All language subtitles for Not For The Nervous - starring Elaine Paige, Peter Sallis & T.P. McKenna (1980)

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

I'm going to be a little bit more

The

thing you're about to see

is based on the trial of a murder case

and treats the facts of violent death

as frankly as they were treated in the original court

details of the trial have been condensed

from contemporary sources

scenes outside the courtroom are a mixture of fact and conjecture.

Before 1898, a prisoner was not allowed to give evidence.

This seems extraordinary to us, but in fact it was supposed to have been in the prisoner's

best interest.

All the same, there are some cases when one can't help feeling that the whole truth could

only have been known if the prisoner had been allowed to speak.

For example, Kate Webster.

He must have been one of the most extraordinary people ever to come on trial in here.

Kate was about 30, Irish, a maid servant.

She was accused of murdering her employer.

In that period, we're talking of 1879.

That was unusual enough.

But the horror of the case is what is alleged to have happened afterwards.

It was for the jury here to decide whether Kate Webster was a rather simple abuse.

This lead provoked young woman or a monster.

She was certainly one or the other.

What impression had they got had they heard her?

That we shall never know.

Her defense was led by Mr. Warner Slay.

Kate Webster herself offered a heartfelt thanks and gratitude to him, as she did to her solicitor,

Mr. O'Brien.

The prosecution was headed by the solicitor general, Sahar Dung Jafar.

He was the leading lawyer of his day.

The judge, the honourable Mr. Justice Denman, was a model of fairness and common sense.

There was no suggestion that the arguments fallen against the prisoner weren't fairly

put.

By all accounts, she impressed the jury.

There's no doubt there was something about her.

Possibly the man who, by the end of the case, knew most about Kate Webster, was Father Menery,

the Roman Catholic chapter of One's Worth Prison.

And he said that after he'd taken her last confession, he was never the same man again.

It was the share horror of the crime that had given him mortality to the name of Kate Webster.

And the accused lived at the time we are concerned with that number two may field cuttages in

Richmond.

She had been employed there as a servant since January of this year by the deceased, Mrs.

Thomas.

The widowed lady of about 60 years of age.

On the night of Sunday the 2nd of March, Mrs. Thomas attended the Presbyterian Church at

Richmond.

She was never again seen alive.

Two days later, on the afternoon of Tuesday the 4th of March, the accused went to tea with

a mister and Mrs. Porter who lived in Hammersmith.

She told them that she was now called Mrs. Thomas, that she was a widow, and that she

had inherited some money and a house in Richmond.

Later Mr. Porter and his son walked with the accused to a public house.

She had brought to the Porter's house a black bag, a perfectly normal black bag of the kind

you wouldn't remark twice.

Mr. Porter and his son shared the task of carrying this bag to the public house.

The accused then bought the Porter's drink and went out, she said, to visit a friend in

barns.

She took the bag with her, but when she returned some 20 minutes later, she no longer had

the bag.

The boy then escorted the accused back to Richmond while his father went to his own home, and

at number two mayfield cottages in the home of the real Mrs. Thomas.

There was another package for the boy, Robert Porter, to carry.

A box this time.

Then I up to carry the box, sir.

It was called it up like.

And where did you carry it to?

To Richmond Bridge, sir.

And then what happened?

She said she had a friend coming to help her, and I could go on, so I started to walk across

the bridge.

Then I heard this splash.

You heard a splash?

Yes, then Kate ran after me.

You mean, they're accused?

Yes, sir.

She ran after me and said she'd seen a friend and I could go back home.

And did she still have the box with her?

No, sir.

And did you return home?

No, sir.

The last train had gone, and she had enough money for a cab, sir.

So I went back and spent the night in her house.

Mrs. Thomas's house.

The rear of Mrs. Thomas.

Yes, sir.

Did she show you what was in the box?

Or the black bag?

No, sir.

But they were heavy.

No more questions, no?

Mr. Slay.

Thank you, Minard.

Tell me, Robert.

How long have you learned, Kate?

She used to live next daughters about four or six years ago.

She used to come and play with my sister.

How old was your sister at that time?

Between three and four, sir.

She's died since then.

I'm sorry to hear that.

But dear Q's whom you call Kate, she was always kind to your sister.

Very kind?

Yes, sir.

Let me take you back to the night of the fourth of March,

when you heard that splash in the river.

You are certain that splash was caused by the box falling in?

No, sir.

What you think it was then, Robert?

That splash?

I thought it was a barge, sir.

It was dark, and I couldn't see.

Obviously, it would have been very strange behavior

for Kate to take a large box to the river and drop it in.

Yes, sir.

I'm sure you'd have mentioned it to someone.

If you thought there was anything odd happening.

Your father, your mother, friends at work, perhaps.

Yes, sir.

Who did you tell about it?

Nobody, sir.

Except the police.

Yes, that was much later, wasn't it?

On the 23rd, I believe.

After you would see in the box, which

you've been dragged from the river at barge.

Yes, sir.

Until then, until you'd heard of these terrible events,

which have received so much publicity in the newspapers,

it never occurred to you for one moment

to doubt that what Kate had told you was the truth.

No, sir.

Thank you.

And on this occasion, when the accused

came round to tea with you unexpectedly,

for after all, you hadn't seen her for several years.

I didn't recognize her at first, sir.

She was that well dressed.

Indeed.

Did she ask you to do anything for her?

She asked me if I knew anyone who

might be interested in buying her home, sir.

Her home, you mean the house?

No, sir.

Her home.

The furniture.

I see.

And could you help her?

Not then, sir.

It was later I introduced her to Mr. Church.

And all this time, she referred to herself as Mrs. Thomas.

That's what she called herself, yes, sir.

Tell me.

Why are you so willing to help herself, her possession?

I thought she might pay me something.

She looked well off.

Thank you.

Now we can return to this mysterious box.

When did you first hear about it?

I think that would be about the ninth when they

found the box in the river.

Your son say anything at the time?

He told me about how he'd helped her with the box

on the fourth.

And it hardly point out to the court

that it has not been established for one moment,

that they were the same box.

The inquest on the remains that were

found in the box that was taken from the river

was held on the death.

Do you think you thought it is with your information?

Yes.

When?

I don't know.

Your papers were full of reports of the inquest.

You do read newspapers.

Yes.

Which?

Lords.

The London Illustrated News.

The graphic?

I'm very impressed.

I read the graphic more than the others.

I'm sure the graphic gave an even larger percentage

of its space to reporting the inquest than the others.

I repeat the question.

When did you go to the authorities?

I don't know.

And I will tell you, Mr. Porter.

I did not go to the authorities at all.

I'll tell you a company, Mr. Church, nearly three whole weeks

later.

Because you did not for a moment to breathe,

that the woman you knew was kept.

As a friend, as someone who used to play with your little daughter,

you did not for a moment to breathe

that she could be in any way connected

with this horrible crime.

Is that not the case?

Well, seriously.

I have no further questions, will I?

You are Mrs. Jane Eyes, the owner of numbers 1

and 2 Mayfield Cottages.

You live in number 1, and you read it out number 2

to Mrs. Thomas.

Is that correct?

Quite correct.

When did you last see, Mrs. Thomas?

On Saturday, the 1st of March, she was in her garden,

planting some flowers.

At the following Monday, did you see anything unusual

taking place at number 2?

It wasn't so much that I saw anything.

It was the smell.

Could you describe this smell to the court?

I have never encountered such a smell before.

It was most unpleasant.

I mentioned it to several people.

Did you notice anything else unusual taking place on that day?

The washing.

I noticed that there was a great deal more of it than usual,

and that it was hanging out to dry much earlier than usual

by eight o'clock.

Did you observe anything else exceptional taking place

on any of the subsequent days?

There was a continuous dream of people calling.

This is most unusual.

Mrs. Thomas rarely had visitors.

Then on Tuesday, the 18th, I saw people starting

to take furniture out of the house.

I asked some man who was moving it what he was doing,

and then that woman there.

The acule.

Yes, came and asked me what I wanted.

I said, I would like to know why the furniture was being moved.

She said, Mrs. Thomas had sold it all.

I asked her where Mrs. Thomas was.

She said, I don't know.

She appeared very agitated.

I asked her if she had an address for Mrs. Thomas,

and she said no.

I said I would look into it and close the door on her.

I was most dissatisfied with her answers and her manner.

Just one question, Mrs. Iats.

You say you were far from satisfied with the fact

that the accused didn't tell you where her mistress was.

I was indeed.

Did you go to the police, somebody?

No.

It will raise the matter with anywhere else.

For example, Mrs. Thomas has some list of whom you'll know,

or any of her friends?

No.

You were sufficient to concern to make an implied threat

to a servant girl, but not sufficient to concern

to do anything about it.

I see.

Thank you, Mrs. Ives.

I have no further questions.

Your solicitor to see you, Webster.

How are you feeling?

Well enough.

Thank you, sir.

Do sit down.

You know that tomorrow the prosecution

will be calling Mr. Church.

So they're told me.

He's going to deny everything that you said in your first statement.

That it was he who murdered Mrs. Thomas.

He should be here now instead of me.

The innocent should not suffer for the guilty.

I have your statement here.

The first.

It's very convincing.

It would make a very good impression in the court,

the details.

Surely nobody would think I'd invented them.

You said that.

You say you've known Church for seven years.

He'll deny that, of course.

He'll deny anything.

And then you say he suggested that you should poison Mrs. Thomas.

Well, he certainly won't admit to that.

Well, he was drunk.

Perhaps he doesn't even remember.

Then when you came back on the Monday night, the third,

you say you had to knock three times on the door.

Well, the light was down and no one answered.

Then you say, Church opened the front door.

I saw Mrs. Thomas lying on the mat in the passage,

struggling and groaning.

And he said, come in.

He pulled me inside.

Then he threatened you with a carving knife.

There was blood on it.

Mrs. Thomas's blood.

Now you took the box to Richmond Bridge

with the young porter because you were frightened of Church.

Yes.

Well, you make your imposition very plain.

I never laid a hand on Mrs. Thomas,

but I knew that Church had done it.

I intend to tell the whole truth as I don't see why I should

be blamed for what Church has done.

I wouldn't accuse my greatest enemy of anything wrong.

Let alone a friend which Church has been to me up till now.

Well, I thought he was a friend.

Holy Mary, I thought he was a friend.

The implication is fairly clear.

He was your lover.

From my own experience, it's the details,

that make your statements so convincing.

For example, how you found the floorboards wet

where Church had been, presumably washing away the blood.

And the meat saw clean, but in an unaccustomed place.

Now, the only money in the house was 30 shillings

and a five pound note, which you change to the fishmongers.

It's convincing.

There are discrepancies, but they're minor matters.

I was upset. I was frightened.

I told them the truth as I remembered it.

But then we come to the real discrepancy.

Your second statement, equally detailed, equally convincing.

But in your second statement, you say that Porter

was also in Mrs. Thomas's house at the time of the murder.

That he was, at the very least, an accessory to murder.

And you changed the day of the crime.

In your first statement, you came home and found Church in the house on Monday the third.

And in the other statement, you say it was Sunday the second.

It'll be difficult to explain this in court.

Thank you.

Oh, good evening, Father.

Good evening, Mr. O'Brien.

She's expecting you. Thank you.

How is she?

Perhaps you'll be able to help her more than I can.

Well, she needs the both of us.

On your paper, it's done.

Oh, don't stand for me, Kate.

Have you seen Patrick?

This morning, as I promised you.

How is he?

He's fine.

Did you give him a kiss for me?

Like I asked you, Father.

I did indeed.

I don't know what he made of it, though.

How did he look?

You should be proud of him.

I am.

He's so tall.

He's more like an eight-year-old than a five-year-old.

He's only just five.

Oh, yes, so he told me.

I bought him a sort of belated birthday present.

Not in much, just a little toy soldier.

Did he ask after me?

Of course.

He always talks about you.

He still doesn't know?

No.

He's too young anyway to understand.

I mean, even if anybody tried to tell him.

Oh, somebody else tell him.

Well, you'll tell him.

When you leave him.

Yeah.

I just want to see him again.

Not here.

No.

It's not here.

He's all I care about, Father.

Yes, I know.

It's a terrible thing to be left alone.

Yeah.

My own family, my parents,

and my parents.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

It's not here.

It's not here.

It's not here.

It's not here.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

It's not here.

It's here.

I know.

I know.

I know.

I know.

Your father.

It's here.

I know.

But it's here.

Where am I going?

My own family.

My parents.

They must've seen what's happening to me.

It's in all the papers and not a word from them.

I only left Ireland at all.

Because there was no food for us.

18 months hard labor I did because I tried to feed my own child.

Well, the law of man is inflexible.

It's only God's law that is merciful.

And the other case, the one in Kingston, I swear before God I didn't do it.

12 months and I was innocent.

A whole year when my son was growing up without me, without his father in the hands of strangers.

It's just a fine boy, you shouldn't worry about him.

I've suffered all this.

And now my own family disowned me.

Not a letter, not a message, nothing.

Well, I'll try and get in touch with them then, shall I?

There's no good now, it's too late.

Pray from your father, you're all I have now.

I always pray for you, Kate.

You are John Church,

and I'm the one who's in the house of the city of the city.

I am, sir.

You were a gentleman, servant, and before that you served in the army.

Until 1866 you served with the 11th Hazars in India, and then you purchased your discharge.

Is that correct?

Yes, sir.

Thank you.

Will you tell the court what you did on Sunday the 2nd and Monday the 3rd of March of this year?

Well, on Sunday I was serving in the bar, the rising sun, 1 or 3.

Then I got in from 8 to the 10th.

On the Monday I got up about 10.

Did a bit of work about the house.

In the rising sun?

Yes, sir.

Continue, please.

On the evening there was a meeting of the Oak Slade Club.

The Oak Slade Club?

Yes, ma'am.

And what is the Oak Slade Club?

It's a sick and burial club, sir.

I'm the treasurer.

It meets the rising sun, the first Monday, every month.

I see.

Do you recall anybody who might remember your being in your public house

on these two days?

The bar was full, Sunday, sir.

I can't remember them all.

But they do remember me.

And on the Monday, that is the evening of Monday the 3rd of March?

Well, it would all the members of the club, sir.

Who presumably saw you?

Yes, sir.

We keep records of who was present.

Then after closing time, that's 12.30.

I went to bed.

And did you, at any time, during those two days leave Hammersmith?

No, sir.

I didn't even leave the house.

When did you first meet the accused?

In Sunday the 9th, sir.

She was in the front bar with Henry Porter and some others.

When did you next see her?

The day after that, sir.

I went to my field, cottages in the evening.

Why?

When we Porter had said that she'd got some pieces

that she wanted to sell, he told me when he introduced her.

So I thought, I might buy them.

When did you complete this transaction?

Well, on the Thursday morning, me and Henry saw Mr. Weston.

And we arranged them with all me.

What is this, Mr. Weston?

He's a green vouser, sir.

But he also moves furniture with his horse and cart.

I see.

Yeah, well, anyway, we got to my field cottages.

Mrs. Thomas was there.

The woman you knew as Mrs. Thomas, the accused?

Yes, sir.

I offered her 50 pounds for the furniture.

She wanted more, so we finally settled for 68.

Are you also visited Mayfield cottages

on the Friday, the Saturday, and the following Monday,

the 17th?

Yes, sir.

To make a final arrangements about moving the furniture,

then on the 18th, what happened?

Well, me and Mr. Porter and Mr. Weston,

some of his men went with the accused

to pick up the furniture, sir.

That was the evening.

We was just starting to load up the cart.

When I heard someone say, what do you think you're doing?

Or something like that?

Who was this person?

The lady next door, sir.

Mrs. Ives.

What did the accused do?

She said, oh, my God, that's my land, lady.

Leave us to me.

And then she went out to talk to Mrs. Ives.

And what happened then?

Well, she came back in.

How did she appear to you?

She was all upset, sir.

Upset?

Yes, sir.

So I told them to put the furniture back in the house.

Why did you do that?

I didn't want nothing to do with it, sir.

I thought there was something wrong.

I see.

And then we went home.

When did you next see the accused?

Not until after she was arrested, sir.

Did anything else occur that made you feel suspicious?

Well, the wife, Mrs. Church.

Oh, Mrs. Church, we'll be giving evidence,

my lord, only it might expedite matters if I were to.

The scenes are hardening.

If the witness oversteps the rules of evidence,

I will immediately intervene.

I am obliged, my lord.

You may continue.

Well, she found this letter in one of the dresses

that the accused had left at the rising sun with a silver.

It was from Mr. M. Henning.

I trust we are to learn who Mr. M. Henning is.

He is a friend of a murdered woman, Melod.

Ah.

I mean, it didn't seem like it had been written to the accused.

I mean, I don't think she can read much.

So I went with and reported to see Mr. M. Henning in Finsbury.

And for what he said, it was obvious that she wasn't really

Mrs. Thomas.

That was on the 21st, was it not?

Yes, the Friday.

And what did you do then?

Well, next day, me and Henry Porter and Mr. M. Henning

went to the police.

Whereupon, a description of the accused

was circulated throughout the United Kingdom.

As the court is aware, the accused

was apprehended in Ireland at Killeen on the 28th

in the company of her son at the house of her uncle.

She was then returned under arrest to Richmond

and held at Richmond Police Station.

Tell me, Mr. Church, did anything

happen to you on the 30th?

Yes, sir.

I was arrested and charged with murder.

I went to the police station where she was.

And they read a statement to me.

In which she said that you had committed the murder

and had forced her to help you?

Yes, sir.

How long were you amounted for?

Two and a half weeks.

Who was responsible for your discharge?

I don't know.

I don't know.

I'll run you.

My lord, it was a crime.

It was clear that there was no case against Mr. Church.

Thank you.

That is all.

Mr. Sleigh?

Mr. Church, you clearly have a remarkable memory,

so I shall tax it a little further.

Where do you come from?

What do you mean?

I mean, where you're born, where you brought up.

I don't know.

You don't know?

I can't remember.

I see.

How old were you when you joined the army?

19, perhaps 20.

What did you describe yourself as when you joined the army?

I can't remember.

You said you had never seen your cues before the night?

Yes, sir.

She says she has known you for some seven years

and has been very close to you.

Who's saying your memory is better than hers?

Very well.

Let us take Tuesday the 11th.

You have just told the court that you went to call upon the accused

to look at her furniture in the evening.

Yes, sir.

Between five and seven.

To tell the magistrate's court you were there from four to nine?

Well, I might be a bit wrong.

Doesn't it seem strange to you, Mr. Church,

that you should spend five hours alone at a strange house

with a strange woman whom you'd only been introduced to two

days earlier?

No, sir.

I was looking at the furniture.

Hi.

Yes, the furniture.

Yes, after this rather inconclusive conversation

over the furniture, you took the accused to the railway

tavern and brought her more drinks.

I don't remember.

But you just said you did.

Five minutes ago.

In fact, for someone who didn't know the accused at all,

you seem to have been remarkably hospitable.

On the 11th, you drank with her at Mayfield

at the railway tavern.

On the 12th, according to your statement,

you and Porter and the accused went to a public house

called the Thatch House and drank there.

I presume she shared in these drinks.

Yes, sir.

On the 18th, when you finally started to move the furniture,

did you have a drink with the accused while you were doing it?

Not just May.

One of Mr. Weston's men had a drink too.

In we say Mrs. Ives, the land-body appeared.

We served Paul by your suspicions that you abandoned

the idea of buying the furniture and went home.

Is that correct?

Yes, sir.

Straight home?

Yes, sir.

I didn't want any part in it.

Or anything more to do with Kate Webster?

That's right, sir.

But in the magistrate's court, you

said that you didn't go straight home.

You said in your own words that you

went to the pub around the corner for a drink.

Yeah, war.

War.

I had a drink first.

With Kate Webster?

Yes, sir.

That is, you said.

Last time you saw the accused until after her arrest.

Must have saved you a great deal of money

that you would have otherwise was spent on entertaining her.

I noticed you find it difficult to call her the accused.

Normally called it Kate, didn't you?

No, sir.

What you did?

The Lord, the defense is willing to call witnesses.

Well, I might not call the Kate.

You're a memory, Mr. Church.

I think it might help the court if I

try to establish how good it is.

Your father, now, what trade did he pursue?

I don't know, sir.

I don't remember him.

Your mother?

She's living?

Well, I don't know.

I don't remember, sir.

Before you joined the army, had you been in any trouble?

No, sir.

Well, why might have been in a few scrapes?

When you were serving in India, did you

barely a chance ever suffer from sunstroke?

No, sir, I didn't.

Proceed, Mr. Sleigh.

I have no further questions for this witness, will I?

Oh, then I think we might adjourn for lunch.

Foughtful rise.

Good morning, father.

Good morning, Mr. O'Brien.

Well, you suddenly exposed another side of Mr. Church.

He wasn't a very convincing witness, no.

Surely no one will believe a man who

says he's forgotten probably everything that ever happened

to him.

It's probably illegitimate, and so

chooses to forget his child.

Yes, but the other thing is saying he didn't know or even.

Suppose, in fact, he did have an affair with her.

Not years ago, she said, but since Porter introduced them.

He didn't tell the truth with his family sitting

in the public gallery.

Perhaps he isn't in debrief.

Generally has large chunks of his life

that he cannot have gone for.

It could be, father, that you'll be the only person ever

to know the whole truth.

What do you mean?

Well, you'll be taking her confession, won't you?

I always gathered that in your church, your flock,

told you everything, and then you absolved them.

But only if they are truly penitent, can they be absolved?

And no priest can absolve anyone.

It is a guard acting through the priest.

With respect, father, how do you

know if they're telling the truth?

But they must be telling the truth.

It would be terrible blasphemy if they weren't.

They'd be mocking the holy confession,

or they'd be trying to use a priest to lie to God.

Yes.

Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?

And do you find Catherine Webster guilty or not guilty

of the willful murder of Mrs. Thomas?

Guilty.

Catherine Webster, you stand convicted of willful murder.

Have you anything to say for yourself

why the court should not give you judgment

according to the law?

I didn't do it, my lord.

Before God, I didn't do it.

I'd like to say that when they came and took me,

I was frightened.

I said terrible things.

I didn't know what I was saying.

I blamed Mr. Churchill, Mr. Porter,

but they didn't have anything to do with this, sir, nothing.

But I was tricked, sir.

There's a man.

He led me.

He made me help him.

He's the father of my little boy.

He said, juice me, and then he left me.

He left me and his own child to starve, for all he cared.

I had to feed to feed my son because his father,

he's the one who did it.

He's the one who's really guilty,

and he isn't even here.

Until this moment, I've loved him,

but I don't see why I should suffer for what he did

when I'm innocent.

prisoner at the bar,

after a long and painful inquiry,

after a powerful advocacy on your behalf,

you have been found guilty of murder.

It is my duty to pass upon you the sentence of the law.

Oh, yay, oh, yay, oh, yay.

My Lord, the Queen's justices do strictly charge

and command all persons to keep silence.

One sentence of death is passing on the prisoner at the bar,

on period of imprisonment.

It is the sentence of this court

that you be taken hence to the place from whence you came

and from thence to a place of execution

and that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead.

And that your body be afterward buried

in the precinct of the prison in which you shall be confined

after your conviction.

And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.

Amen.

MUSIC

Good evening, Father.

Good evening, Mr. Brine.

It's running news.

I didn't know how much you know about the Home Secretary's

letter.

the home secretary regrets, etc.

So she's going to hang in the morning?

Yes, nine o'clock.

The crowd's already beginning to collect outside.

You'll be taking her final confession.

Yes, that's right.

Well, there's something you ought to know.

She's made another statement.

To me.

Father, she admits to committing the murder.

She says that Mrs. Thomas used to provoke her,

never stopped criticizing her work, that sort of thing.

Then on the Sunday evening they had a row and she killed her.

She seems to have been almost demented.

I did not murder Mrs. Thomas for any premeditation.

I was enraged and in a passion and something seemed to seize me at the time.

But I am perfectly resigned to my fate.

I die with great fortitude and confidence in my faith

and am I a blessed God, who might be siched to have mercy on my soul.

Now, this really matters.

There. Well done.

We could play a draw, see if you like.

I told you, I don't know how to play.

I could teach you.

How long will it take to learn?

Let's play crib, if you go.

See if I can get some of my money back.

It's Father memory.

We'll leave you, Father.

Thank you.

Hello Kate.

Father.

I read the statement.

Still Brian gave it to me.

I asked him to.

You ready to make your final confession?

Please.

Please.

Bless me, Father, for I've sinned.

Since my last confession,

I've been in here and I haven't been saying my night prayers in that.

The thing is, Father,

all my life have only confessed part of what I've done.

You must make a full confession now, Kate.

It's your last chance.

Well, I first got into trouble in Ireland.

They called me Thieving and I did my first time inside.

Then I left Ireland for Liverpool.

I think they were glad to see the back of me, my family.

I changed my name.

My real name is Catherine Lawler, but I called myself Webster after a sailor I got to know.

I told everybody we were married and that had four children by him, but I only knew him for a week.

I needed another name, you see, Father.

I used to live by Thieving from lodging houses.

Sometimes I'd take a room there, sometimes I'd just ask about a job.

Either way, I'd be in an out in a day.

You were poor, people, Kate. You were stealing from people as poor as you were.

And I would have get to know rich people, Father.

Yeah, thanks.

Then they called me again and I did three years.

Then I moved to London. That's how I got to know the porters I lodged next door.

It was about that time I had Patrick.

And the father deserted you both?

Well, it wasn't quite like that. I wasn't sure who he was, you see.

I committed sins of adultery and fornication, Father, many times.

But he's a fine boy, Patrick.

Yes, he is.

That's what I'm most sorry for.

Most of all, I could teach him so much.

How to lead a good life. Not like the life I've led.

And the arrest of me again and I did 12 months.

Did that time you were innocent?

No. He only tried me for the heart for it.

You swore before God that you were innocent.

I was upset. I didn't know what I was saying. I'm sorry I really am.

Very well.

Then I got this job with Mrs. Thomas.

All that jewelry. Gold most of it.

She had so much. It just lay there.

But in the statement you gave to Mr. O'Brien, you said that she provoked you and criticized your work all the time.

And that's the truth, Father. Kick in on me.

The girl she'd had before and none of them had stayed. But it didn't work with me. She couldn't frighten me.

It was me that frightened her.

At first you spoke very highly of Mrs. Thomas. You talked about how kind she was to you.

Well, I had to, didn't I? Why?

Well, I had to stay there long enough.

For her to give me a reference, Father, what else could it be?

But I was watching her.

She was trying to get up the courage to dismiss me. And then she does it.

It was as if she was begging me a favor.

She says, please, would I go on Friday? And I says I'd go, but you can't get a new job on a Friday, so I'd leave on the Monday.

You should have seen her.

She was dismissing me, but it was me telling her when I'd go.

On Saturday she was out in the garden all day because she was frightened to come into her own house.

On Sunday I went out and had a few drinks.

Perhaps I'd have a few too many. Anyway, I came back and there she was, all in her best clothes.

And she picked on me, Father.

She said I was late, and so she'd be late for church. Well, I told her a few things, Father. I told her what I thought of her.

She sort of backed away from me, you know.

She was shaking.

While she was out of church, I lit the fire under the copper.

I've lit the lamp so she won't suspect anything.

And when she came back into the house, she didn't see me downstairs.

So she went upstairs to her bedroom and locked the door.

She was frightened of me, you see.

But I was in the bedroom already, waiting for her.

She heard me and started to turn. So I hit her with the axe. It went here. All this side of her face she opened up.

It was a terrible lot of blood, Father.

Then I pulled her downstairs. She was a great wait.

And I put her on the kitchen table.

I remember as a child once we killed a pig, and when we'd opened up the pig and all its guts fell out, and the blood...

was nothing, nothing to what I was like with her.

Kid, why don't you were telling me is the most dreadful thing I've ever heard?

While I was cutting her open, she made this noise. I'll never forget it, Father.

She? She was alive.

Her eyes were moving. So I put my hands round a throat. I've always been strong.

Then I cut her up and put her in the copper. The smell is terrible.

But I couldn't open the windows or everybody had known.

All night I was at it. I was half dropping a sleepover, but I had to go on. There was so much blood, you see.

All the blood and the bones.

Twice I fell asleep. I was so tired.

Then in the morning I'd done most of the cleaning and I put out the wash and I started to try to get rid of her.

There were parts of her. Honestly, I can't remember how I got rid of them, and that's the truth.

There was this big box. She used to keep blankets and things in it. I put a lot of her body in that.

Then I fell asleep again. I was so tired, you see.

In the afternoon I put her head in a bag and I went to see the porters. I didn't know anybody else, you see.

We were sitting there having tea.

Kate, this is your final confession. It's what you were telling me, the truth.

I wouldn't lie to your father. Not now.

You were telling me, when you went to have tea with your friends, you took?

In the bag, father.

You wouldn't have believed it. We were sitting there having tea. The bag was on the floor by the table.

It was a velvet bag and the blood was soaking through so the plush was getting flattened.

I don't know what made me do it. I said to Henry Poser, I think there's something leaking in my bag.

It didn't even ask me what it was. I don't know what it would have said if he had asked me.

Why did you do these things?

Do you know I was taking the risk? When we were walking home, Robert was carrying the bag from me.

I was half frightened he'd asked me what was in it and half hoped he would.

Can you understand that, father?

No, I can't understand.

When we got home, Robert was sitting there and I was sitting where she used to sit.

I kept saying things. I kept hinting. I said, wouldn't he like to look around the house because if he had it, he'd have realized he must have done it.

There were still bones and things that I had not time to get rid of.

He just went on drinking and then he fell asleep in the chair.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say.

You see, after I'd done it, after I'd killed her, while I had all her money and her jewelry and that, I could have just taken it and gone away.

I could have been in America by now and they'd never have found me.

But you see, I saw Mr. Church and his pub and his friends and I saw the porters sitting in their nice home.

I just wanted to mix them all up in it too.

Carrying her head in the bag and the box and buying all the furniture. How could they have talked the way out of that?

I must, I can't. I don't know what to say.

What, why did you do these things?

I enjoyed it, father.

You enjoyed it?

When I got rid of her, there was still the fat in the copper.

She was a big woman, father. There was a lot of fat.

So I cleaned out the copper and I put the fat in two bowls.

I went outside with it and I was going to bury it, I think. I can't really remember anyway.

I saw Mrs. Hayhoe. She's the wife of the man who runs the pub just up the road and I sold him.

I came to her. She paid me two prints of all and I said it was best dripping.

I'm not sure.

What you have told me, I pray that this isn't true.

But it is true, father. Every word of it.

Then you are in terrible danger.

Unless you were truly penitent, your soul is damned. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Yes, father.

If you were truly penitent, then even at the last moment, even at the moment you die, God can forgive you, but not unless you are truly penitent.

I know, father, and I am penitent. I do anything to undo what I've done.

But you can't, only in your soul can you undo that. You must understand, you are going to be hanged.

And you must make your peace with God now because it's your only chance and you must understand that.

It is the most important moment of your life, however terrible, however wicked all the things you've done, all the things you have told me.

Even now, God in his infinite mercy can forgive you, but not unless you are truly penitent.

What happens to your soul throughout all eternity depends upon your penitence now.

I know, father, I was brought up in the holy church.

And you must be penitent because of the suffering you have given to God.

Do you understand if you are contrite because you were afraid of hell?

Not afraid of hell, father.

We should all be afraid of hell.

If you say so, father.

True penitence, it is not because of fear, it is because of love, it is because God's your father loves you and you have offended him terribly.

You are contrite because you know how you have hurt God.

If it is only because you were frightened, then it is not perfect penitence, do you understand?

Yes, father. And I am penitent. In God's holy name, I'm truly penitent.

Yes, but you have used his holy name before and...

Hmm, what do you want of me?

I want absolution, father.

Isn't that what you came here for?