Original subtitles

Effie, if you don't hurry, we're going to miss the boat.

Almost ready!

What do you think, Tiny Tim?

Uh...

Are you sure you don't want to get dressed when we get there?

George, this whole Charles Dickens weekend was your idea!

I thought you wanted to get into the spirit of things.

Spirit. I see you've taken that quite literally, Jacob Marley.

Have you done your teeth?

- Yes. - Oh!

What do you think? Crutch or no crutch?

I have to admit I feel a bit foolish now.

- George, we haven't got time to change! - I know.

We've got a boat to catch.

- Right. - Hop on!

Remarkable!

Absolutely remarkable.

A new invention, Detective?

Ooh, ah, well, it's an improved invention.

You may recall a device of mine

some like to refer to as the Trackizer?

Of course. An extremely useful invention,

if somewhat conspicuous for the wearer.

Yes.

Correct, um,

this tracking prototype

allows me to determine the precise location

of this sensor represented by a steel ball bearing

and powered by electrical coils and magnets.

Does it have a name?

The, uh...

Map-o-Matic?!

Geographic Probability Sensor.

Hm.

And this G.P.S. you would attach the tracking sensor

to an individual you're surveilling?

Yes.

I've installed transmitters

in all of the police call boxes.

They work together to triangulate the location of the sensor.

They are, in turn, all connected to one central location,

which is, in turn, affixed to the model.

And this will work?

Well, the device's range is limited,

so it would have to be someone we know

won't be walking too far away.

Henry!

Sirs?

Oh, is this some kind of maze?

I don't like mazes.

Can't see the point.

A straight line is always faster.

It's a model of our area, Henry.

I need you to walk your regular beat

and then stop somewhere

and we will use this G.P.S. device to locate you.

I didn't mean you should take off all your makeup.

It's fine.

How's your stomach?

The deckhand said he's never seen someone

get so seasick on a river.

Well, I have a delicate constitution, you know?

- Mm-hmm. - Welcome!

Welcome!

You must be Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree.

Patrick Tavistock.

I am honoured to be your host at this very special

centenary celebration of Dickens's birth

here at my very own Bleak House! Ha-ha!

Have you been here long?

Mr. Tavistock?

Mr. Tavistock?

Huh?

Did you know that Dickens himself is said to have visited

this house on his North American tour in 1842?

Imagine!

How wonderful!

Wonderful! Yes! Indeed. Come in, come in!

So, Mr. Tavistock,

you're the president of the Dickens Fellowship?

Of the Ontario Chapter.

Excellent costumes, by the way!

What do you think of mine?

Yours?

Uh, excellent. Bravo!

Edwin Drood himself,

presumed victim of Dickens's unfinished mystery novel.

Ah! Very good.

And this, of course,

is Grip, named in honour... ?

Of Dickens's pet raven.

That's a very striking ring.

Thank you, my dear. Dickens's own.

Do peruse the memorabilia case when you have a moment.

Many Dickens items from my personal collection

on display, as well as a few...

treasures on loan.

Come, come!

Fellow Dickensians!

I have a very exciting surprise.

- Oh? - But first,

there is a small matter I must attend to.

In the meantime,

please continue enjoying the Smoking Bishop punch.

Ha-ha!

Oh!

I suppose you shall be haunting me presently.

Oh, you're, uh, dressed as Scrooge.

I am. Bertram Gower, biographer and historian.

I'm Effie Crabtree, Crown Attorney,

and this is my husband, George.

- Ooh! - This is Clayton Selwood.

He's a... a playwright who directs our theatricals.

Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree.

- The Artful Dodger. - Ah, well spotted!

And what do you do, Mr. Crabtree?

I'm a member of the Toronto Constabulary.

And a writer. He's published several wonderful novels.

Oh! A fellow scribe!

You must meet Miss Lila Chester,

our group's most prodigious reader

and that is saying something. Hm?

- Ah, Miss Havisham, Great Expectations. - Yes!

And like Miss Havisham, I too have been unlucky in love.

Left at the altar.

Oh, well, that must have been quite an ordeal.

Pfft. Twenty years ago, darling.

But at least this way I get some use of my wedding dress.

That wasn't directed at you, Bertie.

Bertie and I broke things off last year. He's a bit sensitive.

A unique interpretation of events.

Oh, the gang's all here.

- Uh-oh. - Not again.

- Tiresome. - Who is that?

She claims to be Dickens's granddaughter,

but, uh, no one really believes her.

This is far more of an intimate gathering than I expected.

Mm. I suppose the journey was too much for some.

I don't know why we couldn't meet in Toronto.

- Oh. - Just because Tavistock

bought himself an island.

Bertie's still sour about losing out at auction

to Patrick for Dickens's cameo ring.

It didn't even fit him properly!

- Bertie, oh! - Bertie,

at least you have mementos that Dickens's family

gave you when you were researching your biographies.

How can a poor playwright, like myself,

ever outbid a man with pockets as deep as Patrick's?

Where is Patrick?

He was so excited to reveal his surprise.

No, go on! Go on!

Good heavens. What was that?

Fire!

- George! - Oh!

Where's Patrick?

Are you all right?

- Yes. - Oh!

A note!

Wha...

It says, "He would make a lovely corpse."

Well, the note sounds like a threat.

"He would make a lovely corpse."

Oh! That's actually a quotation

- from Martin Chuzzlewit. - Oh!

- Martin who? - Oh.

I... it's a Dickens novel.

Still, it's very suspicious.

And we don't know who wrote this note

and I swore I heard shouting.

- That's definitely Patrick's handwriting. - Oh!

This must be the surprise he was talking about!

So maybe this could be a game.

Huh. Patrick does love his puzzles, just like Dickens.

Oh! And he was dressed as Edwin Drood.

Oh!

Who vanishes in the Dickens novel.

- Oh. - So,

our host has contrived his own disappearance.

Dirk Datchery, detective.

Ah, yes. The detective from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

Very good. But, sir, now is hardly the time for costume playacting.

There's something written on the other side.

It says, "So it begins"

and then "dash north."

Ah! Ah! This settles it.

We have a conundrum on our hands!

- Ooh! - I think you're right.

What's this?

It looks like a piece of grass.

- I think it's parsley. - Aha!

I deduce our host has garnished the scene for our delectation.

- Ooh! - Why set fire to his own house?

Doesn't make any sense.

That is why we must puzzle it out!

Come, Mr. Crabtree.

We must solve the mystery of Edwin Drood!

Did Mr. Tavistock seem

worried about anything earlier?

No! Exhilarated, if anything.

Look, this case has a six-letter pass-lock.

Ooh, hoo, hoo, hoo.

The passcode is almost certainly connected to the Drood mystery.

Could it be the name of the character Dickens

intended to be Drood's killer?

Well, who did Dickens intend to be the killer?

Nobody knows.

It's Jasper. The wicked uncle.

Oh? Ha! Jasper.

Yes!

- No. - Oh!

Try Helena, Helena Landless.

- Mm-mm. - I know!

- It's Puffer. - Thank you.

Princess Puffer of the opium den.

Ha!

Are these all character names?

Uh, perhaps it's just Dickens?

I mean, he's the ultimate killer, if you think about it.

D-I-C-K-E-N-S.

Oh, never mind.

What about the note?

Shouldn't we be focused on the note?

- Yes! - Indeed.

The ball hasn't moved in some time.

Henry seems to have stopped at Scott's diner.

They have a lemon pie special today.

Then let's go have a slice.

No, I've never been.

I don't think we've met, Miss... ?

Dickens.

Tanis Stony Dickens,

Charles Dickens's granddaughter.

Why is it that no one believes

you're Charles Dickens's granddaughter?

Maybe because I don't look the part?

But apparently, it's because I lack evidence to back it up.

My father Francis sold off his heirlooms,

including a pocket watch to Mr. Tavistock.

Dickens's son, Francis Dickens,

was a member of Canada's Northwest Mounted Police,

but he died, childless, at 42.

It's well-documented.

George.

I think those two must be sweet on each other.

- Who? Him and her? - Yes, they keep lurking around one another.

Mr. Datchery.

He's never been to one of these things before.

Maybe "dash north" means we should search the island?

But the door was locked, and it leads south.

- Oh, damn! - No, no, no!

We need to be clever.

Patrick loves word play.

What if "dash north" is an anagram?

Oh!

Uh...

Shorthand.

"Dash north" is an anagram for shorthand.

Well, there's no shorthand written here.

Unless there is.

Invisible ink.

That's Dickens's shorthand!

Uh, hm? What's that?

When Dickens was a parliamentary reporter,

he developed his own notation, unreadable to anyone!

This must be why Tavistock

insisted I bring my own documents.

I have Dickens's only extant shorthand key.

Come, everyone, it's in the display case.

Is this supposed to be open like this?

No!

Patrick promised us he would keep it locked.

Is anything missing?

Dickens's pocket watch is gone.

It's the only item missing.

It must be another clue from Patrick!

In The Mystery of Edwin Drood, Drood's watch and chain

were the only traces of him ever found

after his mysterious disappearance.

Tavistock must have planted the watch somewhere

to further hint at his location.

Are you sure it's not simply a robbery?

I deduce if it were truly a robbery,

the glass would be smashed.

Not to mention all my valuable memorabilia is still here,

including the shorthand key.

Henry.

Where's your uniform?

Well, uh...

It was stolen, sir.

Are you eating pie?

Well, couldn't very well go out

in this state of undress, could I?

There's a couple slices left if you're interested.

It's good.

So, the missing pocket watch, that belonged to your father?

So she claims.

Yes.

He inherited it from Charles.

Then shortly before my father's death,

he sold it to Mr. Tavistock.

Yes, and at the price Patrick says he paid,

I could almost have afforded it myself!

What I wouldn't give.

So you really wanted that watch?

Oh, oh. Desperately!

But I didn't steal it!

Maybe your line of work has given you

a suspicious nature, Mr. Crabtree.

But I am certain this is all simply a game.

Is that another L?

Are you acquainted with Mr. Datchery?

L, L. All!

No. No, no. I, uh, I-I've only met him today.

This one could be an R.

Oh! Yes, it is!

Uh, so this could be year.

And this is the symbol for round, or around.

All year round.

All The Year Round!

That's one of Dickens's periodicals!

Tavistock is sure to keep bound volumes in the library.

Oh, ho.

Ah! Oh! Oh!

Oh! Ha, ha! A dead Drood!

Oh! Patrick has really outdone himself this time.

We must now investigate

who has done this dastardly deed!

And congratulations, my friend, on a superb entertainment.

I'm afraid this is no entertainment.

Huh?

Our host is dead.

Mr. Tavistock was acting irrationally.

Do you think he was ill?

I'm afraid not.

He was bludgeoned with a heavy object.

No, no weapon is apparent, Mrs. Crabtree,

this most certainly was murder,

murder most foul, as foul as a killer's dark...

Murder. Yes, Mr. Datchery.

The culprit must be one of us.

There's nobody else in the house.

One of us?!

We all left the den at least once.

You left to look for the raven,

Mr. Gower left to fetch pipe tobacco.

I myself left innocently twice.

Indeed, Miss, yes.

Any one of us could have committed this wretched crime

and I intend to find out who.

- You? - Ah, yes.

I am a detective, after all.

Rest easy, Mrs. Crabtree.

I will solve this mystery

and ensure Mr. Tavistock's killer is found.

He still has his billfold and a key.

The key is for the memorabilia case.

But look, his ring is missing.

And the missing pocket watch isn't on his person, either.

- I wonder if the killer... - Killer took them!

Look!

Here's a volume of All the Year Round.

And there's another note inside.

"When it all began."

Mr. Datchery, the game is over.

- Now, this candlestick... - This calendar is askew.

This candlestick seems to be one of a pair.

I wonder if the missing one is our...

Murder weapon!

- How many thieves were there? - Were four.

Gigantic brutes!

Mm, most of them, anyway.

When I tried to arrest them, sir,

they laughed at me and they stole my clothing.

- Oh, well, that's good. - Good?

Yes. It means they've unwittingly stolen the G.P.S. sensor.

And we can track them using your new invention.

Come along, Constable.

Uh, we'll have to get you a new uniform.

Uh, will I have to pay for that, sir?

Are you satisfied?

Yes, thank you.

So nobody has the watch or the ring.

Or the candlestick.

Good Heavens! What are they doing?!

I asked them to move the body. It was distressing the ladies.

It's compromising evidence, man!

Sir, there is no need for concern.

I have a photographic recollection.

I've committed all the relevant details to memory.

Ha!

He is no master sleuth.

He is Dr. Carmichael Doughty,

the lout who jilted me at the altar twenty years ago!

I recognized you at once, Carm.

The name is Datchery

and do you blame me for coming fully in costume

knowing this is the reception I'd get?

So you lied about not knowing him.

Well, clearly, I never knew him,

or else I wouldn't have been standing alone

at the altar on our wedding day!

Right, then.

Now that everybody has been searched,

I will comb through the rest of the house for the watch,

the ring, and the candlestick.

- I will assist you. - Oh, no, you will not.

In fact, Effie will escort everybody into the den.

- And keep them there. - Of course.

I'll see what else I can find out.

I think it's stopped.

I know that building.

It's an abandoned furniture warehouse.

- Should we bring them in? - No.

If they've stolen a police uniform,

they may have something bigger in mind than robbing a diner.

And if we leave now, they might depart

- while we're not watching. - Precisely.

That's why there's another device I think we should use.

Most of you were acquainted with Mr. Tavistock.

Can you think of any reason someone would wish him harm?

Bertie was obsessed with Patrick's cameo ring.

Of course she accused me.

Miss Chester is just bitter!

- Oh! - Maybe she went after Tavistock herself!

We all know she has a fiery temper!

Bertie, don't! Please.

Mr. Gower was jealous that Mr. Tavistock gave me

Dickens's tortoiseshell match case just last month.

Maybe he did kill poor Patrick!

- Ah, that's absurd. I'm not a killer! - Neither am I!

The two of you probably did it together.

- How dare you! - Together?

- Oh, never! - Do stop quarrelling, please!

I'd sooner do away with Bertie than Patrick any day!

And I'd sooner die alone than be with you!

- I hope you do die alone... - Here.

- What's this? - A Dickens adaptation.

It's the only thing that will calm them down.

The target has started to move again, Inspector.

It's time to go.

Oh, for Pete's sake!

I thought I told you to stay out of it?

I didn't want to deprive you of my powers of observation.

Ooh. What have you gathered?

Ah! Wig glue, I see.

Yes.

Yes, that's mine.

I found this in Tanis Dickens's room.

I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to be.

Another Drood costume, I believe.

Princess Puffer.

Perhaps she planned to wear it and then thought better of it.

I found all these Dickens portraits in Mr. Gower's room.

This one... was under his pillow.

He loves his Dickens.

- Perhaps a little too much. - Mm.

- Good grief. - Oh.

'Tis a day to be remembered

when Master Copperfield pays us a visit.

I trust you are well, Mrs. Heep.

Thank you, Master Copperfield.

We've looked forward to your visit for a long while.

We had feared our...

'umbleness stood in the way.

I assure you that's not the case, ma'am.

- Boo! Boo! - Shh!

Why should I humour a man who may well be the killer?

- Huh! - This horrendous performance reminds me:

Tavistock bad-mouthed your last two flops

to all our mutual friends.

My plays are very well-respected!

Nobody likes your plays, Mr. Selwood.

Least of all any critics.

Nobody likes you, you fabulist!

And yet you keep insisting on showing up to our gatherings

in some sort of p-p-perverse display of defiance!

- Do you hear that? - Yes. My senses are very keen.

Give me that!

Who are you?

I'm the cook.

You're not cooking.

You're stealing from Mr. Tavistock, who was just murdered.

Where have you been all night?

Hm.

He's dead, is he?

God forgive me, but I don't much care for the new master.

And I haven't seen him all night.

Is that right?

Turn out your pockets.

Parsley!

Just like the parsley found in the foyer

when Mr. Tavistock disappeared.

All right.

I was in the foyer.

Mr. Tavistock let me in.

I told him I wanted more money

if I was going to cook for you lot.

He told me to go and find and take whatever I want.

Oh, just take whatever you want?

Is that why you're smashing into his money chest with an icepick?

With his permission!

Just couldn't find the key.

What's going on in here?

I think we may have found our murderer.

I don't see anyone in uniform.

Are you certain your device is working?

The thieves should be just ahead of you

on your... left, Inspector.

I see him!

All right, very carefully, see what he gets up to.

George.

Hm.

- I can't sleep. - What?

Are you sure the cook is guilty?

- Oh, Effie. - What about the watch and the ring?

Why would she hide those if she was openly stealing?

Effie, I don't know.

I just know I'll sleep better with that wild-eyed,

icepick woman locked safely away for the night.

It's no use. I need a book or something.

Maybe I will read some Dickens, after all.

He stopped.

He's lingering behind a bank

and there's a special fortified motor car with guards.

Stay there and keep watching.

He's watching them bring a deposit in.

But if I move, he'll see me.

He's leaving.

Uh...

Right. Uh, stay with him and I'll come find you.

That might be best.

I think they're planning a large withdrawal.

Is someone there?

You make a good point.

About the coo... Effie?

Help! Oh! Somebody help!

Effie?

I found her out here on the floor.

Effie, are you all right?

- George? - What happened?

I saw a light under that doorway

and then somebody hit me.

It's locked.

Good Heavens!

It's Mr. Gower.

Is he dead?

And the missing murder weapon.

I think we've found Mr. Tavistock's killer.

Should we let Datchery in?

He is a doctor, according to Lila.

Well, a doctor's not going to do much now, Effie.

This certainly could have been the weapon

used to kill Mr. Tavistock.

Mr. Gower doesn't seem to have any sort of marks on him.

Effie.

Perhaps he took the opium and then drowned himself?

Someone else could have drugged him.

That would explain the pyjamas.

Unless he was extremely modest.

Could we close his eyes?

His pupils are huge and staring.

I noticed Tavistock's pupils were dilated

when he was greeting everybody, right before he disappeared.

You know...

Opium has the exact opposite effect on pupils.

It contracts them, almost to pinpoints.

Well, if that's the case,

someone's placed this opium bottle here.

This whole scene has been staged.

So, after witnessing the bank delivery,

you and the Inspector tracked the thief back to the warehouse.

Yes, where our tracking ball is now stopped.

And why aren't we arresting the thieves now?

When we're in the position to prevent a crime?

- Well... - Instead, we sit in judgment,

like all-seeing gods,

waiting for these flawed mortals to fail yet again.

We are only surveilling one person, Watts, a known thief.

I was the one that made the decision, Detective Watts,

that it would be far more valuable

to catch them in the act.

And if Detective Murdoch's hunch was right,

that was a main bank that the thief was watching last night,

- so it frequently rece... - ... receives deposits

- from the smaller branches? - Yes.

And I'm told the deposits arriving this morning

are the biggest of the week.

So you think both men were drugged with the same substance?

It stands to reason, but I don't think it was opium.

They both had dilated pupils and Tavistock was nearly giddy.

The cook also described him as acting strangely.

Maybe he really did encourage her

to help herself to his money.

I recently read about Devil's Breath tea.

It leaves one in a highly suggestible trancelike state,

easily controlled by others.

They make a drug from the plant.

It's a, an anesthetic used in surgeries. Scopolamine.

George, do you think somebody could have snuck it

into Mr. Gower's tobacco?

There's his pipe.

Which means this is his teacup.

Look!

Not just leaves, as in our cup, but seeds and stems.

What do you think?

I think Tavistock and Gower

were drugged with Devil's Breath tea,

making them easier to kill.

Our vantage point here is not ideal, Detective Murdoch.

We can't see what's happening without revealing our position.

Yes.

Here, use this, Inspector.

Oh. Ooh.

A circumscope.

Oh my! I can see everything!

Shh, shh.

The thief is distracting the driver!

His accomplices are taking the money.

- Should we move in? - Not yet.

They're going to drive away!

Now, Henry!

Toronto Constabulary!

The thief is getting away!

Brains and brawn.

I'm impressed.

Thank you, sir.

I'll be wanting that uniform back.

I just got those pants broken in.

Mr. Gower did not take his own life.

He was killed by the same person who killed Mr. Tavistock.

We believe both men were drugged before they were killed.

- Now... - I have deduced what truly happened!

Mr. Tavistock planned this entire weekend

around Dickens's Edwin Drood,

and Drood is exactly what it all comes back to.

Now, the "all the year round" clue

actually points to this calendar, which is set to the wrong date.

Did nobody notice?

The next clue,

"when it all began," is a hint

to the date we should turn to:

Dickens's birthdate, of course.

That's February the 7th.

Ah!

"EDROOD."

Why? Because Tavistock imagined that Edwin Drood

faked his own murder to expose his uncle's deadly designs.

And perhaps Tavistock knew exactly what Dickens intended

because hidden inside the briefcase

is the real ending of Edwin Drood!

Dickens finished it, after all.

Tavistock acquired it,

and someone here was willing to kill for it.

But who?

Why, the failed dramatist, of course, Selwood.

Selwood had flop after flop.

His only success is in staging Dickens adaptations.

And what a coup to mount the first complete Drood

with Dickens's original ending!

Well, tha... that-that's not the real ending!

Why, why, it's, it's typed on a typewriter, for pity's sake!

No, it's probably the one Tavistock was writing six months ago!

Wh-Why would I kill for it?

Personally, I prefer my own!

You, you have to believe me.

Well done, Mr. Datchery.

You may not have unmasked the killer,

but you've solved Mr. Tavistock's parlour game

with the greatest of ease.

But perhaps too much ease?

The murderer must've been privy to the game

that Mr. Tavistock was playing with us,

for the killer needed inside knowledge of his plan.

Specifically, how Tavistock was able to disappear.

And these murders weren't about Drood.

They were about love.

Several times since arriving at Bleak House

I've felt cold drafts.

First, in the foyer,

shortly after Tavistock's disappearance,

and again, here,

when I was examining a very strange row of books.

Have any of you ever heard of Lard Times?

The Old Curiosity Slop?

- Huh. - No?

David Lobsterfield?

I may not know much about Dickens,

but I do know that these are not real books,

and this is not a real bookcase.

It's a secret passage.

The killer knew that Tavistock

used the secret passage to disappear.

So, he slipped in afterward

and caught him by surprise.

Being a doctor in real life,

Mr. Datchery knew of a drug called scopolamine.

Is that right?

He used it to make his victims compliant.

These murders were really about Datchery's love for Lila.

He came to win her back,

but first he needed to clear the field of his rivals:

Tavistock, who was wooing her with Dickens's memorabilia,

and Gower, whom he feared was hoping to reconcile.

'Tis true. I, I did attend this weekend

because I love Miss Chester

and I've always regretted leaving her,

but I did not kill those men.

For two decades, I have suffered for my mistake

in leaving the most enchanting woman I have ever known.

Miss Chester,

I hope I can persuade you to forgive me.

There's nothing to forgive, Carm.

- Really? - You don't believe this, George.

Surely you don't!

Well, you and Mr. Datchery tell interesting tales, Effie,

but what about the missing ring, the missing pocket watch?

The stories are good, but there are plot holes.

I think I have it.

Mr. Datchery, you were right.

The evening was intended to be about Drood.

Tavistock was excited to unveil the new ending

he'd written for Dickens's unfinished mystery,

and he'd laid out an elaborate puzzle to entice his guests.

I imagine he planned to plant the pocket watch

as a later clue, probably before revealing

the secret passage. Effie, you were right.

Tavistock used that passage to disappear.

- Oi! - But he was startled

when he was confronted by the cook.

You have to pay more!

Gimme more money!

More money. Fine! Fine! Help yourself.

Being in a highly suggestible state from his drugged punch,

he agreed with her that she should help herself

to more money, but, uh, being in this muddled state,

he also dropped his lantern, starting a fire.

The killer later followed Tavistock

through the secret passage and killed him here in the library.

The Devil's Breath tea would have made that easy.

Just as Gower's drugged tea would have made it easier

for the killer to suggest to him a bath

and then drown him with little resistance.

The killer then left two items at the scene of Gower's death.

One, a candlestick suggesting it was Gower

who murdered Tavistock and, two,

a vial of opium suggesting he had then taken his own life.

But how did the killer know about the secret passage?

For that, it either had to be someone who'd been here before,

or someone who'd known someone who'd been here before.

Dickens had been here before in 1842.

He knew about the secret passage.

From Dickens, that information was passed on to his son, Francis,

and from Francis, it was passed on...

to his daughter.

You hated Gower.

He'd always denied your birthright,

always said that you weren't truly a Dickens.

And you were infuriated with Tavistock

for buying the pocket watch

which you believed was properly yours.

In fact, that's why among all sorts of valuable memorabilia,

the only item stolen was that pocket watch.

As for the ring, the culprit is someone else entirely.

Gower told us the ring didn't properly fit Tavistock,

and when he was killed, it fell from his finger

onto the floor, and being a bright,

shiny object, it was collected by...

... Grip.

I did know about the passage.

My father mentioned it to my mother,

who told me about it.

And you're right.

I was angry.

Gower sneered at my claim.

And Tavistock bought my legacy for a song

when my father was down on his luck.

You people all idolize my grandfather.

He wasn't always that nice of a man.

He only gave his pocket watch to my father

because he considered him a wastrel who was always late.

I brought a costume,

but I didn't need to dress up.

None of you could ever see me for all that I really am:

A proud daughter of my ancestors.

And a true descendant of Charles Dickens.

Did that breakfast gruel taste a little off to you?

Well, I don't think the cook was thrilled about being locked up.

Huh. I, I think perhaps next year, we'll go back

to our usual Dickens birthday brunch in the city, hm?

Perhaps an occasion for my new production of Edwin Drood.

Hm.

Best of luck.

And? What of you two?

Well, we are to be wed as soon as possible

before he runs away again!

I deduce I've waited much too long as it is.

Come along, dear.

Farewell.

George.

How is it you knew so much about Devil's Breath tea?

Actually, I've been doing a little bit of research

into poisons and the like.

I hope I can trust your intentions.

Of course you can.

But I've been thinking...

You want to write another book.

I do.

Ah, seeing these people so profoundly influenced

by the work of a writer.

It's been... strange, but inspiring.

You need to get back to writing.

Even if that means going away somewhere

for a while to get your head back into it.

If I did, I'd miss you.

Terribly.

I'd miss you, too.

But telling stories is a part of who you are.

What will it be about?

It will be a fictionalized account of some of the cases

the Detective and I have worked on together.

Ah. Like Holmes and Watson?

Uh, somewhat, but in my telling,

the assistant will be the clever one.

I mean, all the best fiction is based somewhat in reality.

Detective Murdoch.

A moment of your time, please.

Yes?

There's something I need you to see.

Follow me.

Constable, hit the switch.

I thought your devices deserved a room of their own.

Thank you, Inspector.

This is... wonderful.

A place for your amazing inventions.

And for all the new ones yet to come.