Original subtitles

In fact, I'd go as far as to pronounce

Miss Melita Bentz' invention revolutionary.

Revolutionary?

- A paper filter? - Absolutely.

- Oh. - My morning cup is vastly

improved by the exclusion of spent coffee grinds.

Hm.

Perhaps I shall install a drip coffee maker in the shop?

- For the customers. - Promotional gambit?

Ahh...

"A coffee break with your sirloin steak."

"Slake your thirst and buy liverwurst."

This evening?

Of course.

I've paid in full.

I've been waiting here for half an hour.

If you do not hand over what is mine --

Can I help you?

Oh! Detective Lewellyn Watts.

Uh, I'm waiting for a delivery.

Here? What type of delivery?

- Ah... - Axel Crawford?

I'm Axel Crawford.

Constance Weatherly.

I serve Virtue's Ministry. Is there a problem?

- Only problem is you're late. - My apologies.

The kitchen took woefully long to warm my gruel.

You have business with this gentleman?

Mr. Crawford is a client of the Ministry's.

Well, then, I'll leave you to it.

Are you ready to collect your bride, Mr. Crawford?

Miss Weatherly, Maddie's locked herself in the lavatory.

Our Virtue Girls often need to be gently pried

from their surroundings at this stage.

Ah, Detective, could you --

Those are Maddie's slippers.

She's got to be in there, but she won't --

Madeline Tomkins!

- Come out here immediately! - What is this place?

This is the Ministry's dormitory.

A way station for Virtue Girls on the road to redemption.

This is Detective Watts of the Toronto constabulary.

Please open the door!

Miss Tomkins?

- Madeline? Oh, my lord.

Her name was Tomkins?

Madeline Tomkins. That is correct.

And what's your relationship to the deceased?

She was one of my wards.

Ah, Mr. Crawford paid her fare from England

in exchange for her hand in marriage.

She gave her hand in marriage in exchange for a boat trip?

Oh, it's far more complicated than that.

Our Virtue Girls have limited prospects.

They ought to be grateful for any proposals they receive.

"Virtue Girls"?

Beneficiaries of the Virtue's Ministry.

Female convicts who have been given a choice

between a filthy cell in Holloway Prison,

or a virtuous marriage to a Canadian bachelor.

I've not heard of this Ministry.

Oh. Perhaps you don't need a wife.

Do you have you any idea

why Miss Tomkins may have committed suicide?

Well, Madeline's life was a virtual cabaret of depravity.

It's possible she could no longer endure the shame.

The shame?

She was a harlot.

I find that an uncharitable view, Miss Weatherly.

She was just a struggling soul -- like the rest of us.

My apologies for speaking harshly.

My nerves are terribly frayed.

Mr. Crawford, I will speak with you

once I'm finished with Miss Weatherly.

Madeline Tomkins was arrested for prostitution?

Tried and convicted at the Old Bailey.

She was given a choice -- serve prison time

or serve as a dutiful wife to Mr. Crawford.

She chose the latter.

Seems she's had second thoughts.

Those women are also "Virtue Girls"?

Correct.

Kate Barker, Flannery Oats, Sadie Lange.

I am chaperoning them to new homes,

new husbands, and new hopes.

Is that the case, ladies?

Are your prospects as sunny as Miss Weatherly is proposing?

My condolences for the loss of your friend.

This must be a terribly upsetting time.

So's having a constable spew hollow sympathies in your face.

I assure you my concern is genuine.

Never met a cop who gave a toss about a whore.

Detective William Murdoch.

Do any of you know why Miss Tomkins

may have taken her own life?

Well, it's possible she didn't fancy

spending the rest of her life in some muddy shack,

bedding a hog farmer.

If that were my lot, I'd off myself, too.

But I'm marrying a very prosperous man.

- Very prosperous old man.

Old just means he'll die sooner

and you'll be rich and rid of him.

That's just me joking, Detective.

So, you are all willingly uprooting your lives

to marry perfect strangers?

It's better than rotting in Holloway prison.

What was your crime?

Broke a few windows.

That's it?

At 10 Downing Street, she did.

The Prime Minister's Residence.

I was protesting with the suffragettes.

Brick through a window tends to get people's attention.

Especially when it cracks a lawyer's skull open.

Well, that part was an accident.

And your crime?

They claim I'm a public menace.

Happy go lucky.

That's me.

Plus, I been banned from every pub in London.

What's the point of staying in a city

where I can't get a drink?

- Detective? - Yes?

What will become of poor Madeline now?

Our coroner, Miss Hart, will perform a post-mortem.

What could possibly be gained

from assaulting her flesh even further?

It's a procedure that legal protocol demands, I'm afraid.

In the meantime, I'll need to contact her next of kin.

Oh!

Miss Tomkins has no kin who would want word of her,

living or dead.

Note her eyes.

There's a dark band of discoloration.

What is that?

It's known as "tache noir de la sclerotique."

-"Black spot of the sclera". - Yes.

It occurs when mucous congeals upon the sclera of one

who's died with their eyes open.

The mark can take at least two hours to form.

So, she's been dead at least two hours?

Longer, I'd say.

Her body temperature suggests she expired late last night.

If you can be any more specific,

Miss Hart, it would be greatly appreciated.

Good day.

I'm not sure what to think about this "Virtue's Ministry."

You don't approve.

Of shipping desperate women across the ocean

to marry strangers who've paid for them?

Of course not!

Men are paying their passage here, Julia.

These women are criminals.

And yet I've never heard of male criminals

being forced into marriage.

They aren't being forced.

They're given the freedom to choose.

William, when the choice is marriage or prison,

which of those sounds like freedom to you?

Forgive the intrusion, Detective.

- Miss Hart. It's Madeline Tomkins.

Upon further examination,

I found that her hyoid bone is broken.

- But that would indicate... - Strangulation.

I've determined that her wrists were slashed postmortem.

Miss Tomkins' death was not a suicide, but a murder.

Murder?

But the dormitory was locked for the night.

The girls were all securely inside.

At least, I believed they were.

Poor Madeline.

Did any of the girls hold any sort of animosity

- toward Miss Tomkins? - Not at all.

Those girls are thick as -- well, thieves.

Uh, Detective?

I've found something.

Pardon me a moment, Miss Weatherly.

I've searched through Miss Tomkins' personal effects.

This was with the dress she wore last night.

C.M.E. Not the victim's initials.

So I noticed.

And, while pondering this fact, I gazed out this window.

Like so. Which led to a discovery even more compelling.

Watts?

With me, Detective.

There!

You spotted these footprints

from Miss Tomkins' window?

I did.

Keen eyesight.

Sharp as an eagle.

The left print has a distinctive mark.

Perhaps a hole in the heel of shoe?

Prints lead right up to Madeline Tomkins' window.

Do you think a Peeping Tom

was inspired to expand his criminal repertoire?

- Arthur! - Hello, darling.

This is the most punishing mattress I've ever lain upon.

It's a gurney. Not a bed.

I say it is what we make of it.

A dead woman lies beneath that blanket.

Have some respect for my place of employment or leave.

My flesh erupts in goose bumps when you scold me.

But respect for employment is not one of my strong points,

so I will see myself out, as you wish.

Mm-hmm.

But not before extending a most optimistic invitation

to my home this evening, where the mattresses are plush

and thick and upholstered in the finest silk.

I have no idea of its origins.

Unless...

Oh, dear.

Madeline could have pickpocketed it on the ship

coming from London.

The maker's mark indicates a Toronto jeweler.

Well, someone on the train?

Maddie were no pickpocket.

And you're certain of this?

She never had the knack for it.

Oh! Very good.

Just showing the detective how it's done.

We found a man's footprints outside of Madeline's window.

Any idea who put them there?

Oh, hell! We might as well tell him.

It's not like we broke any laws.

What is this about, Sadie?

The girls and I snuck out to the Tipsy Ferret before curfew.

Sorry, Miss, but with all of us getting married,

it felt like our last night of freedom.

My Virtue Girls engaged in public debauchery.

'Twas nothing compared to Maddie's private debauchery.

What are you referring to?

She snuck a fellow from the pub into her room.

It's probable the locket was payment for services rendered.

Can you describe this man?

- He were handsome. - He were balding.

He was, uh, taller than me and shorter than her.

He was skinny, had a drooping mustache,

and, uh, little beady eyes.

A very handsome man.

You're looking for Edwin Ebersol.

Mr. Ebersol pawns his wife's jewelry to buy drink?

And as much as I have sympathy for the long-suffering

Cathleen Marie, a tab's a tab.

Well, any idea where I could find this Mr. Ebersol?

He ricochets between the pawnshop and the pub.

Edwin!

This detective would like to talk to you.

What can I tell you?

The wench was utterly captivated by me.

Madeline Tomkins was captivated.

- By you. - She was all over me!

But I rigorously rebuffed her advances.

I'm a married man, after all.

Ah, yes. And your wife's name is?

She needn't be involved in this.

Cathleen Marie Ebersol, by chance?

Her locket was found amongst the deceased's possessions.

That wench must have lifted it from my pocket!

Is that why you killed her?

I did no such thing!

Convince me otherwise, Mr. Ebersol.

How am I supposed to do that?

I --

I-I have made many, many mistakes in my life.

But murder is not one of them.

How's that?

Violet Hart, I'm normally a man of endless wit.

I'm rendered mute.

Trust me, it's not your wit I fancy, Arthur.

- We're being watched. - Let them stare.

I'm going to be late for work.

Which do you love more, Violet? Work or me?

I'm handsomer and I've got a much bigger --

Good day, Mr. Carmichael!

...bank account.

When did this happen?

Must have been last night.

- Jack, you should go home. - But I --

Go home. I'll deal with this.

Uh, did any of you see who did this?

Didn't.

But it's a shame it should happen

to such a fine, upstanding businessman.

Detective Lewellyn Watts.

Is this by chance your work?

Not work, really.

More of a calling, I'd say.

You painted the slander on the window?

Slander?

Where?

Well, would you look at that!

The butcher's a fairy!

I'm just doing my part to help, Detective.

We can't let degenerates overrun this city.

Mm-hmm. What's your name?

Marcus Hinkie. Just a law-abiding -- Hey!

Marcus Hinkie, I'm placing you under arrest for vandalism.

Oh, come on, now.

- He ain't done nothing wrong. - MAN #Public service.

The Ministry is grateful for your diligence

in investigating this heinous crime,

but I've got girls to marry off,

suitors awaiting, and a train to catch this evening.

- I'm well aware. - Thank you.

As you can imagine, we are eager to get on our way.

These women deserve a chance to start anew.

Do they?

I'm not convinced of that.

A thief, a drunkard, and a violent anarchist

are sent to my country instead of going to jail

and you want me to welcome them?

Inspector Brackenreid,

I do not ask that you assist in God's work.

I merely ask you not hinder it.

Who am I to stand in the way of the Almighty, Miss Weatherly?

Well, then, good day, Inspector.

Good day.

So, who's the lout taking space up in my jail?

A Mr. Edwin Ebersol, sir.

His wife's locket was found amongst the victim's possessions

and her companions saw a man bearing Ebersol's description

in her room that night.

He climbed through the window is the theory, right?

Yes, but the footprints outside the building don't match

Ebersol's shoes.

A man can own more than one pair of shoes, Murdoch.

What's the motive?

- That is yet -- You!

What do you think you're doing?

I will kill you!

I will snap your neck, you bastard!

Have we met?

Madeline Tomkins was my fiancée.

Madeline Tomkins was a whore.

This way.

Escort Mr. Crawford to the cells.

No, wait -- wait!

Let me see your shoe.

The hole in the heel of your left shoe

matches footprints found outside Ms. Tomkins' window.

What of it?

I did peer through her window, but not with lewd intent.

I'd waited so long for her arrival.

I just wanted to get a look at her.

Perhaps you did get a look at her.

And you saw her in bed with the man that you attacked.

I do wish that you would not speak of that.

You threatened to kill Mr. Ebersol.

I threatened him. Yes.

And any sane man would understand why.

Madeline Tomkins did not deserve what he dealt her.

She came here to start a new life --

a life with me.

And he ended it.

He should be dead and not Madeline.

Do you not want me here?

Sorry, I just feel like everyone is watching me.

Well, I've got news that should ease your mind.

I've arrested the vandal.

You did what?

He even confessed.

Rather proudly, I might add.

What -- what did you...?

Charge him with?

Well, destruction of property and --

No, no, no. I mean, I --

I just wanted to make this go away.

I didn't want an arrest or a trial or --

- Justice to be served? - It won't be justice!

It'll be every bigot in the city gossiping

about the fairy butcher.

- It will kill my business. - But --

- It will ruin me. - Please --

And how long do you think you'll last at the Constabulary

when the rumors start flying about the "sodomite cop"?

Jack.

That's what they call us, you know.

You saw it.

Splashed across my shop in blood-red letters.

I'm sorry.

I just wanted to make this go away.

I can fix this.

- I wish you could. - I can.

- I'll get the charges dropped. - And then what?

What do you mean?

How will you fix...

this.

This will always be against the laws

that you've vowed to enforce.

Maybe not...

always.

There's no way in the world that this will end happily.

So we should at least end it quickly.

No! Jack.

Ah... You're right.

I-I should not have arrested that man.

It was rash and ill-considered and I will never again --

Lewellyn!

This is too dangerous -- for both of us.

I'm sorry, but it's over.

So, which one of the two of them did it?

We can't hold them both. Thank you.

Fortunately, we won't have to.

I've ascertained the whereabouts of both of our suspects

on the morning of the murder.

Go ahead.

Axel Crawford arrived on the 7:00 AM train from Ottawa.

A carriage then dropped him at Virtue's Ministry at 7:25,

where he proceeded to shuffle about,

mumbling and peering into windows.

So, Mr. Crawford has an alibi.

By the time he arrived in Toronto,

Miss Tomkins was already dead.

- And Ebersol? - That's a different story.

Edwin Ebersol was released from the confines

of Station House Number Five's drunk tank late this morning,

where he was being held since his arrest

for public intoxication at...

2:15 am.

Unfortunately, no one can confirm his whereabouts

in the hours preceding the arrest.

Which was when Madeline Tomkins was murdered.

Well, so that settles it, then.

Case closed.

Time of death solves it.

It seems my time of death estimate

was off by several hours.

Several hours?

Yes. It seems the cold water

from the bath affected her body temperature,

which threw off my initial estimate.

You also initially misread

Miss Tomkins' death as a suicide.

As did you, Detective.

Hm.

We both know that new evidence

often corrects initial assumptions.

So, what new evidence have you uncovered?

Stomach contents revealed she was dead about an hour and half

before the body was found.

So, around 6:30 in the morning.

While Mr. Ebersol was in our cells

and Axel Crawford was on the train.

So neither of them could have killed Madeline Tomkins.

Which means one of the Virtue Girls must have done it.

But I don't understand.

You have two suspects in custody, do you not?

We had two suspects.

New evidence has cleared them both.

Is everything alright, Miss Weatherly?

Ah, my heart aches at the thought of Miss Tomkins

debasing herself with that vile man.

I won't debate your assessment

of Mr. Ebersol's character,

but suffice it to say that his alibi

does absolve him of murder.

And Mr. Crawford?

He, too, has an alibi.

I have faith that you will eventually solve this case,

Detective Murdoch, but we really must be going.

You have a train to catch.

- I understand. - Yes.

Right. Thank you.

And in order to accommodate your tight schedule,

I have summoned your wards to the Station House

- for questioning, immediately. - But, Detective, we --

Your Virtue Girls will answer any and all questions

we have regarding the death of Madeline Tomkins.

Violet, dear, you're not really cross with me, are you?

That kiss outside the morgue?

Was that for me, or for the people who stood gawking?

I was under the impression that you enjoyed my affection.

Yes, but I do not enjoy being exploited

for your campaign to outrage the world.

Now, Violet, you love to shock the hypocrites as much as I do.

And I worship your brilliance,

your beauty, and your ability to strike fear

in the hearts of the old money snobs whom I loathe.

I'll be equally honest.

You are a fool who indulges in my vanity,

sates my desires, and finances my love for luxury goods.

To us!

I have an idea.

I want to host a party

to properly present you to my peers.

Meaning the old money snobs whom you loathe?

Exactly.

I'm envisioning a theme, something like,

-"The Dark Continent." - No.

- But -- - The answer is no.

No "Dark Continent."

No theme.

I will, however, be your guest of honor

at an elegant, intimate dinner party

where I promise to strike terror in the hearts of

those old money snobs which you loathe.

I adore you.

I will need a new dress.

Charge it to my account.

- Thank you for coming. - Of course.

How can I be of assistance?

We're pressed for time, and I'm hoping your insight

can help me interpret their responses.

Interpret how?

Perhaps you can sense if one of them is hiding something?

I'll do my best.

Thank you.

How would you describe Madeline Tomkins?

Lively. Beautiful.

She was a cooch dancer at the old "burly q."

A cooch dancer?

You know?

Burlesque.

Burlesque.

Maddie was the most glamorous tart I'd ever known.

She could hold her liquor almost as well as me.

But you told me you'd been banned from every pub in London.

So I'd have to be daft to murder me best drinking buddy.

Exactly.

Maddie was smart, open-minded.

Independent.

Not the sort of woman I'd like to murder.

And what sort of woman would you like to murder?

I spoke imprecisely.

There are no women I'd like to murder.

What, exactly, were you doing that morning

up until the moment that Madeline's body was discovered?

Well, I don't normally lift me head from the pillow

until I'm forced.

I'd barely gotten dressed before I heard all the squawkin'.

I were working on me manifesto.

Chapter 82, "The Grandiose Self-Regard of Men."

I have it memorized. Would you like me to recite it?

Yes! - No.

No.

What were you doing, exactly, that morning right up

until the moment that Madeline's body was discovered?

Well, uh, let's see...

I had to go to the loo, but it was locked.

So I knocked and I knocked and I got no answer,

so I paced up and down the 'allway

struggling to hold me water.

Pardon me, sir. Just being honest.

So, what's the verdict?

Are the Virtue Girls petty offenders,

or bloodthirsty killers?

Sir, we've yet to determine motive for this murder.

I agree. I saw no malice toward Madeline from any of them.

I will remind you they are criminals.

They know how to lie.

What I witnessed looked like sincere grief

for their lost friend.

Or remorse for having killed her?

All I know is that you have three women

and six hours to coax the truth out before the train arrives.

If you think they're lying,

why don't you drag out the old honesty box?

The Autonomic Response Indicator.

The Truthizer.

Sir, it's not infallible.

A sophisticated liar could fool the machine.

It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?

I say dust the cobwebs off that gadget

and strap the girls in for questioning.

- But, sir -- - Hark!

Is that a train I hear?

The Truthizer may be able to pick up

something that we missed.

Detective Watts.

How nice to see you.

- Yes, of course. - Ah, Watts!

Quick work on nabbing that vandal.

At least one of my detectives is earning his pay.

Ah, yes.

Uh, about that.

I know this is unusual,

but I must implore you to drop the charges.

Drop the charges?

I don't get you, Watts.

I thought Jack Walker was your friend?

He is.

And my friend wishes to avoid a public trial.

Oh, I see. Are you sure about this?

- Yes. - Very well, then.

I'll release the man.

Perhaps it's for the best.

Are you ready to begin?

Ask your questions.

Did you kill Madeline Tomkins?

Hand to God, sir...

Hand to God, sir.

I did not.

I could never harm a hair on Maddie's head.

We've discussed this. The answer's still no.

Who killed Madeline Tomkins?

I haven't the foggiest notion, Detective.

I don't know.

I'd tell you if I did.

None of us knows who killed Maddie.

The Truthizer has exonerated every one of them.

But a few hours earlier, you claimed

that that box of bolts was faulty at best.

Well, it's faulty at worst.

But I have no reason to believe the results are inaccurate.

There is one woman you haven't spoken to.

- Miss Weatherly? - Yes.

Has she been ruled out?

Detective Watts witnessed her arrival

at the Ministry that morning.

She had come from the Empire hotel.

Before you say anything,

I got the charges against Marcus Hinkie dropped,

- as you requested. - Thank you.

Unfortunately, now is not a good time.

Please, Jack, just talk to me.

Jack, who's that?

Invite your friend in.

The more the merrier!

Ah, what's the occasion?

Engagement party!

I'm going to make an honest man of Jack.

An honest man, huh?

Lewellyn, I'm sorry but this is, uh...

Don't dawdle in the doorway.

Come in and have a drink!

Oh, yes, join us.

Thank you, Miss, but I'm here on police business.

I would never intrude on your joy.

Everything okay?

Jack, what was that about?

Cheers.

Elegant accommodations for a humble "matron of virtue."

While her wards stay in the dreary confines

of that ministry.

Why would a charity spend money on such luxury?

Virtue's Ministry grows more and more suspicious by the hour.

Hm. Pardon me, sir.

- A word. - Yes, Sir?

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

We're looking for one of your guests,

a Constance Weatherly.

She's employed by a charity.

Virtue's Ministry?

Ah, yes, Miss Weatherly.

Our lady of insufferable sanctimony.

I gather you're not fond of her?

The woman's satchel is as heavy as a coffin.

And her notions of charity apparently do not extend

to those who carry her breakfasts

up four flights of stairs

to that dreadful penthouse every morning.

She doesn't tip you?

Oh, she tipped me.

"Here's a tip," she says.

" but be of good cheer;

I have overcome the world.'"

That's John 16:33.

She tips with a bible passage?

A veritable font of scriptural witticisms, our Miss Weatherly.

One must admire the audacity.

Do you know where we could find her?

Sorry to disappoint, but Miss Weatherly hasn't been

around since yesterday.

Yesterday?

She ate her breakfast before dawn.

Left at 5:30 AM on the dot.

Excuse me.

If she left at 5:30 AM, then she has no alibi.

And if she has no alibi...

Miss Weatherly could be our killer.

Did you return to your chambers at the Empire Hotel

after the murder?

No.

Why not?

I prefer to be near the girls during this traumatic time,

to lend counsel and comfort.

The porter saw you leave the hotel that morning

at 5:30 AM, correct?

No, he certainly did not.

What time did you leave the hotel

on the morning of Miss Tomkins' murder?

I came to the Ministry straight away after breakfast.

Care to amend your answer, Miss Weatherly?

Why would I do that?

Because you're lying.

Is it your intention to arrest me for lying about breakfast?

Your Detective Watts saw me arrive at the Ministry at 8:00.

This is a complete waste of time.

I was in charge of Madeline's welfare.

Why would I kill her?

I don't know.

Why did you kill Miss Tomkins?

I didn't!

See?

Your own device proclaims my innocence.

You have your answers.

How many times must I repeat them before you release me?

I can't hold these women any longer

unless you show me something that changes my mind.

According to the Truthizer,

Miss Weatherly did not kill Madeline Tomkins.

And, yet, inexplicably she's lying about what time

she had breakfast.

I know I'm missing something.

I'm sorry, Murdoch.

I'll have to release them.

I assure you Mr. Carmichael's account will cover it.

Telephone him if you doubt me.

Excuse me!

All that fuss about dropping the charges.

You got what you wanted and you're still skulking around

- with your face -- - No, I didn't get what I wanted.

I'm sorry.

I received news of an engagement.

And who are the happy couple?

A Miss Clara Cartwright and a Mr. Jack Walker.

Oh.

Do you know what exasperates me most

about this engagement?

I'm not inclined to speculate.

That poor woman will be stuck in a sham marriage

to a man who is too frightened to live honestly.

Who are we to judge?

People get married for all sorts of reasons.

I have to warn Miss Cartwright.

About what, Watts?

Maybe this is what Jack Walker needs to do.

And maybe you should follow his example

and find yourself a nice young lady.

Well, I, for one, am not prepared to live a lie.

Nor should he.

Don't do anything stupid, Watts.

It's unfortunate that you wasted such time

and effort harassing my wards.

And, yet, instead of seeking the killer,

you're still here, lurking beside me.

I suppose I'll receive no apology for this indignity

and inconvenience you have served upon me?

In the world,

but be of good cheer; for I have overcome the world.

Overcome the world, have you?

Bully for you, Detective.

Not all of us are blessed with your arrogance.

Goodbye, Detective.

Stop.

You can't be serious?

Is there a problem?

This woman is not Constance Weatherly.

She isn't?

That's why she hid her face from Mr. Ebersol

in the station house.

She ate her breakfast before dawn.

Left at 5:30 AM on the dot.

That's why she never returned to the hotel.

None of us knows who killed Maddie.

I'd tell you if I did.

Hand to God, sir. I did not.

And that's why the Virtue Girls were able

to truthfully deny killing Madeline Tomkins.

Because Madeline Tomkins isn't dead.

Constance Weatherly is.

And the Virtue Girls killed her.

Nonsense!

Who are you?

Hm?

Are you Constance Weatherly, a devout Christian missionary?

Or are you Madeline Tomkins,

a prostitute from the streets of London?

Perhaps another round with the Truthizer is in order, hm?

I am indeed a working girl from the streets of London.

But I'm not just that.

I'm an artist.

I'm an actress.

Ah, yes.

You inhabited the role of the woman

you murdered quite convincingly.

Thank you.

You're welcome...

Madeline.

Tell me what happened the morning that

Constance Weatherly was murdered.

Miss Weatherly shows up, as usual,

cracking the whip at the crack of dawn.

"Get up, you lazy raggabrash.

Your husband is on his way.

Wash your sinful flesh and make yourself presentable."

And then?

Oh, I says to her, "I'm not marrying anyone.

You can't force me."

And my girls gather round and they say,

"We ain't marrying, either!"

Constance tries to yank me out of my room.

So Kate threw a stocking 'round her neck.

Sadie kicked her knees out from under.

And Flannery? Oh!

The woman is a mastermind -- I kid you not.

Flannery says, once Constance stops moving, she says,

"Maddie, switch places with Constance.

Make it look like you offed yourself."

It's quite the show we put on, yeah?

We figure if we could just get out of Toronto

we'd be free to start new lives in Canada --

wouldn't have to marry.

Well, you are correct about that.

None of you will have to marry.

But you are all under arrest

for the murder of Constance Weatherly.

You are by far the most beautiful woman in this room.

And you are by far the luckiest man.

And these are by far the most miserable party guests

I've ever encountered.

They despise us, don't they?

They do.

Isn't it delicious?

I think we can safely say the party's a smash.

I can smell so many tiny, little minds

short-circuiting all around us.

I think you overestimate your talent for scandal,

my dear Arthur.

Do you think you can do better?

I do.

Can I have everyone's attention!

Arthur and I are very grateful you can join us

for this momentous occasion.

For this is no random soiree you're attending.

It's our engagement party!

It is with great pleasure

I introduce my bride-to-be,

Miss Violet Hart.