All language subtitles for Father Brown S03E07 The Kembleford Boggart.DVDRip.NonHI.en.BBC

Ah. That's the
last of your cavalry.

Mm-hm.

And that, Father,

is checkmate.

Yeah.

Never did have much
luck with my bishops.

Still, it wouldn't be summer
until you'd beaten me at chess.

So...

- time for a rematch?
- This way, Mr. Moxley.

Mm. Later, perhaps.

Right now, I think I
have some visitors.

Father Brown, I
might have known.

Mrs. McCarthy, Jeremiah.

I was just welcoming
Aggie back to Kembleford.

Bridget, how have
you been keeping?

Until this morning, I
was doing quite well.

Then I entered the
church, only to find a chalice

had been snatched off the altar.

Oh, dear. I presume you
have informed the police?

We're on our way, but first,

we thought we would
confront the culprit directly.

Your son was witnessed by
Mr. Moxley here, fleeing the churchyard.

What rot. Alfons!

The bearded, brutish
fellow. I'll swear on the cross.

Alfons was here all morning.

I saw him there
with my own eyes.

Aggie and her family have
been visiting Kembleford for years.

If you would only take
time to get to know them...

I do know them.
They're all the same.

And that chalice is worth
all your caravans put together

and it's a personal
favorite of mine.

Let's see what the
Inspector says, shall we?

You! I've warned you
about coming round here.

I could make the same request.

Isn't there a rubbish dump
somewhere you could occupy?

Young man, we are
here to investigate a theft.

Alfons.

You keep away from here.

Alfons, may I remind you,

that violence begets violence.

And, Jeremiah, may I suggest
you don't lose your head.

- In a manner of speaking.
- He doesn't frighten me, Father.

Then I'll try harder.

You're just dirty pagans,
raising dirty children

on other people's land

and it's those other people
that has to pay the price.

This is your final warning.
Keep away from this land

or you'll have to be
carried away, in a box.

"On the third night, as
the fire burns to embers

and she sits beside the cradle,

Clarissa realizes it's not the house
that's cursed at all, it's the baby.

And in the corner of the
room, in the dying light,

she sees the twitching
shadow of a wicked boggart."

- You hate it?
- No, it's thrilling.

- One thing?
- Yes?

I'm not entirely sure I
know what a boggart is.

Oh, that's easy. It's...

A boggart, Father, is an unwelcome
little imp from another world,

one who causes
nothing but trouble.

Forgive my daughter, she
has a fine talent, I'm assured,

but her fantasies are a
little far-fetched for my taste.

I think it's wonderful that a
young woman has such passion.

Hannah, I laid out a dress
for you. Go and change.

Yes, Daddy.

You're not one of those priests
who don't partake, I hope?

And what sort of
priests are those?

I must say, again, how
surprised I was to see you

at the traveler's
camp, this morning.

Surely, you of all people, know
that some souls aren't worth saving?

I must respectfully disagree.

The travelers may not be
your sort of people, Jeremiah,

but they're always
welcome at St. Mary's.

My daughter has always
been so fond of you.

So, I must thank you for
escorting her to Lady Felicia's.

Without a chaperone it
would be out of the question.

We are all looking forward
to hearing her latest work.

Her last novel sold very well,
I hear. You must be proud.

I am just happy that she
spends her time upstairs writing,

not socializing with every
Tom, Dick and Sid in Kembleford.

Still, they attempt to
woo her through the post,

- her so-called fans.
- All these letters are for Hannah?

Yes, and gifts.

Perfume from Paris,
chocolates from Belgium.

Help yourself, Father.

Since they published her photograph
in Modern Profile magazine,

the letters seem to
come in almost daily.

And let me tell you, these men
have not got literature on their minds.

She's 22, Jeremiah.

She is no longer a girl.

And her work, I
understand, is very mature.

Yes, she has done very well for
herself, there's no mistake of that.

But she knows that her
duties here are her first priority.

When the time is right for a suitor,
it's a decision we'll take together.

Ah, Hannah.

Yes, you look very smart.

You will read your work, take an
hour to socialize, and then return here.

- Is that clear?
- Of course.

Goodbye, Daddy.

Yep. Eight o'clock, then.

Don't take your eyes off her.

I used to dream of losing
myself in these fields.

I'd run out as far as I could
go, but I was never more

than half a mile from home.

Daddy still thinks of
me as that little girl.

I fear, he always will.

Do you know how many
weddings I've been to, Hannah?

For the bride, it's always
the happiest day of her life.

For the father, it's
often bittersweet.

Did somebody tell you
I was courting, Father?

It's not true, I assure you.

All I meant to say was,
sometimes it's hard for a father

to let go of his daughter.

But it's necessary to
give her some freedom

or let her access her
own finances, at least.

- He's unreasonably strict.
- Mm.

If my second novel is published,
I hope it will give him the chance

to see how I've matured.

If? From what I hear,
the literary establishment

is waiting with baited breath.

I wanted to ask, if you'd
be the first to read it?

It would mean so much to me.

It'd be an honor.

Goodness, all these people.
They're not here for me?

Indeed, they are. And these
are just your local fans, Hannah.

Ah. Oh, Mrs. McCarthy.

How nice of you to come
and support our local writer.

Oh, yes. And I thought
I might see Jeremiah.

I do hope he has made a
full statement to the police

about those... those travelers.

Daddy stayed home tonight.

In fact, I expect he's
already asleep by the fire.

We are all distressed about
this theft, Mrs. McCarthy,

but the matter is now in
Inspector Sullivan's hands.

Perhaps you could
take the night off?

A sherry?

Oh, well. Maybe a little one.

Help me relax.

Father Brown, Hannah, let
me introduce, Harry Grandage.

Father Brown.

Harry. I'm a journalist
and a big fan.

I sent Harry a copy of
The Darkest Rose last year.

And I fell in love.

Well, thank you,
really, Mr. Grandage?

Harry, please.

Harry's something
of a globetrotter.

He seeks out the truth.

Where you deal in
fiction, he finds the facts.

Sadly, my stories rarely
come with happy endings.

Your words took me
away, Miss Moxley,

at a time when I needed saving.

It's so nice to
tell you in person.

Come, Hannah. It's a sorry
sight to see the guest of honor

without a drink in her hand.

Are you staying
with Lady Felicia?

She mentioned a reading by
Miss Moxley, how could I resist?

I've only just got
back from Brussels.

I spent two months there
before travelling down to Antwerp.

I was covering the damage
from the North Sea floods.

So many lives affected.

My work always seems to bring
me to people in times of grief.

It takes its toll.

So, when I read The Darkest Rose,
I was so happy to lose myself to it.

It's a modern masterpiece.

Well, you're certainly a fan.

More than a fan.

Miss Moxley's
work offers escape.

I'm sure her second novel
will be just as uplifting.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll
take your seats. We're ready to begin.

"Mrs. Mallory lay stiff and
bloated at Clarissa's feet.

Across her throat
a tidy, fine slash.

The stinging mark
of a whip sharp tail.

And all around the room, she saw
the messy trail of an uninvited guest.

A fresh fall of soot
blanketed the hearth

and the floor was
marked by jagged claws.

As she rushed to the empty cot,

she saw the boggart's
promise had been fulfilled.

The housekeeper was
dead and the baby was gone.

What a frightful story.

If that's what passes
for modern literature,

I'll stick with the
Woman's Weekly.

It's certainly a change
of tone from her.

From hijinks and espionage, to
things that go bump in the night.

Still, Harry seems
rather impressed.

I'm not sure it's Hannah's
work he's so taken with.

He certainly didn't waste much
time in getting her autograph.

Now, I doubt Jeremiah
would approve

his daughter
talking to a journalist.

Really! She spends all day
and night locked up in that room

tap-tappidy, tap-tapping away, how's
she supposed to ever meet anybody?

I don't suppose she is.

Besides, she's got a lot more
to offer than just her writing.

She's kind and
beautiful and she's...

She's vanished.

I beg your pardon?

- Where's she gone?
- Haven't the foggiest.

Excuse me. Oh, thank you.

Excuse me.

No luck finding her?

I've tried every
room in the house.

All 600 of them.

She's probably
away with the fairies.

That seems to be where
she's most comfortable.

Unfortunately, her
father was very keen

on the importance
of time-keeping.

So, unless you want your
parish to be without a priest...

We could cut across the fields and
maybe meet her on her way home.

Good idea.

Hannah?

Jeremiah?

- The door was open.
- We are not trespassing.

Father, what was that?

May I borrow your
hatpin, Mrs. McCarthy?

Thank you.

Holy Mother of God!

What an almighty mess.

Some kind of
burglary, I suppose.

Or... or maybe an attack?

I mean, a dead body.

And Father, what do you make of
these deep scratches on the floor?

And look, soot everywhere.

Perhaps, Hannah's
boggart was here?

Oh, what nonsense.

After this morning, I think we both
know who is responsible for this.

And how do you think Alfons
disappeared? Up the chimney?

Father, it's locked.

Downstairs.

Mrs. McCarthy? Father Brown?

Whatever's the matter?

You say you came straight
from the reading, Father?

That's correct. Miss
Moxley is a fine writer.

Mm, so I've heard. What's
she like as a daughter?

Mostly, I think, very obedient.

Does she know? About her Father?

She's distressed. Lady Felicia
is well acquainted with the family.

She'll be looked after.

Might be an idea to get
some light in here, Sergeant.

Shutter's locked tight,
sir. There's no key.

So, did anything unusual
happen at the reading?

Did Miss Moxley seem
at all distracted to you?

- She was nervous before she read.
- What's her latest novel about?

It's...

It's about a
murderous boggart...

locked in an attic
wreaking havoc,

scratches up the floor and
then... disappears up the chimney.

- A boggart...
- I know what a boggart is, thank you.

I just don't think it's likely
that one jumped out of a novel

and into this study.

That'll be all,
Father. Thank you.

Oh, you're politely
asking me to leave?

Mm.

- Inspector...
- I can be more direct, if you like?

- Break-in gone wrong, Inspector?
- Possibly, Sergeant.

Let's wait and see what Miss
Moxley has to say for herself, shall we?

Good morning, Father.

Well, don't you look dreadful?

You've had your nose in
that book all night, I suppose?

Well, Hannah left us
with such a cliffhanger,

I wanted to see how Clarissa
faired with her little boggart.

- How did you sleep?
- Not a wink.

I had nightmares about sinister
men and wicked creatures.

I'm going to speak to
Hannah this morning.

- She seemed very upset.
- Well, tell her never fear.

I'm sure the Inspector will catch
up with that Alfons soon enough.

You seem certain he's involved.

The man clearly had history.

He should be taken in for
questioning at the very least.

Yeah, they need to act quickly.

Aggie and her family
will be leaving soon.

Leaving Kembleford?
Well, they can't.

Mrs. McCarthy, I think you
need to make your mind up

because you are in danger
of sending mixed messages.

Where are you going now?

I'm going to the police station.

A man has been murdered and
somebody must be held to account.

There was a jewelry box
in the attic, Miss Moxley.

I was hoping you could tell
me what the contents were?

Oh...

- I'm not sure.
- You're not sure?

They were my mother's, but I never
wear them. You think it was stolen?

Yes. There seems to have
been a struggle in the attic.

Downstairs, however, there was
no sign of forced entry into the house.

Whoever was there, was most
likely welcomed in by your father.

Hannah. Good
morning. How are you?

Father, I was just asking
Miss Moxley some questions.

Well, just ignore me.
Quiet as a mouse.

Uh, where were
you after the reading?

I was with Mr. Grandage.
We walked around the grounds.

Right, of course. I was boring
her with travelling stories.

When Hannah realized Father
Brown had gone, she hurried home.

If I had never come for
drinks in the first place...

He didn't want me to go.

Poor girl's exhausted.
Can't your questions wait?

Yes, that will be all, for now.

I'll show you to
the door, Inspector.

Thank you.

Hannah, I know this
is a terrible shock...

Excuse me, Father. I'm
sorry, I think I need to lie down.

- Yes.
- Try and rest.

I'll bring you up some tea.

- She's in shock.
- Hmm.

It's only natural she should feel
guilty about leaving the house,

but nobody could
foresee a burglary.

I think her sense of guilt
goes deeper than that.

What are you suggesting?

She seemed nervous about
more than her reading, yesterday.

And the goodbye hug
she gave her father was...

rather...

final.

How long has she
known Mr. Grandage?

As I understand, she only met
him yesterday. You were there.

Lady Felicia, there
seems to be a disruption

in the west part of your wood.

I trust you wouldn't mind
accompanying me down there?

Yes.

Jeremiah Moxley is dead

and we must make sure his
murderer is brought to justice.

Nobody here knows
anything of that man,

besides the fact he was a
sourpuss with a face like thunder.

Oh, speaking ill
of the dead now?

That lavender will
never settle the child.

Rub chamomile on the gums.

Nobody asked for
your advice, thank you.

Here, take him.

Perhaps you could call out your
son? I've got some questions for him.

If you want to speak to Alfons,
you'll have to go through me.

My back may be shot,
but my fists work just fine.

Ma, go inside.

Not for all the
whisky in Windsor.

Oh, here's the Inspector now.

At last, someone with
some actual authority.

What seems to be
the problem, here?

While the whole of Kembleford is
reeling from the murder of Jeremiah,

your prime suspect is about to
hitch his wagon to the next town

to sell his ill-gotten gains.

We had no business
with that man.

It's true, Jeremiah had more
enemies than friends, Mrs. M.

Yes, but which of those
enemies threatened his life

on the very day he died?

Is that right? Did you
threaten Mr. Moxley?

Perhaps you'd be
more comfortable

answering my
questions at the station.

It wasn't a threat.
It was a warning.

Father Brown heard it himself.
He was standing right there.

Father? Can you verify this?

I don't think anybody was acting
reasonably yesterday morning...

Father Brown, did
you see this man

threaten Jeremiah
Moxley the day he died?

I saw something of the sort.

That's good enough for me.

I am arresting you on suspicion
of the murder of Jeremiah Moxley.

You are not obliged
to say anything,

but anything you do say will be
taken down and given in evidence.

According to my records,

Jeremiah has complained
several times about your presence.

Is there a particular reason why you
settle so close to the Moxley house?

Her ladyship has
always offered the land.

From what I know of the
man, he was a controlling bully.

I'm sure many people
wanted him gone.

May I remind you
you're still under caution.

And if you expect me to believe
you were nowhere near the house...

I was at the camp.

And a dozen
witnesses will confirm it.

I've no doubt they will.

But I'd rather stick
to the evidence.

So let's just wait and see if
your fingerprints match the ones

we found in the attic.

Shouldn't take long.

In the meantime, I've requested
a warrant to search the caravans.

What are you expecting to find?

I'll know when I've found it.

"Dear Larry..."

Yes, I did correct her.

- Rather charming, really.
- Hmm.

Added to which I have an Uncle Larry
whose birthday is fast approaching.

Ah.

Mr. Grandage, are you
planning on staying long?

Hannah asked me to stay. I
think she finds some comfort in me.

Hmm. The two of you
are becoming close.

I'm pleased to say, we are.

When I first read her book,

I was in the Republic of
Korea, covering the war.

A taste of hell.

Her work offered me the
chance to escape then,

and now I can do
the same for her.

A distraction in
the worst of times.

Father Brown, here you are.

Hannah.

If you're ready, I thought
I would escort you home.

I did promise your father.

That's kind, but I
think I will stay put.

Felicia and Mr. Grandage
are looking after me.

Felicia said one of the travelers
was arrested for Daddy's murder.

Who is he?

Your father had a
minor dispute yesterday

with a man called Alfons.

The police are investigating.

How could he... To an old
man? I can't bear to think...

Uh, the Inspector is
asking him some questions.

I'm sure if he wishes
to press charges,

he will have to provide
serious evidence.

You've no right going
through my belongings.

Your son is in serious
trouble. Do you realize that?

You've got an awful
lot of junk in here.

I trade door to door.

Home-made jams and wild flowers,

things I find and make
myself. What's wrong with that?

Nothing at all.

How much for this?

Well, that's not... That
don't belong to Alfons.

You don't say.

I mean, I've no idea
who put that there.

Mm. Kembleford Boggart, perhaps?

That must be a
very gripping book

because you haven't said
a word for an hour or more.

I am so proud of you, Father.

It's nice to leave the
investigation to the police, for once.

On the contrary,

Mrs. McCarthy, my
investigations have been ongoing.

And if you'll be so kind,

I would like you to accompany
me to the Moxley house.

Whatever for?

Yes, I think we both need
a lesson in perspective.

And how are you proposing
we get inside the house, Father?

Oh.

Perhaps we could use this.

There.

Come up to the
attic and I'll explain.

Oh. Miss Moxley
certainly is a popular girl.

- Make of that what you will.
- They're fan letters.

They might cheer
her up a little.

Come along.

Found in your waistcoat.

I'm not sure they're
really your style.

But you'd make a
tidy sum selling them.

I didn't steal those.

I didn't kill that man.
I've done nothing wrong,

I swear on my life.

You may well be
swearing on your life.

The jewelry in your pocket,

and now the matching
fingerprints on the attic room door.

You could well be
heading for the gallows.

When we entered this
room the other night,

what was the first
thing you remarked on?

Well, the body, obviously,

and then those scratch
marks on the floor,

and... and soot everywhere.

It reminded me
of Hannah's story.

Like some dreadful re-enactment.

Precisely.

But neither of us had ever
been in this attic room before.

So how would we know that
what we saw was unusual?

Perhaps it wasn't unusual.

What if soot fell from
that chimney every day?

For instance, when somebody
retrieved something from it.

Like what?

For example...

A key.

And what if a badly hung door...

made marks on the floor
every time it is opened.

Makes the scratches
of deadly talons.

Not life imitating
art, Mrs. McCarthy,

art imitating life.

Huh.

It wasn't until I finished
Hannah's manuscript

that I realized the most
significant image of all...

The missing child.

Heavens above... A
baby, hidden away.

To his shame, Jeremiah
Moxley was a grandfather.

I believe it was his influence
that kept this child hidden.

It's high time some light
was let into this gloomy place.

- Father, the chalice!
- Mm.

What on Earth is it doing here?

My guess is that
Jeremiah stole it himself

in an attempt to
frame the travelers.

But why?

Because the father of Hannah's
child was not the sort of man

Jeremiah Moxley wanted
in his daughter's life.

Two minutes.

So, what words of comfort
do you bring me, Father?

Only these.

If Hannah Moxley seemed
ashamed of your relationship,

if she asked you to
keep quiet about it,

it was only at the insistence of
her father, you must know that.

I found the nursery...

and the key to the front
door she left for you.

You were planning
to leave together, yes?

She swore me to secrecy.

She was terrified about
what people would think of her

and of our child.

She was desperate to leave
but only if nobody knew the truth.

Well, now your life is at stake

and I fear her father's shame

may last for the
rest of her life.

They found her jewelry,
Father, in my waistcoat.

Ah, I see.

She told me to take
it from the house.

Jeremiah controls her money,
just like he controls everything else.

Those jewels were the
only thing of value she has.

We first made plans
to leave last summer.

She was freer, then.

She'd visit the camp,
read us her stories.

I never intended it to...

But...

You fell in love.

And she fell pregnant.

Her father was beside
himself. "I've just locked her up."

When she first came to
see me, just a few days ago,

she told me about the child,

told me where to find her door key,
promised to meet me from the party.

I was worried her father would catch
me sneaking back into the house,

but...

Jeremiah was already dead.

And when you heard us, you
locked the study door and...

Holy Mother of God!

Hid in the nursery.

I could heard you
but I was trapped.

So you created a diversion.

Up the chimney.

Leaving me to ponder
a broken flowerpot

and a distressed geranium.

I could have killed him,
for what he'd done to us.

The way he kept them locked up
in that house but I swear, Father,

on the Lord's name, I didn't.

I found him there, dead,
beside that letter opener.

Letter opener. Of course.

Initially, I thought that the
murderer must be close to home

but now, I realize that he
has been at a safe distance...

all the time.

Ah, Father, nice to see you.

You've caught me
on my way out of town.

Just come from Lady
Felicia's, looking for Hannah.

Well, that is her shawl
in the back of your car?

Yeah, I've offered her a
place to stay in the city.

She's desperately
in need of escape.

I presume you'll be informing
Inspector Sullivan she's leaving?

Actually, Father, we were hoping

for a bit of discretion.
A new start for the girl.

I've offered to help her in any way
I can. Things are very complicated.

- Don't mind, do you?
- No.

Mm.

I know about the baby, Harry.

I've just met with his father.

Yes. A terrible business.

She feels quite betrayed
by him, obviously.

You know, she'll be back from
the camp any moment now.

I'm sure she'd rather just
disappear with little fuss.

I'm trying to piece
together a story,

and I have a few pages missing.

I thought you might be able
to fill in the gaps while we wait.

I'm not sure I'll be much help.

Yesterday, when
she signed your book,

I saw a frown set on your face.

She got my name wrong.

It was more than that. She
had no idea who you were.

And when you first saw
her handwriting, you realized

you had no idea
who she was either.

It was then, I think, you
decided to pay a visit

to the place you'd
been writing to.

Writing to? I don't
know what you mean.

You had been writing to
her from Belgium for months.

And you thought that she
was writing back to you.

But you had no idea she didn't
even get to read her fan mail.

Her father controlled that, as
he controlled everything else.

You felt betrayed. It must
have made you very angry.

This is a wonderful work of fiction,
Father. You're quite the fantasist.

Father Brown. I can explain.

There's no need.

I've seen the nursery for
myself and I've spoken to Alfons.

What a beautiful baby
boy you both have.

He deserves a good life.

I wish we could stay,
Father, but I can't imagine

what people would
say if they knew.

Hannah, listen. I don't
think Alfons killed your father.

- We really must go.
- I wish I had your faith,

but I don't know what
to believe anymore.

Goodbye, Father. Pray for us.

Tch... When I
went to your house,

the key you left for Alfons
was still beneath the statue.

He didn't need it to get in, because
somebody was already there,

- with your father.
- Why were you at my house?

I think it's time you read
some of your fan mail.

This one from Belgium
is particularly interesting.

Hannah...

You span a good story, Harry,

and now it's time
the truth comes out.

I know you think you're
trying to help the girl,

but please just let us go.

She's made her choice.
Hannah! Get in the car.

She is a grieving woman
who has been easily influenced.

You have manipulated her into
thinking that she is safe with you,

while an innocent man
may be sent to hang.

What does this
letter mean, Harry?

Have you been writing to me?

Yes. He has been writing to you.

He and your father have been
making plans for your future.

Harry didn't come back to
Kembleford for your latest work.

- He came back for you.
- It wasn't like that, Hannah.

I didn't know!

I thought it was you writing
back to me, I thought we were...

You were at my house last night?

It was you.

For your own
sake, tell the truth.

I only wanted
what is best for you.

Your father told me he had been
writing back to me on your behalf.

That he needed to be sure I
was the correct suitor for you.

What kind of twisted
old man are you?

I was going to explain everything
to her. It's much more complicated!

I was furious. Humiliated.

And then, as we spoke
downstairs, I heard the baby cry.

What in God's name?

It didn't make a
difference to me.

I wanted you both
but he wouldn't listen.

A baby? All this while,
you've been hiding a child?

No, no, no, no! The
girl made one mistake.

There is no reason why
anyone should know.

- I'm going back to the party.
- No!

- I need to speak with her!
- No! You mustn't! You can't.

When I threatened to tell
you the truth, he turned on me.

He was too afraid to lose
you. It was an accident, I swear.

All I wanted was to take
you away, to escape with you.

- Isn't that what you wanted?
- No!

You're no better than he was.

You want to control
me. Well, I won't let you.

I've spent too long locked away.

I want a free life.

I owe that much to him.

Hannah, please!

When that child is safely...
with his grandmother,

she will take that
letter to the police.

He came at me. I had no choice.

Then that is what
you must tell them.

I don't know how
any of this happened!

All I wanted was to escape
to the life she wrote about.

No more misery
and suffering, just...

a family.

Some peace.

If you love the girl,
you must come clean.

- For her sake?
- No, no.

For your sake.

For the sake of your soul.

You may not get your
happy ending, Harry.

But you can give Hannah
the life she deserves.

So, has he confessed yet?

Father Brown left in a hurry.

I don't think he's convinced
you've got your man, Inspector.

The problem with the priest is
that he over-complicates everything.

Alfons couldn't
be easier to convict

if he'd walked into the station
and handed himself over.

Yes, sir, how can I help you?

My name is Harry Grandage.

I'm here to confess to the
accidental killing of Jeremiah Moxley.

Amen.

Jeremiah, may you
be blessed with a life

free from intolerance
and free from shame.

Would you mind?

Hello, sweetheart.

Oh, look at them.

What a perfectly
beautiful family.

It's not hard to see why
Harry would crave such a life.

He spent so long reporting
the worst of the world.

Perhaps he'd seen enough.

Too much of the world
is better than not enough.

And for better or for worse,
Hannah is a free woman now.

And in the end, Harry
did the right thing.

With the Church's guidance!

Oh, excuse me.

I owe you an apology.

You owe us more than one.

As though my Alfons
could do such a thing.

I was taken in by Jeremiah's
lies, and I feel terrible for it.

So this is for you.

For your back,
it's a muscle rub.

St John's wort and valerian.
My mother's own remedy.

I use witch hazel and beeswax.

Oh, this will work much
better. I made it myself.

Mm, all right. Worth a try.

Well, when all's said and done,

we're not so different,
Aggie and myself.

What's this, Mrs.
McCarthy, a change of heart?

- "Absolute heathen", wasn't it?
- "Nothing but a pest."

I never said such things.

Malicious gossip. Pure fiction.

And remember, there's a fine
line between fact and fantasy.

Couldn't have
put it better myself.

Walk on.