♪ ♪ It's better for both of us to leave things as they are.

♪ ♪ You were meant to teach my son to be a detective.

MONRO: Fitzroy will be taken from your command and placed under Detective Phelps.

HATTIE: You know who you are.

I call that freedom indeed.

MONRO: I hear you plucked young Fitzroy from Detective Phelps to assist you instead.

You disobeyed another direct order, Inspector.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Hello, Inspector.

Harry.

Morning, Duke!

Morning, George.

(horse whinnies) ♪ ♪ WOMAN: Fresh bread!

Fresh loaves!

Morning, Inspector.

The usual, please, Jim.

Here you go.

Lovely.

Oh!

Anything I need to know?

Nope, not today, Duke.

All right, keep your eyes peeled.

Thanks.

(people talking in background) Busy night, Violet?

Frederick.

Duke.

Norman.

(people talking in background) (door closes) Morning, sir.

Did we have a meeting?

Sit down.

Is there a problem, sir?

Just take a seat, eh?

(clears throat) Now...

I know we've not always seen eye to eye, but I try not to let personal feelings get in the way of professional decisions.

Which is why I'm recommending you for a promotion.

Sir?

A vacancy for chief inspector has come up.

I put a good word in for you.

The job is yours.

(chuckles) Well, thank you very much, sir.

Well, it's about time you receive the recognition you deserve.

Well done, laddie.

Thank you.

Thank you, sir.

There'll be a few more pennies in the bank, too.

You need to talk that through with Superintendent McNeil, but it'll be quite a jump up.

Superintendent McNeil?

The promotion's with the Glasgow force.

You'll be leaving end of the month.

The Glasgow force.

Nice to get back to the old hometown, eh?

Well done again, laddie.

Sir?

I would like some time to think about it.

Well, I'm off to Manchester for a couple of days.

Give me your answer when I get back.

(door closes) (flash powder pops) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (people talking in background) ELIZA: Mr. Victor Latchman?

MOSES: None.

Lord Alexander Lipton?

MOSES: Nothing.

Sir Thomas Pembroke, Marquess of Bath?

Not a thing.

Not a single piece of scandal on any of them?

Well, the uncle of the Lipton man has been throwing his money around town.

On what?

Two hospitals and a factory making clothes for the poor.

(sighs) We've been doing this for weeks now.

Why you care what they been up to?

Mrs. Parker pays me to do background checks on potential husbands for her niece.

She wants to know if they're suitable, and I promised Hattie to find reasons why they're unsuitable.

She wishes to marry someone of her own choosing, not her aunt's.

Well, you need to find someone else to do your digging.

I'm done.

I know it's unethical, but Hattie's led such a sheltered life, and...

I don't care about the ethics-- it's boring.

(laughs): Boring?

They're all the same men with the same families and the same lives.

There are better uses of my time.

I have a reputation to protect.

Is this you asking for more money?

No, it be about professional pride.

Why?

How much you offering?

(chuckles) (sighs) You're right.

There are much better uses of our time.

I'm seeing Hattie presently.

I'll tell her to speak to her aunt.

I'm happy to have a word with Mrs. Parker myself-- if the money's right.

(laughs): Now, that is something I would love to see.

(people talking and calling in background) ♪ ♪ Inspector.

Moses.

What did he want?

We're working a case together.

What kind of case?

Is that a new waistcoat?

Very smart.

No.

Are you aware how often you change the subject when you don't wish to talk about something?

I'm glad you're here, I have a favor to ask.

Point proved, I think.

(laughs) Do you have any plans on Thursday evening?

Ivy is insisting Mr. Potts-- sorry, Barnabus-- comes to dinner.

There's no way I can suffer that alone.

Eliza...

Please, please?

Don't make me beg.

Never mind that, I, um...

I need to speak to you about something.

(horse approaching) Do you mind if I hail a cab while we talk?

Hattie Parker is calling around, and I'm running late.

Yes, fine.

So, um...

So I was at work this morning...

This isn't going to be about Moses, is it?

No, it's not about Moses.

But if you insist on associating with known criminals...

This is about Moses.

I didn't come here to speak to you about Moses!

Or Barnabus bloody Potts!

I've, um...

I've been offered a promotion, to chief inspector.

William, that's wonderful news!

Congratulations!

The, uh, the job is in Glasgow.

Oh, I see.

That's a shame, never mind.

Is that all you're going to say?

What else is there to say?

Well, it's in Glasgow, Eliza-- Scotland.

I'm well aware where Glasgow is.

But you're clearly not going to take it, so... How do you know?

William.

I say this as a friend.

Since I have known you, you've been offered many different jobs, and any that are outside of London, you've, you always turn down.

Yes, and this is a promotion to chief inspector.

As was the job in Nottingham, I seem to remember.

(sighs): We've had this conversation on at least three occasions.

And each time, you, you agonize over the decision, and in the end decide to stay.

Why not?

You're comfortable here.

Comfortable?

That was a poor choice of words.

For your information, I am seriously thinking about taking this job.

And yes, I am well aware that I've said that before.

William!

♪ ♪ ELIZA: Your aunt has given me yet another list of potential husbands.

I'm running out of reasons why they're unsuitable.

You must speak to her, Hattie.

Tell her you do not wish to marry yet.

It is not that I do not wish to marry.

It's just, I do not wish to marry someone who does not wish to marry me.

You want to marry for love.

Yes.

But my aunt thinks I'm fanciful.

(imitating): "Harriet," she says, "You do not have the luxury of time or looks to wait for love."

How could she possibly understand?

Everyone is in love with her.

(chuckles): You're a grown woman.

You must stand up for yourself.

I do try, but you'd be surprised how determined she can be.

Hattie.

You're a lovely young woman.

Any man would be lucky to have you as their wife.

Do you think so?

Absolutely.

I will tell my aunt I do not wish to wed and that is that.

Papa left me some money.

Perhaps I could set up my own house.

There may be financial implications, but, as you say, Eliza, I am a grown woman and I will find a way.

Won't I?

You will.

I will go and see Mr. Norris, our family accountant.

He will tell me which purse strings my aunt controls.

So that is a plan.

Is it?

It is.

Will you come with me?

The man is the most dreadful bully.

(exhales): I have every faith that you can do this on your own.

So... That is a definite no?

Yes.

And you will not change your mind?

No.

Thank you for changing your mind.

I must be careful what I say to Mr. Norris.

He is rather enamored with my aunt.

Really?

Oh, yes-- she has many admirers.

After all, she is a very handsome woman.

It's a mystery how she remains alone.

(door opens) (door closes) HATTIE: Mr. Norris?

I'll wait here.

Are you sure you do not want to come in?

Mr. Norris?

Mr. Norris, it's Miss Parker.

Mr. Norris?

Mr. Norris... (screams) Fetch the police.

Now, Hattie!

♪ ♪ (flash powder popping) Rigor mortis begins to set in about two hours after death.

First in the muscles around the face and jaw, and then it progresses outwards to the rest of the body.

This all feels very familiar.

WILLIAM: Miss Scarlet, I seem to remember asking you to accompany Miss Parker back to Scotland Yard to give a statement.

Not just familiar, but staged.

Why go to all that effort?

(sighs) Try moving his wrists.

Completely rigid.

The fingers, too.

Full rigor mortis takes 14 to 18 hours to develop, which puts the time of death... FITZROY: Some point last night.

WILLIAM: It's only a rough guide, of course.

We can't know the exact time... Quarter to midnight.

I stand corrected.

Miss Scarlet has clearly developed a new technique unknown to medical science.

It's called using your eyes.

The clock, it's been stopped.

No, it has stopped.

You do not know it's been stopped.

William...

Inspector Wellington.

This entire scene is exactly as it was in the novel.

(sighs): What novel?

"Quarter to Midnight" by Samuel Bedborough.

You haven't read it?

No, enlighten me.

Been a few years since I read it, but I would swear everything in this room is precisely as it was in the book: the blood-stained lily, the knife in the neck, the arrangement of his hand on the chest, and the clock stopped at a quarter to midnight.

You really should read more.

I read plenty, just not that particular book.

I've not read it, either.

Thank you, Detective Fitzroy.

Although I do read at least one book a week.

At the moment, I'm working through the Russians, starting with Goncharov.

Make yourself useful.

See if there is a visitors' book or a list of his appointments.

Find out who was last in here.

Miss Scarlet, a word?

Go back to Scotland Yard, ask for Phelps, make a statement.

But I can be much more use here.

Will you just do what I ask?

This is about your job offer, isn't it?

You're annoyed with what I said.

Eliza, I am so often annoyed with what you've said, it's hard to keep track.

When I said you were comfortable... You meant that I lack ambition.

No!

Of course not!

Only that your life is arranged as you like it.

You're settled.

That sounds even more insulting than "comfortable."

I think it's best if we cease to discuss this.

I will let you know my decision when I have come to it.

All right, but can I just say... No!

Now go back to Scotland Yard and ask for Phelps.

That book, the one you think the murderer imitated.

You said it was written by Samuel Bedborough?

That's right, why?

The victim was his accountant.

♪ ♪ I do not see what the problem is.

I'm not hiring you.

Just hear me out.

Firstly, I've read every Samuel Bedborough novel.

I'm a huge fan of his work.

Secondly, if you don't hire me, Hattie Parker certainly will.

(chuckles) Mr. Norris was a friend of her aunt's.

Surely it is better to share information and resources.

If not for me, for the taxpayers of London.

Oh, you're so selfless, Eliza.

It's a cross I must bear.

So?

Is that a yes?

(inhales deeply) How much is your fee?

On second thoughts, let's forgo the haggling.

Think of the first amount that you were going to say.

That seems fair.

Good, now half it.

♪ ♪ BEDBOROUGH: "He could not be distracted "once his mind was focused on a task.

"There was nothing that could break his chain of thought.

"Not the shattering of the window downstairs, "not the footsteps in the hallway.

"When at last he looked up, he saw a blade "glistening in the moonlight, and felt the cold steel pierce his heart."

Thus concludes chapter three.

(audience applauds) Thank you, Mr. Bedborough, for once again gracing our humble shop with such a wonderful reading.

Now, if you would like to form an orderly queue, Mr. Bedborough will gladly sign copies of his book-- as long as they have been purchased here, of course.

(all laughing) (talking softly in background) No, no, no!

Outside, please.

I need to speak to Mr. Bedborough.

This event is for ticket holders only.

You will have to wait in line like everybody else.

Madam, I'm Inspector Wellington with Scotland Yard, I'm here on police business.

And yet you brought your wife.

She's not my wife.

I'm a private detective, assisting Scotland Yard with their inquiries.

I've heard many excuses in my time, but that... Oh, for God's sake, I haven't even read any of his damn books!

(conversations stop) I have.

I am Miss Bedborough, Samuel's sister.

Is something wrong?

We need to speak to your brother right away.

(conversations continue) When did this happen?

WILLIAM: We believe Mr. Norris was killed last night.

Can you think of anyone who might wish to do him harm?

He always seemed to be a perfectly decent man.

In truth, I didn't know him well.

He was a business acquaintance.

We only met a few times a year.

When was the last time?

A few weeks ago, I think.

I couldn't say for sure.

As we mentioned, we believe the crime scene was arranged to resemble the murders in "Quarter To Midnight."

How extraordinary.

WILLIAM: You understand that I have to ask you about your own movements last night, sir.

Why?

It's a standard question, Samuel.

They ask it of everyone.

I have a suite at the Brabham Hotel.

I'm staying there whilst I finish my latest novel.

And were you alone?

You mean apart from the 50 staff and 300 guests?

Samuel.

My sister and I had dinner, and then I wrote, all night.

I'm rather late delivering my latest novel.

Is it true you once finished a manuscript in the carriage on the way to the publishers?

I am woeful about deadlines, but I have no need for muse or mood.

I can write any time or any place.

You enjoy my novels?

Very much so, yes.

In fact, "Quarter to Midnight" is my favorite.

Ah.

I haven't read that particular one, but, um, I did enjoy "Curse of the Crimson Shadow."

That was not me.

♪ ♪ "Quarter to Midnight" is a tale of an author struggling for inspiration.

It's based on Bedborough's own life.

He spent years as an unpublished writer before finally enjoying success.

The writer in the novel is under pressure to deliver his latest book, and slowly starts going insane.

He believes his two best friends want to put him in an asylum, so he kills them both.

But like Macbeth, he's unable to live with the guilt.

You do know the story of...

Yes, Eliza, I know the story of Macbeth.

My apologies.

Anyway, when the author in the novel was a child, his parents died of scarlet fever.

As a boy, he witnessed them laid out in their coffins at home, each holding a lily.

The clock in Norris's office read a quarter to midnight, which is the exact time the two murders in the book take place.

But on separate nights.

So if someone is that keen to replicate the book, then it is possible that they could kill again.

It's possible, yes.

Do we know any more about our victim?

Edward Norris, 52 years old, uh, unmarried.

He's a respectable accountant with 100 or so clients that we're busy tracking down.

I'm going to read the book again, see if there's anything we've missed.

May I suggest you do the same?

Fitzroy.

Get me everything you have so far on Norris's associates.

Right away, sir.

Oh, and, uh, do me a brief synopsis on the story of Macbeth.

A couple of pages should do it.

You will have it, sir.

"When the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won."

(sighs): Make that one page.

Yes, sir.

Mm.

(people talking in background) WILLOUGHBY: This is, of course, Mr. Bedborough's most famous work, but have you considered beginning with "Alone In Greenwich"?

It should be here somewhere.

Ah, yes.

I'll, uh, read that straight after this, Miss Willoughby.

Might I recommend that you read it first?

They do make a wonderful pair.

Such vivid prose.

I could recite every line.

I think I'll just start with this one for now.

You know, what am I saying?

It, it is not "Alone in Greenwich" that you should begin with, no.

It is...

This, "The Witches Call."

And do you know why?

No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me.

There is a constable in it-- Welsh, too.

Well, I'm an inspector and I'm Scottish, so...

I would also recommend "The Jagged Tear."

In, in fact, perhaps I should just get you his complete works.

How does that sound?

Expensive.

May I ask why you wanted to speak to Mr. Bedborough?

I can't discuss that, I'm afraid.

I knew there was something wrong as soon as he came in.

He usually turns up to readings in a wonderful mood, but today he was rather withdrawn and upset.

And this was before I spoke to him?

Yes.

I've never seen him like that before.

I, I do hope everything is all right.

(loud thud) Would you like them wrapped?

(people talking and laughing in background) (clears throat) Want another, skipper?

No, I'm trying to concentrate.

Got you one anyway.

Not like you.

It's for the Norris case.

Right, yeah, that makes sense.

Didn't have you down as much of a reader.

(chuckles) Apart from the "Sporting Post."

Did you want something, Charlie?

No, just seeing how you are.

If there's any news.

In the ten years we've worked together, I don't think you've ever bought me a drink.

People change.

People do.

You don't.

What do you want?

All right if I speak my mind, skipper?

Well, that depends what you're going to say, Charlie.

I heard the super talking to you about the promotion.

I was just passing.

Passing?

And I was thinking, if you did take it, you might put in a word for me.

To take over from you.

(sucks in breath): Well, subtlety never was your strong point, was it?

(snickers): I've got a wife and four kids.

Five kids.

I can't afford to be subtle.

(swallows) I know you've had offers in the past and turned them down.

But you're not getting any younger-- neither of us are.

At some point, the offers will stop coming, and that'll be your lot.

And if you're happy with how things are, fine, but if you're not...

Yes, thank you, Detective.

That any good?

Terrible.

♪ ♪ (sighs) (exhales) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (footsteps approaching slowly) ELIZA: Good morning.

Morning.

(coins jingle) Thank you, Sidney.

I've made some progress with the Norris case.

I need to see the evidence.

How did you find me?

Oh, you know, lucky guess.

You do have something of a set routine.

Beard trim on a Monday, dog track on Tuesday, shoe shine on Wednesday.

Thursdays... All right, all right, you've made your point.

What progress have you made?

I need to see the murder weapon.

♪ ♪ I reread "A Quarter to Midnight."

As did I.

Along with some of his other work.

Did you know that Bedborough was raised in a workhouse?

I did, yes.

The themes of rags to riches are very common with his characters.

Like the lawyer in "Alone in Greenwich."

William, I'm both surprised and impressed.

A compliment and an insult in one.

That's quite something, even for you, Eliza.

(laughs) Have you made your decision yet about the job?

As I said, I will let you know when I have.

Well, please feel free to discuss it with me.

And let you insult me again?

No, thank you.

My intention was not to insult.

You can be rather sensitive sometimes.

Sensitive and settled, well, this just gets better and better.

William!

The case, Eliza?

You wanted to see the murder weapon?

The killer in "A Quarter to Midnight" used the same weapon for each murder.

The knife, yes.

The first victim was stabbed in the neck with his own knife.

The second had the same knife embedded in his neck.

Which is how we found Norris.

Which means...

He may not be the first victim.

Exactly.

Here it is.

When I closed the book last night, I noticed something on the spine.

The publishers, Bellamy and Son, their crest... ...is a galloping horse.

So if the killer is following the plot of the book, then the knife belongs to the first victim.

♪ ♪ ELIZA: It's locked.

(knocks) Mr. Bellamy?

Is there a side entrance?

There's no time for that-- kick it down.

Sir.

(door crashes open) WILLIAM: Look upstairs, touch nothing.

(sighs) Inspector Wellington.

In here.

Just like the novel.

Right down to the time.

(horse snorts) (people talking in background) BEDBOROUGH: James was a good man.

He'd been my publisher for years.

He took me on when no one else was interested.

When did you last see him?

We had dinner on Thursday night.

How did he seem?

In good spirits.

We talked through my latest chapters.

He gave me notes, it was all very pleasant.

And you can think of no one that may wish to do him harm?

I, I don't know, uh... My mind is a little foggy.

My brother has been up all night writing.

I tell him to go to bed, but he never listens.

And that's where you were last night?

In this room, writing?

Yes, all night.

May I ask what happened to your hand?

BEDBOROUGH: God's sake.

Must you keep asking these irrelevant questions?

Samuel.

My friend has just died.

I, uh...

Slipped in the bathroom.

One too many brandies.

Could we finish this later?

I must go and visit James's son, he will be beside himself.

We'd prefer if you stay here, sir.

Both murders were exactly as in your novel, and as you know, there is a third death.

The author in my novel takes his own life.

I can assure you I am not planning on doing that.

Even so, if someone is determined to replicate the book, they may wish to do you harm.

Your sister's right, Mr. Bedborough.

WILLIAM: I'll arrange for police protection for you, in the meantime, if you'd like to go home.

Our home is being decorated.

I'll stay here.

WILLIAM: As you wish.

I'll wait here until an officer arrives.

Miss Scarlet, if you could take this message back to Scotland Yard for me.

♪ ♪ (door opens) I tracked down the night porter.

Samuel Bedborough left the hotel last night around 9:00 and didn't return again till gone midnight.

A killer who replicates the plot of his own book.

Isn't it more likely someone is trying to damage his reputation?

Possibly, but there's no better cover than a murderer who hides in plain sight.

Looks like he was arrested three months ago.

What for?

Public disorder.

He was arguing with a woman in the street and apparently, they threatened to kill each other.

They were arrested for breach of the peace, but no charges were brought, so they were cautioned and released.

Francesca Bellesini.

She's an actress.

Go and speak to her while I assess the bodies in the mortuary.

Miss Scarlet.

Excuse me, sir, your carriage is ready.

Thank you, Fitzroy.

On the way back from the mortuary, I wonder if we may go via Covent Garden.

I would very much like to secure tickets for the premiere of Offenbach's "The Tales of Hoffmann."

Perhaps I will do that in my own time.

Perhaps you will.

(door closes) God knows what'll happen to him if I leave.

Well, it's a good job that you're not going to take the job.

How many times?

I haven't made my decision yet.

Unlike you, I give consideration to the life that I've built here.

What do you mean, unlike me?

Well, if you were offered the job, you'd take it in a heartbeat.

Well, on the day that women are allowed to be chief inspectors, we shall have that conversation.

You know what I mean.

If you were offered more money and higher-profile cases, you would jump at the chance, no matter where the location.

We're very different people, William.

Oh, meaning that you have a singular ambition, and I am dull and predictable.

Beard trim on a Monday, shoe shine on a Wednesday... You're twisting my words.

Am I?

You do not have to justify your life to me.

(exhales): I do when you constantly tease me about it.

Then I apologize.

Clearly hit a nerve.

From where I've come from, I have done damn well to get this far.

We don't all have the luxury of inheriting our father's business.

I will go and speak to Miss Bellesini.

You'll have my report in the morning.

Eliza... Eliza.

I apologize, that, um... That came out harsher than I expected.

Don't let me keep you, William.

It's almost time for your 3:00 whisky.

(door closes) ♪ ♪ (sighs) (horse trotting) Excuse me, I'm looking for Miss Bellesini.

No, too pretty.

(door closes) The maid cannot be more handsome than me.

She must be ten years older, at least.

Tell them to recast.

Miss Bellesini, I'm not involved in your play.

I want to talk to you about Samuel Bedborough.

What was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Bedborough?

The nature of our relationship?

Yes.

Physical.

And, um, and where did you meet him?

Oh, some party.

I cannot remember whose.

But we do not see each other anymore.

(chuckles) I have a new lover.

Younger, much more willing to please, you know?

(chuckles) And how long were you and Mr. Bedborough lovers?

A year, maybe a little less.

ELIZA: And what happened the night you were arrested?

Ah, that was my fault.

(chuckles) Yeah, he tried to end things with me, so I had a little too much to drink and went to see him, and one thing led to another, you know how these things go.

The police were understanding.

I told them it was Italian passion.

Not that I am from Italy.

Nobody has heard about my country, so Italy plays much better.

ELIZA: So you argued because he finished your relationship?

Yes and no.

I knew he had other lovers-- he's rich, why wouldn't he?

It was how he ended it.

He sent his little friend with a diamond necklace.

A parting gift to make me go quietly.

Who was this friend?

Norris.

His accountant, I think.

I call him the Grim Reaper.

When you see him, you know it's over.

He must have delivered bad news to a dozen of Samuel's women over the years.

The cause of death is identical in both cases.

A single puncture wound to the carotid artery.

The size of the wound indicates the same weapon.

You two, start making house calls on the accountant's street, see if he had any visitors.

Fitzroy, Phelps, you do the same for the publisher.

"Screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail."

Lady Macbeth.

Do I have to go with him?

That depends whether you want to keep your job.

All right, off you go.

(door opens) Fitzroy.

Word, please.

Look, what we do requires working as part of a team.

Any detective, but you above all, needs the trust and respect of his colleagues.

Quoting Shakespeare...

I'm sorry, sir, it was misjudged.

One day, I may not be around to look out for you, so you need to start fitting in.

Where are you going?

I, I'm just making the point.

Go to the pub with them, right?

Let them moan about their job or their wives or the money that they lost on the nags.

Hell, let them moan about me.

I would never let them do that.

The more you are an outsider, the weaker you will be.

And men like Phelps, they can smell weakness.

Now, that doesn't make him a bad man, it's, it's just the nature of being a copper.

Show them you can be one of the lads, eh?

You sound like my father.

(chuckles): God forbid.

(door opens) Sorry for the delay, I was comforting my aunt.

She is in great distress about Mr. Norris.

Well, I have a question about Mr. Norris.

Samuel Bedborough said that he and Norris had a purely professional relationship, only seeing each other a few times a year.

Really?

I find that strange.

Mr. Norris was always mentioning Mr. Bedborough to my aunt.

He made out the two were as thick as thieves.

That may not have been true, of course.

He may have been trying to impress, since he was secretly in love with her.

Hattie, can we go five minutes without you mentioning your aunt?

Yes, of course, my apologies.

You said Norris and Bedborough were "thick as thieves"?

It is my understanding that they dined together several times a month, and Mr. Norris was always doing this favor or that for Mr. Bedborough.

I believe that Mr. Norris recently arranged the purchase of a house in Knightsbridge.

It was only a few doors down from...

I'm about to mention my aunt, but I believe it is relevant.

Go on.

Mr. Bedborough's new house was on the same street as my aunt's.

The other residents were beside themselves to have such a well-known face living amongst them, until... Well, I am not one to gossip.

Of course.

But, please do.

(horse trotting) HATTIE: Mr. Bedborough moved in not two months ago and seemed to be spending a fortune on renovations.

But then last week, the strangest thing happened.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Samuel Bedborough is up to his neck in debt.

Yet he's staying in a suite at the Brabham.

Not for much longer.

He is facing a hefty bill.

He owes money all over town.

That's why the bailiffs took his house and everything in it.

And he be at the bailiffs' last night.

Doing what?

Trying to get back some piece of furniture they took from him.

Every day this week, he's turned up trying to buy it back, but they want the whole bill paid or nothing.

What piece of furniture?

A writing desk.

Told them he couldn't write without it.

He told me he had no need for "muse or mood."

That he could write anytime, anywhere.

Well, he wants that desk back.

Security caught him breaking into their warehouse last night.

Roughed him up a bit.

His bandaged hand.

This warehouse.

I take it you have contacts there.

I have contacts everywhere.

(driver urging horse) Ain't seen nothing like that before.

FITZROY: Gentlemen!

It was amazing, weren't it?

(all laughing) Good evening.

Detective Fitzroy!

Ain't it past your bedtime?

(laughing) Very good-- would, would anyone like a drink?

Oh, they don't serve milk in here.

(all laughing) Well, I'll take that as a no.

Oh!

(mug clatters, drink spills) (men exclaim) Why don't you go home to your mummy, Fitzroy, so's she can clean you up?

(all laughing) Why don't you shut your mouth, Phelps?

You wanna repeat that?

Didn't think so.

Spoiled little brat!

(all laughing) ♪ ♪ (people gasping) You shouldn't have done that, boy.

(door opens) We've got ten minutes till the shifts change.

Bedborough's things are over there.

They took everything from his house, even the rugs.

They don't miss a trick, those boys.

No wonder he's in debt-- the man has expensive taste.

These are from Maples of Piccadilly.

Here.

Doesn't look like much.

It's not-- he must be very attached to it if he's that desperate to get it back.

Maybe sentimental.

I once knew a man who got into a knife fight over a rocking chair that belonged to his mother.

A man?

Hm.

You?

No!

ELIZA: Harpocrates.

What?

In one of Bedborough's early novels, there's a, a lawyer-- grandiose character, deliberately unlikeable.

He makes a fortune defending men he knows to be guilty of murder.

He calls himself Harpocrates.

He's the Greek god of silence-- legend has it that whatever secrets he knows, he will never speak of them.

He will take them to the grave.

(button clicks) But of course, his secrets are discovered.

♪ ♪ "Alone in Greenwich."

"The Witches Call."

These are Bedborough's novels, covered in notes and reworkings.

They must be the original manuscripts.

Why keep them hidden?

(manuscript drops) ♪ ♪ Anything to report?

No, sir.

How is Bedborough?

He's writing and asked not to be disturbed.

Where is he?

♪ ♪ What the hell's going on?

My thoughts exactly.

I needed to confirm a suspicion.

There's no time to waste, we need to go.

Where?

The final death in the book is when the author takes his own life.

And you want to leave him unguarded?

He's not the author.

♪ ♪ (blade sings) (exhales) (breaths quicken) (door opens) Miss Bedborough!

WILLIAM: Put the knife down.

(Miss Bedborough whimpering) Do as he says.

Please.

(exhales) (exhales) ♪ ♪ The writing desk that was taken from your brother's home.

That was yours?

Yes.

I found manuscripts inside with notes from the publisher addressed to you.

So it was you who wrote the novels, not your brother.

Our mother died in the workhouse.

Our father, God knows where he went.

Samuel was determined to make something of himself.

He saw the parallels between his own struggles and those of Charles Dickens, and felt sure it would make him a great writer, too.

But he struggled for years to become a novelist.

I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth.

That he lacked the talent?

He knew it, too, deep down.

But he is my older brother.

I would have done anything to help him.

So I did.

I rewrote his story, and found I had a flair for it.

By the time I submitted his manuscript to the publishers, there was barely a word of his left.

Why not put your own name on the cover?

There are plenty of published female writers.

Samuel begged me not to.

He could not have suffered the humiliation that his spinster sister was the one putting food on the table and not him.

But after the success of the book started to rise, I did ask him if I could use my name to the next.

That was when they called the meeting.

They?

Samuel, Bellamy, and Norris.

The three of them convinced me that as a woman, my readership would be half of that of a man.

They promised that one day I could write under my own name, but now was not the right time.

It was never the right time.

Why kill them?

The one benefit I received from this arrangement was that I would be well looked after.

I would have a comfortable home and security.

But then, one day, the bailiffs arrived and I found out the truth.

Samuel's debts were all-consuming.

He had spent every penny of my money.

And Bellamy and Norris knew all along and did nothing.

They didn't care as long as the books were still being written and they were receiving their money-- money I was earning for them.

So this was your revenge?

And the world would know that you were the true author.

I would have my moment of fame in death.

All this time, I have let my brother shine.

For what?

To end up a poor spinster back in the workhouse.

♪ ♪ Would you like me to arrange you a lift home?

No, thank you.

I would take you myself, but there are reports that I have to finish for the morning shift.

I understand.

Eliza, all this, uh... All this politeness is exhausting.

Isn't it just?

I, I didn't mean what I said about your father's business.

I know that you haven't been handed anything on a plate.

I know how hard you've worked.

But there are times when you push me too far.

I only tease you because I'm so comfortable in our friendship.

But I suppose I can be a little insensitive sometimes.

It is only because I'm envious.

Envious?

Of me?

You're fulfilled in your life.

That's not lack of ambition, that's something you should celebrate.

You have that rare thing that most of us don't find in a lifetime.

True contentment.

That's why you're one of the people I respect the most.

When you say one of... (chuckles) (door opens and closes) ♪ ♪ (door closes) Forgive me, sir.

I, I didn't know you were still here.

What have you done now?

I, I did as you suggested.

I, I went for a drink and I, I tried to fit in.

Perhaps I tried a little too hard.

I could not go home to my father like this, so I thought I could sleep here.

I have a spare room-- you can stay there.

Thank you.

Sir.

♪ ♪ HARRY: Hello!

Harry.

Hello, Inspector.

Thank you.

GEORGE: Morning, Duke!

Morning, George.

♪ ♪ (horse whinnies) WOMAN: Fresh bread!

Fresh loaves!

There you go, love.

Cheers, Jim.

Thanks, Duke, have a good day!

♪ ♪ Cheers, Duke.

♪ ♪ Violet.

Not again, Norman.

All right, Duke.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (knock at door) Come!

Can I have a quick word, sir?

(quietly): Take a seat, I'm almost done.

(clears throat) (exhales) How was your trip, sir?

Don't ask.

Business or pleasure?

Neither.

It was two days with my wife's family.

So, you've had time to think.

I trust you've realized how good an opportunity this promotion is.

I have, and you're right, it's a good opportunity.

But it's not one that's right for me at the moment, sir.

I pulled in a lot of favors to get you this, laddie.

Chance like this might not come up again.

I understand, sir, but my decision is made.

My life is here in London.

Well, I had hoped you would accept the position so I could avoid this.

Sir?

Fitzroy's father, the police commissioner, wants you gone.

The boy's getting worse, not better.

I have been trying...

He's an albatross!

Which is why I told you to put some distance between yourself and him, to let him sink or swim.

But you wouldn't listen to me.

Now he's drowning and his father wants someone to blame.

There's only so many times I can protect you, so let me be crystal-clear.

You're going to take this post in Glasgow.

Because there's no longer a job for you here.

(exhales) (click) ♪ ♪ Your inspector friend is leaving London.

You'll have no ally in Scotland Yard.

No one to share their resources or indeed hire you.

Young Fitzroy will lead the next case that comes in.

There's a name in there you might recognize.

A hired assassin.

(glass shatters) And Lizzie, is she safe?

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ANNOUNCER: Go to our website, listen to our podcast, watch video, and more.

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♪ ♪