Original subtitles

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♪♪

♪♪

Paradisia. Liliastrum.

Penstemon Digitalis.

Penstemon Strictus.

Nicolaria Dentata.

Platycodon Grandiflorus.

And the Superbus.

Oh, for God's sake!

♪♪

♪♪

Morning, Mrs Ickpen. I hear even more changes

are afoot at the family seat.

♪♪

A hideous little outstart.

Can't move it!

Oh, for God's sake!

Hey!

-Come on! -How long are you going to be?

Oh, my God.

plan of the gardens.

We have an absolutely beautiful collection of euphorbias.

Thank you, Bob.

But unfortunately, no video arcade.

The Inkpens have been here since the Reformation.

They've had long enough to organize

a decent car park, haven't they?

Naomi had to sell 25 years ago.

Her husband died, left her penniless.

A stockbroker called Gerald Bennett bought the place.

They're back, of course, now, the Inkpens.

Good God, 11 quid.

How do you know all this?

Desmond from the village shop.

He delivers our organic meat.

I didn't know we'd gone organic.

Haven't you noticed the difference?

No.

You haven't gone to golf, then?

No, I haven't gone to golf.

You!

You, come here!

Don't you ever come here again!

Oh, euphorbias, yeah?

-Mm. -Very good.

Is there any chance of a cup of tea?

Been for a ride, darling?

No, a swim.

Daniel just gave me this.

Apparently you were making some kind of point

about aging mothers.

Well, you know what they say, dear.

The old varieties smell the sweetest.

Take those to the ticket office, Hilary. We're nearly out.

♪♪

These are beautiful.

They're very fashionable at the moment.

Penstemon.

That one's called white bedder.

Oh.

Flowers very well right through to autumn.

I haven't seen them before.

Are they hard to propagate?

No, not really.

Just softwood cuttings from non-flowering shoots.

Do you live locally?

Yes, fairly.

Causton.

-Oh. -I'll be doing some of these next week.

I could drop you over a few if you like.

What's the name?

Barnaby, Joyce.

Really, it's not.

-No, it's no problem. -They deserve wider appreciation.

What's the address?

Parchmore Close is number six.

Parchmore.

Right, fine.

Consider it done, Joyce.

See you next week.

Thank you.

Well, how kind.

♪♪

No, no, no, no!

Next time, it'll be one of those bitches, so help me.

This is not the Wild West, sir.

I'm afraid you are under arrest.

I have had enough.

I can hardly be blamed for Rodney Widger behavior.

I'm not talking about Widger.

If you must fornicate, at least have the dignity

not to fight like a pair of polecats

over the trousers concerned.

And as for the garden.

My garden, Mother.

My garden.

And my gardener.

Then face the consequences of your money-grubbing actions.

Yes, well.

When it comes to grubbing money.

Hilary, would you bring me my whisky and water, please?

And I'll have another gin tea.

Ma'am?

No, thank you.

♪♪

♪♪

What's the matter?

Desmond?

Hello, Jane.

I've just heard about the memorial.

What on earth are they doing?

Elspeth's idea.

The manor garden's getting so popular,

she decided they need a tea room.

And that's where she's going to build it.

But she can't.

It'll break dad's heart.

You know there's a meeting tonight?

Oi, Daniel! Give us some!

Go on, you promised!

I told you, no.

You gave some to my sister.

How do you know about that?

She told me.

She is only 15, your sister.

Yeah.

One bottle. And don't ride your bikes afterwards.

♪♪

Yes, darling.

What's going on?

Between you and Fliss?

Oh, pay no attention to your sister, dear, whatever she says.

Ever.

She's just a bad-tempered little madam.

I sometimes wish I'd given her up for adoption rather than you.

Oh, dear.

Rustic's approaching.

Just so as you don't forget, Mrs. Inkpen Thomas,

village hall, half past seven.

There's really nowhere else I'd rather be, Desmond.

I'm just delighted to be the cause of so much excitement.

Whoever said the English village was dead?

Richard, no driver, no chaplain.

You could be a commercial salesman instead of a bishop.

Good evening, Father.

Are you well?

Well enough to give those damned imp

ends a bloody nose.

I'll see you later.

Unless you want to come.

Where to exactly?

Village Hall.

The villages have turned to me.

I'm sorry.

Nice to be a devril where a devril should be.

Central to events.

Did you know it was your anniversary today?

Two years since you walked into our lives, yeah?

Into the bosom of your long-lost family.

Yes.

Yes, I did know.

You still glad you did?

All that time and effort in tracing us?

Have we been what you'd hoped for?

Got no complaints.

How wonderfully magnanimous of you.

I do understand, Fliss, how it must have

been for you when I turned up.

The spoilt, only child suddenly finding

she's not an only after all.

Because there's been a bastard lurking.

Do you think I'm jealous?

Resentful?

Do you think I hate you?

I don't hate you.

I pity you.

Because we...

You coming to the meeting?

Pfft.

I just, I don't know.

You don't think this is a bit, uh, voyeuristic, eh?

Not at all.

It's a public meeting, and I'm interested.

Hope you're not planning to speak.

No, but I can vote if they ask for a show of hands.

Oh, look who's here.

What?

The man with the shotgun.

Uniform must have bailed him.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

You never finished what you were saying.

It was earlier you said you pitied me.

Why?

because we have different fathers.

But I know that.

if you were a gentleman you would move

to allow my daughter and I to sit together.

if you were a lady I shouldn't hesitate.

there are still seats further back mrs. Inpen.

further back?

I have not sat further back in my entire life.

mrs. Inpen's humility is the greatest of the many gifts

she has passed to her descendants.

Mother.

♪♪

Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just call

this meeting to order.

The vicar sends apologies for absence and peaceful blessings to all.

But we do welcome particularly this evening Mrs. Elspeth Inkpen-thomas

and thank her for agreeing to take part

in what promises to be a lively discussion.

Though I'm quite sure that in the words

of the Memorial Garden itself

common sense and tolerance will inform our debate.

Who will speak first?

Jane Bennett, daughter of Gerald Bennett,

who created the Memorial Garden.

To dig up that beautiful place which gives

pleasure and sense of community

to so many and replace it with a commercial tea shop

is an act of unspeakable vandalism.

And I should just like to ask Mrs. Inkpen-Thomas

by what right she takes back and destroys

what was freely given to this village by my father.

I don't know if that's a good thing.

Mrs. Millard, members of the village committee.

Miss Bennet asks, by what right?

Well, the simple answer is the right of ownership.

When her father sold Inkpen Manor back to the Inkpens

five years ago,

there were no caveats, no exclusions.

Legally, the memorial garden is our property.

All Mr Bennet did, apart from create it,

was to grant right of access to the villagers.

All we're doing is withdrawing that right.

And frankly, what we Inkpens choose to do in that respect

is the business of nobody in this hall tonight.

I mean, really, if the village really wants

a knaff memorial garden,

a knaff memorial garden, let it build one

somewhere else.

I bet you can't wait to turn this into a tea shop.

Being on mummy's side in everything.

Was your father particularly nice then, Fliss?

Is that what you meant?

I know mine's a mystery, but yours, mum's

husband, nice?

Good god, no.

He ran off and left us eons ago, way before we pitched up here.

It's an ink pen tradition, choosing lousy men.

Of course, you'll probably end up with Prince Charming.

But he must have provided.

I mean, how could he afford to keep...

All this.

To regain our heritage.

Riches to rags to riches again.

It's a fairy story, darling.

Oh, did you buy this?

Yes, at the shop.

We've been so remiss with your education, Hilary.

Would you like to know what I really meant?

Order! Order! Order!

Got the short straw, sir.

Uniform covering their backs.

Ask CID to check out the Widger ink pen situation.

Which one's Widger, anyhow?

Thank you.

What is it?

Is it about me?

Possibly.

Possibly not.

What's the matter? Don't you want to know?

No. I don't.

I don't like you when you're like this.

Well, you weren't much help.

I kept quiet, didn't I?

Meaning?

Meaning, I think you're wrong.

You don't have to antagonize the whole village like this.

Oh, we care about village opinion now, do we?

Don't be stupid.

Or maybe you're just keeping all your options open.

What options?

Well, there must be somebody in the village

you haven't slept with yet.

That's right.

Troy?

-Sir? -You go back inside.

Try and find out what those lads were on with.

Don't turn away when I'm speaking to you.

Where are you going?

Back to the garden.

I'm a gardener, remember?

Dirt.

Dirt.

So. Much. Dirt.

♪♪

♪♪

See you.

Good boy.

-Thank you. -You're welcome.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

There it is. Got it.

Penstemon white bedder.

Height 70 centimetres.

Spread 60.

It would look terrific in that far corner.

Hello?

Might have to chop up a bit of a lawn.

You wouldn't mind, would you?

Troy.

-Morning, sir. -How are we getting on?

Secured the scene.

Haven't had time for much else.

But I'd say a heavy blow to the head with a blunt instrument.

She's been dead overnight, stiff as a board

and covered in snails.

And there's a possible bit of forensic.

It's not much, but we haven't touched it.

♪♪

If you look closely, there's a tiny black mark.

Ink, maybe.

Is it writing?

The end squiggle of a signature, even, as it's in the corner.

Well done, Troy.

There's nothing else.

Who found her?

Crispin.

Crispin?

He's a black Labrador.

I've been struggling with my conscience,

as every good Christian must.

And there is something else I should tell you.

One doesn't like to tell tales, especially

as a result of what

one has quite, um,

inadvertently overheard.

But last night, after the meeting...

Where are you going?

Back to the garden.

I'm a gardener, remember?

Come back!

I asked, where are you going?

And he said, back to the garden.

Those were his exact words.

Did you follow him?

Follow him?

Do you know for certain if he went straight

to the garden there and then?

I do not follow men.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Excuse me.

It's Mr. Bolt, isn't it?

Yeah.

Detective Sergeant Troy.

Insecticide. Organic.

Oh.

Insecticide, sir.

How does it kill him?

Alcohol poisoning.

Could I ask when you last saw Miss Felicity Inkpen, sir?

What, alive?

Sorry.

Of course, alive.

Last evening, about 10 to 8, just before I

left for the village meeting.

Not after the meeting, then?

No.

No, definitely not.

I went straight home, up the lane.

Not to the memorial garden?

Not back to the garden at all?

No.

You were heard to say that, back to the garden.

No, I was annoyed about the meeting.

I was simply making a point.

I'm a gardener, nothing more.

Just a gardener?

Not a ladies' man, then, sir?

And you and your daughter, Felicity, you're on good terms?

Who says otherwise?

She was a dear and beautiful daughter.

She was her mother's child,

and I loved her more than I've loved anyone

else in this whole horrible world!

**sobbing**

It's Hilary, isn't it?

I've been waiting for you.

Last night, Fliss came and found you.

Could I ask you why?

Just to torment me.

It was her favorite pastime.

Well, you didn't get on.

No.

That must have been a bit difficult, living

and working under the same roof.

Fliss didn't work.

She tried modeling and acting without any luck.

Well, they're hard to get into, aren't they?

So she just hung about here, bored out of her skull.

And do you know if any other people felt the same way

about her as you did?

I mean, did she torment anyone else?

Well, everyone, really.

It was her thing, a kind of attention-seeking, I suppose.

But anyone specific?

Mum, Daniel, Rodney Widger.

Oh, the shotgun man.

I'm sorry.

Fliss and I didn't like each other,

but it's not very nice talking about her like this.

Excuse me.

♪♪

I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.

Your granddaughter has been murdered.

So you understand that we have to make certain inquiries.

May I just ask you, when did you last see Felicity?

Was it before you went to the village hall or afterwards?

I know that you left the meeting, um, early.

I find your manner and your insinuations

extremely offensive.

And I have to say that I'm not entirely overwhelmed

by the courtesy of your reply.

Do you really imagine I'm not devastated

by my granddaughter's death?

Endangered species such as ours do not reduce

their numbers from within.

Have you not the wit to look elsewhere

when there is a madman with a shotgun just across the lane

and a young woman with an unhealthy emotional attachment

to her father half a mile up it?

The madman with the shotgun is presumably Widger.

Who's the girl with the unhealthy attachment?

Get in the car.

I'll show you.

Morning.

Morning.

Bit of a bugger last night.

Yes, yes, murder's never very pleasant, is it?

I was talking about the meeting.

Mr. Cox, did you go straight home last night

-after the meeting? -No, I went for a pint over at Mallow.

Who with?

Charles King.

He lives opposite the village hall, if you need to check.

Oh, we do.

Mr. Cox, we do.

On everyone.

I was being facetious, you know, about the murder.

It's just there won't be many at the funeral.

So I'm a suspect?

You made an impassioned speech.

You left the meeting early.

And I have nothing but contempt for the

whole Inkpen clan.

But why should I kill Fliss?

Elspeth's the one destroying Dad's garden.

Except that will now stop, I should imagine,

for the time being at least.

Jane, I do appreciate how upset you must be.

Do you? Do you really?

That garden was my father's life for 20 years.

It was him who made it what it is today, not the Inkpens.

Now he's just too ill and tired to fight.

I have to be his champion, and I will be.

you like gardening? it's become quite fashionable

with the young I believe.

don't have to be a botanist like my Jane.

I watch it on TV sometimes when there's

no football. oh I like football. saw the game last night.

what live? never miss a

live match. anyone with you? yes Jane came

in at halftime but I prefer to watch on

my own. stops me getting ticked off or getting too excited.

do you know a man

called Rodney Widger mr. Bennet? I believe you used

to be neighbors. yes

yes in my former life as I call it. he was

an intemperate man. you never knew

when he was gonna fly off the handle next.

we didn't have a lot to do with him.

we being you and your daughter? oh no my

wife. Jane was away at university

then. she's done ever so well. she's got

an MSc you know. you were saying about

Rodney Widger. oh yes I'm afraid Cynthia

used to go to him deliberately. she could

be quite wicked sometimes you know. I expect he was quite relieved when she

went. went? oh yes. I report as a missing person

of course but I'm sure she was

getting fed up for taking second place to Andy Rynham.

why are you putting dad

through all that again? I'm sorry I was just asking mr. Bennet about your ex

neighbor Rodney Widger. do you see anything

of him nowadays? only when he

walks past with his shotgun. those culling

vermin he puts it. foxes, rabbits, pigeons.

most gardeners would make do with a bit

of netting. Rodney's solution with pests

is to kill them. the simple reason I left

the meeting early was that I needed the

loo urgently. I've had a touch of cystitis.

prostate? I have not got a

prostate. I came home. straight home. answered the call of nature and then

watched the second half of the football.

but you don't deny you'd had an

altercation earlier in the day. I had an altercation

with a motor car and been

bailed to appear before the magistrates.

I've been threatened with removal of my

shotgun then I... I bitterly resent being harassed in this way when all I've ever

done is try to preserve my property.

Aren't there any toilets at the village hall?

If you were desperate.

Oh, for God's sake.

She doesn't unlock them, all right?

The Millard woman.

She doesn't like the idea of men.

Doesn't like the idea of men, full stop.

Can you tell us anything about Cynthia Bennett?

Used to live at Inkpen Manor.

We know where she used to live, thank you.

Only, we're reviewing our missing persons files.

Excuse me.

I need the loo urgently.

What's that all about, sir?

Cynthia Bennett, missing persons.

It's waiting for you to throw that in, Troy.

You said it.

Cynthia was apparently a thorn in Widger's side,

just like the ink pen girl.

Oh, will you stop blubbing?

She brought it on herself.

You both brought everything on yourselves.

Cavorting with Daniel, insulting Widger,

raising two fingers to the entire village

when you're not raising your skirts, that is.

You heartless old bitch.

Mum, she doesn't mean it.

I mean every syllable. Is this how our 500 years are to end?

Like an episode in some sordid television soap opera?

You've about as much noblesse oblige

as a fishwife in a brothel.

I'm leaving!

♪♪

♪♪

I've just heard.

Elspeth, I'm most dreadfully sorry.

Thank you, Richard. Thank you.

And if anybody wants me or your grandmother drops dead,

I'll be at the vicarage.

Ah, I don't think we've ever met.

I'm Richard Deverell.

Hilary?

I'd like some tea.

♪♪

Susan, I need a room for the night.

No, if you're digging up the lawn,

you're digging up the lawn.

Big bits, small bits, all fine by me.

I really just phoned to say I don't know,

I don't, well,

I don't know when I'm going to be home.

Right.

And you.

No, I'll speak to you later.

Bye.

Tell him.

Pumpy?

Yes, pumpy. It's sort of like scrumpy, only lethal.

Better, a subtle blend of apple and potato

with a tincture of garlic.

So where's the still, or reactor, or whatever?

Got rid of it last night after the meeting.

So you were here?

Well, not in the memorial garden.

I didn't go near the memorial garden.

I didn't see anyone.

But you didn't go straight home.

You lied, Mr. Bowden.

Well, what would you do if you thought you'd killed someone?

I mean the boys.

I thought they might have, if they'd gone into a coma

or their livers had packed up,

I'm talking about the boys.

Don't leave the village, Mr. Bolt, and stay off the pumpy.

What I can't understand, sir, is what the women see in him.

He's got dirt under his fingernails.

Mrs. Inkpen, I'm sorry to trouble you again.

I was hoping to see your daughter.

-She's not here. -Oh, may I inquire what's?

At the vicarage, tea and sympathy.

Oh, fine.

While I'm here, I wonder, do you recall

Felicity receiving a letter in the last couple of days?

A letter?

Felicity?

That seems highly improbable.

She only ever communicated by mobile phone.

To the vicarage?

No, it'll keep after enough ink pens for one day.

Anyway, we'll see if the lab comes up with something

on that scrap of paper.

So what now, then?

I'm checking alibis.

Desmond's absolutely right.

We went straight from the hall to the crooked billet.

Took Janet.

-Janet? -This old girl.

Oh.

You married, Mr. King?

Oh, relentlessly.

Miss, uh, ink pen, please.

She had, um, something of a reputation, you know?

A reputation rather than a track record,

I think you'll find.

A tease, not an actual goer or so I've heard.

So you weren't, um, intimately acquainted, then?

Afraid not, he said with feeling.

If you're looking for a creme passionnel,

you're sniffing up entirely the wrong trouser leg.

Oh, beg pardon, Mrs. Millard, Mrs. Inkpen-Thomas.

Very sorry indeed to hear about...

Are you? Are you, really?

Could I have an extra loaf, if you have

one on board, please, Desmond?

Mrs. Inkpen-Thomas is staying the night.

And a jar of pesto sauce.

I must tempt the poor thing to eat something this evening.

And I know it's her favourite.

I'll drop one by later.

No.

Cynthia Bennett simply got in a taxi and went.

The taxi driver confirms picking her up at Inkpen Manor

and then taking her to a hotel in Causton.

She was seen entering the hotel.

But we don't know who she met there

or where she went when she left, do we?

No.

So she's still officially a missing person.

But we do know that she left home of her own accord

and that there was no sign of foul play at the hotel.

So the sensible conclusion, Troy,

is that she simply left him.

She was an unfaithful wife, and she left her husband.

Yes, so what was Rodney Widger so fidgety about then?

I mean, he may or may not have had

rows with Cynthia when she lived at Inkpen Manor.

He may even have had his eye on her.

But there really is no evidence in the file

to make it suspicious, is there?

No, there isn't.

So why go and hide in the loo with his prostate?

God knows.

No, it's a lab report on the paper.

-Oh, really? -Mm-hmm.

Mm-hmm.

Scrapings from beneath the victim's fingernails

match the scrap of paper found on scene,

which suggests that the letter was torn

from her grasp.

-Don't you, Troy? -Mm-hmm.

♪♪

♪♪

What's the matter with you? Seen a ghost?

No, I...

The dead don't walk, Hilary. They stay dead.

Yes, of course. I just didn't know who it could

be out there at this time of night.

It was me,

doing what somebody else should have done.

Did you feed Felicity's horse?

No?

Nor did your mother?

Nor the gardener?

Poor Brute would starve to death left to the rest of you.

♪♪

♪♪

Another chamomile tea?

No. No, thank you.

Still nothing to eat?

Really, you should.

Making some for myself? No really. No, well,

it is rather late.

Perhaps up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire would be best.

♪♪

They've been here?

Who?

The police, Charles. The police.

Of course.

What did you say?

Nothing at all, dear boy.

Nothing at all.

You may think this incredibly insensitive

and inopportune, Elspeth,

but it is sometimes therapeutic at such moments

to, well, um,

talk about something entirely mundane.

The, er, York Slabs.

York Slabs?

Those already lifted and removed from the Memorial Gardens.

Do you have plans for them?

I can't say I do, Susan, no.

Only I'd gladly take a few.

Just a tiny few, of course.

Off your hands, for use here at the Vicarage.

The ink pens have always been such generous benefactors to our church.

And they would, er, the slabs,

that is, be, in a very real sense,

a permanent reminder...

..of this.

Help yourself. Oh, thank you so much.

Ah, do make yourself comfy.

You know where the facilities are, don't you?

Sorry?

The smallest room.

Oh, yes, of course.

Would it be possible to have a bath?

Of course.

I put the geyser on especially for you.

I shall be at church.

I find it a most beneficial nightcap.

I shall pray for bliss.

Thank you.

Dear God.

Just stay calm, dear boy. There's really

nothing to worry about.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Ew.

♪♪

All yours, Crispin.

♪♪

Yes, my thoughts entirely.

♪♪

♪♪

Ugh!

Ugh! Ugh!

Ugh, ugh, ugh!

Mwah!

Agh!

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

Oh, God.

Ah! Oh.

Oh.

Oh, God.

Ah!

Oh my god, no!

♪♪

♪♪

Morning, Mr. Bennet.

Oh.

No Jane.

Gone to Causton.

Oh.

Do you need a hand with those?

Thank you.

Well, I hope you don't mind, but I wanted

to ask you about your wife.

Mr. Bolt, I'm looking for Elspeth.

She's still at the vicarage, as far as I know.

Thank you very much.

Any progress?

We are pursuing several lines of inquiry, Mr. Bolt.

Complete and utter surprise wasn't till the

following morning. I realized all her clothes have gone

Well Jane and I put two and two together then

All her clothes are gone. Yes

Cynthia had her own room in the manor house

at that stage, but her wardrobe and chest were quite empty

She'd removed herself completely from my life

Mr. Barnaby, Mr. Barnaby, I'm rather concerned.

I can't rouse Mrs. Inkpen-Thomas.

♪♪

This has been Ben Thomas. Hello?

Nailsmith!

♪♪

All these will be a blaze of color in a few weeks time.

You really must come and have a look.

I'm ever so sorry, Mr. Bennet.

I'm going to have to go now.

Oh, yes, of course you must.

Thank you so much for all your help.

Try.

If I wasn't such a deeply religious person,

I'd think I was bringing some kind of curse

on the ink pens.

Two.

Two of them, I found dead in the space of 24 hours.

And suicide,

whilst in my care.

Door was locked.

Key on the inside.

Must my feelings be trampled on instantly?

I have now lost a daughter, as well as a granddaughter,

within 24 hours.

I'm not trying to trample on anybody's feelings,

Mrs. Inkpen.

Nevertheless.

Suicide is quite impossible.

Unthinkable for an Inkpen.

Nevertheless, your daughter did seem deeply

upset by Felicity's murder.

The fact that she felt the need to retreat

from the family home.

A theatrical gesture.

Elspeth was all show and no substance.

And you have no audience once you're dead.

Gran, would you please leave us, Hilary?

I can't bear being called Gran.

You will appreciate, uh, Mrs. Inkpen, despite what

you've said about Elspeth, that until the cause of death

is established, suicide can't be ruled out.

And in the circumstances.

Circumstances?

Well, your granddaughter's murder having

occurred just immediately before.

You're suggesting Elspeth killed

Fliss, then took her own life in a fit of remorse.

But it's got to be a possibility.

No.

Especially not suicide.

Then what's your view?

Two murders in two days?

Both Inkpens.

If you're looking for a common denominator,

they've both been entangled with Daniel Bolt.

If you didn't already know that.

Would it be true to say that you were ambivalent

about Elspeth's money-making schemes?

No, I wasn't ambivalent at all. I thought them shameful.

Then why didn't you stop them? It's your garden.

Unfortunately not.

I made Inkpen Manor over to Elspeth some time

ago to avoid inheritance tax.

Well, you've made history.

You've heard an Inkpen admit a mistake.

With Elspeth and Fliss both dead, Hilary inherits.

Yeah, depending on the will.

It's a bit drastic, though, isn't it,

to murder your own mother when you

know you'll inherit anyway?

Perhaps she couldn't wait for Elspeth to get old.

Perhaps she needs her inheritance in a hurry.

Possibly.

But then again, perhaps Naomi was just directing

me up the garden path.

She said herself, she's no fool.

Anyway, I don't get the impression

there's a lot else left in the family vaults

for Hilary to get her hands on.

You don't need a lot else if you've just come into 2 and 1

half millions worth of property.

So you're going with that, then?

Hilary, prime suspect?

No, I'm just saying if she doesn't inherit,

she's got a motive.

If she does or if she doesn't, she could be next on the list.

We're down to 1 and 1 half ink pens, Troy, and counting.

She was one of nature's own.

And where were you when she died?

Last night, midnight onwards.

Up a tree.

Some strange midsummer ritual, is this?

No.

All right, which tree?

In the woods.

Anyone with you?

No.

So what exactly were you doing up this tree?

Waiting for a badger.

There's a set in the woods next to Rodney Widger place.

If you're lucky, the mother brings her cubs out.

I watch with nightglasses, keep a safe distance.

Don't want Rodney getting wind of them.

Otherwise, he'll be out there with his spade

and his mustard gas.

And did these badgers put in an appearance?

No, but Rodney did.

That's bloody nonsense.

I was in all evening and all night, wasn't I, Marie?

No, you weren't.

Mr. Widger, I have to tell you, you are observed

leaving home at 11.25pm and returning at 12.35am.

Who by? The damn nosy neighbours.

Well that had nothing to do with Elspeth Inkpen-thomas.

Then what did it have to do with?

Can we discuss this elsewhere?

Certainly.

I knew it.

-I knew it. -Didn't you, Troy?

I didn't tell you where I was when

-you called me this morning, sir. -No, you didn't.

I went back to Gerald Bennett.

There's a contradiction in the evidence.

Well, not a contradiction.

-Exactly. -hey, hey, Troy. Troy.

You take it slowly.

Yes, sorry.

The taxi driver's statement in the missing persons file

says he collected Cynthia from Inkpen Manor

and she only had a shoulder bag.

Yes.

Well, this morning, Gerald Bennett

told me that when he and his daughter looked the next day,

Cynthia's entire wardrobe had gone.

Well, you can't get an entire wardrobe

and a shoulder bag, can you?

No, you can't.

But I'm not sure how far this gets as apropos Mr. Widger.

Are you?

Well, I know, sir. Not exactly.

Well, you have until this afternoon to find out.

I'd been expecting a visit long before now.

Yes, I'm sorry, sir.

We were rather overtaken by event.

Elspeth, you mean.

Well, it seems to me, Mr. Barnaby,

that rolling out suicide as one must...

Must one, Mr. Deverell?

An infant would no more do away with themselves

than would a Deverell.

So your view is that Elspeth and Felicity

were killed for the same simple reason

the ink pens desecration of the memorial garden?

Are you giving the remaining two protection?

Naomi and the young girl?

Violence begets violence, as I'm sure you're professionally aware.

And if there is a lunatic at large, well.

If there's a lunatic at large, Mr. Deverell, no one is safe.

Not an apposite entrance, I assure you.

Allow me to introduce my son, Richard.

Bishop Richard, though he rarely does me

the honour of dressing as such.

How do you do? How do you do?

A chief inspector, no less, Richard.

Investigating the demise of the Inpens.

Yes, I feel I should visit again.

Only, having made an identical call just yesterday,

one feels entirely inadequate.

You knew Elspeth Inkpen-thomas well?

From childhood.

Richard, I find it impossible to believe

she could be murdered over a few rosebushes and a sundial.

You underestimate the good people in Midsomer Deverell, Richard.

But then, you underestimate everyone.

Uh, as a matter of routine, I'm obliged to ask

your whereabouts last night.

Approximately half an hour either side of midnight.

Where I always am at that hour?

Here in this chair.

♪♪

You're just as pretty as any flower in the garden, Hilary.

I don't know why I've never told you before.

You're even prettier now you're sad.

You just need someone to help you unfold.

Awesome.

Such a tender story.

♪♪

Why did you lie, father?

To the police.

You weren't here at midnight last night.

Wasn't I?

You didn't get home till 1.

Oh, I'm an old man, Richard.

I'm allowed a lapse of memory.

Where had you been?

Visiting at Badger's Drift.

Was it really? One o'clock?

Well, well.

And where have you been, if impertinent questions

are the order of the day?

I've been taking the air.

For so long.

I have a lot to think about.

♪♪

All right, Mr. Widger, perhaps now you'd care

to tell us where you went last night.

I went to visit a friend at the other end of the village,

Charles King.

And he'll verify this, will he?

He damn well better.

We're in this together.

In what?

I went to warn him about you, the police,

about your interest

in Cynthia Bennett.

Not that we did anything wrong, not to her, not to anyone.

It's just that we didn't give an entirely full account.

Well, didn't give any account at all, in fact, five years ago.

You know something about the disappearance

-of Cynthia Bennett? -No, no, nothing at all.

It was nothing to do with us.

Mr. Widger, please.

Cynthia was a very friendly lady.

We'd had our ups and downs, mostly over noise.

She liked a lot of noisy, modern music, did Cynthia.

But she certainly knew how to get round a chap.

Especially in the last couple of years they'd lived there.

She got a bit bored, you see.

Like I said, she was a...

She was a very friendly lady.

She invited Charles and me to meet her

at the Devereux Arms Hotel in Causton.

♪♪

♪♪

She'd booked a room.

They don't take a lot of notice there.

She arrived by taxi, and we spent the afternoon

and the evening together.

The three of you?

Yeah.

After dark, we drove back to Midsomer Deverell, the three

of us in Charles's car.

Dropped Cynthia off at the manor and then

we went back to his place for a nightcap.

Then I walked home.

The following day, Cynthia was reported missing.

Charles and I came to the decision that there was nothing

to be gained by coming forward.

What was the point in clouding the issue

by publicising our afternoon's entertainment?

Didn't it never occur to you, Mr. King,

that your silence prevented a proper search being

carried out for Mrs. Bennet?

That assumptions were made that wouldn't have been

made if you'd come forward?

Please, wives do have ears, you know, even if they

have nothing between them.

It was sport, Sergeant, pure sport.

Well, not entirely pure, but nothing more, I assure you.

In fact, I experienced a deep sense of loss

when Cynthia vanished, rather like losing

a favorite golf club.

So, George.

Not pills, not booze, not needles.

And no wound.

So now you're going to say you can't tell me anything

until you get the toxicology report, am I right?

Au contraire.

Let me tell you, don't believe it's a suicide.

The lab found traces of olive oil and herbs

on the bedroom key.

Ah, yes, pesto sauce.

There's lots of that in there to disguise the taste,

which is apparently foul.

of what?

Did Mrs. Inkpen Thomas eat anything

when she was here, Mrs. Millard?

No, no, she didn't.

-She wouldn't. -I did offer, of course.

But there was a dish, a bowl from the same set as that.

Was there?

I didn't notice. Look, please,

why are you dismantling my kitchen?

Mrs. Millard, Mrs. Millard, we are far from convinced

that Mrs. Inkpen Thomas killed herself.

She swallowed a toxic substance prepared in the kitchen

and then mixed with ordinary food.

Surely, not here under my roof.

Is it possible that she could have filled the bowl herself

from something she cooked here or something

from your larder?

Well, possible, while I was at church.

But I don't have a kitchen full of poisons.

Was there anyone else in the church?

What, at that time of night?

In this godless country of ours, we have enough trouble

filling the pews on a Sunday morning.

Did you lock the vicarage doors, Mrs. Millard,

when you went to church,

after Mrs. Inkpen-Thomas had gone upstairs?

No.

I never lock the doors.

It's a point of Christian principle.

So it is possible that someone who knew the house,

knew that Mrs. Inkpen-Thomas was here,

could have gained entry while you were elsewhere.

Well, yes, possible.

The dog, wouldn't the dog have reacted to an intruder?

Crispin has a very positive attitude to all humanity.

And your husband, the vicar, he's been gone

for how long is it now?

-Four days. -When do you expect him back?

I don't know.

-The day after tomorrow. -Why?

What does he think of the ink pens

and the commercial exploitation of the village, then?

He looks for the best in everyone.

Even adulterers?

Female adulterers?

Jezebels.

Oh, yes, he'd especially try to help them.

And what is your view of such women, Mrs. Millard?

I firmly believe in the sanctity of marriage

and that adultery is a sin.

An old-fashioned word, that, Mr. Barnaby.

But perhaps the world would be a better place

if more people were prepared to fight sin

when and where they find it.

One can take appeasement only so far.

Here you are.

Tom, you're home very early.

You've caught me digging up rather too much of your lawn.

Yeah, I'm still working, actually.

Do you have pictures in those plant encyclopedias of yours?

Yes.

-Why? -What are you looking up?

A for aconite.

What do you think you're doing?

Mrs. Inkpen.

Well?

I am conducting a murder investigation, Mrs. Inkpen.

That is what I am doing.

These plants, have you picked any of them recently?

Of course I haven't.

One doesn't need Monkswood in the house

when one has plenty of roses.

Monkswood, so you know the common name, do you?

Then you also know these plants are among the most toxic

that we grow in this country.

Your interest is professional.

No, no, it's practical.

So if you don't put them in the house in vases,

what do you do with them?

We leave them alone.

Well, you should know, Mr. Bolt, being the gardener.

You eat the roots of this, Troy, cooked or raw,

and you're a goner.

And this was crudely done.

Georgie Bullard could still see bits in the stomach content.

Someone's tried very hard to make it look like a suicide,

but the bedroom key has got food on it.

My scenario is that they force-fed

Elspeth with this stuff, put the key back in the lock

before they climbed out through the window,

leaving her to die horribly.

And she would have died horribly.

Aconite doesn't provide a painless exit.

So we're looking for someone who really,

really hated her.

But who, Troy, who?

And will they kill again?

We need a breakthrough.

Allow me, sir.

But see?

This stone, laid 18th of June, 1996, by Gerald Bennett.

Cynthia Bennett disappeared on the 11th, just a week before.

So if you'd been very indiscreet,

if you regarded the woman you'd been playing away with

as a tart and cared more for your social standing

than her life and had murdered her,

then what better place to bury her?

They're digging a hole.

Who are?

The police.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those

who trespass against us.

Forgive those sins that destroy our peace on earth.

Murder.

Daughtry.

I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Millard.

Dad sent these for the church.

♪♪

What are they looking for?

I really don't know.

But I don't want to watch.

I'm going for a walk.

Would you like to come?

See you, man.

Sir?

♪♪

Cynthia

Troy, the- Troy?

You can't know it, Cynthia.

We'll know by tomorrow, Mr. Widger.

The skull has a full set of teeth.

So I'll tell you what I think.

I think that after five years, you finally told the truth.

But not the whole truth.

Yes, you and Charles King brought

Cynthia back to Inkpen Manor.

But no, you didn't drop her off.

You dropped her in a hole.

You were scared your afternoon's entertainment

wouldn't remain a secret, Cynthia at Blab.

And being pillars of the community,

you wouldn't want that.

So you killed her.

The police are pursuing their inquiries

with pickaxes.

I appreciate your coming, Richard.

One can only hope you don't feel

obliged to make a third visit.

It hardly seems appropriate to mention it,

but I shall be leaving at the weekend.

My latest pilgrimage to Rome.

I wish you better fortune this time.

And I'm sure Elspeth would have done the same.

I should like to think so.

What the hell are you playing at, Troy?

Fronting up witches.

Yes, and?

Well, he denies murder, of course,

but there's still Charles.

There's still the next of kin to be informed, Troy,

to make an identification, even.

I'm sorry, sir.

I was out of order procedurally.

Yeah.

I'm just wondering if we're not out of order

in a more dangerous way.

We missed the blindingly obvious.

-Which is? -Gerald Bennett.

Gerald Bennett?

He couldn't have whacked Flett on the head

or climbed through a casement window.

Granted, he's not always been as frail as he is today.

He is Cynthia's wronged husband.

And if he did kill her, no one, no one had a better

opportunity to bury her.

♪♪

Hi, sorry darling. I needed a nap

A cup of tea?

Oh yes, please.

♪♪

♪♪

I should go.

Goodbye, Hilary.

I hope we meet again.

Mr. Bennet?

Mr. Bennet!

Mr. Bennet?

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

It's all right. You're all dead.

And you.

Ah, you were quite lovely, such rare beauty.

Now you've simply flowered yourself to death, didn't you?

Such exuberance.

Ah, but little

Echolegia.

Such a sweet old-fashioned churl.

Just as beautiful as your showy, glitzy sister.

Nothing.

No one seems to have seen her since yesterday evening.

It could have been King, sir.

The other party in the hotel room.

He would have had time after I spoke to him.

Yeah, that's right.

There's a daughter here who loved her father

very, very much.

A daughter whose face is everywhere.

A daughter who spoke passionately, vehemently,

against digging up the memorial garden.

Got to find Jane Bennett.

I thought you'd gone to Rome without telling me.

Just Causton, to the bank.

There was a phone call.

Father, we need to talk about money.

How do you rate your chances this time, Richard?

Election to the Sacred College?

I really don't know.

Obviously, I'm in the running, but it's a very long process.

Certain things still matter, though.

Conduct, behaviour.

Those found wanting are going to be weeded out.

You know how much it would mean to me, for you

to become a cardinal.

You, the last Teverell, being the first ever

in 500 years to rise so high.

Father, it's not the be-all and end-all.

Isn't it?

It's the only thing I stay alive for.

Father, the bank.

I saw Hilary, did you?

And you paid your respects at the manor?

Yes, I saw Hilary.

What do you think?

How did she strike you?

I knew where she was going, you see.

And I had a good idea who she was meeting.

It wasn't so much that she was carrying on.

It was the fact she and they and all the others before them

took such pleasure in Dad not realising.

♪♪

♪♪

The smirking and sniggering and making fun

behind his back are just cool.

Couldn't take any more.

So I waited for her to come back from Causton

and strangled her with a pair of tights.

She was drunk.

I'm quite strong.

♪♪

I'd already planned what to do with her.

I rather liked the idea that when the memorial

garden was finished,

people would walk all over her, like she'd walked all over Dad.

Then I cleared her things and hid them in my car.

And?

Took them to the dump the next day

I knew Widger and King wouldn't come forward

when we reported her missing.

The downside was that dad actually did miss her.

His health was already deteriorating anyway

and the manor just suddenly seemed too big.

The cottage was right for him, though.

He's been happy there.

Until the ink pen started digging up the past, huh?

If he discovered what my mother was really like.

would have broken his heart.

He didn't have much time left anyway.

It's better to finish it gently, without the truth.

He was such an innocent boy.

I couldn't bear him to lose that right at the end.

But it's still murder, Miss Bennet.

And you have to understand that given your

very clear reason

for not wanting the memorial garden dug up,

you are now the prime suspect for the deaths of Felicity

Inkpen and her mother.

What I've done, I've done for my father.

I'm not a homicidal maniac.

I hated my mother, not the Inkpens.

Others hated them.

♪♪

Don't build up your hopes, not while there are still three of them left.

Merciless bloodsuckers.

That's an odd expression in the context of what

was going on at Inkpen Manor.

She could be winding us up, sir.

She was desperate to stop the digging.

And murdering Inkpens was a way of doing it.

Plus, she's young and fit.

She knows the vicarage.

And she knows about plants.

It was just desperation, Troy.

Why kill Elspeth so, so horribly?

Why not just strangle her or bash her over the head?

Elspeth suffered.

There was real, real hate in that.

Or stark, raving madness.

Yeah, possibly.

But hate, Troy, or greed is more common.

Oh, this is from the solicitor, Elspeth's will.

Oh, don't tell me.

The Gardner's Benevolent Society.

There is no money, but the house

is left jointly to Hilary and Fliss and

Daniel Bolt,

the gardener.

I do understand why you keep shying away from me, Hilary.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking, this man made love to my

sister and my mother,

and now they're both dead.

But if you're honest, don't you agree there's something

about death that makes you want to reaffirm life?

You shouldn't deny that instinct

Nature doesn't...

nature does just what it likes

Because nature knows what's best,

instinctively.

The lillium speciosum doesn't mourn.

It just turns its delicate neck to the sun.

Actually, I was looking for your father, sir.

Is he at home?

-No. -No, he isn't.

But do come in, please.

Do you know who I am?

Mr. Richard Deverell, uh, Bishop Richard Deverell.

I've just found out who I am.

I am, was, the lover of Elspeth Inkpen-thomas.

No, no, I knew that, of course.

I'm the father of her illegitimate child.

I did not know that.

Hillary Inkpen is my daughter.

And my father, my damnable father, has...

Where is Mr. Deverell, please, sir?

Gone to see her, Naomi Inkpen, to deliver his latest tribute.

She must have cash, it seems.

She must have real money in her hands,

and it must be placed there by him.

The price is humiliation as well as money.

The price of what?

Her forbearance until I'm elected cardinal.

Rome, the Vatican.

You know my father funded the Inkpen's repurchase

of their rightful family home.

It may seem a small enough indiscretion in the modern world

to have fathered a child,

but my father is convinced otherwise,

and convinced that the Vatican would share his view.

He's right.

And he's desperate that I should succeed this time.

If you need proof...

Read the letter.

My dear Augustus, an ecclesiastical Bert

has told me that Richard, your Richard,

has high hopes of at last fulfilling the Deverell dream.

We Inkmans will hear nothing said against him,

provided of course that you honour your

obligations to your friends.

In which respect, with the recent arrival

of Hilary in our midst,

we're now in possession of what might be described

as the walking DNA proof.

Yours in anticipation.

Mr. Bolt?

Mr. Bolt?

♪♪

Sir?

Troy, Augustus Deverell is heading for Inkpen Manor.

Stop him.

Don't let him get near to Naomi.

I'll be with you in a few minutes.

♪♪

Excuse me.

Not now, Mr. Widger.

I've been burgled.

Not interested.

Damn well, we'll be.

♪♪

Augustus. Such old-world punctuality.

Mr. Zinkman?

Mrs. Inkpen!

She's not in the garden.

♪♪

♪♪

All right, Gran, smell the blood.

You like the blood, don't you?

A bit of DNA proof, as it says in the letter.

And I was stupid enough to think I was wanted here.

not loved. never hoped for that. not from you

anyway. but I wasn't even wanted. was I?

was I?

only by mum.

not wanted for myself. just used. just turned to advantage.

oh yes look away. what did the three of you do?

get it out and gloat over it once a week.

why else keep a copy in the house?

Fliss laughed so much when she told me.

when she read that out.

Fliss was a stupid little bitch.

dead little bitch now.

she opened my eyes so I opened her head.

but she's the only one of you I've killed

in anger. I took pleasure over mum.

I stuffed her bloody garden right down her throat.

and I'm going to make a mess of you because you don't like mess.

Everything must be just so, mustn't it?

On the outside.

Well, I don't want you going to hell looking tidy.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Mrs. Millard?

Sergeant Troy.

Chief Inspector Barnaby thought we

ought to let you know that we shan't be needing your kitchen

utensils any longer.

Poor Hilary.

Yes.

And poor Jane Bennett.

It's most troubling to one's conscience

that some crimes seem entirely justified.

Jane's is one of them.

I've always felt, as I told Mr. Barnaby,

adultery is one of the most despicable

of all human activities.

Nice patio. New?

Very.

I find hard work an aid to prayer.

And there has been so much to pray about recently.

And, uh, still no vicar.

Good evening.

This is Sergeant Troy.

How do you do?

Hello.

Would you care to join us for tea

and an ecumenical debrief?

No, thank you.

It's a relieved, I mean, a pleasure to meet you, Vicar.

I best be off.

Bye, Crispin.

♪♪

And as well as the white bedder, I brought you

a few Pennington gems.

Oh, that's very kind of you, Daniel.

Bear in mind the white bedder is vigorous

and very erect.

So make sure you put it where you want it.

Otherwise, it's likely to, um, overshadow

lesser plants.

Yes, I see.

I'd be quite happy to come back and make sure everything

is nicely bedded in.

Ah, Mr. Barnaby.

Right, well, er, I'll be off then.

I was going to offer him a drink.

I think he has some propagating to do elsewhere.

Come on, I'll make you one.

Is there any lawn left to sit on?

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪