All language subtitles for Shakespeare and Hathaway S03E05 - Thy Fury Spent 1080P x264 RB58

Thank you.
Hey, this is the life, isn't it?

Oh!

We have been invited here

as esteemed members
of the business community.

Could you just start looking
a bit more esteem-worthy?

I hate museums.

Yeah, but this isn't some sort of dusty,
old, fossily place any more, is it?

Look, they've even got
a Shakespeare-aoke booth!

Ooh!
Dropped your shopping list there.

Oh. Speech, actually, for my sins.

Aw! Here you are, neck that.
I haven't even had a sip.

Best not. I need my wits about me.

You know what you want to do?
Just picture everybody here naked.

- Thank you, Sigmund Freud.
- What?! That's what you're supposed to do!

...But we'll never be defeated!

Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated!

Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated!

Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated!

Hashtag what the hell?

Oh, the evening's looking up.

...But we'll never be defeated!

- Get rid of them! Get rid of them!
- ..But we'll never be defeated!

Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated!

Deleted, mistreated,
but we'll never be defeated!

Um... h-hello, and, er... welcome.

Um... please excuse
the interruption,

although what's a party
without a few gate-crashers?

Typical man,
dodging the awkward questions.

So, do tell,

why have you deleted the important
women of the town's history?

No, no, no-one's been deleted.

Suffragettes, lawyers,
warriors, academics,

all consigned to storage while we
make way for yet more Shakespeare.

I would like to thank my venerated
colleague for her opinion,

but I am proud to be at the helm

of a new Shakespeare Centre
of International Repute.

Yes, you keep telling yourself that,
Sir Tim.

I would like to introduce the man
who was inspirational

in this reinvention - the curator,
Mr Lucian Shaw.

Er... well, possibly the champagne
has got the better of Lucian.

So I will ask Jasra,
our Head of Antiquities,

to help me with
the, er... ribbon-cutting.

Um... perhaps my wife, er...

would do me the honour
of standing at my side?

Shoot me now.

And this is prosecco, not champagne.

Go home, Athena.

Happily.

I wonder where
my bloody curator is?!

The actual Society of Herstorians?

Yeah, with placards and everything.

Oh, that's like seeing
a herd of unicorns!

Angry, feminist unicorns.

I can't believe you took Frank
and not me!

Yeah, sorry. But Frank's like
the old museum, isn't he?

In need of a cultural overhaul.

That's true. Frank could be way more
interesting and relevant.

I am sitting here, you know.

I, um... I need to report
a missing person.

Lucian Shaw, he's my curator.

He hasn't been seen
since his no-show last night.

- But how do you know he's missing?
- He wouldn't just not show up!

This is an important day
for the museum.

Could he have just felt a bit
pressured and decided to go AWOL?

Or do you think some
well-meaning idiot

could've said something really
inappropriate and made him run away?

Well, he didn't go home,

he's not answering the telephone.

He hasn't been admitted to hospital.
It's completely out of character!

My gut says it's Dr Middleton
and those fearsome feminist scolds!

Your gut really ought to refer to
them as The Society of Herstorians.

Yes, well, they'd do anything to
torpedo my museum. With me in it!

Small thing -
why not just go to the police?

No, no, not... not the police.

This is a potential PR disaster!

We've already stirred up
quite enough controversy.

So, how long have you
worked with this Lucian?

Er...

Well, I-I-I hired him
straight out of Cambridge.

He was the pick of the bunch.

I-I brought him to
the British Library

and then the Museum of Scotland,
and now the Arden Museum

about, um... about 12 years ago.

Ooh!

Ah! Look!

- Sorry about
- your lost property.

Middleton!

Yes, it's got her toxic
female fingerprints all over it!

Well, we don't know that for sure,
do we?

It's important for us
to be methodical.

I'm going to get over there!

Excuse me!

Here lies a wretched corpse... Hyah!

...of wretched soul bereft.

Hyah!

Seek not my name,

a plague consume
you wicked caitiffs left!

- Hyah!
- Middleton?!

Ah, Middleton! Where is he?!

Maybe he's lost somewhere
in the 19th century,

along with your attitudes.

Lucian?

Oh, for the last time,
I don't have your curator!

- Have the Herstorians got him?
- I don't know, you'll have to ask them,

if you can find them.
And good luck with that.

No-one knows who they are,
not even me.

Please! You're one of them.

I mean, I-I-I'd bet
5,000 crowns on it.

Ha-ha-ha-ha! Well, thank you,
I'm very flattered, but, no.

No, I'm far too old
to get up to that kind of mischief.

Anyway, anonymity's not my style,
as well you know.

Well, if anything has happened to Lucian,
his blood will be on your hands!

Ooh, gosh! Bit early for melodrama.

I warn you, I've got
top investigators looking into this.

Then let battle commence.

I will crush you!

Not if I crush you first!

Hyah!

Oh, she's pleading ignorance!

These angry women types,
they're all in bed together.

Metaphorically speaking.

Let's not jump to any conclusions.

There's lots of other leads
we can follow.

Do you know anything
about his personal life?

No. Why should I?

We'll, we're going to have
a look at this,

check his recent movements,
talk to museum staff.

From security. It's all they had.
They only keep 48 hours' worth.

Right! Great! Well, that should keep
Sebastian busy. shouldn't it?

It's all interior CCTV.
Public areas only.

So I'm not sure how useful it'll be.

Yes, we've been having teething
problems with our new security systems.

- Teething problems?
- The new humidity and temperature controls.

Vital for conservation purposes.

They make massive demands
on the circuits.

Anyway, I've been called down to
the Arts Council.

I shan't be back at my office
until late.

Here's my address in Woods Lane.
I shall be there tonight.

- Thank you.
- OK, thank you.

Well, I'll better get back,
make Sebastian's day.

Here.

You'd better take this, as well.

- Safe side.
- OK. Huh-huh!

- See you.
- See you.

Where are you up to?

Camera seven - Manuscript Gallery.

Care to share 20 gripping minutes of
one woman and her vacuum cleaner?

It's tedious. I'm sorry.

Tedious? This is Kafkaesque.

I feel like I'm stuck in some
black-and-white CCTV nightmare.

Oh. Well, here's a bit of colour
for you.

That's alarming.

It's really good, isn't it?

Do I spy a potential new recruit?

Yeah, I did actually think
that would be a good way in,

but it's impossible. Cos you
click on their "Contact Us" bit

and you just get a load of
shouty manifesto.

Don't you mean woman-i-festo?

That's very good!

There's loads of pictures of them
online doing demos and sit-ins and stuff,

but you just can't identify
any of them.

They're really mysterious.
They're like a group of Banksys.

I'm a bit stumped, to be honest.

Progress?

Well, look,
I've traced Lucian's every word,

thought and deed
since this time last week.

Found sod all, except his bicycle.

Well, you must have found something.
He can't have just vanished!

Yeah, there was a banana in a bag.

Are you eating it?

No.

You are, aren't you?

Well, look, it'd only go to waste
otherwise.

Right, well, when you've finished
one of your five a day,

could you get yourself down to Dr
M's house and ask her some questions?

No, I can't, I'm afraid.

I've got a date
with a strong, blonde Belgian.

Right, let me guess -
a guest ale at the Mucky Mallard?

Oh, busted. Hm!

Come on, Frank, one of us
has got to find something out

before Sir Tim checks in later.

Fine! But if they run
out of Donker Oudekiirk,

it'll be on your conscience forever.

It won't be.

From now on,
I'm just going to eat fruit.

Jaffa Cakes don't count!

Prepare for mirth.

You're supposed to say,
"For mirth be..."

Never mind. I'm done!

11 hours and 43 minutes' worth.

Brilliant.
What have you found?

We've got Lucian, here.

Camera 4, 18:31.

He's here, he's holding his index
card, practising his speech.

Oh! That must be around about
when he met him.

He loiters by the drinks' table
for a couple of minutes,

but then the footage blips out

until Camera 5 picks him up
at 18:46,

as he heads towards
the Shakespeare-aoke.

Ah, Sebastian, you would have
loved that. It was amazing!

I gave my Lady Macbeth
at Sydney Opera House.

It was a wonderful stage. It was
actually surprisingly intimate...

Are you trying to ruin my epiphany?

No. Sorry. Go on.

But then we lose his trail again,

until Camera 7 finds him
near the cloakroom at 18:49.

- Where did he go then?
- Nowhere.

- He's gone.
- Are you sure?

I have checked EVERY camera.

That's the last we see of him.

But if the Herstorians
did take him out...

- ...how did they get him out?
- And when?

Oh! Oh, I think I know!

So the security guards took
the Herstorians back outside

and then Sir Tim stepped up onto
the stage to make a speech.

18:53.

Yeah,
but they were still chanting outside.

So I remember, I looked outside

and I saw a van.

- A van?
- Yes.

It was a van, and it was revving
its engine while he was talking,

and it was blue
and it was a bit grubby.

Had a dent! Had a dent
in the driver's door.

Methinks the lady finally hath
the hot lead.

Yes! Well done, me! Huh!

Right, get yourself down to that
museum and track down that van.

Although 'tis pity the lady
hath not remembered it

before I endured an eternity
of CCTV footage.

Yes. Sorry about that. Hm-hm!

- It's a celebration one.
- Mm-hm.

Halt!

So, Sir Tim says you've
got it in for him and his museum.

Huh! Museum?

That glorified gift shop

that ordinary people
now have to pay to enter.

I don't suppose you've got any idea
where Lucian is, do you?

He's a grown man.

People should stop treating him like
a missing child, or a lost puppy.

So you don't know anything?

Well, If I did, I wouldn't tell...

Oh!

So you and Sir Tim have got history?

Sir Tim has proved to be yet another
male philistine who knows

the price of everything
and the value of nothing.

As far as I'm concerned,
Sir Tim is history.

Allez!

Oh!

Oh, bless you!

You all right? What happened?

Cats!

"Purr-icles, Stratford's Favourite
Shakespearean Cat Cafe."

Oh, dear!

Thank you.

I went to the museum, I tracked down
your blue van to a cat cafe,

but the manageress
would only let me speak to her

if I was a paying customer.

You're so brave!

Kenneth Branagh
wouldn't get off my lap,

Dame Judi kept trying to
lick my crumpet,

and after all that it turned out the
van was just delivering leaflets.

Oh.

Hello?

Why didn't you warn me I was
walking into the bloomin'

Battle of Agincourt?

What?

I could've been skewered
like last night's kebab.

Oh...

I'm missing something.

Yes, you are - the fact
that I stared death in the face.

Oh, stop being dramatic!

That's my thing.

Lucian was last seen at the
cloakroom at 18.49,

and the van left during
Sir Tim's speech.

But if he wasn't in it...

If you make me watch
one more minute of CCTV

I am running away
to join the circus.

Oh!

There was another getaway vehicle.

Or... he never actually
got away at all.

Oh...

Never mind him - me!

I was wondering...

Yeah?

Do you think Sir Tim cares this much
about all his employees,

or just Lucian?

What are you getting at?

Some of the boxes
are humidity controlled.

Ask if you want to look inside.

- Lucian?
- Lucian?

Homo stultus?

Latin.

Idiot man.

Is it all right if I...

Go ahead.

Don't just stand there.

It was awful.

- They didn't hurt...
- Custard cream?

They said they were teaching
the museum a lesson by removing me

from public view, consigning me
to storage, and leaving me there

to be forgotten.

Like the suffragette exhibition.

Yeah, exactly.

Do you want another custard cream?

Well, you weren't forgotten about,
not for a second.

Do you think
you could you identify them?

No. Possibly their voices,

but they kept those creepy masks on
the whole time.

And look...

Oh. "Payback time."

They said that if I don't reinstate
the important women of

the town's history,
they'll tattoo it on me.

Like a human placard.

Nice.

And then they made me spend
a ghastly night alone with that

horrific mummified woman.

Give us half an hour
and I'll drive you home.

Don't worry. I'll drive you home.

Yeah, Sir Tim,
this is Frank Hathaway.

Ah, good news.

One curator, found and returned.

Yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow.

Bye.

No, it's just a basic facial
cos he's still quite puffy.

You know, he's quite sensitive
to cats.

Well, I'm glad you've spent
our hard-earned fee

before we've even cashed the cheque.

What the...

Sorry, I really can't tell you
any more than that.

Yeah, you can tell us, though,
can't you, PC Deacon?

Not unless you're museum staff.

Well, we are contracted labour,
in the pay of the museum,

- so technically...
- No, I'm sorry.

What's happening?

The museum's been sectioned off
until further notice.

Well, what about my artefacts?

The dust alone,
it's a constant daily battle -

I have to temperature-control
things.

Are you museum staff?

Erm... Yeah.

Well, then I'm sorry
to have to tell you this,

but the museum director's
been found dead this morning

in suspicious circumstances.

- Oh, that's awful.
- In his own museum.

I only spoke to him
yesterday evening.

In that case, you're going to need
to give a statement to the DS.

- We're, ah, really, really sorry.
- Yeah.

But we're late with the rent,
so if I could leave that with you.

Sir Tim hired you personally.

We couldn't possibly pay you
out of museum funds.

- But I...
- If you'll excuse me.

Wow. That was insensitive.

I know! Thinks a lot of herself,
that one.

- No, I mean you!
- What?

You. That was...

Oh, just when I thought
things couldn't get any worse.

What are you two doing here?

Just passing.

This isn't one of your shabby
scratch-n-sniffs.

This is a murder investigation.

It behoves you to remember
the boundaries, Frank.

Behoves?

It behoves my backside!

- Did I just say that out loud?
- Yeah.

You know, the difference between
you and a real detective, Frank,

is instead of weighing up the facts,
you always see the worst in people.

Which is why you will always be
a bottom-feeder.

- You...
- It's not worth it.

Say hi to Sebastian for me.

Yeah, I will do, Viola.

So it looks like the Herstorians
have chalked up their first murder.

I think we should
pay our condolences to the widow.

Very decent of you.

What is the definition of behoves?

Lady Forbes-Allen, hello.

- We met briefly at...
- I remember.

Right. Yeah.

So we were just passing, and, erm...

We wanted to come and tell you how
sorry we are to hear about Sir Tim.

Must have been a terrible shock.

Thoughtful of you.

Oh, gardening?

It's a...

Yeah, I suppose that's a good way

to take your mind off things,
isn't it?

Well, of course I've had all manner
of demands on my time today,

but the helianthus
simply won't wait, so...

Ah, there is one thing.

The small matter of
an outstanding invoice.

You'd better come inside.

This really is a lovely house.

Yeah, it's, ah... sumptious.

There you are.

Thank you.

I must say you do seem remarkably
OK, under the circumstances.

I suppose it hasn't really
sunk in yet?

Possibly not.

I might even miss the old fool,

though it's common knowledge ours
was a marriage of convenience.

Really?

He was cultured, I was wealthy.

Not what you'd call a love match,
but it suited us.

We were about to mark
our 40th wedding anniversary.

Oh, wow. That really is a milestone.

Indeed.

Celebrate would be the wrong word,
considering the banal sacrifices

one makes within the confines of
a marriage.

There it is.

I don't suppose you've got
any idea who did it?

I've already told the police.

Sir Tim's social media
was a toxic swamp.

The man literally had
millions of enemies.

And now, if you don't mind...

Sorry.

Ha-ha. Hey!

Thank you!

That's it, then, isn't it?

Job done.

Yeah. Bit of a relief, really.

Wouldn't want to be the one to
have to find the killer.

Yeah, lucky escape.

Not for Sir Tim. Poor bloke.

What a way to go, eh?

Yeah, it's hard to believe,
isn't it, really?

Because he seemed so
posh and clever.

Talking of posh and clever.

Oh, hello. How's the puffiness?

Abating, as long as I keep
my feet up.

- Poor lamb.
- Lazy sod.

Just a quick one. I've seen
on Dr Middleton's online feed

that's she's about to make
a statement outside the museum.

You're welcome.

Shall we?

Yeah.

A crime committed not just against
the women of history,

but against us, their descendants.

My forthcoming book,

Burning Down the Bard:
Debunking an Outdated Legacy,

attempts to address this particular
patriarchal injustice.

But there are times in life when
the sword is mightier than the pen.

Therefore...

...I solemnly confess to
the murder of Sir Tim Forbes-Allen.

Are you sure you want to do
this here?

- Cuff me!
- That's really not necessary.

Yeah, cuff me, or I'll resist.

Dr Helen Middleton,
I am arresting you for the murder

of Sir Timothy Forbes-Allen.

You do not have to say anything,
but it may harm your defence

if you do not mention
when questioned something

which you later rely on in court.

Anything you do say
may be given in evidence.

Sound trumpets!

Let our bloody colours wave!

And either victory,
or else a grave!

Wow.

Was that a confession
or a plug for her new book?

There's no such thing as
bad publicity.

Dr M ticks all the boxes.

Means, motive, opportunity.

Nah, she's an insufferable,
self-promoting narcissist,

but I don't think she's the killer.

Another day, another dollar.

Why do I feel like
I've been invaded by fruit?

I was just trying to be healthy.

Might have got a bit carried away.

Oh, Sir Tim certainly has
his fair share of death threats.

They're not killers -
they're trolls,

going nuclear over whether
Shakespeare's got a Van Dyke beard

or a common chinstrap.

Any fool knows that a common
chinstrap connects transversely

to the sideburns,
whereas a Van Dyke is a totally

different matter...

Thank God.

I didn't know where else to turn.

So when did you
last have this letter?

It was tucked it into
my breast pocket last week.

It could've fallen out anywhere
between home and the museum -

it could even be
among Sir Tim's things.

If you're hiring us to find it,
it must be pretty important.

The content is...

...somewhat personal.

If it fell into the wrong hands
it could be disastrous,

especially now that Sir Tim...

Sir Tim is...

Was there something else?

It was a love letter.

The last one he ever wrote to me.

Oh, bless!

You must be devastated.

"Poor honest lord,
brought low by his own heart".

Did Lady Forbes-Allen know?

No.

We were meticulously careful.

That is, until I was
careless enough to lose it.

Look, don't worry.

We'll find your letter.

Do you want a satsuma?

I mean, fair do's, Frank.
You actually called that.

See?

It just goes to show you that
even someone as unrefined as myself

can be finely attuned to
the foibles of human nature.

Do you think Athena
really didn't know?

That was your cue to say
"You're not unrefined, Frank."

I mean, imagine.

Imagine finding out that

your husband has been writing
love letters to a man half your age.

Hm.

Oh!

What's going on?

It's Keeler.

Says I'm a bottom-feeder!

Well, if I'm a bottom-feeder,
Joe Keeler, at least you and me

are in the same pond!

I hope you don't mind me asking...

Loose leaf or bags?

Erm...

Always loose!

And oolong must be brewed between
85 and 95 degrees,

otherwise the nuances are lost.

Top tip. We'll remember that,
won't we, Frank?

Loose, nuances. Roger that.

Oo-long!

And also, erm...

We were wondering if...

If you knew your husband
was cheating on you?

Oh!

Well, where to even begin?

I'm guessing you mean Lucian.

Sweet boy, rather intense.

He wasn't the first, of course,
and I very much doubt he'd have been

the last, though I suspect he was
rather more smitten than most.

So you knew?

Of course.

Well, Lucian's hired us to find
a letter that Sir Tim wrote to him.

I just wonder if you'd come across
it in the last week or so?

'Fraid not.

I'm really sorry
to have to bring it up,

because it must be very painful
for you.

Oh, nonsense!

Our marriage survived all manner
of peccadilloes - on both sides.

It was probably stronger
as a result.

Really?

What about...

...I dunno - love?

Clearly, neither of you are married?

- Almost, actually...
- No way, never again. - ..but basically no.

Indeed.

Well, marriage is like yellow.

It doesn't suit everyone.

More tea?

No, thanks.

Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho!

Mm...

What's that?

It's good for my gut bacteria.

So what do we know?

Oh, God...

That pickled radish is a bad idea.

What was I thinking? Eurgh!

I meant about the letter,
MasterChef.

Perhaps the better question is,
what don't we know?

Well, Athena said she didn't
have the letter, and I believe her.

Based on what?

Well, you heard her - she just...

She just didn't seem to... care.

As Hazlitt said, "Love turns,
with little indulgence,

"to indifference.
Hatred alone is immortal."

Who's Hazlitt?

No idea.

Well, Dr M, she's a museum trustee -
maybe she found it?

If Dr M had it, the entire world
would know about it.

Maybe it's just lost, like gone.

You know, down a drain, in a bin,
shredded in someone's rabbit hutch.

Lost is not an option,
because "lost", may I remind you,

means no fee.

It seems to me like Lucian had it
before the kidnapping,

but he didn't have it after,
so surely the Herstorians have it?

What possible use could the
Herstorians have for the intimate

musings of their arch enemy?

Yeah, talk about payback time.

So all we need to do is
track down the Herstorians.

Did you say just "payback time"?

They were going to tattoo
that on Lucian's back.

I heard someone say that recently...

Yeah, I know, well, one of these
days it'll be payback time.

Put that in the fridge
for me, will you?

Lu?

Yeah, coming!

Hello? Hi.

Oh. Looking for Lucian?

Ah, wanted a quick word with you,
if that's OK?

Sure. Come in.

Have you met Alvecote Woman?

She's usually up in
the Copthorne Gallery.

I'm hoping she doesn't mind
being down here now,

since she's been in a peat bog
since the Bronze Age.

Is that an elbow that's...

Oh, don't answer that.

Listen, I'm going to cut
to the chase.

We know you're a Herstorian.

Ah...

- Oh...
- Lu?

Don't leave me in here with her.

Lu!

How could we have lost her?

I don't know. But I am not
looking in any more storage boxes,

I'll tell you that for free.

Oh, for God's sake...

I didn't catch that.

Jasra?

Please choose your speech
and press the orange button.

Look, we're not police -
we just want to ask you something.

Yeah. Lucian asked us
to find a letter, and we thought

the Herstorians might have it.

What letter?

It's a love letter, actually,
to Lucian from Sir Tim.

We didn't kill him.

We're not here for that.

We just thought he might have
lost it when you kidnapped him.

Nope. The Herstorians don't have it.

How can you be so sure?

Because I'm their leader.

You?

Wait. If Lucian and Sir Tim
were lovers,

then there was something.

The evening Sir Tim was stabbed,
he'd just got back from London.

No, it's too late!

Just tell me what I need to do
to make it right.

You know what to do -
you simply refuse to do it.

Lucian, listen!

So Lucian lied to us.

He said the last time he saw Sir Tim
was at the museum opening.

I think it's time we paid
our lovelorn curator a visit.

Sarge...

You might want to come down
to the front desk.

Yeah, now, I reckon.

So it's Marie Corelli?

One R and two Ls?

Right, take a seat.

I don't suppose any of you
have any ID?

Right, what is so important?

Ah, Sarge.

Here we have Mary Arden,
Marie Corelli, Annie Justins

and Elisabeth Scott.

And?

They all claim to have
killed Sir Tim.

What, all four of them?

Five actually.

The Angel of Stratford
just popped to the loo.

What?

Ah, here she is - Emily Minet.

Well, whoever they are, get 'em
off my front desk and into custody.

Let's see what Middleton's
got to say about this.

Lucian?

We'll just have to doorstep him
at work tomorrow.

Do you think he's all right?
Did you see his little misery pit?

Candle and photos, box of tissues...

Lucian? It's Frank Hathaway,
just checking you're all right.

Er, give us a call
when you get this.

I'm just going to say it
out loud.

I think that Lucian going missing at
this point is a little bit suspect.

Should we call the police?

Not enough information.

Guess we call it a day, then.

My gosh! I'm, so sorry Frank.

It must be the pickles.

How should I know
if it's a hungry cry or a tired cry?

What...? She's a baby!
What's she got to be angry about?

I've got to go, babe.

Sorry, Custody Sarge
wants to know how long

we're keeping the ladies?
He's worried about the backlog.

Those bloody Herstorians.

Mary Arden. That should have been
a give-away.

There's also got Annie Justins,
Stratford's first female mayor,

and Elisabeth Scott -
she designed the RSC building.

Did it not occur to you
that they're all dead?

I don't know why, but those
women trying to do a Spartacus -

and I am not having it.

Yes, ma'am.

In hindsight, yes.

Yeah.

Publicity stunt, hm, of course.

What? All of them?

Immediately. Yes.

Yes, ma'am.

Well done, girls!

Oh, hello!

Thank you.

I have a message to those
who condemn us for throwing a stone

at the window of patriarchy

by confessing to
a murder we didn't commit.

I give you the wisdom
of Emmeline Pankhurst,

"The argument of
the broken window pane

"is the most valuable argument
in modern politics."

- Yes?!
- Yeah!

Yes! So, let's break some windows!

Yeah!

Clock's ticking, Frank.
Come on.

Yeah, I'm just checking
the message board again.

You don't think we should offer
a reward, do you?

How much, for a letter that's
basically worth nothing to anyone?

Except one person.

The mild-mannered curator
who loves his mum and his bicycle,

but who also possibly murdered
his lover in a jealous rage.

Surprise visitor.

- Don't suppose you've seen Lucian?
- No. Why? Haven't you?

He was in this morning,
then he went out,

- said he was going to "meet the monster".
- The monster?

Yeah, I'm not going to lie,

he had this kind of dangerous
gleam in his eye.

- That doesn't sound good.
- Then I found this on his desk.

"It was I who stole them both,

"The life cannot be returned,

"But the letter awaits
thee this day,

"in the Woods,
at the eleventh hour."

Ah, brilliant! A riddle.
That's all we need...!

Simple, the murderer has the letter.

Obviously, they can't return
Sir Tim...

Oh, but they can return the letter.

In the woods? What woods?
Any woods?

They've made a mistake, they've
written "Woods" with a capital W.

Hang on.
What if it's not a mistake?

- It's a street, Woods Lane.
- Do you think Lucian's in danger?

Or is he the danger?

Look, Frank!

Look! Come on! We need to be quick.
No time to explain.

- How do you know she wrote the note?
- The Ts, Athena's Ts.

- What?!
- Find the cheque. You'll see what I mean.

What?

- Oh, yeah. A few snacks in there.
- "A few"?!

The Ts! The Ts are the same.

Ah, the Ts!

I thought you were having some
sort of posh caffeine withdrawal.

- We should call the police.
- What you doing?

I do this every day,
Frank, I do know!

Watch the wall!

Where are you going?

I'm going round!

- The entrance is there!
- Yes, I know that, Frank,

I have done this before.

Come on! She could have left
the country by now!

- There we go!
- Right. - See?

Right.

Go, go, go!

I am going at the correct
speed for the tunnel.

Let me do it!

- Thank God! He's gone mad!
- Stay where you are!

Let's talk about this.

She's the murderer, not me,

so don't speak to me like
I'm some petulant child!

Stop acting like one!

- Lucian, just give me the knife.
- No.

Anyway, it's not a knife,

it's Sir Tim's garnet-encrusted
letter opener,

and I'm not afraid to use it!

- Please don't.
- Why not?

Because she doesn't deserve it.

Her plan was to make me eat every
single one of those letters...

Washed down with Tim's favourite
red. I'm not a monster.

...and then murder me in cold blood.

So, I'd say she does deserve it.

She deserves to be tried
by a jury in a court of law.

I want the truth!

And I want to hear it from you.

Want, want, want...

The whining, needy voice of
the avocado-on-toast generation!

Athena, maybe you could
just try and cooperate a bit?

Fine!

She killed him over a letter!

It wasn't just a letter -

though finding that squalid
note on the museum floor

was a low point -

it was all the other letters,
the photographs,

the nauseating love tokens!

What is it, Athena?

I've had a roasting
from those Arts Council despots.

I've got mutinies breaking out
right, left and...

Oh...

We had an agreement.

Ah.

I can't do this any more.

No. No!

You don't get to revise the rules.

We are both allowed
a measure of freedom,

as long we don't fall in love.

Well, I...

I didn't mean to, but I did.

And so did he.

Nonsense! We're married!

That's how it's always been,

and that is the way it will
continue to be,

so tell that... boy that it's over
and we'll say no more about it.

I'm sorry, Athena. I'm leaving you.

Now! Now, steady, darling. You could
actually hurt someone with those.

Well, "darling",

maybe you should know how it feels
to be stabbed in the heart!

Tim?

I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!

You actually really loved him,
didn't you?

Even though you tried to convince
the whole world you didn't care.

I probably even convinced him
I didn't care.

He was the love of my life!

No, he was the love of MY life!

Please...

...don't do anything you can't undo.

Don't listen to her - do it!

Kill me, go to prison.

The world will be better off
without you.

Stop her!

5960 on scene,
further assistance required, over.

Where's a battalion of Herstorians
when you need one?

Lucian's having a lie down,

then he's going to present himself
at the police station.

- Is that necessary?
- Might be a charged with ABH

after his little tango with
Sir Tim's letter opener.

Lady Forbes-Allen,
are you all right?

Actually, I'm somewhat relieved.

Yes, I can imagine that
the life of a fugitive

not being quite your cup
of... oolong, is it?

I had to abandon my doctoral thesis
some years ago.

I'm quite looking forward to
having time in prison to finish it.

Good for you.

The title is Shakespeare Was
A Woman, The Incontrovertible Truth.

Hathaway, sticking your fingers in
other people's pies, as usual, eh?

Pulled you out a murderer,
though, didn't I?

- Yeah? You seem pretty sure about that.
- Bottom feeders' instinct.

It behoves...

It behoves you to take it from here,
Detective Sergeant Keeler.

Stick her in the car.

You know, the only statue of a woman
in this town is of Lady Macbeth,

a figment of
Shakespeare's imagination.

I didn't know that
about the statues, did you?

No. Definitely time things changed.

When are women going to stop
banging on about their rights?

All I want now is my right to
a pint in the Mucky Mallard.

- Of course. I'll run you over, shall I?
- Thanks.

When you say you'll "run me over",

you don't mean... do you?

Lu?

- Lu?
- Frank.