Original subtitles

Aggie?

Sorry. What's wrong?

I can't find her.

Did you turn the light on? No, it was on.

I don't think she's been in here. Mr Gregory and I washed up.

Did you open this door? No.

You should stay here.

Aggie?

Is she there?

Raffy, is she there?

Morning.

Agatha Betterton has been found at the bottom of the cellar steps.

Is sh-she...?

I need you to go back to your rooms and stay there.

Lord help us. This isn't happening.

And Raphael and Father John...? Wait in your rooms.

We'll be speaking with you all individually.

Please.

After the booze, I assume.

Maybe she'd already had a skinful, and... down she went.

Some of these look pre-war.

Probably some quality.

Even in death, she smelt of alcohol. Be quiet.

Sorry.

Have I taught you to make assumptions?

No, Sir. That's the second time.

More experience, more confidence should mean more humility, not less.

A little empathy wouldn't go amiss.

Right, yeah.

I noticed two bottles of gin concealed

in the Bettertons' kitchen yesterday.

She's an alcoholic. There'll be more.

I doubt very much she had need to come down here

in search of alcohol, pre-war or otherwise.

Let's see what the pathologist says.

Can you leave us alone, please?

I think I should stay. I'm warden here.

He's my responsibility, as are all the boys.

He's not a minor. It's all right, Father.

I'll dress. I'll be in my office.

I'm very sorry.

When did you last see Miss Betterton?

My mother?

Last night, at dinner.

I argued with her. She was drunk.

What did you argue about? The usual.

I told her she'd had enough. She was shouting at everyone.

She was saying...

She was saying we should all do a dance

because the Archdeacon is dead.

She said she knew who'd done it and that she had proof.

Do you think she was being serious?

I don't know.

She walked out. That was the last time I saw her till...

What time was that?

About half eight.

Then John woke me around midnight, and we went looking for her.

Did you see anyone else in the building?

Notice anything strange? No.

What made you look in the cellar?

John said he found a light on in the kitchen.

And I noticed the cellar door was open.

Please, tell me this was an accident.

Who else was at dinner last night?

Actually, she seemed to imply she knew something

about the Archdeacon's death.

And it sounded...

Well... it sounded like drunken bravado.

Thanks.

What did she say?

Well, just that she knew something and that she could prove it.

But... like I said, she was...

..she was very drunk.

She didn't give any other details? No.

It's extremely sad. They'll be devastated.

John's already fragile.

Were you here when he was suspended for suspected misdemeanours?

No. I came later, but...

..he was definitely depressed, even then.

Do you think he was guilty?

No idea. Not from what I know of him.

I've never seen any evidence here of inappropriate behaviour.

I'd have reported it if I had.

But I'm with the Archdeacon - these places are too insular.

They do need democratising.

I thought academia was bad. You were at Magdalen?

Mmm, yes.

I was at Trinity.

Were you?

Amazing where we crop up, isn't it?

After dinner, what did you do?

Did anyone come to the flat yesterday night, speak to her?

I, er... I didn't hear anyone.

But then, I'd already taken to my bed, selfish old fool.

Left her to deal with all of it.

Raphael said that at dinner,

your sister implied that she knew who'd killed the Archdeacon,

and that she had proof.

Do you know what she meant? Did she say speak to you about it?

No.

No.

I need a brief witness statement from you, Dr Lavenham.

'Yes, she certainly did imply that.'

She said something like, "We all know."

Something about proof.

What did people say to that? Erm...

The priests - the warden, the other one -

they were quite angry. They tried to take control.

She was pretty vicious about them.

Said they were hypocrites.

They told her to leave, and she walked out.

And after dinner, what did you do?

Came straight back here.

I couldn't get back fast enough, to be honest.

Is that why she's dead? Because she said she knew something?

Hard to say.

It's the sort of thing you read in books.

Her fiance, Edward.

Died in North Africa - the war.

Love of her life. They had such plans.

Aggie always wanted a farm, you know.

Lots of children, dogs.

I knew, of course. But what could I...?

It was my fault. When did she start drinking?

Around the time of the inquiry? No, not then. She was my rock.

She kept me alive.

Can I... Can I tell you something in confidence?

Raphael, his real mother's name was Clara Arbuthnot.

She wrote to us after the inquiry, said she needed to see Agatha.

The letter came from a hospital. Aggie went.

When she came back, she said we were losing Raphael.

She was desperate, and I knew it was because of me,

because of the reports in the newspapers.

Did anything come of it, any follow-up?

We waited every day for the knock on the door,

the... solicitor's letter,

a woman at the gates, and... and she started...

..to get her through the days.

And I think... I think she...

I think she was pushing him away, our boy.

So it wouldn't be so painful when she lost him.

She's been dead for between six and nine hours.

Cause of death - a broken neck.

She fell with force down the steps, struck her forehead there,

and was flung face-forward.

Fell with force? Yes.

It's possible that she was pushed.

It's a first impression, but... Why?

If she'd have stumbled down the steps, missed her footing,

she would almost certainly have come down on her back.

I'd expect to see massive and specific bruising.

It isn't there.

Broken ankles, or at least badly sprained.

She literally went head over heels, and that usually takes force.

But... it's an opinion. I can't rule out an accidental fall.

I might never be able to.

I'll try to fit her in this afternoon.

Sergeant?

Yard on the phone.

At present, Miss Betterton's death is unexplained,

but we have some reason to suspect she may have been murdered.

Surely not? Surely the woman fell?

I understand she was making claims at dinner last night,

implying she knew something about the Archdeacon's death.

She was inebriated, as she always is.

She was hysterical, looking for attention. Peregrine.

Her death is regrettable, naturally, but the woman was a liability.

A terrible example to the boys. She had no place here.

She'd had a lot to deal with.

You should have got rid of her months ago.

You should have got rid of them both.

On that, Crampton was right.

And as for who killed him,

I'd say she was by far the most likely culprit,

incapable of self-control.

Is there anything else you think I should have done?

What did you do after dinner?

We came here, talked. We prayed.

And since we're not able to enter the church,

worship is at our heart.

You and your mob seem to forget that.

Unbearable strain.

And after that? I went to bed.

As did I.

Background checks. Karen Surtees - this is a good one.

She doesn't exist. No NI number, no tax records.

They checked the last census. Eric Surtees...

..is an only child.

We need you both out. We're searching this place.

No, you're not. Where's your warrant?

Let them.

Come out, please. No.

He's the tenant.

You have no say in this, Miss Whoever-You-Are.

Excuse me.

The woman you claimed to be your sister...

I didn't say that.

She's a friend. More than a friend.

What's her real name? Look, just ask her, will you?

I'm asking you.

Karen Randal.

I'm not allowed anyone staying in the cottage, except for family.

It was just easier, the sister thing.

What do you know about her? She's from London.

Is that it? Ask her.

Where were you last night between half past eight and midnight?

At the cottage. Why?

What exactly happened last night? Has someone else died?

Did you leave the cottage at any point, even briefly? No.

I went to the shed to get coal, but that was five minutes.

You didn't go to the college? No.

Did Karen go out? No.

She was with me.

Karen... Randal.

Is that your real name? Or another alias?

"Alias"!

Yes, it's my real name.

Do you know it's a crime to lie to the police?

I doubt the judge'll lock me up. I gave you my real address.

It's their fault, the priests - their idiotic, archaic rules.

How long have you known Eric Surtees?

Eighteen months or so.

Not long to have become so involved with someone

that you decide to fight their battles for them.

Hmm. You mean the Archdeacon?

As I told you, I'd had a vodka. Makes me feisty.

OK.

You're gonna find my notes anyway.

I'm a journalist - investigative, freelance.

I came to stay in the village when the story about Betterton broke.

I met Eric in the pub one night.

We got talking, and that led to something else.

You used him? No.

He soon realised why I was there. I didn't deny it.

We are actually into each other.

But you claimed to be his sister to get through the gates,

have access to the college?

Yes, I did.

I've written dozens of articles on sexual abuse in the Church.

I put the work in.

Parish magazines.

Priests suddenly moving on.

A whiff of scandal. Women in mother and baby homes.

It's hard to get the nationals interested,

but once in a blue moon, something gets through.

The Betterton case was unusual because the Archdeacon

threw his weight behind a criminal investigation.

No criminal charges were brought.

The boy, the suicide, was 18.

There was no evidence. The parents were sure.

The boy kept diaries. He was way too attached to Betterton.

And he'd been a pupil here since he was 14.

So even if nothing happened,

would you want your kids being taught by someone

who has sexual fantasies about them? I wouldn't.

You wanna send your kid off to Sunday school,

thinking it's a safe, benign,

positively good place for them to be,

then find out they'd been touched - or worse?

We're only just scratching the surface.

Sooner or later, it's gonna rock the Church to its core.

What happened when you went in search of the Archdeacon?

Well, I didn't kill him. Why would I?

I'd been writing to his office for months, asking for an interview.

I never got a reply.

And finally, he comes to the college.

So I went to find him - my big chance.

And it was like I said -

he was here in the church with the warden.

Only they weren't... just talking.

They were arguing. They were angry.

About the Doom?

No, it sounded like more than that. It was...

personal, bitter.

It certainly wasn't the right time for me to pop up.

Could've been huge, getting a senior cleric to talk.

Why didn't you tell us the truth about this yesterday?

Precious info.

I was still deciding how to use it.

I was thinking it might force the warden to talk to me instead.

I suppose it depends on how one characterises an argument.

Does it?

Well, we certainly had words, which I now deeply regret.

I took it personally, his plans for reform.

It felt like a criticism of my leadership.

Pride.

Matthew Crampton and I were at school together,

and we both went up to Durham.

There'd always been a touch of rivalry in our relationship -

honours, you know.

Girls, even. It was a long time ago.

And we should have moved past it, but...

Our witness says the argument was heated.

Perhaps, at times.

What was said?

I hardly remember.

I accused him of relishing his position of power over me,

he denied it.

It was demeaning and unnecessary.

Did you leave the church together?

No, he left first.

I stayed on for a while. I asked for guidance.

You have to understand...

..we would have sorted it all out the following day.

Was that the last time you saw him? Yes.

You didn't seek him out again, ask him to come back to the church?

No. No, I swear to God.

I swear... to God.

Sorry. It's fine.

Thanks for giving permission.

I should only need ten minutes or so.

No problem.

I noticed yesterday you didn't pray.

No.

Complicated, isn't it?

I suppose I'm agnostic.

I certainly don't believe in God the Father,

the big, beardy man looking down from above.

In fact, I resent the way

spirituality's been requisitioned by men.

I wrote my undergrad thesis on the depiction

of the rejected goddess in 18th-century art.

Graphic messages -

"God is male. The Church is male. Know your place."

You? I was raised to believe.

My father was a rector at a church in Norfolk.

But I have a stubbornly rational streak.

I miss it.

The certainty.

The comfort.

I do have...

..faith that we're more than we know we are.

But as for some sort of divine purpose,

I can't find that.

You have a difficult job.

Infinite room for regret.

I should have stayed here last night.

You think she was murdered?

You may not have been able to save her.

So many of them near the lake.

I thought of you both. I'm so sorry.

If there's anything that I can do, please, tell me.

Thank you, sir.

From Mr Gregory. He picked them by the lake.

Father Sebastian has to be chief suspect, don't you think?

He has motive, opportunity.

His prints are on the candlestick.

Granted, they can be explained away, but...

Yes. Karen Randal?

We know she can lie. Maybe with Surtees's help?

Her motives aren't clear.

She's passionate about her mission,

and I get the feeling she's fuelled by personal experience.

Yeah, I got that.

But what does she gain by killing him?

And she and Surtees weren't at dinner,

so they wouldn't have known about Agatha's boasting.

So we're definitely treating her death as murder?

What do you think?

I think yes. It's too much of a coincidence.

Agreed. But it'll be a devil to prove.

We'll need something cast-iron.

We can't assume that one person is responsible for both deaths,

but it seems likely.

And it seems highly likely that the killer was sitting

in the refectory yesterday evening.

Do we rule out Father John? She's his sister.

We're not ruling anything out.

Sir...

..about before...

It's done with. I can take it from you.

I mean, I'd rather you just said.

You're hard to read.

It's not a management style that suits everyone.

I do try.

I'm not her, but...

All I want is that you treat the Senior Command Course

as an opportunity to keep learning, not as a victory parade.

You have excellent qualities.

Just remember, the job is a privilege.

Did you follow up re Clara Arbuthnot?

Yes.

Yes, the hospital he mentioned, Ashcombe - I telephoned.

It's a local cottage hospital.

The clerk didn't even need to look at the records.

Clara Arbuthnot died around 18 months ago.

Did they say anything else? No.

OK, let's get SOCO back and carry out a search -

Father Sebastian's room.

Let's look at the clothes he's been wearing for the last couple of days.

I'm going to the hospital,

see if there's anything else they can tell me.

Really?

Sorry, I mean...

she's dead.

It's bothering me.

And it's a loose end, one of the only ones we've got.

Nurse Ford?

I'm Commander Dalgliesh.

I'm leading an investigation locally.

Right.

I'm interested in a patient who died here in September '77 -

Clara Arbuthnot.

The matron said you helped to nurse her.

Yes, I did. I remember her very well.

I wasn't assigned to her - that was Nurse Rooney - but yes.

Do you have a moment to talk?

Hmm. Due my break.

Mary Rooney's in Australia now.

We've lost touch, which is sad.

She really liked Clara.

She was upset when she died.

Clara was only 50 years old.

She was sparky, mischievous.

I think she'd led a pretty colourful life.

Did she have visitors? Lots of friends.

Lots of laughter and cake round the bed.

Do you remember her being visited by a lady called Agatha Betterton?

It could've been just one visit. No.

I'm sorry, I can't remember any names.

She works at a seminary, St Anselm's College.

Did Clara ever talk about the college?

Not to me.

How about children or a partner, perhaps?

Not that I saw.

But you know she got married?

What do you mean? Yes.

When she found out that she only had a few weeks left,

she said she had to get married.

The hospital records list no next of kin,

just the name of her solicitor.

Well, it definitely happened. I know Mary organised it for her.

Who did she marry? I don't know.

We all presumed it was something to do

with where she wanted her money to go.

It was quite a to-do.

Clara said it had to be in a church,

which we all thought was funny

because she wasn't exactly nice to the poor chaplain

whenever he came.

I know Mary was her witness.

Did she say anything about the groom?

I think she said he was handsome.

But she said it was an odd business -

over in a flash.

Do you remember the name of the church? Yes.

They went to the nearest one because Clara was so unwell.

All Souls, Petworth.

- What about this one, Sir? - Yeah, bag it.

Like I said, I need you to stay out.

Brother?

They'll close us down.

We can't survive this.

Where will I go?

Someone's given them a load of information.

Was it you? No. I wish it was.

One of the coppers? Don't know.

The vocab, seems like someone who knows about churches.

Karen?

What happens, you know, now this has all blown up?

I mean, is that it for us?

No. Unless you want it to be.

Silver linings.

I'm so sorry about your sister.

Gosh, I'm sorry.

Here, let me.

Is there anything I can do?

Such a mess. Such a terrible, terrible mess.

Would you like me to find someone?

Raphael...? She believed in me.

The only one who knew,

who knew I would never, never have taken advantage.

I understood. That was all.

What he was trying to deny -

his struggles, the longing, a man's touch.

I've fought that battle all my life. All my life.

The prayers...

He knew he could trust me, confide, and he could.

I'm not sure I should... Aggie.

Aggie...

She always knew.

She never spoke it.

She never looked at me with anything but love.

My guardian angel.

You have to understand.

She would do anything for me.

Thanks.

Hi. Somebody's given them a whole load of inside info.

Karen Randal, presumably. They even know who found the body.

Is everyone in the building? Er, yes.

A few of them went for walks, but they're back.

What is it?

Sorry to interrupt. Father John.

When did you find it? Not long ago, an hour.

She must have killed him.

She made him go to the church.

It was the alcohol. She would never have...

She would never have thought of such a thing.

Did Agatha own a fountain pen?

No. What about the paper? Do you recognise it?

Where it might have come from? A notebook or...?

No.

'That's what the killer was searching for.'

Has to be. They must have left it in here for Crampton to find.

Or they pushed it under the door. That's what I reckon.

They must've pushed it under the door, Crampton gets up,

in a panic, goes to the church.

Yes. Shall we get it to forensics? See whose prints we've got?

Clara Arbuthnot, Raphael's real mother,

she got married a few weeks before she died.

A cursory sort of wedding.

I think the man she married was Raphael's father,

which would make Raphael legitimate.

And makes him heir to this place.

If it closes... Christ. Raphael, then.

The Doom's worth a small fortune.

I don't believe Raphael knows about the marriage.

His real father, on the other hand...

He's here.

Who?

It's open.

Commander. Permission to run?

Thought I'd squeeze another one in before dark.

Do you run?

It's addictive.

What's this?

Someone fed them a great deal of sensitive information.

Information only someone at the college would have.

Not helpful.

But nothing to do with me.

We spoke to the news desk.

The information came from an anonymous caller, a male.

I think it was you.

Why would I want to give information to the press?

Because the greater the scandal,

the greater the chance the college will close.

Yeah, and I'd be out of a job.

And your son will come into his inheritance.

I'm sure you were very careful to wear gloves

when you slipped this under the Archdeacon's door.

But the fountain pen you used, the paper,

it won't be hard to match.

Graphology.

Greek, I believe, rather than Latin.

It can tell us a surprising amount,

even when someone's tried very hard to disguise their hand.

Why didn't you tell Raphael about your marriage?

Why didn't you tell him you were his father?

Presumably, Clara thought you would come here

and claim him, protect him.

I have protected him.

You could have talked to him about his potential inheritance.

Asked him what he felt, what he wanted.

He's a 20-year-old boy who's been brainwashed

since the day he was carried into this place.

So you decided to make his decision for him.

And deny him the truth.

It was never the right time.

The right time would've been the instant I got here,

I know that now.

But Clara was... She was wild when I knew her.

We were only together a few months, but by the end of it,

I actually thought she was unhinged.

When she tracked me down, I... I believed her.

The dates were right.

It's quite a thing...

..finding out you have a son at the very moment in life

when you've started to wish you had one.

I needed to see him, to find out what kind of boy he is.

There's a lot of me in him. A lot.

And then I felt I needed to gain his trust.

And then I couldn't tell him because it would break that trust. I...

I wanted more time with him.

More...

..uncomplicated...

..golden time.

Did you speak to the Archdeacon before you killed him?

Did you tell him what you wanted and why?

No.

He wasn't a man to change his mind.

And Raphael deserves what's his.

And what about Agatha Betterton? Did you speak to her?

I didn't kill her.

She'd found out the proof. She made that clear.

I didn't kill her. Sergeant.

What have you done? What have you done?

Raphael... He'd already told me.

Raphael... But interesting to hear that you were sizing me up.

That wasn't what I meant... Deciding what sort of boy I am.

To see if I was too stupid... N-No.

..too ugly or crazy like my so-called mother.

Then you would've run away, back to where you came from.

No... Don't! Stay away from me!

Listen to me. I didn't know about you.

She never told me.

If I'd known, I would always have been with you.

I would never have let her leave you in this place.

In my home. You don't belong here, you know that.

Don't tell me what I am! You should have been with me.

Living our lives, learning, living.

I know you feel it, too.

You are a fantastic boy.

A miraculous boy.

I am so proud of you.

Raphael! No...

Let... Let him.

Raphael!

Raphael, listen to me.

Murderer!

I love you.

Shut up. Listen to me.

I had to stop him.

This place is yours, by rights.

You don't know the world.

You don't know what he was denying you,

what this place is denying you.

You are literally a devil.

What did you think was going to happen?

That you'd find a way to get your hands on my money?

Or that we'd, what, run off into the sunset together to buy fast cars?

No. I am a priest.

This is my world! This is my life!

Did you kill Aggie?

Did you kill my mother? No!

No, I wouldn't do that to you. You're lying.

Tell me the truth.

I didn't touch her.

What am I going to do now?

Raffy!

Raphael, wait!

Son, stop!

Sergeant, hold back. Raffy!

Raphael, stop! Listen to me.

Listen to me. Get off me! Listen to me.

Get off! Agh!

Agh!

You killed her! I didn't do it!

Stop!

Hey. Hey!

That's enough! Enough!

I'd save your breath.

He's not going to admit it.

Way too clever.

Listen... Listen to me.

Killing a man to help his son - that's one thing.

Pushing a woman to her death to save his own skin -

that doesn't read so well. No legend there.

Be quiet. All the words...

all the telling you he loves you, maybe it's true, maybe.

But it won't be as much as he loves himself.

It comes down to respect.

He doesn't respect you enough to give you the truth.

She made it impossible.

She'd taken you from me once.

She'd had you all these years.

I had to make her silent.

I had no choice.

Yes, you did.

George Gregory,

I am arresting you for the murders

of Matthew Crampton and Agatha Betterton.

You are not obliged to say anything...

You deserve... to be free.

It's all right.

It's all right.

'Lead us not into temptation...

'but deliver us from evil.'

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory,

forever and ever.

Amen. Amen.

Amen. Amen.

Raphael?

Dear Lord...

..we pray for the soul of Agatha Frances Betterton.

Mother...

..sister, who knew how to love unconditionally.

Just wanted to say I'm leaving.

Finished my work.

Have to wait and see what the next trustee decides to do.

Hard to imagine the Doom being carried out of there, though.

Yes.

I'm sorry that you...

got caught up in all of this.

It wasn't quite the job I was expecting.

Ha.

George Gregory has confessed to both murders.

Hopefully, you won't have to give evidence at a trial.

I'd cope... if you were there.

In case you need me.

Ready, sir?

Good work, Sergeant.