All language subtitles for Ripper Street S04E03 A White World Made Red

Will you offer a
prayer for my soul

as you stand over my corpse
and confirm my passing?

Oh, I shall.

That is Samuel Drummond.
His friends call him Drum.

And that is Francis Thatcher. Which
do you consider the more handsome?

- Drum.
- Yes.

♪ Tell me, where did
you sleep last night? ♪

This is the only
peace he's known.

I don't think Mr Drake
would care for that very much.

Mathilda, you'll be late.

Tild... Wait. Have you been
sat here this whole night?

What is this robs you
of your rest? Vampires?

Really? Go. Ready yourself.

When the Count comes to London,

he makes his lair in
Whitechapel... like you.

It's just a bad dream.

What was that song, my love?

Hm?

That soothed him before.

You know, the one about the
little girl. You were teaching me.

Um...

It's all right. It's all right.

Um...

♪ Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't lie

♪ To me

♪ Tell me, where did you sleep

♪ Last night? ♪

What sort of song
is that for a child?

It works, though, don't it?

♪ Tell me, where did you sleep

♪ Last night? ♪

Croker!

Huh?

She's gone. What,
are you simple?

You didn't keep lookout,
you goddamn imbecile!

Careful now, Captain.
Your lady is no rash girlie.

I doubt she now rows a skiff
to Dunkirk. She will not be far.

You best hope he's right.

Jesus Christ, Caitlin.
Have you lost your mind?

I awoke. I reached for my son.

And my son was not there.

He is safe and he is cared
for, and he will be yours again.

Just time, darling.

The burden of it is all.

Oh, Inspector
Drake, Inspector Reid.

It is the new cold
stores, sir. It's this way.

They may keep meat for
six months before it spoils.

Six months? Who wants
mutton that's half a year old?

God's teeth.

- Jackson.
- Jackson.

Oh, the American, sir? Yeah, I've...
I've banged that drum, Mr Drake.

Ordered that, the, uh, carbon
lights be brought an' all, sir.

The man learns.

The hanging man's
wrists are bound.

And someone else
restrained here, therefore.

Here's their spray.
A lot of it, too.

- Mr Thatcher!
- Yeah?

Whoever sat here was either spirited
away or left on their own engine.

If the latter, having lost this weight
of blood, they will not have gone far.

I'll have the men pick
the market clean, sir.

- You do that, Sergeant.
- Yeah.

Skin penetrated
at the jugular...

at the radial beneath the bicep.

- This?
- It's another lancing.

Older, however, less
precise instrument.

And this is what killed
him? The blood-letting?

No, ligature marks.

Then he was strangled, killed.

And only then is his blood let.

To what end, however?

The blood is the end.

This poor bastard's
cadaver's been exsanguinated.

Every last droplet siphoned out.

Why, do you suppose?

The other party...
bound to that chair...

she's found, sirs.

Get more. Get everything.

Another puncture wound.

Same method.

But no ligature marks, however.

She was alive while they
tried to siphon blood from her.

But escaped.

She held her neck.

She hoped to staunch the blood
flow even as she ran for her life.

Tonsillar pillar... inner
mucous membrane undamaged.

No haemorrhaging
of the capillaries.

Third and fourth.

Oh, shit.

- What's up? What more?
- What do you think this is?

A crystal ball?

- Did you find the other?
- Young woman,

puncture wound here.
No strangulation, however.

Well, have Thatcher bring
'em home. I need my knives.

Where do you go?

About my work, Drake.

The haematoma about the
man's neck is from a rope.

The insides of his
cheeks are unbitten.

There are no burst
capillaries in his eyes.

Therefore, he's not strangled.

His neck is fractured clean at the
third and fourth cervical vertebrae,

and he's at least 120 pounds.

Do you see where
I'm going yet, Doctor?

Now, such a break on the
neck of a man of such weight,

that's a drop of around,
what? Seven feet, at least.

Professional work.

The kind of work that puts
me in mind of you, Probyn.

Standing over your hangman's
recent execution, pronouncing 'em dead.

Ah, that's, er, impressive
police work, Captain.

Yet no policeman you.

I wonder, have you shared your
expert imaginings with your friends

on Leman Street? No?

I wonder why that might be...

if not because you fear what
I might choose to tell them.

Do you not recall my promise to
you or is that you doubt my sincerity?

Now, will you assist in
my inquiry or won't you?

Which recently hanged cadavers
have you seen diverted from burial pits

no longer than two days past?

Two details. His name

and where you sent him.

Meet Percival Monks.

He staved his mother-in-law's
head in with a fire iron.

Got the rope for his troubles.

Newgate hanged him yesterday,

sent his body to the London
Hospital for evisceration.

How have you done this, Jackson?

Just merely read
the signs, Inspector.

Now, are we moving on, or do
you wish me to showboat further?

Oh, no. Please, move on.

Right, see...

Er, scorbutic tongue.

Teeth as loose as the
keys in a saloon piano.

Drake?

Scurvy.

Privation suffered on a
migrant's passage, perhaps.

Polish.

Prayer card.

It's Mark 3:11.

Curious it is in English.

St Mark what?

3:11.

There we are. "And unclean spirits,
when they saw him, fell down before him."

There's more here, however.

You see here? This is
indigo staining in here.

That's the model scarring
of seamstress needles.

- She's been sweated.
- That'd be my assumption.

Polish Catholics are only
recently so visible in the city there.

And the numbers are not so
swollen that finding one such

from a Whitechapel
sweatshop should be beyond us.

Might you say what made
an end of her, Jackson?

I'm at a loss, Drake. Genuinely.

It's not the blood-letting
that done for her, then?

No, not at all. Point in fact,
she ain't been bled at all.

Can you account for the
blood that covered her?

I cannot.

The sole wound on her

is the exact same puncturing of
the neck with the same instrument,

but it's not been used to drain
her. On the contrary, she's, er...

well, replete.

As we discussed,
perhaps it is not the end

that is germane. It is not
the end, but the means.

This is a clean
wound, is it not?

There's nothing savage. It is
precise, one might even say skilled.

And whether it
is drained or not,

it is the blood that is
of chief interest here.

Why preserve a dead thing?

What is it that happens to blood
when it decays, Captain? It clots,

does it not?

Unless you keep it cold, Reid.

Puncture wounds administered
with skill and with clean instruments...

an act carried out in the full knowledge
of a clinical need for refrigeration.

Such as the cold store
at the meat market.

This man, this executed cadaver,

a recent property, we are
told, of the London Hospital.

It is a medical stripe of
man we search for. Mr Reid...

I do not forget what the
place once meant to you.

Would you take a turn around
the London this afternoon?

See how it is they
misplaced this corpse.

I shall, Inspector.

I shall pay a visit to
our Polish community.

Sergeant Thatcher.

Yes. You and I are out
to kick some rocks over.

She's a Polish
woman, 20 years old.

Have a look at her
photograph here.

She is dead.

See?

Murdered not half
a mile from here.

Does she not have one
friend who would speak for her?

Will you not look, miss?

I'm sorry, miss. I
don't speak Polish.

Why will you not look, miss?

Please, sir. You need
to talk with the foreman.

Pardon me, miss.

This wound needs attention.
Will you let us see to it?

No. I have made no
request for your help.

Now, please, the foreman
will return. I must work.

To hell with your wretched
foreman, miss. You're coming with us.

Come on!

Calm down!

Agniezka.

This was her name.

A friend?

Our mothers were.

She was given an address
where to find me. I...

I helped her find work.

- Pardon me, miss.
- And she left not word

of where she was going?

She just vanished, you say?

If she had left word...

it would not have been
a vanishing, would it?

Now, please, I must leave

or there will be no
work when I return.

I will starve...

and that will be on your
conscience, Inspector.

Uh-uh-uh. No, miss. You will
not talk to me of conscience.

That girl down there
looked to you for leading.

Seems to me you led
her nowhere but her death.

Now, you wish to leave
us, you will speak to me.

Or I will arrest you, miss.

Put you in a cell
and forget for why.

She said only that she had
been asked to meet a man.

A man who said that she
had only to come with him...

and she would be paid 1,000
times over what she would make

with a needle in her hand.

She was to sell herself.

Spread her legs for
money, you mean?

No, I did... I-I... I asked...

But that was not
it. She swore to me.

It must be that she was robbed.
Killed for the money she earned.

No, miss. It wasn't a robbing
of her that caused her death.

There was a good deal too
much trouble taken for that.

Then if you, a
policeman, do not know...

I cannot see how I, a
seamstress, can help you.

Now... may I return to see if I have
been discharged from my work?

See her returned.

Yes, Inspector.

The sight of blood
frighten you, Drummond?

Not in small amounts, Captain.

Well, it frightens
some, however.

It's, er...
instinctive phobia...

as inescapable a
part of any man as...

well, his blood itself.

You know where
Wyoming is, Drummond?

It's in America, I imagine.

Take a prize.

There's big mountains there...

and big, high mountain passes...

full of virgin snow.

Now, I saw a man...

a friend of mine, as it goes.

Comanche brave put a
hunting knife through his guts

before I could get a shot out.

My friend died.

And I'm a doctor,
understand? So...

Well, the... the
impudence of it.

All I could do was
watch as blood...

spread through the eyes.

A white world...

made red.

Miss Mathilda! Your
visits are a ray of sunshine.

Here, come, sit. Join me.

I am eager to know what latest
there is concerning Samuel Drummond.

Have you now spoken with him?

I have, but he is,
I believe, bashful.

And timidity, so the world
insists, is the preserve of our sex.

You seek to draw him out, then?

I seek to know him a little,

what might make him sad
or happy or excited or afraid.

There are means by which you
might discover such, Mathilda.

It is no magic.

Merely offer him the opportunity
to know something of yours.

Show him something about
which you might own a passion.

See if then he might share
his thoughts on it with you.

That is wise counsel. Thank you.

There is no-one else with whom
I might share such questions.

Not your father?

No.

Do you travel
somewhere, Miss Castello?

Paris.

It is no gentle tour,
however, but work of a sort.

A story hunted down.

Is it related to that
photograph you take with you?

Of the man who was
my father's friend?

Who that?

Mr Isaac Bloom, and the man,
the rabbi, Ratovski, who all thought

was killed by Isaac Bloom.

He lived in Paris, did he not?

And how would you know
such things, Mathilda Reid?

My father keeps some
of his work at home.

On occasion, I'm
interested to read it.

Mathilda...

there are few women
who will tell you this.

But one of the greatest
qualities we might own...

is that of disobedience.

The moniker "Elephant
Man" was, of course,

a showman's
adjectival indulgence.

Joseph looked no more
like an elephant than I do.

We are keen, as a race...

to throw back, to attribute
animal, primal qualities

to that which we
do not understand.

Here, deformity.

Elsewhere, perhaps, foreigners.

We can describe such
conditions to ourselves

only in terms that
are animalistic.

Important, then, to think

not on what separated Mr
Merrick from we, his brother men...

but rather what
joined him to us.

Thank you.

Mr Reid.

Mr Treves, hello.

Inspector no
more, as I heard it?

Inspector yet again, I'm afraid.

Afraid, sir?

Turn of phrase.

Hm.

He was consenting
of these-Mr Merrick?

He was.

His abnormalities sketched

to aid the study
of our similarities.

Mr Reid, forgive me.

Do you come seven
years since your last visit

to question my science?

I do not, Mr Treves.

But the dissections carried
out here, there are indeed

certain questions
that I seek answers for.

The cadavers that are
sent to you from Newgate...

A valuable resource, certainly.

- You have records from them?
- Of course.

My thanks, Martins.

Yesterday, you say?

Yes. The name,
Monks, as I have it.

No. As you see, no such name.

No, indeed. A
wasted visit, then.

Oh, never that, Mr Reid.

Mr Treves, tell me, the cadaver whose
origin I seek... We have him currently.

He was found perhaps one
day after his Newgate execution.

His neck punctured,

his body inverted

and it entirely exsanguinated.

At the fringes of medical practice,
to take blood and then preserve it,

what purpose can you
imagine for such an action?

Knowledge.

To know.

Blood is life. How might
that life be taken, preserved...

handed on?

Mr Treves.

I always recommend a smoke
when you're two pints down.

Never known a head rush like it.

Ah, Inspectors.

You've come for some
answers, and now I have a few.

Your, er... Your lady there...

Her name was Agniezka.

Ah. Well, now I know her name...

and what killed her.

And so?

It was organ collapse.

Almost total internal collapse,

heart, kidneys, bladder, liver,

and the cause of that failure
was a corruption in her blood.

Come see.

Now, you know what
haemoglobin is, Reid, I assume that?

It is the compound which carries
oxygen through the blood to the organs.

Ever eager student, this one.

Now, this is Agniezka's
blood. Take a look.

Her blood ain't carrying
nothing nowhere.

- That's the organ failure?
- Now...

Have you bled
the whole division?

Save you two, almost.

Now I take two
different samples.

Reid, make a comparison.

- It is clotting.
- Mm-hm.

The men's blood
meet and corrupt.

We say then that the blood that
covered her as she ran... it was not hers.

But his... piped from him
into her through the puncture

- in her neck.
- Only she feels

her body rebel, the
panic of it, and runs.

But why? Why do this?

The care taken... It
cannot be for cruelty,

for death alone. Even a vampire
inflicts death so that he may live.

But what if two men's blood
does not always corrupt?

Now, what if my blood is
somehow different from yours

but akin to Drake's?

- As if I don't have troubles enough.
- Thatcher here, for example.

Now, I mixed his blood with,

er, your hanging
man there, Monks.

Take a look.

It prospers.

Thatcher.

Thatcher, you...

You are a match for him.

So together they make life.

This... earlier lancing
you identified, Captain.

The puncture wound infected.

Could this be the means by
which a... a sampling took place?

The preselecting of a
correlating blood match.

Inspector Drake, the, er...

the wound I bound on the girl,
Magdalena, it's the same infection.

Do we...? Do we say, perhaps,
that Magdalena was the match?

And not Agniezka...

who has no such infected wounds.

Did she go in Magdalena's
stead therefore?

Her blood, no
match. It corrupted...

and her death brought down.

And this man, Monks, here...

his sampling could only have
happened before his execution

for the blood to be alive.

Mr Drummond, run
a records search.

Magdalena Dobrowski,

23.

I expect you'll find she spent some
time behind the walls of Newgate.

It is curious, this, Captain.

But Mr Treves's records show no
transfer of this man's cadaver from Newgate

- to the London.
- Oh.

We must assume your
source corrupted, also.

Drummond!

Yes. Thank you.

Four months for
the theft of bread.

You find that girl.
You bring her back.

I imagine we are to
Newgate, Inspector.

Quite so, Mr Reid.

Oh, and Jackson, best you come,
too. Introduce us to that source of yours.

You lied to me, Probyn.

Who did you pass Percival
Monks' cadaver to, sir?

The disposal of prison remains is
very far from my responsibility, Inspector.

The London Hospital is
where such cadavers are,

under normal
circumstances, sent.

If one has gone astray, then it has
not done so from within my remit.

Where is it you keep
your needles, Doctor?

You have the key about you?

Instrument's much used, sir.

Blunted, in fact.

I am provided with but a
modest stipend, Mr Reid.

I'm sure.

Mr Monks had a needle fester
wound on his arm, you know, here,

in the crook of his elbow.

A Polish woman, Magdalena
Dobrowski, likewise, Doctor.

- So, to what end such needling, Doctor?
- I, er...

In... In enclosed environment, er,
such as this, outbreaks of... of disease

are all too common.

My... My duty would be
neglected if I did not attempt

to contain them by inoculation.

And this?

If you please.

No, sir. No, I... I will
not be so suspected.

I am a doctor.
My entire life given

to the care of... of these
incarcerate wrecks and villains.

I... I will have some
respect, damn it!

Oops.

Magdalena!

Magdalena?

Magdalena! Where
is she? Where is she?!

As I heard it, Frank, you were
asked to return in company, not alone.

Drum... do you wish me to take
that reading machine of yours

and bury it in your head?

Not overly, Sergeant.

Then stop being a lobcock and
tell me where they put Probyn.

Hello?

Please, I have come as asked.

Where? Where?

You tell me where she is.

Huh?

- Explain yourself, son!
- She's gone, sir.

- Who has?
- Magdalena is gone.

Get out!

Captain Jackson to attend an
injury in the cells immediately.

Who do you think I am?
Some drunken navvy?

I am not.

I'll have your
warrant cards for this.

What if I took blood from our inmates?
Is there a law that says I cannot?

No.

I am a public servant.

No, sir. You are an
accessory to murder.

You have no option but to
release me, and you know it.

Well, let me, er, patch you
up, at least, before you go, huh?

No.

Er, they do not improve
your health, I believe.

Shit, Probyn.

What does?

Ah, it's superficial.
You'll live.

- Agh!
- No.

You do her the
honour of looking at her.

I thought you were a doctor,
Probyn. Such sights were humdrum.

Then why the discomfort
unless you, er...

you feel some
responsibility for her?

Shit, sorry. It's rubbing
alcohol. My mistake.

Still, there are worse mistakes
to suffer, wouldn't you say?

By way of example, a
transfusion experiment

on a girl with the wrong blood?

Now... you...

matched Magdalena and Monks.

- I did.
- At whose instruction?

A name.

He was French, I believe.

He did not give it.

Well, what did he give you?

Money... and a promise of more.

Now, we know how motivated
you are by that currency, don't we?

It was for the
saving of a child.

His child.

And he was a doctor, correct? I
mean, he would have had to have been

to attempt such a thing with a need to
employ another such as yourself, Probyn.

Did he...? Did he say
he'd been struck off, or...?

Er, no. Er, but
I... I imagine it so.

You know, Probyn, I think me and
you may yet escape this particular pickle

in one piece.

I never had a
daughter, you know.

I should have
liked one, however.

What benefit do you imagine
she might have carried?

Well... no ship's head was ever
made from the figure of a man.

She would have been pleasing
to have about the place is all.

Kind words, a pot of coffee.

Sons do not offer such?

They do not.

They're altogether more bother.

Huh.

The man Nathaniel...

He's yours?

My responsibility, I
feel, if not my blood.

You?

You have a child?

I do not believe you would allow
me to rest here ignorant of who I am.

Or my monstrous crimes.

Certainly that is true.

They do not trouble you?

The crimes? Should they?

There is, er...

one blacker.

It felt blacker, I mean...

in my heart.

Oh, believe me, child,

many's the fellow to have
lost his life on my account.

You be calm on this score.

Mine is not a place
of judgment or justice.

I leave such refined
notions to others.

Scotland Yard, British
Medical Association,

the French Confederation,
Gendarmerie Nationale.

All that have been barred
in the last three years, say.

Suggestion for the cause of such
barring is illegal transfusion of bloods.

- Yes, Mr Reid.
- Do no harm.

It's the first and most abiding
maxim by which you practise by.

And yet you have done
plenty, Captain. I've seen it.

Only when sorely pressed and never
to a soul that didn't have it coming.

You had a moral imperative.

You want to call it that, I did.

This man, likewise.

A child. His child.

No sin too great to
save her, I imagine.

Perhaps you know
how he feels, Reid.

Drum, I'm sure I saw a
bottle back here somewhere.

You hope to get
a little reading,

- are you, Sergeant?
- Er, no.

Ah, I mean, well, yes,
at a... quiet moment.

Dracula.

The evil Transylvanian count.

Because all foreigners
are dangerous predators

set on the parasitic
cannibalism of our young women.

I shall see this returned,
then, shall I, Sergeant?

Yes, I would... um... er...

A kind thought, Inspector.

- Is that...?
- It is, sir. French police.

There is a pursued felon, sir,
thus the urgency of their response.

And his crime?

"His wife..."

"found bled out...
in their Paris home

"and neither he nor their
daughter seen since."

And his name, Drummond.

"Blanchard... Tristan.

- "48."
- His wife?

Why would he perform the
same experiment on his wife?

- Perhaps she was sick, also.
- With the same disease.

An inherited disease of
the blood. Haemophilia.

That... That can be bad, but it
can be managed with skill and care.

Worse, then. Rarer.
Incurable, even.

Porphyria.

It's a discolouration of the
teeth, anaemia, photosensitivity...

breakdown of the bones.

One might consider
it a moral imperative

to seek to spare a
child from such suffering.

Thatcher!

How's your French, Sergeant?

Er, worse than my Polish, sir.

Then simply shout louder.

Get a hansom to Albert Gate.
French Embassy. Wake them.

Do not leave until
they have provided you

with full photographic
details of this man.

Blanchard.

Miss Dobrowski.

I'm relieved to finally
meet you in person.

I did not mean to
deceive you, sir.

- Before, I mean.
- When you sent another in your name...

hm? She who is now gone.

I made a sacrifice
for a greater need.

The only mercy is
that it was a final trial.

Else you would now
also have the sacrifice

of my daughter's life
on your conscience.

Your life transformed, hm?

In return for the
transformation of my Camille.

They moaned a good deal, sir.

This is because they are French.

But as Mr Reid
suggested, I shouted,

and they soon packed
up their moaning.

That is also down
to their being French.

May I, Inspector?

This man.

I have met this man.

It begins now, my Camille. Hm?

- You'll need a few.
- With me.

With me.

Hey, stop!

We can't just go
in there thundering

- with our irons out.
- You tell us why not.

What he does in
there is delicate.

We jump him, it goes badly, she
starts to bleed out, then won't stop.

Understand?

Let me talk to him, Drake.

Surgeon to surgeon.

Go.

Has she lost consciousness yet?

Who are you? Hm?

Huh, what do you want?

Has the board of this fine
hospital approved the carrying out

of discredited medicine
by fugitive outlaws?

So you are police?

Just another physician...

of sorts.

I performed the
autopsy on the other girl,

saw what catastrophe this
science caused to her organs.

It's OK, darling.

Shh, shh, shh. It's OK.

Well, then you know, huh?
Death was a result of, er...

an opportunistic falsehood.

This girl will come to no harm.

You take all of her blood,
sir, she's going to die.

Now, I expect you didn't tell
her that when you struck this deal.

Who is this man, Father?

No, no, no, no. Be still,
my Camille. Be still, now.

Huh, you trust in me?

Yes.

Then rest.

- Close your eyes.
- You can't save her.

You can't.

Even if this transfusion
is completed,

the symptoms will
only regress for a while.

Whatever it is, there's no way yet
on earth found to alter those cards.

No! You... step back!

What do you know?

You judge me, but any
father would do the same.

This is my life's work.

She will recover.
She will transform.

She will live.

Gentle sir, I beg you.

Do not do this.

As you wish, sir.

Reid, Drake! Get in here!

Get after him.

Thatcher, you're with me.

I need your help, man.

There's too much blood.

There's too much goddamn blood.

We're going to have to try a vessel
ligation. Hand me those forceps.

For Christ's sakes, man.
Right there. Forceps!

Got it.

If I can clamp the vessel,
that might buy us enough time.

Come on, Magdalena.

Stay back!

How can I let her suffer?

Without me, what
hope does she have?

There is always hope, sir.

No.

In heaven, she will know
the love of her mother.

Such love, sir.
All that you are...

put to the protecting of her.

I do not believe you
will now do this thing.

Goddammit!

It's too late.

Lost too much. We
lost her, Thatcher.

No, no! No. Look...

Captain, take mine.

Remember? It... If I was... If I
was a match for the hanging man,

I'm also a match
for her, am I not?

Thatcher, you son of a bitch.

Yeah.

Hold tight, girl. Frankie
Thatcher's coming for you.

My Camille.

I have killed you.

♪ Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't you lie to me

♪ Tell me, where did
you sleep last night?

♪ In the pines, in the pines

♪ In the cold lonesome pines

♪ Will you shiver when
the cold wind blows?

♪ Little girl, little girl

♪ Don't you lie to me

♪ Tell me, where did
you sleep last night? ♪

It is a song,
Bennet. Only a song.

And you launch such
conclusions at me.

No, Rose. You think you can hide
such a truth from me. You cannot!

How often?

And do not think
to lie to me again.

Once a week.

- Oh, Jesus.
- In the month since.

But it was not planned, Bennet.

He found me all frantic
with the strain of it,

helped us, brought
us home, and...

And Connor, he...

He calmed with him.

And I could not deny him that.

And does the boy...?

Does Connor know him?
I mean, know who he is?

You are the only father
he has ever known.

The only father
he will ever know.

No, no. I'll see to him.

It's all right, lad.

I'm here now.

It's all right, boysie.

Is it that you do not like him?

I barely know him. That
is my point. Neither do you.

And yet I like him.

That... That is a
guess, Mathilda.

And so instead you would prefer

I created experiments
to test what matter

- he is made of?
- I might, yes.

But do you not see that
this is that experiment?

He appreciates it or he does
not appreciate it. These things are

guides for you?

Well, is that not fair?

Fair? I'm not sure, Mathilda.

When these human
transactions were writ,

fairness was not much
of a consideration.

You make your test, Mathilda.

But be sure to let me
know if he passes or not.

I, er, served for a
time in Alexandria.

Ah, and grew fond
of the blend there?

Quite so. I was not,
er, misinformed, then?

You do have access to the
Egyptian brand of tobacco I favour?

It has taken me an age
to hunt down a supplier.

Well, you may rest gentle, sir.

That hunt is now behind you.

Ah.

Mr...

His name's Probyn.

Not a tobacconist, then?

No.

He is a doctor. The
Newgate doctor.

I am relieved of my
duties now, however.

How have you found me?

How?

I am shocked you asked.

That husband of yours stalking
back into my life with his threats.

It is his colleague has me
reported and deprived of my work.

£200.

Otherwise, my own further harm,
or know... your secret will be told

and that wretch son of yours will
never see your spiteful little face again.

Abel, I think, on
reflection, you should not.

For why? Naught but a
dome-headed sack of jelly, this one.

No threat, certainly, and I
cannot believe he will be missed.

I shall tell you for why, Abel.

Between first and
second rib, is it not?

It is, my dear.

Oh.

Nate...

two ox and a
tarpaulin, if you please.

Speak to me of
my son, would you?!

Here.

Here, yes, yes.

Brandy.

Here...

Fit for a king...

had the French not done
away with such things as kings.

What am I, Abel?

Why, a princess.

Ah... how now?

Why do you weep?
Not for him, surely?

No.

The other.

The dark secret I spoke of.

- Ah.
- The last definite death by my hand.

And who he?

My father.

It was my father.

I killed my father.

Ah...

None of my boys at
the ironworks is weak.

They live, work,
sport as men of iron.

Charlie Tanner is dead.
Beaten with a hammer.

I have an obligation.
Things will get better.

Me and you, we've
got to get out of here.

You will hear me, Reid!

We coppered good together.
Maybe them days have passed.