All language subtitles for S02E02 Death Comes Knocking

(Crack of lightning)

Roland... Roland Claremont...

I call you from the spirit world.

(Thunderclap)

(Low chatter)

Prepare to fix bayonets!

Bayonets!

Fix bayonets!

(Whistle)

(Ferocious roaring)

Come on! Come on!

Moving forward! Moving!

Come on, get up! Get up!

(Screams)

(Men screaming)

Aargh!

Stretcher-bearer!

Roland?

Roland, are you here?

Auntie Prue.

And Maude, my sweet.

And dear Freddy.

Oh...

...darling Phryne too.

Hello, Roland.

Roly, we need to know.

Freddy needs to know.

He doesn't feel right accepting his award.

He can't recall his brave deeds that day,
you see.

Can't you recall anything, Freddy?

Only the noise.

I'm sorry.

Basil is here with me too, Freddy.

PRUE: Basil who?

Captain! Captain!

Captain! Help me!

- Stretcher-bearer!
- Help!

Stretcher-bearer!

- (Gunfire)
- Stretcher-bearer!

Aargh! Aargh!

Stretcher-bearer!

(Wheezes)

Basil?

Roly?

Tell Freddy how he tried to save your life.

Tell him.

Stretcher now!

Stretcher-bearer!

For pity's sake, man.

(Gunshot)

(Wheezing)

(Wheezes and coughs)

- Freddy!
- Mr. Butler?

Your urgent assistance, please!

Mrs. Bolkonsky, can you hear me?
Mrs. Bolkonsky?

You have nothing to feel guilty about.

You did everything you could to help Roland.

No, I can't knew that. I don't remember.

No, and how could you?
You were in shock.

- (Wheezes) Gunshot. I heard a gunshot.
- Well, of course you did.

No, no, no, after shelling,
when it was quiet as death.

Come on, darling.
Please, you need to breathe.

- Please. Please.
- No bravery, no award.

Big slow breaths.

You're as cold as ice.

The circle is still open.

Everybody must return to the table.

Not on your life. I hope he settles soon.
We've got a long drive home.

- But you must stay the night.
- No, we couldn't possibly impose.

I insist. Foster is too far
for Freddy to travel in this state.

Mr. Butler will assist you to the guest room.
Dot, take up some fresh towels, please.

- Yes, Miss.
- Thank you.

Larry, we'll need the laudanum
and the Captain's heart medicine.

- They're still in the motorcar, Mrs. Ashmead.
- No, I'll get them.

Just...for heaven's sake,
get him out of this stuffy room.

Oh, dear.

- We can visit the cemetery in the morning.
- I... I'm so sorry.

Perhaps we could conclude
our spiritual matters tomorrow.

Well, if we don't, Mrs. Stanley,
I can't be responsible.

I can't believe Miss Phryne ever let
that charlatan cross the doorstep.

Have you ever known Miss Fisher
to do anything she didn't want to do?

And for that matter, I can't believe Mrs. Stanley
is a life member of the Spiritualist Society.

Well, I expect she joined
after her godson was killed at the Front.

Must have been a terrible blow.
And for poor Captain Ashmead as well.

Father Grogan says
dabbling in the occult is a mortal sin.

(Footsteps and whistling)

(Door creaks open)

Who's there?

Who's in there?

Hello? Aargh!

(Groaning)

(Groans)

Potts. Ernie Potts.

Always did the graveyard shift, so to speak.

- Awful business.
- Any next of kin?

The missus passed away years ago.
There's a daughter.

Do you have a key to this?

Do you think he disturbed a break-in, sir?

Doesn't look like anything’s been disturbed.

Whatever's going on?

(Gasps)

- Jack.
- I'm afraid this is a restricted area.

A cemetery worker
was murdered here last night.

And how is it, Miss Fisher,

you always manage to turn up
when I'm on the case?

Not always, Jack.
We merely came to pay our respects.

This is a crime scene.

Roland was a good family friend.
Aunt Prudence's godson.

No, no, crime scene.

Well, I take it this is
the poor fellows blood as well.

So what are you thinking?
He disturbed a would-be grave robber?

Ah, that's what I think too, Miss.

The door was locked,
and there's no sign of disturbance to the tomb.

(Coughing)

Oh, Freddy!
Freddy, it's just a horrid coincidence.

No. It's Roland, I know it.

Oh... I thought this would calm him.

- It's all right, Maude. I'll see you back at the car.
- Come on.

Mustard gas.

- Well, what's their connection?
- Oh, it's all very incestuous.

Maude is Roland's widow
and Freddy was his best friend.

Fought under him at Poziéres,
then married his widow.

They're all staying with me at the present,

so if you'd like to question them yourself,
you might have to visit me.

I'm impressed. You've commandeered
my case before I knew I had one.

Constable, finish searching the area.

- I'll be at Miss Fisher's residence.
- Yes, sir.

So you don't think
it was a coincidence either?

In my experience, there's no such thing.

I can't tell you how distressing this is, Inspector.

No wonder my poor godson
can't rest in peace.

Hold your fire, Aunt P.
The Inspector's on the case now.

Mrs. Stanley, I may as well begin with you.

I hope you'll begin and end with me,
Detective Inspector.

Maude and Freddy
have enough to worry about

and we have an unfinished séance to deal with.

- Séance?
- Yes, with the great Mrs. Bolkonsky.

You've not heard of her?

In Melbourne, by popular demand,

offering her services to a very select
few members of the Spiritualist Society.

Aunt P turned out to be one of the select few.

The psychic equivalent
of winning a chock raffle.

Mrs. Bolkonsky chose us on merit.
She told me herself.

And so timely.

Freddy has suffered very poor health recently.

Aunt P thought that if anybody
could convince Freddy

to accept his bravery award
before it's too late...

it would be Roland himself.

Your late godson -
Lieutenant Colonel Roland Claremont?

Another fine young man
out down in his prime.

How much red tape did you have to battle
to get his remains back from France?

Well, I wasn't about to
leave him mouldering

in some godforsaken foreign turnip field.

Well, I'll have to interview Captain Freddy
Ashmead and his wife, and any staff.

Now, where will I find Mrs. Bolwhatsit?

How glorious!

(Sniffs) Thank you.

It's little enough in return
for your hospitality, Miss Fisher.

Last night ended on an unfortunate note.

Detective Inspector Robinson,
may I introduce Mrs. Bolkonsky,

spiritual medium, from Sydney,
via Paris, London and San Francisco.

- The Americans are so wonderfully open.
- And we were booked solid for weeks.

And her manager, Mr. Warwick Hamilton.

True love must never be denied,
Detective Inspector.

Very profound.

I've been telling Mrs. Bolkonsky
about the attack.

She has a theory.

It wouldn't be the first time
she's helped the police.

And your theory is?

Our gathering last night was interrupted.

Yes, Freddy had a horrid attack.

The channel was not properly closed,

and when this happens,
the spiritual energy may linger...

disturbed, and sometimes hostile.

There's nothing spiritual about a man being
hit over the head and impaled on a fence.

That energy may enter a living person,

drive them to violent acts.

It is irresistible.

I'm sure it'll provide much comfort
to Mr. Potts's family.

Now, where is Mr. Ashmead?
I'll need to speak with him first.

I'm afraid he's still indisposed.

Freddy's valet, Mr. Larry Dunn.

An invaluable support to the Ashmeads,

and to Maude's family before that.

Perhaps, Mrs. Ashmead, you should go up.

Phryne, at this rate,
I'm afraid we may have to extend our stay.

Dear Maude, you're welcome to stay
as long as you need.

Let me help too.

Perhaps Larry could answer
any questions you have, Inspector.

Thank you. If I may use the parlour.

Of course.

And um...why not take some of these with you?

Ham, cheese and mustard pickle.
I read your mind.

This way.

Inspector, believe what I say,
for your own sake.

The heart line never lies.

You know that your greatest passion
is very close at hand.

Pursue it.

And believe what I say, Mrs. Bolkonsky.

I have no intention
of pursuing my greatest passion...

unless it's these sandwiches,
which are a particular favourite.

Oh, my heart.

- Are you all right?
- Oh, it's nothing, dear.

Mrs. Bolkonsky looks so pale.
Is she ill?

Oh, she's given her heart
to her work, literally.

It's taken its toll.
She has no energy to spare for sceptics.

Yes, well, Inspector Robinson
can be a difficult man to sway.

Well, you seem to have
a way with him, Miss Fisher.

And what about you?
Sceptic or believer?

Let's just say I keep an open mind.

Hm. Always wise to keep your wits about you.

Yes. Amazing what some get away with
in a darkened room.

- Balsa wood tables...
- On fishing lines.

Balloons with painted faces,
spirits with egg white and silk,

collapsible wrapping sticks
hidden under skins.

Any amount of trickery and illusion.

You seem very familiar
with the charlatan's repertoire.

Oh, I need to be,

or those charlatans will bring
genuine spiritualists into disrepute.

And thanks to the Great War,

there's no shortage of bereft customers
ripe for the plucking.

My Aunt Prudence, for example.

Maude, and Freddy.

I must confess I was a bereft customer
when I met Mrs. Bolkonsky.

I lost my twin brother at the Somme.

I'm sorry.

Mrs. Bolkonsky's gift is genuine, Miss Fisher.

She takes only a modest sum
to help people and spirits alike

to find peace in their separate realms.

And if people take solace in belief,
who are we to criticise them?

Thank you, Mr. Butler.

Mr. Ashmead seems much more settled
after that broth.

Oh, good.

Must be a great responsibility
having to care for such an ill gentleman.

It's no burden.
The Captain doesn't complain.

It's Mrs. Ashmead I worry for.

She gets herself into a state.

- You used to work for her parents?
- I've known her since she was a girl.

You must be a great comfort to her, then.

We do what we can, don't we?

Didn't I make myself perfectly clear?
No more laudanum.

Now, Captain,
you know what Mrs. Ashmead says.

Mrs. Ashmead cannot see that there are
far worse crosses to bear than physical pain.

This...fog in my head,
this constant mental daze.

All right, all right.

- Good morning.
- Morning.

These are Dallas Bronze,
if I'm not mistaken.

- Ah, yes, I believe so.
- There you go, Captain.

Nice and hot.

And don't forget your heart medicine.

Freddy?

Are you all right, Freddy?

- I'm sorry.
- Are you in pain?

Sometimes, Phryne, I feel like
I can't go forward, I can't be still.

I can't even drink tea without tasting blood.

The séance has stirred it all up for you.

For me, it's faces on streets or trams

bearing the slightest resemblance
and I'm right back there.

But my war goes on and on, Phryne.

In my head.

Battle neurosis, that's what the doctors say.

It's a perfectly rational response
to an absurd situation.

But I can't help but feeling
there's some hideous truth

lurking in a dark corner of my mind.

We're both home now.

We're safe.

Yes.

I, uh...never appreciated flowers until France.

It's amazing how a single stunted wildflower...

...struggling for survival in a battlefield of mud...

...can touch what's left of one's heart.

Here.

Maude doesn't know that I've kept it.

She doesn't like me being upset.

A dispatches report.

The day Roland was killed.

It says here that you carried him off the field
in the midst of battle.

Yes, but why does it rankle with me?

Why can't I remember?

When my time comes,
I need to know what kind of man I am.

Was I a hero, as your aunt
would have me be? Or...

...will I die a coward?

Shellshock does mysterious things to the mind.

It closes doors.

But he doesn't trust that dispatches report.

So, if you were to obtain
Roland's war records

as part of your inquiry
into the cemetery murder...

- And how would that help?
- Medical details.

The name of the doctor in the field hospital
who treated Roland.

- Someone must knew the whole story.
- Why bother with records

when Mrs. Bolkonsky
can go direct to the source?

(Knocking)

Roland Claremont's war records,
as requested, sir.

How remarkably clairvoyant of you, Jack.

You know, Hugh, if we ask nicely,
he'll make the desk levitate.

I'm simply looking for a reason
why someone would break into

the tomb of a man
who's been dead for over a decade.

Yes, and why they'd kill
a poor gravedigger to do it.

Claremont, Lieutenant Colonel Roland Albert.

Killed, the Somme, July 25th, 1916.

Wounded in battle,
died en route to field hospital.

And at the age of 12, he thought it was fun

to throw lizards' guts
at unsuspecting females.

- I added that last bit.
- From personal experience?

It wasn't me. It was his nanny.
He was a horrible child.

Not quite the way
your Aunt Prudence described him.

Oh, Saint Roly knew how to pick a target.

Signed Percy Bishop.

Well, it's a name at least.

Cec, don't get butter on it. It's from the library.

So how does this Mrs. Baloney do it?

Well, they pick up on clues.
You know, follow hunches.

- Just like Miss Fisher.
- Ah, Bert and Cec. And drop scones.

So who's this Percy Bishop
you want us to round up?

All I can tell you is that he came from Coburg

and worked out of a field hospital
near Poziéres in 1916.

- Doctor?
- Stretcher-bearer.

A bloody conchie.

A lily-livered, moralistic gutless wonder.

And if he's still alive,
I would like him to remain that way,

at least until I've had a word with him.

No guarantees.

- Percy Bishop?
- Go easy.

- That's me.
- Your mother said we'd find you here.

You the Percy Bishop who was
a stretcher-bearer at Poziéres?

Percy the conchie?

War's been over ten years and more, Digger.

- I don't need no more trouble.
- Oh, there won't be any trouble.

A man who can't raise his fists for his country

isn't gonna be any trouble at all.

Since when does a pacifist
go around breaking other bloke's noses?

Ah, it's not broken.

So you stand by and watch
Percy "Iron Fist" Bishop

pummel me into the dirt?

- You started it.
- Then it's your own fault.

It's not as if being anti-killing meant
you sat out the war knitting socks.

Now you're letting a sheila henpeck me
when I'm down. Bloody hell.

Dragging a half-dead Digger out of
two-foot-deep mud is no job for a coward.

Oh, Bishop's no coward, I'll grant you that.

It was a bad day.

Heavy shelling, and a casualty list to match.

That didn't stop Roaring Roly
from taking his men over the top.

"Roaring Roly."

That's appropriate.

He was always bellowing at somebody.

And he was yelling fit to blow a gasket
when he got hit.

His leg was buggered. I could see that.

I tried to go out for him,
but the Germans weren't finished.

I stuck my head out again after it went quiet

and that's when I saw the Captain

coming towards the trench
with Roland on his shoulders.

I assume he didn't die of a broken leg?

No, some Hun took a pot shot at him.

Captain Ashmead remembers hearing
a final pistol shot...

before Roland went quiet.

That'd be right.

But a pistol needs to be fired
at close range to do the job,

and of course only officers carried handguns.

Maybe one of the German brass
finishing off the survivors.

If Roland was finished off,

why would your report state
that he died on the way to hospital?

It was a long time ago.

Mr. Bishop...

...the truth is sometimes hard to live with.

But to die not knowing the truth...

In Captain Ashmead's place,
what would you choose?

"Roaring Roly", they called him.

And he led almost an entire battalion
to their slaughter.

- And ends up with his own mausoleum.
- I never liked him.

I have no idea why a woman like Maude
would want to marry him.

Then Freddy avenges their deaths
by shooting his commanding officer?

Or he put a dying man out of his misery.

Mercy killing? Murder? Either way, it would
explain Freddy's traumatic less of memory.

By rights, the military should be informed.

Even if it's been ten years,
there could be grounds for a court-martial.

You wouldn't report him?

No, I didn't think so.

Besides, I have my hands full

trying to solve the murder
of this unfortunate gravedigger.

Mm. Any progress?

Constable, will you please
bring in that evidence?

We extended the search area of the cemetery.

And found this in the rhododendrons
by the western entrance.

There's dried blood on the tip here,

and it matches Mr. Potts's injuries.

Hmm... Poor Mr. Potts.

Still, it doesn't explain
why an innocent gravedigger

was murdered on the doorstep
of Roland's tomb,

right when Aunt Prudence
is on her high horse about awards

and poor Freddy is haunted by the past.

Look at this.

There's a splash of blood
on the inside edge here.

So the door was ajar
when the attack on Mr. Potts took place.

Someone was on the inside.

Either an expert lock pick
or someone who had access to a key.

Well, I don't understand.

What on earth would anyone be after,
Inspector?

There was no sign of theft,

but an urn was smashed,
so perhaps someone was disturbed.

Whoever it was locked the door
behind them after they left.

We've always kept the key
in the cemetery office.

Yeah, it seemed easiest
with us living out of town,

and Prudence likes to bring flowers
whenever she can.

Is there anyone
who would want to deface the grave?

- Anyone with a grudge against Roland?
- Oh, apart from me, you mean?

Oh, that's not true, Freddy.

My first husband was highly respected
and highly decorated.

- Maude!
- Freddy's not well.

I don't think he's strong enough
for any more talk.

- Maude.
- I'm sure I can help...

- Maude!
- ..with any more of your questions.

You know that's not the whole story.

I've tried to pay homage...hold my tongue.

But I've had enough.

I'm still angry with Roland about
what happened on the Somme that day.

And I'm sure I'm not the only one.

I tried to stop him.

I begged him not to send the lads out.

All... All dead. Every single one.

Excepting you...

and Lieutenant Colonel out on the field...

wounded but alive.

Perhaps...in the heat of the moment,
I did something...

- ...and I've blotted it out of my mind.
- Freddy!

Freddy, don't say that. You're a hero.

Then why in God's name
is all of this happening now? (Wheezes)

It's all right. Are you finished?
Come on. Come on, Freddy.

- (Freddy coughs)
- Slow breaths, darling.

I need Mrs. Bolkonsky.
I need to speak to Roland again.

- No, Freddy, I don't think that's wise.
- I need to, Maude!

Come on, let's go upstairs
and you can lie down.

I want you there, Inspector.

Answers.

- You need them too.
- Come on. Come on.

Another break-in?

That must have happened last night,
after you lot finished searching yesterday.

And you didn't notice until now?

I'm doing the job of two men - not by choice.

Of course. I didn't mean any...

Stick your light in there.

Must be the Colonel - had gold teeth.

Not much else left of him now.

Right, well, I think I've seen enough.

If you could just keep this area secure,
Mr. Beale, I'll inform my inspector.

How do you suggest I do that?
Lock's broken.

Stand guard?

Trust me, son, those robbers
got what they came for,

and he isn't going anywhere.

Why do you call me again?

The truth.

Tell me, whatever I did.

Basil is here too, Freddy.

Who is this Basil person?

(Shelling and explosions)

Help me!

Stretcher-bearer!

You remember now, don't you?

My God. He was alive.
I could have saved him.

But he did try to save you, didn't he, Roland?

(Screams)

The men...

dying all around.

Roland, you must know that I blamed you.

I did not die by your hand.

And yet...in that moment,
had I not been overcome with terror...

Freddy, what are you saying?

It could have been by my hand.

I wanted him dead.

Silver moon shines full and bright,

lilac scents the soft spring night,

here he'll slumber through the years

while Mary weeps her silent tears.

That's one of Roland's poems.

Yes. It was the last he wrote.

I've carried it everywhere with me, always.

What does it all mean?

(She gasps)

Go to his grave when the moon is full.

You must drink the Virgin's tears.

Then the spirits will grant forgiveness
from beyond the grave.

It's a full moon tonight.

Well, the cemetery gates will be locked.

I'll phone them in the morning and we'll make
special arrangements for tomorrow night.

I assume the culprit is the same person
who murdered Ernie Potts.

At least we know the motive
for the first visit was robbery.

I've noted his medals were missing, sir,
but we need to know what else was in the tomb

apart from the Colonel himself.

Must have been something valuable

to risk returning after attracting
the attention of the police force.

I trust, Detective Inspector,
you're now suitably impressed?

Yes, indeed.

You don't strike me as the kind of woman
who'd fail to notice her handbag being raided.

Oh, why can't you just accept
that this is a sign from Roland?

Full moons? Virgin's tears?

Really, if Mrs. Bolkonsky is channelling anything,
it's the mind of a Penny Dreadful writer.

And as for forgiveness beyond the grave,
no-one, least of all Captain Ashmead,

is to go near that cemetery
until I've made further investigations.

What do you mean?

Roland's tomb has been robbed of all valuables

and the Coroner has given his approval
to exhume the body.

Did you steal that poem
out of my Aunts handbag?

No.

You have my word.

What about the Virgin's tears?

Also known as Angel's Tears,
Lourdes water, Ganges water,

water from the Fountain of Youth,
or the Glastonbury Chalice,

collected in our travels.

Holy water.

For those who believe,
and harmless for those who don't.

Tell me, Miss Fisher,
do you discredit everything you cannot see?

No. Not everything.

I believe in radio waves
and electricity and magnetism.

Or the current that flows between two people?

- I would never discredit that.
- Two veterans of war, perhaps.

Or the energy that flares
between two independent spirits...

...however briefly.

Shall we blame it on that moon?

If you need a reason.

I've certainly never needed one.

Were you with your brother
when he was killed?

Shrapnel wounds leave distinctive scars.

Miss Fisher...

...private detective.

But this is the sanctity of the boudoir.

We were in different battalions.

I thought twins did everything together.

He enlisted before me.

Perhaps if I'd been with him that day...

Brotherly love, no matter how strong,

is no protection against
mortar shells and mustard gas.

I knew the moment it happened.

I felt my brother's death
as though it were my own...

...as if a piece of me had died with him.

Is that why you sought out Mrs. Bolkonsky?

To reclaim your soul from the spirit world?

The dead may lay claim to our hearts
and our minds, but not our souls.

(Gasps)

Hello?

Who's there?

Dorothy Williams,
there are no such things as ghosts.

Basil's death was tragic, unjust,
and he wanted me to know that.

- Basil?
- (Dot screams)

(She screams)

Help!

- Dot!
- Get off!

It's all right. It's all right.
It's just a piece of cloth.

I...

It was up there. I...

I pulled the cord to switch off the light
and it floated down and...

But who would do such a thing?

The cord snapped just this morning.

I asked Bert and Cec to replace it.

Bert and Cec! Who else?

They were reading that book.
Of all the mean, horrid things.

Is everything all right?

It is now, Mr. Butler.
Dot just had a fright, that's all.

Freddy's gone!

He's gone!

(Owl hoots)

I hope you haven't called us out
for nothing, Mr. Beale.

Define "rattled".

You know, like a chained dog
scratching fleas.

And then there was this dragging noise and...
(Wheezes)

- Did you see anything?
- I didn't stop to look.

Well, which way did it go?

The Claremont tomb. The... The Clare...

I thought you said he wasn't going anywhere.

Sorry, but I don't speak for the dead.

Right.

(Grunts)

Aha.

So much for a dog with fleas.

Ashmead. He's on his cane.

Forgiveness.

- What is it?
- Shh.

Who's there?

Not afraid of ghosts are we, Mr. Hamilton?

- Jack.
- Ah, Miss Fisher.

No need for a crystal ball
to know what brings you here.

(Grunting)

Freddy!

(Groans)

Freddy! He's hurt!

Where's your medication?

He's gone.

I'd like your recipe for Virgin's tears,
Mr. Hamilton...

...down at the police station.

Rather convenient to make your own
holy water, I would have thought...

seeing as you're doing
a roaring trade in the stuff.

What possible motive could I have
to kill off my own clientele?

Revenge, perhaps?

Excuse me?

Mr. Hamilton's twin brother was at Poziéres
with Freddy and Roland.

He was killed
along with the rest of the battalion.

His name was Basil.

So much for the "sanctity of the boudoir".

I'm sorry, Warwick,
but I draw the line at possible murder.

Why would I kill him?
They haven't even paid us yet.

Um...

Your... Your brother's connection
to Roland Claremont can't be mere coincidence.

Were both the séances rigged
by you and Mrs. Bolkonsky?

I find that suggestion highly insulting.

Did you manipulate Freddy Ashmead
so you could engineer his death?

No.

Look, I admit to taking advantage

of Mrs. Stanley's association
with Freddy Ashmead.

I wanted to jog his memory about Basil.

I believe he could have done more
to save my brother.

I wanted him to face the truth.

That's all. The same thing
Freddy himself wanted.

You expect me to believe that
after your Virgin's tears cure?

- Collins?
- Why would I want him dead?

Memories make for powerful ghosts,

and some people deserve to be haunted.

Take his statement.

It wasn't Warwick.
Hamilton was after retribution.

You said so.
Why are you defending him?

Because what he says make sense.
Freddy Ashmead was a dying man.

The only reason to hasten his death
would be to stop his quest for the truth.

And the person who knows the truth
doesn't want it coming out.

Deep down,
Freddy knew what happened to Roland.

He witnessed it.

And he was killed on the verge
of remembering everything.

Which suggests
Freddy wasn't the one who shot Roland.

Exactly. And neither did Warwick.

He was stationed at Arras, 15 miles away.

Ah, you've obviously
come to know him quite well.

As to who killed Freddy,
that vial was on the dining room table for hours,

and any one of us could have...
slipped something into it.

I'm not ruling out Warwick Hamilton just yet.

But if I'm right, the break-in at the mausoleum
wasn't any ordinary grave robbery.

Right, let's get this over with.

Ah, Mr. Beale.

Constable Collins will take
your statement when he's free,

- if you don't mind taking a seat.
- I've got a shift to get back to.

- I don't have time to hang around here.
- That's a very lovely piece you have there.

- Where did you get it?
- I found it.

Really? On a...dead man, by any chance?

This is everything of value
I could find in the bin at the cemetery.

And our light-fingered Mr. Beale
swears that's where he found Roland's watch?

Says it was on the ground beside it.

According to the war records,
Claremont was buried with his medals,

his cufflinks, his watch, his poetry and his pistol.

Which isn't here.

So our thief took the pistol
and dumped everything else.

Ouch!

But not fatal.

Now, this is fatal, I presume.

(Rattling)

According to the war records,
Roland's pistol was a Colt.

The Webley was standard issue
for the British Commonwealth.

Correct. And, fortuitously, the Colt uses
a slightly different calibre bullet to the Webley.

So if this came from the missing pistol...

"Roland was shot with his own gun.

In the back of the head.

An unlikely enemy execution.

I told you, I heard a shot

and then Captain Ashmead
carried Roland through the trench

with a shot to his head.

And whatever reason the Captain had
for pulling the trigger,

I wasn't gonna make life any tougher
by blowing the whistle.

So you did see Captain Ashmead
shoot Roland Claremont?

No.

Stretcher now!

Stretcher-bearer!

I just assumed he did.

So you falsified medical records
and said that Ashmead was a hero?

- No, I didn't say he was a hero.
- Well, somebody did.

- He was mentioned in dispatches.
- Wasn't me. I kept my trap well shut.

Then who? All Roland's men
except Freddy were killed that day.

Someone wrote it up later?

Ask Roland Claremont's batman,
if he's still alive.

- He helped to lay him out.
- Do you remember his name?

(Knocks) Excuse me, sir.

Coroner's toxicology report
on Captain Ashmead.

Traces of strophanthus, a heart stimulant.

Toxic in large doses.

Freddy was on medication for his heart.

His valet administered it.

His valet worked for Maude's family
before her first marriage.

- He went on to become Roland's valet.
- Perhaps Roland took him to war.

Did Maude have a copy of that poem
that Roland sent you?

Possibly. But she knew it by heart.

- Are Maude and Larry having an affair?
- Of course not!

Whatever made you think such a thing?

Maude's parents were killed
when she was a little girl.

Larry was all she had left.

Yes. Her protector.

- I won't let this happen.
- Maude, calm yourself.

- No! It's so unfair!
- Maude, listen to me.

- It's better this way.
- No!

- Haven't I always done what was best for you?
- Come on. Come on.

I need you to answer some questions
down at the station.

Maude, come upstairs.

Roland Claremont.

You weren't only Roland's valet
on the home front, were you, Larry?

I know what you did.

You tried to stop a bully
from abusing his authority.

On your feet, soldier!

Clean this!

- With what?
- Use your hands.

What a pity you couldn't stop him
before that charge over No Man's Land.

Stretcher now!

Stretcher-bearer!

For pity's sake, man!

Captain! Captain!

Come here. He's wounded!

Help him!

(Freddy groans)

Freddy carried Roland off the field...

...and you made sure his heroism
was duly noted in all the right places.

Maude was terrified of Roland.
He was a brute.

To her most of all.

I couldn't let him come back from the war.

And Freddy's shellshock made it all so easy.

Until my Aunt started lobbying
for his bravery award

and it all started coming back for him.

And then Maude did what she did.

After the Séance, she panicked.

- And tried to retrieve the gun.
- She did it for me.

She wasn't strong enough to open the tomb.

Who's in there?

Oh, that poor, poor man. That...

I panicked. I didn't mean to kill him.

Aargh!

Good God.

And Larry realised what you'd done,

and went back there with you
to do the job properly.

I thought if we could make it
look like a proper robbery, we...

- We took everything.
- Except the bullet that killed Roland.

I felt around for it, but it was dark.

Maude was upset.

But it didn't stop Freddy's mind
searching for the truth.

So someone had to stop him.

Someone with access to his medicine.

Like who?

You think Larry poisoned Freddy?

You think I did?

No! She loved Freddy.

She loved you too.
And he was a very sick man.

Was her debt to you the greater one?

No, no, she was like a daughter to me.

There's no debt. There never was.

You bribed Mrs. Bolkonsky
to go along with your rigged séance

and you supplied her with the words
to Roland's poem.

No, we didn't bribe her.

She'd been pushing for
another séance all along.

She knew Freddy was a tortured soul, but...

I recited the poem for her, that's all.

Then you added his heart medicine to that vial?

No.

I... I don't understand.
How could anyone kill him with cod liver oil?

Cod liver oil?

That's all we gave him for his heart.

So...

...drinking virgin's tears by the moonlight
was Mrs. Bolkonsky's idea.

Oh, it's nothing, dear.

That energy may enter a living person,
drive them to violent acts.

It is irresistible.

(Sighs)

Jack, I think it's time
you had a heart-to-heart

with your tarot card reader.

The Wheel of Fortune...

...and The Chariot.

Most auspicious.

Queen of Swords.

A woman of great vision and courage.

From my point of view, it's reversed.

Deceit, manipulation.

A woman adept at playing games with the truth.

Are you unwell, Mrs. Bolkonsky?

- My heart, I'm afraid.
- I'll have Mr. Butler bring you some water,

unless you require something stronger.

Justice.

Do you want me to continue
with your reading, Inspector?

I'd prefer a signed confession.

There's no escaping destiny, Mrs. Bolkonsky.

Strophanthus Tonic.

"Milk for the Ageing Heart."

The Hanged Man.

That won't be necessary.

I don't understand. Why?

For you. For your brother, Basil.

He was left hanging on barbed wire.
He died an agonising death.

Aargh!

And Freddy ignored his cries for help!

- But I didn't want Freddy dead.
- No, but your brother did.

I'll take that.

Three murders, three murderers.

That's a personal best, Miss Fisher.

It's not a record I hope to beat anytime soon.

I'll drink to that.

And Warwick Hamilton is in the clear.

I presumed as much,

otherwise you wouldn't have let him
leave the country.

Shame about our Mrs. Bolkonsky.

Now I'll never know
what the future holds for me.

A fortune teller once told me
that I would marry well,

have four children and play a lot of croquet.

What do you think of that?

I can almost see you playing croquet.

I see a very careful man...

who professes to be cynical
in the face of mysteries he can't explain,

and claims to have no passions,

in spite of a heart that runs as deep
as the Pacific Ocean.

That's strange.

All I can see is another martini.