All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S15E14.WEBRip.x264-BAE

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Betsy.

- Hm?
- I think it's time to make it official.

- Would you be mine?
- Yours?

Like one of your pet chickens?

Well, you'd be the
prettiest hen in the roost.

- I will put an end...
- No!

To your wicked ways.

Betsy!

- Stop! Please!
- What are you doing?

- Please!
- Be careful!

Stop, sir! Wilbur! Help me!

I can't. These are new shoes!

Are you in league with this woman?

Is she?

Is she?!

- Ma'am, let me help you.
- Thank you.

Betsy, are you all right?

This is the spot where
he tried to drown her.

Can you describe this man?

A wiry fellow wearing a vest.

And shabby trousers.

And his hair was the colour of mud.

- And the woman?
- Unkempt and wild-eyed.

I was going to say
raven-haired and beautiful.

He surely would have killed
her if I hadn't stopped him.

- You stopped him?
- Well, Betsy also helped.

Was the woman hurt?

She seemed fine. She just walked away.

And the man?

He ran off with his
tail between his legs.

What direction?

Thank you.

Sir! Sir, stop!

I think that's poison ivy.

A wiry fellow with shabby trousers

and hair the colour of mud.

Pardon me, sir.

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

They are dead.

Every last one of them.

Well, that's terrible,

but we're here on a different matter.

A young couple stated
that they saw a man,

matching your description,
down by the Don River.

It was I.

They say you tried to drown a woman.

No.

No, I did not.

I tried to drown a witch.

You tried to drown a witch?

They float, you know, so...

You have to force them under.

Do not look down your nose at me, sir.

You do not know the
hardships that I've suffered.

Such as?

I cannot butcher these animals.

She has tainted them with her curse.

She used the dark arts
to shrivel their hocks

and stop their hearts.

Shrivel their hocks?

Their legs, man.

Half of them blackened and fell off.

And you believe this
witch is responsible?

How?

She lives alone in a
shack by the swamps.

I have seen her, with my own eyes,

take flight into the dark night sky.

I destroyed her demonic shrine

and afterwards I saw her
assume the form of a black fox

and suckle the teats of the livestock,

draining them dry.

Good Lord.

As God is my witness.

Your story defies belief, sir.

You doubt me?

Sir, then how do you explain this?

What is it?

The witch, she staked this
talisman outside my bedroom

to curse my dreams.

Ah, do not touch it! It is evil.

I'm sure it's harmless, Mr...

Wenders. Gunther Wenders.

Killing this witch
would be a virtuous deed,

as far as I'm concerned.

It would be murder.

As it stands, it's attempted murder.

Constable Higgins, take
this man into custody.

You should be punishing the witch,

not the God-fearing man
who stood against her!

Take him down to the station house

and I'll try to find this Minerva West.

Minerva West?

I am she.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto constabulary.

Merry meet, William.

I prefer Detective Murdoch.

I'm sure you do, William.

Um, were you the victim
of an assault this morning?

This morning.

Every morning.

But I have cast a circle
of protection around myself

that no man can breach.

Apparently, Mr. Wenders
nearly drowned you.

You're lucky that young
couple came to your rescue.

It was not luck.

Hecate sent those minions to my aid.

Hecate?

You really should
read more sacred texts.

Obviously our taste in
scriptures differs quite a bit.

And, uh, what is the source

of Mr. Wenders' animosity toward you?

Ignorance.

- Fear.
- Of?

Women who live alone in the woods.

Might this have frightened him?

Acturus panctro sancti sanctum!

You would dare wish
a death curse upon me?

Mr. Wenders claims that
you nailed this to his home.

That is a lie.

I have never sent a man to his death.

Well, if you didn't place this curse

upon Mr. Wenders, then, who did?

You assume that I am the
only witch in Toronto.

We hide ourselves and for good reason.

You've heard of Salem, Massachusetts?

The Spanish Inquisition, perhaps?

I'm well-versed in history, Miss West.

Hm. So smug.

You must be Catholic.

Cowbane.

Beautiful, yes?

And very toxic.

Miss West, someone or something
killed Mr. Wenders' goats.

Would you know anything about that?

Only that it's a shame.

I have a fondness for horned beasts.

Well, if there was any foul play,

I'll find out about it.

In the meantime, you can rest assured

that Mr. Wenders will be
prosecuted for assaulting you.

Do what you will.

I know that Gunther Wenders

will meet the fate that he deserves.

So she admits to being a witch?

- Oh, it's fascinating.
- That's bollocks!

That is, indeed, what
Minerva West claims.

But as far as I can
tell, this is just a feud

between a superstitious
man and a delusional woman.

Sir, what about the goats?

You don't need magic
to kill a goat, Higgins.

Minerva West denies any involvement.

But I am going to have the remaining
carcasses tested for poison.

I did observe her
tending to noxious plants.

Her plants may be medicinal
rather than poisonous.

I, for one, would very much
like to meet this witch.

Gunther? Where's my Gunther?

Please! You must understand,
Gunther had to stop her.

May I be of assistance?
Detective Murdoch.

Katrina Wenders.

You took my husband.

Your husband has
admitted to assaulting...

He was protecting our
family from a witch.

You believe this?

He believes this.

He is German Protestant.

It's part of his heritage
and I support my husband.

The witch hunts ended
centuries ago, Mrs. Wenders.

Not for Gunther.

I see.

But that woman, Minerva
West, she is truly wicked.

I've no doubt she will
continue to afflict him

and other God fearing souls.

Well, then, your husband is
safe and sound in our cells,

so you needn't worry.

Witchcraft cannot be kept
out by brick walls, Detective.

He is still vulnerable.

May I see him?

Katrina.

Have you managed to talk
some sense into these fools?

I tried, dear.

So, you are on the side of the witch.

Absurd accusations will not
help your case, Mr. Wenders.

You could be going to
prison for a long time.

How long can a man be imprisoned
for protecting his family?

For attempted murder.

The length of your sentence
will be up to a judge to decide.

Find me a lawyer, Katrina.

The best that money can buy.

But, Gunther, we have no money.

You spent it on the goats.

Damn that witch to hell!

Holy Moses.

I need you to find
out the cause of death.

Is this goat a murder victim?

I need to establish
motive in an assault case.

I need to find out if the
goat died of natural causes

or malicious intervention.

I'm no veterinarian,
but I'll try my best.

And who's accused of killing it?

A witch?

She believes she's a witch.

She's actually a recluse
who lives in the woods

and tends to a garden
of poisonous plants.

And the man who tried to kill her?

A German immigrant who imported
all of the superstitions

from the old country.

Where thousands of
"witches" were burned alive

during the Reformation.

History lacks for no
proof of man's brutality.

Many were executed simply
for having medical knowledge.

In an earlier time, I might
have been burned as a witch.

You might have been my inquisitor.

Your soup's getting cold, dear. Eat up.

Oh, I'm sorry. Pardon me. I...

You are haunted.

A dark and bottomless pain

consumes your every waking moment.

Diana, Mistress of the
Dawn, I beseech thee.

Lilith, Queen of the
Night, I beseech thee.

Hecate, Mother of Dark Souls,

I beseech thee.

Mistress, Queen and Mother, Three...

Lend thine ears and hear this plea.

From my foe deliver me.

Malice drives the vicious man.

Seal his lips and stay his hand.

This I humbly ask of thee.

By thy will...

So mote it be.

Mr. Wenders? Mr. Wenders?

Help! Somebody, help! Watts!

Detective Watts! Help!

Mr. Wenders?

The completion of their
ritual coincided precisely

with Mr. Wenders'
sudden, agonizing death.

Correlation does not
equate causation, Detective.

So it was mere coincidence

the two events occurred simultaneously?

Well, they d...

You know, it's been said
there are more things

in heaven and earth

than are dreamt of in our philosophies.

Hamlet is a work of fiction.

That doesn't make it untrue.

Chanting, chalk and candles

cannot kill a man.

Now it is possible that
these so-called witches

found some other way to bring
about Mr. Wenders' death.

Poison, perhaps.

Administered while he was behind bars?

They may have found a way
to get it into his food.

I'll trace the steps by which
meals are delivered to the inmates.

I found no signs of
trauma to the beast's body.

And the toxicology results?

No poisons detected.

Then how did it die?

Witchcraft.

I honestly don't know yet,

but I did find something bizarre.

- Go on.
- The animal's limbs had become

dry, black, shriveled.

In essence, mummified
while it was still alive.

Mr. Wenders did say that

his goats' limbs seemed
to have fallen off.

Somehow the blood supply
to the limbs had stopped.

But I don't know what caused it.

Hm.

Well, let's hope your
findings in Mr. Wenders' case

are more conclusive.

The whole city was buzzing with gossip

and I was dying to talk to someone.

About?

Oh, the witches, of course.

They've caused quite a stir.

I thought you'd got
this out of your system

after talking my ear
off about it last night.

Well, I mean witches,
Thomas. Here in Toronto.

For one thing, they're not witches.

They're just a bunch of happy dafties

who can't find husbands.

But they are in Toronto?

Yes. Why?

Oh, well, I mean I was just wondering,

if I was a witch,

what neighbourhood would I live in?

Do you know?

Margaret, you know better than to
waste your time on this rubbish.

Well, I was just curious

- because I...
- I forbid you to pursue this any further.

I don't like the way
you speak to me, Thomas.

Oh, bloody hell, Margaret.

I've just come home for lunch!

None of the other prisoners
got sick from the food.

So, Mr. Wenders was deliberately
targeted with a poisoned meal?

I don't see how.

All the meals were
prepared by our usual cook,

who says she made them all
from the same pot of goulash.

Well, who delivered
the food to the inmates?

The meals were randomly
distributed by our constables.

So no one could have known which meal

- would be consumed by Mr. Wenders.
- Correct.

I warned you that witch was evil!

You did nothing.

And now Gunther is dead!

Mrs. Wenders, my deepest condolences.

Oh, save your condolences.

I am here to claim my husband's body.

We can't release his body until
the post mortem is completed.

And so the indignities continue.

We are merely trying
to determine the cause

of your husband's death.

You know the cause.

And the killer.

Thus far, there is no evidence

that Miss West killed your husband.

She cast a hex right under your nose.

Have you even questioned her?

Miss West, I don't believe
the ritual you performed

outside of our station
house killed Mr. Wenders.

You are correct.

I cast my intention
to silence his tongue

and to stop his
harassment, not to kill him.

Who were the women who accompanied you?

My apprentices.

I only know them by the names
they chose for themselves:

Elsbeth Nighthawk and Persephone Jade.

Where might we find them?

I haven't asked where they live.

But they will be joining me
tonight for the full moon sabbath.

I can inquire then, if you like.

Don't touch that.

Might this be your grimoire?

- It is.
- Ah!

A witch's personal archive

of potions and incantations.

Belladonna, monkshood, jimsonweed...

These are all poisons.

Then I'd advise you not to eat them.

And I said don't touch that!

I'll be taking this book

and this cabinet, as
well as its contents.

So, you would steal from me now?

I am seizing them as evidence.

You will regret this.

- How so?
- Your hands will erupt in blisters.

You'll writhe in ceaseless pain

and claw at your own flesh.

By the blood of Baphomet, so mote it be.

Right, then. Watts?

She became irate when we seized
her possessions as evidence.

What was your impression
of Miss West, Detective?

I must admit I admire her gumption.

She's resourceful and independent.

A non-conformist.

And quite possibly a killer.

Detective, your hand.

That might just be the witch's curse.

Curse?

She warned you not to touch her book.

She said my hand would
break out in blisters.

And now your hand has
broken out in blisters.

Well, she does have poison
ivy leaves in her cabinet.

Oh!

She probably rubbed it on
the outside of the book.

Some calamine lotion
should break the spell.

Well...

Some of these ingredients are medicinal,

but many of them are poisonous.

Which supports the theory that
she poisoned Gunther Wenders.

But Mr. Wenders was locked in his cell

when his symptoms struck.

He may have ingested a
poison with a delayed effect.

Could any of Miss West's
concoctions achieve that result?

Well, there's one way to find out.

I wonder if Mrs. Hart is
up for some experimentation?

So, what did Mr. Wenders'
post-mortem reveal?

His toes and earlobes
showed signs of dry gangrene,

the same condition I
observed in his goat.

But the gangrene didn't kill him?

No. His lungs were hyper-inflated

and there was obvious
petechial hemorrhaging.

- Well, it sounds like suffocation.
- Indeed.

Gunther Wenders died from asphyxiation

while simultaneously being
affected by convulsions.

And the toxicology report?

No known poisons were found.

Something more exotic
must have been used.

We need to find a poison
that causes hallucinations,

convulsions, dry
gangrene and asphyxiation.

And which takes effect hours
after being administered.

Let's continue then.

Waft the smoke through
the air and chant,

"Sweet Demeter use thy might,

cleanse the air this full moon night."

I don't see how this could
have any effect at all.

Perhaps there's something in the smoke?

Chemically interacts with the poison?

And the raven's skull?

Well, bones contain calcium,
magnesium, potassium.

Minerals may play a part
in the makeup of the poison?

Hmm.

"Rotating your pestle in
a counter-clockwise motion,

grind the raven's
skull to a fine powder."

Though I walk the crooked path

I fear not God nor man's pale wrath.

A blood moon lights
the trail that's bent.

Manifesting my intent.

Deliver me from petty grief...

...offer succor's sweet relief.

This I offer up to thee.

Hear my prayer, so mote it be.

Now?

Ooh.

Hmm. And now?

We feed it to the rats.

Blessed be, Elsbeth.

Blessed be, Minerva.

Blessed be, Persephone.

Blessed be, Minerva.

Shall we begin the inquisition?

They're heading in the
direction of Mr. Wenders' home.

Perhaps we should follow them.

I don't want to see you go.

- I'm going to miss you. Yeah.
- I'm going to miss you.

See you tomorrow?

Bye.

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

What are you doing?

Going to bed.

This is my home.

You're Gunther Wenders' daughter?

Well, then, why not use the door?

Mother worries when I stay out late.

And how did your father feel about it?

Why do you care?

Because your father died
under mysterious circumstances.

Mysterious?

You don't seem all that upset
at your father's passing.

Why should I be?

My father hated everything about me.

That's why I killed him.

- Miss Wenders...
- My name is Elsbeth Nighthawk.

As you wish, Miss Nighthawk.

You claim you killed your father.

How did you do it?

I staked a cursed talisman
outside his bedroom window.

You doubt me.

Your talisman was gruesome,

but it's absurd to claim
it has the power to kill.

It should have been a human heart,

but I was unable to obtain one.

So, you admit yours was not effective?

I wouldn't say that.

I found him in the barn,
out of his mind with fear.

Miss Wend...

Miss Nighthawk,

how did you kill your father?

I burned a lock of Father's hair

and cast the ash upon the
threshold of the police station.

That time my spell worked.

I don't believe for one second

that witchcraft killed your father.

Fine.

If witchcraft isn't real,
what judge will convict me?

What caused your rift with your father?

I loved with the love that
dare not speak its name.

Persephone is your lover?

Father forbade me to see her.

But I disobeyed.

When I heard father ranting
about the witch in the woods,

I decided to see for myself.

And?

I liked what I saw.

Men fear Minerva.

It's better to be feared than fearful.

But, since there's no
such thing as witchcraft,

I'll be on my way.

- Can we hold her?
- I don't have a choice.

You've confessed to killing your father

and we will find out how you did it.

Until then, you'll remain in custody.

Hm.

I'm looking for Elsbeth Nighthawk.

You must be the infamous
witch of the woods.

And you are?

I'm Inspector Thomas
Charles Brackenreid.

My wife was quite
taken with the spectacle

you made of yourself the other night.

Your wife sounds far
wiser than you, Inspector.

If you pull another stunt
like that on my doorstep,

- you'll end up behind bars.
- On what grounds?

Pretending to be a witch
is illegal in Canada.

- I'm not pretending.
- Rubbish.

I've neither the time nor the energy

to enlighten your tiny mind,

so I'll just drop off
this parcel for Elsbeth

- and be on my way.
- What is it?

Just something wholesome
to fill her belly.

We don't allow outside food
to be given to prisoners.

First you steal my most
precious possessions.

Then you imprison my apprentice

and now you're trying to starve her.

Our prisoners are humanely cared for.

Up until they're humanely executed?

Give Elsbeth this food.

That'll be right.

I summon the powers of darkness

to rip the scales from this fool's eyes.

May his flesh tremble and his mind reel

with visions of Azazel.

So mote it be.

Same to you with bloody bells on!

So mote it be!

What are you lot looking
at? Get back to work!

Mmm.

Excuse me?

Yes?

The other night,

you said something to me.

Something...

Very true.

How did you know?

Empathy is one of my gifts.

Pain radiates from you.

I don't know what to do.

I can't stop feeling this way and

- my husband...
- Your husband cannot help you.

I can.

A number of Minerva's potions
have proven to be poisonous.

And others had no effect whatsoever.

Have you determined which
was used to kill Mr. Wenders?

Unfortunately, no.

None of these concoctions

produced the particular
constellation of symptoms

observed in Mr. Wenders' death.

So your conclusion is...

Witchcraft.

Mrs. Hart, there is no such thing.

He really dislikes that response.

... and then, as the years went by,

my sweet little boy
turned into a conniving,

angry young man.

And now,

Bobby's just...

vanished.

I feel your pain.

I have suffered loss as well.

A daughter dead in childbirth.

Well, you seem to have recovered.

Would you like to know how?

Please.

I channeled my focus

on the flame of a single white candle.

As the wax melted, I saw
that the core of my suffering

was not the loss itself,

but my response to it.

I am a good mother.

I don't understand why
this is happening to me.

Self-pity will cripple you.

Reject it.

Instead, channel your intent on
creating an outcome you desire.

- How do I do that?
- I'll teach you.

First, find a quiet place
where you will not be disturbed.

I've pondered the matter extensively

and I fail to see a difference

between religion and superstition.

There are obvious distinctions, Watts.

Such as?

Well, to begin with, we have a set of...

You yourself subscribe to
the belief that a priest

can magically change bread and wine

into the literal body
and blood of Jesus Christ,

which you then eat.

I'm growing tired of this debate, Watts.

What is your opinion on this, Inspector?

Ah? Oh!

Oh!

There! Stay back!

Ah!

Ah!

Get this serpent off my arm!

Get the what off your which now?

Sir? Are you quite all right?

Oh. Oi, look out!

Ah!

Handcuffs! Handcuffs! Handcuffs!

Fetch Dr. Ogden now!

His pulse is stabilizing.

The ipecac should have purged
whatever's left in your system.

Are you all right, sir?

I've never been so happy to
vomit into a bucket in my life.

What happened?

I don't know.

My heart was racing,

my muscles went all tingly,

I saw things.

Horrible things.

Was there anything unusual
that you were exposed to?

Or that you consumed?

The sandwich.

A sandwich?

I didn't notice anything off about it.

It was actually quite tasty.

I feel as if I've heard of this before.

Yes!

Here it is!

William, look!

These rye grains are
swollen and discolored.

Ergo, ergot.

Ergot?

It's a fungus that grows on rye.

When ingested

it can cause hallucinations,
convulsions, gangrene.

And with repeated exposure, even death.

Could that be what killed Mr. Wenders?

It's possible!

And Wenders' claims of seeing
flying witches and what have you.

Could be attributed to
ergot-induced hallucinations.

You said you found dry
gangrene on his ears and toes?

Correct. As well as in the goat.

All the goats must have eaten the rye.

Sir, who gave you the sandwich?

It was the witch.

Miss West, why would you try
to poison Elsbeth Nighthawk?

Poison Elsbeth?

That is a vile accusation.

The sandwich you brought her

was tainted with ergot-infected rye.

You then fed that same tainted rye

to Mr. Wenders' goats, killing them.

You also tricked Mr. Wenders
into eating it himself.

I don't understand. I didn't do...

Our coroner found
evidence of ergot poisoning

in Mr. Wenders' body.

Why would you then also try
to kill Mr. Wenders' daughter?

But...

I would never harm Elsbeth.

I love that child.

She's like a daughter to me.

- But the bread...
- I didn't bake the bread!

Then who did?

Yes, I baked the bread.

What of it?

You used tainted rye.

You tried to poison Minerva West.

Poison her?

No.

I milled the flour from
the feed that was left

after Father's precious goats died.

I wanted to make Minerva a gift,

to show my gratitude for
all that she has taught me.

I never thought...

Is she all right?

So, the old witch was trying
to poison the young witch?

Ah, no.

Elsbeth Nighthawk baked the bread

and gave it to Minerva West.

So, the young witch was
trying to poison the old witch?

Miss Nighthawk denies this.

She was shocked at the accusation.

Might have been playacting.

I don't think so.

I believe she has genuine
affection for her...

mentor.

Then Gunther Wenders died of
an accidental ergot poisoning?

That's possible.

It's not possible.

So, Gunther Wenders was
not exposed to ergot?

Oh, he was. But it's
not what killed him.

- Are you quite sure?
- He died of asphyxiation.

Ergotism causes many of
the symptoms he exhibited,

but not asphyxiation.

So, we have no idea what killed him?

We do have a theory.

Please don't say witchcraft.

Anaphylaxis.

- Brought on by what?
- A food intolerance.

Perhaps something he ate in jail.

What's this about? Your inmates
are gourmets all of a sudden?

We're not here to critique
your fine work, Verona.

I just need to know if
there was anything unusual

about the meal you made that night.

It was the same goulash
I make every week.

But there was an
incident earlier that day.

Someone broke into the kitchen, but

- they didn't steal anything.
- Oof.

What kind of cooking oil do you use?

Vegetable oil.

That's not vegetable oil.

Soya oil has a strong odour
in its unrefined state.

And it's a common trigger
of anaphylactic reactions

in those who are sensitive to soybeans.

Someone replaced the chef's
vegetable oil with soya oil.

Someone who knew Mr. Wenders

would have a fatal reaction to it.

I know you killed your father.

And I know how you did it.

You've finally come to appreciate
the power of the dark arts.

- Bravo.
- Greta!

Calm down, Mother.

They can't convict me of witchcraft.

That's the beauty of it.

Miss Nighthawk, no one
has ever killed anyone

with witchcraft.

You poisoned your father and his goats

with tainted rye grain.

I never fed his damn goats.

It's true. Gunther fed them himself,

with grain that he scrounged

from the millwright's
garbage bin, the cheapskate.

Father got that grain from the garbage?

- When the ergot didn't...
- Who is "Ergot"?

You can't invent your
own demons, you know.

When the ergot fungus
didn't kill your father,

you exploited his sensitivity.

My father? Sensitive?

Your father had a
sensitivity to soya oil.

That's what killed him.

No, it was the curse I placed upon him.

The soya oil caused his
throat to swell shut.

My detective watched him die.

Lucky detective.

Miss Nighthawk, have you no compassion?

Your father's death was horrific.

His limbs seized.

He gasped and clawed at his throat

in an attempt to breathe.

And his face went red as a beet?

His eyes bulged from the sockets?

Miss Nighthawk?

One winter night,

you made us dinner.

Father took a few bites
and he started wheezing.

He turned blue, thrashing for air.

He collapsed on the kitchen table.

- And we thought he...
- Greta, be still.

You did this for me.

Thank you, Mother.

Thank you.

Thank you.

When I learned he could be released,

I thought this was our
only chance to flee.

You were planning to leave your husband?

Gunther was a selfish, cruel man.

A bully.

The way he treated Greta.

She only wants to be happy.

And if that girl makes
her happy, then...

I've been saving money to
take her away from that house,

but Gunther found it

and stole it to buy those goats.

You knew of your husband's
sensitivity to soya oil,

so you snuck some into the
cook's pantry to poison him,

hoping the witch would be blamed.

I did.

I'm glad he's dead.

Now Greta can be free.

Wound and winding. Winding, wound.

Search the air, the sea, the ground.

Until the one who's lost is found.

- Return to me.
- Margaret! Have you lost your mind?

- Leave me alone.
- What's come over you?

I am sick and tired of waiting

for you to do something about Bobby!

- Drop the knife!
- No! No!

I know something's troubling
you! Please! Let me help you.

Come here. Come here.
I can help you. I can.

Calm down. Shh. I can help you.

- I want my son!
- Yes!

Let me go! Let me go!

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -