All language subtitles for The.Alienist.S02E03.Labyrinth.AMZN.TEPES+ION10

I believe I can help to access
your memory of that day

through hypnosis.

You had a mother executed,

and now there's proof
she was not a murderer.

A dog just needs
to know who his master is.

- What do you want?
- Information.

Another child is missing.

The doll connects the two cases.

EH purchased the Ruby Red
doll on four occasions.

- There is an address.
- Hudson Street.

Goo Goo owns that place.

Something doesn't add up.

Someone poisoned the baby

and then gave the baby powdered charcoal.

The most common place
to find it is a maternity ward.

The Lying-In Hospital.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

It is not supernatural.

This is a purely
physical phenomenon, Sara.

You're having doubts,
and right at this moment,

your conscious mind is actively
looking for a reason

not to go through with the hypnosis.

Naturally, I have reservations,

but I'm not fearful for myself.

How can I ask the señora
to submit to something

if I don't know what it is

and whether it might
further traumatize her?

Yet to do this, Sara,

you must freely and fully
embrace this experiment,

without reservation.

And I do so, Laszlo.

Close your eyes.

Focus on my words.

Hypnos was the Greek god of sleep.

His mother, Nyx,
was the goddess of the night.

His father, Erebus,
was the god of darkness.

Hypnos resided in a dark cave

where no light was cast...

not by the sun or moon...

not by the sun or moon.

Now feel your hand.

Your hand feels heavy.

But slowly, it begins
to feel insubstantial.

Light...

lighter...

floating upwards, as light as a feather,

as if an invisible wire were
attached to your index finger.

Such a strange feeling.

Now I want you to go to a calm place.

Of safety, happiness.

A time of innocence.

Perhaps your family home.

Oh.

What is it?

How old are you?

12.

12.

Where are you?

My family's house in Rhinebeck.

I'm outside. It's summer.

Stop.

Synced & corrected by -robtor-
www.addic7ed.com

What is it?

It's the clothing the Napp baby wore.

- What's the black mark?
- Charcoal.

And blood.

It's a fine fabric,

which suggests affluence, does it not?

I believe this was made, not purchased.

Seems to be hand-stitched.
There is no label.

This piping should be closer to the hem,

unless it was made
from an adult woman's skirt,

a very fine one.

So not affluence,
but aspiration to affluence.

The stitching is well-done. Steady hand.

- Perhaps the work of a surgeon.
- Or a seamstress.

Well, there are many things
about Dr. Markoe

that warrant an investigation, but, uh...

Perhaps it is a woman.

Wanting a child, preparing for it.

Or a woman who lost a child.

Is it so simple?

Entia non sunt multiplicanda
sine necessitatem.

Oh, please, Laszlo.
No one speaks Latin anymore.

Entities are not to be
multiplied without necessity.

Occam's razor.

Sometimes we look for complicated reasons

when something is often straightforward.

But why does she kill?

She's angry that other women

are mothering their own children

while hers has been taken from her.

She tries to replace the lost child,

but it cannot possibly feel the same.

A cuckoo in the nest.

She loves it at first,
but then looks at it

as if it were a changeling child,

which of course it is.

I found something.

A way to get you access

to the Lying-In Hospital and Markoe.

The hospital's a charity,

so I figured they gotta
have a few parties

to drum up some cash
from the rich donors, right?

So the papers will come along too.

What did you learn?

- Guests included...
- Not the guests, Bitsy.

- The hosts.
- Oh.

Havemeyer, Milbank, Hardy,

Gildersleeve, Furman, Griswold.

Wait, Gildersleeve. I know the family.

I'm quite good friends with Oggie.

He's the heir to the fortune.

I believe I have invited him
to your bachelor party.

You know, Laszlo, bachelor
parties are supposed to happen

sometime after the
engagement party, not before.

I imagine we could ask
Oggie Gildersleeve for a favor

to get an interview
at the Lying-In Hospital.

I don't see why the hell not.

Sara.

Foul!

Perfectly good touch.

How did you persuade them
to let you down here?

I didn't ask.

Sara Howard, this is Ogden Gildersleeve.

Ogden, this is Sara Howard,
a dear family friend.

Call me Oggie, Miss Howard.

I'm quite sure
I don't know you well enough,

Mr. Gildersleeve.

Well, we can, uh, remedy that.

Did Mr. Moore inform you
that I may have a favor to ask?

You are uncommonly direct, Miss Howard.

Oh, be warned, Oggie.

This woman tends to speak her mind.

I'm afraid I cannot delay.

The matter is rather important.

Well, whatever it is, Miss Howard,

I'm at your disposal.

Her room is ready.

I'm bringing her there now, Dr. Markoe.

Where is my baby?

- I want to see her.
- Yes.

- Where is my baby?
- Shh, shh.

Your child is with the angels
now, my dear.

No.

No, no, no, no, no. No!

- Please.
- No, no, no!

- Shh, shh.
- Please, no, no, no, no!

- Matron?
- No, no, no, no!

- Oh, yes.
- No, no, no, no!

No.

No, please, please, no.

No...

Take her to her room.

2nd and 18th.

Everybody off...

I fell.

Can I call someone for you?

Grace!

There you are.

Come back to bed. That's it.

That's a good girl...

You seem to be lost.

I seem to have taken a wrong turn.

Come, let's give
these mommies their privacy.

I don't believe you told me
the nature of your visit.

I'm Sara Howard.
I've come to see Dr. Markoe.

Please.

So you are a friend of the Gildersleeves?

But I feel we've met
a prior occasion, Miss Howard.

I believe you know quite well
where we met previously.

Yes, yes, I do.

You were the young lady, in fact,

who tried to impede

the execution of poor Martha Napp.

I take it you're here to accuse me.

You seem unconcerned
that Martha Napp's baby

was discovered after her death.

I am not unconcerned,
as you put it, Miss Howard.

On the contrary, I am at my wit's end.

I see young girls
like Martha Napp all the time.

Poor, uneducated, easily preyed upon.

Often, the child is not wanted,
and harm is done to it.

It is regrettably
not an uncommon experience.

If you don't mind, Dr. Markoe,

I prefer to deal in specifics
rather than generalities.

To speak candidly,
Martha Napp's baby was poisoned

with a drug found only
in hospitals such as yours.

It is a terrible business, I grant you.

But as to the facts,
they are lamentably scarce.

Certainly some facts are unassailable.

Do you know exactly what happened

on the night
the baby was reported missing,

the precise sequence of events,

who reported it, who was there?

Speak to this plainly if you can.

Miss Howard,
the work we do at this hospital

could not be accomplished
without the generosity

of a great number of very wealthy people.

That said, we need to be self-sustaining,

so many of our staff
are simply ward girls.

- Ward girls?
- Poor, destitute young women

who, sadly, often lose
their infants in childbirth.

They have nowhere else to go.

But they are not reliable witnesses.

If there are witnesses,
reliable or otherwise,

then surely there is also a report

concerning what happened that night.

There is no report.

We doctors and nurses

are imperfect servants
of the state, Miss Howard.

However, tell me what it is
you want to see.

There is nothing about our work
we want to hide.

In that case, I would very much
like to see Martha Napp's room.

Mm.

Martha and her baby were
in this room on that night.

Who was she in a room with?

She was alone. She had an infection.

Had to be kept separate.

- What kind of infection?
- Bowel.

Would this be written down somewhere?

There must be a file kept, surely.

Medical records.

I'm sure there would,

but we can't be giving them out

to every rag, tag, and bobtail.

- Why is this one asleep?
- Um, she lost some blood.

Were you not checking on her?

She shouldn't sleep if she's bleeding.

You should know this.
So stupid, stupid, stupid.

Do you want me to fetch a doctor, Matron?

No. Stay here, I'll go.

- Will she be...
- She'll be fine.

Wake up.

May I ask you something, nurse?

You can just call me Libby.

Did you know Martha Napp?

Was this her room?

- Um, it was when she came in.
- But?

But not the night you're talking about.

If she's bleeding through to the bed,

she's not been properly packed.

Matron, if you don't mind.

Libby, please show Miss
Howard to the waiting room.

I will follow shortly.

Do you think you can tell me about

the maternal research wing?

Is that where Martha was kept that night?

No, no,

she was in a room near
the recovery and postpartum,

but the room, it won't
tell you anything, though.

But you will, won't you?

No. No, I can't, I...

I don't know what happened
to Martha's baby.

None of us do.

- No!
- Stop!

Be quiet.

- Stop it!
- Colleen, Colleen, stop it.

- Be quiet!
- She won't let me de-louse.

You have a colony of
dirty lice living in your hair.

How else will we rid of them?

We can chop your locks off
if you don't want to be washed.

Enough now, Colleen.

This is not a sight
for your eyes, Miss Howard.

Doubt you've ever been troubled
by head lice.

On the contrary.

Growing up in the countryside,

bugs, lice, ticks of all manner

were my constant companions, Matron.

When you've finished with this,

Dr. Markoe needs to see you
in his office.

No.

Colleen, you are to finish this,

and then you are to go
to Dr. Markoe's office.

If she doesn't want
to go to the doctor's office,

I'm quite certain she shouldn't have to.

You are to go, now!

It's so strange for
the child's stomach to be here,

but for the poor creature
to already be buried.

It is merely science, Marcus.

We are, after all,
only biological matter.

Yet... animated.

With a soul

and a conscience.

Is something wrong?

No.

I can't say for certain,

but this looks to be breast milk.

Poison, powdered carbon...

And breast milk.

Come on.

Libby.

Can I buy you lunch?

I promise you can trust me.

I'm sorry if this is too...

I'll have the menu du jour.

The same.

And, um, may I have a club soda?

The same.

How is that woman?
The one who was bleeding?

Oh, Edith, yeah, she's fine, yeah.

They had to double douche her
to make it stop.

There was nothing wrong with her packing.

Hot and cold douches
one after the other, you...

You haven't had a baby, then?

No, I haven't.

Uh...

Oh.

Is something wrong?

I... I was too nervous to read the menu.

- You don't like oysters?
- No.

The city dumps all the horse
manure into the harbor.

I believe it's why they get so fat.

Waiter, can you please take these away?

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...

- Do you like pot pie?
- Mm.

Two baked beef pot pies.

Certainly.

I guess I know why you
invited me along for lunch,

but to be honest, I don't know very much.

Nobody does, and that's the truth.

Did someone come to the hospital

to ask you questions about what happened?

- Did they write it down?
- Yeah.

So there could be a report somewhere?

Yeah, yeah, I guess so.

I don't imagine I can go looking for it,

if that's what you're asking me.

No, Libby, I'm not asking you
to do anything

that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Think it takes long for the pot pies?

I'm afraid I only have an hour for lunch.

We have a little time.

Is that your boyfriend?

No, no, it's my father.

Is he not around anymore?

No.

- He had an accident.
- What kind?

He had an accident with a gun.

An accident with a gun?

I know about that sort of thing.

M-my father, he...

he had an accident too.

With him, it was a rope over a bridge.

- May I give you my card?
- Mm.

If you can feel
you can help me in any way.

Oh, yeah.

Detective agency. Wow.

I will keep your card, Miss Howard.

But I'm not sure I can help you.

I'm sorry, I...

I understand, Libby.

Yeah.

It's just that I think

the person that took Martha Napp's baby

has stolen another child.

Another child?

The infant daughter of the Spanish
consulate general, and his wife.

Señor and Señora Linares.

I was told baby Ana was brought
to the Lying-In Hospital

after a fall.

Yeah.

Yeah, it was all pretty
hush-hush, as I remember,

but uh, the baby was discharged.

She was stolen from her home.

Libby, was there anyone at the hospital,

a doctor or a nurse, who paid
the baby particular attention?

I don't...

I don't want to get anybody into trouble.

Even if I do hate her.

The matron?

Yeah.

Matron kept that baby away from us all.

She likes to think she knows best,

especially if the baby is from
a rich and powerful family.

Do you think the matron
would ever harm a baby?

Oh, no.

No, I...

I don't... I don't think
she'd ever hurt a child, no.

Do you know where she lives?

What are you doing?

I was going to knock,

but I didn't want to wake the child.

Marie doesn't have a child.

I'm on the board
of the Lying-In Hospital.

Marie is a close confidante.

Well, she usually gets in
at around this time.

Have you ever heard a baby in there?

Um...

I know sometimes she brings them home,

but she hasn't done that
for quite a while.

When was the last time?

There was one.

She lavished her with attention.

Had to give her back.

It's sad, you see?

She couldn't have her own.

I heard my baby cry.

It was a dream, Helen.

Look at the dress Mr. Osgood sent.

Isn't it beautiful?

Quiet.

I hope you don't mind I tried it on.

I don't want a goddamn dress.

I will not tolerate further intrusions.

Sara Howard has been here
prowling our halls.

Yours is a private institution, Doctor.

You're under no obligation
to entertain public scrutiny.

Miss Howard wasn't here at my request.

What is our patronage for, Mr. Byrnes,

if you can't deter inquisitors

who show up at Laszlo Kreizler's bidding?

Kreizler is an egotist.

Simply put, I think he envies you.

This isn't a matter
of professional jealousy.

Matron caught her snooping.

I built this hospital in the belief

that medical science
could save women's lives,

and our donors who share
my passion in this pursuit

would object strongly to any
disclosure about this hospital.

Okay, let me ask you this, then.

Is there anything else to unearth

concerning the Martha Napp case

that could connect you
to the Spanish baby?

Of course not.

Well, then you have nothing
to be concerned about.

John, wedding invite list, my darling.

You must tarry no longer.

What are all these papers for?

Is it something exciting
you're working on?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact.

They are the death certificates
of the babies

from the Lying-In Hospital.

There seems to be
an inordinately high number

of mortalities there.

Please, John, don't tell me
such terrible things.

I shall have nightmares.

- The wedding invite list?
- Yes.

I see this couldn't have waited?

Then I wouldn't get to see
where you write your stories.

You've handed me a list

of New York's most eligible bachelors.

I assume all of them will be
attending your party tomorrow?

Except for Sara Howard, of course.

I see her name here.

Well, she's an eligible
bachelorette, I suppose.

Put her down for two,

because of course she'll bring someone.

A moment, please.

I'll wait outside, Laszlo.

No, come in.

We've just concluded our session.

Paulie, this is Sara Howard,
a friend of mine.

It's nice to meet you, Paulie.

Please, sit down.

You want to try?

Dr. Kreizler, how'd you do that?

The mystery of magic.

You, too, can learn it. Run along.

And Paulie,

should you find a coin in your pocket,

buy yourself a deck of cards.

When the memories of his childhood trauma

threaten to overburden him,
his mind shuts down.

- He seems very attached.
- I've become very fond of him.

I interviewed Markoe and his staff.

Did you find anything about Martha?

Unfortunately, nothing
of great importance.

But I did speak to someone in confidence.

You believe she
could be assistance to us?

Perhaps.

She has some suspicions about

the matron of the Lying-In Hospital,

who certainly requires
further investigation,

but she might merely
be an unpleasant character.

So we've reached an impasse.

Not quite.

I spoke with Señora Linares.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

- Dr. Kreizler...
- Please, Señor.

I myself have been
placed under hypnosis by him.

There is nothing to fear.

Open your eyes.

What do you see?

White.

The girls are in white.

Dark hair.

The walls, viridian green.

The floor, Egyptian brown.

A crimson flower in her hair.

They are beautiful.

You see a painting?

Yes.

Edgar Degas. "La Classe de danse."

It's in the Metropolitan Museum.

Turn away from the painting.

What do you see?

Who do you see?

Who do you see?

Marcus?

This is the exact chemical
combination the killer used

to make the antidote.

I know it seems as if
it's only activated charcoal,

but they added a tincture of iodine.

It's a thing of beauty.

Marcus, I...

I did something horrible.

What'd you do?

Byrnes came here to see me one day.

He asked what we were working on.

I told him about the Linares case.

Why?

He threatened you.

He said he would find some way

to destroy you if I didn't
give him information.

What information?

About the Linares child.

Don't tell Sara or Dr. Kreizler, please.

I'm ashamed.

I'm sorry.

So what happened, Laszlo?

Seems the experiment was a failure.

I thought it was curious how she was able

to describe everything
so clearly, so vividly,

- as if she was...
- She's a painter.

She was serious about it
until she got married.

She clearly sees things in colors,

but how does this help us
to recover her memories?

Well, perhaps she could paint them?

There is some precedence of this.

She almost fainted
during this session, I don't...

In the experiments of
Alfred Binet and Pierre Janet

at the Sorbonne, their
subjects were given pencils

to draw their visions while
in a somnambulistic state,

and the renderings they
produced depicted memories

they were unable to replicate
while awake.

Then we will need someone to assist us.

Elizabeth did say that

she and the Señora take classes
with Cecilia Beaux.

Apparently, they are quite close.

Wouldn't hurt to ask.

I adore the Señora. Of course I do.

She's the most wonderful student of art,

but it is an unusual
proposition, is it not?

I'll grant you that it is, Cecilia,

but we believe that with your help,

Señora Linares might be able
to remember that fateful day.

And right now,

it's our only hope of saving the child.

I do believe that whenever
one paints or draws,

one can enter into a hypnotic state

where you can penetrate
the realm of the imagination.

I am most grateful for your assistance.

The Señora knows you as her teacher,
and she trusts you.

Where are you now?

The Museum of Art.

Are you ready to leave it?

Yes.

Let's go outside, then.

Such vivid red.

Umbrella.

- The Tea House.
- Yes.

What do you see?

Something is watching me.

I can sense it.

You got a dime, lady?

For a sick soldier...
What served his country good.

Sorry.

Does he frighten you?

I'm afraid...

but it's not him.

Let's keep going, Isabelle.

It's watching me.

I... I can feel the presence.

The dark presence, is it a woman?

Yes.

She's close. I feel it.

I can... sense it.

What is it? Describe it.

A flash, like a gunshot.

I see her.

My heart is beating so fast.

It's here.

She's here.

It's gone.

Señora saw someone suspicious here.

Now look at the camera, please.

This might be a bit loud.

A flash like a gunshot.

Milly, we'll need to see anything

that photographer's kept from that day.

- Miss Howard.
- Libby.

What a pleasant surprise.

You haven't been waiting
out here for me, have you?

Yes, but it's really not a bother.

I preferred to give you this in person.

- Is this the...
- Yeah.

It's the report
of Martha Napp and her baby.

I will need to put it back

before anybody sees that it's missing.

- Of course.
- I must be going,

but can I leave it with you
until tomorrow?

Thank you, Libby.

Little Egypt works a lot
of bachelor parties,

but she's not the original.

Down at Mrs. Willoughby's on the Bowery,

she used to be known as Connie Moretti

of Mulberry Street.

Boy, can she dance,
especially when she gets...

I think I might call it a night, Oggie.

- Oh, come on, John.
- Wait, wait, wait.

We're only just getting started.

Did he just say he wanted
to call it a night?

- On his own bachelor party.
- John.

Come on, maybe we could, uh,

maybe we could slum it
somewhere and get a nightcap?

- Come on.
- All right, all right.

All right, but I get
to choose where we go.

That's more like it.

You seem uncommonly subdued, John.

What shall we toast? You and Miss Violet?

A toast with water, no less.

How about my grandmother?

Catherine Elizabeth McAllister Moore.

She, for one, would be very
happy that I was settling down

with a woman such as V.

Sara!

Sara!

Keep your voice down.

Please come and join us.

I'm not coming to your
bachelor party, John Moore.

This part of the evening is over.

It'll be a more intimate gathering

of only John's closest friends.

It's far too late
and entirely inappropriate.

'Tis now the very witching time of night,

when churchyards yawn and Hell itself

breathes out contagion to this world.

Are you intoxicated, Laszlo? Is he, John?

Lingonberry schnapps,

and perhaps one or two glasses
of champagne.

Or three.

I still have my wits about me, though.

- Really, I don't...
- Please, Sara.

I know my good friend Oggie Gildersleeve

would be sorely disappointed
by your absence.

I have the file on Martha Napp

from the Lying-In Hospital.

So there is a file?

Says that the last person
to check on Martha Napp

and her baby that night was an
employee named Colleen Ledwidge.

I think the best plan is that

someone goes into the
Lying-In Hospital undercover.

- You?
- No, Bitsy.

I would go myself,
but Markoe already knows me.

It seems poor Oggie will have no
shortage of company this evening.

Why, whatever do you mean, John?

I imagine you are thinking

a letter of recommendation
from the Gildersleeves

about a former member of staff
would not go unheeded

should she be seeking future employment.

I'm sure he'll do his utmost
to be of assistance.

Where are we going, anyway?

Here's to your engagement, John.

Long time coming.

- Cheers.
- I hope she makes you happy.

Thank you, Cyrus. She does.

Proud of you, old friend.

I, uh, I've been saving this for you.

Cyrus.

Charta Riesling.

You stop by,
and it's here waiting for you.

I really can't thank you enough.

I'm pleased to have been of assistance,

although it does seem
a highly unusual request.

It all sounds rather, uh,
cloak-and-dagger.

I know you won't tell me
the nature of your inquiries,

but John did mention something
about research for him

for an article he plans to write.

For him?

I'm working for him, am I?

Oh, whoa, whoa. Easy.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

- Is he feeling okay?
- Lucious?

Oh, yeah, he's fine.
This is a first for him.

You want to get some food?

Is Joanna still studying the law, Cyrus?

Every minute of the day,
she's got her books out.

Yeah, but this isn't the best place

for a young woman to be working.

Did she not work
for the newspaper in Philly?

"Philadelphia Tribune."

That's what she wants to do.

She wants to write, get back
in the newspaper business.

Should I maybe ask at the "Times"?

John. That would be much appreciated.

Please excuse me for a moment.

Um, may I call on you
for dinner sometime?

Yes, of course.

John Schuyler Moore is getting married.

I had prepared notes,

whimsical thoughts on the nature of love.

Practical counsel in what it means

to be united in body and soul
with another being.

All that I had wanted to say,

but now I realize I cannot
offer you any of these thoughts

as I'm somewhat tipsy.

And it seems I have left my notes

in our previous establishment.

John...

It is my great privilege
to be your friend.

And as Voltaire said,

"Virtuous men alone possess friends."

You are indeed a virtuous man,

a free spirit, restless soul,

blessed with kindness,
bravery, and passion.

You are sometimes reckless,

certainly careless,

and occasionally hopeless.

But...

It is my sincerest hope, wish,

that Violet sees you as we do,

cares for you like we do,

will know you as we have known you,

and will love you

like we do.

Should she dare.

To John.

To John.

Virtuous man!