Original subtitles

If anyone thinks bell-ringing is easy,

they should come over here and sniff my armpits.

Thank you for that, Miss Thundersby.

Are you all right, my dear?

Yeah, just a little achy in the upper arm.

Well, allow me to escort you ladies to the Red Lion.

I don't think so.

I'm sorry? I have a number of notes on this evening's performance.

Oh, piggy, Mervyn! We've been ringing for three-and-a-half hours.

Indeed. And it was three-and-a-half hours of schoolboy errors.

Hello! Am I interrupting anything?

No. No!

May I introduce Mr Jamie Cheeseman.

Mr Cheeseman has been appointed by Canon Fox to be Director of Music

for the diocese, and he's very keen to work with you.

That's right.

I've always been fascinated by campanology.

We do not approve of the word "campanology".

A mongrel word, combining, as it does, the Latin for

bell - "campana" - with the Greek for study - "ology".

We are change-ringers, and proud of it.

Mr Glossop is tower captain.

And as there can only be one captain of the ship,

I respectfully ask you to leave.

Actually, I think that's somewhat disrespectful.

Do you, indeed?

I really do admire what you're doing here.

Your admiration is not reciprocated.

Please, I've got some hand-bells.

I do hope you will be very happy with your little bells.

But our bells have hung for over 500 years.

They announce historic occasions, the outbreak of war,

and sometimes, even funerals.

Sorry, was that a threat? Not a threat, Mr Cheeseman.

A prophecy.

Is he always like that?

Mr Glossop can be somewhat temperamental.

50% temper and 50% mental.

Of course, as well as restoring the bells, it's important

to restore harmony to the ringing chamber.

And that would be best achieved by judicious use of flattery.

Two halves, please, Raymond.

So, once again, a musical director has been foisted on us.

They soon find they know considerably less than I do.

The previous one lasted three weeks.

Let's hope Mr Cheese-man will depart somewhat sooner.

Well, I, um...

Spit it out, Phoebe.

Would it be so bad to give him a go?

I mean, he might be rather good.

Yes. You know, young blood and all that.

We do not need youth to instruct us

in an ancient and unchanging art form.

I have been ringing these bells for 42 years.

Do you mind if we join you?

Oh, please do.

I know that we didn't get off to the best of starts,

and it's always awkward when a new boy comes along...

..but...

..I'd love to work with you

and bring St Marys' ringers to new and dizzying heights.

Mr Cheeseman, we already have a working method,

honed and refined over several decades.

If you like, I will write to Canon Fox,

and explain that your services are not required.

Well, I could actually save you the stamp.

Canon Fox is my uncle.

But, really, I don't want to do anything drastic.

You're already an extremely accomplished group.

But it struck me the bells themselves are less than perfect.

They're just a bit rusty.

So I thought - why not have a fundraiser?

So that we could take them to the foundry,

have them re-tuned and re-hanged,

and then they will make a sound that's worthy

of such a magnificent band of ringers.

Canon Fox's nephew?!

Indeed.

No mystery then to how he got such a prestigious position...

He is, apparently, a very talented composer who has worked with

the London Opera Company.

But if he's Canon Fox's nephew, he's bound to be a bit of a drip.

On the contrary, he seems very lively and full of ideas.

Full of ideas? And who has to do the donkey work?

Me.

Enoch! Hello!

Good morning, nice to see you. How may I be of assistance?

Well, we have to... I have to do some baking for this fund-raiser,

and I'm in need of two dozen eggs.

Ah, well, you are in luck, as all of our ladies have been laying.

Oh, well, isn't that marvellous.

Hello! Hello!

Gosh, it's a small world.

Mr Jamie Cheeseman.

Mrs McCarthy, our parish secretary.

How do you do? And Bunty Windermere.

Hello. Welcome to our village.

Thank you.

Though I actually came to see Enoch.

Oh. Oh, yes?

Yes. A trunkload of my possessions has just arrived from London,

and I find I have rather a large collection of gospel records.

Now, I don't know if that's your sort of music,

but you're more than welcome to borrow them.

I love gospel! I used to be in a choir in Trinidad.

Yes. Phoebe said you enjoyed the singing,

and I wondered if we could use you at the fete.

In what way?

Well, I also write songs, and I was thinking, as well as a bell-ringing

performance, we could perhaps hear you sing one of my compositions.

Oh. Well, that would be an honour!

Let me have a look at your collection.

Well, I take back what I said.

He does have a certain je ne sais quoi.

Well, I don't know about your "je ne sais quoi",

but I suppose the bell-ringers could do with someone

with a bit of enthusiasm.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

# Ring that bell

# From the top of the tower

# Ring that bell

# In your desperate hour

# Ring that bell

# To appeal to his power

♪ Ring that bell... ♪

It's a bit Like having Paul Robeson in your own living room.

# When the darkness is near

# Ring that bell

# And you're drowning in fear

# Ring that bell

# So the saviour will hear

♪ Ring that bell! Ring that bell! ♪

Mr Cheeseman.

Hello.

I have been perusing this so-called composition

you wish us to perform at the fete.

Oh, yes? It appears to be false.

In course one, the treble changes place with bell two.

And in the third course, you make the same change again.

Can someone translate that into English?

Under the rules of change-ringing, you must never repeat a change.

Rules are there for a reason.

But since you seem incapable of obeying them, I suggest you

take your technically-deficient composition back to London.

Mr Glossop.

Although we are thankful for the work you have done in the past,

if you find it so difficult to accept new members,

perhaps it is you who should be leaving.

This man is the viper in the nest.

He is destroying our group.

And unless we stand up to him, he will destroy us all.

Please, Mervyn. He's not trying to destroy us.

We rather like him. Do you indeed?

Well, I wonder...

..would he feel the same if he knew what I knew?

Phoebe.

Or should that be Fibby?

Because who could believe a word that comes from your angelic lips?

And Enoch.

So kind.

So caring.

So lucky they never sent you to prison.

And Ruth...

..you sing from the heart.

But what a sordid, squalid cesspit of a heart.

I'm so looking forward to your fete.

Testing...

Testing.

Ruthy? What? When we do our song, shall we stand together,

cheek to cheek, like this? Oh, I don't think so.

What?

Well, not so close that we're sharing mascara.

Cream horn, anyone?

Thank you kindly! It's hungry work doing backing vocals.

Has anyone seen Jamie? He wandered off a few minutes ago,

just to see some stalls.

Well, if anyone sees him, tell him I've got something sweet for him.

We will! You've no idea what a joy he's been to work with.

After all those years with Mervyn.

Who was always a bit of a wet blanket.

Oh, Enoch, that's so unfair...

..to wet blankets.

Wet blanket? I gave you years.

Oh, Mervyn, we didn't mean it, we... Years!

We're just a bit nervous.

Oh, look, a microphone.

Hopefully there'll be quite a crowd here at one o'clock.

I will get it next time.

You've been saying that these past six goes.

Still, all the more money for the bells.

Ding dong!

Are you busy?

Mervyn Glossop is about, and I think he's planning to make a scene.

Right, we should warn Jamie.

I'll have three more goes, please.

Oh, dear.

I'll have ten more.

Oh, last of the big spenders!

Bunty! Sorry, I really do want to win this.

We've come to warn you, Mervyn Glossop is here.

And he's not exactly a little ray of sunshine.

Oh, dear.

I've won!

I've won!

Aw! Is that for me?

What?

I was joking!

Of course.

I'll keep an eye out for Mervyn. I must get to the church.

What is a bell?

For some it is a call to prayer.

For others, merely an irritation on a Sunday morning.

Our bells have been here 500 years,

having a conversation with God.

And today, we have invited you here to see how it's done.

Thank you, Mr Cheeseman.

Look to.

The treble is going.

Gone.

Oh, heavens!

Erm, I'm most terribly sorry. One moment, please.

Well, it must have been an old rope.

Hello?

Sabotage! I bet it was Mervyn.

When I get hold of him, I'm going to grab him by the throat, and...

Oh, piggy! Let me help you.

Sorry...

..is...is that blood?

Thank you, Constable.

So, Padre.

This time the Grim Reaper came right to your doorstep.

Indeed.

I've never seen a dead body before.

I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight.

He is in eternal sleep.

Perhaps now he will finally find peace.

Oh, Lordy.

Oh, cripes.

Oh, my Great Aunt Fanny.

What is it? So...

..where did you go just before we started ringing?

You know where I was.

I went to the belfry to grease the gudgeons.

You were gone a full half-hour.

Yes, well, I don't like to rush these things.

Where were you?

No sign of a murder weapon, sir.

Well, it must be somewhere on church grounds.

There's no way our killer wandered through the crowds

with a blood-stained dagger in his hand.

I have rather a lot of bell-ringers to talk to.

Greasing the gudgeons, you say?

That's right.

And I put some oil on the pulley-axle.

Did you hear anything from the chamber beneath you?

Oh, I wasn't there the whole time.

I did also nip to the sacristy.

Where Father Brown keeps his cassocks and whatnot.

And I went in to wash my hands.

And then I went to the ringing chamber.

And then we all went upstairs...

..and saw...

So, Mervyn Glossop.

Would you say he had any enemies?

I had nothing against him.

We just had certain musical differences.

He described you as "a viper in the nest who was going to destroy

"all the bell-ringers".

People say these things in the heat of the moment.

Can you account for your whereabouts in the hour leading up to

this grim discovery?

I went round all the stalls.

I won a teddy bear.

And then I came into the church...

..just to make sure that no members of the public wandered in

when we were getting ready.

So you would have been somewhere near the entrance?

That's right.

So who was in the bell-tower?

I was on the ground floor of the tower, just getting my

thoughts together, and praying, but I didn't hear anything.

A surprising number of your colleagues failed to hear anything.

Must be spending so much time with those bells.

Yes. Now, we're going to have to take everybody's fingerprints,

though I notice you're wearing gloves.

That's right.

Can you take them off, please?

Mrs Sims!

Of course.

I don't very often take them off, because,

well...

..just before he was arrested last year, my husband gave me a little...

..present.

He often used to hurt me, when I stood up to him.

And on this occasion, he put my hands in a hot chip pan.

I am so sorry.

Don't apologise!

I have to put wool fat on them,

and I use the gloves as a kind of bandage.

It can be quite painful, ringing a bell,

but at least now I'm in control of the pain.

And I am a shy person...

..but I like to think that the treble bell is my voice...

..and it rings out across the hills, all the way to HMP Wynchurch,

where he's rotting in his cell!

And it says to him...

.."You did not beat me.

"I am still here."

So...

..if you were on the ground floor, praying,

who would have been above you?

No, I was not.

I knew Miss Thundersby was checking the bells, so I left it to her.

And where exactly were you?

I went to the sacristy for some peace and quiet,

and then I went straight from there to the ringing chamber.

The sacristy? And was anyone there with you?

No, I was alone the whole time.

We believe Mr Glossop was stabbed in the heart with a large blade.

You are a farmer, are you not?

I am a farm labourer, though it is not my farm.

Nevertheless, you must have access to lots of sharp implements -

scythes and sickles and so forth.

No, I do not! This is the 20th century.

I use a tractor.

Calm down, Mr Rowe. I'm only asking a simple question.

So, who was the last person to see him alive?

That would have been his murderer.

I meant before that! Well, it was me, actually.

The bell-ringers were getting ready,

and he made some odd remarks to them, pointing out that they

had a microphone, and that he hoped they'd get a good crowd.

Mr Glossop was a keen collector of secrets.

He made it clear that he knew certain things

about his fellow ringers.

He might have been about to reveal them.

Did Mr Glossop take his secrets to the grave with him,

or did he perhaps keep a diary?

Sorry, ma'am, I can't let you in.

Looks like the boys in blue have beaten us to it.

And the girls, too.

Mervyn was a dear friend of mine,

he wouldn't want lots of strangers trampling round his house.

Someone wants to get her gloves on Mervyn's secrets.

Mrs Sims was very keen to know Miss Thundersby's whereabouts.

I get the impression each suspects the other.

Hello, Father! Morning, Sergeant.

We've just made an arrest.

And as he's a parishioner, I thought you might want a word.

Excuse me.

Ah, Padre! Come to offer some crumbs of comfort to our killer?

Are you sure you have the right man, Inspector?

Undoubtedly.

Having failed to find the murder weapon at the church,

we took our metal detectors to Tatton Farm.

And there, buried in the yard, was a blood-stained sickle.

Even if this sickle IS the murder weapon

how do you know who buried it?

It was found at Enoch Rowe's place of work!

And now it is in this police station.

So presumably you'll be arresting Sergeant Goodfellow?

On your feet please, sir.

I'll be right outside if you need me, Father.

Thank you, Sergeant. Oh!

Have you come to read the last rites?

I've come to help in any way I can.

Did you kill Mervyn Glossop?

I am not a murderer!

Although I am fairly sure that I will hang for it.

What makes you say that?

Inspector Mallory has made up his mind.

Oh...

He found an old shirt of mine, with blood on it.

My own blood, from a nosebleed, but what does he care?

The Inspector sometimes comes to a conclusion,

and then looks for evidence to support it.

When I was growing up in Trinidad, my teachers used to say

there are three people you can always trust -

The good Lord, your mother, and a policeman.

Yes, well, two out of three isn't bad.

And then,

when I come to England,

I lived in a room with six other West Indians.

And if any of my roommates committed a crime, the police would

come and arrest us all, because in their eyes, we all look the same.

That must have been very hurtful, Mr Rowe.

I tried not to take it to heart.

I just worked hard, kept my nose clean

and carried on sending money home.

Your mother must be very proud of you.

She was.

Until she passed away last year.

You have my condolences.

My mother taught me so many things.

She said, "You should always look people in the eye,

"because the eyes are the gateway to the soul."

Good advice.

And I will look you in the eye, and say I will look into this,

and I will find the truth.

There you are. How is he?

I would say the fight has almost gone out of him.

So it's up to us to do battle on his behalf.

I came as soon as I heard.

Ah, a banana.

Yes! A banana.

The police say Mr Glossop was stabbed to death with a sickle.

That's very hard to do with a curved blade.

And Mr Rowe, being a practical man, would have gone for the throat.

So it must have been one of the others.

Yes, and they are a very tight-knit group.

So, Bunty, how are we going to infiltrate it?

OK, now, it's not about strength or speed or stamina.

It's all about technique.

I see. The bell is on a wheel.

And when you pull, you'll feel when it's about to go off.

At which point you grab this rope to secure it.

It's a lot more complicated than I thought.

You'll soon develop a rhythm.

Well done!

I knew you could do it.

Bunty's done dressage, and archery - ringing a bell must be a doddle.

OK, now, if we try ringing a round...

OK, Phoebe, you can be treble.

Oh, jolly Dee. Bunty, you're number two.

I'm three. And Ruth, if you take the tenor.

But I always come after Phoebe.

I know, but sometimes you come in a bit too quick,

and I'm keen to see if we can get our timings right.

Treble. Look too, The treble is going - gone.

Two.

Three.

I'll go and have a word.

Do you have a particular grievance with the angels?

I'm sorry, Father.

It's just all been a bit fraught, with all this death and whatnot.

I noticed you were especially upset when your friend

began to praise Miss Windermere.

It can be hard, when someone we have feelings for

makes a fuss of someone else.

Feelings? What do you mean?

I think we both know, and I can assure you I have no wish to judge.

Oh, Lord.

I've tried so hard to keep it a secret,

but I suppose it's just written all over my silly old face.

Is Mrs Sims aware of your feelings?

Oh, no. Oh, never.

No, I'd die if she knew. Why?

Well, it's wrong, isn't it? It's in the Bible.

The Bible also says it's wrong to wear clothes of mixed fibres.

But theologians tend to ignore that.

Oh, gosh!

It's been so hard to keep these feelings inside.

I've read books about it in the library,

so I know there's a name for people like me.

I'm an invert. An unspeakable of the Radclyffe Hall persuasion.

I'm a sister of Sappho.

Oh, who did you say your sister was?

Perhaps you should pour Mrs McCarthy a cup of hot, sweet tea.

I don't know what this world is coming to.

I mean, it's against all the laws of nature.

To be accurate, Miss Thundersby only expressed a deep yearning.

But I know that she has tortured herself for years,

and I see no reason to add to her torment.

If Ruth was tormented by her...

..her tendencies, and Mervyn knew about it,

well, that would be a very good reason for her to...silence him.

The lab have confirmed the blood on his shirt is not

the same blood group as Mervyn's. We've only got one bit of evidence,

and it's highly possible it was planted.

We have to have someone in the cells!

We can't just brush it under the carpet.

The funeral's tomorrow.

I say we let Enoch go, under observation.

You never know, sir - he might do something rash.

Or he could even lead us to the real killer.

Anima eius, et animae omnium fidelium defunctorum,

per misericordiam Dei requiescant in pace.

ALL: Amen.

I'm so pleased you could come.

We know you had nothing to do with that awful business.

I'm not sure everyone knows that.

Enoch, how, are you?

Not good. I can feel people's eyes burning into me.

Well, if you ever need to escape,

you're always welcome at the presbytery. Thank you, Father.

I must say hello to Mervyn's aunt. Of course.

I am so sorry for your loss.

Thank you for... Thank you, that's very kind.

Well, I do hope a few more souls turn up at my funeral.

Most of these are police.

Good. Hopefully they've all left Mr Glossop's house.

3.5 seconds.

Oh, there's an awfully musty smell in here!

It's as though no-one's opened a window in here for 500 years.

Mr Glossop always tended to linger in the shadows.

I didn't know he was a theatre-goer.

The London Opera Company.

I think he procured this for research purposes.

"Musical arrangements by George J Cheeseman."

That's got to be Jamie.

I wonder why he dropped the George?

Perhaps, like the others, he has a secret past.

Oh, now...

This is interesting, it's a letter to Mervyn from Phoebe.

Father?

Mr Glossop had a collection of farming paraphernalia.

Including a sickle, which has been removed. Hang on!

I saw Mervyn with a sack with something in it at the fete.

Perhaps he was carrying the instrument of his own demise.

Well done, Phoebe.

Now stay calm, and don't make a...

Aagghh!!

Hello! What brings you here?

Um...

I just came to tidy the place.

Mervyn was very house-proud.

You didn't come to retrieve anything?

No.

"Dear Mervyn, I am writing to beg you to see sense.

"I know you don't get on with Jamie, but why destroy our wonderful group?

"Of course, you could easily ruin us, you know all our secrets."

Mr Glossop accused you of lying.

Must have been a significant lie to ruin you.

Did this lie take place in court?

As you know, my husband was arrested for armed robbery last year.

Get off me!

It came as a complete surprise.

Really, I had no idea. But it was a relief.

Gotcha! He'd done some awful things to me.

Though, when it came to court, they asked me

had I been with him on a certain day?

And, well...

..the answer was yes.

I'd been helping him fix the car. Passing the spanners.

But that was the day of the robbery.

Did you lie under oath?

Oh, dear God, please forgive me!

God will forgive you,

if you truly repent.

I thought perhaps that they had the wrong date,

but the money was found under our bed, so it must have been him.

Do you think Mr Glossop somehow found out you were lying?

He must have done.

But I thought he was on my side.

He was very kind to me.

Mervyn?!

Oh, yes.

The thing is - a few days after my husband went to prison,

I received a plain brown envelope, full of money.

It wasn't a fortune, but enough to buy some groceries.

Was there a note attached? No.

And the money carried on coming.

And you believe Mr Glossop was responsible?

Of course.

He lived just over the road from me.

When I asked him, he denied it.

But if it wasn't him...

..who was it?

Ruth? Possibly.

Mervyn Glossop never struck me as the anonymous gift giving type.

So, we know Mrs Sims lied in court.

And we know that Ruth prefers ladies to gentlemen.

What are the other secrets? Mallory!

Padre!

Inspector. Why do I sense you are the bearer of bad news.

This is not bad. This is catastrophic.

Oh...

Where is Enoch Rowe?

We've just been to Tatton Farm, and it seems that he's scarpered.

What?

He has gone into hiding.

But when I find him,

those bells won't be the only things swinging at the end of a rope!

No sign of him.

It was an outside chance, but I thought he might have come here to seek sanctuary.

Where exactly did you find the body?

Here. Although the trail of blood suggests he died here.

And that was where Miss Thundersby tripped and fell.

Right.

THAT is the sack that Mervyn was carrying at the fete.

And it almost certainly contained the weapon that killed him.

He carried his own murder weapon?!

I think he also came here to cut the bell-ropes,

thereby ruining the performance.

And someone caught him at it, and ruined him instead.

And what about the sickle?

How did the killer get it past the police and everyone else to

bury it on Tatton Farm?

I know exactly how they did it.

How? What if it was inside something?

Something big and soft and fluffy.

Like a teddy bear.

Father Brown! To what do I owe the pleasure?

I wanted to talk to all the ringers at this difficult time.

That's very kind! Please. Take a seat.

Sorry.

Hold on.

And I wanted to say thank you for all the work you've done

with our ringers. You really do have a remarkable talent.

Thank you very much.

Although I was intrigued as to why you came to our village after

your glittering career in London.

Although that was under another name.

George J Cheeseman.

Have you been talking to my uncle?

I have made a number of enquiries.

Then you'll know that I left London under a dark cloud.

The thing is - I can be a bit obsessive.

Once upon a time the obsession was music, but last year,

I became obsessed with poker.

I played every night of the week,

and I took some money from the opera company to pay for it.

Oh.

Uncle Raymond bailed me out.

Of course. I did wonder whether you had an addictive personality when I

saw you trying to win that bear.

I really did want to win it.

It's for my niece, in London.

Can I have a look at him?

If you like.

Sorry? Has this got something to do with the murder?

It had crossed my mind, yes.

But I believe this bear is innocent.

I have discovered Mr Cheeseman's secret,

but I do not think he would kill for it.

Oh, thank goodness.

Good day, Father.

It must all go back to the events of last year.

Robbery. The perjury.

The mysterious gifts of money.

Mr Glossop knew all the facts, and was about to reveal them.

Until someone stopped him.

Mr Glossop...

..was a gossip.

You could see it in his beady little eyes.

His eyes. Yes. Yes.

Where are we going?

To see the world through Mr Glossop's eyes.

And there's her front door.

One of us needs to keep watch at all times.

What makes you so sure that we're going to see anything?

Some crimes are about evil, this one is about kindness.

Whoever's been leaving Mrs Sims secret gifts

doesn't want to see her destitute.

So they will return.

Right, tea.

Five o'clock.

It's your turn.

If you say so.

I still think this is a wild goose chase.

Though, very little chasing involved.

And probably no geese.

But what do I know?

I'm just the tea lady, apparently.

Mrs McCarthy?

There is someone.

Enoch Rowe, I presume?

Father! Please! I am not safe here.

Then come with me.

Mrs McCarthy, do we have any food left for our visitor?

Would you care for a fish paste sandwich?

No, thank you, Mrs McCarthy.

Perhaps you could keep a look out for the police.

Of course.

Take a seat.

Your mother gave you very good advice -

always look into people's eyes,

for the eyes are the gateway of the soul.

When they found Mr Glossop, his eyes were closed.

Almost as if the killer couldn't bear being stared at

by those judgmental eyes.

And, at the funeral, you hugged his aunt.

You wanted to comfort her,

but were you afraid that she'd look into your eyes and see a killer?

Why would I want to kill Mervyn?

I can think of many reasons.

The bell-ringers were a very kind group of people,

and when they found out that one of their number was being harmed

by her husband, you did all you could to help.

Mr Glossop kept a scrapbook.

"On Tuesday morning, the post office was robbed by a man wearing a

"mask, a scarf and leather gloves."

The robber was very, very careful to conceal every inch of his skin.

And then he took the money to Mr and Mrs Sims' house.

But I wonder how he got in, if, as I believe, he didn't live there?

Perhaps he picked the lock,

or perhaps there was a key under the flowerpot.

But to turn the key, he'd have to take off his glove.

I think Mervyn saw you.

And then he saw you leaving secret presents.

You told me you used to send money home to your mother.

When she died, that must have left a void.

Yes. More than words can say.

Did you have feelings for Mrs Sims?

The only thing I felt was fear.

That if I did not help, her husband would beat her to death.

As usual, you acted with the best of intentions.

But now Mervyn had two secrets on you.

The day of the fete, you went to check on the bells.

And Mervyn went to cut the ropes.

Mervyn...

Put down the sickle.

Or what will you do? Tell your precious Phoebe

when you sneak to her house in the wee small hours?

You're a thief and a liar!

There was a struggle.

I saw the mark on his wrist,

where you squeezed the sickle from his hand.

It is true!

But I did not kill him.

I know you didn't.

You are calm, and thoughtful, but Mervyn was reckless and impulsive.

You were holding the sickle, and he ran at you to grab it.

But he tripped, exactly where Ms Thundersby tripped.

He fell.

And the weapon was in my hand.

Who was going to believe me?

The police are here.

It is the end!

No, my friend, it is a new chapter, and you have a choice.

You can run and you may get away unharmed.

Or you can give yourself up,

and I will do everything I can to make sure you have a fair hearing.

They will destroy me.

And what of Phoebe.

What will happen to her when they find out she lied?

Mrs Sims was driven to the edge of reason by her husband.

Now is the time for truth.

And if you run,

will you ever find peace?

Inspector! We have a surprise for you!

Perhaps we can offer the police some refreshments.

What's going on?

This had better not be one of your tricks.

Hello, Inspector. Would you like a cup of tea?

Poor Enoch. Whatever he did, I'm sure he didn't mean to harm Mervyn.

Yes, well, if he'd been a bit more honest,

he wouldn't be in such a scrape. Honesty?

I think that's something we could all use a little bit more of.

What do you mean?

Where were you, the hour before Mervyn's death?

Well, if you must know, I won some eau-de-cologne and...

So I just had to nip to the sacristy

and dab a bit behind my ears. Whatever for?

Well, you asked if we could sing together, cheek to cheek,

and I was worried I was just a bit whiffy.

Oh, you silly thing!

You mustn't worry about that.

We've known each other for such a long time.

And you must know how I feel about you.

No.

I don't know.

Oh, I was just... Mrs M!

Oh, golly! I didn't know anyone was watching.

Forgive us for intruding, but it is good to see you both so happy.

Isn't that right, Mrs McCarthy?

Yes. If you say so.

It's ridiculous. You're just getting to know someone,

and then they're gone... Penelope! Mr Cheeseman!

Everything all right? No. Not really.

Jamie is leaving Kembleford. PHOEBE: What?

It's true, I'm afraid.

I'm London-bound.

What does London have that we don't?

Nothing.

But I've realised I'm not cut out for Kembleford.

Is there nothing we can do to persuade you?

'Fraid not.

I'm on the 4.42.

Then we'll ring you on your way.

Come on, Mrs M.

What? What?

Goodbye, Jamie.

Are you sure you're leaving at the right time?

I am.

Plus, my uncle has found me a teaching post.

And you don't want to argue with Uncle Raymond.

Indeed. Perhaps your work here is done.

Thank you, Father.

No, thank you, Mr Cheeseman.

Bon voyage!