!

Oh! HE LAUGHS

Long John Silver
in the 4:10. Oh, yes!

Sid!

May I help you?

Yes, erm... can't reach
the Parish Magazine.

I wonder if you...

I'm enjoying your article.
"Sports Day In Swaziland."

Egg and spoon race with
an ostrich egg. Very good.

Who is the young lady who appears
to have pipped you to the winning post?

A volunteer with
the Catholic Mission.

Mr Plunkett telephoned
to book a christening.

At last. Three weeks
overdue, poor woman.

I must say,

you and your missionary friend look
very at your ease amongst the orphans.

More at ease than I am
with your record-keeping.

If you'll excuse me, I
must telephone the Bishop

to update him on my progress.

A written reminder
for your personal diary,

assuming you
possess such a thing.

Yes, well, give my
regards to Bishop Talbot.

RACING COMMENTARY ON RADIO

Oh, I will.

Oh, yes. Of course!

RINGING

INAUDIBLE

So we assume
she knew her killer.

Well enough to offer her tea.

There was a cup on the
table, stained with lipstick.

Vera Thimble
never wore lipstick.

Well spotted, Mrs M.

At which point I had to
leave to fetch the police,

as Her Ladyship
was feeling vapourish.

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT

The murder weapon was a hatpin,
ivory, inexpensive but distinctive.

Apart from the teacups,
the room was undisturbed

and there was one
of those on a table.

Father Roland's
latest initiative.

Father Roland seems to be
making a habit of being present

at crime scenes.

He delivered one of those envelopes
to every house in the parish, Sidney.

As for the letter,

we are none the wiser.

Actually, we are.

I found it in her handbag.

Were you tampering with
the crime scene, Lady F?

It sounds rather
thrilling put like that.

But I suppose I did.

And it was identical.

Proverbs 19:9.

Two, eight, one, one, one,

nine, two, six,
nine, zero, zero.

- If only we knew what it meant.
- I think I might know.

28th November
1926, nine o'clock.

- Ooh!
- Shh!

SHE GASPS Shh!

Albert Evans was a local
man and thoroughly bad lot.

Drunkard, wife-beater and
known predator on underage girls.

Daisy Butler was just 14
when she was found raped

and strangled in
Kemblebrook Wood.

He was convicted and
hanged at Pentonville Prison

- on the 28th November 1926 at... 9am.
- ..9am.

But there's more.

The evidence against him was
overwhelming but circumstantial.

What secured his conviction
was the eyewitness testimony

of three women on their
way home from a WI meeting -

Vera Thimble, Judith Bunyon...

And Dinah Fortescue.

Young man, be aware my husband
plays golf with the Chief Constable,

so you'd better have an
extremely good reason

for this extraordinary
behaviour.

Do you recognise this?

Where the blazes
did you find that?

Is it yours?

Lost it weeks ago.
Dropped out in the street.

Ruddy things never stay in.

Can I ask what brand of
lipstick you wear, Mrs Fortsecue?

You most certainly may not.

Is it Elizabeth Arvon Roseberry
Crush, by any chance?

What the devil...?

Found it by Miss Thimble's
body, along with your fingerprints.

Poppycock! I haven't set foot
in that woman's house in years.

You were seen having a
heated argument with her

shortly after Judith
Bunyon's murder.

Can I ask what that was about?

It was a private matter.

And the fracas yesterday
with Mrs Bunyon at the WI fair,

was that also a private matter?

I pulled her up on
malicious tittle-tattle,

if that's what you mean.

About the unfortunate
mix-up at Friday's WI meeting?

Mrs Fortescue, are you aware
that your husband was arrested

in a raid on a pornographic
cinema in Soho?

He was never charged.

He's a county court judge.

If this came to light, I don't
think he'll be playing golf

with the Chief Constable
any time in the near future.

Meaning?

I think both dead women found
out about your husband's activities

and threatened to expose
him. So you killed them.

Dinah Fortescue,

I'm arresting you on
suspicion of the murders

of Judith Bunyon
and Vera Thimble.

You are not obliged to say
anything unless you wish to do so,

but whatever you do say...

Hmm. Angel AND saint
rolled into one, Mrs M.

Father?

Not now... please?

Father, may I congratulate you
on a rousing homily this morning?

Temptation and
the sins of the flesh.

I look forward to reading it.

I hope I can tempt you
to a slice of lemon drizzle.

No, thank you.

I'm fasting, followed by a
prayer vigil in the church.

This evening, you are
normally glued to the wireless.

The Sunday Half Hour is
Father Roland's only vice,

I sometimes think.

I thought the choristers from
King's College Cambridge last week

were particularly fine.

Or was it Christ Church, Oxford?

There's been a development!

Oh! Good afternoon, Father.
Delightful homily this morning.

I'll leave you to
your diversions.

Sid.

Dinah Fortescue's been
charged with both murders.

The hatpin was hers and her
fingerprints were on a teacup.

Have they established a motive?

It all leads back
to Albert Evans.

Three women testified against
him - two of them are dead,

and the third is
in a police cell.

This mentions a wife.
Do we know where she is?

- About 100 yards away.
- Where?

- In the graveyard.
- Oh.

She drowned a month
after his execution.

Almost certainly suicide,

but they gave her the benefit of
the doubt and a Christian burial.

Ah!

The everyday china's good
enough for the likes of you,

and you will find that
downstairs in the kitchen.

Dear God and all the saints.

What, Mrs M?

Vera Thimble had a
Royal Doulton tea service.

Never missed an opportunity to
mention it or get it out in public,

but the cup found at the scene
was cheap everyday china.

The sort of thing she
wouldn't give house room to.

A rogue cup, planted at
the scene of the crime?

Ahem. My homily...

..for your perusal.

Thank you.

Planted by the real murderer.

We need to have a chat
with Dinah Fortescue.

I'm sorry, ladies, but
you aren't authorised.

I'll come clean
with you, Constable.

Father Brown believes
there's about to be

a grave miscarriage of justice.

Does he, now? How's that, then?

He's not quite sure just yet...

But knowing Father Brown, he'll
get it all worked out in the end.

Exactly.

All right. Just...
Just ten minutes.

It's all just a fearful bloody
mess of a misunderstanding

and no-one who's anyone
will believe it for a second.

Vera Thimble received
an anonymous letter.

Not from me.

Did you know that Judith
Bunyon received one also?

The 28th November 1926, 9am.

The execution of Albert Evans.

I'd like you to leave.

You're going on trial
for double murder.

The police have enough evidence
to convict you twice over and,

I have on impeccable authority,
intend to push for a death sentence.

So whatever you're concealing,
I hope it's worth hanging for.

It was all such a long time ago.

Daisy Butler was just 14 when
she was lured into the woods,

strangled...

and worse.

Kembleford was
rocked to the core...

..like we'd woken up one day to
find the devil living amongst us.

Forgive me, Lord, and
lead me not into temptation,

but deliver me from evil.

Lead me not into temptation,

but deliver me from evil.

Lead me not into temptation.
Get thee behind me, Satan!

Albert Evans was a known
predator on young girls.

The van he driving was
identical to the one we saw.

He had no alibi.

Not a person in Kembleford,
including his own wife, doubted his guilt.

But without eye witnesses,
he'd have got off scot-free.

It was unthinkable.

FOOTSTEPS

Good evening, Hywel.

- Or should I say Stephen?
- I had hoped, with you laid up,

there'd be one less
detective to worry about.

Well, I couldn't help noticing the
flowers on your mother's grave,

the birdsfoot
trefoil for revenge...

..on those who testified
against your father.

12 years old.

My father, a
murderer and rapist.

My mother, a suicide.

What happened to you?

I was sent to my nan's in Tywyn.

She changed my name so no-one
would know I was the devil's spawn.

Not that it stopped
them finding out.

"Hangwell" they
called me at school.

Kiddies can be
very cruel like that.

As for Nan...

she locked her bedroom door
every night I was under her roof.

Can't be too careful,
see. Like father, like son.

You poor little boy.

I'm so very, very sorry.

Thank you, Father.

I think you're the first
person who's ever said that.

Mind if I take a pew? It's
been a shocking day on the feet.

Be my guest.

I expect you've
got some questions.

Yes.

I was wondering why you
bothered sending the letters

when it can only draw
attention to yourself.

Well, that's easy.

I wanted them to feel
the fear my father did...

KNOCKING ON DOOR
Oh! I didn't hear you come in.

'..to know they had died

'for what they'd
done.' SHE SCREAMS

- Horribly cunning.
- Well, from you, I'll take that as

a complement, Father. Although
truth be told, it was surprisingly simple.

So, kindly refrain from
chasing every young girl

all around the fete,
if you wouldn't mind.

- Am I making myself clear?
- Very.

'Who notices a policeman?

'First on every crime scene.

'Access all areas.'

I assume it was you who
switched Father Roland's film

at the Women's Institute.

Here's me, biding my
time for the right moment

and then a records check turns
up Justice Jeffrey's activities.

You murdered two
innocent women...

..and framed a third...

for telling the truth.

Well... Well, Father...

..it seems like you don't
know everything after all.

Not one of them is innocent.

They murdered my father, as surely
as if they'd pulled the lever on the drop.

It didn't feel like lying.

It felt like justice.

By the trial, I think I truly
believed that Bert Evans

was the man I saw that night.

And then some 20 years later, the
real killer was caught and confessed.

Albert Evans was declared
posthumously innocent and pardoned.

- So, you took matters into your own hands.
- An eye for an eye.

Vengeance is the Lord's.

He will repay.

I can't wait till the
Day of Judgment.

I wanted to watch them
atone for their crimes

and for one of them at least,
to suffer as my father did.

The opportunity for
one of them to die a long,

slow death by judicial murder.

It's not too late to repent.

I'm chapel, see. Don't set
much store by confession.

But you believe in God and
the power of his forgiveness.

End this atrocity now, Stephen.

Save your soul.

Forgive me my sins.

I want it absolutely understood
that I've never forgiven myself

for what I did, not
only to Bert Evans,

but his wife and
their poor little boy.

Albert Evans had a son?

KEYS JANGLE

Can you ladies tell me
what the devil you're doing?

There's no time for that, Inspector. We
know who sent those anonymous letters.

Anonymous letters?

Received by Judith
Bunyon and Vera Thimble

I don't know of
any such letters.

Sure you do. Vera Thimble's
was found in her handbag

and we handed in
Judith Bunyon's to...

Constable Pugh!

When this transfer
came up, it was a sign.

I was sent by God as
his angel of retribution.

There's irony.
Little Stevie Evans...

patrolling the town,
keeping them all safe.

All the while, biding my
time for the right opportunity.

This'll be painless.

An accident on the
stairs in your wheelchair.

TELEPHONE RINGS

There's no-one
there to hear you.

I'm looking forward
to all this being over...

popping the
question to Gladys...

maybe a kiddie or two.

Is everything all...?

It's all fine. All under
control. Go and fetch help!

We'll have you out
of this in a jiffy, Father.

Go!

I think not.

I'm sorry, Gladys.

SHE SOBS

Bonkers, in my humble opinion.

Let's hope the judge thinks so.

I owe you a debt of gratitude.

I hear you've got
a handy right-hook.

County-flyweight champion,
Cambridge Half Blue...

I gave it up when I
entered the seminary.

I'd forgotten how good it felt.

I thought you were in church
all night. What happened?

And more to the point, how did
you know that he was downstairs?

All right. I'll go and see
where her ladyship's got to.

Listen...

thank you.

It seems you know my
weaknesses better than I do myself.

I couldn't help but
hear the phone ring,

every Sunday at eight,
just before Sunday half-hour.

What's her name?

Louisa.

A woman of such purity and beauty,
I was lost the first time I saw her.

She sent me away, said she
couldn't steal me from God, but...

by then, I was already taken.

And yet you still
corresponded with her?

No an impure word or thought.

I broke no vow,

committed no sin...

..except in my heart.

- God will understand.
- Too well.

Too well. He sent
me here to test me...

..and the devil was
waiting, tempting,

taunting me with carnal images.

You think that film
was a coincidence?

A sign?

Saying what exactly?

That God wants sacrifice

but not suffering,

that you can still serve him

with the woman you love...

..that God has chosen for you...

by your side.

- A cup of tea, I think, is in order.
- Oh, I'll make it.

Mrs McCarthy, I am perfectly
capable of making a cup of tea.

No doubt you are.

And... I'm...

I'm sorry I said that
you were decorative.

Thank you.

And I'm sorry
about the scones...

because...

I didn't actually taste them.

- You didn't taste my scones?
- I just sort of pretended.

You didn't taste my scones?!

Naturally, if I had,
you would have won

which is why I've decided
to come clean and have

the whole competition declared
null and void, however humiliating.

That won't be necessary.

I know the truth

and that's what matters.

You know what, Mrs M?

Underneath it all,

you're a jolly good egg.

Underneath what exactly?

FATHER ROLAND CLEARS HIS THROAT

I come to make my goodbyes.

Is something wrong, Father?

On the contrary.

I was lost and now am
found, thanks to Father Brown.

A man of hidden
wisdom, it transpires.

I shall be sure to tell the Bishop
as much, when I inform him.

Inform him of what?

I'm leaving the priesthood.

THEY GASP

God be with you.