Original subtitles

I was told that you were dead.

But he did not--

Yes, but I was told this.

I will talk to her, my word on it.

I do not see an animal, Nathaniel.

And what if we left this place?

Robin, as well.

Robin Sumner, you trust me, don't you?

I'll see you safe.

You've been a very brave boy, Robin.

Oh, that boy's dead, washed up like garbage

in the mud of Goodluck Hope.

It's your piece of shit brother, killing

on the count of your killing.

You're goddamned animals.

Oh!

There is a candle, sir.

No!

Mathilda, we had to catch him!

Mr. Reid, sir?

Mr. Reid, how was he even taken?

It sounds as though you surrendered.

Why?

So to what end, hmm?

Did you and the captain find Robin's killed mother

and uncle?

On what rash instinct does he and Miss Susan

have blasted their way in and out of Mr. Dove's home?

Please.

All I hear is talk of men who know not of the truth.

Please, Mr. Reed, promise we go next.

Mr. Reid?

Mr. Reid?

Tilda.

Tilda! Please!

Only let me speak with you.

Tilda, please! We must talk.

You must let me explain.

Tilda!

Come, Inspector.

You're waited on.

This is your case, Inspector Drummond.

This may be Hackney, but this is a crime birthed in Whitechapel.

These felons will no doubt be hid there

until their escape may be made.

And you, sir, and your men at H Division--

you shall hunt, then trap them in Whitechapel, am I clear?

Yes, Mr. Dove.

Now that they've got the boy, they must make their escape.

They must show themselves in so doing.

Therefore, you allow me more men requisitioned

from the J and the K. See the docksides locked down,

all the train stations--

She was mother to me when I had need of one.

And they have stole my son. So, yes, Inspector.

You shall have all the men you require.

Only make the instruction.

Yes, sir.

And Mr. Reid-- now that Mr. Shine's

last actions have delivered him into your custody,

does he speak?

He does not.

And never mind what Mr. Shine did to him,

it's-- it's as if the marrow has been sucked from his bones.

Well, betrayal, he has suffered--

a perception of it, at least.

That is, perhaps, understandable.

You have cleared the Leman Street cells for his safety,

then? -I have.

Then perhaps I might interview him.

Oh, I should be grateful, sir.

Then let us to Leman Street.

After you, Inspector.

Send for a photographer.

We'll not let the mortuary touch her until--

Thank you, Matthew. Thank you.

I never knew.

What I mean to say is that there is much, too much

in this world, to turn a man towards contempt

for all within, but I never knew what

it would be to see the two of you together

and to know myself changed.

Connor, you watch your father, but despite all, there's

much to take example from-- his courage,

his courage and his love.

There are fences yet to be let.

We're going home, son, to America.

And there, there are deep valleys,

and there are rivers that are fresh with spring thaw.

Fish within-- catfish, perch, and great, big, fat trout

that you can catch and eat and then do nothing but belch

and feel the sun on our faces, maybe

turn our minds toward making you a little sister.

They have a carriage ready.

My driver will take you as far as the Old North Road

and then make his own way home.

Now, Connor, this is Miss Mimi, our true friend.

Well, how else am I to be rid of you?

The docks will be watched.

The boat trains for the northern and southern ports, likewise.

No, you'd only be apprehended, escape once again,

and turned in.

And I should never be able to open this playhouse

to the paying public. -All right.

Best we're about it.

Ah-bah!

OK.

You do not wish to hear news of the wider world of Whitechapel?

We do not.

And What news is that, Miss Mimi?

Jedediah Shine is dead.

Well, that's cause for celebration, then.

How so?

Uh, it is not said in detail, only that the capture of Mr.

Reid was his last living act.

It appears Mr. Reid's daughter was turned to his betrayal.

One family reunited, another sundered.

Hey, he knew the risk.

I warned him, but he decided to go his own way,

just as now, we're going to go ours.

Caitlin, you bring the boy.

I'm going take the bags out to the carriage.

Caitlin, I said bring the boy.

Matthew, I have to.

I made the promise.

That betrayal, that sundering-- they are down to me.

God damn it, Caitlin, no.

But does he not merit intervention?

Does she not deserve the truth?

And what about us, for Christ's sakes?

We have him.

We have Connor.

And now you're going to go saunter over

and present yourself to the home address

of Inspector Samuel Drummond?

What-- I do not suggest such a thing.

Then what?

We ask one more service of our host.

Will you leave us a moment, Inspector Drummond?

Yes, sir.

All of London is a clamour sir.

The capital's press is therefore to be gathered at Scotland Yard

tomorrow morning, where I shall explain to them the ugly whys

and wherefores of how it is the leading police of Whitechapel

are either murdered or murdering.

I'm sure you understand, therefore,

what a service you would render should you give

full account of all you know.

Your friends have killed once more.

More blood, the spattering of which

lands on your shirt cuffs, Mr. Reid, for you

know where they might be found and will not say.

Will you now tell me?

And beware, I do not offer you terms.

You are wiser than to think your many articles of disgrace

might be for one act of confession.

No.

You speak because you understand this mayhem

must come to an end.

You do it because you believe in resolution, a last good act

for Edmund Reid.

It will not erase the stain of your works, sir,

but it will return a measure of order

to the community you have purported to serve

and some peace to the shattered soul of your daughter.

I could hear Bennet Drake as he died.

I heard what it was he said to your brother

before your brother took his throat out.

Bennet said that to see him was only looking

in a mirror-- and now, you and I,

here, facing reflections of our own.

I know you are sincere, Mr. Dove, sincere in your hope

that the world will be righted and renewed,

the pitiless murk of the past be obliterated and forgot.

It is an ambition I once nurtured myself.

Indeed, I would dispute with all who would insist that such

an ambition was hopeless.

This journey here, ours, began with a man named Isaac Bloom.

You recall the name.

Isaac was a mathematician.

He believed that numbers betrayed the true nature

of our universe, and accordingly, it was empirically

proved that the entropy of the universe extended to a maximum,

that everything moved irretrievably

from order into chaos.

You do not believe that, do you?

I cannot.

I said the same because what hope for Whitechapel

if he were right?

You wish for a confession of truth from me?

I do.

Well, this is it.

Isaac Bloom was correct in all that he said.

You forget your hopes, sir, because this Whitechapel

is coming for you.

It will take the purest of them, and it will shatter

it into shards of pure poison.

Now, one last good act, you say?

Then I choose the simplest.

I will not betray my friends.

He will not speak, but we must proceed, regardless.

The man he is, his position in your own private life,

it is no easy thing, I know.

But you seem him charged, Inspector.

I shall, Mr. Dove.

Aye, there you are, upright,.

Careful, Frank.

What is it scares you, Drum?

That just as the sanctified Miss Mathilda Reid has done,

we, too, might find cause to wallop

you in full view of the world?

Are you about your work, Desk Sergeant?

Have you wired the J and K about them extra boots?

Do they even now read their instructions

as to how each and every means of departure from this town

is to be barricaded?

No?

Let's see it done!

And when you have, you may come and witness

Mr. Reid's charge sheet, hear his offenses for yourself.

Please confirm your name.

Edmund John James Reid.

Address?

14 Fairclough Street, Whitechapel.

Occupation?

Police officer.

Drummond, what I asked of you earlier,

you told Mathilda-- that I understand, that I understood?

Please, will you tell her?

Please, say that you will tell her.

Charge today against Reid, Edmund, John James.

Witness Sergeant Francis Thatcher.

Her majesty's Metropolitan Police do charge you with

the following crimes-- the unlawful murder with malice

of forethought of Theodore Swift, the unlawful

murder of Horace Buckley-- -Drummond?

--aiding and abetting the unlawful murder of Frank

Goodnight, resisting arrest-- -Drummond?

--conspiracy to defeat justice--

Please, Mathilda must know.

--being an accessory of the--

Mathilda must know.

--to the felony of permitting Miss Susan Hart--

She must not suffer any further distress.

--and Captain Homer Jackson to regain

their liberty whilst having the prisoners

in your lawful custody.

It is only a message--

-You will sign here, Mr. Reid-- -Why will you--

- --and then you, Frank. - --why will you not undertake--

He cannot undertake to do that, Mr. Reid,

because Miss Matilda put him out the streets

and won't speak to him.

Is this true, Drummond?

Please, sir, sign.

Tell me.

Sergeant Thatcher, sign.

Samuel Drummond, was it you who lit the candle

in Mathilda's window?

Sign for your inspector, Sergeant.

But Mr. Reid--

Sign, Thatcher.

Sergeant Thatcher, earlier, you were inquiring

after the Sumner family.

Uh, yes, Mr. Reid.

Perhaps one and a half kilometers

upstream from the Limehouse Cut there

is a series of heavy meanders through Bow Creek.

And on the eastern bank, there is a copse of black poplars

at Goodluck Hope amongst you will

find a mound of earth marked with a prow of driftwood.

And within that grave, you will find the murdered

body of Robin Sumner.

How?

Who? Who?

Commissioner Dove, I believe.

And now, he's fixing Drum, up there with his vanity

and his ambition.

He may as well have the little boy's blood on his hands,

as well, for he shall hear what he's done.

No, no, no.

Samuel Drummond-- Samuel Drummond is innocent of all

and must remain so.

Sir, the candle, Miss Mathilda-- how can you defend--

He was trying for the love of her.

I am certain of it.

After all the bickering and the petty jostlings

with a , are you not similarly convinced

his heart is a true one?

Whichever, Sergeant, it serves no purpose

to ruin his sense of the world, not yet, at any rate.

Then I'll ask you again, sir.

What must we do now?

Not we, Francis Thatcher-- you.

-You're Miss Mathilda Reid. -Yes.

Who are you?

This is my theater, Miss Reid.

It means a great deal to me, so I do

hope that you can be trusted.

Hello, Mathilda.

Why am I brought here?

Because she asks, and she has a way of getting what

she asks for.

You bank a great deal on my discretion, Miss Susan.

I hope you will consider it a risk worth taking.

And what is that I may do for you?

Relieve me of a secret, I hope.

How may I do that?

Allow me to tell it to you.

I've kept it long, and it is, to me, a poison.

Hello, Connor.

My son knows a friend when he sees one.

Uh, may I fetch you some tea, Miss Reid?

Thank you, Captain Jackson.

We heard the news of your father.

He was hid here with us until, well, you called to him.

And which father can resist the call of his child?

But I did not call to him, did not send him out to go

beneath Mr. Shine's fists. I would not.

I could not. -I believe it, Mathilda.

You love him.

I do.

Ah, and yet--

The things he has done.

I'll tell you about my father.

-Are you feeling all right? -Oh.

Um, a little flu.

--what he suffered, and for all his horror,

I wished for Mr. Reid to lock the grill

and leave my father there.

I longed for it again and again and again.

And I do not feel regret.

Forgive me, Miss Susan, but your father's fate,

my own's involvement in that-- it is not those actions

which brought me to despair.

I know, Matilda.

But Mr. Buckley, what he did to--

Mathilda, this-- this is why I bring you here,

to ask that you-- whenever down the years,

you bring to mind the picture of what befell Mr. Buckley in that

cellar-- you no more imagine Mr. Reid with that man's head

between his fists but myself.

Now, it would take you another lifetime

to understand what would have made me do-- do such a thing.

But at the time, I believed your father,

perhaps as vicious as your-- your worst dreams may suggest.

I was in this as, perhaps, you are now-- misguided

and to my-- to my shame, my life-- my lifelong shame,

I saw a way by which all that I had made for myself,

all that your father, in his righteousness,

would set himself upon taking from me.

This were a means to protect it.

And that means was a lie.

In the days after you were found taken into my care,

oh, your mind fevered wondering the damaged spirit child

that Mr. Buckley had made you believe that you were,

your father, Mr. Reid, came looking for you.

And I told him you were dead.

And worse, Matilda, for all Mr. Buckley's gentleness to you,

I described a vision of horror to your father,

that you had been chained and starved

and violated all those years that you'd been gone from him.

So, yes, he took Horace Buckley's life,

but with my hands, Mathilda-- my hands-- my hands-- just

as though he were my puppet.

It's true, Miss Reid, all of it.

Yet, you love her still.

It can be regrettable, but you do not pick who you love.

And so you bring me here now to tell me this because you have

your son, are leaving, and wish to unburden

yourself before you do?

Forgive me, but as ever, I feel you serve

no one's ends but your own.

Think on it as my father is dragged

pitilessly to his justice while you escape yours.

God damn it!

You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?

Of all the women in the world to have an attack of conscience!

Jesus Christ!

And don't you be pointing those teary eyes in my direction,

either, Miss Reid.

She and your father shit kicked chaos through their lives.

I've been caught in that carnage as deep as any soul alive.

And now, God damnit-- I mean, what

did he ever do for me, huh?

Hauled his flapping ass out of more scrapes than I

care to think of, and now--

Now what, Captain?

I have a goddamn plan, that's what.

Evening, boys.

You took your sweet time.

Think it's going to take six of you, do you?

Well, perhaps it might, if you were

men, not cowards and eunuchs.

Come on, darlings.

Where's Sergeant Thatcher?

Don't know, sir.

Well, somebody bloody find him!

Ugh!

Ah, Drummond, the fairy queen himself.

Whatever it is you have in mind,

do not take me for a fool. Has he been searched?

Strip him.

Do it!

- Inspector, sir.

What?

-You're called for. -I'm occupied.

Take a note or send them away.

It is Miss Reid, sir.

Lock Captain Jackson down.

Two men on the outer door, also.

What is it you do, Captain?

Attack of conscience, Reid.

You can save your gratitude for later.

And why am I grateful that you two are now incarcerated?

Why do you think?

Not that you deserve it, but we're

going to break you out of here. -We?

Mathilda.

Mathilda, will you come upstairs so we may talk?

In due course, perhaps.

For now, I would see my father.

Drum, you may take a moment to consider

the consequences of denying me this,

but do not take any longer.

Thank you, Drum. As I said, alone.

I shall wait beyond.

Hammer on the door when you are done, Tilda.

Father--

-Darling girl. -Are you hurt?

What that man did to you--

Hush, Mathilda, I shall live.

My candle-- it was not myself to have lit it.

I know.

I know, Mathilda.

But how?

Mr. Drummond is not a man much able to disguise his shame.

He told you?

Not as such, but he bears it hard, my darling.

Hey, my heart bleeds for him, really, but, Miss Reid,

do you think it's about time we got about our chief purpose?

No.

No, no.

I am not for the freeing, Mathilda.

Excuse me?

No more running. No more.

No more.

All that I have done, all the horrors

that you have felt at your father's actions--

they are not misplaced.

But Miss Susan, she explained all to me.

No. No, not all.

The man, Buckley, perhaps.

Her father, Theodore Swift-- I could never regret that,

but think on your Uncle Bennet and all I brought him to.

Mathilda, an accounting must be made.

And now you have.

You let me hang alongside you, and I bust

my ass in here to free you.

Yes.

On that matter, it is my own strategy, Captain,

and I very much hope it shan't come to that.

And that strategy being what?

Francis Thatcher is going to exhume

the body of Robin Sumner.

I thought you said you left that boy to rest.

He rests, Augustus Dove prevails.

Now, he may rest in due course again,

but it is that boy who will give his own tragedy--

his family's here, Bennet Drake's, Isaac Bloom's-- it is

that boy who will hand them their justice, even if I

have handed mine alongside.

And how's the boy to do that, Reid.

That boy cannot speak.

The dead can always speak, Captain,

when you are there to aid them.

And, uh, if I hadn't in all lunacy set about your freeing?

You've always been there when I needed you.

Why should today be any different?

-Miss Reid? -Yes, Captain?

Will you hand me my pistol, please?

But why?

Because I'm going to shoot your father with it.

My apologies, brother.

I've left you alone too long.

I thought we might eat together.

Soup.

Last night, as we came under attack,

you broke down your door.

I did?

You did this so you might assist my people.

I heard the pup calling.

And yet, you did not protect him.

Well, the Captain, he-- he had a pistol.

And besides-- -Besides what, brother?

Miss Susan is his mother.

She is a murderer, Nathaniel.

So I am, Augustus.

Do you recall a boy, Robin Sumner?

Of course.

Miss Susan told me he is, in fact, not safe, that he's dead.

And she knows this how?

Captain found him in water, um, at Goodluck Hope.

How dead, did these most valuable witnesses say?

Killed by you, they believe.

What do you believe, Nathaniel?

You have known me your entire life.

Do you truly believe I could do that to a pup?

A pup?

No.

Now, we are almost home.

Edmund Reid lies in a cell at Leman

Street, his spirit broken.

The woman, Hart, and her American

must now escape with their child and will

surely be taken in so doing.

It will be Christmas before we know it.

We shall fill the house with food and gifts and friends

and give thanks for the future ahead of us.

Eat.

- All right.

I will fear no evil, for thou art

with me, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

Oh, Robin.

How did you know where to find him, Sergeant?

Mr. Reid told me where.

And what will you do with him now?

Get him his retribution.

An admirable instinct, Mr. Thatcher,

a policeman's instinct.

Oh!

Ah!

You have saved me a great deal of trouble.

I should have been here all night, otherwise.

It is a faster current here, and the course runs direct.

Do you see the pilot lights at Limehouse

Cut, the Thames running on a spring

tide, and beyond, the ocean?

As you sought to show Robin Sumner his path in life,

you will lead him on in death now.

Oh!

Ah!

Uh!

Ahh!

Oh, there you go.

Whichever road Thatcher took, he's late.

He's way, way late.

Yeah, they're waiting for me, you know-- my wife, my boy.

For you, too, if you need a ride.

We have the guns.

We have the dynamite, Reid.

We might just go.

You might?

You ought.

Whatever has happened, whatever is coming, I can't explain,

but I-- I must be here to see it.

But I am in earnest, Captain. You go.

Go.

Go now.

What, and let you martyr yourself all alone?

Nathaniel! Nathaniel!

Mr. Dove, sir, your carriage is here.

Order! Order!

God damn you, silence!

So that the newspaperman of London

may be furnished with the truth, Assistant Commissioner Dove

will now elaborate.

Thank you, Commissioner.

It is with regret I must announce

the death of Inspector First Class

Jedediah Shine of H Division.

Please!

Mr. Shine was as fine and resourceful a policeman

as any this force has known.

He will be mourned accordingly.

I need hardly mention how hard this

goes on the morale of our men, who

only so recently lost Inspector Bennet

Drake of the same division.

Is there any connection between--

Inspector Shine's last action was to secure

the arrest of Edmund Reid.

And whilst-- and whilst I know that man's reputation was hard

won, I hope that you will take in good faith

the charges which the men of H Division

will soon be presenting against their one-time station chief.

Let me say only this-- none of the speculation carried

in your pages is far from the truth of the matter,

and should the courts, as I expect them to do,

find Edmund Reid guilty, no matter his years of service,

we will be urging for the most severe of penalties

under the law.

Commissioner Bradford, can this, indeed, be true?

You would send one of your own to the rope?

We would, Miss Costello, with ever greater conviction,

given the violent, headstrong hypocrisy

he has sanctioned and performed in our name.

Ah!

You are Costello?

Good day, Mr. Abeline.

Come away, miss.

You heard?

I did.

Then you understand why I wired you.

I hoped you might be prised from your retirement.

Ed Reid is to be hanged.

That hero, all smooth-faced, back there, that

is the Mr. Dove you wrote of.

I fear he now has the wherewithal to prevail.

There are no left to challenge him.

There is you, miss.

But all I had accumulated of his story--

the murdered Rabbi Rotovsky's own written account-- I

believe Mr. Shine destroyed it.

Then best we put it together again.

Where is Francis Thatcher?

Gone as you ask.

No man knows where.

Not returned?

Mathilda, why does the whereabouts of Frank Thatcher

worry you so?

I'm not sure I want to tell you, Drum.

After all, I know what it is you do with the secrets I give you.

I would take it back if I could.

I'm sure.

But not for him.

All them things Mr. Reid is said to have done, he done.

I know.

So he must face his punishment.

I understand, Drum.

I did it for you, Tilda, because I wanted--

I still only want for you and I be able to walk

clean of this mess.

For you, for once, to be able to stand atop the building

of your life and look outward from it,

not forever be casting your gaze back inside for the fear

it might catch fire again.

And he is the building, you feel.

Well, when is he not?

Yard, son. Pipe down!

Where's your chief?

Mr. Abeline.

Mathilda Reid.

Mr. Abeline, on another occasion, the men of H Division

will gladly welcome you, but as you might have heard,

we are sorely pressed at the present moment.

Who-- this?

This is Inspector Drummond.

This is him?

The milksop with whom you bring yourself

into shame and disrepute?

Mathilda, really?

Looks like he might bow to blow the head off a pint of mild.

Nonetheless, sir, this is my command,

and I ask you why you've brung yourself

here today of all days.

I would see my friend before you

and your master have his neck choked at new light.

Tilda, it is not I that will pass that sentence on him,

as you know, nor Mr. Dove.

He agitates for it, however.

Drum, please allow it.

I will not. It is prohibited.

What is it you do, Drum?

What else?

Alert Mr. Dove to this man's presence.

You do it, sonny.

I should be glad to know him.

Hmm.

Hello?

Susan?

Captain?

Ah! -Who are you?

Wait, wait! -Ugh!

-Wait! -Ah!

Help! -Shut up!

Ah, uh!

Calm down!

Be quiet. Be quiet!

Nathaniel!

Nathaniel, you leave her be!

Will you-- will you take Connor?

And leave you here?

He's a friend. Trust me.

You brought him here.

Why?

Miss Susan, you told me, and I had to ask him because he--

he is my brother.

Augustus, he swore-- no, he hadn't.

And I could not believe this of him.

But I watched, and I followed him.

And I saw him.

He put a bullet in that copper, Thatcher.

Thatcher's dead?

Yes.

He put them both in the river.

But I swum out, and I brought Robin back.

Oh, why did you bring him to me?

I've no one else to go to, and I feel as-- as though something

should be done.

And Robin should be shown to someone as proof.

Augustus must be punished?

Yeah.

Why?

Because he has killed.

So have you, Nathaniel.

But not a pup.

Never a pup.

Killing is killing.

And if-- if Augustus must be punished, then you must.

All who kill must be punished.

I'm frightened, Miss Susan.

I'm fierce frightened.

Perhaps--

Perhaps, I were to go with you.

Whoa.

-Thank you. -Thank you, sir.

Miss Reid.

You did right to send for me, Inspector.

Is this him, then?

Is it?

Mr. Abeline, on another occasion,

I should be grateful to meet you and account for actions we here

have taken, which I understand must

surely fill you with horror.

But our force, we comrades cannot be

seen to fight among ourselves.

My, but you are silky and oiled, boy.

However, I'm not in your force no more.

And even were I still, I would not call you my brother, man.

Then, sir, I think Inspector Drummond must have his men

escort you from these premises.

Mr. Drummond?

You men, with me. Augustus!

Good afternoon, Mr. Dove.

Inspector Drummond, my name is Caitlin Swift,

and I wish to surrender myself to the police.

My name is Nathaniel ,

and I, too, wish to surrender myself to the police.

For what crime?

Sorry, Augustus.

I do not know you, sir.

Which crime?

-Murder. -Whose?

Leon Rotovsky.

Rabbi Leon Rotovsky, other men whose names I did not know,

and Mr. Drake.

He known to you, is he Mr. Dove?

He familiar?

I do not know this man.

We must take this off the street, Mr. Dove.

Get them in.

Men!

Get them in, all of them! Now!

Tilda, what is it? What did you do?

Father, I think you must come.

Just follow procedures, Mr. Drummond.

All confessions to be writ, signed, and witnessed.

Yes, sir.

Rachel!

This way.

You keep away!

Right.

You keep away.

Nathaniel, allow it.

They must see him.

Who is this boy?

Augustus, please.

You know.

Yes, Mr. Dove, you know.

I'll kill you, you son of a bitch.

He is not worth the blood.

You taught him that he was the beast, did you not?

And that made you more able to suppress and disguise

your own monstrosity.

Take control of your station house, Inspector.

Barely have I known you 10 minutes, boy,

and already the sound of your voice makes me want to shit!

Edmund.

Fred.

Samuel Drummond, you see?

Your station house has been overtaken by its prisoners.

You are not to blame.

You were overwhelmed at gunpoint.

And your captors then locked down

the station house around you.

Caitlin, what is it you do, darling?

Something good, I hope.