All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - 9x12 - Unlucky in Love

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -

(theme music)

(music and conversations)

Thomas. Those are for the guests.

- So what am I?
- Well, it's my new business,

so you are the help.

They should be finished.

Oh don't worry about it, Margaret,

everything will be fine, I'm sure.

Just lend a hand where it's needed.

And keep an eye on those milling about.

I don't want anything stolen.

- (old style car horn)
- (gasping): Here they are!

Hurry along Thomas. Hello!

(to himself): Bloody woman.

Hello Mrs. Cummersworth!

- Hello!
- Hello!

Everything is in order, I assure you.

Thank you.

Just this way. We don't
want the groom to see you.

- Thank you.
- Thomas Brackenreid.

- Samuel Birkett.
- The bride's side I take it?

- Most definitely the bride.
- Most definitely?

The groom's a pompous windbag.

Always rapping that cane
as if he were a sergeant.

Says he was injured in the war.

I wager he's never seen a battlefield.

- I was in Afghanistan.
- Were you now?

"Writing class to be
taught by renowned novelist.

Signed book by author to be
included in price of class.

Bring writing sample."
What do you think, Henry?

I suppose it would depend on the teacher.

I'm the teacher.

You think writing one book
qualifies you as a writing teacher?

I do! Now, I've signed 20 copies

of The Curse of the Pharaohs,
hopefully that will be enough.

- I'd imagine so.
- (baby cooing)

Sir.

Shouldn't he be walking by now?

(more cooing)

I have no idea, sir.

Perhaps he's slow.

I mean I...

wouldn't worry about it, sir.

My mother said I didn't
walk 'til I was almost three.

Will you love him,

comfort him, honour and keep
him, in sickness and in health;

and, forsaking all others,
be faithful unto him

as long as you both shall live?

I will.

Elizabeth Cummersworth and Oliver Pym,

having witnessed your vows
of love to one another,

it is my joy to present
you to all gathered here

as man and wife.

You may kiss the bride.

(applause and sweet laughter)

Ladies and Gentlemen...

(electric charge, cries and gasps)

Please sir, stand aside.

May be an idea to start
planning the funeral.

His skin is pale, and his eyes
are cloudy with dilated pupils.

There are contusions
on the palm of his hand.

And his hair is slightly singed.

I already told you, Doctor, I was
there. The poor sod was electrocuted.

The question is was it
accidental or deliberate?

William. Where's Roland?

Oh, I've left him in excellent care.

(mouth noise and gentle laughter)

Where are you going, George?

- I'm off to meet my students.
- Well...

You're not gonna leave me with...

- (baby cooing)
- Try not to let him outsmart you, Higgins.

(voices, conversations)

My condolences.

Why are you still here?

I'm trying to determine the exact
cause of your husband's death.

That hardly matters now, does it?

Wouldn't you want to know the reason why?

I know what I need to know.

Are we almost done here?

I'm gonna need to have
everything cleared away

- as soon as possible.
- (knocking)

- Mrs. Cummersworth...
- It's Pym now.

Oliver died after the vows were taken.

Mrs. Pym. May we have a word?

- What would you like to know?
- Is there anyone you can think of

who might want your husband dead?

- Not a soul.
- Is everything all right?

- Quite.
- And you are?

- Judith Baxter, a friend.
- I was the lady-of-honour in the wedding party.

They've laid out some tea for us.

Was there anything else?

- We do have more questions.
- Can they not wait?

This woman is newly bereaved.

- Of course.
- Then you'll excuse us.

We'll need to return the
wedding gifts immediately.

And of course we'll need to
make funeral arrangements.

The grieving bride.

She doesn't seem terribly
affected by her husband's death.

No, she does not.

The groom then kisses the bride...

Figuratively!

They both turn and head down the steps.

No, they didn't.

The groom called everyone to attention.

These lights are powered
by this electrical wire

which seems to enter the
altar up along this pillar.

Now, there is a significant puddle here.

This planter appears to be
responsible, it's been overwatered.

This one isn't.

So the deceased was stood in a puddle

- when he went to make his speech.
- And the bride wasn't.

But sir, have a look at this.

The wire has been stripped
bare, allowing it to make contact

with the assembly and electrifying it.

So the groom raised his cane,

made contact with it,

and his body closed the circuit.

If the bride or daughter
had anything to do with this,

- they likely would have needed help.
- Why is that?

You don't think women are
devious enough to murder?

(voices)

Ah!

Are we going to get started?

Yeah... Right. Um...

We already know your name!

And we paid for two
full hours of instruction.

It's already five past seven.

So you will be going to five past nine.

Very well, um...

Right. Why don't we begin with

you telling me a bit about...

let's start with each of you

telling me a little bit about
yourselves and what you hope to

achieve from the class. You must be

- Eunice?
- No flies on him.

Thank you. I would like
to write my memoirs.

My life has been full
of mystery and romance.

Excellent!

Excellent, Eunice. That's very intriguing.

- Uh... You, sir... Howard?
- Yes.

I plan on writing cowboy stories

and selling them to the weeklies.

- I hope to make a living at it.
- Excellent!

Write what you know. I take it
you've spent time on a ranch?

- No.
- Did you spend some time in Ancient Egypt?

- No.
- Then why did you say: "Write what you know"?

Alright, that piece of advice
comes from none other than

Mark Twain. A man I have met personally.

Well, bully for you!

- Perhaps you could get HIM to teach the class.
- (big exasperated sigh)

(knocking) I'm so,

so very sorry I'm late. I apologize.

It's just it's been tremendously exciting

to be in Toronto for the first
time. The clothing stores, my word!

I went out for one little
thing and 2 hours later, well,

you can see the trouble
I've gotten myself into.

No need to apologize, Miss.

Where are you coming from?

I hail from Cavendish,

the most beautiful town in
all of Prince Edward Island.

You've come a long way, then.

I trust your purpose wasn't solely

- to attend my writing class?
- Indeed, it was not,

but I thought this class might
do me some good while I'm here.

I've had some success with
short stories and poetry,

but I'm very keen to crack the novel form.

Very good, what's your name?

Lucy Montgomery.

But friends and family call me Maud.

(voices)

Whose idea was it to run the
electrical lights around the altar?

The wedding planner's.

The woman wanted a spectacle.

I guess she got it.

Had you any previous
experience with such lights?

A light is a light.

And a wire is a wire.

Unless that wire has
deliberately been stripped bare.

"If" the wire was damaged,

it was the fools who built
and decorated that altar.

We were exceedingly careful. We always are.

That's why we're the best in the business.

The electrician believes you may
have damaged the electrical wiring.

Well, he doesn't know
what he's talking about.

We completed our work
before the wiring was done.

I would not overwater the plants.

That arrangement was extremely sensitive.

You couldn't have made a mistake?

Are you questioning my professionalism?

You took a keen interest
in Mr. Pym's metal cane.

- I didn't know you were a copper.
- I never offered.

Did you know that metal
conducts electricity?

- No.
- Are you sure about that?

I don't know anything about electricity.

And if I was going to kill him,
I would have done it face to face.

Why?

Because...

Elizabeth deserves better.

We might want to consider something.

- What's that, sir?
- Well, that it was just an accident.

None of that lot seem to have
the spark to electrocute a man.

- Perhaps.
- Did you get that: "Spark"?

- Yes. Very good sir.
- Gentlemen.

- How were your suspects?
- Clean as a whistle.

Take a look at this. Can I hold him?

- Of course!
- I was speaking to a woman

at the Suffrage Association
about Elizabeth's wedding

and her husband's demise. And her response?

"Oh, no, not again!"

_

_

- Five husbands?
- Elizabeth, n�e Drabble.

Married the first time in 1884

to Paul Durrell, 22 years of age.

He died in a fall off of a bridge.

Number two: Lucas Gibson in 1887.

Died in a hunting accident.

Seven years later to one Thomas McEwan.

His charred remains were found in
a fishing lodge that burned down.

Her most recent last name

came from Bernard Cummersworth in 1898.

He died after a piano that was
being moved fell on top of him.

And now, number five, Oliver Pym,

by electrocution.

Elizabeth Pym is either the
unluckiest woman in the world

or one very competent murderess.

I'd wager the latter.

William, with your permission,
I'd like to observe.

Of course!

(baby cooing)

Sir, if you wouldn't mind...

- Thank you.
- (more cooing)

Promise me you won't grow
up to be like those two.

How about a thimble
full of scotch? Heh heh!

I understand this isn't the
first husband you've lost.

No,

I've lost all four of my
husbands prior to Oliver.

You have to admit that's rather suspicious?

On the face of it.

The only common element
in all these deaths is you.

I was nowhere near any of my husbands

when they died. Excepting,
of course, Oliver,

whom, as you may know,
I was standing next to.

In fact, had he reached out
to touch me at that moment,

I'd likely be dead as well.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Pym,

these deaths are connected,

and I believe you are
involved in all of them.

Indeed, I am.

They all made the mistake of marrying me.

And leaving you their money.

If you want to try to prove
that I had something to do

with the deaths of my husbands,

be my guest.

Now,

I have many things to take care of.

Mrs. Pym,

I'll be needing your fingermarks
before you leave the station house.

Do you have any objections?

Not a one.

What in the blazes do
you think you're doing?!

How dare you treat a lady like this?!

It's all right, Samuel. I agreed to this.

Please wait for me outside, in the car.

That should do, Mrs. Pym.

Thank you for your cooperation.

The woman is absolutely fascinating!

She makes no effort whatsoever

to hide her lack of feeling
about five dead husbands.

She puts me in mind of that insect species

where the female consumes the male

right when they're in the middle...

- Procreating.
- Yes! The female praying mantis

is known to devour her
mate during the sex act,

as is the widow spider.

That's the perfect name for
her: the black "preying" mantis.

Only change the 'a' in praying to an 'e'

- because she preys upon...
- Thank you, George.

I think we should focus on the husbands.

I'll look into the fire
at the fishing lodge.

Sir, I'm quite intrigued
by this falling piano.

First thing tomorrow, then.

And perhaps the Inspector
will be able to find someone

connected to the Hunt Club
where Mr. Gibson was killed.

Julia, could you look at the
previous coroner's reports?

Perhaps something was overlooked.

Of course!

- Anything else, George?
- Sir,

I was hoping you might be able to advise me

- on a little problem I've encountered.
- Of course.

As you know, I've undertaken
to teach a writing class.

Oh. Very good.

Well, the samples of the writing
I've received, sir, are...

to put it kindly... Uneven.

And I'm not sure how to give criticism

without unduly hurting somebody's feelings.

Well, the best advice I can give

is to look for their positive qualities

and give those equal
weight to your criticisms.

Sir, what if there are
no positive qualities?

- Suggest another occupation.
- Sir?

Why would one waste valuable effort

on a vocation for which
they have no facility?

It was 1855 when my husband died.

I was not so sad. I did not like him.

I was pretty and I always
liked a handsome boy.

He was not handsome. But my
mother said he was a good catch.

So I married him. But
I never did like him...

... very much.

Uh...

the honesty of it is...

remarkable, admirable, poetic even.

I think perhaps the sentences
are a bit repetitive.

Perhaps it's just your voice. But also,

I think the content could be
more colourfully described.

- You don't like it!
- I didn't say that.

It's my life story.

Well, perhaps we need to consider

that not every life story is worth telling.

(The lady gasps.)

- Well...
- I didn't mean to suggest...

- ... I never!
- Oh, please...

- I never!!!
- (George sighs.)

Right, then, who's going to read next?

(A door slams nearby.)

- Where's Mr. Raymond?
- He withdrew.

Then I suppose I shall go next.

Ahem!

It was just after sundown

in the wild, wild west.

The man with the black cowboy hat

and the sharp silver spurs
got off his high horse.

Doing evil was on his mind.

He spat on the dusty ground.

He went into the saloon
and ordered a whiskey.

He pulled out his gun.

"Is there anyone here
brave enough to fight me?"

- he asked the crowd of cowboys...
- Oh, sweet mother of mercy,

please, Mr. Howard, stop!

Just stop! Why are you wasting your time?

Nobody would publish that!

- How dare you, you little sod.
- I'm sorry,

but it's nothing more than
a... collection of clich�s.

There is not a single
original thought in there!

I don't want to encourage
you to waste your time

in a vocation for which
you have no facility.

My writing's as good as yours!

I couldn't even get
through the first chapter

of that daft thing you call a novel!

You're no teacher,

you're a fraud!

(George sighs.)

Looks like it's just the two of us.

And what did you think of...
MY writing, Mr. Crabtree?

Please, George.

George?

I did think you had significantly
more aptitude than any of the others.

But there were a few things
I would like to discuss.

I didn't come here to be
coddled, but for honest opinion.

That is what I'd like to hear from you.

- Are you sure about that?
- I am.

Alright then.

Well, seeing as it's just the two of us,

perhaps we could find a more
comfortable venue for our discussion.

I'd like that.

(conversations, dishes)

So...

"George"?

What did you really think?

There's no question in my mind, Maud:

you have a real gift.

How kind of you.

Uh, I've read the first several chapters
of this novel you intend to write,

- this "Anne of Green Gables"...
- Yes?

... and I think your style is very good.

Excellent even.

I just wonder if Anne should be...

born into a more interesting family.

I mean, they're all rather
dull, don't you think?

You might be right about that.

I'll give it some further thought.

And you do tend go a bit
overboard with the nature stuff.

I mean, nature is terrific,

but after a while, how many trees and

streams can a reader take?

And it takes so long before
anything actually happens.

And... when it finally does,

I find this Anne character's
misadventures are, uh...

what's the word? Um... uh...

Trivial, uninteresting.

And the red hair and the freckles,
that's all a bit overstated, isn't it.

Anne tends to go on and on and
on, about every little thing.

I think you should
consider making Anne a boy.

I mean, then she'd be able
to have real adventures.

Can we go back to the parts you liked?

As I mentioned before, I think your
use of the English language is...

exemplary.

Since my language skills... are exemplary,

I'll make this short and sweet.

Goodbye, Mr. Crabtree.

(chimes from the door)

Lucas Gibson was with the
Crothers Woods Hunt Club.

His shooting was assumed to be an accident.

Were they able to determine
which of the hunters' guns

- the bullet came from?
- No.

But the guide that took them
out that day was the only one

unaccounted for when the victim was shot.

He vanished shortly afterwards.

- George?
- Sir, I spoke to somebody at the moving company.

He said when the piano fell
and killed Cummersworth,

one of the movers that day was a new chap

and right after the
incident, he disappeared.

- How did it fall on him?
- Improperly strapped, apparently.

It fell a full five stories.

Must've caused quite a mess.

- Oh sir, the splatter reached a call box across the street...
- Gentlemen...

- (baby cooing)
- ... please.

Aah...

Right Murdoch, what did you uncover?

Another missing man.

When the lodge burned down to the ground,

an unknown man alerted the Sheriff.

He was also never seen again.

So there was a suspicious male present

when each of these supposed
'accidents' occurred.

And all three times he
disappeared straight afterwards.

What about the first husband?

Was there a missing man there?

Dr. Ogden wasn't able to find much detail

in the coroner's report,
except that Mr. Paul Durrell

died from a head injury sustained

- from a fall off a bridge.
- Any mention of a witness?

Unfortunately no.

But it does seem likely
that this disappearing man

- could all be one and the same.
- And our killer.

This picture shows
the six-man hunting party.

There's the guide that disappeared.

Hard to tell what he looks like
now; it was fifteen years ago.

We have met this man before.

The florist, from the wedding.

And the grieving widow's accomplice.

How do you account for the
fact that each of your husbands

died after they married you?

How many is it now? Five?

- It's my bad luck I suppose.
- YOUR bad luck?

They're the ones who keep on dying.

You're the one who keeps on getting richer.

Inspector, there's no
need for that kind of tone.

And if you think you've got such bad luck,

why is it you keep on getting married?

That's my prerogative and
really, none of your business.

What can you tell us about Fergus Dexter?

- Who's he?
- The florist at your wedding,

the most recent one, that is.

She's already told you
she doesn't know him.

I neither hired nor dealt
directly with any of the workmen.

Talk to that idiotic wedding planner.

(Clears his throat.)

Maybe you hired him for a less savoury job.

If you'll excuse me, I have
a funeral to get ready for.

- We're not finished here, Mrs. Pym.
- I am,

so charge me or let me go.

Well if she won't talk,

perhaps the "florist" will.

If he is still in town.

Best talk to the idiotic wedding planner.

Miss Montgomery!

Mr. Crabtree, could... I have word?

I was hoping I would see you again.

- I really want to apologize.
- As do I.

No, no, no. I never should have been so

aggressive in my critique.

And I should not have asked for a
critique if unprepared to hear it.

Once I'd calmed myself,

I realized how greatly I could
benefit from your comments on my novel.

I wonder if we could speak further.

- Yes, of course.
- Henry.

Tell the Detective I'm taking my lunch.

- Will you cover for me?
- What's in it for me?

A chance to prove your
mettle as a police officer

if the Detective calls on you.

After delivering that
insult about his child,

I would think you would
want to make amends.

Thomas, why are you badgering me?

Where did you find Fergus Dexter?

I didn't find him, he found me.

He approached me at the mansion.

I have his address in here,

I'm sure, let me see. No,

no, no. Ah, so many papers!

Ah! Ha! Here it is.

(sighing with relief):
Excellent work, Margaret.

Come on, Murdoch.

- Thank you!
- Hm! (after sighing): Oh!

Remind him he needs to
send me his invoice. Thomas!

It appears Margaret may
have saved a few bob.

Sir, the bullet appears
to have entered the back

of Mr. Dexter's head, and not the side.

A clumsy attempt to make a
murder look like a suicide.

Interesting that it happened
so soon after we told

Elizabeth Pym that Mr.
Dexter was under suspicion.

Makes it pretty difficult for him

to answer questions about
his connection to her.

At least we have this.

- Done?
- Done!

Thank you.

Father is off to find a murderer.

(Julia laughs softly.)

There.

And now, for Elizabeth Pym's fingermarks

in the exact same spot.

A little lower on the left.

There.

- Alright.
- Sir,

what's this contraption here?

It's called a macro lens attachment.

It magnifies the image so that
I can get a higher resolution

photograph of just what I need.

In this case, the right index fingermark.

A higher resolution;

- that means you can see more clearly?
- That's right.

Oh, that'll be all Henry.

Sir,

I didn't mean to speak
ill of your son earlier.

No offense taken.

I would be proud if he would
grow up to be a stalwart

young man such as yourself, Henry.

Thank you, sir.

It bears repeating that I think
your novel has true greatness in it.

I just think you ought to...

do away with some of the dull bits

and flesh out the parts
that are more rousing.

That is sound advice.

And have you reconsidered making it

- "Dan of Green Gables"?
- Absolutely not.

Why should I?

Half the world is made up of women.

I suspect there should
be a large readership

for a novel with a female protagonist.

You make a good case.

By the way, you need to grab
your readers right off the top,

make it exciting.

I think that's the technique
that made my novel successful.

How do you suggest I accomplish that?

Well, you have the haunted wood scenes.

They're just buried a long way in.
Try moving those up at the beginning.

And give us some ghosts. We
need to actually see them.

And a dead body.

Maud, a dead body would go a long way,

people wouldn't be able to put the book
down if it had all that at the start.

I don't know about an
actual corpse, George.

- It's not meant to be that kind of novel.
- Fair enough, no corpse.

But definitely ghosts. And
they need to DO something.

- You may be right.
- I'm certain I am.

What about a white lady who
walks along the brook at night,

who wrings her hands
and utters wailing cries,

appearing when there's
a death in the family?

That's perfect.

Maud, that's perfect. And then,
maybe the ghost of a murdered child

who haunts the woods

and creeps up behind you, and he puts a...

a cold hand on your shoulder.

And a headless man...

who stalks up and down the path

and skeletons that glower
from between the boughs.

Headless man?

- Have you ever seen a headless man?
- No. Have you?

I have.

It's quite something.

I think it would be a
good idea if your pen name

was to include all three of your names,

like some of the greats:
Robert Louis Stephenson,

Arthur Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells...

- Louisa May Alcott.
- Exactly.

What a wonderful thought, George.

I do like the sound of it.

"Lucy Maud Montgomery".

(glasses clinking)

You know, it's one of the
great tragedies of my life

that I have only one given
name. I was a foundling, you see,

so my naming was rather
a utilitarian affair.

- You were an orphan?
- Mm...

I was found on the church steps
in an extremely old carpetbag,

which held me and all my
worldly possessions, so...

I think it's safe to
say it wasn't very heavy.

(soft snicker)

Did you ever come to
know the mother and father

- who brought you into the world?
- Yeah, I did meet my mother eventually.

I remember as a child,
I used to pretend that...

I was really the son of some great earl

and I'd been stolen away
by a cruel and wicked nurse

who ended up dying before
she had a chance to confess.

What a positively romantic story.

Were you terribly sad and lonely?

No, everything worked out
exceedingly well for me actually.

Adversity can be the making of a man.

- George.
- Yes?

Please come closer.

This is a photograph of the fingermarks

that were taken from the pistol
that was found in Mr. Dexter's hand.

As you can see, they're undistinguishable.

But...

if I overlay

these two fingermarks...

like so...

Now what do you see?

It's the same image.

Precisely. When oriented correctly,

these two fingermarks form the one

that was taken from the pistol.

And who do they belong to?

Fergus Dexter and Elizabeth Pym.

Seems like her luck's finally turned.

We now have proof that
you killed Fergus Dexter.

Don't be ridiculous. I
don't even know the man.

I believe you do.

Do you recognize this?

That's similar to the
gun that's kept in my car.

I assume it's a common weapon.

Well, this one was found
at the scene of the murder.

And it has your fingermarks on it.

As I've said, I don't
know any Fergus Dexter.

And if that is my gun, I have no idea

how it was used in the murder of this man.

- Now, are we done here?
- Far from it, Mrs. Pym.

You knew that we were on to Fergus Dexter.

So you killed him before
he could implicate you

and made it appear as
though it were a suicide.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

We can't arrest you for the
murders of your husbands.

But we can prove that
you killed Fergus Dexter

and that is enough.

I don't understand.

He murdered your husbands
and you paid him well for it.

- I did not.
- We can prove that Fergus Dexter was present

at all of your husband's deaths.

Lucas Gibson,

Thomas McEwan and Bernard Cummersworth.

But why?

You mean...

you think someone was responsible
for all of my husbands' deaths?

Yes.

And that person is you.

Someone I don't even know
killed all four of them?

- (She sighs.)
- Excuse me.

Something doesn't make sense here.

She very clearly referred
to four murdered husbands

rather than five. I wonder why?

Which one is she omitting?

Could it be the first husband,
the one who fell from a bridge?

The only one that Dexter
wasn't present for.

Did she kill him herself?

Could I talk to her, William?

Elizabeth?

Tell me about your first
husband, Paul Durrell.

Were you responsible for his death?

I was.

He died after falling from a bridge.

- Did you push him?
- No.

Were you present when he died?

No.

Then how are you responsible?

I told him I no longer loved him.

That I wanted our marriage annulled.

I drove him to it.

In his note Paul told me exactly

why he was going to do it.

It was all my fault

I killed him.

Paul Durrell committed suicide?

I knew he was unstable...

he threatened suicide...

... but I left him nonetheless.

But there was no suicide
note in the coroner's file.

It was nobody else's business.

I didn't want to shame
his memory any further.

I didn't kill the other four.

I swear.

Elizabeth, do you still have
the note that he left you?

Yes, I do.

I carry it with me to this day.

You started this writing class

as a means of meeting
young ladies, didn't you?

Don't be ridiculous, Henry!

However... (Takes a bite from an apple.)

... Maud is really quite something.

I mean, I feel she not only has
genuine potential as a writer

but that she's also my intellectual equal.

Is that supposed to be a compliment?

You know, I'm having
dinner with her tonight.

- I think she could be the one.
- Whoa... The one?

- Yes.
- Which one?

"Which one... "

And you're certain about the first husband?

She's provided the suicide note.

Elizabeth Pym was overcome
with profound grief

after Mr. Durrell's death.

Then she experienced trauma after trauma

as each of her subsequent husbands died.

And you don't think she's lying?

I don't.

The string of traumas could explain
her detached manner prior to this.

I suppose it's possible...

At the very least, it gives some validity

to her claim of having no part
in the other husbands' murders.

If she didn't hire Fergus Dexter...

then what motivated him to kill them all?

And who killed Dexter?

Elizabeth claims the murder
weapon was in her automobile.

Might be time to have
a word with the driver.

I saw the way you looked at her.

I won't deny I'm sweet on her.

Always have been.

But I'm not responsible for any murder.

Where were you between the
hours of one and 3 PM yesterday?

I drove Elizabeth to her lawyer's
office for the reading of the will.

I was in the waiting room all the while.

Who else besides Elizabeth might
have had access to the car and gun?

Well?

This is Dr. Julia Ogden.

She often consults with
me on police matters.

I should disclose to you
that she is also my wife.

How lovely. You work with your wife.

And what sort of Doctor are you?

- A psychiatrist.
- Ah, a charlatan.

You've had experience with psychiatrists?

You also lost your husband.

Yes. What bearing does that have?

His name was Edgar Durrell,

- is that right?
- What of it?

Elizabeth Pym's first
husband was a Paul Durrel.

We were acquainted shortly
after her first husband's death.

His suicide.

Elizabeth's first husband
was your son, wasn't he?

We know that he was.

The question is, does
Elizabeth know who you are?

That witch killed him.

That must have hurt.

- How did you find out how he died?
- Paul sent me a letter.

She'd told him she was leaving him.

He was very distraught.

I booked passage to Toronto,

but by the time I arrived,

my boy was gone.

She is responsible for that.

And who was Fergus Dexter?

A dalliance, a friend... a lover.

And your own personal assassin.

A fact that he would have disclosed to me

had I been able to speak to him.

She killed my son.

She deserved everything that came her way.

You then killed Mr. Dexter

- to cover your tracks...
- (She sighs impatiently.)

... and tried to frame
Elizabeth Pym for the murder.

Yes. So?

- All these years.
- (with a bit of a snicker)

If you sought revenge,

why not take just Elizabeth's life?

Why kill all those men who did you no harm?

Because of her, I lost my only child.

I wanted her pain to
be as enduring as mine.

I wanted to cause her
so much guilt and sorrow

that one day, she could bear it no longer

and she would take her own life.

I live for that day.

Well, now you won't see it.

(sigh)

(knocking at the door)

Coming.

(sigh)

I waited for you.

I'm sorry.

May I come in?

George, I must speak with you.

You are such a robust personality,

I can't help but find
you extremely appealing

on every level.

That's a good thing.

And that's why I didn't
come to dinner. George,

there's no room in my life
for another person right now.

I must return to Prince Edward
Island to care for my grandmother.

My hands will be almost
full with that alone and

it will be all I can do to
find ample time to write.

- We've only just met.
- I know.

And that's why I must end this now.

Romance with you is extremely tempting.

It's a detour I'm not prepared
to take at this time in my life.

I must devote myself to writing.

Don't despair, George.

Someone of your calibre will
not be on his own for long.

Hm...

I've rewritten the first several chapters.

I'd love to hear your opinions.

But...

if you'd rather not, I'd understand.

It would be my pleasure...

Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Thank you.

My postal address is on the front page.

- And George...
- Yes?

... I don't leave until the morning.

I will be asked to speak in her defense.

Of course you will.

She's not of right mind.

That is for the Crown
to decide, Julia, not I.

Oh, Julia.

How long before children
are supposed to walk?

I have no idea.

We should find out.

Henry, listen to this:

"It has all my worldly goods
in it, but it isn't very heavy.

It's an extremely old carpetbag."

Isn't that how you were
found, in an old carpetbag?

Yes, exactly!

I'm thrilled that she used some of the
ideas that we came up with together:

the ghost of the murdered
child, the lady in white,

the headless man and whatnot. But

there's something else here.

What's that?

Well, she's turned the
character into a spunky orphan,

found in a carpetbag, who's
prone to flights of fancy!

Henry;

Anne of Green Gables is me!

Announcer: On an all-new Murdoch...

A white man killed in a coloured church.

Announcer: Solving a sinful murder...

No member of my congregation would do this.

Announcer: Will take a leap of faith.

Perhaps this is what the
killer was looking for.

You need to tell me what you're hiding.

Announcer: Murdoch Mysteries,

next Monday at 8:00 on CBC.

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