04x04 - Downstairs, Upstairs

[bunniefuu]

Calm yourself, Nancy, or you'll be chipping the fine china. Imagine the trouble then!

Don't joke at a time like this! Don't fret. All will be well.

Billy, I'm worried... Three cups, Nancy.

Make it four. Another's expected.

So...did you do it?

GASPS Did you do it?

Your tea, sir.

Wonderful. Much thanks.

Two lumps, yes? Yes, sir.

Oh, my, lovely aroma!

Good morning, Constable Crabtree. Ah, sir!

Detective, this is Mr Heward.

Mr Heward, Detective Murdoch. Mr Heward is the butler.

I take it you'll be forgoing tea, Detective? Yes.

That'll be all, Billy.

What have you, George?

The housekeeper discovered... SPOON DROPS I'm very sorry, sir.

The housekeeper discovered the body at 8.30.

The victim's wife was the last to see him alive at a quarter past.

A difference of 15 minutes. A small window of opportunity.

Any sign of an intruder? No, sir, the windows and doors were intact.

Possible m*rder w*apon, sir.

Yes. But there's no blood on it. A k*ller could have wiped it clean.

I'll have it dusted for finger marks in any case. Very good, George.

Gentlemen, if there's nothing further required for the moment? No, Mr Heward, that will be all.

If the house was locked up tight, the k*ller must live here.

Yes, we'll need statements from the staff and family. The lads are seeing to that now. Good.

Have you notified Dr Francis? He's on his way, although I fear I interrupted his breakfast.

He was less than pleased? As usual, sir. What will he say about the cause of Mr Jenkins' death?

With his gift for stating the obvious, he'll conclude that this was not a case of poisoning.

Men's clothes exclusively. Yes, sir. Mrs Jenkins has a bedroom down the hall.

I believe that's common practice with these upper-crust folks.

Yes, well, two people slept in this bed last night.

At last! I was running out of rooms. Dr Francis, good morning.

For some it is, I suppose.

That said, if we take this gentleman...

His condition frames my unfinished boiled egg in stark perspective.

Dead less than two hours. Nasty little hole in the head.

Would you say the gaff from a fireplace poker is in keeping with what you see here? Why not?

I'll know better when I flush and drain the wound back at the morgue, my home away from home... away from home.

Constable Crabtree! Sir?

Has the house been secured? It has and I've posted a man here, sir.

Very good. What have you? Well, sir, we have nine people in the home at the time of the m*rder.

Carry on. The deceased is Percival Jenkins.

In relation to him, we have his mother - Mrs Jenkins Senior, his wife Nora, the youngest son Nicholas and his fiancee Clara Thorn.

The older son Victor is upstairs. He'll be along shortly.

As for servants, we have the housekeeper Miss Allen, Nancy Booth the scullery maid, Florence Cullwick the parlour maid and Billy Slater the footman.

You've left out Mr Heward, the butler.

Mr Heward was at the tailor between 8 and 8.30 picking up a suit for Mr Jenkins. Or so he says.

Thank you, George. Please confirm that. I will do, sir.

Also, the parlour maid, Florence Cullwick, says she heard Mr Jenkins and his wife arguing at about 8.10.

Indeed? Thank you, George.

CLEARS HIS THROAT Is that the new coachman? Hush, Mother-in-law.

My name is Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto... I hope I haven't kept you waiting.

..Toronto Constabulary. Please carry on.

How like you, Victor, the grand entrance, even on the morning of Father's death!

I'm sure you'd prefer I slink in guiltily as you would have, Nicholas, but unlike you, I didn't k*ll Father.

Take that back! Boys, for God's sake!

All right,that's quite enough, both of you. The Detective has something to say.

A man was m*rder*d in this house.

I offer my condolences and my assurance that the Constabulary will bring the perpetrator of this crime to justice.

You've given your statements. We'll compare them and gather evidence.

Are you saying we're all suspects? I'm asking that you keep yourselves available for questioning.

That will be all for now. Thank you very much for your co-operation.

Mrs Jenkins, if you could remain.

Will you be needing anything, madam?

Mrs Jenkins... My sincere sympathies. Yes.

You and your husband were having an argument shortly before he was found dead? Who told you that?

What was the argument about? It was a personal matter. It had nothing to do with this.

Please answer the question.

He'd been rude and impossible as always.

Is that enough of an answer for you?

Did you sleep in your husband's bed last night, Mrs Jenkins?

No. I did not.

Thank you for your time, Mrs Jenkins.

Oh, good, a chart(! )

Sir, in a case with ten suspects, careful organisation of information is paramount.

I'll make a note of that. First, we determine who had opportunity to k*ll Mr Jenkins.

Of those who had motive and with evidence, I hope the list is narrowed down to one.

Do you have any evidence? No, sir.

Yes, George? Sir, I've confirmed the butler's alibi. Bravo, Murdoch(! )
One down, nine to go.

Also, sir, I found two sets of finger marks on the bedroom poker, the first set belonging to Florence, the parlour maid... Parlour maids tend to fires in the big houses.

The other set belonged to Nicholas, the youngest son.

Yes, I used the poker, attending to the fire in my father's room last night. Isn't it the job of the maid?

How absurd to ring for the maid to do something I could easily do myself!

What were you doing in your father's room?

We were having words.

About?

He had insulted my fiancee Clara.

How so? A servant told him that Clara had gone down to their quarters to fetch some thread, instead of ringing them to bring it up.

And?

He intimated that's where Clara belonged - downstairs.

My parents feel she's not good enough for me, but my family, to my shame, is not good enough for her. I see.

And where were you between 8.15 and 8.30 this morning? In the library.

Can anyone confirm this? Billy brought me tea and the morning papers, but that was before 8.

You don't think Nicholas did his old man in? Sir, the guilty rarely volunteer their motive or undercut their alibi. More than anything, he appears to be a man in love.

That's him finished with! That leaves the parlour maid?

Yes, Florence Cullwick who, as you said, tends to every fire in the household.

If the m*rder w*apon was a fireplace poker, perhaps it just wasn't the one in Mr Jenkins' room.

George, see to it that every fire poker in the house is brought in and dusted for finger marks. Sure.

Now then, I need some certainty about this m*rder w*apon.

Murdoch, with your usual impeccable timing. I'm off to an early dinner with my wife, then a recital.

Musical saw and spoons, no doubt!

I only require a moment of your time.

Cause of death - wound to the head.

Approximately three and five-sixteenth inches deep. I think your poker theory has some merit.

Could you make a mould of the wound, so I can compare it to potential m*rder weapons? I've never done it.

And I'm not about to start now. Why not?

You know, Murdoch...

There is more to life than this.

This is all of them, sir.

No two are alike. I assume they've been checked for blood and finger marks?

Yes, sir. No blood and most of the handles have been wiped down.

Perhaps the k*ller forgot which one he used.

The parlour maid could have cleaned all of the handles during her daily duties.

So this is a model of the Jenkins' house, sir? After a crude fashion, George.

The dark chess pieces represent the Jenkins' family and the white ones stand in for the servants.

So this is Victor Jenkins in his bedroom?

Yes, and Victor's brother Nicholas Jenkins in the library.

This is Clara Thorn, the fiancee, in the morning room.

And Nora Jenkins in the conservatory and so on.

George, I think if we can determine which room the m*rder w*apon came from, we might have our k*ller.

I can imagine this to be some sort of board game.

Players would get clues pertaining to certain suspects. Whoever figured out the m*rder*r would be the winner.

People find m*rder too grave for it to be the subject of frivolous entertainment.

I hope not, sir. I'm 12 pages into my m*rder mystery.

I've set it in Toronto where an Ancient Egyptian curse wreaks havoc on a...

George, have a look at this.

From this position, the black Queen can see anyone entering or exiting this hallway area from either set of stairs.

Who's the black Queen, sir?

Mrs Jenkins, you were in your chair this morning having your tea.

Do you remember? Of course I remember. Why shouldn't I?

Did you happen to see anyone go into or come out of your son's bedroom?

Yes, it was Alma going to stoke the fire.

Alma was a maid here many years ago.

Your ladyship, Alma's been gone a very long time.

It was Alma. Has everyone gone stupid except from me?

Percy always liked Alma.

Pretty, she was. Looked like a swan, but walked like a duck.

Oh, where is Percy anyway?

He was supposed to take me to the opera.

Mrs Jenkins does get confused at times.

I see.

Thank you very much for your...

What are you doing?

I was just looking for my father's...watch.

Oh, and here it is. Please put that back.

And you, Miss Cullwick... I asked Florence to assist me.

You have no business being in this room. This is a crime scene.

Apologies. I had no idea.

Mr Jenkins, you say you were in bed between 8.15 and 8.30 this morning?

Sleeping off a drinking binge, I'm afraid.

And Miss Cullwick, you say you were in the morning room cleaning when Mr Jenkins Senior was k*lled?

Yes, sir. Oddly, Miss Thorn made no mention of seeing you there in her statement.

I work so quietly, I'm sure she didn't notice me.

Are we free to go? No.

What did you mean when you said to your brother, "Unlike you, I didn't k*ll Father"?

I was getting a rise out of him. Nicky could no more k*ll Father than swear in front of a woman.

Anything else? Yes.

Stay out of this room.

Julia! Detective!

I thought I might see you here.

It's wonderful to see you, though somewhat unexpected.

I dropped by to offer my condolences. Our families are acquainted.

You couldn't have come from Buffalo in such a short time?

No...

I was already in town.

Oh. Yes. For the rest of the week, actually. To introduce Darcy to my family.

Your fiance. Yes, of course. He's just saying goodbye to Mrs Jenkins.

William, they're saying that Mr Jenkins was m*rder*d. What have you found?

The cause of death was a single blow to the head. I believe a fire poker was used.

I've asked Dr Francis to take a cast of the wound.

To determine the m*rder w*apon. But he's refused. Why?

The brain matter will cling to the plaster, so you can only do it once, but...

Is there another casting material that would not disrupt the brain tissue? What are you suggesting?

If Dr Francis were to never find out...

William! I couldn't.

Such conspiratorial whispers! Darcy, I believe you know Detective Murdoch.

A pleasure to see you again, Detective. And you.

Detective Murdoch was asking me to help him with a case, but I'd like to remind him that the last time he did that, the feathers hit the fan!

Well, Dr Francis has gone home...

I would love to help you, but I can't. My family is expecting us for dinner.

I'll tell them you've been called away. I'll charm them so that they won't even notice you're not there.

Darcy, that's lovely. but... I can see you want to do this. Go on, darling.

Detective, I think I may know of the perfect moulding material.

Jell-O? It's made of gelatine. It should take the form of the wound without adhering to the brain tissue.

And you say this Jell-O is served as dessert?

It's all the rage in Buffalo. I brought some home for my family.

Hmm. How long does it take to set?

Not too long if refrigerated. Julia... Yes?

It's agreeable to see you working here again. You are missed.

Yes, of course. You're still at odds with Dr Francis.

True, but aside from Dr Francis, I meant. Actually, he and I are making headway.

Oh!

Really? Yes.

At last!

How well did you know the Jenkins? My mother and Mrs Jenkins were bridge partners. I played there.

What were they like? Victor was a hellion.

He was mean to me and even meaner to poor Nicholas.

And the parents?

Mrs Jenkins was ruthless, her mother even worse. They treated their servants shamefully.

And Mr Jenkins?

I stayed away from him. He was disturbing. How so?

Well, one day I was in the upper hallway during a game of hide and seek.

Mr Jenkins' bedroom door opened and a maid ran out sobbing.

Jenkins was standing there in a state of partial undress.

I see.

I think it's done.

Now let's see what we have.

It's somewhat stubborn.

What exactly is going on in here?

Dr Francis...

Dr Ogden.

At last! The famous Dr Ogden!

I've grown to expect duplicity form Murdoch, Doctor, but from a colleague... Yes, it's quite unforgivable.

I've come to make that mould you asked me for earlier, but I see you didn't trouble yourself to wait.

You told me you had no intention of making the mould.

I said I had no intention of making it at that moment!

Surely, even here on the edge of civilisation, a man has the right to dine with his wife?

I misunderstood.

You know, Detective...

From the first day I arrived, you have almost without exception shown a complete lack of faith in me.

I'd like to ask you now why the hell that is!

It's not a lack of faith in you.

Look...

I see.

15 years in Scotland Yard to reach the top of my profession, all gone for blackflies and snowstorms, all in the service of my wife's happiness.

I've moved to her home town. I valued that above all else, her happiness, or once did.

I should never have left.

I don't belong in Toronto.

You can have your morgue back, Dr Ogden.

No, Dr Francis, that's not what I'm here for.

I've no doubt you actually believe that.

But we belong where we belong.

Good evening to you.

I was the one who convinced the top brass to bring Dr Francis over here in the first place.

Now, thanks to you, I look like a bloody fool! He's booked his passage home.

His wife telephoned Chief Constable Stockton in tears. If Dr Francis was not happy...

Of course he's not happy here, but he might not have noticed if it wasn't for you!

Why does everyone want to be happy these days? I don't care if he's as happy as a pig in its own filth.

I care if I'm happy and I'm bloody well not! And...

Bloody hell, I've lost my train of thought!

Well, then, sir, perhaps we should discuss the Percival Jenkins m*rder case.

Aside from dancing the two-step with Dr Ogden, you'd best have something to show for this.

I do, sir. The m*rder w*apon from the main floor parlour. Who said the k*ller was in the parlour? No-one.

The point is, the shape of the gaff is the same as that of the mould that Dr Ogden took.

Any finger marks? Yes, a thumb print on the shaft belonging to Clara Thorn.

So she's your m*rder*r. I don't think so. Of course not.

Clara Thorn was in the morning room, as observed by the footman who was serving tea at the time.

She could have snuck out. Yes, sir.

But the handle was wiped clean of marks.

If Miss Thorn was the k*ller, she would have wiped off the entire poker.

So who wiped off the marks? The k*ller. You've lost me.

I believe the k*ller wiped off several fireplace pokers to obscure which room he came from.

And which poker he used. We know which poker was used and we're still not further ahead!

Now I've got a missing coroner and you've got nothing!

Actually, sir, there is something else.

Percival Jenkins had been taking liberties with some female servants.

Right, well, the big toad in the puddle, eh?

Someone shared Percival Jenkins' bed the night he was k*lled. Maybe she's our k*ller. You'll need a name.

May I announce you, Detective?

Before you do, Mr Heward, I have a question.

A rather sensitive one. Of course.

I suspect that Mr Jenkins had carnal relations with some of the female servants. Can you confirm this?

I really cannot say, sir. But you have your suspicions?

Forgive me if I appeared to imply that.

Heward! Is that that nosy police detective? Yes, madam!

Mrs Jenkins has her moments of lucidity. Rather unpredictably.

Interesting. Might I announce you now, sir? Yes.

I'll speak with the female servants. Very good.

Mr Jenkins came to my room once. I told the old coot I'd scream the house down if he tried it again.

And did he? No. He left me alone after that.

However, I believe there were others who weren't so lucky.

Forced himself on me? Why would you ask such a thing?

Miss Booth, I believe Mr Jenkins made advances toward you.

I understand you fear for your employment in speaking of this...

If it was anyone, it was Miss Allen. The housekeeper?

I saw him put his hand on her bottom once. She let him keep it there.

What utter nonsense! Mr Jenkins conducted himself with absolute decorum at all times.

He never made advances toward you? Never. Yet he did toward some of the maids.

Did he?

Perhaps you should ask his widow.

My principal preoccupation is the smooth operation of a large household.

Certainly not my husband's frivolous urges. You knew nothing? Emphatically not.

If you have any further questions... What did you and your husband fight about yesterday? I answered that.

Mrs Jenkins, we only have your word that your husband was still alive when you left that room.

It makes you a likely suspect in this m*rder investigation. Now what were you fighting about?

My husband told Nicholas he'd be disinherited if he married Clara.

Nicholas threatened to move to Boston.

I couldn't have that.

Clara's family wasn't aristocratic enough. What presumption! Clara is educated, intelligent, caring.

What's more important - the pedigree of a wife or her character?

But your father threatened to disinherit... I didn't want the old bastard's money! Nicky...

We would have made do.

And did you feel the same way, Miss?

Of course. I come from humble circumstances. In fact, I'm not much at ease in this world.

At any rate, I doubt my father would have disinherited me. He had already disinherited Victor.

Did he? My brother is a gambler. He would have squandered the entire estate.

Of course I have debts. Expediting your inheritance would resolve them.

Perhaps, but I didn't k*ll my father. Certainly not at that ungodly hour.

Besides, my father had already disinherited me.

I would have nothing to gain by his death.

Unless you were to destroy the will.

That's what you were looking for in your father's room. Very good, Detective.

Yes, that's exactly what I was doing, but I'm not so stupid as to k*ll my father without having found and destroyed the will first.

Nevertheless, your father's room is right next to yours and you have no alibi.

I told you I was in bed at the time of my father's m*rder.

I never said I had no alibi.

So Victor the lush was milking the maid, was he? Florence Cullwick.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. At least we know why she didn't mention seeing Clara Thorn.

We also know why she said she heard the Jenkins arguing. Victor's room is right next door. Carry on, then.

Detective? Souvenirs from the victim's pillow.

Trace evidence, George. Thank you.

Grey ones are presumably the victim's. These longer ones, I believe I recognise the shade.

Also, sir, we found a handkerchief in the housekeeper's fireplace.

I think it was used to wipe the blood from the m*rder w*apon.

It's monogrammed. Yes, sir. VA.

George...

Bring Miss Allen in for questioning.

Why would I burn it? It's not even mine. Your initials are stitched into the corner of it, Miss Allen.

Good Lord!

My late aunt embroidered this.

I haven't seen this in I don't know how long. Years.

I didn't k*ll Mr Jenkins. Why would I?

We also found these hairs in Mr Jenkins' bed. I believe they're yours.

I...sometimes go to his bed in the middle of the night. It's...

It's shameful, I know, but...

I was lonely and...

In love with him?

You see, I could never have harmed Percival. You must believe me.

Now you don't think she did it either(! ) I'm not certain of that.

It is possible that in a panic she used her own monogrammed handkerchief, but then to leave it half-b*rned in her own fireplace? A frame-up?

KNOCK Sirs? Constable Worseley just called from the Jenkins house.

I mentioned this handkerchief business. He swears he saw it in the waste basket in Jenkins' bedroom.

When was this? When we arrived. And he never mentioned it?!

He didn't want to disturb it. But it wasn't there, George. We checked after Dr Francis left.

Who else was in that room? Detective Murdoch and myself. And Heward. He has an alibi.

I'm very sorry, sir.

George - Billy Slater, the footman.

You recognise this? Should I?

I would have thought so, Mr Slater.

We believe that the k*ller moved this from Mr Jenkins' bedroom to Miss Allen's fireplace to frame her.

I'll take your word for it. One of my constables saw this in the wastebasket of Mr Jenkins' room before I arrived there. Only you and Mr Heward were in that room while we were there.

Mr Heward has an alibi that rules him out as the k*ller. Leaving you.

Why would I k*ll Mr Jenkins?

Because he made sexual advances toward your sweetheart, Nancy Booth.

She's not my sweetheart. I saw you linking hands.

All right. I took the handkerchief, but I didn't k*ll Mr Jenkins.

Then why did you move evidence? I saw it there and I said to myself, "I'll get that old cow."
Miss Allen?

You dislike her enough to frame her for m*rder? I sincerely dislike her.

You've got Slater in the cells? Yes. But don't think he's the k*ller? No. Go ahead.

Consider, sir. If Mr Slater is the k*ller and planned to frame Miss Allen with her handkerchief, placing it in the wastebasket would have done the trick. Why then move it to her room?

Why frame her twice? Exactly. He's a footman. Not many geniuses in that line of work.

I don't believe Mr Slater when he says he moved it out of dislike for Miss Allen.

But if he's not the k*ller, he took an awfully big chance to frame her.

He could hang for that. So either he's a reckless fool or he had motive for moving it that he hasn't admitted to.

Why would Billy do such a thing? I've never done him any wrong. Perhaps someone he's partial to? No.

Nancy Booth comes to mind.

I might have done.

She's the reason I went to talk to Mr Jenkins when I found him dead.

Nancy was proving to be unsuitable. Oh? How so?

She wasn't doing her job properly.

I've forgotten the cutlery.

She's lying.

There's no harder worker than Nancy. She does whatever Miss Allen asks.

Then why would she want Nancy dismissed? Nancy wouldn't have been the first.

They've fired more than a few girls over the years who were...in trouble.

Three months, I'd say. Has your morning sickness subsided?

Mm. Who's the father, Miss Booth?

Was it Percival Jenkins?

And Miss Allen knew? Of course I knew.

Nancy was sick in the mornings and looking fuller in the face.

I've seen that too many times. That's why you went to speak to Jenkins? You knew he was responsible?

He certainly was not. Nancy is no better than all the other dolly mops who paraded in front of him.

Seducing him with their glances and their smiles.

These dolly mops, as you call them, were coerced and made pregnant by a man you are so eager to defend, then thrown out onto the streets with child by you! How many were there, hm?

What became of them?

It appears that in the Jenkins household there is a history of young girls meeting this fate.

What options would such a girl have? Not many. More than likely take to the streets.

George!

Sir? Find out what you can about young women who have been dismissed from the Jenkins household.

I'll make some inquiries. To what end? There's no law against it, no justice to be found here.

Except the one that would put a noose around Nancy Booth's neck. You think she did it? She'd motive.

Scullery maids don't normally go upstairs. It's a hell of a risk. Not if Billy Slater kept watch.

He was serving tea and would have known everyone's whereabouts.

Why let Nancy do the old man in? And in full view of old Mrs Jenkins?

They probably thought she was too senile to be a reliable witness. Was she?

Mrs Jenkins has moments of lucidity.

It's possible old Mrs Jenkins knows more than we've been led to believe.

Ah, Detective Murdoch. There's been a...development.

Yes. Thank you. Bye-bye.

Well, you've got your wish.

The College of Physicians grants Dr Ogden special dispensation for this case.

Excellent. Thank you, sir. You've got some cheek. Sir? Dr Ogden is calling for you.

Very good. Only temporary, Murdoch. Yes, sir.

Dr Ogden, what have you?

As I suspected, Mrs Jenkins' heart did indeed give out.

Natural causes? I thought so, then I found haemorrhages on the surface of the lungs.

Asphyxiation? Usually in the case of smothering it's around the face and the eyes.

With her age, the trauma likely induced a heart att*ck before she suffocated. m*rder, then?

Thank you, Doctor. Excellent work as usual. My pleasure, I'm sure.

'm*rder*d?'

Bloody marvellous.

Actually, sir, assuming the same person committed both murders, anyone lacking opportunity to k*ll old Mrs Jenkins can be stricken off our list for the first m*rder.

Billy Slater was in our cells, so he couldn't have done it. George?

I've confirmed that Nancy Booth and Miss Allen were in the kitchen at the time of Mrs Jenkins' death.

Victor Jenkins was drinking in a pub. Nicholas, Clara and Nora were discussing funeral arrangements.

Leaving only Mr Heward. The butler has an alibi for Percy Jenkins' m*rder. It's a waste of chalk.

My theory might be flawed.

Really? Also I obtained servant records from Nora Jenkins. Not without protest, I might add.

Over the past 20 years or so, seven girls have been dismissed. On what grounds?

Two for insubordination, two for poor work habits and three for loose morals.

Meaning they were pregnant. Irrelevant. I'm not so sure, sir.

Have a look at the third name.

Alma Parsons, dismissed August 30th, 1876.

It was Alma! Has everyone gone stupid except for me?

I haven't seen this in I don't know how long. Years.

George. Find out what's become of Alma Parsons. Sir. Then I will return to the Jenkins mansion.

What's going on? I believe I know who committed both murders.

Good afternoon.

I have asked you all here because an arrest is at hand.

Miss Allen, you told me that it had been decades since you last saw this. It's true, I swear it.

What day, specifically, did you last see it? What day?

Could it be August 30th, 1876, by any chance?

Do you recall what happened that day? But...how would I? It was so long ago.

Hm.

Alma Parsons, were she here, would be able to tell you.

Because that day Alma Parsons was relieved of her duties here.

By you. Do you remember that?

Yes.

It was such a flood of tears.

I gave her the handkerchief to mop up her face.

I just couldn't have her leaving this house in that state.

Do you know what became of Alma Parsons, Miss Allen?

I heard that she passed away a couple of years ago. This has nothing to do with a former servant.

Well, Mrs Jenkins, Alma Parsons was sent from this house for becoming pregnant by your husband, very much against her will.

Police reports from the day confirm that Alma turned to prostitution so that she and her child could eat. That's what this has to do with a former servant.

Now old Mrs Jenkins was adamant that it was Alma she saw walking down the hall.

But her eyesight was too poor to make out any detail, so why did she think she saw Alma?

We all know that we inherit our physical appearance, mannerisms, smile, the way we walk.

It wasn't Alma returning from the grave to avenge the wrongs she endured at the hand of your husband.

No, it was the child that Alma bore. And by my count she would be 23 years old now.

Isn't that right, Miss Thorn?

This is absurd! Clara is not a m*rder*r. Sit down, Mr Jenkins.

Miss Thorn, you never imagined that the woman who was too blind and senile to even recognise you would mistake you for your own mother.

Pretty she was, looked like a swan. But walked like a duck.

I was in the morning room with Nicky and his mother when she d*ed. I didn't k*ll her.

I know you didn't, but someone did.

Someone who recognised you as Alma's child the moment you walked in this house.

Mr Heward, would it be correct to state that you came to care for Miss Parsons during her time here?

Yes, sir.

Very deeply.

That's why you felt responsibility to protect her daughter.

You'd overheard my instructions to dust the fireplace pokers for fingermarks.

That's why you wiped them upstairs, not knowing which Clara had used.

Then when you and I witnessed that moment of lucidity, it occurred to you that Clara's secret would never be safe. When I called to re-interview Mrs Jenkins, you k*lled her to ensure her silence.

I'm sorry for all of it, Nicky. I truly am.

Come along. We mustn't keep the Detective waiting.

You didn't have to do this for me, Heward.

On the contrary, Miss Clara.

It revolted me, what Mr Jenkins did to Alma.

We lived in such fear of him and there seemed nothing to be done.

Nothing?

Yes, I know.

If I'd gone with her, or helped in some other way...

Were you there the day Alma was let go? Yes.

Coward that I was, I stood mute.

The m*rder of an old woman is hardly an act of bravery.

She knew what her son was doing to those poor girls all those years.

She raised him into what he became.

She gave the carnage he caused not a second thought.

In other words, Detective Murdoch, she deserved it.

'My mother kept that handkerchief' because she didn't want to forget. After she d*ed, I swore I'd get revenge on those responsible.

So you hatched a plan.

When I read Nicholas was at Harvard, I moved to Boston, encountered him, "by chance", and allowed him to pursue me.

I genuinely came to care for him.

Of all of them, he's the only one that didn't deserve to be hurt.

That was the price of keeping my promise. Constable.

William?

We've come to say goodbye.

It may be some time before we're in Toronto again.

We still need a coroner, Julia. I can't convince you to extend your leave a little while longer?

I'm sorry. Julia, please answer me honestly.

If it were possible, would you want to come back here to this work?

Darcy... my future is with you in Buffalo.

You don't seem entirely happy there. Not as happy as you seem here.

Victoria Hospital for Sick Children here is one of the best in the world. I'm sure I could secure a position.

But your home is in Buffalo. My home is wherever you are. From what I've seen, you belong here.

Are you sure? Absolutely sure.

In that case, I... I would love to stay on.

I would have to apply for the job, of course.

I'm certain the Inspector would give you a strong recommendation.

Well, Detective.

It appears we'll be seeing a great deal more of each other. I look forward to it.