Original subtitles

I think of all the things that have been written about me...

that I am an inhuman female demon,

that I am an innocent victim of a blackguard,

forced against my will and in danger of my own life,

that I was too ignorant to know how to act

and that to hang me would be judicial murder,

that I am well and decently dressed, that I robbed a dead woman to appear so,

that I am of a sullen disposition with a quarrelsome temper,

that I have the appearance of a person rather above my humble station,

that I am a good girl with a pliable nature

and no harm is told of me,

that I am cunning and devious,

that I am soft in the head and little better than an idiot.

And I wonder, how can I be all these different things at once?

I have been an inmate of the Kingston Penitentiary for 15 long years.

I was convicted of murder when I was a young girl,

though at the time, I thought of myself as a grown woman.

Every day I am brought to the governor's house.

They say I am there to do light housework.

Come, come, ladies.

Though mostly I am there to be an object of curiosity.

They stare without appearing to, Doctor, out from under their bonnets.

The reason they want to see me is that I am a celebrated murderess.

For that is what has been written down.

When I first saw it, I was surprised,

because they say "celebrated singer" and "celebrated poetess"

and "celebrated actress,"

but what is there to celebrate about a murder?

All the same, "murderess" is a strong word to have attached to you.

It has a smell to it, that word, musky and oppressive,

like dead flowers in a vase.

Sometimes at night, I whisper it over to myself:

"Murderess! Murderess!"

It rustles like a taffeta skirt across the floor.

"Murderer" is merely brutal. It's like a hammer, or a lump of metal.

I'd rather be a murderess than a murderer, if those are the only choices.

There was much excitement about you coming to Kingston, Dr. Jordan.

Those who wanted to see me pardoned

believed that a report from you could set me free.

You were much better regarded than the other doctors

who came to examine me over the years.

Hold still, Grace. Dr. Smith needs to get a proper measurement.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

They thought you could find answers where others could not.

I'd be careful if I were you. She's murdered two people in cold blood.

She's in here for good reason.

Good morning, Grace.

I understand you're afraid of doctors.

I must tell you right away that I myself am a doctor.

My name is Dr. Jordan. Dr. Simon Jordan.

I suppose you're here to measure my head.

I would not dream of it.

Are you American, the doctor they brought to write a report?

-Yes. -Do you have a bag with knives in it?

No. I'm not the usual kind of doctor. I do no cutting open.

Are you afraid of me, Grace?

It's too early to tell.

This is for you.

I'm not a dog.

No, Grace, I can see you're not a dog.

What is it, Grace?

It has such an odor of the outdoors.

Can you tell me what it is?

-An apple. -And what does an apple remind you of?

Who shall we marry?

I beg your pardon, sir. I don't understand you.

I think you understand me well enough.

Apple pie.

-Ah. Something you eat. -Well, I should hope you would, sir.

That's what an apple is for.

And is there any kind of apple you should not eat?

A rotten one, I suppose.

Are you a preacher?

No. I'm not a preacher.

I am a doctor that works not with bodies, but with the mind.

Diseases of the mind and the brain, and the nerves.

No. I won't go back there to the asylum.

--Flesh and blood cannot stand it.

They took liberties, sir.

They don't listen to reason there, sir.

And that is what I am here for. To listen to reason.

But if I am to listen to you, you will have to talk to me.

You won't believe me, sir.

Anyway, it's all been decided, and what I say will not change anything.

You should ask the lawyers and judges and the newspaper men,

they seem to know my story better than I do myself.

In any case, I've lost that part of my memory entirely.

They must have told you that.

I would like to help you, Grace.

If you will try to talk, I will try to listen.

My interest is purely scientific.

It is not only the murders that should concern us.

-Perhaps I'll tell you lies. -Perhaps you will.

Perhaps you will tell them without meaning to,

perhaps you will tell them deliberately. Perhaps you are a liar.

There are those who said I am one.

That is a chance we'll have to take.

Will they take me back to the asylum?

Or will they keep me in solitary confinement with nothing to eat but bread?

You have my word that as long as you continue to talk with me

and do not become violent, you will remain as you were.

I have the governor's promise.

Till tomorrow then.

The apple of the Tree of Knowledge is what you meant, Dr. Jordan.

Good and Evil. Any child could guess it.

I thought, he wishes to go home and say to himself,

"I stuck in my thumb and pulled out a plum, what a good boy am I."

But I will not be anybody's plum.

You're a doctor's whore now, aren't you, Grace Marks?

A doctor's whore.

Quiet!

What did you discover today when you examined Grace?

I believe in pursuing the patient's sublimated dreams and memories.

It is important to build trust and this does not happen in one sitting.

Mm. There are a great number of us,

especially those of us on the committee to pardon Grace Marks,

who are anxious to see Grace released as soon as possible.

She has languished too long in prison for one so young

and vulnerable at the time of her conviction.

When can our committee expect to see your report?

I have some questions about the trial itself.

I went to the pump, and on turning around, I saw McDermott

dragging Nancy along the yard leading from the back kitchen to the front kitchen.

Grace said at the time of her arrest

that she didn't know where Nancy was.

-But at the trial itself... -He said, "Better to get it done with.

Open the trap door and I'll throw her down in the cellar."

...she claimed to have seen McDermott dragging Nancy by the hair

and tossing her down the stairs.

Did she? I don't recall.

She did say she was sorry that Nancy was dead.

-Anyone might say that. -I suppose.

Also we have McDermott's statement, made just before he was hanged.

He claimed that Grace strangled Nancy with her own kerchief.

The man had already told several different stories

and was a notorious liar into the bargain.

Grace Marks made me do it! She's a whore.

Murderer!

- To turn Devil's advocate... - Hang her!

...just because a man is known to lie, it does not always follow that he does so.

Is this type of inquiry bothering you?

Hm. Not at all, Dr. Jordan.

But we are hoping you will write a report favorable to Grace Marks.

That is why we have brought you here.

-Yes, I appreciate that. -So when can we see your report?

It would be helpful if I could meet with Grace

in a setting that implied more trust.

You mentioned she'd been doing housework for the governor of the penitentiary.

How did this come about?

Her behavior in prison was exemplary

and the governor's wife allowed her to spend her days there.

But recently she did have a fit there, which terrified the family.

Would it be possible to persuade them to allow her back into the house?

- I could meet with her there. - I shall try.

She has a liking for Grace, and no doubt she enjoys

the curiosity that Grace arouses in the ladies of the spiritualist circle.

-I feel something coming. -Shh, shh, shh.

We will wait for your dear son William.

So I'll meet Grace tomorrow at the governor's house?

I'm sure I can arrange it. And how are your accommodations?

Very satisfactory. Thank you for all your efforts, Reverend.

We feel certain it will be worth our while. I'll see you tomorrow.

Mrs. Humphrey.

Good evening. I have made you some tea.

How very kind of you.

-Good night, Dr. Jordan. -Good night, Reverend.

Well, Grace, I see you've got a new sweetheart, a doctor no less.

He'd better keep a sharp eye out or you'll have him flat on his back.

Flat on his back in the cellar with his boots off and a bullet through his heart.

If you really thought that of me, you should hold your dirty tongues,

or one dark night I'll have them out of your mouths,

and I won't need a knife, I'll just take hold with my teeth and pull.

I'll thank you to keep your filthy screw's hands to yourself.

There are some that take pleasure

in the distress of a fellow mortal, Doctor,

and most especially if they think that fellow mortal has committed a sin,

which adds an extra relish.

As lively as a rooster with its neck fresh wrung.

But which among us has not sinned, as the Bible tells us?

I should be ashamed of myself to take such delight in the suffering of others.

It's difficult for me to begin talking.

I've not talked very much in 15 years. I don't know what you want me to say.

It's what you want to say to yourself that's of interest to me.

I have no wants of that kind. It isn't my place to want to say anything.

Tell me about the quilt you're making.

It's for Lydia, the governor's daughter. It's a log cabin quilt.

Every young woman should have one before marriage.

It means the home,

and at the center there's always a red square, which means the hearth fire.

This one's for everyday, not as fancy as marriage quilts.

What are the marriage quilts?

Well, according to my friend,

there are three quilts every woman should make before her marriage:

the Tree of Paradise, the Flower Basket and the Pandora's Box.

Sometimes, in my days as a maid, I would hang them up to dry all in a row.

They'd look like flags hung out by an army as it goes to war.

What else does that make you think of, Grace?

Well, since that time, I've thought,

why have women chosen to sew such flags and lay them on the tops of beds?

For they make the bed the most noticeable thing in a room.

And then I thought, it's for a warning.

Because you may think a bed is a peaceful thing, sir.

To you it may mean rest and comfort and a good night's sleep.

But it isn't so for everyone.

There are many dangerous things that may take place in a bed.

It's where we are born, that's our first peril in life.

It's where women give birth, which is often their last.

And it's where the act takes place between men and women, sir,

that I will not mention to you, but I suppose you know what it is.

Some call it love, others despair,

or merely an indignity they must suffer through.

And finally beds are what we sleep in, and where we dream,

and often where we die.

But I did not have these fancies about quilts until after I was in prison...

where you have a lot of time to think, and no one to tell your thoughts to,

and so you tell them to yourself.

So, Grace, you consider a bed to be a dangerous place?

-Are you laughing at me, sir? -No.

Of course I don't think it's a dangerous place every time you get into it, sir.

Only on those occasions which I have mentioned.

Have I offended you somehow? I did not intend to.

Then I will take you at your word and hope such will be returned in the future.

Of course.

Can you tell me what this is, Grace?

-It's a beet. -Does it remind you of anything?

A Sunday roast, I suppose.

Always best to peel beets after they come out of the oven and not before.

They can be very hard to clean.

Boiled beets don't have the same flavor at all.

They're a hard vegetable to clean a stain from.

If you could make a quilt for yourself, which pattern would you make?

I don't know, sir.

Perhaps it would be a Job's Tears, or a Tree of Paradise.

Or maybe an Old Maid's Puzzle, because I am an old maid, wouldn't you say, sir,

and I've certainly been very puzzled.

You must have thought about what pattern you would make,

having spent so many years making them for others.

Saying what you want brings bad luck, sir; then the good thing will never happen.

You should be careful wanting anything, as you may be punished for it.

-This is what happened to Mary Whitney. -Who's Mary Whitney?

-A friend. -And how did you know her?

It was a long time ago. It isn't important, really.

Grace, you may be frank with me.

I have no reason not to be frank, sir.

A lady may conceal things, as she has her reputation to lose, but I am beyond that.

I can say anything, or if I don't wish to, I needn't say anything at all.

You don't care about my good opinion of you, Grace?

I've already been judged, sir. Whatever you may think, it's all the same.

Judged rightly, Grace?

Rightly or wrongly does not matter. People want a guilty person.

If there has been a crime, they want to know who did it.

-Then you've given up hope? -Hope of what, sir?

Well, hope of being set free.

Now, why would they want to do that, sir?

A murderess is not an everyday thing.

I save my hopes for smaller matters,

in hopes of having a better breakfast tomorrow than I had today.

They said at the time they were making an example of me.

That's why it was the death sentence, and then the life sentence.

But what does an example do afterwards? The story is over.

How do you fill in the rest of your time? Do you feel you've been treated unjustly?

I don't know what you mean, sir.

Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat.

An odd choice of words, sir, I'm not a cat.

-I remember, nor are you a dog. -I beg your pardon, sir.

-Let us begin at the beginning. -Of what, sir?

-The beginning of your life. -I was born, sir, like anyone else.

I have your confession here. Let me read what you said in it.

That is not really my confession.

It's what lawyers told me to say, and the things made up by the newspapers.

The first time I set eyes on a newspaper man,

I thought, "Does your mother know you're out?"

They wouldn't know the truth if they fell over it.

Grace, who is Mary Whitney?

It is written underneath your portrait at the front of your confession.

"Grace Marks, alias Mary Whitney."

-Oh, yes. It's not a good likeness of me. -And Mary Whitney?

That was the name I gave when McDermott was running away with me.

You gave any name that came into your head?

Oh, no, sir. Mary Whitney was once a particular friend of mine.

She was dead, sir, and I did not think she would mind if I used her name.

She sometimes lent me her clothing too.

She was always very kind to me.

And without her, it would have been a different story entirely.

Will you tell me your story, Grace?

The real one is not in your confession, as you say. Will you tell me?

-What part of it, sir? -From the beginning.

What it says at the beginning of my confession is true enough.

I did indeed come from the north of Ireland,

though I thought it very unjust when they wrote down

that "both of the accused were from Ireland by their own admission."

That made it sound like a crime, and I don't know being from Ireland is a crime,

though I've seen it treated as such.

But our family were Protestants, and that is different.

We left Ireland with little warning.

My father was English and while in Ireland he got into the company

of some Orangemen of bad reputation,

and there was a house burnt down of a Protestant gentleman

that had taken the side of the Catholics...

Get up. Be quick about it.

...and another one found with his head bashed in.

We left rather quickly.

Why did God saddle me with such a litter of thieving Irish scoundrels?

The world doesn't need more of you.

You should all have been drowned like kittens in a sack.

Stupid woman!

Michael, Claire.

Come, pick it up!

I will confess to a wicked thought.

When I had the young ones all lined up, I thought,

I might just push one or two of them over,

and then there would not be so many to feed, nor so many clothes to wash.

I thought maybe I could spare them this life with this man.

But it was just a thought, put into my head by the Devil, no doubt.

Or more likely by my father, for at that age I was still trying to please him.

Three crows in a row mean death.

My foot will never touch land again.

Mother, why do you say that?

I feel it in my bones.

And so it turned out.

My father spent most of the voyage passed out from drink.

Through the storms and sickness, we barely knew where he was.

Which was just as well.

There was more than enough suffering without him.

I thought of Jonah in the belly of the whale,

but at least he only had to stay there three days,

and we had eight weeks ahead of us.

And he was in the belly all by himself

and did not have to listen to the moaning of others.

I did not mean to offend your sensibilities, sir.

The ship was, after all, only a slum in motion, though without the gin shops.

And I hear they have better ships now.

Perhaps you'd like to open a window.

O come hither and behold the works of God.

He turned the sea into dry land so that they went through the water on foot.

There did we rejoice.

The passengers were Catholics and Protestants mixed.

In health, they would have squabbled and fought, as there is no love lost.

A sea voyage may be God's reminder to us that we are all flesh,

and all flesh is weak.

There is no way to avoid attending both, I suppose.

No one seems to object while they're on water.

...for thou, O God, hath proved us. Thou hast also tried us.

My stomach, Grace.

It is not cholera, which will be a relief to the captain.

Most likely a tumor.

There's no telling without cutting her open, and that will kill her for certain.

Can we carry her up on deck for the air?

It would be a mistake to move her.

The air is so foul down here, I am half choked.

There there.

There there.

Here are some spirits I have for medicine.

It would do you good to cry, girl.

She's in Heaven now with the blessed saints, even though she was a Protestant.

We have not opened a window to let the soul out.

Perhaps it will not be counted against your poor mother.

There are none to be opened down here.

I have never heard of a custom like that.

Each of you, kiss mother goodbye.

We therefore commit this body to the deep, to be turned into corruption,

looking for the resurrection of the body

and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ,

who at his coming shall change our vile body,

that it may be like his glorious body, according to the mighty working

whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.

Imagine that. Your teapot breaks now, when the waves have calmed down.

My Auntie Pauline gave it to us just before we left.

No doubt it came untied when someone tried to steal it.

She's trapped because we couldn't open a window, just like you said.

Now she'll be caught down here forever and ever,

sailing back and forth across this hideous dark ocean.

You see what queer ideas a person can get?

But I was only a young girl at the time, and very ignorant.

Can you continue, Grace? What happened when you arrived?

We arrived in Toronto and the people appeared to be very mixed

as to the kinds of them, with skins of all hues,

which was very new to me;

and you could never tell what speech you were going to hear.

Altogether, it was just like the Tower of Babel.

Get the bloody breakfast on, you lazy witch.

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that my father's character would not improve

without my mother there to temper it.

What's taking so long?

You stupid ugly whore!

I'm sorry, Grace.

I wasn't myself.

I don't know what got into me.

I did not want to be led into sin of that kind,

though I was afraid that the fiery red anger

in my heart would drive me to it.

It's time you went out to earn your own bread and send your wages back.

You're eating me out of house and home, you ungrateful slut.

I've asked the landlady to find a job for you.

Who will look after the little ones?

Katey.

Katey?

Yes. Now get out and send money back.

Before I box your ears so hard you can't hear a thing.

I told them I would come back for them.

And at the time, I meant it.

Forgive me, sir, I'm a little tired.

Yes. No wonder.

We'll begin again tomorrow.

Before I go, could you tell me a little more about Mary Whitney?

You mentioned her earlier.

Well, sir, that will bring me to a happier part of my story.

And you will see why it was her name I used.

Our landlady secured me employment at a fine house in Toronto.

You must be Grace, the new girl. I'm Mary.

You shouldn't stand here. I'll take you in the servants' entrance.

You must have had a very long journey.

You won't see much of Mr. Alderman Parkinson.

When you do, you might be blinded.

He has so many gold pins and snuff boxes and gold watch chains,

you could get five necklaces if he were melted down,

with the earrings to match.

Serve cheese biscuits warm.

And give this room a little more going over.

And make sure that there are four bottles of good claret for after lunch.

That's Mrs. Parkinson.

She ought to be the alderman herself, she is a better man.

This is the parlor.

They have two sons.

They're both away in the States at college, which is just as well.

Mrs. Honey, cook.

This is Grace Marks.

Now I'll show you to your bed, which is the same as mine.

-Agnes, Effie, this is Grace Marks. -Hello.

Effie is quite melancholic.

Her young man was transported to Australia for being in the rebellion

and he died there.

She tried to hang herself with her apron strings and they broke,

and they found her out of her mind and she had to be put away.

What rebellion?

What rebellion? You must have just arrived.

It was against the gentry who run everything here

and keep all of the land and the money for themselves.

Mr. William Lyon Mackenzie, he led the rebellion but it failed,

so he escaped in women's clothing over the lake and into the States.

He could have been betrayed many times, but he wasn't,

because he was a fine man who stood up for the ordinary farmers.

Anyway, it's best not to mention politics. Except amongst friends.

I don't know anything about politics so I wouldn't mention it in any case.

Are you a radical?

You're not to tell the Parkinsons. They've heard a different story from me.

But my father lost his farm.

The government troops burnt the log cabin that he built while fighting off bears.

And then he died while hiding in the winter woods,

and my mother died of grief.

But our time will come, we will be revenged.

She had a very fierce look when she said this.

Grace, when you get your wages, you must hide them.

-Made a pocket in the mattress here. -My wages go directly to my father.

Didn't you say your father was a drunk? You can't give him your wages.

But what about the children? How will they survive?

It won't benefit your brothers and sisters.

-He'll just drink it away. -I'm afraid of him.

He won't get at you here, and if he tries, I'll speak with Jim in the stables.

He's a large man with friends.

You may be very young and as ignorant as an egg,

but you're bright as a new penny, Grace Marks.

And the difference between ignorant and stupid is that ignorant can learn.

I think we're gonna get along just fine together.

In the morning I'll have Miss Honey advance you your wages

so we can get you a proper dress.

Very sorry to interrupt, Dr. Jordan.

I wanted to know if I could bring any refreshment.

No, we're fine. Thank you. We're in the middle of...

Um...

I'm sorry, Doctor. Are we not done?

Yes, yes, of course. That was quite a lot for one day.

Shall we begin again tomorrow?

I went to the pump, and on turning around,

I saw McDermott dragging Nancy along the yard,

leading from the back kitchen to the front kitchen.

This was about seven o'clock.

I said to McDermott, "I didn't think you were going to do it that minute."

He said it was better to get it done with...

In the courtroom, and in the asylum, every word that came out of my mouth

was as if it was burnt into the paper they were writing it on.

He said, "Open the trap door and I'll throw her down in the cellar."

And once I said a thing, I knew I could never get the words back,

only they were the wrong words...

I gave him a piece of white cloth and followed him to the trap door.

...'cause whatever I said would be twisted around,

even if it was the plain truth in the first place.

But now I feel as if everything I say is right.

As long as I say something, anything at all,

you smile and write it down.

When you write, I feel as if you are drawing on me,

drawing on my skin with the feather end of an old-fashioned goose pen.

As if hundreds of butterflies have settled all over my face

and are softly opening and closing their wings.

But underneath that is another feeling,

a feeling of being wide-eyed awake and watchful.

It's like being wakened suddenly in the middle of the night,

by a hand over your face, and you sit up with your heart going fast,

and no one is there.

And underneath that is another feeling still...

a feeling of being torn open,

not like a body of flesh, it is not painful as such, but like a peach.

And not even torn open but too ripe and splitting of its own accord.

And inside the peach there's a stone.

♪ Come all you fair ♪

♪ And tender girls ♪

♪ That flourish in your prime ♪

♪ Prime ♪

♪ Beware, beware ♪

♪ If you're good and fair ♪

♪ Let no man steal your time ♪

♪ Time ♪

♪ Let no man steal ♪

♪ Your time ♪

♪ For when your time It is passed and gone ♪

♪ He'll care no more for you ♪

♪ You ♪

♪ And every place Where your time was waste ♪

♪ Shall spread all o'er with rue ♪

♪ Rue ♪