01x02 - A Dish of Adharma

[bunniefuu]

This is not an act of v*olence!

This is an act of w*r!

Who we are at w*r?

Get out of the street, woman!

Not just in the dark continent.

No respect, woman!

But here, at home, we are at w*r with those who deny us our fundamental rights to democracy!

With those who govern us without representation!

Unless you call us unreasonable, we're not asking to govern you.

We're only asking to have a say in choosing the man, who govern us.

Are those for me?

You m*rder*d me.

Say it again, my child.

You m*rder*d me!

S01E02 - A Dish of Adharma

Mary, it's half past seven.

I don't feel well.

Let's take a look.

It's my stomach.

Sharp pain or nausea?

Both.

You do know I trained as a doctor?

What's the matter?

It's not fair.

I have studied housewifery, Kingsley doesn't.

Well, there is good reason he didn't have to.

Because he is boy!

Because he's eight. He'd destroy the place.

Look, I know that's not fair, but there are things you can do that he can't.

Like what?

Wear dresses.

Braid your hair.

Father, be serious.

What can I do that he can't?

Experience the joy of... childbirth.

See what I mean?

Yes, well, I'm sure one day it will be very different.

But for now, I need you to grin and bear it.

Right?

That's it!

Better get ready.

Yes, yes, I know.

Is Mary staying at home today?

Not today.

I thought she was ill?

Apparently, I'm a very good doctor.

Come along, my dear.

I used to come out

everyday to a meal on the table. And some frustrated spinster decides women should have the vote.

Got to show'em who's boss, I always say.

You haven't met Mrs Mary.

This will just fuel the fire, demonstrations, protests, riots...

We will keep an eye on him.

Even worse. It seems to have attracted the attention of our famous friends.

Bloody hell!

Like flies to dung.

Gentlemen! Do come in.

Sorry for the intrusion, sir, but this reincarnation case caught my eye.

Which I knew it would.

I've been waiting outside for... all 15 minutes.

I am so glad this is gonna be a regular occurrence.

Given the fact that we solved the last crime for you, you're welcome.

I'm very grateful.

But I don't know what you see in this case.

The boy was obviously hired to k*ll Lydia Belworth by one of her many, many enemies.

Possibly. But if there is any truth to the boy's story, we could offer persuasive evidence of life after death.

Good luck getting anything out of the boy.

He wouldn't even tell me his name.

I'm sorting through the missing reports, we've just a description to go on.

But you know what, gentlemen?

I think, we can use your help.

Just that thought...

Maybe, this... would go faster if you'd help!

Help you misinterpret evidence and declare victory for reincarnation?

Did you consider that your predisposition to discount the possibility of past lives is highly subjective?

That's not subjective.

Faiths have believed in reincarnation.

If you'd happened to have been born in India, you would have accepted prima facie.

One call's rule is mathematical.

It's on billion more people on the planet than there were two hundred years ago.

So where is the giant soul factory?

You can't see the wood for the trees.

It's about... achieving perfection.

Returning to earth, over and over again.

Slightly more evolved each time, until we get it right.

I find that rather compelling.

Hum… Why not rather a poof?

Rather go once and go big.

There has to be an explanation for this boy's deliberate actions.

He found a g*n, he picked flowers, he singled her out, he said, "You m*rder*d me!"

Why?

Maybe, he didn't mean it literally.

A ten-year-old who speaks in metaphors.

So, he is a professor of literature… in his past life?

You are less than no help.

Okay, well, how about this?

It wouldn't be easier to get the boy's name from the boy?

Well, even if you could be more persuasive than the thuggish Sergeant, I'm sure he restricts the interrogation of suspects to police officers.

Exactly!

By the ways, as reasonable as your suggestion may be, it's also quite transparent.

If you're saying I just want to check out the comely constable, why not?

Samelessness is not a virtue.

I find her beautiful, intelligent, challenging as hell.

That's a perfect opportunity for a wager.

Ten pounds that she won't go to dinner with you.

Ten pounds?

You're incredible cheap. You have no confidence in your bet.

I don't think that cheap.

Twenty.

Constable!

I'm so sorry to hear about the att*ck on Mrs Belworth.

It's just an offensive as*ault not only to her, but to her entire movement.

See my earlier comment about transparency?

The suspect is a young boy, God knows where his parents are.

He might just open up to a woman.

So, if I fail, it's because I'm a bad interrogator.

And if I succeed, it's because I am a woman?

This is exactly why the world needs more Lydia Belworth.

You're lucky Mrs Belworth survived.

Otherwise you'd be up for m*rder.

Do you know how serious that is?

Do you even know who she is?

Or what she does?

How important she is to so many people?

If you don't tell us the truth, we can't help you.

It's as simple as that.

You must be very afraid.

Do you want to go home?

I had to k*ll her... for k*lling me.

She put a b*llet in my head.

What the hell were you doing with my suspect?

Mrs Stratton is a police officer.

Don't make me laugh.

Now, you're getting near that boy again and I'll make sure…

His name is Martin Upton from Aldgate.

We'll see.

Mrs Belworth!

I didn't expect you to be up and about.

It would take more than a b*llet to stop a cause.

I'd like to know exactly what progress has been made on my case.

A team of special investigators has been assigned.

Constable Stratton and myself.

Doctor Doyle is taking notes.

Impressive!

Our first female constable?

Glad to see someone has dust-up to take on this fortress of masculinity.

I'm honored, Mrs Belworth, I am a great supporter of you and your movement.

Thank you.

I urge you to solve this case, as soon as possible.

We will not take this att*ck lying down.

We learned the boy's name.

I'm not talking about the boy.

I'm talking about the real culprit behind my att*ck.

Who do you think that might be?

Someone in the home office.

Are you suggesting a government official hired a child to carry out your as*ault?

They want to scare me, not martyr me.

Why give the kid such a ridiculous story to tell?

Perhaps to distract everyone with... wild tales about past lives, rather on focusing on the real issue, which is enfranchising women.

Does the name Martin Upton mean anything to you?

No. Who is he?

He's the boy.

I've never heard the name, nor... seen him before.

Unfortunately, you have no shortage of suspects.

I must go.

By the way, k*lling Holmes...

That was a grave error of judgment.

And I saw your show.

Your fortune is ought to gullibility.

Keep me apprised, Constable.

Certainly, Mrs Belworth.

How soon can we get the boy back on the street?

There is a missing report on a Martin Upton from Aldgate.

But he was 29 and went missing twelve years ago.

You're on your own, you understand?

That's not reincarnation.

That Martin Upton is missing, not dead.

Well, then, all you need to do to prove me wrong is find him.

I have his last known address in Aldgate.

Let's let the boy take us home.

So, Martin, you remember where you lived?

Past the square.

So, somewhere kind of over there?

…close to sinners, and you too can invite the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart.

Reverend.

Now how on Earth did he know his vicar?

Who's that then?

It's Martin!

Martin Upton.

Martin?

You married me and B seventeen years ago.

Beatrice Upton.

Yes, I did marry her, but…

Hello to Mrs Gilby.

Of course.

Well, that felt considerably more specific.

He knew his name, which is not hard to find out.

He pretended to recognize him.

I'd say anything, if I knew it'd keep me out of jail for the day.

You bend the truth.

Everyone likes to think they're honest.

And then they choose half-truths, because it's easier.

I'm not everyone.

Oh, well, in that case, you're up for a little game of "truth trade"?

One of yours for one of mine.

No!

Go on!

Very good.

Are you a virgin?

Houdini, really?

How inappropriate! And in front of the boy.

I thought he was 29.

Constable, I urge you not to encourage this non...

No, I'm not.

And my question for you is, why did you chose to ask me something prurient and embarrassing rather something profound and meaningful?

I wanted to see how you'd react.

That's not even half-truth.

Scamp!

Good dog, Scamp!

Got him when he was a pup.

I hate it when pets pretend.

That's a good dog. Yes, dog, yes! Good dog!

So, what do you think?

Married? Promiscuous?

Maybe she was just trying to shut you up.

That's a pretty big lie.

Shutting you up is a pretty big task.

This is where she buried me.

There's an inscription on the ring.

To M.U., love, B.U.

Congratulations! You found Martin Upton.

But me thinks you haven't proven me wrong!

Maybe Lydia wasn't the boy's first victim.

Oh, given the state of decomposition, I'd say he d*ed at least ten years ago.

Then the k*ller showed him where the body was.

Why would the m*rder*r show a child where the body is?

I don't know!

Okay?

Not yet.

We need to inform Martin's next of kin.

She is just over there.

Come one, let's go!

Wait!

This is the address we have.

Think you can get us in?

I'm a police officer.

We are the ones who don't do burglaries.

Constable, as much as I appreciate your ethical styles...

He hasn't changed a thing.

Imagine the torment that drove him to his crime.

Being haunted by a past life, feeling compelled to right past wrongs pay for past transgressions.

He tried to m*rder someone and blame it on the mumbo jumbo.

He just found a corpse that's been missing for twelve years, and the best you could do is "mumbo jumbo"?

I'm working on it.

These are quite good.

Thank you.

It's hard to make my living.

Camphine.

It burns brighter than other gazes.

And favourite among professional artists.

You did these?

I just painted what I saw.

The female form is the true work of art.

I'll have to use that.

Look familiar?

Lydia Belworth?

In all her glory.

She was lying.

Don't move!

Who are you and what are you doing here?

It's alright, I'm a police constable.

Don't come any closer!

B!

It's me, Martin.

Martin?

I'm back.

You're sure the body was my husband's?

He was wearing this.

I'm sorry.

After all these years of... not knowing.

Martin painted a lot of women, hum?

I won't deny he had a wandering eye.

Do you remember her?

Lydia!

She was a beauty.

He was smitten, but she wasn't the only one.

Did you fight about it?

I just prayed I could be a better wife to him.

Our only fight we had was our last one on the night he went missing.

What happened that night, Beatrice?

He... he broke a mug.

It was an accident.

But after all the lies, it was the hit in me cup that set me off, I hit him.

He hit me back.

First time he'd ever done that.

I think it scared him 'cause he turned and run out the door.

And then what?

I cried.

Do you know what the last thing I said to him was?

"I never want to see you again."

That p*stol looks old.

That was my father's. He served in India.

Martin was sh*t in the head.

You don't think I'd...

You were furious at him.

I loved him!

You'd do anything to stop him from leaving.

Not that. Not to him.

You did just say you didn't want to see him again.

I didn't k*ll my husband!

Any idea who did?

Everybody loved Martin.

You know why anyone would att*ck Lydia?

I have no idea.

She stole your husband away from you!

Even after all these years, you must hate her for that.

I don't hate her!

You ran into this desperate boy, somewhere, you decided you could use him, you fed him a bunch of ball, and you talked him into k*lling Lydia!

You're wrong!

That poor lad, I've never seen him before today.

I think Mrs Belworth has some explaining to do.

You were the only one I ever loved.

My dear heart.

Why did you lie about Martin Upton?

How dare you?

We found his paintings of you.

You know, the naughty ones.

We think the boy's att*ck on you might be connected to Martin Upton m*rder.

m*rder?

We discovered his body.

It was a life time ago.

I was very young.

And Martin was... well, he was very handsome.

You had an affair?

Nature took its course.

But I knew it was a mistake as soon as it happened, and I ended it, immediately.

Never looked back.

Still, this is exactly this sort of rubbish that could be used against me.

Men can have all the affairs they want.

But if a woman dares to, she's a pariah.

Isn't that so, Constable?

Oh, very much.

But still, you had a tempestuous fling with the man and yet walked away.

Just like that.

As Virgil said: "a fickle object is woman".

Isn't that what they all believe?

You may be fickle, but I don't think you're stupid.

I wasn't Martin's only model.

There was an other one I remember, whom he hurt rather badly.

I don't recall her name but, she was a heavy-set girl, blond.

That's all I can tell you.

Thank you, Mrs Belworth.

No, thank you, for the police protection.

You're still in these things?

Voilà!

That's French for "wow."

Come on!

We need to find this mysterious blond.

Maybe if we cross-reference all the residents with physical descriptions...

We'd just prove that Lydia's lying.

What makes you think she's telling us the truth about the blond?

She had a perfectly good reason for lying about Martin Upton.

m*rder is an even better reason.

When will you stop defending her?

When I have proof she shouldn't be defended.

Speaking of lying, maybe this is a good time for another truth trade.

Please, don't.

Come on!

Come on! Give me an other chance.

To ask a humiliating question?

You handled the last one quite well.

Do your worst.

That's a high bar.

In my experience, a woman works for one of three reasons: she's broke, she can't land a husband, or she's desperate to make a statement.

Now, given your ring, sapphire small but well cut, worth a few dollars, and your obvious beauty, my question is: what exactly are you trying to prove?

I'm ashamed to be a man.

You're right. I am trying to prove something.

That women have nothing to prove.

Wow, well done.

My turn.

You are one of the greatest entertainers in the world, beloved by millions.

Yes! My answer is yes!

And yet, I sense a profound feeling of unhappiness; the kind of unhappiness that only comes from a great wound.

Now, pain like that usually only comes from a couple of places and, I've seen how much you love your mother.

So, my question is: what exactly did your father do to you?

Nothing.

I love my father very much.

This is my stop.

We have a bit of a problem, sir.

The headmistress informed me that Mary was absent from school today.

She is in her room.

I will not have my daughter playing truant.

What is going on with you?

I told you.

I thought you were quite excited about the school, getting rid of your old governess.

I am.

Right! Then let's have no more of this nonsense.

Are you crying?

No.

You're crying.

I'm worried about you, that's all.

Next thing I know, you'll be running away to... Aldgate.

Aldgate?

It's just an example.

Look, I'll tell you what!

Promise me you'll go tomorrow, and we'll forget all about it, what do you say?

All right, Daddy.

Good girl.

Come on, then.

In you go.

Now, you get some sleep.

One question: where did you leave the boy?

At the custody desk, handcuffed to the rail, ten minutes ago.

In these handcuffs?

Un-bloody-believable!

We put out a warrant out with his description.

So we will find him, trust me.

And then what? You lock him up?

Just like you did last time?

That was my doing, sir.

Don't try to claim credit. I showed him how to slip the cuffs.

I'm not sure it's anyone's fault.

We're dealing with a... pretty naturally mature child, here.

Gudgett was the senior officer in charge.

Which is why he will be informing Mrs Belworth, how he misplaced her attempted m*rder*r, who, even as we speak, may be trying to finish the job he started.

That may not be the only job he tries to finish.

We've reason to believe that there is another woman involved in this case.

What might this woman be?

All we know right now, is that she is blond, heavy-set.

Right.

Sergeant, put guards around every heavy-set blond in London, will you?

I don't suppose you've found the boy's parent yet?

Closing in on him, sir.

Actually, I may have had some luck with that.

I noticed him straining to see things up close.

And I thought if he's farsighted, he may normally wear glasses.

So I double-checked the missing reports and, as I say, I was fortunate.

I believe his name is Peter Bennett.

His parents reported him missing three days ago.

I'd say that a damn fine police work.

Wouldn't you, Chief?

Yes…

And make sure you follow that up immediately.

Hope perhaps, we'll all get lucky.

And find out that odd, tiny t*rror1st has made his way back to mummy.

Yes. Of course, sir.

Hey, driver! Can we pick up the pace? Come on!

Traffic in the cities is a mess!

Did you ever play truant when you were a girl?

Let me guess.

Either your daughter is skipping school, or you're picturing Miss Stratton in a school uniform.

It was just one day, but it's very unlike her.

Yes, I did.

One time was about a particularly dreadful haircut.

And another time my best friend talk me to snicking off to the fair.

I played hockey all the time.

Comforting.

First day in school, you know what I'd be doing right now?

Annoying someone in America.

I'd be a teacher, making fifteen bucks a week.

Any truly successful man is self-made.

An emphasis on man.

Without an education, a woman has no chance.

Well if we talk about a career, maybe.

Is that really what you want for your daughter?

What does your wife say?

My wife has tuberculosis, she's been unresponsive for six months.

I'm so sorry.

Quite.

Thank you.

You have no idea where he is now?

I'm sure we'll find him soon.

But the reason we were holding him was for a sh**ting in Westminster.

You're saying that was our Peter?

I took his confession.

I knew he was troubled.

But… this.

Troubled how?

He used to be such a happy and creative child.

About a year ago, he changed. He became distant, solemn, retreating into a fantasy world.

He started missing school.

Wandering off.

It's become more and more frequent.

You tried a good talking-to?

Many times.

And that didn't help?

He'd started treating us like we were strangers.

We hoped that it would pass as it does for children.

But it… This… It is heartbreaking!

Any idea why he would want to att*ck Lydia Belworth?

Of course not!

Can we see his room?

These are Peter's?

He is a wonderful artist.

Your son ever been to Aldgate?

Aldgate?

No.

Not that I know of.

Huh.

That's where I used to keep my friends' post cards.

It's a journal.

But not Peter's.

It's Martin Upton's.

He must have takin' it from Beatrice's house.

He has been to Aldgate.

Founds their key and broke into Beatrice's home.

He found this and he learned all about Martin's life.

His art, his vicar, even his dog.

Maybe he found something about a fight with Lydia and he focused on that.

Bottom line this isn't about reincarnation.

It's just the obsession of a young boy.

But why this story?

He has a vivid imagination, I don't know.

Looks like his obsession may include someone else.

He knows about the blond.

Then we better find her before he does.

And how do you hope to do that?

Saw the light on in the office, I... hoped it was you.

Find anything?

I found too much.

Martin had no shortage of female friends.

Blond is in here somewhere, but… it will take forever to track down all these names.

Well… I... have something that... may help.

What is it?

You can have it in exchange for another truth trade.

You really want to do this again?

Yes, I do.

Tell you what.

We can both answer the same question.

Write down our answers, and trade them.

Alright.

Question is simple.

What's your biggest fear?

Being unloved.

Being unloved.

You said you found something useful.

Yes…

Lydia was married to Edward Belworth.

Belworth's a millionaire. He d*ed two years ago.

Left her a fortune.

Yes, I know. And before you imply anything untoward he was thrown from his polo pony.

So unless you think Lydia can hypnotize horses, there is no m*rder there.

But do you know about her first husband, who also d*ed?

Did you see that safe, in her office?

People with safes that big either have a lot of money, or a lot of secrets.

Turns out she has both.

I distinctly remember talking to you about burglary.

Her first marriage was in 1890 to Gilbert Moreau.

Three years later she buried him.

Seeing a pattern yet?

So, maybe he d*ed of the flu. That doesn't mean she...

What was her maiden name?

Eloïse Lydia Derst.

Derst...

Derst...

"Dersty and Maguire found out about each other today. Bloody huge row. Don't not who they hate more: each other, or me."

Well, if Lydia is Dersty, then it's a good bet that the blond is Maguire.

All we need is an address.

Mrs Belworth, we were not expecting you.

Thanks a lot!

You could have stopped her before she sh*t me.

Well done, Lydia!

You just set your movement back a hundred years.

You played right into the hands of your detractors.

All your hard work.

That's why I had to come here.

When you found Martin's body, I knew it wouldn't be long before you uncovered the truth; and that would be the end of my life.

But more importantly, the end of my work!

I couldn't let that happen.

And once you threw suspicion on Margery, you had to k*ll her before she could clear her name.

And by pinning everything on the boy, you knew they'd be no loose ends.

How very noble.

You always were a bitch.

You filth!

I loved Martin.

It wasn't just a cheap fling like you had!

It wasn't a fling.

Margery, I was carrying his baby.

And when I told him, and asked him to marry me, he laughed in my face.

He laughed.

I came back that night with a g*n.

The day I gave birth, that was the end of it.

March, the third, 1890.

That's the boy's birthday.

My baby was stillborn.

My mother saw it with her own eyes.

Never trust what you don't see with your own eyes.

She said...

She said I shouldn't look.

Where is he?

I think I know.

You won't be needing that.

How did you know he'd be here?

Camphine.

Of course…

I remember the boy smelt faintly of the gas.

And given its volatility, Beatrice would have kept it in the cellar.

Childweight.

I prefer "Elementary".

You were right.

Lydia did k*ll Martin Upton.

But you're not Martin's reincarnate.

You're his son.

You found out you were adopted a year ago, set you into a tailspin.

When you discovered who your birth father was, you identified so closely with him that... you... became him.

Help and done avenging your own death?

As for your birth mother…

Unfortunately, the woman that you sh*t...

My father is dead.

And my mother is a m*rder*r.

No, love.

Your parents are alive and well, and waiting for you to come home.

Peter…

Welcome home, son!

Mrs Belworth is dropping all charges against him.

Thank you.

Thank you so much!

Well, everything has been explained, and we didn't have to resort to the paranormal to do it.

Yes, everything has been explained.

Well, you know, after the boy's birth mum.

You mean his self-inflicted scar.

And how he knew about the burial site.

Huh-um.

Hardly definitive proof of reincarnation.

Yes, I agree.

It could also be proof of spirit guides.

Or psychic imprinting.

Do you really take no comfort at all... in thinking that we may get a second chance?

About as much comfort as I take in knowing the safety net below me is imaginary.

Our final "truth trade".

I'd love you to join me for dinner.

Would you?

Good evening, sir.

Thank you.

Not again!

Yes, but you should see this.

I found it in Mary's book bag.

I'm sorry for being so thick.

Any fool should have know that this was about your mother.

Sometimes, I forget that anyone could miss her as...

... as much as I do.

I have a confession to make...

That this date was a bet?

You were too persistent, Doyle was too interested.

And then, you came anyway.

Do you have another confession to make?

The fact of being unloved note.

Is that a trick?

Not a trick, so much as... illusion.

Spiders?

Too bad about Lydia.

There is somebody I admire, idolize even.

Robert-Houdin.

Greatest magician who ever lived.

I named myself after him.

The more I studied his acts, the more I realized I wasn't employing any real skill.

Just what I knew, cheap tricks. Juvenile props.

And showing it was a fraud.

It hurts.

But remember, skeletons in someone's closet doesn't make your cause any less worthy.

Hey!

Maybe you should be the next face of the movement.

How do you know I don't have any skeletons in my closet?

I don't.