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Margarita, can today be Wreath Day?

Maybe.

Please, Margarita. We need to make our Advent wreaths.

- Rose candles too. - Stop hounding, Carla.

I haven't decided on the day yet.

Sister Margarita,

as it's Advent and a time for penance,

I'd like to apologise for what happened in my cell.

I know it hasn't been easy having me here

and I don't presume to know your experience

of men outside these walls,

but we men, we're not all bad.

Peace be with you, sister.

It's not Wreath Day, Carla.

It's Dyeing Day.

Today is Dyeing Day.

What colours would you like, father?

For what?

Your robes.

It's beautiful.

I thought you were making me a shroud. For dying day.

Wouldn't waste good wool on the dead.

There is only one panel left – yours.

The end of your story.

What colours we don't already have, I can make, so choose.

I have a room booked in my name.

- Patricia Stanford. - Miss Stanford.

We've been expecting you.

Mr Colquin has everything prepared for your arrival.

...the number of allegations

of child sexual abuse against the Catholic Church continues to grow

as church officials are being accused of a widespread cover-up.

Today you've heard a lot about Ignatius the man, the priest,

and all his achievements.

I didn't know that man.

All I can tell you about is the boy.

My little brother.

My Ignatius.

Right from the start he was different.

You see, Ignatius had a gift.

As a child he saw things,

colours in numbers and in music.

So the number one was a sky blue.

Two, scarlet.

And music was a myriad of colours,

ripples in the air that only he could see.

But for the kids at school and the nuns,

and everyone else,

it was a gift that had to be beaten out of him.

I tried to protect Ignatius as best I could,

but by 13, my parents decided a Catholic boarding school

was the answer to fixing my brother's problem.

After that I saw him less and less.

I remember the day he graduated. I didn't recognise him.

He told me proudly that he had been cured of his affliction...

by God.

And he didn't want to be reminded of his shameful past,

especially not by me.

You're an alchemist, Margarita.

When my youngest, Nat, turned four,

he said to me, "One is white. Two is Caterpillar Green."

My Nat has synaesthesia too.

And when I realised, I called Ignatius

and I just started rambling about how Nat was just like him

with his colours.

And I heard Ignatius crying.

And he promised me that he would come and visit

and finally meet my precious boys.

I never did see my Ignatius again.

Thank you for all your help and your kindness.

You're welcome.

We can wait for you, to go to the wake.

Yeah, I'd like that.

Malachi.

The other priest that was here before, Bob, where is he?

He had some urgent business to attend to.

Right.

Well you tell him I'd like some questions answered, in person.

Of course. I'll tell him.

Gentlemen, there's been a change of plan.

Some bad weather is on its way so we'll reschedule the tour to tomorrow.

This way you'll see our monastery in its best light.

Patricia?

My darling girl.

Once upon a time a king and queen were desperate for a child...

but to no avail.

The queen prayed and prayed to God for a miracle

until one morning they awoke

to find a tiny new-born lying in a crib of roses

beside their bed.

They named the little foundling girl, Briar Rose.

Her christening was a grand affair

and the king and queen invited 12 wise women from across the land

to bestow their gifts upon their little daughter.

One wise woman offered her wisdom, another kindness.

There was joy, love, strength.

So many gifts bestowed upon her.

But a thirteenth wise woman had been left off the invitation list

and the old crone arrived to curse Briar Rose,

saying that on her thirteenth birthday

Briar Rose would prick her finger on a needle and die.

Now the king and queen were so horrified they banned all needles from the kingdom

and from then on they kept Briar Rose

within the confines of their walled palace,

to keep her safe.

And Briar Rose grew up within those walls,

loved and happy.

Until the morning of her thirteenth birthday.

Briar Rose awoke with a strange restlessness inside of her.

She began to walk the corridors

until she found herself in a part of the palace

she'd never seen before.

A door beckoned to her, a strange light emanating from within.

And as she crossed the threshold to the door...

Briar Rose began to bleed from a wound

that could not be seen.

And she looked up to find the ancient crone waiting for her.

And the wise old woman

explained the mystery of the body

that bleeds every month but does not die,

instead growing in wisdom.

And the child Briar Rose died that day.

And was reborn a woman.

After your disappearance,

the family spent a lot of time and money trying to find you.

They were also subjected to a harrowing police investigation

into Jeremiah Smith's death, but also yours,

as many in the public believed you'd been murdered on the same night

as part of some sort of grand cover-up.

Your body apparently buried somewhere on our estate.

The newspapers dragged our entire family down into the gutter.

Which brings us to your inheritance.

After 10 years with no word from you and no claim on your estate,

in accordance with the rules of your father's will,

your inheritance was returned to the family trust.

Surely now I'm back it will revert to me.

Your right to make a claim has lapsed and now skips a generation.

It can only go to your offspring.

That's ridiculous!

It's my rightful inheritance.

And in a court of law you could challenge that ruling

and most likely win.

But all that will take time and money.

However,

I am willing to release the funds you need for your purchase, today...

if you agree to one simple condition.

And that would be?

I want the Stanford family name restored to its former glory.

So for your money you will appear at a press conference this afternoon,

to read a prepared statement announcing your return from the dead

and exonerating the Stanford family of any wrongdoing.

At which point you will be free to return to your relative anonymity

as a Sister of St Agnes.

So I am to exonerate you for the murder of Jeremiah, too.

All I did that night was send Arthur to bring you home.

You sent him to kill Jeremiah.

Don't be ridiculous! Arthur only meant to scare him off.

I was trying to protect you.

You were trying to protect your precious Stanford name

from the scandal that your only daughter was in love with a black man.

And that beautiful man,

he was beaten to death right in front of me.

I can't do this.

Then your mother's offer will be rescinded

and the rules of your inheritance will stand.

So,

unless you can produce a blood heir...

All done. Just in time for prayers.

What is it?

It's alright, Sister Margarita.

This is Father Bob.

He means you no harm.

Nun number two.

Margarita.

Where on earth did they find you?

Carla!

Don't be frightened. Father Bob is a friend of Ignatius, isn't that right?

You said in your call that there were three nuns holding you captive.

Where is the third?

I think a royal blue would be a better choice

for your return from the dead.

These should do nicely too.

They're Stanford diamonds.

There.

Hurry along now, we don't have much time.

The press are gathering.

I'll be right next door. If you need me.

If I could produce an heir, how would it work?

You'd have to prove it.

A simple DNA test would suffice.

Then your heir would be accorded all the privileges

of the Stanford name - the money,

land, the title, as well as your inheritance.

Thank you.

I'm sure once the bishop has been made fully aware of the situation...

He is fully aware, Ignatius.

These women have to leave with you today.

The sisters of St Agnes are an enclosed order. You'd be asking them to betray...

The sisters of St Agnes don't exist!

Who's to say who these women really are? Or how they came to be here.

- They are the Sisters of St Agnes! - They are not nuns!

What nun would hold a priest captive and inflict such horrors upon him?

I mean, look at yourself, man.

And now you tell me one so-called nun

has gone to the mainland to buy the place?

I know what you're trying to do.

All we really know for certain

is that these women are trespassing on valuable church property

and that they and their filthy animals need to be removed.

No.

No, I can truly attest these women are the Sisters of St Agnes

and they will not be removed.

Very well then.

Patricia?

Are you ready?

"Dear mother, I came here because I thought

"I could save my sisters and our home with money.

"But it turns out the cost of that money,

"whether it be my silence or my heir,

"is one that I am not prepared to pay.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to face the press alone.

"And what you say will be your choice, your story...

"But I leave behind this angel, Carla, to watch over you.

"It's the only part of my daughter

I am willing to let the Stanfords have."

Sister!

I can take you across.

Anything else you'd like to take with you?

No.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to finish my robes,

finish my story.

There's a boat waiting.

It's a bit of a walk but I'm sure we'll manage.

Sister Margarita, Sister Carla.

- No! - The place must be cleared

one way or another.

We have to get them down to the boat.

Let her go!

- Run! Go! - Have you gone mad?

No!

I guess there's no point in bringing you back from the dead after all.

No!

Kiri!

Kiri!

- Get in. - You'll be fine.

Hurry.

Alright, shh. Go.

- Right. Now you. - 7No!

- Shh. - No. I want to help you.

- You need to stay hidden. - No!

Look at me.

You'll need to stay hidden until I come back for you.

Promise me.

- Yes. - Alright. I will come back for you.

I will come back for you.

Alright, go.

OK.

Margarita!

It doesn't have to be this way.

Leave with me.

I promise I'll do you no harm.

The mainland isn't so bad.

You'll soon grow to love it.

No!

Margarita, what have you done?

We have to help her!

Kiri... Kiri...

Kiri..

Kiri...

Holy mother, Saint Agnes, help me.

Please, help me.

Kiri...

Kiri...

Kiri...

Kiri...

Kiri...

Show yourself, you witch!

Kiri...

Kiri...

Oh.

Oh.

No.

No, no.

No!

No!

Beast!

No!

Margarita! No!

No! No!

Oh.

Forgive me Holy Mother for I have failed you.

Against you have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight.

You are right in your verdict and justified when you judge me.

I am dirty and I am ashamed.

I am not worthy of your love nor the gift of this life.

No. I said no!

Let us be glad and rejoice in it.

Accept this my sacrifice, holy mother.

Accept this broken spirit, my broken and contrite heart.

I pray that you will not despise me.

Have mercy on me, Mother. Have mercy on me.

No!

Help me!

Carla!

Carla!

Carla!

Carla!

Breathe! Breathe!

Breathe!

Breathe!

God, please don't take my daughter.

Let me keep her.

Carla! Let me keep her!

Carla!

Carla.

Mother?

I told you they're dead.

Your hands are full of blood.

Wash you, make you clean.

Put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes.

Cease to do evil.

Learn to do good.

Though your sins be as scarlet,

they shall be as white as snow.

Though they be as red as crimson,

they shall be as wool.

But I saw them.

I saw them engulfed in the flames.

Your hands are full of blood.

Wash you, make you clean.

Put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes.

Cease to do evil.

Learn to do good.

You must look upon this miracle, sister.

Do not be frightened.

Sister Margarita.

Look.

I've been healed.

Holy Mother...

blessed be you.

You have saved a sinner and made me whole again.

You raised me up, Margarita, so that I might live to recount your deeds.

And I will go forth to proclaim your name.

Every St Agnes novice

has made a special garment for her robing day,

a garment with her own hair knitted into it.

To join her to us.

Each knitted garment tells a story bright with meaning

and holds the cables and ribs of the knitters' own lives.

It celebrates the inventiveness of imagination

and the power of our stories to heal and to change lives.

Only when the garment is finished, her story told,

is the novice ready to be a sister of St Agnes.

What do you ask for?

The mercy of God and the grace of the holy habit.

Do you ask it with your whole heart?

I do.

May God grant you perseverance, my daughter.

This is as far as I go.

Oh! Get up.

You'll ruin your new robes before you're even home.

Once I go back, there'll be police inquiries

and emissaries from the Pope to verify the miracle.

Do you think the bishop will allow any of it?

Is that...?

It's Father Bob's with all his messages to and from the Bishop.

So yes, I think he'll be a great advocate.

A seraph!

Come with me.

I thought you'd done a runner.

Thank you.

Guess who just texted me.

Father bloody Bob.

What's he got to say for himself?

Oh my fucking god!

Jesus Christ!

Is that him?

Frankie!

Welcome to Portaross, your gateway to the St Agnes monastery.

An enclosed order, the sisters of St Agnes

now allow visitors once a year to commemorate Sister Margarita's miracle.

Tours leave every hour. Please queue in an orderly fashion.

A story, hmm?

Your turn, Iphigenia.

Once upon a time there were three sisters

who lived in a big house high on a hill.

And they were happy and content

until one day...

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