All language subtitles for Dead Still s01e01_English

(logo chiming)

(eerie orchestral music)

- You look beautiful, Mary.

Hmm.

(door creaks)

(shoes clattering)

- Mr. Blennerhasset,

what a wonderful
job you've done.

- Oh, Mary.

- Ah, let's--
- My darling Mary.

- Let's not touch Mary.

- I've never seen her so
alive, Mr. Blennerhasset.

- [Mrs. Carew] (sobbing) Mary.

- No, young lady,
I'll think you'll find

her hair was perfect.
(Mrs. Carew sobbing)

Let's get the
photograph, shall we?

And then you can touch
her all you want.

- [Mrs. Carew] No cheap
trinkets on my Mary. (sobs)

- You can get rid of
this bloody thing.

I'll not have it buried
with my daughter.

- I think you'll find

I had her posed in quite
a dignified position.

(Mrs. Carew sobbing)

- Ready, Mr. Blennerhasset.

- Give me a few minutes, I
need to liven her up a bit.

(women sobbing)

- [Mrs. Carew] Oh, my Mary.

(camera shutter clicks)

(eerie orchestral music)

(rain pattering)
(birds chirping)

(door creaks)

(feet clattering)

(crow cawing)

(horse snorts)

- Young man, could you put
those boxes down, please,

I've got my own system.

- Mr. Blennerhasset, when
can we see the photograph?

- (sighs) Well, Mrs. Carew,

you haven't decided
which case you want.

You could have plush-lined
or you could have velvet or--

- Will we have it
for the funeral?

It would be such a comfort
for everyone to see it.

- Well, Mr. Carew, I'll
have it for you before that.

Now could--
(feet shuffling)

Stop, you're carrying
that upside down.

Carruthers, could you
come and help, please.

You know how to pack it.

- Not really, but
God knows, I swear.

- I think velvet might be nice.

- If only Mary were alive
herself to see the photograph.

- Well, unfortunately,
she isn't.

- Look, I have it, I have it!

(case thuds)
(foot crunches)

- [All] Ah!

- Oh, that sounded like a
nasty one, Mr. Blennerhasset.

- It sounded like a break.

- It might be just a
fracture if you're lucky.

- I'm fine.

Carruthers, could you help
me to my carriage, please?

(gentle orchestral music)

(hooves clicking)
(carriage wheels rumbling)

- [Carruthers]
Stand, stand, stand.

(bell dinging)

- Has much changed?

- (sighs) No, Miss Vickers,

but been smoking a lot more.

- Good for you, Carruthers.

Me too.

(uplifting orchestral music)

(door knocker clanking)

- (sighs) You don't
have to do that.

- [Nancy] Then go to bed.
- I will not go to bed.

You can't tell me what to do.

I think your mother might
have just sent you here

so she could spy on me.

- Oh, no, I volunteered.

Practically caused a scene.

(glass clinks)

I need to be away from them.

All of them.

- [Brock] Don't do that.

- Uncle, I want
to be an actress.

- Oh.

- And they will mock
me for it at home,

just like they mocked you.

- Yes,

I remember the mocking.

- I was thinking...

Now that I'm living in town,

that I could get some experience

with a bit of theater company,

and, ideally,

never go back home
to our family.

(suspenseful orchestral music)

- Very well, Nancy.

You can stay.

(intense orchestral music)

- Nah, something's not right.

- [Roper] Nothing right
about doing that to yourself.

- That's a queer one.

Slash both your wrists
with a razor, take turns,

then sit real upright,
get comfortable,

and let yourself bleed out,

calm as a lake.

- Oh yeah,

it's a queer one.

- Roper, didn't I just
say it was a queer one?

- Regan, do you need
to be breathing down
my neck like that?

- Well, I wouldn't have to if
your sketches were any better,

but they're shite,
so get used to me.

- I don't think there's
much point sketching this.

- Two identical
suicides in one week,

and they both look very, uh...

- [Roper] Lifelike?

- Yeah, now you're talking.

Did you ever get one of those
memorial photographs done?

- Those odd photos you
get when someone's dead?

- Yeah, one of those.

So you know the way the
dead person looks alive.

- There's a fellow in town,
specializes in that racket.

- Mm, Blennerhasset.

I know his work.

It's hard to tell which is
actually the dead person.

- Mm, it's grim enough.

Look, McGloyn had
IRB connections,

he was up to his neck in debt.

- Nah.

It's never the
most obvious thing.

- It's maybe not done in Cork,

but up here, the obvious
thing is usually the thing.

- Roper, you're a young buck.

Do you ever wanna
sniff out the big catch

and walk your way up the
ladder to Dublin Castle?

- I just want to do the
job at hand, alright?

There's no point making work
for yourself needlessly.

- Right.

You go through his
bins outside there.

Take your time,

you don't want to miss anything.

- What? What do you mean?

- You said it yourself, boy.

It's a queer one.

It's not a delay to stop
and sharpen your sight,

as my father used to say.

(eerie orchestral music)

- Well, this won't
do, for starters.

You're sure you
packed the plate?

- I am personally
offended by that question.

You know how meticulous
I am about my work.

(door creaks)
- How do I know

you haven't become
careless in your old age?

(door thuds)

- [Carruthers] You were
looking for me, so.

- When these cases
were left unattended--

- Careless.

- Did anyone interfere
with this one?

- We didn't see a sinner, no.

- Well, now you're going
to have to take me down

to the Carew
household right away.

- No.

It's near midnight, Uncle,
and they're bereaved.

- Well, don't I know it.

Would do me fit to kill myself,

listening to their
maudlin chatter.

- Well, don't kill yourself
until you take me there.

First thing tomorrow morning.

- Nice to see you two are
still rays of sunshine.

(energetic orchestral music)
(horse hooves clattering)

- [Carruthers] Come on, come on.

(sighs)

- [Carruthers] Whoa,
whoa, whoa, whoa!

(bell dinging)

(door creaks)

- Brock Blennerhasset, the
memorial photographer himself.

- Do I know you?

- No.

I know you.

You did a lovely portrait
of my cousin, Paddy Creen.

- Creen...

Oh yes, killed by a bull.

- There wasn't a
corner of that field

that poor Paddy wasn't
kicked that day.

- If I remember rightly,
he cleaned up quite well.

- Mm.

- Now, is the master
of the house in?

- No, they're at the funeral.

- Oh, yes, of course.

- Detective Frederick Regan,

Dublin Metropolitan Police,

G Division.

My middle name is James,

in case you were
wondering. (chuckles)

- Yes, yes, I was, yeah.

Um, could I possibly come in?

I, um, misplaced a lens cap
here yesterday, I think.

- I'll sweat off my sack,
Mr. Blennerhasset, but, uh,

a small piece of equipment
may be a needle in a haystack.

We've had a spot of
breaking and entering.

I can't stand these
opportunistic bastards,

knowing a poor family is
bereaved and taking advantage.

- Hmm, indeed.

- If I had the means,

it'd be a mighty help to
document crime scenes like this.

Like, you know, the means
of the photography, I mean.

- Well, why don't you save
up and buy yourself a camera.

- I've been trying
to persuade the--

- Would you be a dear

and have a look under
that table for me?

(suspenseful orchestral music)

No, it doesn't seem to be there.

- I keep telling them,
I keep telling them,

having a photographic department
in The Yard is the future.

But will they listen to me?

Will they fuck?

- If any of your
offices do happen

to find a small
item of this size,

could you please tell them to
treat it with the utmost care,

maybe use gloved hands,

and then get them contact
me as soon as possible.

- No problem, Mr. Blennerhasset.

- Thank you so much.

- Erm, you didn't happen
to see anything peculiar

when you were here yesterday?

- No, I don't believe I did.

But then again, I found
that family so overbearing

that I hardly noticed
anything else.

- They'd put ire on your
hole, wouldn't they?

- Yes, they would.

They would put ire on your hole.

Good day, sir.

- [Carruthers] Home soon?

- [Brock] I'm afraid
not, Carruthers.

- [Carruthers] Oh. (groans)

(church bells chime)

(rain pattering)
(thunder rumbling)

(funeral-goers murmuring)

(sighs)

(mischievous orchestral music)

- I'm sorry again
for your loss, boy.

Um, I was wondering,

you didn't happen to see some

photographic equipment
yesterday, did you?

No?

Okay.

Um, again, I'm sorry for
your loss, young lady.

I was wondering,
did you happen to--

(young lady sobs)

Oh, I'm sorry.

(crow caws)

Sorry again, madam, for--
- Oh, Mr. Blennerhasset,

you came, you came.
- Oh!

- Oh, Mr. Blennerhasset,

have you brought the
photograph of poor Mary?

- Not quite, but
all in good time.

- You said today.

- Yes, but my, um, my
foot that was injured

in that quite unnecessary
incident yesterday

has set me back somewhat.

- It would, I suppose.

Oh.

- Ah!
(cane clatters)

- Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

(Brock coughs)

That was nearly an early
grave for you, sir.

- (chuckles) Thank you.

- Alright, Mr. Blennerhasset?

- Yes, fine, thank
you, thank you.

Bloody nuisance of a man.

- Brock Blennerhasset,
as I live and breathe,

I love your work.

I'll get that for you, sir.

- I wouldn't do
that if I were you.

- Nah, don't worry.

I dug this one.

- Right.

(suspenseful orchestral music)

- (grunts) Here.

- How very kind.

- Look, I hope you don't
find me too overfamiliar.

It's an honor to
meet such a pioneer

in the field of
Irish photography.

I know some people find
your work quite distasteful,

but not me.

I think it's an art
myself, to be honest.

- Oh, yes, you're right,
it is an art, hmm.

- The name's Conall Molloy.

I've seen your work.

The head man here, Billy Barron,

showed me an elegant
photograph of his uncle,

Mr. Edwin Wainwright.

- Oh, oh yes, Wainwright.

He was in the canal
for four or five days.

- And a mighty job you
did of covering it up.

- Right, well, uh...

Thank you for your help.

Good day.

(thunder rumbling)
(rain pounding)

- Eh, did you hurt
yourself, sir?

- Yes, just a mild fracture.

- Look, I was wondering,
Mr. Blennerhasset,

if you're in need of assistance.

I am looking for
a new line of work

and I like to sketch
street scenes,

real life, the characters of
Dublin, that sort of thing,

and photography is an area

I would love to
gain experience in.

- Hmm.

You look like the type of chap

who likes to get
his hands dirty.

- Well, I am a gravedigger, sir.

- Ah, yes, that you are.

Well, perhaps I might
have some work for you,

and you'll be happy to know
that it involves some digging

for information.

- Uh, I see. Information.

- Yes.

- Alright.

- Well, there's my address.

Come and visit when
you've finished work.

- Certainly.

Thank you, sir.

(ominous orchestral music)

(rake clangs)

Billy, be good, man.

- Oh, here we go.

- Look, I just need some
quarters to do a small job.

- No, there's digging
to be done, Molloy.

It's consumption season.

- Yeah, don't I know it.

Look, I promise I'll do
a double shift in return.

(horse whinnies)

My mother needs me to
take the extra work,

and you don't want to
be letting my ma down,

now do you, Billy?

- I certainly do not.

Actually, I owe Dymphna a
little visit now I think of it.

- (laughs) Oh, no, that's, uh,

that sounds a bit
ominous there, Billy.

Yeah, so you best leave off.

She's up to here
with men anyway.

- Oh.

- Anyhow, thanks
for that, Billy.

You're an absolute
gent, good luck.

- But, but I have
flowers to give her.

(people murmuring)
(horse hooves clattering)

(dog barking)
(baby wailing)

- I've no call for
that many flowers.

- And she got them
off the grave.

- The suit is too
big, isn't it, Ma?

- When was the last
time you wore it?

Siobhan's funeral?

- Yeah, I felt more
comfortable then.

- It's about time you
start dressing neat again.

- There's no call
in dressing neat

if it's only the
dead around you.

(baby crying)

- Maybe not for much longer, eh?

(door knocker clanking)

(gentle orchestral music)

- Yes?

- Er, I have an appointment
with Mr. Blennerhasset, ma'am.

- How exciting.

Is that?

- It's, it's mud,

and you'd be surprised

how much I've already
scraped off, actually.

- Now, a photographic
plate has gone missing.

A very, very important
photographic plate.

- Might have been stolen?

- Well, it's not
in the family home.

Carruthers has searched his
carriage countless times

and Nancy has searched
every corner of this place

under my watchful eye.

Mr. Molloy, you do appreciate
my reputation, don't you?

- Yeah, er, many of the
grieving families that I've met

in the course of my work--

- Yes, grave digging.

- Yeah.

Well,

they've been comforted so
greatly by your photography.

You bring the dead to life.

- Yes, indeed.

Well, this photograph

is more important to
this family than money,

and my reputation is more
important to me than money.

I want you to go to
other photographers

and see if they've encountered
a photographic plate

in the last 24 hours.

- Yeah.

- And under no circumstances,

are you to say who you work for.

- Mr. Molloy,

here are a list of
photographic studios in Dublin.

The ones underlined

are ones my uncle feels are
out to get him the most.

- You have beautiful
handwriting, ma'am.

- I wrote that.

- Mr. Molloy.

A small present.

He says he doesn't
need them anymore.

- That's very good of you.

- It's just a bit tidier.

- Uh.

- Um, maybe do that outside?

(lively orchestral music)

(shoes clattering)
(people murmuring)

(ominous orchestral music)

(door creaks)

- You have a visitor, Uncle.

(shoes clattering)

- Well, now as I have it,

the parents didn't
approve of the marriage.

They didn't know she was...

And, uh, this
Desmond Roth, well...

he's a Fenian from a
working class background,

and when Mary got sick,

he couldn't afford
to take care of her.

(Brock clears throat)

Ah.

So as she went
home to convalesce,

there she died.

So on the morning
of the funeral,

the suspect, Roth, broke in,

mad with grief he was,
to see the dead wife,

and when she wasn't there,

I suspect that he
stole a momento.

(Frederick chuckles)

- [Brock] Hmm.

- And that got me kind of
thinking about your search.

- Oh, why would he
take a lens cap?

- Maybe it wasn't a lens cap.

Maybe you lost the photo of Mary

and naturally didn't want the
parents to find out about it.

- (laughs) That's nonsense,
it's developing as we speak.

- Give us a look.

- No.

- The family kept her from him

because he was a former
convict, a Fenian agitator,

and an enemy of the Crown,

hence my employment to the case.

So it's, uh,

it's a good thing that you
have that photo safe and sound,

because imagine if
we lost it though.

- Huh, ah?

They'll be dousing
them, alright, huh?

(both laughing)

- Imagine that?

You would've lost the last
picture of their daughter,

(Brock coughs)

and lied to the DMP about it.

I'll head on.

- (clears throat) Nancy,

would you see the
detective out, please?

- Yes, of course.

- Thank you for your time.

And if you think of anything,

let me know.

(suspenseful orchestral music)

(rain pattering)
(shoes clattering)

(feet pounding)

(muffled screaming)

- What's that now?

- (breathes heavily) I
said call the police.

- What happened?

- You're not the police, I
don't have to tell you anything.

- Er, do you want to be untied?

- (sighs) Do I,
what do you think?

Untie me, release me.

Ah!

Why are you here?

- Erm, I, I'm just looking
for a stolen camera plate.

It's a picture of a family?

- A family with honor
that happens to be dead?

- No.

- The man who ransacked me,

he wanted to develop a
picture of his dead wife.

You're an errand boy for
Blennerhasset, aren't you?

- No, I don't know
who that is, so.

- Of course.

He wouldn't be caught dead
talking to ol' Rubinstein.

- I don't know
what Blennerhasset.

- Oh, that's good,

then you won't care he'll
be getting an angry madman

arriving to his studio.

- What was that now?

- The beast.

He didn't know who
Blennerhasset was either

so I gave him a
good recommendation

to get his photo developed.

Not that you care.

Why would you, you
don't know him.

(feet thumping)

I give out.

- You could have
saved us the trouble

of searching everywhere.

- I am not telling some
loud mouth policeman

that I lost a photograph.

He might tell the
Carews, he might blab,

and I don't want anyone
having any leverage over me.

(door banging)

Now if that's that
damned policeman,

you tell him to
make an appointment

just like everyone else.

(church bells chime)
(shoes clattering)

(door banging)

- Yes?
- In we go.

(Nancy gasps)

(door slamming)

(intense orchestral music)

(shoes clicking)

(door knocker clanking)

(Conall grunts)

- Well, aren't you
there, like a good man.

(knuckles thudding)
(men grunting)

(knife scrapes)

Try anything like that again,

and you'll be wearing my knife
as a hat. (breathes heavily)

(men panting)

- Molloy, you came back.

- Why is she tied
up and you're not?

- Oh, she has a tendency to
move quickly and be very loud.

- You'll do this job for me

and neither of you's
will make any fuss.

(chair rattles)

- Oh, Jesus.

- Molloy, as you can see,

Mr. Roth here has
went to great lengths

to attain his dearly
departed wife's photograph,

which he stole from me

while I waited for the doctor.

- Shouldn't have
left the case open.

- Well, under
threat of his knife

and the one he
carries in his belt.

- And a knife in my boot.

- What?
- And the knife in his boot.

I will undertake the
development of the photograph

and put this whole
matter to rest.

- Ooh.

- No.

- Wait, just wait.

- Molloy, let him tie you up.

What else are you going to do?

- I'd like to assist.

- I'd like to assist you
headfirst if you keep talking.

- Uh, Mr. Roth?

Mr. Roth, um,

this man is my assistant,

and as you can see
by my predicament,

I need assistance.

So, um, if you want
your job done quickly...

- So long as he's quiet or
we got a fear of stabbing

when there's a lot
of sudden noise.

(eerie orchestral music)

(water swishing)

- [Desmond] I don't
wanna see them.

- Well, the only
photographs I took of Mary

was with her family.

- They made her weak
and made her vulnerable,

and now they get a picture
of her, and I don't?

Well, if I can't have
a picture with her,

neither can they.

- Wait!

Maybe we can arrange
a photograph.

- What, Molloy.

Are you gonna put your grave
digging skills to good use?

- No, I meant,
maybe there's a way

we can take Mary out the image.

Perhaps we can cut her out

and just place her in
a case all of her own.

Right, Mr. Blennerhasset?

- Well, I would be loathe
to compromise the image,

but if that's what you want.

- You dig graves?

- Yeah,

or hopefully not
for much longer.

- And you photograph the dead?

- Better than anyone, yes.

- Well, I want a photograph

of the two of us.

- Of the two of who?

- So of the two
of you's together?

- We fetch my Mary.

- Fetch? Um...

- I don't think fetch
is a very good--

(Desmond grunts)

You know, Molloy here,

dug the very grave that
your Mary lies in, hmm?

- If you are suggesting
that we're gonna dig up

that poor woman instead of
just altering a photograph,

you're outta your minds,

you're absolutely raving mad.

- I wanna see her!

I want my photograph!

- Or maybe a light disinterment?

- There's no such thing
as a light disinterment.

- Look, I am certainly
willing to recompense you

because you would
be working for me,

albeit under the threat of
violence from Mr. Roth here.

So I'm asking you to assist me,

please?

We are going to need
all the help we can get.

- Will she be quiet?

- Mmhmm.

Dig up the grave!

Uncle, I knew you were
morbid but this is too much.

- As far from quiet, she is.

- Ah, ah!

- Look, Nancy, this is a
very delicate intervention.

Now, if the alarm is
going to be raised,

we're going to need you
to put on a performance

to distract any
intruders from our...

activities.

So for now,

please be quiet.

(suspenseful orchestral music)

- Mm.

(chains rattling)

- You circle around,
we'll be back in an hour.

Now if you see we've got
company, do that whistle.

Not now, man, when
we've got company.

- I hear you whistling

and I'll start my lunatic
bereaved widow act.

(gate screeching)

(men grunting)

(shovel thuds)

- Be careful.

Don't damage the casket.

- Open it.

- No, we have to be very--
- Open it, I said.

- Mr. Roth, I do appreciate you
want to see your wife again,

but we are digging a grave
in the middle of the night,

so wouldn't it be better to wait

until we're in the
safety of the chapel?

- Alright.

Well, hurry it up then.

- No, not too much hurry.

We don't want to be
dropping the coffin.

- We all need to
carry the coffin.

- Yeah?

- Each of us are
carrying the coffin?

- Many hands make light work.

- Oh.

(mischievous orchestral music)

(Nancy groans)

(coffin thuds)

Gently does it.

(eerie orchestral music)

- (sobs) It wouldn't be even
a burial without her ring.

- No, no, you can't do that.

- I want her with
me in the picture.

- Yes, but Mary must
stay in the coffin.

Now we don't have time
to pose her efficiently.

- If I don't get my photograph,

this fellow will be
digging three fresh graves,

do you hear me?

(Desmond gasps)

(wind howling)

Did you take this off her?

- Oh, no, no, no, no.

It was the father.

He refused to have
the photograph taken
with that on, so,

um, and I forgot I had it,

but I think it would be nice

if you put it back to
its rightful place.

And we can take a
beautiful photograph

as long as Mary stays
in the coffin, hmm?

- I thought it was gone.

- Well, it's yours again.

Now, um, so if everyone
could cooperate

for the next 20 minutes or so,

then that means that nobody
needs to get stuck with a knife.

- We'll need to
get you cleaned up.

- I don't have
any other clothes,

just bits of my
lunch, I'm sorry.

- Well, we'll just
have to make do

with what we have
then, won't we?

- The lens must be focused
very precisely, like so.

Careful.

(water splashing)

(Carruthers coughs)

- Oh, darkness sucks.

(wind howling)
(bird screeching)

- You look very handsome.

- Molloy, could you adjust
that lamp over there

for me, please?

(coughs) Mr. Roth,

could you possibly just
adjust Mary's face, there.

(voice whistles)

That doesn't sound like the
whistle he normally does,

maybe he's changed it.

But then again, why
would he do that?

- Well, you were the one that's
supposed to recognize it.

Standing here talking about it

quite defeats the
purpose of the whistle.

(dog barking)

- Did someone
alert the rustlers?

- Hey, don't blame us.

Graves dug up,

unholy photo shoots
at all hours,

and you think no
one's gonna notice

what the hell we're doing.

- We'll need a good
story to explain this.

- You can't smoke in here.

(Molloy sighs)

- Alright, hurry it up.

If they try and take me, I
won't go down without a fight.

- Well, that's reason
enough to stay focused.

Okay,

stay still,

and if you could just--

- Uncle, can we please just
take the bloody photo--

- Shh!

(dog barking)
(rain pattering)

(suspenseful orchestral music)

(camera shutter clicks)

- Come on, lads.

(doors rumble)

- Sir, to begin,

we were all kidnapped
by a madman.

- I'm sorry I didn't believe
you about the ol' lens cap.

- Well, yes, got me
wrong, detective.

But that group chased me down

until he'd gotten that
print in his grasp,

now I suspected he's taken
the plate to one of my rivals.

I'd say it was that
A. G. Rubinstein.

There's a man who could do with
some forceful interrogation.

- Oh, I will.

And Desmond Roth won't
walk the streets of Dublin

for very long, don't you worry.

- Ah, careful, lads.

Be careful with that coffin.

- I'll fetch Carruthers.

- Er, Mr. Blennerhasset,

I was wondering if I could ask
your expertise on a matter.

- I don't see why not.

- Do you think it's easy

to pose the bodies, like you do,

for the layman?

(thunder rumbles)

- No, I, I've previously
worked as a mortician

so I'm at an
advantage there, um,

but I suppose with
the right training,

it should be reasonable
enough to do it.

Why do you ask?

- You see, there's been a
couple of deaths recently

that got me wondering.

The daughter of a
judge last week,

and a young salesman
only two days ago.

Suicide it appears,

but the bodies were posed
in the exact same position,

with the same wounds.

- You're right.

- Hmm, queer one.

- Yes, well, very tragic.

But, alas, suicide's not
my area of expertise.

Good day to you, detective.

- Stop.

Right, um...

Leave the coffin to
the gravediggers!

- That wasn't the
whistle we agreed to.

- I got caught off guard

and I had to give a
more discreet whistle.

- There's no such thing
as a discreet whistle.

- Look, you pay me for one job.

That's the job I do best.

- Ha, barely.

Ask and not help,
I can sleep fine.

- This is still
what you do, is it.

- What?

- Use people and
then discard them.

- So I assume you're talking
about the gravedigger.

- I am,

but myself also.

You were the only
person in our family

who showed any interest
in encouraging my talents

and just...

well, me as a person.

And then one day, you no
longer had any use for me.

That was cold, wasn't it, Uncle?

- That was not what it seemed.

No, I am grateful for your help,

isn't that something?

- Is it?

(melancholy orchestral music)

Uncle.

(pencil scratching)

(clock ticking)

- From time to time,

I'm going to need someone
to help carry my equipment

and assist me occasionally,

and you seemed willing to learn,

so that's something I suppose.

- Thank you for the
offer, Mr. Blennerhasset.

I'm such an admirer
of your work.

I just...

I need to be regarded as
more than just a gravedigger.

- So you don't want a job.

- No, I do, I really--
- That's all I need to hear.

- No.

Please hear him out, Uncle.

- I think I've proven myself
during that ghastly affair

that I'm a trustworthy fellow

and I should be
afforded that trust

as your assistant,

and not as just some
filthy errand boy.

Do I have that trust,
Mr. Blennerhasset?

(suspenseful orchestral music)

- Well, that's really (mumbles).

- So?

- He said yes.

He said yes because
he needs an assistant,

don't you, Uncle?

- Yes,

as long as your work is
of the highest standard.

- Oh, it, it will be.

Thank you, sir.

Ma'am.

(shoes clattering)

- Thank you, as ever, Nancy.

(music intensifies)

It seems I'll have
an assistant again.

Well, nothing lasts forever
in this business, does it?

No, a change might do me good,

bring a bit of
life to the place,

hmm?

(people laughing)
(people cheering)

(door clatters)

(feet shuffling)

(bottle clanks)

(man groans)

(table thumps)

(ominous orchestral music)

(man breathes heavily)

(music intensifies)

(chains rattling)

(door creaks)

- [Woman] You shouldn't be here.

- I do apologize, miss, I
was looking for the bathroom.

(intense music)

Marvelous party, by the way,

very entertaining,
lovely people.

(eerie orchestral music)