All language subtitles for Midsomer Murders.s08e08.Midsomer Rhapsody

BELL TOLLS

OWL HOOTS

Charlie, psst!

Psst!

Come along.

Do yourself up.

Good night, Arthur.

♪ Midsomer Rhapsody

MUSIC STOPS

Come out.

What are YOU doing in my house?

Skull cracked like an egg. Arthur
Leggott - retired music teacher.

Much respected and admired.
Missing from the Cedars Care Home.

What was he sneaking around here for
in the night? What was he after?

Probably the same as
whoever did this.

Well, looks like they had
a hell of a job finding it.

No forced entry.
He must have been followed in.

Or else someone was already in here.

The auctioneers obviously have a key
- they'd started cataloguing it -

and, I assume, the care home.

What was here
that was so important to him?

Music. Nothing else mattered.

He was respected and admired, Scott,

because he encouraged
and inspired so many people,

including the great Joan Alder.

Joan Alder? Midsomer Rhapsody?

Yeah. Do you know that piece?

My mum was a fan. She played it
when she wanted us out of the house.

Oh.

♪ Keep smiling through

♪ Just like you

♪ Always do

♪ Till the blue skies

♪ Drive the grey clouds far away

♪ And will you please say hello

♪ To the folks that I know?

♪ Tell them I won't be long

♪ They'll be happy to know

♪ That when you saw me go

♪ I was singing this song

♪ We'll meet again

♪ Don't know where

♪ Don't know when

♪ But I know we'll meet again

♪ Some sunny day ♪

Peggy.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry about this.

Arthur liked us to sing that song.

One of his favourites.

This is Charlie.
Oh, of course. Hello, Charlie.

Congratulations.
I'm sorry I haven't -

Listen, half the folk invited,
I haven't met yet.

What do you expect from
a whirlwind romance?

Swept you off your feet, did he?

Oh, I'm sorry.
This is Detective Sergeant Scott.

And we'd like very much, if we may,
to talk to you later on.

Well, we're all waiting...

..to be interrogated.

Thank you.

But first,
I'd like to look at Arthur's room.

Yeah.

DOOR CLOSES
So who's Vera Lynn?

That's Peggy Alder, Scott.

What, Joan Alder's mum?
Yes, indeed.

The one whose house they're trying
to turn into some shrine?

The Joan Alder Society prefer
to call it a living museum.

Then you know the family?
Yes, I do, through Joyce.

I don't get it, sir. I mean...

She wasn't exactly your John Lennon,
was she?

She only wrote one song.
She wrote lots more than that.

Lovely music. Beautiful music.

But you're right. It's Midsomer
Rhapsody she's most famous for.

What one thing could Arthur Leggott
have had that was of so much value?

A second, undiscovered rhapsody?
Hmm.

Yeah. Maybe.

Mrs Alder?

Thank you.

Bit of all right, in't she?

Fancied her the first time
I set eyes on her.

He'd taken to wandering.

But this was the first time he'd
done it in the middle of the night.

We were old friends, Tom.
I know you were, Peggy.

Which makes it all the more stupid
that we fell out the way we did.

He accused our Melody of stealing.

Wouldn't let it alone.

I said I'd never speak to him again.

I never dreamed I wouldn't.

Stealing?

It was all old music sheets.
He was giving them to Charlie.

Did he have any visitors?

Only Laura Crawford.

Who's Laura Crawford?

Joan's agent.
Writing a book about her.

She came to see me, then Arthur.
Er...sorry to bother you,

but shall we cancel?
What?

The preview. Melody said...
Oh, Alan Thorpe, my son-in-law.

So, we'll do it later, huh?

Why would I want to go and look at
something I lived in 40 years ago?

I'll leave you to it.

Because you said you wanted to.

I made the arrangements.
Well, I can't.

I'll see it at the opening.

I'll just go and have a word
with Melody.

You got the cooker, then?

Pardon?

Mr Swinscoe said
he'd got an exact replica.

What do you want to go getting
a pokey little thing like that for?

People will think
we were poverty-stricken.

You WERE.

I don't know what was in the box,
I didn't look.

I thought it must be
something of Joan's.

So he sent you to his house
to bring it back.

When? When was that?

About a month ago.

Why you?

Well, I used to take him
his groceries.

He trusted me, I suppose.

But what has a box file
got to do with his death?

I don't know.

Yet.

MAN: He'll be here, Mr Swinscoe.
MR SWINSCOE: I open in two days!

He promised me.

Just go and drag him out of the pub
and get him in here,

finishing what I want finished now.

All coming together, I see.

Oh, Inspector Barnaby.
This is Detective Sergeant Scott.

Well, it all fell into decline
with multi-occupation
in the '50s and '60s,

when the Alders lived here,
but we're making progress.

You are indeed.

I assume this is about Mr Leggott.

Yes.

Well, do come in.

Oh, yes. It's very good.

Mr Swinscoe, when did you first know
of Mr Leggott's bequest?

A couple of months ago,
by solicitor's letter.

For the sake of argument, let's
assume something is worth a fortune
in Arthur Leggott's collection.

Have you got any idea
what it might be? None.

A Joan Alder manuscript, perhaps?

Oh, I wish.

Other than yourself,
can you think of anyone

who might have an interest in
the contents of his house?

Well, I suppose Michael Maybury.

He might not want any more of his
wife's papers to fall into our
hands.

If you ask me, he doesn't want
to celebrate Joan's life,

cos he doesn't want any questions
reopened about her death.

An overdose of antidepressants
and too much alcohol

caused Joan to fall asleep
at the wheel.

Her case was fully investigated
at the time.

No charges were brought.
None were ever contemplated.

It's made him rich, though, hasn't
it? All those posthumous royalties.

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

Hello? Mr Bullard's finished, sir.

The auctioneers are outside
the house.

Ta. George, it's Tom.

Can you keep 'em on hold
till Scott gets there? OK.

Thank you.

I want you to oversee the cataloguing
of everything in that house.

Before any box file gets taken away,
you go through each and every one.

Right, sir.

Was Peggy all right?

Upset.

He was a gentleman, Tom.

That's why I liked him.

He lived such a life, you know.

So many people grateful
for his teaching.

And, then, to go like that...

So will you still go to the opera?

I don't think so.

Not now.

He was going to be the best man.

Moving on. A retirement gift.

Inscribed.

A nice little dedication
by Joan Alder.

Who'll start me at ã1,000?

Come on now. Anywhere?

ã250.
LAUGHTER

I'm sorry, sir.
The bid is over here at 1,000.

ã1200, anywhere? 12. 14.

15.

16.

One-six.

For ã1600.

BANGS GAVEL
Sold! Laura Crawford.

Exceeding all expectations, eh?

Marvellous.
Now, then...

Box files.
Miscellaneous song sheets.

Dozens of them.
First one... ã5, anywhere?

No? Two, then.

Come on now.

BANGS GAVEL

Sold to Mr Crane.
How many do you want, sir?

I'll take the lot.
Box files to Mr Crane.

There you go, Scott.

A man's life,
sold to the highest bidder.

A market for everything, sir.

So it seems. And our miscellaneous
boxes, a bargain at ã2 apiece.

Junk in every one of them.
Hey! Hey!

That's Laura Crawford.

Joan Alder's agent.

CLOCK CHIMES

Ooh, Arthur.

You little beauty.

Harvey Crane here.

Guess what I've just found.

DOG BARKS IN DISTANCE

Inspector Barnaby, come in.

Mr Maybury.

My assistant, Mrs Smeeton.

How do you do?
Hello.

Valerie told me about
Arthur Leggott.

It's all round the village.

How well did you know Arthur Leggott?

My first wife introduced us.

He was a lovely old boy.

He came over for dinner,
now and then.

Joan adored him.

And after your wife's death?

Well, no.

What kept us together kept us apart,
I suppose. Too painful.

It seems that Arthur Leggott was
attempting to retrieve something.

Is it possible that there was
an early manuscript of Joan's?

A few bars on the back of an
exercise book would get good money.

Really?

With a fool like Swinscoe buying up
everything he can get his hands on,

everybody in Badgers Drift
is emptying out their cupboards.

If such a manuscript did exist,

might you want to retrieve it
for your own archives?

I didn't steal it,
if that's what you're asking.

Where were you
around midnight last night?

Here.

Can someone vouch for that?
I can.

I was here all night.

KNOCK AT DOOR

Yes?

I'm Detective Chief Inspector
Barnaby. This is DS Scott.

May we come in?

Of course.

How can I help?

I understand that your London agency
represented Joan Alder,

during her lifetime, and now you
manage her estate. Is that correct?

Yes.

I understand too that
you're working on a biography of her.

As her agent, her friend,

her lover,

I'd say I'm perfectly placed to be
her biographer, wouldn't you?

Official?

By that, I assume you mean, do I
have the approval of Michael
Maybury?

No.
Why not?

Because he knows I never believed
in the loving, caring husband.

But he lets you manage her estate.

The bird might sing, Sergeant,
if she was set free.

What song might the bird sing,
madam?

You're not here about
a 20-year-old crime.

No, we're here about Arthur Leggott.

I visited him at the Cedars.

What did he tell you?
Nothing much that I could use.

His memory of her had been sprinkled
with stardust in his dotage.

Did he mention being in possession
of a manuscript that was hers,

or something to do with her?

He didn't, but I gather he was.

Ahh.

Harvey Crane. You just missed him.

An early manuscript of Joan's
turned up in a box of rubbish
at the auction.

I checked every one, sir.

And he offered it for sale, did he?

How much?
I offered ã50,000.

(Phew!) Must be on a good
commission.

Royalties from Rhapsody alone bring
in a quarter of a million a year.

Maybury gets it all as next of kin?
PHONE RINGS

For now.
What do you mean, "For now"?

Are you going to the house opening?
Yes, I will.

Good, I'll see you there.
Should be a most interesting event.

Hello, darling.

And you definitely found the
manuscript in one of these boxes?

Yes.

And they all came from the auction?
Yes.

And you knew straightaway
what it was?

Well, of course.

A dated version of Rhapsody.

Earlier than anyone believed it
to have been written.

So you took it to Laura Crawford?

Well, just to show somebody.

I had no intention of selling it.

Who gave you the black eye?

I walked into a cupboard.

You walked into a fist.

Who else did you show
the manuscript to?

Michael Maybury.

And what did he say?

He had the audacity to suggest
I had manufactured it.

Why? Is it possible
that someone could have faked it?

Of course not.
How can you be so sure?

Because I took it to the one person
who would definitely know.

The authority on all things
Joan Alder -

Owen Swinscoe.

And?

He bought it, Inspector.

There's your authentication.

So Owen Swinscoe now has
the manuscript?

He paid a deposit,
I gave him a copy.

He'll get the real thing

when I have official authentication
and the rest of the money.

How much will that be?

ã120,000.
(WHISTLES IN SURPRISE)

Where would he get that much money?

The Leggott legacy, one supposes.

Ah, well, that...
that's on hold, Mr Crane.

What?

Y-you can't stop me
making a sale on this, can you?

Yes, I can.

I can postpone it for as long as
the item for sale is evidence

in a murder case, Mr Crane.

Where is it?

Get that to George Bullard, Scott.
Yes, sir.

Gently.
Thank you.

I'm positive I went through
every one, sir. There was nothing.

I believe you. I don't believe that
manuscript went through the auction.

You think Crane took it
from Arthur Leggott's house?

Well, somebody took it.

And somehow it ended up in a box
in Harvey Crane's shop.

We used to think it was composed
when she was in South America
with John Farrow,

but this new manuscript
is written in a very distinctive,

careful, neat hand - not
the wild scribble of later years.

We do have a sample of her earlier
handwriting. This is just like it.

It was always rumoured
that it was John Farrow

who collaborated with Joan
in the composition.

Well, that's the interesting thing.
These notes here. Look!

This is not John Farrow's writing.

And there are musical phrases here
written in this new hand.

And here,

she's incorporated
those musical phrases,

which would mean
that she started to work on Rhapsody

while she was still a schoolgirl.

Isn't that incredible?
Taking lessons with Arthur Leggott.

Yes. Which could explain
why he had the manuscript.

So...who's the mystery man or woman?

Well, whoever it is, Scott,

it puts them in a position to claim
a share of those royalties.

I know you'd like this to have pride
of place at the opening tomorrow,

but I'm afraid no-one, but no-one,

must know of the existence of
this new manuscript,

nor of its implications.

But...
This has cost me, Inspector...

My own money.

Who's this John Farrow?
John Farrow?

Well, he was the real thing,
as far as Joan was concerned.

What happened?
His father intervened.

Joan wasn't a saint.

Sometimes she made mistakes.

Biggest mistake she made was
Michael Maybury.

She'd be here today
if it wasn't for him.

You can't just say things like that.

She wrote to me
when she was in the mental ward.

Peggy, please,
we're going to the opening.

You know she did.

But, strangely enough,
this letter got burned.

Do you think I'd lie about
a thing like that?

I burnt it,
because if he'd got his hands on it,

he would have used it
to keep her where he'd put her.

He'd put her in there
for her own safety.

Say what you like.

Michael Maybury sent my daughter
round the bend.

Could we get a move on, please?

♪ Midsomer Rhapsody

Ladies and gentlemen -

..it is with the greatest pleasure
that I am able to introduce to you

a certain young woman
who destiny has brought us today.

A woman who took it upon herself
to discover her true parentage.

Her trail brought her to me,

only to discover
with profound sadness,

that both her parents
had passed away.

But with that sadness came
an immense pride,

in discovering who
her birth mother was.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I give you Joan Alder's daughter.

Sarah.
MURMURINGS

HORN HONKS

THUD

She didn't even have the decency
to tell that poor girl

that her own grandmother
was in the audience.

Well, I get the feeling
that's Laura Crawford's style.

Set up a photo opportunity...
And light the blue touch paper.

And poor Peggy.

I mean,
she could have died of the shock.

It was wonderful. I wouldn't
have missed it for the world.

It kept you glued to your seat.

An accident waiting to happen.

What - Hedge? Or Joe Smeeton?

Joe. Drinking. He was off the rails.

I met his wife
up at Michael Maybury's house.

Soon to be ex-wife.

Did Joe Smeeton ever have a fling
with Joan Alder?

I know when Joan came back from
South America he was there for her.

South America?

She took off with John Farrow.

John's father Noah made sure
he couldn't continue at college.

He did everything he could
to stop them from being together.

What he did was drive them away.

So what happened?

John Farrow died down there.

He got involved in drugs, apparently.

The story was that a car full of
thugs and guns turned up one morning,

dragged him from his bed,
he was bundled into the car.

Joan never saw him again.

Somehow she managed
to get back to this country,

not a penny in her pocket, just
a few manuscripts and a suitcase.

How sad.

But one of those manuscripts
was about to make her a fortune.

She was pregnant
when she came home too.

It just came out backwards.

Into the driveway.

Nobody could have avoided it.

What were you doing
outside the hall that night, Joe?

I wanted to shame Swinscoe into
paying me the money he owed me.

I need it for matters pending.

What matters would they be, Joe?

It's my missus.

Not content with kicking me
in the crotch with Maybury.

Now she wants a divorce
so she can marry the bastard!

I built him that bloody
conservatory, an' all!

I'll take the sledge hammer
to it first.

Oh, that'll fix it.

Where were you last Wednesday
around midnight?

What?
The night of Arthur's murder.

About 50 yards from the Badger's.

I fell in a ditch. Couldn't get up.

Very cosy.

Why do they call him Hedge?

That's what he does for a living.

Laying hedges, copsing.

Willow weaving.

Anything that'll get him a meal.

Do we know his real name?
No.

Let's find out, shall we?

He wasn't just passing
when Smeeton knocked him down.

He was at the window, watching.

CLASSICAL MUSIC
Listen.

You're not allowed. It's my home.

How long have you lived round here?

10, 15 year.

What's your real name, Hedge?

I never bother anyone.
I don't cause trouble.

Your past is sitting in a bed
and breakfast in Badgers Drift.

Sarah.

You never knew, did you?

Is that what sent you reeling
into the road?

So you didn't die in South America.

I was selling short.

I was selling on what I managed
to keep back.

They found out.

I used my father
to bargain for my life.

I wrote and wrote. After months,
I got a letter. "Go to hell."

One day I saw my chance
and I took it.

I ran for days.

I came home to a grave in
a churchyard 15 years too late.

No, I didn't know she was pregnant.

Why did you assume a new identity?

I'd been on the outside of my life
too long to claim it back.

And you never contacted
anyone you once knew?

No.

But Arthur Leggott.

One day I caught him watching me.

I was by her grave.
It was her birthday.

It was dusk.
I thought no-one was about.

You think he realised who you were?

I think maybe he did, yes.

And that was it?

No other contact?

All right.

He told me he had a manuscript
he wanted me to have.

Do you...

Do you think she'd want to see me?

Even falling in love
didn't stop her.

"He set my music on fire,"
she'd say.

I never saw anyone as much in love
as she was.

I'd catch her looking at him
sometimes.

As if her soul was swimming
in the wake of him.

And then Noah Farrow found out.

The next time I saw her,
I didn't recognise her.

Skin and bone,
and pregnant with you.

You were a miracle, my love.

Because she'd nothing left.

And I couldn't cope
with the both of you.

What I'm saying is,

it wasn't your mother
that had you taken away, Sarah.

It was me.

Blame me.

She never gave up looking for you,
you know.

Hello, Tom.

Peggy. Charlie.

My granddaughter.

Hello, Sarah.

Hello.

What can I do for you, Tom?

It's more, Peggy,
what I can do for you.

Or, rather, both of you.

My, you are in demand, aren't you?

Yup. Dad was supposed
to have done this one.

When are they letting him out?
He's out.

Be in the Badger's, then?
How's Hedge?

He'll survive.

Look, he didn't mean
to hurt anybody, all right?

He's got a lot on his mind
at the moment.

Him and Mum are getting a divorce.

Well?

Mr Farrow? Mr Noah Farrow?

I'm Detective
Chief Inspector Barnaby.

This is Detective Sergeant Scott.

May we have a word, please?

About?
Arthur Leggott.

A violent end to an immoral life.

Immoral?

He delivered my son into the arms
of a common slut

who ruined his life.

Leggott's death is a judgment.

Is that what your religion tells you?

Is there anything else?

Yes. What does your religion tell you
about turning your back

on your own flesh and blood
in their hour of need?

My dogs need exercise.

I should get walking.

DOGS HOWL

That's a very bitter,
foolish, fond old man.

Why didn't you tell him
his son was still alive?

I will. Once he's worth talking to.

If he's still got that amount
of hate in him,

imagine what he must have been like
30 years ago when he was...capable.

Yeah, you can drop me
anywhere round here.

I'm not allowed
to see where you live?

This'll do fine.

Can I... Can I see you again?

Would you like to?

Of course.

Tomorrow?

Let me take you for dinner.

Let me take you.

Joan Alder wasn't the sole composer.

There's absolutely
no doubt about it.

This whole section
is written in another hand.

And then it's used in the completed
version in Joan's hand.

Some of the notes and scribbles -
again the other hand.

"Would this work?"

Then Joan's own notes,
"Yes, thank you for this."

Now, it's not John Farrow.

Because I've checked the writing
with some of his work.

Essays,
music in one of the box files.

But why would Arthur Leggott
want John Farrow to have this...

if it shows that someone else
helped write it?

You may like the romantic notion
of another hand being involved.

But it just brings into question
everything Joan wrote.

It could bring a massive interest.

Barnaby was right to suggest

we keep this whole undiscovered
manuscript business to ourselves.

KNOCK ON DOOR

John Farrow!

May we talk?

Well, come in, come in. Please.

We've tried to get everything right,
circa 1965.

Here's this plate.

Oh, our Secretary, Mr Alan Thorpe.

Alan, this is John Farrow.

Alan Thorpe.

You married
Joan's older sister, Melody.

I did.
I came to your engagement party.

We gave you a set of place mats.

(LAUGHS) John.

Well, it's a shock, John,
I'll say that.

I have a letter.

From Joan.

I was wondering
if you'd like to buy it.

If you're interested.

We could be.

Don't you think?

And this holds no sentimental value?

Yes.

Why sell it, then?

That's my business.

How much?

ã200?

Cash.

If you'll...just give us a moment.

By all means.

May I have a look around?

Oh, please, do. Yes.

(MUTTERS)

I could sell this tomorrow
for ten times that!

I'm not so sure.

Come on, this is fantastic stuff.
She was crazy for him.

We haven't got the cash.

Write me a cheque.

You've done a good job.
Oh, thank you.

And from John Farrow himself,
that is a great compliment.

Thanks.

He wouldn't let me see
where he lives.

It's a mucky old caravan,
that's why.

Oh, well, I don't care.

No, but he thinks you might.

I want us to get
to know one another.

He's taking me for dinner.

Oh! Well, that's nice.
Mmm.

Who's paying?

He is.

What with?

What do you think?

Wedding suit.

Oh. Fine.

She'll never know the difference.

Mind you,
she's not exactly 20-20 vision.

Blinded by love, see.

I'm a lucky man.

Excuse me. Is it Peggy Alder?

The same.

Oh. Please give her my best wishes.

I will.

The name?

Hedge.

Hospital Hedge?

Yes, of course you are.

Hey, you're coming back with me.

Oh, no, I can't.
She wants to see you.

Well, she will, but I just need
a bit of time to sort things out.

Well, she'll kill me if I say I've
seen you and not brought you back.

Another day, hm?

What about next Saturday?
The wedding? How are you fixed?

Well, I -
You're coming.

You'll be very welcome, old lad.

Charlie Speight.
You're almost part of the family.

Ever since you walked
under that truck,

I've heard nothing else
but John Farrow.

Listen, I hear
you're a bit of a musician.

So, who is it?

I wish I could tell you.

If there was going to be
someone else helped her with -

PHONE RINGS
Excuse me a moment.

Laura Crawford.

It's not convenient right now.

Well, this isn't just any letter.
It's Joan Alder to John Farrow.

It's dynamite.

Listen, I'll call you back.

Some of these new writers think
their agent is their mother.

Now, where were we?

PAGER BEEPS

Mr Swinscoe?

Mr Swinscoe?

Harvey?

I think the manuscript is a fake.

It most certainly is not a fake.
You were as sure as I was.

Look, I've got a letter,
a genuine letter

from Joan Alder to John Farrow.

A letter? But I don't see how.

The police have got the manuscript.
If they see this letter...

No need to involve the police.
We can sort this out -

I need to see you, Harvey, today.

No, no, I can't come today.
I've arranged to see...

Tomorrow.

'First thing. I'll come round.'

Sorry, Mr Swinscoe, but I'm away.

I've got a couple of little jobs
still to do,

but I'll be in tomorrow
and sort 'em.

Yes, all right. Thanks.

Hello, it's me.

Listen...

CHEERING

Sorry, lads. Come on.

Let me.
No, I have it. Please.

I feel like I'm on the outside,
looking in.

I just wish I had something of her.

Nothing much.

Something she'd written perhaps.

Just something precious to her,
you know.

I've changed my mind, all right?

Tell the world, why don't you?

The manuscript -
Oh.

So you're selling that now instead.

No, of course not. How can I?
The police have got it.

What do you know?

Nothing I can tell you.

Well, you're not playing cat
and mouse with this one.

Goodbye, Swinscoe.

Better luck elsewhere.

Excuse me.

Here she comes.

It's Joan Alder's girl.

Possibly,

or possibly not,

by John Farrow.

Dad, shut up.

Does she know Michael Maybury,
the man her mother married?

Has she met him yet?

Will she want to know if she knew
what he'd done to her mother?

Come on, Dad. That'll do.

Well, everybody knows.

Well, he might get away with murder,

but he won't get away
with stealing my wife.

Mr Swinscoe?

May I have a word?

Haven't you done enough?

Sorry?

What do you want?

I've changed my mind.
I want to buy the letter back.

Oh, where are you going to get
ã2,000 from? Sell your shack?

Ah, the prodigal returns.

Right.

That'll do for petrol.

I'll have the rest in my hand
in the morning, or else.

Or else it won't be,
and you'll just have to wait

like everybody else has to,
until the job is finally done.

And when, you tell me,
might that be?

You're a clever little bastard for
a jumped up librarian, aren't you?

Dad! Dad! Dad! Just leave it!
Come on! Come on!

Come on!

Bloody bookworm. He'd sell his soul
for a dead woman's underwear.

He can't even pay his own debts.

(SLURS) Cheers.

(RETCHES)

Argh!

I haven't got it!

I haven't got it!

Arghh!

Charlie's going
to make Peggy very happy.

She deserves it. She's been
on her own for a long time.

What happened to her first husband?

He walked out.
Joan must have been about 11.

He was head gardener at the hall.

Noah Farrow's place?

He went off
with Noah Farrow's wife.

I don't know.
What is it with your generation?

Not MY generation, thank you.

Anyway, if I don't take Peggy
to collect this outfit,

there won't be a wedding.

MOBILE RINGS

Barnaby.

Right. Button missing.
Coat ripped.

Even if he had been drinking,
he didn't fall in by mistake

or deliberately throw himself
into the river.

Do you think he was pushed?
Quite possibly.

Only after quite a struggle.

Both wrists, hands grazed,

and fragments of limestone
or similar in the nails.

As from a stone bridge.
It could be.

Badgers Drift?

Quite possibly, yes.

If it was Badgers Drift,

could the body have made it
this far downstream?

After the weather we've been having,
yes.

OK. Thank you.

OK.

What turns a man so
against his own son?

I think I found out this morning,
Scott.

Joan Alder's father, apparently,
took off with Noah Farrow's wife.

He was in the Badger's
with Laura Crawford, sir.

Ordered these, either in the bar
or the dining room.

If Bullard was right,

this is where
someone heaved him over.

What do you think?

It's lovely.
Beautiful.

Do you think Joan would have
liked it if she'd been here?

I'm here, Mother, and I like it.

Yes.

Thank you.

He rang to offer me
a love letter from Joan.

Did he really?

Not a love letter to me, Inspector.

To John Farrow.

By the time he got
to the restaurant,

Swinscoe changed his mind.

Why?

Something had scared him.

He shifted the conversation
to the manuscript.

Did he show you that letter?

No.

What if he'd found out,

by comparing Joan's writing in the
letter to that in the manuscript,

that the whole thing was a fake?

There's no way.

That handwriting was Joan's.

Someone who'd forged it
would say that, wouldn't they?

Arthur Leggott wanted John Farrow
to have the manuscript.

Probably the original John
Farrow-Joan Alder collaboration.

What if somebody stole that
manuscript

from Arthur Leggott to copy it?

But why? Why go to all that trouble?

To take some credit, and stake
a claim to Joan Alder's estate.

Well, it makes sense that Swinscoe
thought he had a fake on his hands.

His own money up the creek.

If this is a forgery, all I can say
is it's one hell of a good one.

And I didn't get Swinscoe drunk
and push him in the river

because he'd found me out.

It'd be a good reason to kill him,
though.

A very good reason...

..if this IS a forgery.

If the letter wasn't in Swinscoe's
pocket, it must be here.

Coming in here, do you think?

I'll call on Harvey Crane later.

Get that letter found.
Yes, sir.

I got hold of him, yes.
And what happened then?

I got thrown out. Why?

And then?

Then I walked home.

Across the bridge?
Better than getting your feet wet.

Did you lie in wait for Owen Swinscoe
to tackle him on the bridge...

No.
..and then throw him into the river?

Been for a swim, has he?

No, Mr Smeeton. He is dead.

What?

Drowned.
Dead?

I didn't see him
after the set-to we had in the pub.

Oh, bugger it!

I'm not gonna get my money now,
am I?

Well, he'd had a few before he left.

Whiskies... I come in a couple of
times and he was -

Did you see him with a letter?

No. What letter?

Are you sure?

Yeah, of course I'm sure.

So, what was he doing?

Drinking. Oh, he made a phone call.

Private, mind,
cos he shut the door on me.

You didn't hear what he said?

No. I was in the back room.

When I did come in, he was erm...

framing photos.

Photos?

No, that one.

Bingo.

Mr Barnaby.

A spring clean.
You were in the Badger's last night.

You had a meal
for which you paid in cash.

I sold a letter to Owen Swinscoe.

A love letter from Joan.
Yes.

Is that what the conversation in the
restaurant with Mr Swinscoe was
about? I wanted to buy it back.

I didn't know
how I was going to pay for it but...

You didn't catch up
with Owen Swinscoe again, did you?

No. Why? What's he said?

How much did you get for your letter?

Please. It was ã200.

It didn't bother you to sell it?

Of course it did.

Until I met Sarah,

it was the one and only precious
thing of Joan's I had.

Morning, Sarah.
Morning.

And you didn't get the letter back?
No. You're welcome to look.

Where have you been hiding it
for the last 30 years?

What's all this about?
Please, Sarah, give us a moment.

There we are.

Can you open it, please?

Oh.

I'd forgotten that.

May I?

El Paso, Texas.
It's a marriage certificate.

So, with a marriage certificate,

he would have an equal claim
along with Michael Maybury

to Joan Alder's estate.
Yes, yes, he would.

Could that marriage certificate have
been in Arthur Leggott's house?

No. That's been living 30 years
in that tobacco tin.

What I think did go missing
from Arthur Leggott's house

was a genuine manuscript and somebody
meticulously copied that manuscript

to show the involvement of a hand
other than John Farrow's.

Owen Swinscoe bought it,

but then Owen got hold of
a genuine letter from Joan Alder

and something in that letter made him
suspect the manuscript was a fake.

So the forger had to get hold of
that letter

and if he couldn't, well...

Well, have to kill Owen Swinscoe,

just as he had to kill
Arthur Leggott, yeah?

George.
The love letter's genuine, Tom.

Is it? Joan's handwriting changed
over the years

but not until after the trauma of
losing John Farrow in the adoption.

And I've checked it against this.

Where did you get this?
Alan Thorpe volunteered it.

Alan Thorpe? Apparently Joan's sister
remembers her writing it.

I think it's what's known as a
tease.

Now, what we have here is a very
good attempt at copying her earlier
writing.

But there are some letters formed

that are from the writing of a Joan
Alder after she came back from South
America.

So as this purports to have been
written three years earlier,

we have ourselves a forgery.

And did the forger use genuine paper?

I mean, late '60s, early '70s
manuscript paper?

Yep. Which could have been found at
Arthur Leggott's house.

Well, thank you, George.

I'll leave them with you.
It's worth the wait.

So the forger goes to Leggott's
house to get the original
manuscript in order to copy it.

Or having made the forgery, go round
to plant it, and Leggott found them.

And the original's still out there
somewhere.

As we find the forger, we find the
killer. Thank you.

That call Owen Swinscoe made, sir.
Harvey Crane?

That's right.

My mother was saying Michael Maybury
had something to do with it.

Well, they never got on, did they?
Him and Owen Swinscoe.

Oh, that's ridiculous. If she can
put Joan's death at his door

because of some letter that Joan
wrote

when she was so far gone she
couldn't tell what day it was...

Well, that's something none of us
will ever know.

What?

Well, was she mad when she wrote it
or was she genuinely in danger?

We know you never liked him.

I don't like the fact he's lived off
your sister all these years.

He's rich.

He's a successful author
in his own right.

You never liked him because it was
him that won Joan and not you.

I wanted her
the way all us lads did.

Only I was fool enough to confess a
teenage passion to the woman I
married.

You don't tell the woman you married

how much you used to
fancy her sister.

TYRES SCREECH

CAR HORN

CAR HORN

Scott, are you all right?

"Dearest Mother..."

It was a photocopy of a letter
from a supposed mad woman.

Michael Maybury
was driving her to suicide.

According to this letter,
that's what Joan believed.

Crane was on his way to find a buyer.

You think he got this
from Lee Smeeton?

He's had access to Peggy's house for
weeks.

Maybe he was the one who found it.

Is this gonna turn out to be another
forgery, sir?

I'd say that's a strong possibility,
wouldn't you?

Oi! Are you going somewhere?

Yep, my dad.

A mate's phoned to say they nearly
knocked him over on the Parver Road.

We've just come from there.
We didn't see your dad.

Well, look, he's had a few,
all right?

What a surprise (!)
Yeah, well.

What were you doing
at Harvey Crane's house?

He gave me a tenner for some
magazines I found.

Oh, and he was trying to fix a new
lock on his back door

which he made a right pig's ear of,
so I did that for him.

Which took me the best part of an
hour. That's another tenner.

I did pretty well out of that.
Where did you find the magazines?

I found them in the attic
at the Joan Alder house. Why?

You leave Harvey Crane's house

and he goes off on his motorbike.
Any connection?

No.
Are you sure?

Course I'm sure.

I don't know where he went,
all right?

He went...

up the Parver Road.

So what are you asking me for, then?

Go and find your dad, Lee.

Oi! Aye!
Joe, no! No!

Joe!

Barnaby.
Mr Maybury.

Can I have a word, please?

Yes, yes, of course. Come in.
Thank you.

Hello, Mrs Smeeton.

Not Smeeton any more, Inspector.

No. Mr Maybury, I wonder if you'd
mind looking at something for me.

This.

My glasses are in the...

If that is the letter received by
Peggy Alder all those years ago...

Well, then I can see why she feels
the way she does about me.

But if it's not genuine...

..then someone may have used letters
actually written by Joan to make a
realistic forgery.

Why do that?

To frame you, Mr Maybury.

I see.

I know what my late wife went
through, Barnaby.

How many men she had. Trawling bars
night after night

for five minutes of forgetting and I
know what I went through trying to
save her from herself.

So I don't give a damn
what you or anybody else believes.

When did you last see Harvey Crane?

Last week when he came round with
the manuscript.

Oh, yes. You gave him a black eye,
didn't you?

Toad on the make.
Is he where this came from?

And you haven't seen him since?
I'm surprised I haven't.

This would be worth a try
at blackmail.

And you haven't heard from him today?

There was a phone call
but the caller hung up - twice.

Well, did you try 1471?

I'm sorry,
I thought it was Joe again.

"Hello. Harvey Crane is unable to
take your call at the moment."

"Please leave a message."

(SIGHS) So he was about to
offer it to me.

Have you been in the house
all evening?

Since we came back from court
this afternoon, yes.

Why? What's happened now?

Harvey Crane
was murdered this evening.

Banned from the driving cab.

Banned from The Badger's.

Joe, stay away from the rectory.

The only person you're gonna damage
is yourself.

Dad.
Ta, son.

See you, Joe.

Take a bath.
Oi! Parver Road was closed off.

What's all that about?

You told me that's where Harvey
Crane went. What's happened?

There was a road accident.

Lee was there for an hour,
which gives Harvey Crane time

to find the letter in the magazines
and make a few calls.

He tried Maybury first.
A bit of blackmail.

Whoever planted it knew he'd do that

and they were waiting on the road
to the old rectory.

But why kill him? Because he knew
about the forgery of the manuscript.

Rang up to ask for his money back.

So our killer thinks he can frame
Michael Maybury twice over.

Firstly for murdering Joan Alder
20 years ago,

then for killing Harvey Crane

who's supposedly got evidence that
Joan was murdered.

Which would leave the way clear
for them to claim co-authorship

of the Midsomer Rhapsody and
a share in all those royalties, eh?

Miss Crawford,
can I have a word, please?

It's rather late.

May we come in?

Do you have to?
No, you can come out if you like

and we can go for a ride.

Come in, Inspector.

Sarah.

Inspector Barnaby.

May I ask, as a point of interest:

are you now with
the Laura Crawford Agency?

Of course she isn't.

That may change, however...

Depending on how much she's worth,
right?

Oh, please (!)
Depending whether or not I lay claim

to what I am apparently entitled.

I don't want to cause any trouble.

No trouble to me, my dear.

But...
Michael Maybury.

Who else? You still say he was
responsible for his wife's death?

Yes, I do, in black and white,
actually.

Since we last talked,

a letter has surfaced
which puts the matter beyond doubt.

Have you seen that letter? Or was it
just read to you over the phone?

Have you had any contact
with Harvey Crane today?

No.

He...called me around seven.

And?
OK.

He did read me a letter.
Have you been out this evening?

No, I've been in all day.
Can you vouch for that, Sarah?

Yes. I've been here since about six.

Was this the letter
that was read to you?

It looks like it.

Look, what's this about? You claim
you were Joan Alder's lover?

Are you also hoping you're going to
claim part ownership of the Rhapsody
royalties?

Me? You think I did all this?

Miss Crawford, I am investigating
three murders.

And I'm asking you...

..don't leave the village.

And a word of advice to you, Sarah,

about Michael Maybury.

You make your own mind up.

How dare you!

Have they not RSVP'd?
No, Mother.

Well, what are we supposed to assume
then? They're not coming?

I suppose so.

Well, you can't assume that.
You have to get in touch.

Don't you think
I've got enough to do?

Can I make a suggestion?

I'm sure Joyce would be more than
pleased to help out.

It's Melody's job.

Well, it will be one less job to
worry about, won't it?

It will be done.

Er, Peggy.

I'm sorry but erm...

You read it.

Is that the letter Joan wrote to you
from hospital? Yes.

But you said you burnt it.

Well, I can't have, can I,
if it's here?

It could be a fake.
Fake?

What on earth for?

It seems to prove that what you've
been saying for years is true

and could cause a lot of trouble
for Michael Maybury.

Well, if it is a fake, there's
plenty that's heard the contents as
many times as I have.

All I know is I remember
screwing it up and throwing it in
the flames.

Screwing it up?

Yes.

Thank you, Peggy.

I know you've a job to do but she's
been a bit highly strung of late.

I don't want her to make herself ill
over it all before the wedding.

Well, I'm being as delicate as I can
be in the circumstances, Charlie.

What's she told you
about Michael Maybury?

Oh, quite enough. He had the cheek
to get somebody to phone here

to ask for the wedding present list.

Oh. That sounds like a really bad
man, doesn't it, eh, Charlie?

Peggy needed someone to blame.

Michael Maybury
was the obvious target,

and once she started,
she couldn't back off.

I think she needs your help here,
Charlie.

Help her face up to this one.

Michael...erm...someone to see you.

Sarah Douglas. Joan's daughter.

Sarah.

Oh, this is wonderful.

Thank you...

You do have her eyes.

You really do.

I'm so glad that you wanted to come
and see me.

Oh, well,
I've heard a lot about you.

I wanted to see for myself.

So, Harvey Crane gets hold of a
letter which implicates Michael
Maybury in his wife Joan's death.

Now, our forger knows that Harvey's
gonna try and blackmail Maybury with
it.

So he gets himself near to Maybury's
place...

waits till he hears Harvey's
motorbike and then...

does a Steve McQueen across the road
with the wire.

And hopes we'll think it's Maybury,
which we don't.

No, we don't.
PHONE RINGS

Barnaby.

Oh, thank you.

We are summoned.

So who told you
that I didn't help my son?

Peggy Alder? Did her daughter
tell her when she came back?

How did she know?

Did the people who were holding him,

did they tell her after they killed
him that I didn't help?

What else could it be?

And does it matter?

Why? Does everyone know?

No, everyone else does not know, Mr
Farrow. What you did is safe with me.

So, who...

And one other.

Who?

He didn't die, Mr Farrow.

J... John?

In fact, he's been living within five
miles of you for the last 15 years.

He's alive.

My son is alive.

He won't see you.

No, of course not.

Have you...

Have you any idea
of the love you tried to deny him?

But you didn't deny them everything,
Mr Farrow.

You have a granddaughter too.

No-one would recognise Hedge.
I hope not.

Now, how do I look?
You look wonderful.

Thank you.

John, I beg of you,
a moment of your time.

We have to be somewhere.

Yes, of course.

I thought you were dead by my hand.

I don't know how a father
could do such a thing.

An evil, bitter man.

It's a weight, John,
I wouldn't ask you to lift.

So what do you want?

You know who this is?

Yes.

You don't get to cripple this
generation too. Please.

He's not here to hurt anyone.

I just wanted to see you.

My wife had to give away
our daughter.

Wife?

I loved her.

Yes, and I know now
how much she loved you.

You might like to have that.

Thank you.

We have to go.

A wedding.
Yes, of course.

I think...it would be lovely
if we arrived in your car.

Have I got time to mow the lawn?

Do you like it?
Oh, it's stunning.

Worth every penny.

When your turn comes, Cully...
Dad.

..I don't suppose there's any chance
of low key. No, there isn't.

Did you manage
to get hold of everyone?

Yeah.

Erm...

I'm afraid I'm gonna have to go out
for a while.

Dad?
Tom?

I'll see you at the church.

Dad, you can't.
Tom!

Tom!

George.
What have we got?

Take a look at this.
Look at the paper.

It's the same.

Yeah.
But you said this is 35 years old.

It is.

The real thing lifted
from Arthur Leggott to do the deed.

Who wrote the wedding list?
Melody Thorpe wrote that.

She wouldn't make that mistake.
No, she's not our forger.

She used what she thought
was just another piece of paper.

BELLS RING

CAR HORN

DOORBELL

I think he's already at the
wedding, sir. Round the back.

Thank you.

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

Turn it off.
Hello.

Yes.

What?

Right. Thank you.

We're being burgled.
What?

No, you can't.

Scott?

This is it.

This is the centre of operation.

The original manuscript
of Midsomer Rhapsody by Joan Alder

with additional material
by John Farrow.

I pronounce
that they be man and wife together

in the name of the Father, and
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.

Those whom God hath joined together,
let no man put asunder.

(You may kiss the bride.)

JAUNTY ORGAN MUSIC

DOOR OPENS

DOOR CLOSES

What the hell's going on?

Alan Thorpe, I'm arresting you
for the murders of Arthur Leggott,

Owen Swinscoe and Harvey Crane.

I think we're both gonna be very
happy with the family we've got.

Hers not mine.
Mine are all scoundrels!

Still serving at Her Majesty's.

No, no, no, no. Not really.
Not really.

None of them left.

Yesterday, I was on my own.

And today, I've a wonderful wife,

and a step-daughter...
and now a granddaughter too.

What more could a man want?

Well, just for you
to all have a lovely day.

Enjoy yourselves. I will.

You took this original manuscript

from a box file your wife had brought
home to give to Arthur Leggott.

And you went to
Arthur Leggott's house

and you took some old,
unused manuscript paper

and you set to work
rewriting the Joan Alder story

to your own advantage.

Even created a complete set of notes
to accompany the manuscript,

written in what you thought
was Joan's old hand,

using this Valentine's card
she once sent you as a...

as a joke, to copy the handwriting.

You don't know
what you're talking about.

What you didn't know was that
Arthur Leggott knew who Hedge was

long before any of us did,

and you didn't know that it was
Arthur's wish to give that manuscript
to John Farrow.

Why would I go back to his house?

To place it where you knew
it would be taken for auction,

and you certainly didn't expect him
to turn up at his home

in the middle of the night.

Having killed Arthur Leggott,

you couldn't leave the forgery on the
premises, could you?

In case we were to remove it
before the auction.

So, you took it with you, didn't you?

After you'd ransacked the place

to make it look like
the work of an opportunistic burglar.

So you waited at the auction to see
who was going to buy up the box
files.

You saw your chance and
you slipped in the manuscript.

So there it was waiting
for Harvey Crane to take the bait.

Which he did. He sold it to your
colleague, Owen Swinscoe.

Ladies and gentleman...
It is with the greatest...

What you didn't foresee

was that Laura Crawford would unveil
Joan Alder's daughter Sarah

and that that would lead to
John Farrow revealing his identity.

And you couldn't have foreseen,
could you,

that John Farrow
would sell the love letter from Joan

so he could afford
to take his daughter out to dinner?

But if Owen Swinscoe were ever to
compare that letter with the
manuscript,

you knew he'd realise it was a fake,

and he did.

Do you think they're married by now?
Or don't you care?

This Valentine card
you so helpfully provided

to assist in the authentication
of the manuscript

didn't contain ALL the letters
of the alphabet, did it?

Some of them were missing,
like the letter F,

and the letter G,
and you guessed how they were formed

and you guessed wrong,
and you knew that

the minute you saw the love letter,

and you knew
something had to be done.

So you waited for Owen Swinscoe
outside the Badger's.

You watched him leave, walk across
the road, walk towards the bridge.

You bloody fool.
Give me the letter.

I haven't got it!

You have a lot in common
with popular music, Inspector.

Crude and repetitive.

I should be somewhere
listening to a masterpiece.

You killed Arthur Leggott.

And then you killed Owen Swinscoe,

and then you realised Harvey Crane
knew too much.

And you saw your chance to lure him

to Maybury's house
by creating another letter.

One which cast suspicion
onto Maybury.

You knew Harvey Crane couldn't
resist a bit of blackmail

and you knew the first place he'd go
was the old rectory.

MOTORBIKE ENGINE

We were only a few feet away from
you at that moment.

You hated Michael Maybury,
didn't you?

Not because you thought he was
responsible for Joan's death

but because SHE chose HIM over you.

You were infatuated by her,
weren't you?

I don't, er...

..expect you to understand,
Inspector,

but I was the love of Joan's life.

Even at school.

You can quibble about your Fs
and your Gs,

but it was I who inspired her,

collaborated with her on Rhapsody.

I was the music student
who didn't get into college.

I wasn't quite...
bohemian enough for them.

But by the time John Farrow took her
off to South America

and got her into drugs,
our best work was done.

This proves it.

When she came back, with child,

she was already sick and men like
Maybury preyed on her vulnerability.

The best days of Joan Alder's
life...were with me.

Well, you and I agree on one thing,
Mr Thorpe:

I, too, would much prefer
to be listening to Joan's music.

Find him a cell, Scott.

And when he can make
a sensible statement...

charge him.
Yes, sir.

♪ Midsomer Rhapsody

Itfc Subtitles
T CASHMORE, S SUTTON & M PAYNE