06x02 - The Last Vampyre

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Get thee to hell.

Burn forever and a day.

May thy foul carcass be food for the jackals and thy blood drink for pariah dogs.

I thought I'd persuaded her.

We'd have the baby baptised in this church by you.

- You know women.

- There's a Catholic church nearby.

Carlotta has found it.

On Sundays, we go our separate ways.

- And the child?

- He stays with me.

I'm resolved on that.

In most other things, your wife has adapted well.

- Indeed.

- Our climate?

No, not the climate.

Your boy Jack.

How has he responded?

Well, we'll, er... we'll resolve that too in good time.

- Not easy for him.

- No, but I love my wife, Augustus.

Love conquers all, as you always preach from your pulpit.

Stockton?

Dinner tonight, eight o'clock.

Eight o'clock.

Interesting man.

And you were right, he has spent some time in Peru.

I've invited him over to make Carlotta feel at home.

Go away from here!

m*rder*r!

Dame el bebé.

Y dile al niño que deje de hacer ruido.

Sí, señora.

Shh.

You stop this noise.

Now, please.

You upset baby.

Don't you hear?

I'll stop if you let me kiss you.

Kiss?

You kiss me, Jack?

Where?

Where you wish.

On the lips?

On the neck.

On the boot.

You kiss my boot.

Well, come on.

If you want it so bad.

¡Asqueroso!

Michael.

- We've got guests for dinner tonight.

- Yes, sir.

I tell him to stop and he insult me, señora.

Déjalo.

Jack.

Stop at once.

Stop!

¡Cómo te atreves a desafiarme!

Desgraciado.

Vamos a ver quién es dueño de esta casa.

Give it to me.

¡Dámelo!

- He frighten the baby.

- I did nothing, Father.

I heard you from the yard, boy.

Why are you doing this?

Why?

- You are all I've ever desired.

- I shall die of cold.

No, you won't.

A convivial evening will soon warm your bones.

I'm sorry what happened earlier, but the boy was rude to Dolores.

Very rude.

- You must leave him to me.

- Even so, this is for a new violin.

Of course.

Why not?

- Jack?

My boy, your stepmother...

- Our guest has arrived, Father.

Stockton, my dear fellow.

My wife Carlotta.

- Mucho gusto.

- Igualmente.

My boy Jack.

- The violinist.

- You met each other?

In the village, Father.

We talked about Haydn.

You will play for us after dinner?

I'm not good enough.

And our pride and joy, my son Ricardo.

Holmes?

Are you all right, old man?

Sorry to alarm you, Watson, but your reaction was instructive.

- So you believe in their existence?

- What?

- Vampires.

- No, of course I don't.

Your attitude suggests the contrary.

One doesn't have to believe to be frightened.

It's different parts of the brain.

All right.

So you rule them out?

Vampires?

The rational part of you insists upon it.

- Do you believe in them?

- Cast your eyes over this.

" Old Jewry, April th.

Re: Vampires.

"Our client, the Reverend Augustus Merridew of Lamberley "has made an enquiry from us in a communication of even date...

"concerning vampires.

"As our firm specialises upon the assessment of machinery, "the matter hardly comes within our purview." Oh!

Oh.

- Oh!

- My dear Miss Ruddock.

Wretched, wretched woman I am.

What disturbed you?

""We recommended the Reverend Merridew ""to lay the matter before you.' "We have not forgotten your successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs.

"We are, sirs, faithfully yours. Morrison, Morrison and Todd." This cup and saucer has been here for the last three days.

Matilda Briggs was a ship associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.

But you consider vampires should come within our purview?

No, anything is better than this stagnation.

Really.

We seem to be switched on to some Grimm's fairy tale.

Well, this Merridew is a man of the cloth, a man of Christian belief.

That is of marginal interest.

Make a long arm, Watson.

Let us see what the V has to say.

Voyage of the Gloria Scott.

That was a bad business.

I recollect you made a record of it, though I was unable to congratulate you.

Victor Lynch, the forger.

Venomous lizard or gila.

Remarkable case, that.

Vittoria, the circus belle.

Vanderbilt and the Yeggman.

- I should like some tea.

- Vipers.

Vigor the Hammersmith wonder.

- Did you say something?

- Shall I call for some tea?

Good old index.

You can't b*at it.

Listen to this.

Vampirism in Hungary.

And again, Vampires in Transylvania.

My dear friend.

What has happened?

- Will you come at once?

- Yes, of course.

Rubbish, Watson.

Rubbish.

What are we to do with corpses who have stakes driven through them?

Are we to give serious attention to such things?

- It's pure lunacy.

- Well, no doubt you're right.

This agency must stand flatfooted upon the ground and there it must remain.

The world is big enough for us.

No ghosts need apply.

- Ah, well.

Now, ghosts...

- Need apply.

Are you prepared to tell me who supplied you with these and to what purpose?

Um...

Well, I had them made for me by a dentist from Peckham.

It was a necessary disguise I needed once.

I forget.

And, er...did you put them to use?

Pawky humour again, Watson?

You really must guard against it.

- Albert.

- A man gave me this in the street.

- Elderly.

Said he has to see you urgent.

- Your man of the cloth.

Show him up.

- With care.

- Yes, sir.

- Oh, Albert.

- Sir?

Do you believe in the existence of vampires?

Oh, yeah.

Most definitely, sir.

There speaks the voice of wisdom.

Not experience, I trust.

Yes, thank you, young man.

I'm not quite in my grave yet.

Ah.

Mr Holmes.

So good of you to see me at such notice.

- I know how busy you are.

- Sit down.

Settle yourself.

Tell Wiggins where you hid the key.

- Yes, sir.

- Thank you.

- This is my friend and colleague...

- Dr Watson.

Yes, yes.

I know.

Now, my solicitors Morrison, Morrison and, um...

- Dodd?

- Hm.

In point of fact, they're not really my solicitors.

No...

I had some dealings with them long ago.

I forget quite what about.

Machinery.

Was it?

Mmm...

Well, anyway, I...

On behalf of a friend of mine and myself too, I'm very anxious you shouldn't take me for a complete old fool.

Please.

You must take your time.

Well, where to start it all?

I'm vicar of Lamberley.

I've been there longer than I care to think.

Probably time to go, but let me tell you about Bob Ferguson.

Not... not Bob Ferguson of Richmond?

He remembers you too from the rugby field.

The finest three-quarter never to have been capped for England.

Mm.

My sentiments precisely.

I love the game, and if modesty permits, I once turned out myself as scrum half for Godalming.

Mm.

Well, Bob has spent most of his working life abroad, cotton-broking.

Now, his first wife by whom he has a son Jack, she d*ed of fever some years ago and...

Look.

It's absolutely essential that I put you in the full picture.

Er...

Continue just as you are doing, Reverend.

It is often Holmes' method to absorb relevant detail with his...eyes tight shut.

Well...

Bob arrived home recently with a new bride and a baby from Peru.

'Difficult transition for all concerned, as you may imagine.'

- You ride, Jack?

- No.

Of course he rides.

I taught him.

I taught you everything, didn't I?

'But I must turn your attention to a stranger 'who came into our midst not long before our Peruvian family.'

His name is John Stockton.

At first, I welcomed him as a man of intellect.

A writer.

A stimulus to our little community.

Oh, thank you.

I can't say I warmed to him personally.

But he did have appeal to someone like myself, buried in a backwater.

He was no thr*at to me, but he upset the locals.

Our blacksmith, Carter.

Some argument over a wheel.

Who are you to tell me my job, damn you If you don't like it, take it away!

Find somebody else!

And take yourself with it!

And don't come back!

We don't want you here in this village!

None of us!

'Carter, a lion of a man in the prime of life, a stalwart of village life.

'Dead within moments of it.' Now, Miss Ruddock, spinster of my parish, She has the cottage facing Stockton's.

And she speaks of him as a man who never sleeps.

She sees a candle in his window many nights through till dawn.

Well, a writer at work.

It's not uncommon.

Possibly, but I myself am something of an insomniac also.

I have seen him twice...in my graveyard at dead of night.

- And his explanation?

- Hm?

- Surely you raised the matter.

- Explanation?

Plausible, I suppose.

I believe that I am related to a family called St Clair.

Indeed, my middle name.

- St Clair.

- They had a large house, up beyond the village.

Ah, yes.

Now you mention it.

I'm...puzzled to find no trace of them.

Are we not welcome here?

The truth was, I knew full well the story of the St Clairs.

They were powerful land owners.

Had the village in their pocket some time in the last century.

The Lord St Clair himself was a cruel monster.

Those who incurred his displeasure disappeared or were found with their throats cut.

Young servant girls.

One in particular was left pregnant and dying at the church door, her child stillborn.

There's not a St Clair to be found.

What did we do to offend?

- 'Did you tell him?' - 'The bare bones, yes.

'The church incident and how the villagers exacted their terrible revenge.'

- Burnt us out?

- I regret to say.

Nothing personal to you, of course.

- And the girl?

- She's buried over there.

But what I neglected to tell him, because it seemed to be inappropriate, was that the family St Clair were deemed to be vampires.

All this is very interesting as history but how does it lead to the present?

Well, a St Clair, by his own admission, has returned, hasn't he?

But how does that affect the village?

Why should they care?

This happened a hundred years back.

Yes.

Well, word gets around, you know.

You mean, the church?

The fount of all gossip?

Answering your second question, the girl, the dead girl.

'Her family is still in the village.

'The wife of the landlord of the local inn, she was a Burrows.

'So too was the blacksmith's wife.' Has Stockton ever set foot inside the church?

No, not once.

As far as I'm aware of it, never.

Even so, I'm unclear how I can be of service.

No crime has been committed.

No crime.

No, no crime, but...

You have something more to tell us.

Four days ago now, it seems a lifetime, Bob Ferguson invited Stockton to dinner.

Stockton had travelled in Peru.

I think it was I who suggested it might be a good thing for his new wife to have some contact again with her native country.

An evening.

Not a success?

All I know is the outcome of it was a tragedy.

The very next morning, the household woke to a terrible discovery.

The baby, little Ricardo, lay dead in his cot.

And the doctor's verdict?

The doctor?

Oh.

He could find no reason for it.

No...earthly reason.

A tragedy indeed.

But no blame affixed to the dinner guests, surely?

He touched the baby's hand.

Or so they told me.

Look.

I am a man of God, gentlemen.

Far be it for me to judge a fellow being on hearsay and superstition, but I have my parishioners to think of and they're frightened and may well take steps outside the law to drive him out as they once did his forbears.

You see my dilemma.

So you wish us to make an investigation into this man, his personality, his habits.

And disprove the common fear.

Disprove, disprove what you will.

Your presence alone would have a steadying effect.

Well, now, I...

I must leave you.

Among my other concerns, a sickness in the village and I have a baby's funeral to prepare for tomorrow.

Your story is complex, Reverend.

But not without some interest.

Yet I'm sure there's a rational explanation for it.

- Watson and I will visit your community.

- Oh, I'm so pleased.

- You mentioned an inn.

- The Chequers.

It's decently run.

Well, thank you.

I'm so grateful, so grateful to you both.

So grateful.

All right.

Two sudden deaths, the blacksmith and the child.

- Shortly after contact with him.

- Natural causes, the coroner will say.

Stockton's nocturnal habits, the light in the window.

Writer's block.

His morbid interest in graveyards after dark.

I object to the word morbid.

It's emotive, not fact.

All right.

Never entering the church.

You raised that yourself.

Never seen to.

And is a man a ghoul because he has no interest in religion?

The evening spent in Ferguson's house.

- Was the vicar there?

- No, but Stockton touched the baby.

- Is that your case?

- So what is our mission?

Possibly to prevent a crime.

A man had a stake driven through his heart.

We have our timing right.

Holmes, we can scarcely intrude.

Not intrude, Watson.

Observe.

- I wonder if Stockton's here.

- He's hardly likely to show his face.

Dinner guest, friend of the family.

- In the circumstances, no.

- I'm sure you're right.

But I know he's not far away.

"Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live "and is full of misery.

"He cometh up and is cut down like a flower.

"He fleeth as it were a shadow "and never continueth in one stay.

"In the midst of life, we are in death.

"Of whom may we seek for succour, but of Thee, O Lord, "who for our sins are justly displeased?

"We meekly beseech Thee, O Father, to raise us from the death of sin "unto the life of righteousness.

"That, when we shall depart this life, we may rest in Him, "as our hope is this our brother doth.

"And that at the general Resurrection in the last day, "we may be found acceptable in Thy sight "and receive that blessing which Thy well-loved Son "shall then pronounce to all that love and fear Thee, "saying, 'Come, ye blessed children of My Father, ""to receive the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of the world.' "Grant this, we beseech Thee, O merciful Father, "through Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Redeemer." Jack fell from a tree when he was eight or nine.

Damaged his spine, poor young chap.

The father, was he here or abroad when it happened?

I believe he was away, yes.

A boyhood almost without mother or father.

Well, I was here as his spiritual guardian and Mrs Mason, the farm housekeeper, brought him up with her boy Michael.

These recorded deaths, so many of them so young.

- An influenza epidemic, perhaps.

- As we have now upon us.

If Stockton is perceived as some sort of avenger, why does he light upon the Fergusons?

They weren't here a hundred years ago.

Even now, they're scarcely part of the village life.

So why?

- Why is he drawn to them?

- The women, the connection with Peru?

Or is it something nearer home?

Did you make friends with the doctor?

Hardly friends.

I was greeted with deep suspicion.

I pleaded my rugby acquaintanceship with Ferguson.

That goes back years.

He threw me over the ropes at the Old Deer Park.

- How are we to explain your presence?

- Well, we won't be detained here long.

You have the coroner's report?

The blacksmith Carter d*ed of a haemorrhage.

He looked robust but he was overweight and drank too much.

- And the baby?

- Pneumonia.

- v*olence?

- No.

As we thought.

- Visit to Folkestone, pay our respects?

- No.

I'm hungry.

Jack?

Where's Jack?

Is he down with you?

No.

I haven't seen sight nor sound of him since this afternoon.

He didn't come back after the funeral?

- I'll ask Michael if he's seen him.

- Yeah.

Is that for Mrs Ferguson?

Chicken broth.

She must eat something.

I'll take it up to her.

Thank you, my dear.

No food.

She sleep now, sir.

No wake her up.

I'll decide that, Dolores.

Thank you.

Sal de aquí.

¡Cómo te atreves a entrar!

- Don't touch me!

Go away!

- Sweetheart...

- Anything more I can get you?

- This is excellent.

No, thank you.

Glass of water, thank you.

You were seen, Michael.

Yes, you were, and there's no denying it.

- Her clutching your arm in the service.

- It wasn't my doing, Vera.

She was grieving.

She needed the support of a man.

Just cos she's foreign.

And beautiful.

- Can't ride a horse like you.

- What's it matter, riding horses?

- I bet you kissed her, knowing you.

- Kissed her?

- I'd get my jaw broken.

She's fiery.

- Hmm.

That's just how you like 'em.

That's right.

All ruffled feathers, like you.

- Come on.

Let's step outside.

- No.

Get off.

- Come on.

- No, Michael.

I'm not feeling very well tonight.

Thank you.

The steak and kidney pudding is as good as its reputation, wouldn't you say?

- Yes, every bit.

- You're famous in Baker St, Mrs Gresty.

Our housekeeper Mrs Hudson put us onto you.

Mrs Hudson?

She has a sister who lives nearby.

Oh.

Well, it's my husband you have to compliment.

- It's him who does the cooking mostly.

- So you are Sherlock Holmes.

- At your service.

- On a case, then, are you?

Surely there's no crime in this part of the country.

Drinks for our host, Watson.

Drinks all round.

Yes, of course.

Dr Watson is an old rugby-playing friend of Mr Ferguson.

It's a tragedy about him and his family.

You wanna talk to Michael about that.

- He was there when they found the mite.

- And it wasn't accidental, neither.

Whatever else it was, it wasn't no accident.

Jack.

Where have you been?

I was worried.

I thought you'd want to be alone with Carlotta.

I needed you.

I needed us together.

The family, at this time.

All of us together.

You were right, Reverend.

There is a dangerous mood in the air.

But no fresh evidence against Stockton.

Though I'm still struck by the coincidence.

Answer me this.

Why has so much been written and recorded on vampires if there's nothing in it?

Man's need, Watson.

His need to explain fear.

You admit to the inexplicable.

There's evidence for that.

But do we believe in dragons and fairies and ghosts

- because much has been written?

- Ghosts?

Watson has a ghost story.

Not now, man.

- No, carry on, Watson.

- I was in Afghanistan.

Long nights of fatigue in a field hospital.

The young subaltern who had d*ed, virtually in my arms, appeared some weeks later quite unmistakeably when I was on leave in Constantinople.

Fascinating.

- Gentlemen.

- Mr Sherlock Holmes.

- Of course.

- And Dr Watson I believe you know.

Watson, my dear fellow.

Come inside, come inside.

- My dear chap, sincere condolences.

- Thank you.

- Coffee for our guests, Mrs Mason.

- It's ready and waiting, sir.

My treasured housekeeper.

I'd be lost without her.

Oh, er...

Sit down, please.

Augustus has explained your presence here.

I heartily endorse his initiative.

This has been a wretched time, not just for me and my family, but for the whole community.

The sooner we make sense of it the better.

- Your dear wife.

- I would have liked her to be here.

She's upstairs in her room.

- Have you met Stockton yet?

- We've not had that pleasure.

Pleasure?

Well, yes.

He seemed pleasant enough on our first acquaintance.

- May I ask you...

- Ask anything, Mr Holmes.

Anything.

Are you in some way holding Stockton responsible for your child's death?

Perhaps we're all responsible to some degree.

Certainly my wife holds me responsible.

For bringing her here to England.

A child a year old, the climate.

Europe.

Perhaps I'm looking to alleviate responsibility.

By directing it at another?

Please, you must excuse my frankness.

It is necessary we confront the truth about ourselves to reach the heart of this matter.

You're absolutely right, Mr Holmes.

The truth of the matter.

Could you bring yourself to tell us about the evening Stockton came to dinner which I understand was the start of your misgivings about him?

Yes.

That night, I didn't see it clearly myself at the time.

Dinner had passed uneventfully, though, I confess, I was somewhat disappointed by our guest.

'His demeanour.' The real nature of the soul...

Well, what is it?

To some, merely a manifestation of the will.

But the soul returns to God.

Like a sound that vanishes in the air?

So thought the Greeks.

Life is death, said the philosophers.

Well, I'm afraid I don't follow that.

Are you saying you don't believe in God?

The Incas, of course, were sun worshippers, as you, señora, know well.

The reason was meteorological.

Without sun, at night, being mountain dwellers, they shiver.

- They freeze.

- And those on the coast?

The sun was constant.

A tyrant in the sky.

So it was the lesser God they worshipped, the moon.

Si-An.

The house of the moon.

Where young children were sacrificed, lying on beds of coloured wool and cotton.

Why?

Why must the children be sacrificed?

Not just the children, Jack.

When a chieftan d*ed, it was customary to bury him with the best-loved women.

Good God.

His wife?

His wife.

His favourite concubines.

And a considerable number, more or less, of his servants.

His jewels, wrought silver, llamas, weapons.

Food and clothing.

So, in his philosophy, death was life.

Of course.

Why not?

It continued in that vein for hours.

All kinds of mysticism, mostly beyond my comprehension.

The widows of Malabar.

Burnt themselves in the blaze of their husbands' remains as a demonstration of fidelity.

What I can't describe is the effect it had on the company.

The ladies in particular.

It was as if he had them...mesmerized.

And yet, after he left, Carlotta..

- He was repulsive.

- You found him...

- Repulsive.

- You'd rather we didn't see him again.

He's your friend.

Come to me.

The following morning, and...subsequently, I became the object of her pain.

But the connection with Stockton and your baby's death...

As you describe the evening, it's hard to forge a link.

I know.

But it all went wrong, Watson, from that evening.

This house...

It was as if there was a black cloud...

I can't describe it.

I wish to God I could.

There's so many coincidences.

Ah.

Jack.

My son Jack.

Come and meet my friends.

Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes.

I'm interrupting.

Jack, you're not interrupting at all.

Now come and sit down and talk to us.

How's the music, Jack?

Are you still practising the violin?

Jack's been given a new violin, a gift from his stepmother.

The old one plays rather, well, rustily.

Holmes plays the violin.

I look forward to meeting your stepmother when she's recovered.

Indeed.

Well, let us see if now is not the moment.

Mrs Mason, would you go upstairs?

Oh, she's not in her room, sir.

She went out early.

Not?

Why didn't you tell me this?

- I thought you knew.

- They both went out, Father.

- Alone?

- Mr Stockton came for them.

- He came to pay his respects, sir.

- When you were out riding.

And you saw them leave with him?

My wife and the maid?

Willingly?

You witnessed this?

Just for a short drive, they said.

To take the air, put colour in their cheeks.

I should have been informed.

My wife is not herself.

Did Stockton persuade her on this foolish drive?

- Who instigated it?

- Why does it worry you, Father?

All's well, Mr Ferguson.

They're coming home.

- Stockton?

- Good morning.

I didn't realise you'd come by.

I wish you'd told me.

- How are the ladies?

- Very well.

We had a pleasant ride in the country.

The air is fresh this morning.

Walk on.

The nerve of the fellow.

- You keep an open mind?

- Against all logic, yes.

And Sherlock Holmes?

Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England.

The notion of the undead walking this earth feasting off innocent females offends against all his reasoning.

What is your own view, Reverend, as a man of the church?

Life and death are mysterious states, Doctor.

We know little of the resources of either.

Carlotta, my darling.

Open the door.

Carlotta, open the door, please.

Carlotta, open the door.

Jack.

Jack?

Holmes.

The local doctor's taken to his bed.

It seems my services are called for.

- I hope it's not catching.

- I never catch anything.

What are you up to?

My first call is the daughter at the inn.

He took the crippled boy into his house.

After the funeral, all afternoon.

The boy didn't come back until six o'clock.

She's not going to die, is she, Doctor?

No, but she will pass through a crisis, and needs the greatest care.

She should sleep well.

This village is plagued.

Like many other at this time of year, with influenza.

- You dirty, filthy beast.

- Leave off.

What are you doing?

You think I couldn't see you?

And Vera lying at death's door!

- Vera?

- Don't pretend you didn't know.

She's your girl, Michael.

Not that foreign trash.

Oh, Mum.

Mum, don't cry.

Ever since they've come here, nothing but trouble.

And what with that man...

- What man?

Mr Stockton?

- He's k*lling everyone.

Michael...

Mr Holmes?

This is a privilege.

- A stroll out, on such a barmy evening.

- In the village?

- I have my carriage.

- The countryside.

How delightful.

- So why are you?

- Here?

For my health.

- In a village riddled with rumour?

- But no crime.

- You say you are not investigating me?

- Why?

What have you done?

Several will tell you what I'm alleged to have done.

Bad angel, precursor of death.

- No truth in the rumour?

- I'm living my life, Holmes.

- What more does a man do?

- You teach the violin?

- Jack?

Yes.

- But that is not...

My main occupation?

No.

I study antiquities, religious cults and customs among South American Indians.

- I have a modest reputation in that field.

- Published?

Two books.

You are familiar with my subject?

My travels took me east.

Tibet.

And now the quiet of English countryside.

- I'm tracing a little family history.

- This is your family home.

The seat of Lord St Clair.

The villagers believe my forbears were vampires.

Some incident involving one of their maidens.

Janet Burrows, whose grave you honoured with a rose.

How observant of you.

They burnt this house in an act of unbridled revenge.

Now they suffer from a guilty fear that I've come back to punish them.

Is that your purpose?

What a pointless exercise.

Come.

Let me show you round.

I am like yourself -an investigator.

- May I share your findings?

- No.

I want your opinion.

Do vampires exist in your philosophy?

In human terms, perhaps.

And are you looking at one now?

From this house must have emanated, once, warmth and conviviality.

I may come back to restore it.

Life in the village holds few delights for me.

Why did you bring Mrs Ferguson here?

Please!

Please!

No...

No...

No...

No...

No!

Stockton!

What is it?

I...

I...am...unable.

- To what?

- Are you a friend?

- Yes.

Your friend.

- I cannot tell a living soul.

I cannot.

I cannot.

- What can't you tell?

- Mistress...Death.

She is with us.

Insatiable!

Keep her away from me!

Watson.

My wife has bolted her door.

My boy Jack has banished me.

- How fares the village?

- Medicine should cure their ills.

Does your wife have a fever?

Let me visit.

What she has is beyond medicine.

It's taken charge of her soul, her very bones.

Is it not grief?

No.

I recognise grief.

I understand grief.

This is some other poison.

And we know its source, you and I.

What am I to do?

Stand aside and let it destroy us all?

Easy, old man.

What does Holmes make of it?

Does he think we're all mad?

I've seen a ghost.

That I don't believe.

You?

They don't appear to you.

This one did.

Appear to.

- It seems I got too close.

- Too close to what?

I'll explain later.

How's the girl?

She'll recover.

Nothing more than influenza which has struck the young.

The young?

- Half a dozen young girls.

- Influenza?

All the usual symptoms.

Night sweats, drowsiness, lethargy.

Oh, Ferguson's downstairs.

We'll join him.

First we must understand this.

Thank you, Mrs Gresty.

Most reviving.

Yes, thank you.

The vampire, even of legend, was not necessarily a dead man.

A living person might attempt such behaviour.

Are you saying Stockton is one of thee creatures?

There are people who suck up the energies of others like a sponge.

Draw out their resources and pocket them, leaving them fatigued, no longer master of their wills.

It's a psychological phenomenon.

Doctors acknowledge it.

Yes, they exist.

What you say does describe in some measure that night he came to dinner and the effect he had on Carlotta.

- And the maid.

- I had a taste of it myself just now.

And your ghostly experience?

I don't for a moment believe what I saw.

But I do accept hallucination, the mind forced by another to play tricks.

Hypnosis?

Stockton has spent much time with the South American Indians studying their ancient mysteries.

It's quite possible that he learnt something out there, was affected by an experience.

- But you don't exonerate him for that.

- No, but it could be an illness

- which may respond to treatment.

- Meanwhile we let him run amok?

The man is destructive.

Holmes, you're not denying that?

He's only destructive if we let him be.

If we believe too many tales or use him as nothing more or less than a depository for our own ills.

- Are you suggesting I'm doing that?

- There's a danger of it in this village.

I stand with this village.

I live here.

I have seen his direct influence over people.

Loved ones.

A defenceless, innocent baby is dead.

Now, if you can justify that, we part company.

Goodbye, Watson.

It's one thing to diagnose a problem.

It's quite another, often, to resolve it.

Here, your ladyship.

Here is a charm that cannot fail.

Pin this to your pillow, and you can laugh, laugh in the face of vampires and hippogriffs that visit in the night.

Your safety... sixpence.

There's a jackal at work.

- I'm off to London.

- London?

- Till nightfall.

Will you hold the fort?

- Certainly.

I thought a visit to Carlotta Ferguson might be useful.

- Interesting.

- Also patch things up with her husband.

- No point having him against us.

- Quite so.

Saint Sebastian.

He will protect your heart from vampires and prevalent malignants such as wolves, bats and bloodsuckers.

Yours.

For nine pennies only.

For your loved one, sir.

Ah.

Er...

Taken bad, was she?

This will b*at the devil and his night visits.

It was smuggled in the habit of a nun all the way from Rome and forged in His Holiness' own smithy.

Oh!

Is so beautiful!

Now I am safe from all bad people.

Silence, Squeaker.

Silence!

♪ Ring-a-ring-a-roses, a pocketful of posies

♪ Atishoo! Atishoo! We all fall... ♪

The station.

See you later, Watson.

Oh.

Ah!

Michael.

I got you this.

Help you get better.

- What's that, Michael?

- What?

- You've been with her.

- No.

no.

Vera...

- Get out.

Go on, get out.

- Vera.

Vera!

- Leave me.

Don't touch me!

- Vera!

Get out!

In here, Dr Watson.

- How is she faring?

- She doesn't tell me.

- Dr Watson, madam.

- Thank you.

Mrs Ferguson.

I'm standing in locum for the village doctor who's sick.

Yes.

I know who you are.

You were here yesterday.

Please.

Sit down.

So.

What is it you wish to say to me?

To ask how you are after your tragic loss and if you need anything for sleeping.

There are no remedies in the world that would make me sleep at night.

- Yes, I understand.

- But the day is different.

I sleep.

At least, hours fly by without me.

- You wish for something to drink?

- Oh, no.

No, thank you.

Your friend the detective is not with you today.

Gone to London.

Your husband told you Sherlock Holmes was in the village.

- My husband?

No.

- Oh, then it was Mr Stockton.

Stockton?

It was Stockton, yes.

He was kind enough to take me out yesterday for a drive with my maid.

- Do you know Stockton?

- No, I haven't met him.

Holmes knows him.

He too went for a ride yesterday to an old ruined house.

Oh, yes.

The house.

- You've been there?

- It's just a burnt-out house.

No interest to me.

- No ghosts?

- Many, I should think.

But none came out to play.

What do you make of Stockton?

He arouses strong feelings in people.

Why should that be?

I couldn't tell you.

It's only what I've heard.

You want my opinion on Stockton?

Well, at first I disliked him.

Then he was interesting about my country.

He speaks my language and so I welcome him.

- But the village...

- I know nothing of the village.

Strong feelings, you say?

Peasants.

English peasants.

And Stockton offered you some consolation?

He understands...the dead.

What happens to us.

Where we go.

Where my little Ricardo has gone.

It's the only solace I have.

- You have none with your husband?

- None.

Why did he bring me here to this terrible place?

I tell you.

Because he wanted my little baby to be an Englishman, like Jack.

He wanted another boy like Jack.

Is that so wonderful?

To end up buried in an English grave?

I'm sorry if I caused you pain.

Why not?

You are a doctor.

It is better to bring the truth out.

Indeed.

And now you will stay for lunch.

Thank you.

I stayed to lunch, tea.

We had tea in the garden.

She's a remarkable woman.

A most cultured person.

- Even you would enjoy her company.

- And the maid?

Ah.

Now, the maid.

Well...

There are still love marks on Michael's neck.

Ha!

- I'm only recording the details.

- And Ferguson's part in all this?

- Returned mid-afternoon.

- Jack?

- Jack?

Jack hadn't returned.

- He wasn't missed?

Referred to once or twice, but missed, I couldn't tell you.

- And the girl here?

- Unchanged since this morning.

Your trip to London?

I thought a visit to Stockton's ruin might be more useful.

Oh.

Did anything happen?

Nothing.

Neither the living nor the dead appeared.

But it was instructive, none the less.

Where is he?

Curse the boy...

With your friend?

Stay here.

Get inside.

Stockton, I want to talk to you.

Just come on.

Get in!

See here.

Your work?

My boy, my wife.

My maid.

You've had them all.

And we're not part of your village vendetta.

I'm sorry.

What are you talking about?

- What do you want from us?

- You introduced me to your wife.

- No le haga caso, está borracho.

- Ya Io veo.

Speak English, damn you.

Speak English!

- Por supuesto.

Esto es su ridículo...

- How dare you insult me!

No!

Now take her, take your creature, but leave my wife and my boy.

For God's sake!

- Jack, stay.

Stay, Jack!

- Leave him.

Let him go.

Por favor, no peleen.

Ha!

Curse you, Stockton!

Hey!

Hey!

Came round that bend.

Travelling too quick.

It was wet.

An accident, Mr Holmes.

That'll be my report.

- Subject closed.

- No doubt as you say, Constable.

Very good, then.

You'll be leaving the village now, will you?

- Now our problem's gone.

- No reason for me to stay.

And I gather the village doctor is better this morning so you won't be needing Dr Watson's services either.

No.

But his help was appreciated.

Well, come on, lads.

Let's get it over with.

- Accident?

- m*rder?

There are deeper mysteries.

- Where will they put him?

- Graveyard, where else?

- He can't go there.

- In my country, they burn the body.

Well, this isn't your country.

We're civilised here.

So you will throw him out to be eaten by wolves?

Where would you bury him, Jack?

It's your friend Stockton we're talking about.

You hungry, dear?

No.

- Why do you look at me like that?

- Nothing.

Well, I've got to work.

The tree that he hit was my tree.

The one that I fell from.

- You been to see it?

- No, your tree, Jack,

- it wasn't down that way.

- It was.

The very same tree where I had my accident.

- It must have a curse on it.

- I want to see it.

- Would you take me, Michael?

- Not now.

- Are you afraid?

- Of course not.

I'll take you.

Michael?

Later, if you must.

"For man walketh in a vain shadow and disquieteth himself in vain..."

No Christian burial.

Not right.

Cast him out.

- "And now, Lord, what is my hope?"

- Devil no place in a house of God.

- Save us, Jesus.

Save us.

- "Deliver me from all mine offences.

- "And make me not a rebuke..."

- Voicing her protest.

"I became dumb and opened not my mouth for it was Thy doing.

"Take Thy plague away from me.

"I am even consumed by means of Thy heavy hand.

"When Thou with rebukes dost chasten man for sin, "Thou makest his beauty to consume away, "like it was a moth fretting away a garment.

"Every man, therefore, is but vanity.

"Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with Thine ears consider my calling.

"Hold not Thy peace at my tears "for I am a stranger with Thee and a sojourner as all my fathers were.

"O, spare me a little that I may recover my strength "before I go hence and be no more seen." Jack!

Go to him.

"O, spare me a little that I may recover my strength..." It's all right.

It's all right, Jack.

It's all right.

Well, I think it was claustrophobia.

Nothing worse.

Some people get it in churches.

But he used to sing in my choir every Sunday.

He and Stockton had become quite close.

It must have been a terrible shock.

What a business.

Well, the village are up in arms.

But I couldn't deny the man a Christian burial.

- How could I?

What had he done?

- Did he have any relatives?

Heirs?

Well, no one as far as anyone knows.

That's another problem, you see.

What to do with his cottage, his possessions.

I shall look over the premises.

Shouldn't we ask the police?

Holmes will know what to look for.

In the business of house clearing now, eh, Holmes?

It may be instructive.

What's that smell in here?

Heliotrope?

It's the smell of decay.

Will you light that lamp, Watson?

We must set to work.

Waaa!

- ¡Imbécil!

- Ghost?

I'll shake him down, if you like.

If he's up there.

He doesn't frighten me.

You can't frighten me, Stockton!

You're under the sod, where you belong!

You won't bother nobody now, nor never again.

Dolly?

Don't play silly games.

- Dolly!

Here's one by Stockton about religions in Peru.

Fish god, crab god, fox god in flight.

Taboos, witchcraft, sorcery.

Is there nothing this man hasn't dabbled in?

Vampires.

There's a book here on vampires, Holmes.

Go on!

Get on with you!

Go on!

- Michael?

- She's been att*cked, down by the tree.

It was him.

"Person to turn vampire generally wizards, suicides, "and those who come to a violent end." ""Tonight, two perfect specimens, ""from whence I draw my strength.

""My two Peruvian ladies revived me."" "The vampire brings the victim to the point of death but not beyond.

"He will nurse her back to health with the outward appearance of love." ""And yet, am I not also possessed?

""When I visit the house, is she not commanding me to relinquish, ""to hand my mantle on to another?"" "It may be love to devour her again, "whereby he is forever nourished." ¿Cómo está mi niña?

Tuve un sueño raro.

Bello.

He called to me.

Tell me your dream.

She wanted me to take her there so I did.

One minute she was standing there, then she was gone.

I couldn't see her.

Then she appeared and fell into my arms.

- On her neck were bites.

- Did you make these marks?

No, sir, not I.

It was Stockton.

- You saw him?

- Well, no.

But he was there right enough.

- Stockton is dead.

- Sir, he is not, or if it is it's the living dead as God's my witness.

- See the mark on her.

See for yourself.

- Vampires don't exist.

Michael!

Look at me!

They don't exist.

What's the matter with the dog?

It's some form of paralysis.

- Did it come on suddenly?

- Yesterday.

Remarkable.

And suggestive.

What's the dog got to do with anything?

I can't tell you this instant.

May Watson be permitted to examine the maid?

Of course.

The, er... the man's death.

Perhaps, in part, I caused it.

I don't deny that I lost my temper, Holmes.

But that's nothing to the suffering brought on this family, on my wife, the baby boy, and continues to be brought, now, on the maid.

Explain that to me, Holmes.

Good morning, Jack.

Mr Holmes.

The detective.

Dolores is feeling better, Father.

- It's a slight fever, nothing worse.

- She was out with Michael last night.

They were caught in a storm.

Lovers' marks?

- No.

- Then what?

It is also the tree that Jack fell from as a boy, that caused his injury.

Or so he told Michael.

Stockton and Jack?

- That's too much.

- Jack was lying.

I asked Ferguson.

Jack's tree's in quite another part of the woods.

- Why should he lie about that?

- Why indeed?

Out of my hands.

It was the constable.

He decided.

It's outside the law.

It's a violation.

What will the spirits make of it?

- Where are we taking him, Mr Gresty?

- Where he can do this village no harm.

- He tried to strangle me.

- Water, please.

It was like a big, black animal.

A cat or a spider.

It had hair on the inside of its hands and they come at my throat.

It was just a bad dream, Vera.

Just a bad dream.

I don't like it here, Mr Gresty.

Let's drop him and get out fast.

- Down here.

- Have we got to do the other thing?

- What's that, Michael?

- What you do with their hearts.

- You got to a mind to it, boy?

- I haven't.

No.

I'm not going down there.

- What's that?

- It's from in here.

- What can it be?

There's been a desecration, Watson.

Stockton has been returned to the home of his forbears, I would imagine.

It's a matter for the police or the bishop.

No concern of ours for the moment.

- How's the girl?

- Calm.

Sleeping now.

- Marked?

- Not a scratch.

- Windows?

- Bolted from inside.

- A case of hysteria.

- But the Ferguson maid...

- That we must take seriously.

Coming?

- Of course.

Jack?

She had blood on her mouth.

He saw it.

She and that man Stockton.

Both of them.

Vampires!

- Where is your mistress now?

- Locked in her room, the monster.

- Would she see me?

- See the devil first.

- The maid, then.

- Where's the boy?

He's in his room, I think.

Mr Ferguson, I don't know where he is.

It was poison.

Curare, I think.

- Will she live?

- Yes.

Carlotta discovered it and attempted to suck it out.

You knew.

Stolen from Stockton or perhaps Stockton gave it to him.

An arrow dipped in curare.

Two small incisions into the neck.

He tried it on the dog first.

- Jack?

- I knew it couldn't be Jack at the ruin.

I heard him playing the violin in Stockton's house.

- And what about the ghost?

- Trick of the light.

But the ruin became Jack's playground.

I saw him there on my second visit.

His inspiration hidden away in cupboards.

A dark world of imagination brought to life by a disturbed adolescent boy.

- But to pretend to be a vampire.

- No, Watson.

Believe.

Believe he is a vampire.

Remember his behaviour in the church, his fear of the cross?

- And Stockton too?

- Why not?

He saw Stockton's effect on people, his control over women.

What better thing to be to win respect, affection?

Love, perhaps.

We must find him.

He'll be at the ruin with his master.

Get thee to hell.

Burn for ever and a day.

May thy foul carcass be food for jackals.

And let thy blood be drink for...pariah dogs.

- It's a blow to the head.

- See that he lives, Watson.

Jack?

Jack!

They're returning to her country.

They have nothing in the village to keep them.

And neither have you, my good friends, but I shall remember you with gratitude.

This business with Stockton.

Removed to another parish.

Quietly, no fuss.

May he rest in peace.

Goodbye.

- The baby, Holmes.

You don't think...

- I respect the verdict of your profession.

Pneumonia, wasn't it?

- And Stockton's death?

- Accident, fate.

Who knows?

- But Jack was no m*rder*r.

- Stockton's face in the locket.

Cut from a photograph.

A clever touch.

Will you be making a record of these events?

"The Vampire Of Lamberley."

No.

Perhaps the world is not yet prepared.