All language subtitles for The Limehouse Golem 2016 Eng

Let us begin, my friends, at the end.

John?

John!

He left nothing?

No… Note?

If he meant to poison himself,

why would he not at least leave a note?

I fear that the act of burning his papers

bears testament
enough to his state of mind.

Mrs. Cree…? Forgive me…

I-I know this is neither
the time nor the place…

but may I say what an ardent
admirer I am of your work?

I looked in the kitchen, sir.

This was all I could find.

I'm afraid this'll be it.

There was residue in a glass
on the nightstand.

Oh, it can't have been in there, sir.

His nightly cordial was always
prepared by Mrs. Cree.

Aveline…?

You… Did not make the drink?

Surely you're not asking me in earnest

if I poisoned my husband?

Oh, sir, believe me,
she cannot have done this!

The two of them were
in a most violent dispute yesterday!

Why would she prepare Mr. Cree a nightcap

when they were not on speaking terms?

Aveline, what has possessed you?

Sir, please, allow me to explain.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Cree.

You'll need to do
that down at Scotland Yard.

A woman accused of poisoning her husband.

But not just any woman…

little Lizzie,

darling of the music halls.

But the city was in thrall

with the fearsome Limehouse Golem.

Who was he?

Who would be his next victim?

The Golem had last struck

the day before her arrest.

And his was the name

on every Londoner's lips.

How many are dead?

Five.

Shopkeeper Mr. Gerrard,
his wife Mary, their maid…

And the two Gerrard children.

It's not… Number 29.

29 Ratcliffe Highway?

What of it?

The Ratcliffe Highway murders?

John Williams?

It's a bit before my time.

And mine! It was 70 years ago!

Inspector Roberts!

Can you confirm that this
is the work of the Golem?

What is it about this house?

Do you think it could be cursed, sir?

Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!

I'd ask you to, uh, direct
your requests to my colleague,

detective inspector Kildare.
He's taking over the case.

Kildare? How are you spelling that?

Taking over?

I'm just stepping aside,
not stepping down.

The public seeks reassurance, Kildare.

What better way than to give
them new blood?

Are you fearful of stepping
into the shoes of the great Mr. Roberts?

Can you confirm this
is the work of the Golem?

How many more people have to die
before the Golem is caught?

Driver!

Detective Roberts!

Inspector Kildare, is it true

that this is your first murder case?

Inspector Kildare!

Kildare!

Move. Move back.

Do you know if they'll be

displaying the bodies today, sir?

Step aside, sir.

The maid was found over there.

Were there footprints when you arrived?
The Golem's prints?

Half of Limehouse was already here.

Which of the victims was found there?

None. The Golem moved that one himself.

Either Mr. or Mrs. Gerrard.
- More likely him.

If the maid was killed first,

he'd investigate the disturbance.

Where is her body now?
- We took her upstairs, sir.

At least up there we can
keep the hoi poloi out.

Down here is a lost cause.
- They can't all be reporters.

Oh, no. Locals looking for entertainment.

Cheaper than a ticket to a shocker.

Sometimes I suspect
if I was dispatched to hell,

I'd barely notice the change,
bar the weather.

This is inspector Kildare.

Taking over from Roberts.
- Sir.

Can you tell this idiot to let me up?

I'm with the Evening Post!

This is the maid?

I'm sorry.

I've never seen anything of this kind.

Neither have I.

"He who observes spills no less blood

than he who inflicts the blow."

Lactantius.

Impressive, sir.

The truth has a habit
of sticking in the mind.

Truth?

Those who fail to prevent injustice

are as guilty as the perpetrator.

It's a message…

To us.

Evidence… John Cree case.

The poisoning.

You've had quite a week.

First the Limehouse Golem, now this.

I heard inspector Kildare
was asking after you.

Yes.

I don't know what he wanted.
I keep missing him.

Well, they did right giving
him the Golem case, I reckon.

He'd have risen well above Roberts by now

if those rumors hadn't done for him.

You know.

That he wasn't the marrying kind…

Men.

Oh, it's before your time, I suppose.

Come in.

I got your message, sir.

I'm being assigned a constable.

I thought someone
of your knowledge of Limehouse

might be an asset.

When I heard nothing back,

I thought perhaps
the offer didn't appeal.

I came by twice, sir. You were out.

I was at Limehouse.
Appealing for witnesses.

To no avail.

- What are you looking for?
- I'm just looking.

Trying to understand.

The Golem's a madman.

What else is there to be understood?

Even madness has its own logic.

Here there's none.

At Ratcliffe Highway,
he slaughtered a household.

The previous week, a prostitute.
Alice Stanton.

Before that, Solomon Weil.

He was an old man, a… a scholar.

Oh, my god.

Is that his…
- Yes.

Laid upon the open pages
of a book on Jewish folklore,

like a bookmark.

"The legend of the Golem."

Is that how the press got the name?

Our murderer obviously approved.

And who were the first two?

Both women of the streets.

I do remember reading of that one.

"Old Salty." - Her name was Jane Quig.

The point is there's no
story to any of them.

Men, women, young, old. Jew and Christian.
Rich and poor.

Perhaps he just likes to kill.

No.

I'll wager there's a tale being told.

If we can sink to his circle
of damnation to comprehend it.

If I may say, sir,

seems you've been wasted
down in theft-and-fraud.

Oh, I'll be back there soon enough,

if the Golem strikes again.
That seems to be the plan.

What do you mean?

The yard is setting me up as a scapegoat.

They'll not risk Roberts, will they?

I'm expendable.

They get to preserve
the reputation of their golden boy

and the public…

Get blood.

Well, as I said back in Limehouse…

Seems they never have their fill of that.

"He who spectates." He doesn't mean us.

He means the public.

The public want blood.
The Golem provides it.

Yes!

I'm sure that must be it, sir.

Are you?

I'm not.

Do you feel like a walk to the library?

Ah! That quotation. About
the gladiatorial ring?

The guilt of the audience
who seek bloodshed?

Well, perhaps you read it elsewhere.

It's quoted in an old piece
by the essayist Thomas de Quincey.

One I imagine might be
of interest to a man

- in your line of work.
- What's the piece?

"On murder considered
as one of the fine arts."

A satire about the Ratcliffe
Highway killings of 1811.

Should we talk with this de Quincey?

He has been dead for 20 years, Flood,

so it might be a bit…

What is it?

Left to rot.

To kill a whore.

Who last borrowed this book?

This is a reading room,
inspector, not a local library.

So nothing leaves the premises?

Do you keep an attendance record?

Of course, but there's no
earthly way of knowing

what anyone read or when they read it!

Who was here on September the 24th?

There were four men in the reading
room that day. Why?

It's the final entry
in a diary someone has kept

in the pages of this book.

Were you here yourself?
- I'm here every day.

Then I must ask you for a sample
of your handwriting.

I'll need the same from all the staff.

And those four names, please?

The Dan Leno?

And the Karl Marx and George Gissing.

If you're a follower
of philosophy and literature.

What do you know of John Cree?

Sir?

If he's the same John
Cree I'm thinking of…

I believe he's dead.

Place the diary in my files.
Keep it safe.

Find out all you can
about George Gissing,

Karl Marx, and Dan Leno.

Where are you going?

To investigate the dead man.

If he was the Golem,
London's troubles are over.

And you describe your husband

as being in a state of despair

in the weeks leading to his death, yes?

My husband had spent several years

writing a play, your honor.

Entitled "Misery Junction."

It was… Not a success.

I believe he never recovered from that.

And yet he continued to pass
each day in the reading room

at the British Museum,

reading and writing.

A change in mood and a change
in habit are two different things.

On the day of his death,

the librarian described your husband

as being in good spirits.

My husband was adept at presenting

a false face to the world, sir.

And that is something
you would understand,

is it not, Mrs. Cree?

Playing…

A role?

I used to be a music hall performer,

if that's what you mean.

And what of the role you play
today before this court?

That of a respectable, educated lady.

You were born out of wedlock,
were you not?

- Yes, sir.

As a child, you stitched sailcloth

and passed much time with men.

I can assure you
I was a god-fearing child.

An innocent.

I was tasked by my mother
to deliver our sails to the docks.

Encountering men was not
something I could hope to avoid.

Here you go, good as new.

Carry that all the way?

Look at your poor hands, Lizzie.

Me ma says I'm made
for the bloodtubs with these hands.

Don't you dare run
off and join the theater.

These sails ain't gonna mend themselves.

I like the comics.

Charlie's gonna take me
to see Dan Leno one day.

Aren't you, Charlie, when I'm older?

Dan Leno was never that blue.

Did Charlie teach you that?

Just don't let your ma hear it.
She'll kill ya.

What's it mean?

If you want, I'll show you.

Me mum will be wanting me home,

if you'll give me our pay.

Money's in my hut.

What took you so long?

Has a man laid hands on you?

You liar.

I fell.

Come here.

What did I do wrong?

Mother, no, please.

Did I not teach you well enough?

No, I beg you!

Come here.

You want me to go to heaven, don't you?

That place will keep you
from heaven, Lizzie.

That is enough, Mrs. Cree!

Court is adjourned for lunch!

Anyone come by from The Era newspaper?

I'm expecting a package.

No package.

Just this.

John Cree.

No luck getting a sample
of Cree's handwriting

from his old employers, I'm afraid, sir.

They don't keep reporters' submissions.

Had a more recent portrait, though.

And I've asked archives
for all the files on Gissing and Marx.

Very good. See if they have
anything on Leno.

September the 5th, 1880.

It was a fine bright evening…

…And I could feel a murder coming on.

Since it was to be my first show,

I decided by way of inspiration
to pay a visit to the site

of the immortal Ratcliffe
Highway murders.

More than half a century
ago on this sacred spot,

an entire family
was dispatched into eternity

by a man named John Williams,

a man Thomas de Quincey described

as an artist of exquisite skill.

And yet now the site
of his greatest work was defiled

by a seller of secondhand clothes.

We're closed, I'm afraid, sir.

Oh, sorry.

The door was open.

No matter.

I'll be sure to return.

But I was a beginner, an understudy.

Not yet ready for the great stage.

An artist must perfect his craft,

and tonight I would start
with a small, private rehearsal.

Gin?

Don't you think you've had enough?

I want you awake.

Or else you'll miss all the fun.

I felt that she suspected
my game from the start

and offered herself willingly,

warm in the knowledge that the world

would soon be forced to confront
the plight of her kind.

I took out her eyes in case

my image had been imprinted upon them,

and washed the blood
from my hands with the gin

in her chamber pot.

My first performance was complete.

Mrs. Cree? I'm inspector
Kildare of Scotland Yard.

I suppose you're here to chastise me

for my candor in court.
- On the contrary,

I applaud you for it.

It's all too easy to imagine that those

who have enjoyed success

have never known suffering.

Well, to quote the great Dan
Leno, "here we are again."

I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter
of the music halls.

He portrays the suffering of women.

My gender becomes inured to injustice.

We expect it.

Until we can greet it
merely with a shrug.

Oh. I understood he was a comic.

The line between comedy
and tragedy is a fine one.

You haven't told me why you're here.

I wish to put it to you that I know
why you might have had

good reason to poison your husband.

Please, sir, I'm hoarse from repetition.

There will be no confession.
My plea has been made.

Mrs. Cree, I'm not assigned to your case.

I'm here because your husband
is a suspect in…

Another matter.

What matter?

A journal has been found.

I'd like to compare
the handwriting with his.

Might you have anything that he wrote?

- His papers…
- He burned them, yes.

Mrs. Cree, if your husband were
found to have committed murder,

your claims of suicide gain weight.

Do you understand? You could go free.

Murder?

I'm investigating a series of deaths.

They're calling them
the "Limehouse Golem" murders.

You can't honestly think
my husband capable of such things?

It's not my place to have an opinion.

I just follow the threads.

The newspaper said it
was your first murder case.

That's a rotten kind
of chance to be given.

Excuse me?

I wanted to be a serious
actress, you know.

Had my chance once, too.

They don't give you another.

That's why I'd like to help you.

You needn't feign interest in me.

There's nothing feigned about it.

Raised in cruelty and yet you
stood tall and thrived.

That's…

Uncommon.

My mother did me the great
service of dying young.

I was raised in the music halls.

You want to buy some sweets, miss?

Hey, get out of here.

What?

- What a play.
- It was.

It's halfway over, love.

Come back tomorrow.

All right. Go on in.

You can still catch Leno if you're quick.

God bless.

All right, there we go!

Ah! What fine manners.

Such fine manners!

I feel as if I'm at a tea party.

Please note the oxtail in the jelly
tonight is three pence.

Now…
- That's for later.

…Without any further ado,

may I introduce the man of the hour,

Mr. Dan Leno!

Here we are again!

Mummy!

More!

Pies, pies, pies, pies.

All in dire need of pies.
I'll tell you what, dearie.

Seeing as you're here
again, be a good girl.

Give uncle a hand.

Be careful with that.
All too good to drop.

As the pregnant woman
said to the midwife!

Here you are, Vic.

A little bit of what you fancy.
- Ooh, pie.

John John.

Aveline, dear, nice and hot,
just as you like it.

But not quite so big.

Thanks, uncle.

Last one's for you, Mr. leno.

Mr. Leno, is it?

Did you find her at the grocers, uncle?

She's certainly a green one.

Now, now, girls.

What's your name? - Lizzie, sir.

Lambeth Marsh Lizzie.

I thought I could smell marsh gas.

Oh, don't let 'em dumb you.
It's just their way.

And call me Dan.

This is Tommy Farr,

theater manager and keeper of the bunce.

Speaking of which, we owe you
something for your trouble.

What in god's name did
they have you doing down there

in those marshes?

Digging graves.

Five years it was before I found out

you're supposed to use a shovel.

I like this one.

Can you read?

Like a native.

Here.

"What's fame?

A fancy'd life in other's breath.

A thing beyond us, even before our death.

All we feel of it begins
and ends in the small circle

of our foes and friends."

That's my favorite line.

Alexander Pope.

Are you looking for work, Lizzie?

Yeah.

Only, our prompter ran
off with a lion comique.

And it won't all be lavender.

There'll be some fetch and carry,

but there's decent bunce

and room in the digs with the dancers.

What do you say?

How would you describe
your relationship with Dan Leno?

We were friends, sir.

And he was… My mentor.

He took me under his wing.

"No, Mrs. Killian"…

Where did you learn to read and write

if you didn't go to school?

My mother's Bible, I suppose.

Oh, and speaking of books…

Oi.

- Thank you.
- What?

Finished already?

That's the second this week!

I think books might be my first love.

And I've always heard it said
that first love is insatiable.

Sod writing new gags,

they can have the milkmaid
again tonight and like it.

I want to show you something.

Where are we going?

You'll see.

A whole room?

Full of books?

Every inch of it.

People come here just to read?

To read. To learn. To create.

It's like… A great furnace.

I mean, the future is being forged here.

Writers, philosophers, men of science.

All the way down to lowly clowns like me.

The ladies' table is upstairs.

Oh, thanking you kindly, good sir.

You were never more than friends?

No, sir.

I believe he felt protective of me.

The prosecution wishes
to remind the court

that Mr. Leno was recently questioned

in connection with the "Limehouse
Golem" murders.

Objection, your honor!

Order, order!

Inspector Kildare!

Kildare!

Why was I not aware

that Dan Leno was previously a suspect?

You tell me, Kildare.

It was in every daily newspaper.

But not in the brief you gave me.

Well, he was eliminated from inquiries.

The, uh, report's on my desk somewhere.

You didn't think to place
it in your files?

The streets of London run red with blood,

and you concern yourself with paperwork?

You'd have made a fine
politician, Kildare,

were you not the topic of such…

speculation.

I wouldn't read that.

Disgraceful lies, all of it.

The poor woman spoke
of misfortune and cruelty

and they've turned it upon her.

Makes my blood boil.

Seems your beloved Leno
wasn't actually a suspect.

My beloved?

What man doesn't enjoy Dan Leno?

One who doesn't care for the music halls?

Well, I'll venture to say you've not
seen the right shows, sir.

If you ever wish for a recommendation…

He was questioned in regard
to Alice Stanton's gown.

A label sewn into it
identified it as his,

a stage costume.
- So he knew her?

"Leno stated that the dress was part

of a consignment of stage costumes

he'd sold a year earlier

to a purveyor of secondhand clothes."

And apparently he provided
a receipt which proved it.

Well, then it was merely a coincidence.

Perhaps.

As is perhaps the fact

that the purveyor of secondhand clothes

was the late Mr. Gerrard,

murdered at Ratcliffe Highway.

We should get a sample of his hand.

Quite. And can we find
out what's happened to that dress?

It wasn't with the rest of the evidence.

I'll look into it, sir.

Why didn't you tell me
you questioned Dan Leno?

I haven't. Though I shall have to.

In court they said you had.

Not me. Before I joined the case.

So is he a suspect or not?

Do you think he should be?

Please don't play games with me.

I have no desire to!

The Golem is still at large.

Wasting my time could cost lives.

Unless you are correct about my husband.

If the Golem is no more,
then none are at risk.

Besides yours…

You needn't hang, Mrs. Cree.

Please call me Lizzie.

Just assist me in assisting you.

I can't tell you what I don't know.

All I ask is that you
tell me what you do.

Where should I start?

How you came to know John Cree, perhaps.

Jim is very partial to me!

Though never a word has he said.

Right now he's lodging with Mrs. Kelly.

Do you know Mrs. Kelly?

Don't you know Mrs. Kelly?

Good life-a-mighty, don't look so simple.

Everybody knows Mrs. Kelly.

Am I… am I going too
fast for you, love?

You spoof it, I'll write it.

Oh, she's a mean one, Mrs. Kelly.

She'll buy half a dozen oysters

and eat them in front of a mirror

to make them look like a dozen.

What about…

"I saw her take a coin
from her purse the other day,

and I swear,

I saw Queen Victoria blinking

at the sight of sunlight"?

Are those petticoats ironed yet?

Good.

Then you can come
over here and lace me up.

Fuck off, Victor.

Come on, dear.

You know I can't see from the back row,

and I do so love a double act.

Victor, out, out!

- Come on.
- Just a joke, Dan.

Get that, will you, Lizzie.

That'll be the reporter for my interview.

Hmm, you're new.

Lizzie. Seen you before, haven't I?

You work for The Era.

I'm a playwright, but yes, indeed,

The Era puts food on my table.

For now.

John Cree.

You got to sweep it.

Shall we?

Can you help me dress, love?

Jumped out the window.

The usual for everyone?

Oh, yes, please, darling.

What about you, dear?

A baked potato.

You don't fancy a bit
of meat tonight, Lizzie?

What's the matter, Dan?

She must be over 16.

No, I mustn't.

So, Lizzie, what's your act?

Do tell.

Uh, it's called "little
Lizzie the dogsbody."

Mm-hmm.

Yeah, I do all manner
of gags with an iron

and a pile of dirty smalls.

Oh, that sounds extraordinary.

It is.

She's dumbing you, John.

She means she's the prompt.

I was only saying earlier you
might make a good gagger.

She's got the dial for it,
hasn't she, uncle?

Say that again.

She's got the dial for it,
hasn't she, uncle?

Oh, thank you.

I don't know where you
put it all, Victor.

You must have hollow legs.

I can hold as much as the next man,
thank you very much.

Pour a quart in a pint
pot, you'll make a mess.

Nonsense. I'm as right as rain.

Can't keep a good man down, as they say,

but I know where you
can put a good man up.

Aah!

What in god's name is going on?

Nothing.

Lizzie stepped on my foot by mistake.

No harm done.

I'm taking Lizzie home.

This is no place
for an innocent young girl.

Come, gentlemen. No harm done.

As the executioner said
to the hanged man.

I'll… I'll… I'll take her.

There's no need. I can walk alone.

No, I'll not hear of it.

Please, your food will get cold.
I'll be quite safe.

Our digs are just around the corner.

Then I'll be back in good time.

Watch yourself, Victor.

John Cree's got a temper.

I'm not afraid of him.

Lizzie…

I'm afraid there's…

Awful news.

Victor was found at the bottom
of the stairs last night.

Lizzie…

Are you trying to tell me
you suspected John Cree?

I didn't say that. I merely
said he was protective.

You said the same of Dan Leno.

I seem to ignite the urge in men.

He was a terrible little turd.

But he was our terrible little turd.

That's it, cheer up.

I've suggested that we make

tonight's show a special tribute.

We'll give him a grand send-off,

won't we?

Did you ever speak of it to John?

No.

I never spoke of it to anyone.

I preferred to chalk it up to fate.

Would you rather owe your happiness
to simple good fortune

or to an unspeakable act of violence?

Little Victor's death
brought you happiness?

Little Victor's death gave me life.

The people come through the doors
and they laugh.

Dan, I was hoping you'd wipe
your ass with the papers.

- You don't read them.
- What more can I do?

Dan?

Do you think I could pay
my respects to little Victor, too?

Good god.

This is a funny thing.

What a funny thing.

Just a little song.

A blue one maybe, Victor would like that.

A salty sailor act, as if I were a man.

It could be a scream.
- Go on, then, Lizzie.

Give it a try.

Isn't that costume a little bit
small for you, dear?

That's the point.

Excuse me…

Oh!

Oblige again!

Lizzie, oblige again!

They want more!

I don't have any more.

You have them!

Would you look at these
rotten cotton gloves?

That saltwater will shrink anything.

Least that's what the ladies
down at the docks tell me.

I don't know, I just looked
at the gloves and they looked

so absurd that the line
just came to me like that.

"Them rotten cotton gloves!"

It could be your catchphrase.

No need to dip into the blue bag so much.

They loved it. They loved it all.

They love you.

And who wouldn't.

- Uncle!
- Careful, uncle.

With Lizzie in that getup,

anyone looking over might think
you have an eye for the boys.

Well, let them think what they like.

More drinks, please!

Little Victor wouldn't
have wanted any of us

standing up at the end of the night.

I'm tired, I'm afraid.

Walk me home, will you, John?

I'll come back.

Why are you still wearing your costume?

I hoped it might keep the men away.

You prefer the girls, Lizzie?

Nothing wrong in that if you do.

Come on, no need to make
something from nothing.

You dress like a girl.
- Yeah, on stage.

Well, if you really care,

maybe I like how I felt on stage.

I care.

I care to see you happy.

Tonight…

Tonight, you look happy.

We still need handwriting samples

from Marx, Gissing, and Leno.

Did you speak with the maid again?

Aveline Ortega? I did, sir.

She won't hear a word said against him.

You showed her the journal entries?

She swore the writing wasn't his.

If Cree were our Golem, it
would certainly make sense

of him destroying his papers.

And god knows as a failed playwright,

Cree must've grown sick
of watching his famous wife

earn London's attention.

Do you fancy another?

Trying to get me drunk?

A pint, please.

It was a joke. Didn't mean nothing.

I didn't mean to offend.

I'm…

On your side.

It's not the Golem haunting you, is it?

It's her.

She's going to hang, Flood.

We have to rule out the other suspects.

Well, I may have found
an eyewitness in Limehouse, sir.

Scaoil liom! Scaoil liom!

You're not in any trouble.

I'm taking you to someone
who can translate.

Understand?

This is… this is sister Mary.

Tá mo mháthair tar éis mé a dhíol cheana.

Tá fear do m'fhuadach ar mo lá breithe.

The child says she's not for sale.

Her mum's got a fella taking
her on her next birthday.

No, no, please.

Tell her my colleague showed
her some photographs,

suspects in a crime.

She seemed to recognize one of them.

We need to know where
and when she saw him.

Sir, this is where Solomon Weil lived!

The scholar, the third victim.

- Which house number did he…
- Number 4.

This man?

Families starve in the streets.

Women are used up and thrown
away, then you…

you persecute one who fights
for the people.

You're not fit to clean the boots
of a man like Karl Marx.

So…

London declares that the Jew was murdered

by a Jewish monster?

And so absolves itself
of all responsibility.

Make no mistake, gentlemen,
it is not Solomon Weil

who's mutilated and murdered here.

It is the Jew.

None of the Golem's other
victims were hebrews, sir.

But do you not see?

This murderer strikes at the very
symbols of the city…

the Jew, the whore.

They are the sacrificial tributes

in this labyrinth of London.

And so of course must
be ritually butchered.

What is it that you wish me to write?

"The Morning Herald…

had declined to review my debut."

All that work for nothing.

I resolved that this
time I'd put on a show

that everyone would notice.

A fine opening act
of the crowd-pleasing sort.

And I went on to create a spectacle

that no beholder would ever forget.

"It was all too easy to kill a whore.

Tonight I would return to kill the Jew."

This is absurd.

You didn't do this.

Of course I didn't.

Would you agree with the defendant

that in the weeks before his death,

Mr. Cree had seemed "morbid"?

No, sir.

He was in good spirits.

And how would you describe relations

between Mr. Cree and his wife?

Not especially good, sir.

They saw very little of each other.

And yet Mrs. Cree insisted
on preparing him a nightly draft?

That is correct, sir.

And did you hear Mr. Cree
express suspicions

that she might have tainted
this draft with something?

Not quite.

Though just before his death,

I overheard them in dispute.

I heard Mr. Cree say,

"You devil. You have done this."

She may as well have placed
the noose around my neck herself.

You must make it plain to the jury
that there was bad blood

between the two of you.

Romantic jealousy.

I never stood between them.

I'm sure my feelings on intimacy
are plain to you by now.

John was free to court
Aveline if he wanted to.

But he had his heart set on you.

I did nothing to encourage it.

My stage career had taken off.
I rarely saw him.

And then…

Out of the blue,
he invited me for supper.

Your new show's tremendous.

We feel awful intruding.

We simply adore you.

Thank you.

Thank you. I'll treasure this.

Thank you very much.

- I can't believe it.
- What a surprise!

As I was saying, I have reached
the end of the first act

of "Misery Junction."

But I can't quite decide
what to do with my heroine next,

and, um, I thought you might advise me.

I'm flattered.

The heroine's name is Katherine Dove.

- Hmm.
- When I began,

I had her in the workhouses,

but now I have her sewing
sailcloth on the docks.

My mother died when I was young.

Her kidneys.

It was so fast.

Orphaned and alone at 14.

Is Katherine Dove an orphan?

She could be.

But you've still not told
me what to do with her

by the end of the first act.

What's your dilemma?

At the moment,

she's very close to salvation and ruin,

and I'm wondering if I should rescue her.

Yes.

Have her become successful.

Loved by her audiences.

But she's very much alone.

Living in theatrical digs, hand to mouth.

It's a life of degradation.

Come on.

People love to see
degradation upon the stage.

It's what they pay for.

Yeah, but they expect
to see a happy ending.

And Katherine deserves a protector.

She does.

Her manager, perhaps.

Someone kindly, like uncle.

No, an elderly character,
the audience would know

he wouldn't live to see her into old age.

A friend, then.

A comic, maybe.

I would like to give her a suitor.

Someone who cares fiercely
for her well-being.

A white knight.

What do you think?

I think Katherine Dove can
look out for herself.

In the bowl.

Yes, there we go.

Get it out.

That's it.

Gin.

Down here.

There we go.

God.

I think I put my back
out carrying her up the stairs.

I see you decided to dress
as a woman this evening.

Can't wear a costume
out to supper, can I?

Wouldn't be the first time.

Be careful of that one, Lizzie.

Don't lead him up the garden path

unless you're prepared
to be dragged indoors.

He offered me the lead
in "Misery Junction."

He'll expect something in return.

You don't need him, Lizzie.

You did all this on your own.

I could do more.

Could be a real actress.

Show the world what people
like us are really capable of.

I just need a chance.

Here we sit, the two most famous
faces on the stage,

and you suggest the world
conspires to oppress us.

Remember that book you lent me?

Pope? In the temple of fame,

some people's names are carved
in stone and others in ice.

We're clowns, Dan.

We'll be forgotten.

If you think a man like John
Cree is going to change that,

I don't have the breath to argue.

And you know she's got
a soft spot for him.

And whatever her faults, she's family.

And we look out for each other, don't we?

The big finale is the hanging.

We've a life-size gallows.

I'll wear this harness, concealed,

and then drop right
through the trap just there.

Looks just like a real hanging.

Lizzie, you sure it's safe,
this contraption?

You're not wearing a real noose, are you?

Oh, the noose is real,

but the fall is broken by the harness.

Where's Lizzie?

Up above giving John Cree
an interview for The Era.

Is that what they call it?

I'll go and tell her to hurry up.

The play's a shocker,
but a spoof shocker,

the way only our marvelous
company can do it.

Dan wrote it. It's based on the, uh,

the Ratcliffe Highway murders of 1811.

- John Williams.
- Pardon?

The killer's name was John Williams.

Oh, quite. But much of it is fiction.

It's all great fun, and terribly gory.

Oh, you must put
that in for your readers.

Dan says everybody thrills
to gore these days.

Let's have you finished, John.

She's not even ready
and she's on stage in 10 minutes.

We can't have the star late
for the first performance.

Dan's still the star. Always will be.

Thought I felt my ears burning.

Did anyone check the safety?
- Of course.

Wouldn't let anything happen
to our Lizzie, would we?

- How's the crowd?
- Excellent.

Great number of Jews.

I believe it's one of their holidays.

You should speak to them in yiddish.

They will love it.

Wish them…

"Meesa meschina."

Welcome, brave hearts,
to an evening of horror.

Our play's about to begin,

but first, ladies and gentlemen,

and those not unconnected
with a certain historical chosen race,

may I wish you
all from the bottom of my heart

meesa meschina.

That is mashugana!

What did you say that for?!

What happened?

Lizzie wished the Jews a sudden death!

Oh!

Here we are again!

It was only a lark, Lizzie.

I came back at once to see
if you were all right.

And after that, you began courting?

After a fashion.

I could never love John
enough to give him

what he really wanted.

But you grew to love him?

I wanted to be in his play.

He wanted the gratification
of plucking a poor needy girl

from misery and saving her.

We used one another equally.

Perhaps that's the best that can
be said of any coupling.

That's a very dim view.

If you seek a dim view, be
sure to ask a comedian.

Alice Stanton's dress finally showed up.

Improperly archived,
like everything else here.

Been at the jail again?

Anything more on Cree?

Only that he was a manipulative ass

who fancied himself as a white knight.

I meant as relating to our case.

The Golem. Remember him?

Cree knew of the murderer John Williams.

Yet, apparently, so did Dan Leno.

In fact, Leno wrote a whole
play about the fellow.

Golem suspect who is alive.
That would be bad news.

- For his next victim, certainly.
- And for you.

Or do you no longer care
what becomes of your career?

I've a job to do and I'm doing it.

- And which job would that be?
- Watch your tongue, Flood.

Do I need to remind you of your position?

That may be helpful.

Because there are times when I'm confused

as to whether we're
here to find the Golem

or to save Elizabeth.

Perhaps we'll do both!

Who knows…

Dear god, how many pockets did Leno need?

He tosses things into the crowd.

Sweeties. Flowers. Undergarments.

Sounds hilarious.

Didn't Roberts empty the contents?

The coroner's office did it.

Why? Did they miss something?

8 Gower Place?

Why do I know that?

Perhaps because we're due a visit.

It's George Gissing's address.

His wife gave him an alibi for the night

of the Ratcliffe Highway murders,

but she seemed fond of her drink.

We need to talk to Mr. Gissing, madam.

George isn't here. He just left.

Do you know where he was going?

Limehouse, perhaps?

Not yet.

I'm interested to see where he goes.

What business a scholar has
in the streets of Limehouse.

Madam, we're from Scotland Yard.

We're just a pharmacy.

You go away! Check my record!

Our business is with Mr. Gissing,

the man who just entered, not you.

Good customer.

He keep his work here.

Always working.

Writing.

Mr. Gissing, I'm detective
inspector Kildare

of Scotland Yard.

Perhaps you could explain
how this came to be

in the possession of a murdered woman.

I'm afraid you'll find
my address in the pockets

of a great many women in this area, sir.

My wife, Nell, is in the habit of…
going missing.

I give my address so that

they may contact me if they see her.

Let us just say my wife
used to ply the same trade.

You don't seem in the least
bit surprised.

By what?

That a gentleman like me, a-a scholar,

should have wed a fallen woman.

Why would anyone be surprised?

The world is full of men
like you, Mr. Gissing.

I beg your pardon?

Men who feign generosity
when what they really seek

is congratulation.

Men who play god by saving lives.

Is it really so different, I wonder,

from playing god by taking them?

I am not a murderer, sir.

Then perhaps you will write
the words that I dictate?

Let's get this thing done.

"September 10, 1880.

My public debut…

…had garnered rave reviews."

I could scarcely wait to begin work

on my next creation,

but there was time to pass before dark,

so I paid a visit
to the Ratcliffe Highway shop.

I bought some cufflinks
from the owner's wife.

I could tell that when the time came,

she would make a fine
player in my Magnum Opus.

You're not the Jew from the library.

Ah, well.

No matter.

Who are you? What do you want?

I have come to discourse with you.

About death and everlasting life.

Herein…

lies the secret.

It was here that I read
of the mythical Golem,

a homunculus of clay given life by man.

How could any Londoner fail to delight

in this piece of theater?

I could even see myself appearing before

the next unfortunate with mallet in hand

exclaiming, "Here we are again."

May I go now?

What?

Oh, yes, I'm sorry.

Why would you be thinking of me still?

My hand doesn't match at all.
You know I'm innocent.

I know. I was reading what you wrote.

You were in my mind. I'm sorry.

Something I missed.

Oh, I see. What is it?

A line from the journal.

"I bought some cufflinks
from the owner's wife."

On September the 10th,

the Golem made a purchase
from the Ratcliffe Highway shop.

A new production of "Bluebeard"

opens this weekend,

and all of London longs

to see the great Dan Leno performing it.

But I know they yearn
for more potent excitements.

This is pantomime in its purest form.

I could even see myself appearing

before the next unfortunate,

with a mallet in my hand, exclaiming,

"here we are again!"

What strange coincidence
and delight to discover,

on the streets of Limehouse,

a whore wearing a costume
I remembered well.

She was a player waiting for a role.

Of course, I obliged her.

The public yearned
for the next installment.

And one should never keep
an audience waiting.

We need to forget about Cree
and concentrate on leno.

The Golem even imagined himself
saying, "here we are again."

I know, but apparently everyone
knows leno's catch-phrase.

There's Alice Stanton's dress

and the fact he knew Mr. Gerrard.

We're all part of London's tapestry.

Sometimes threads get crossed.

Good lord!

We should buy tickets.

I'd be intrigued to see how it ends.

I could recommend many better shows.

I was making a joke, Flood.

As was I.

Obviously.

Who'd wish to see something
in such poor taste?

Apparently London's appetite
for horror knows no bounds.

Our Golem was quite correct about that.

Oh, bluey, please!

Have mercy!

It's been days since I've eaten!

Oh, you are a kind man, bluey!

I shall never have it said
you're not good to me.

I thought I might expire from starvation.

What on earth are you doing, dear?!

I'm taking my medical treatment.

You're treatment?!

The doctor told me to take a daily
walk on an empty stomach.

Ah. Brought the receipt, as you
requested in your telegram.

As you will see, I did not buy cufflinks.

A ladies' hat.

I often shopped for stagewear
at Gerrard's little shop.

God rest him.

I knew him well.

Oh, now, you mentioned
needing a sample of my hand.

Well, I-I-I brought
a pile of my old papers.

Please, take as many as you see fit.

I'm afraid I'll need you
to produce a sample

in my presence, Mr. Leno.

Then you will permit
me to pay you a visit

at Scotland Yard tomorrow afternoon?

Only, I have supper arrangements.

And I've still to be rid of all of this.

If you'll… Excuse me?

Perhaps we could continue

to talk while you're…

I've some questions I'd like to ask
you about John Cree.

Then I shall try to answer them.

Though one should never
speak ill of the dead.

You didn't care for the man?

I was friendly with his wife.

He made her unhappy.

You may extrapolate the rest.

When did you last see him?

First night of his play,
"Misery Junction,"

which also happened to be
the closing night.

I know. Did you see him afterwards?

Of course.

This is my theatre.

I took over managing it last year when…

uncle joined the great
pantomime in the sky.

The performance was here?

For Lizzie's sake.

Whatever became of our friendship,

we'll always be family.

Is John Cree a suspect?

I'm not at liberty to say.

A posthumous suspect.

What will you do, dig
him up for the trial?

Do you know why Lizzie might be

reluctant to voice any suspicions?

You think she's protecting him?

Now, that's a novel slant.

Most people believe she poisoned him.

Do you?

Either way, that man
was the author of his own demise.

He practically destroyed her.

Insisting she give up the stage…

I mean, he may as well
have ended her life.

Do you think he was capable
of ending a life?

Literally, I mean.

Who knows what any man is capable of?

We all wear pantomime masks,

do we not?

I'm sorry, I really must dress now.

First, tell me about little Victor.

If the injustices
of the past interest you,

you'd do better to look
into the demise of Tommy Farr.

Uncle?

Uncle.

They said the jury expects

to reach a verdict this afternoon.

I know. Lizzie…

It would seem the press

have reached theirs already.

Lizzie, I spoke with Dan.

He urged me to look into uncle's death.

If you wanted to know about uncle,

you should simply have asked.

Come into the parlor.

As the spider said to the fly.

Isn't that how it goes?

The rhyme?

It may be, Lizzie.

It may be.

Cucumber sandwich?

No, thanks.

Oh, I forgot.

You're not entirely partial
to cucumber, are you?

What's this about, uncle?

Why'd you invite me?

I want to show you something.

Well, close your eyes.

Good girl.

Shh!

It's just my fun, Lizzie.

I like a good beating
every now and again.

Doesn't everyone?

I know her.

That's the girl who assisted
the Great Bolini.

She used to be sawn in half.

That's her, ducks.

What a performer.

But it's a shame she had
to leave the company.

Why have you shown me this?

Don't play the innocent with me.

I am not playing. I am real.

Well, I'd be grateful if you
could oblige me, Lizzie,

with a pose, a tableau.

Perhaps a little beating?

I'd rather be destroyed first.

I'm prepared to forget this
visit ever took place.

Well, as I said, it
is a pity she had to go.

She grew tired of performing.

You would never be rid of me.

Dan would never allow it.

Well, I find, as keeper of bunce,

that I can do as I please.

Now, you keep my secret

and I'll keep yours.

I have no secrets.

You shall in a moment.

He said I'm return to him next Sunday

and every Sunday hereafter.

To do the same again?

There's photographs.

John, I had to speak of it to somebody.

This is monstrous, Lizzie!

You can't tell a soul.

I shall put a stop to this.

But first…

I wish to do this.

He's robbed you of your honor.

Let me restore it to you.

Uncle died three days
after John confronted him.

Uncle was not young.

He had a weak heart
and a fondness for drink.

That's not what Dan Leno thinks.

He thinks that John blackmailed
uncle into changing his will

and then killed him.

£500 and the camera.

It would seem I gave
an excellent beating.

You don't want to be saved, do you?

Not by me.

Not by any man.

I don't deserve to be saved.

John, I can't.

Huh? What do you mean?

We're husband and wife now, Lizzie.

I know.

Three years I've waited.

Three years of courtship
and endless bloody engagement.

It's hardly my fault that panto
season extended 'til easter.

Would you have had me spend
our wedding night playing Aladdin?

It seems now that option

would've been scarcely different.

Please, John, just try to understand.

No, you understand!

John, please, I don't like it.

I don't ask for gratitude
for all I've done for you.

All I ask is that you fulfill
your duties as a wife.

What are you doing here?

Hello.

- Hello.
- Hello.

I'll have a new contract drawn
up tomorrow, John John.

But don't you worry.
- Lizzie!

Lizzie.

Well, well.

If it isn't Mrs. John Cree.

Three months of married
life and you're missing

the roar of the greasepaint already.

Oh, nonsense.

I've been too busy to miss anything.

Oh, what tosh!

Little Lizzie without an audience.

You mustn't let that rotten
man order you about so.

John is perfectly happy
for me to perform.

Still going to play the lead
in "Misery Junction."

Oh, come of it, Lizzie.

That man's so petrified of failure

he'll never bring himself to finish it.

He's writing every day at the library.

It's almost complete.

I'm telling you as a friend, Lizzie.

Forget "Misery Junction." Forget John.

If you want your name etched in stone,

you're gonna have to take
up the chisel yourself.

So, to what do we owe the pleasure?

I'm actually here to see Aveline.

I have a proposition for you, dear.

I'm in need of a ladies' maid.

- Me?
- Mm-hmm.

You must be playing.

I can offer you twice the weekly
wage you're earning here.

What I require is some help
bearing the load of my…

my wifely duties.

Dear god, Lizzie.

Do you know how John's play
is coming along?

Very nicely, he tells me.

You know, there's no need for you

to prepare his nightly cordial, Lizzie.

I can do it.

I make one for myself.

It's no more effort to prepare two.

I'd be happy to make both.

I could bring yours to your quarters

before I take John's to his.

Mm.

What on earth are you doing here?

I should ask you the same thing,

because I know what it
is you're not doing,

and that is writing.

Why tell me "Misery
Junction" was not finished

when it was hardly even begun?
- It was!

It's nearly complete. I've just
put it aside for now.

Put it aside?

I support you financially.

I allow that your every need is met!

Oh, don't pillory me about my damn play

if what really irks you is Aveline.

Why would that irk me?

Go home, Lizzie.

Let me finish my research.

Your research?

Into what?

My play.

My new play.

But what of "Misery Junction"?

I grew tired of Katherine Dove.

Is there a role in it for me?

No, Lizzie.

There is not.

You're a lady now,

and the stage is no place for a lady.

You staged it without permission
and it was poorly received.

"'Misery Junction' leaves
audience in misery, indeed."

Isn't it funny how the savage
reviews are the ones

you can recall word for word?

More! More!

Uncle, please.

You have stolen my honor!

I am innocent!

You wish to be a man?

Just pretend that I'm a women!

It's Lizzie they're mocking, John.

It's not your play.

You lie! This was not for me!

This was for you!

You wish to prove yourself as an actress,

you selfish whore, and you
failed even at that!

You are the failure.

- Jesus!
- See?

Where's the white knight now, John?

You are just as all men.

One more word from your mouth

and I will snap your wretched neck!

…John, go home.

My play was unfinished
and you destroyed it!

Destroyed me and my reputation!

You don't have a reputation!

Who do you believe yourself to be?

You are nobody, John, nobody,
and you never will be!

Get out of here, John.

Out!

Look at you both.

You're clowns.

Worthless clowns.

You're the ones who'll be
forgotten, not me.

Not me.

Whoa! Whoa!

- John?
- Drive on.

- John.
- Giddyup!

John.

John.

John!

That opening night, September the 5th,

it drove him over the edge,
but not to suicide.

It drove him to prove to the world
that he was an artist.

That night, the Golem
made his first kill,

and you think it's your fault.

You are putting words in my mouth.

Why this dance, Lizzie?

Why won't you admit that you came to know

or at least suspect what he'd become?

If this is a dance, it
is you who is leading.

Let me read you the last entry.

"Ratcliffe Highway was a tour de force.

And as an actor may take home
a program as a souvenir,

so I returned with a blood-soaked shawl

belonging to the clothes seller's wife.

The next night, fearful of discovery,

I ventured to destroy it,

and therein lay my mistake.

John, you're home.

I didn't hear you come in.

There were no questions
asked, no recriminations.

I believe a homemade punishment
may be planned for me instead.

I no longer feel safe under my own roof.

I cannot go on like this.

You poisoned him, didn't you?

Lizzie, listen to me.
We have a few minutes.

You can still change your plea. Confess.

You did it because you knew what he was.

You did it because you were
in fear for your life.

I promise you'll have
the sympathy of the jury.

I don't want their sympathy.

Why do you not deserve redemption?

Because you killed him
or because you believe

you created a monster?

What I deserve is to live freely,

and in death be remembered
for my accomplishments,

not as the wife who poisoned her husband,

my name forever tethered to his.

Mrs. Cree.

While that chance
remains, I have no choice

but to cling to it.

Have the jury reached a verdict?

Yes, my lord.

How do the jury find the defendant?

Guilty.

Order!

Order!

Elizabeth Cree, you will be
returned to prison

and taken from there
to a place of execution,

where at 10:00 tomorrow morning,

you will be hanged by the neck
until you are dead.

May the Lord have mercy on your soul.

Inspector Kildare, Scotland Yard.

I need a moment with her, please.

You don't deserve this.

It's done. I hang tomorrow at 10:00.

No. I won't let it happen.

John Cree was a murderer.

I mean to prove it
and appeal for your pardon.

The world needs to know the truth.

I'd like for you to unmask the Golem.

This is your moment, your chance.

I'd like for you to have that.

I'm sorry, sir. We need to leave.

We don't have much time.

The manuscript of "Misery
Junction" is handwritten.

Dan may still have it.

I shall stop this. I promise you.

You filthy…

Here we are again!

Lizzie paid for the hire of the theatre.

I advised her against it,
but she was adamant.

And it was not a success.

That's putting it mildly.

So put it any way that you will.

Barely any tickets sold,

but Lizzie insisted on a full house,

so she took to the streets
and gave them away to the poor.

Ah.

Aha! Here it is.

"Misery Junction."

It's typeset.

Oh, I don't have the original
manuscript, I'm afraid.

A usual practice is to have it archived,

unless the author asks for it
back, which he didn't.

Archived… Where?

The librarian agreed
to open up early, sir.

He should be here any moment.

I pray he is.

They hang her at 10:00.

Lizzie!

Lizzie!

Lizzie!

Lizzie.

I'm ready.

But this is most odd.

Should be here.

Could someone have withdrawn it?

Not unless they did so just now.

Quickly, the door.

Sir!

Unhand me! I've done nothing wrong.

Then perhaps you can tell us
why the hurry to obtain this?

I plan to rewrite it, sir.

Demand a production.

A topical shocker about Lizzie Cree.

Now she's to be hanged, it'll be a smash.

Really? So you're a writer now,

are you, miss Ortega?

No, sir.

But it won't require much work.

It was the story of her life, after all.

My idea is to begin
the play at the gallows,

then retrace each step
that led her to them.

I cannot help but think that the addition
of a murderous husband

might be popular.

I told you all I know, sir.

John is innocent.

Jesus!

You're the ones who'll be forgotten!

Not me.

Is it time?

There's no one here.

They hardly ever admit the public
these days, Mrs. Cree.

Only for the most hated.

Please, no. You must help me.

Please. Please tell them to wait.

Inspector Kildare is coming.
- I'm sorry.

Can't you go any faster?

Prison's just around the corner.

I know!

No, we must wait for him, please.

This is wrong! He will prove it!

I beg you, just a little longer!

I'm sorry.

Come on!

Coming through.

Steady, sir.

- Who are you here for?
- Elizabeth Cree.

Say I'm not too late.

They're just taking her down.
Quick as you can.

Send for the magistrate!

Stop! Stop!

Don't thank me yet.

All they've given me is an hour's grace

to speak to the magistrate.

I've still to convince him
to reduce your sentence.

Don't be glum.

You have the Golem.

The world will know the real
story, and it's you…

you who will know every chapter,
who will tell it.

You have my gratitude. Always.

And you mine.

Lizzie, Lizzie, don't.

Could any believe John Cree
capable of such deeds?

I guarantee it.

Have no doubt.

Then let us bring this to an end.

Here's what you will write.

"I am Elizabeth Cree,
and in September of this year,

I came to know that my husband
was the Limehouse Golem."

All you need to do is tell the truth.

I have never told you anything
but the truth, Kildare.

You shall have your moment, and I mine.

In the temple of fame, our names
will be written side-by-side

in stone for all time.

Who was here on September the 24th?

There were four men
in the reading room that day,

but there's no earthly way of knowing

what anyone read or when they read it.

John. You're home.

I didn't hear you come in.

There were no questions
asked, no recriminations.

I believe a homemade punishment
may be planned for me instead.

I no longer feel safe under my own roof.

I cannot go on like this.

Still, we had agreement
to keep each other's secrets.

And you didn't keep mine, did you?

I wonder what I should do with yours.

I think you should take it to the grave.

Aah!

Mr. Gerrard, sir?

Annie?

Oh, I know, I know.

Few would think a woman
capable of such artistry.

Here we are again!

You were too late?

This, um…

This is probably the last
thing you want at present,

but they're waiting for you downstairs.

You're about to be
the toast of London, John.

I know how much you cared for her.

Just…

Know how grateful
she would be that the world

will know what her bastard
husband really was.

Not just as a murderer,
but as a man who sought to deny her

all she wanted to be.

It's you who saved her honor.

Her memory.

She would've wanted you to have this.

No! We must wait for him. Please!

This is wrong, he will prove it!

I beg you, just a little longer!

I…

I don't believe inspector
Kildare will be coming back.

I am not a poisoner.

I believe you.

I am so much more.

We shall be issuing our full
report on John Cree

in an hour, gentlemen.

Well. It seems the show must go on.

Londoners can sleep easy
in their beds again.

The Golem is no more.

Inspector! Inspector,

any comments on your promotion, sir?

Any last words?

Here we are again!

Let us begin, my friends,

at the end.

N-not the green, love, the red.

Mother doesn't get sick until scene four.

Did anyone check the safety?

Take her weight. Take…

What's going on?

Is she breathing?

We have to get back out there.

You're Lizzie's mother now.

I'll be Lizzie.

Lizzie!