All language subtitles for Queens.Of.Mystery.S01E02.en

Previously
on "Queens of Mystery"...

Oh, I do hope you win.

You people are killing me
with your constant demands.

The winner is...

Thank you.

- Oh, my God!
- Help!

Oscar Prescott, 42, single.

Oscar and I were lovers.

Snake!

You don't think Beth
had anything to do

- with Oscar's death, do you?
- Not without good reason.

- Are those the...?
- Missing pages? Yes.

The inspector wants this
investigation done by the book.

Anybody here?

What's happened?

Oh, my goodness.

Oh. How...

How...

The how was apparent to anyone

acquainted with
the rudimentary physics

of the domino effect.

What's over there?

The real question...

Oh, my Lord.

Was, "Why?"

Beth?

An ardent campaigner,

double-murder suspect
Beth Stone

has spent a lifetime
fighting against injustice.

Today, however,
she did not fight.

She did not even
declare her innocence.

She did precisely nothing.

For Beth Stone had something
more pressing on her mind

than the possibility
of a lifetime in prison...

The future happiness
of her beloved niece, Matilda.

All ready?
On my count, then.

Right.
Three, two, one, lift.

It's Tobias Young.

Oscar Prescott's new agent.

Suggesting there was
an old agent.

Guy Ashton.

Not wanting to state
the obvious,

the victim's body shows signs
consistent with crush injuries.

Death was
most likely instantaneous.

That's one small mercy.

As is the fact we don't have
to look far to find our culprit.

With respect, sir.

Your aunt
was caught red-handed, Stone.

But anyone could've come in here
under the cover of darkness.

Matilda...

Sergeant Stone's right,
Inspector.

There are
several points of entry.

I hope this isn't a reluctance
to face the facts, Sergeant.

If Aunt Beth had anything to do
with these murders,

I won't hesitate to charge her.

T-R-U... truncheon.

We've come to see our sister.

Not possible, I'm afraid.

We thought you'd say that.

Terry? Terry?
Is that you? Pick up the phone.

Mum?

- Terry, is that you?
- Yes, Mum.

No, Mum.

- What are you playing at, Terry?
- But...

I didn't know
you knew each other.

I will, yes.

- What do you want for dinner?
- Tea?

Alphabetti Spaghetti.

Thank you.

If you'd like to follow me.

10 minutes.

We know you lied to Matilda
about knowing Oscar Prescott.

I saw the pair of you arguing.

- We weren't arguing.
- You were manhandling him.

I was trying to get him to show
me something in the library.

Then why not tell Mattie
that instead of lying to her?

It was for Matilda's own good.

Oscar found out about Dragomir.

Oscar Prescott
had spent the previous summer

as a writer-in-residence,

working in the castle's
extensive library,

where he came across an article
from an obscure local journal

about the town's Edgar Allan
Poe Appreciation Society

and a visiting academic,
Professor Alexander Dragomir,

a biographer researching
the mysterious death of Poe,

the founding father
of the modern detective story.

I thought we'd heard the last
of Dragomir.

So did I.

But the article also mentioned

that he hired
a local research assistant.

- Eleanor.
- Eleanor.

Although Matilda's mother

working for a visiting
Bulgarian academic

wasn't in itself a scandal...

the timing of said employment,

precisely nine months
and nine days

before the date
of Matilda's birth,

was a secret her aunts were
determined to take with them

to their graves.

Oscar saw Eleanor's surname,

asked if we were related.

What you saw
was me trying to get Oscar

to show me the article,
except he was too busy.

If I tell Matilda the truth,

she'll find out about Dragomir,
and none of us want that.

So where's the article now?

That's the problem.
I have no idea.

Despite past generations
of the Hiddledean family

being enthusiastic bibliophiles,

archivists they were not.

Of the tens of thousands of
books, newspapers, and journals

collected over the years,

not a single one
had ever been catalogued.

Beth?

I've been searching for it
ever since.

So how do we get you
out of this mess

without Matilda finding out
about Dragomir and that article?

So you do believe
I'm not the murderer?

Of course.

We were never in any doubt.

If we could only find
the real murderer,

Matilda would be forced
to let me go,

and all of this
could be forgotten.

What?

Don't tell me you already
have a suspect in mind?

In fact, Cat and Jane Stone

had two possible suspects
in mind.

It's Cat.
I'm coming in.

I hope you brought coffee.

Do you want to explain, or shall
I make an educated guess?

I met Sadie Hanson
at last year's festival.

She said she wanted to be
a writer herself someday,

and she'd written some
Catherine Parr fan fiction,

and I promised to read it.

And?

I kept my promise.

It was good.

I mean, it was really good.

So you changed the title,
made a few tweaks,

and submitted it
as your own work.

The rumors were true.

I was burned out.

It had been three years
since my last book.

My publisher was threatening
to take back my advance,

for God's sake.

And Sadie Hanson?

She read
"Murder on the Mary Rose"

and recognized it
as her own work.

Please don't do this to me.

And then I did something I'll
regret for the rest of my life.

I told her if she didn't
keep her mouth shut...

Isabella, please.

I'd ruin any chance she had
of becoming a writer.

And two days ago,
Oscar came to my room.

Sadie had sent him
a copy of her manuscript.

Yeah?

And when he saw my book,

he knew I'd plagiarized
her work.

I tried to persuade him
to see my point of view.

You're a murderer
'cause she's dead.

You killed her.

And that's when he told me...

- Because of you.
- No!

That Sadie had taken
her own life.

It was the first
I knew about it.

And what did Oscar want?
Money?

Justice.

Justice for Sadie.

He said I had 48 hours
to come clean,

or he'd tell the world
what I'd done.

And you knew if the truth came
out, it would ruin your career.

You can't seriously think
I killed Oscar.

You all but killed Sadie Hanson.

She killed herself!

Yeah, you keep
telling yourself that.

Oh, Cat.

- I'll see you around, Isabella.
- Cat.

Please don't go.
No one can know about this.

Cat!

Interview between
Detective Sergeant Matilda Stone

and Elizabeth Margaret Stone.

P.C. Terry Foster
is also present.

The accused has waived
her right to counsel.

You lied when you told me
you didn't know Oscar Prescott.

No comment.

A witness
saw you arguing with him

on the morning of his death.

What were you arguing about?

No comment.

Please, Aunt Beth.
I'm trying to help you.

Why were you in the library
last night?

You've known me
all your life, Matilda.

I couldn't love you more
if you were my own child.

Well, because in many ways
you are.

I won't tell you why I was
talking with Oscar Prescott,

and I won't tell you
why I was in the library.

I want you to trust me
when I tell you

that I did not kill anyone.

Sergeant Stone, a word.

Interview suspended at 11:35.

I want that woman charged
with double murder.

But, sir...

She was seen arguing
with Oscar Prescott

the morning of his death
and was caught red-handed

at the scene
of Tobias Young's murder.

But there are
more-viable suspects.

Guy Ashton, for one.

He has a temper
and was seen arguing

with both Prescott and Young.

Please, sir,
my aunt's in custody.

She's not going anywhere.

Give me until the end of the day
to prove it's not her.

If I can't,
then I'll charge her.

- You have until lunch.
- But that's two hours.

Take it or leave it, Sergeant.

Matilda would take it.

- Aunt Jane.
- You have to get down here.

It's Guy Ashton.

He's on the roof,
and he's threatening to jump.

Get out the way!
I'm gonna do it!

Get out the way!

You think I'm joking?!

What's that bird doing there?

Get him away!

- Guy.
- What?!

- It's Detective Sergeant Stone.
- Stand back or I'll jump!

Why don't you tell me
what all this is about?

- It's over.
- What is?

- He's been fired.
- You all think I did it.

I loved Oscar.

And Tobias Young?

Duplicitous toad.

I'm glad he's dead, but I swear
I had nothing to do with it.

I believe you, Guy.

You're just saying that
so I'll come down.

Matildawas just saying it
so that he would come down.

No!
There are more-viable suspects.

In fact, I'm close
to making an arrest.

Ah...

- Aah!
- Help!

Pull!

Aah!

Get the paramedics.

- Will he be okay?
- He's fine.

But we're gonna have to
keep him in overnight

just as a precaution.

George, Matt.

Jane.

Is there anyone around here
you lot don't know?

Statistically
that's highly probable,

but in reality, no.

Don't get angry,

but I broke into
Max Sinclair's room last night.

- Aunt Jane!
- I found this in his fireplace.

The Bora Bora
Football Association?

The British Board
of Forensic Accountants.

Think of them
as detectives with an abacus.

I did some digging,

comparing Sinclair Publishing's
annual reports

with sales records
of Oscar's books.

Max was skimming.

He was shortchanging Oscar
by thousands every month.

And Oscar found out?

I'm betting he hired a forensic
accountant to investigate.

At that precise moment,

Maximilian Sinclair was laying
a wager of a different kind.

A wager that he could sneak
away from Hiddledean Castle

without being noticed.

Hey! You!

He was wrong.

Stop!

Oh! Damn it!

We need to talk.

Yours, I believe.

Why were you arguing
with Oscar Prescott?

Okay.

I was massaging the books.

- And Oscar found out.
- He hired a forensic accountant.

Oscar showed me their report
on the morning he was murdered.

The report you stole
and burned in your room.

He told me he'd go to the police

unless I handed over a
controlling share of my company.

30 years I toiled
to build up that firm.

30 years.

And he wanted me
to hand over control

for a fraction
of what it's worth.

- And so you killed him?
- What?

Murder was the last thing
on my mind.

You'd lost a controlling share
of your company.

But I still owned 49%.

And the deal tied Oscar
to Sinclair Publishing for life.

Even as a minority shareholder,
I was set to make a fortune.

So, no, Sergeant,
I did not kill Oscar Prescott.

What will happen to him now?

That's down to the fraud office.

But he's finished
as a publisher.

You don't think he's our killer?

Too greedy.

Oscar was worth far more to him
alive than dead.

If he didn't kill
Oscar Prescott, who did?

The truth, Aunt Jane?

I don't know.

Hmm.

I hear you had
an eventful morning, Sergeant.

Sir.

But still no arrests for murder?

I want your aunt charged,

or I want your warrant card
on my desk.

I'll ask you again.

Why were you arguing
with Oscar Prescott,

and what were you doing
in the library last night?

Failure to answer
these questions

will result in you being charged
with double murder.

You do what you have to do,
Mattie.

So you're refusing
to answer my questions?

Get on with it, Sergeant.

- Matilda.
- Not now, Foster.

- It's important, sir.
- I said not now.

But Benjamin Kingston's
at the front desk.

And he wants to confess
to both killings.

I did it.

I killed Oscar.

Why?

Jealousy.

You were right.

I hated seeing how successful
he'd become.

I thought you two were friends.

Contemporaries.

He was a hack.

Flaunting his fame in my face.

Beating me
to the Golden Pick-Axe

was the final straw.

When the lights failed...

I took my chance.

And Tobias Young?

Degenerate gambler was my agent.

Borrowed a fortune from me
over the years,

except he wouldn't pay it back.

Kept asking for more.

So you killed him?

I had a taste for it by then.

You're free to go.

Inspector Thorne's satisfied

you had nothing to do
with either murder.

Follow P.C. Foster.
He'll return your belongings.

Congratulations on solving
your first case, Sergeant.

Thank you, sir.

You know what Napoleon said
about his generals?

He'd rather they were lucky
than good.

Not sure I agree.

Have the paperwork on my desk
first thing.

Sir.

- Oh!
- Oh!

To Beth being free

and Detective Sergeant
Matilda Stone

solving her first-ever murder.

- Whoo-hoo!
- Whoo-hoo!

Oh, what's the matter, kid?
You should be happy.

I am.
It's just...

I didn't so much solve the case
as have it handed to me.

- A win's a win.
- Mm.

None of it feels right.

Not even Baron Tollage
being the murderer

in "Brown Bread" makes sense.

I just can't help thinking
something's missing.

I told you.
Let us look at the manuscript.

Missing.

Missing.

Of course!

- I'll be back.
- Bye, love.

- See ya.
- Take care.

Ohh.

I wish she would let us
look at the manuscript.

Mm?

Oh, what?

Matilda fell asleep
on the sofa reading it.

So I made three copies.

- So you stole police evidence?
- Ohh!

Technically, I just copied it.

I gave it back.

Well, in that case.

Give it here.

Thank you.

Well, I'm surprised
to see you again, Sergeant.

I have some questions to ask you

about the works you sent
for restoration.

Your mother, I believe?

Oh.

"Brown Bread" is based on a true
story involving your parents.

Do come in.

My parents narrowly avoided
a scandal in the '60s.

Do sit down, please.

Lord Blenning was killed
hunting on our land,

and the rumor was that he was
having an affair with my mother

and that my father had shot him.

The description of the baron
and the one-eyed baroness

in Oscar's book
could only be my parents.

So you sent the paintings
and photographs away

to avoid anyone
making the connection?

My mother is 93, Sergeant.

A scandal of that magnitude
would finish her off.

I needed to know whether Oscar
had named the baron...

My father... as the killer.

So I thought if I gave Oscar
the award,

I could steal the manuscript
from his bag

while he was at the lectern.

And all I had to do was arrange
for the lights to fail

at precisely the right moment.

Except you hadn't bargained
on Oscar performing a reading.

But you had to find a way
to stop him, so you killed him?

What?

I killed Oscar?

In order to steal
the manuscript,

what, and then post
the last five pages

on the noticeboard the next day?

But I didn't want the world
to make the connection

between the killer
and my father.

Why on earth would I do that?

Hmm?

Have you ever considered
maybe the rumors were true?

That Oscar uncovered evidence
of your father's guilt?

Oh, you misunderstand me,
Sergeant.

My father wasguilty.

Yeah, no,
that's the whole point.

Well, I-I always knew that.

After I saw him burying
the rifle in the garden.

I never told Mother.

It would break her heart
if she ever found out the truth.

Oh, golly, I'm beginning to wish

I'd given
the Golden Pick-Axe Award

to Isabella Wolfe after all.

Isabella Wolfe?

Don't you mean
Benjamin Kingston?

No, I don't.
Why would I mean that?

Well, I understood you enticed

Benjamin Kingston
to the festival

by promising him
he'd win the Golden Pick-Axe.

No, I had much simpler bait
to lure him.

I invited Oscar.

And wherever Oscar goes,
Emily goes too.

And I knew that Benjamin
would never miss

the opportunity of spending
a weekend in Emily's company.

He'll do anything for her.

Prescott's done a Christie.

And in that very moment,
everything became clear.

I know who the killer is.

Crikey.

Well, one thing we can all agree
with Matilda on

is that Baron Tollage
definitely wasn't the murderer.

Agreed.

Meaning the missing pages
that Matilda took

from the noticeboard are fake.

And that Oscar Prescott's death

and the stolen pages
are connected after all.

Someone's gone
to a lot of effort

to make sure the real ending
to "Brown Bread"

remains a secret.

Well, I figured out by page 50
the baroness did it.

That's nonsense.
It can't be her.

It has to be Theodore Gill III.

You're both wrong.

It's Lady Helmhurst.

While Beth, Cat,
and Jane Stone disagreed

about the identity
of a fictional killer...

their niece edged ever closer

to confirming her own suspicions

about the identity
of a real-life one.

The missing pages.

"Palmer coolly turned

to take in the guests'
expectant faces and declared..."

And the murderer is...

So we're all agreed.

It can't be Dr. Reynolds
either.

That's everyone eliminated.

Not quite everyone.

What did Sherlock Holmes say?

Once you have eliminated
the impossible...

Whatever remains,
however improbable...

Must be the truth.

- Of course.
- Of course.

He's the only person
not on our list.

What the Stone sisters
had deduced

by a process of elimination was
that Lord Grint's killer was...

Me.

Charlie Reginald Palmer.

You see, I'm not a well man.

X-ray showed a shadow
on the old lung.

Six months tops,
the docs reckon.

Now, I'm not
one of life's lingerers.

I can't be dealing
with all that hospice malarkey.

Not for me.

But I couldn't leave
this little world

before settling
an old family score.

Lord Grint was a man
of dubious scruples

who, I recently discovered,
was single-handedly responsible

for the demise
of my beloved big sister, Ida.

Ooh!

So, honors even.

An eye for an eye and all that.

I've had my fill of this life.

It's been fun while it lasted,
but nothing lasts forever.

Does it?

Toodle pip, old chums.

So who would steal
the end of the manuscript,

then kill Oscar
to stop the world

knowing this was
Charlie Palmer's last case?

Charlie Palmer's biggest fan.

We have to warn Matilda.

I know you're in here.

And I know why you killed
Oscar and Tobias.

Emily?

Like Christie with Poirot
and Doyle with Holmes,

Oscar had grown tired
of his brilliant creation.

Charlie Palmer had become
a millstone around his neck.

It's all people
ever wanted from him.

You got an early look at Oscar's
manuscript, didn't you?

You learned Oscar
was going to kill off

your beloved Charlie Palmer.

Toodle pip, old chums.

It's why you pretended to faint
at the awards ceremony.

And when Oscar
turned his back on you...

Oscar...

you knew he was going to reveal

Charlie Palmer was the murderer,

and there would be
no going back.

You couldn't let that happen,
could you, Emily?

All this time I thought it was
Oscar you loved, but it wasn't.

It was Charlie Palmer.

When the lights failed
that night,

you knew there was only one way

to save the man you loved,
and that was to kill Oscar.

Oh, my God, Oscar!

I begged Oscar
not to kill Charlie off,

but he wouldn't listen.

It's over, Emily.

My inspector's on his way
with a dozen officers.

You're lying.

All right.

All right.

I give in.

You've never been in love,

have you, Sergeant?

Not real love.

Pure love.

That's what Charlie and I have.

Real, pure love.

And I'm not gonna let
Oscar or Tobias

or you...

come between us.

How about us?!

We always had your back, kid.

Did Emily say
why she killed Tobias?

He was blackmailing her.

After killing Oscar and stealing
the pages of the manuscript,

she forged her own ending
to "Brown Bread,"

one that didn't pin the murder
on Charlie Palmer.

She secretly posted her pages
on the noticeboard

for the world to discover,
but Tobias Young saw her.

He realized Emily must've been
responsible for killing Oscar

so he decided to cash in
on what he knew.

Tobias had seen
how expert Emily was

at forging Oscar's handwriting,
so he blackmailed her...

Now witness it.

Into forging Oscar's
signature on a contract

signing Oscar to his agency.

Excellent.

But Emily knew the blackmailing
wouldn't stop there.

And from that moment on...

Tobias Young's time was up.

You said Benjamin Kingston
knew Emily killed Oscar.

From the moment he read
the fake missing pages.

Benjamin had been secretly
in love with Emily for years,

so he lied to cover for her.

Every author's writing style
is unique,

like a fingerprint.

I'd know Oscar's anywhere.

And when he mistakenly thought

I was getting close
to the truth...

You're just saying that
so I'll come down.

No!
There are more-viable suspects.

In fact, I'm close
to making an arrest.

Lives ruined.
People dead.

All for the sake of some
silly fictional character.

Charlie Palmer was as real
to Emily as you are to me.

She loved him.

Well, fiction can be so much
more interesting than real life.

Sergeant Stone.

Wanted to say, uh, well done.

To all of you.

That's very kind of you,
Inspector.

Yes, well, that said,

I expect you ladies
to steer well clear

of Sergeant Stone's
investigations in future.

Do I make myself clear?

- Crystal.
- Perfectly.

Whatever.

- I'll see you at the station.
- Sir.

Everything all right, old girl?

Charlie?

What? Didn't think I was gonna
leave you all alone, did you?

Goodbye.

Do hope to see you again
next year.

Isabella.

Oh, yes, goodbye.

About Oscar's book...

Well, now you've found
the real ending,

I don't see anything to fear
from its publication.

- What?!
- Nothing, Mother!

I'm just commenting
on the weather!

Although I can't say
I'm ever going to

let anyone
near the library again.

It's strictly off limits to
the general public from now on.

Plato!
Come here!

Come on!

Whatever the reasons,

Beth, Cat, and Jane Stone
contented themselves

that the existence
of Professor Dragomir

and his connection
to their sister Eleanor

was at least safe
from Matilda for now.

Mr. Ashton.

How are you feeling?

Yes, uh, a-a lot better.

Um
Thanks to Sergeant Stone here.

Well, you saved my life.

I'm so ashamed.

You heard about Emily?

A crime of passion
if I ever heard one.

Will you be back next year?

Oh, God, no.

No, I'm... I'm getting
out of this game.

I'm retiring as of today.

I thought I'd get to know
my grandchildren.

Take some very long walks.

Read.

Perhaps you ladies
could recommend a book?

Thank you again.

Where to, m'lady?

What?!

- Mattie.
- Hmm?

I forgot to mention...

We've arranged a little date
for you tonight.

What do I want to go
on a blind date for?

Well, it's not a blind date.

You've met him before.

And let's just say
he's a certain

eligible medical practitioner
from around these parts.

Matilda had a sudden
and explicable change of heart.

I suppose one date
wouldn't hurt.

Come on.

Get in.

Waiting for her blind date
to arrive,

Detective Sergeant Matilda Stone

couldn't help but wonder

what romance
the evening would bring.

Sergeant Stone?

Matilda's heart skipped a beat.

Daniel.

I, uh, hoped it was you.

You did?

Matilda's heart
skipped two beats.

Daniel darling.
What's taking you so long?

Everyone's waiting.

Matilda's heart stopped beating.

Who's this?

This is the new detective
I was telling you about.

- Martha?
- Matilda.

Matilda.

Natasha.
Daniel's fiancée.

We're not officially engaged.

It's always so nice to meet one
of Daniel's police colleagues.

You're such
a funny little bunch of people.

Come along now, darling.

We're all waiting for you
before we order.

Maybe you'd like to join us?

I think she has better things
to do than...

Matilda.

Sorry I'm late.

We'll leave
you two lovebirds to it.

Nice to meet you, Martha.

Come along, darling.

Have a nice evening.

Your aunts,
they said you like pansies.

Sorry?

Yes! I do.

Thank you.
Please, take a seat.

Dr. Daniel Lynch
suddenly found himself

feeling oddly out of place
at a table where,

only moments before,
he'd felt perfectly at home.

Daniel.

Daniel!
Wake up.

What's gotten into you
this evening?

Sorry.
Where were we?

As for Matilda,

the evening may not have
worked out as planned,

but she was
nevertheless content.

She was home
in her treasured Wildemarsh,

reunited with her beloved aunts,

living above her favorite place
in the world,

and doing a job she cherished.

And unbeknown to her,

a fraction over 316 yards,
two feet, and eight inches away

works a man who might...
Justmight...

Be able to shed light

on the riddle
of her mother's disappearance.