03x02 - Death in Holy Orders (2)

[bunniefuu]

- [screams]

[door opens]

[soft dramatic music]

- Aggie?

[water dripping]

[knocks]

- Sorry.
- What's wrong?

- I can't find her.

- Did you turn the lights on?

- No, it was on.

- I don't think
she's been in here.

Mr. Gregory and I washed up.

Did you open this door?

- No.

- You should stay here.

Aggie?

[dark music]

- Is she there?

Raphy, is she there?

[theme music]

- Morning.

- Agatha Betterton has
been found at the bottom

of the cellar steps.

- Is she--

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

- Lord help us.

- This isn't happening.

- And Raphael and Father John?

- Wait in your rooms.

We'll be speaking with
you all individually.

Please.

After the booze, I assume.

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

Some of these look pre-w*r.

Probably some quality.

Even in death, you
smell of alcohol.

- Be quiet.

- Sorry.

- Have I taught you
to make assumptions?

- No, sir.

- That's the second time.

More experience,
more confidence

should mean more
humility, not less.

A little empathy
wouldn't go amiss.

- Right.

Yeah.

- I noticed two bottles of gin
concealed in the Bettertons'

kitchen yesterday.
She is an alcoholic.

There'll be more.

I doubt very much
she had need to come

down here in search of
alcohol, pre-w*r or otherwise.

Let's see what the
pathologist says.

Can you leave us alone, please?

- I think I should stay.

I'm warden here.

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

- He's not a minor.

- It's all right, Father.

- I'll dress.

I'll be in my office.

- I'm very sorry.

When did you last
see Miss Betterton?

- My mother.

Last night, at dinner.

I argued with her.

She was drunk.

- What did you argue about?

- The usual.

I told her she'd had enough.

She was shouting at everyone.

She was saying that--

she was saying we should all do
a dance because the archdeacon

is dead.

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

- Do you think she
was being serious?

- I don't know.

She walked out.

That was the last
time I saw her, till--

- What time was that?

- About half 8:00.

Then John woke me
around midnight

and we went looking for her.

- Did you see anyone
else in the building,

notice anything strange?

- No.

- What made you
look in the cellar?

- John said he found a
light on in the kitchen,

and I noticed the
cellar door was open.

Please, tell me this
was an accident.

- Who else was at
dinner last night?

- Actually, she-- she seemed
to imply she knew something

about the archdeacon's death.

Well, it sounded-- well, it
sounded like drunken bravado.

- Thanks.

What did she say?

- Oh, just that
she knew something

and she could prove it.

But, like I said, she was--

she was very drunk.

- She didn't give
any other details?

- No.

It's extremely sad.

John'll be devastated.

John's already fragile.

- Were you here when
he was suspended

for suspected misdemeanors?

- No, I came later, but he was
definitely depressed even then.

- Do you think he was guilty?

- No idea.

Not from what I know of him.

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

I'd have reported it if I had.

But I'm with the archdeacon.

These places are too insular.

They do need democratizing.

I thought academia was bad.

- You were at Magdalen.

- Mm.

Yes.

- I was at Trinity.

- Were you?

Amazing where we
crop up, isn't it?

- After dinner,
what did you do?

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

- I didn't hear anyone.

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

Left her to deal
with all of it.

- Raphael said that at
dinner, your sister implied

that she knew who had
k*lled the archdeacon

and that she had proof.

Do you know what she meant?

Did she speak to you about it?

- No.

No.

[knock]

- Oh.

- I need a brief
witness statement

from you, Dr. Lavenham.

- Yes, she certainly
did imply that.

She said something
like, we all know.

Something about proof.

- What did people say to that?

- The priests, the warden,
the other one, they

were quite angry.

They tried to take control.

She was pretty
vicious about them.

Said they were hypocrites.

They told her to leave,
and she walked out.

- And after dinner,
what did you do?

- I came straight back here.

Couldn't get back fast
enough, to be honest.

Is that why she's dead?

Because she said
she knew something?

- Hard to say.

- Something you read in books.

- Her fiance, Edward.

Died in North Africa, the w*r.

Love of her life.

They had such plans.

Aggie always wanted
a farm, you know.

Lots of children, dog.

I knew, of course,
but what could I?

It was my fault.

- When did she start drinking?

Around the time of the inquiry?

- No, not then.

She was my rock.

She kept me alive.

Can I-- can I tell you
something in confidence?

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

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

Agatha.

The letter came
from a hospital.

Aggie went.

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

She was desperate.

I knew it was because of
me, because of the reports

in the newspapers.

- Did anything come of it?

Any follow up?

- We waited every
day for the knock

on the door, the solicitor's
letter, the woman

at the gates, and--

and she started to get
her through the days.

And I think-- I think she--

I think she was
pushing him away,

our boy, so it wouldn't be
so painful when she lost him.

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

Cause of death, a broken neck.

She fell with force
down the steps,

struck her forehead there,
and was flung face forward.

- Fell with force?

- Yes.

It's possible
that she was pushed.

It's a first impression, but--

- Why?

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

she would almost certainly
have come down on her back.

I'd expect to see massive
and specific bruising.

It isn't there.

Broken ankles, or at
least badly sprained.

She literally went
head over heels,

and that usually takes force.

But it's an opinion.

I can't rule out
an accidental fall.

I might never be able to.

[phone rings]

I'll try to fit her
in this afternoon.

- Sergeant, Yard on the phone.

- At present, Miss Betterton's
death is unexplained.

But we have some
reason to suspect

she may have been m*rder*d.

- Surely not.

Surely the woman fell?

- I understand she was
making claims at dinner

last night, implying
she knew something

about the archdeacon's death.

- She was inebriated,
as she always is.

She was hysterical,
looking for attention.

- Peregrine.

- Her death is
regrettable, naturally,

but the woman was a liability,
a terrible example to the boys.

She had no place here.

- She'd had a lot to deal with.

- You should have got
rid of her months ago.

You should have got
rid of them both.

On that, Crampton was right.

And as for who k*lled him,
I'd say she was by far

the most likely culprit.

Incapable of self control.

- Is there anything else you
think I should have done?

- What did you do after dinner?

- Came here, talked, we prayed.

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

worship is at our heart.

You and your mob
seem to forget that.

Unbearable strain.

- And after that?

- I went to bed.

- As did I.

[knock]

- Background checks.

Karen Surtees,
this is a good one.

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

They checked the last census.

Eric Surtees is an only child.

[radio playing, dog barking]

[knocking]

We need you both out.

We're searching this place.

- No, you're not.

Where's your warrant?

- Let them.

- Come out, please.

- No.

- He's the tenant.

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

Excuse me.

The woman you claimed
to be your sister--

- Didn't say that.

She's a friend.

More than a friend.

- What's her real name?

- Look, just ask her, will you?

- I'm asking you.

- Karen Randall.

I'm not allowed anyone
staying in the cottage

except for family.

It's just easier,
the sister thing.

- What do you know about her?

- She's from London.

- Is that it?

- Ask her.

- Where were you
last night between

half-past 8:00 and midnight?

- At the cottage.

Why?

What exactly
happened last night?

Has someone else died?

- Did you leave the cottage
at any point, even briefly?

- No.

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

- You didn't go to the college?
- No.

- Did Karen go out?
- No.

She was with me.

- Karen Randall.

Is that your real
name or another alias?

- Alias?

Yes, it's my real name.

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

- I doubt the judge
will lock me up.

I gave you my real address.

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

- How long have you
known Eric Surtees?

- 18 months or so.

- Not long to have
become so involved

with someone that you decide to
fight their battles for them.

- You mean the archdeacon?

As I told you, I'd had a vodka.

It makes me feisty.

Okay.

You're going to find
my notes anyway.

I'm a journalist,
investigative, freelance.

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

broke.

I met Eric in the pub one
night, we got talking,

and that led to something else.

- You used him.

- No.

He soon realized
why I was there.

I didn't deny it.

We are actually
into each other.

- But you claimed
to be his sister

to get through the gates,
have access to the college?

- Yes, I did.

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

I've put the work in.

Parish magazines,
priests suddenly

moving on, a whiff
of scandal, women

in mother and baby homes--

it's hard to get the
nationals interested,

but once in a blue moon,
something gets through.

The Betterton case was
unusual because the archdeacon

threw his weight behind
a criminal investigation.

- No criminal
charges were brought.

The boy, the suicide, was 18.

There was no evidence.

- The parents were sure.

The boy kept diaries.

He was way too
attached to Betterton.

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

So even if nothing
happened, would you

want your kids being
taught by someone who has

sexual fantasies about them?

I wouldn't.

You want to send your
kid off to Sunday school

thinking it's a safe,
benign, positively

good place for them to be, then
find out they'd been touched

or worse?

We're only just
scratching the surface.

Sooner or later, it's going to
rock the church to its core.

- What happened when you went
in search of the archdeacon?

- Well, I didn't k*ll him.

Why would I?

I've been writing to
his office for months

asking for an interview.

I never got a reply,
and finally he

comes to the college,
so I went to find him.

My big chance.

And it was like I said.

He was here in the
church with the warden.

Only they weren't just talking.

They were arguing.

They were angry.

- About the doom?

- No, it sounded
like more than that.

It was personal, bitter.

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

Could have been huge, getting
a senior cleric to talk.

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

- Precious info.

I was still deciding
how to use it.

I was thinking it
might force the warden

to talk to me instead.

- I suppose it depends on how
one characterizes an argument.

- Does it?

- We certainly had words,
which I now deeply regret.

I took it personally,
his plans for reform.

It felt like a criticism
of my leadership.

Pride.

Matthew Crampton and I
were at school together,

and we both went up to Durham.

There'd always been
a touch of rivalry

in our relationship,
honors, girls even.

It was a long time
ago, and we should

have moved past it, but--

- Our witness says the
argument was heated.

- Perhaps, at times.

- What was said?

- I hardly remember.

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

He denied it.

It was demeaning
and unnecessary.

- Did you leave the
church together?

- No, he left first.

I stayed on for a while,
asked for guidance.

You have to understand,
we would have sorted

it all out the following day.

- Was that the last
time you saw him?

- Yes.

- You didn't seek him
out again, ask him

to come back to the church?
- No.

No, I swear to God.

I swear to God.

- Sorry.

- It's fine.

- Thanks for giving permission.

I should only need


- No problem.

- I noticed yesterday
you didn't pray.

- No.

Complicated, isn't it?

- Mm.

- I suppose I'm agnostic.

I certainly don't
believe in God

the Father, the big bearded
man looking down from above.

In fact, I resent
the way spirituality

has been requisitioned by men.

I wrote my undergrad thesis on
the depiction of the rejected

goddess in 18th century art.

Graphic messages.

God is male.

Church is male.

Know your place.

You?

- I was raised to believe.

My father was a rector
at a church in Norfolk.

- Ah.

- But I have a stubbornly
rational streak.

I miss it, the
certainty, the comfort.

I do have faith that we're
more than we know we are.

But as for some sort of divine
purpose, I can't find that.

- You have a difficult job.

- Infinite room for regret.

I should have stayed
here last night.

- You think she was m*rder*d?

You may not have been
able to save her.

- So many of them
near the lake.

I thought of you both.

I'm so sorry.

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

- Thank you, sir.

From Mr. Gregory.

He picked them by the lake.

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

He has motive, opportunities.

His prints are on
the candlestick.

Granted, they can be
explained away, but--

- Yes.

- Karen Randall?

We know she can lie.

Maybe with Surtees's help.

- Her motives aren't clear.

She's passionate
about her mission,

and I get the feeling she is
fueled by personal experience.

- Yeah, I got that.

- But what does she
gain by k*lling him?

And she and Surtees weren't at
dinner, so they wouldn't have

known about Agatha's boasting.

- So we're definitely
treating her death as m*rder?

- What do you think?

- I think yes.

It's too much of a coincidence.

- Agreed.

- But it'll be
a devil to prove.

We'll need something cast iron.

- We can't assume
that one person is

responsible for both
deaths, but it seems likely,

and it seems highly
likely that the k*ller

was sitting in the
refectory yesterday evening.

- Do we rule out Father John?

She's his sister.

- I'm not ruling anything out.

- Sir, about before--

- It's done with.

- I can take it from you.

I mean, I'd rather
you just said.

You're hard to read.

It's not a management
style that suits everyone.

I do try.

I'm not her, but--

- All I want is that you
treat the senior command

course as an opportunity
to keep learning,

not as a victory parade.

You have excellent qualities.

Just remember, the
job is a privilege.

Did you follow up
re Clara Arbuthnot?

- Yes.

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

It's a local cottage hospital.

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

Clara Arbuthnot died
around 18 months ago.

- Did they say anything else?

- No.

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

of Father Sebastian's room.

Let's look at the
clothes he's been wearing

for the last couple of days.

I'm going to the hospital
to see if there's anything

else they can tell me.

- Really?

Sorry, I mean, she's dead.

- It's bothering me, and
it's a loose end, one

of the only ones we've got.

Nurse Ford.

I'm Commander Dalgliesh.

I'm leading
investigation locally.

- All right.

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

'77, Clara Arbuthnot.

The matron said you
helped nurse her.

- Yes, I did.

I remember her very well.

I wasn't assigned to her.

That was Nurse Rooney, but yes.

- Do you have a moment to talk?

- Well, during my break.

- Mary Rooney's
in Australia now.

We've lost touch, which is sad.

She really liked Clara.

She was upset when she died.

Clara was only 50
years old, and she

was sparky and mischievous.

I think she'd led a
pretty colorful life.

- Did she have visitors?

- Lots of friends.

Lots of laughter and
cake around the bed.

- Do you remember her
being visited by a lady

called Agatha Betterton?

It could have been
just one visit.

- No, I'm sorry.

I can't remember any names.

- She works at a seminary,
Saint Anselm's College.

Did Clara ever talk
about the college?

- Not to me.

- How about children
or a partner, perhaps?

- Not that I saw.

But, you know, she got married.

- What do you mean?

- Yes.

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

she said she had
to get married.

- The hospital records list
no next of kin, just the name

of her solicitor.

- Well, it definitely happened.

I know Mary
organized it for her.

- Who did she marry?

- I don't know.

We all presumed it was
something to do with where

she wanted her money to go.

It was quite a to-do.

Clara said it had to be in a
church, which we all thought

was funny, because
she wasn't exactly

nice to the poor chaplain
whenever he came.

I know Mary was her witness.

- Did she say anything
about the groom?

- I think she said
he was handsome,

but she said it was an odd
business, over in a flash.

- Do you remember the
name of the church?

- Yes.

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

All Souls, Petworth.

- What about under?

- Yeah, bag it.

Like I said, I need
you to stay out.

- Brother?

- They'll close us down.

We can't to survive this.

Where will I go?

- Someone's given them
a load of information.

- Was it you?
- No.

I wish it was.

- One of the coppers?

- I don't know.

The vocab, it
seems like someone

who knows about churches.

- Karen, what happens now
this has all blown up?

I mean, is that it for us?

- No, unless you want it to be.

Silver linings.

- I'm so sorry
about your sister.

Gosh, I'm sorry.

Here, let me.

[sobs]

Is there anything I can do?

- Such a mess.

Such a terrible, terrible mess.

- Would you like
me to find someone?

Raphael?

- She believed in me.

The only one who knew,
who knew I would never,

never have taken advantage.

I understood,
that was all, what

he was trying to
deny, his struggles,

the longing, a man's touch.

I fought that battle all my
life, all my life, the prayers.

He knew he could
trust me, confide.

And he could.

- I'm not sure, I should--

- Oh, Aggie.

Aggie.

She always knew.

She never spoke it.

She never looked at me
with anything but love,

my guardian angel.

You have to understand, she
would do anything for me.

- Thanks.

[tense music building]

♪ ♪

- Hi.

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

Karen Randall, presumably.

They even know who
found the body.

- Is everyone in the building?

- Yes.

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

[footsteps]

What is it?

- Sorry to interrupt.

Father John.

- When did you find it?

- Not long ago, an hour.

She must have k*lled him.

She made him go to the church.

It was the alcohol.

She would never--
she would never

have thought of such a thing.

- Did Agatha own
a fountain pen?

- No.

- What about the paper?

Do you recognize it, where
it might have come from?

A notebook or--

- No.

- That's what the k*ller
was searching for.

Has to be.

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

Or they pushed it
under the door.

That's what I reckon.

They must have pushed
it under the door.

Crampton gets up in a
panic, goes to the church.

- Yes.

- Shall we go to forensics,
see whose prints we've got?

- Clara Arbuthnot, Raphael's
real mother, she got

married a few weeks
before she died,

a cursory sort of wedding.

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

would make Raphael legitimate.

- It makes him
heir to this place.

- If it closes.

- Christ, Raphael then.

The doom's worth
a small fortune.

- I don't believe Raphael
knows about the marriage.

His real father, on the
other hand, he's here.

- Who?

[dramatic music]

♪ ♪

- It's open.

Commander, permission to run.

Thought I'd squeeze
another one in before dark.

Do you run?

It's addictive.

What's this?

- Someone fed them a great
deal of sensitive information,

information that only someone
at the college would have.

- Not helpful.

Nothing to do with me.

- We spoke to the news desk.

The information came from
an anonymous caller, a male.

I think it was you.

- Why would I want to give
information to the press?

- Because the greater the
scandal, the greater the chance

the college will close.

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

- And your son will come
into his inheritance.

I'm sure you were very careful
to wear gloves when you slipped

this under the
archdeacon's door,

but the fountain pen
you use, the paper

won't be hard to match.

Graphology-- Greek, I
believe, rather than Latin.

It can tell us a
surprising amount,

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

Why didn't you tell Raphael
about your marriage?

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

Presumably Clara thought
you would come here

and claim him, protect him.

- I have protected him.

- You could have
talked to him about

his potential inheritance,
asked him what he felt,

what he wanted.

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

brainwashed since the day he
was carried into this place.

- So you decided to make
his decision for him

and deny him the truth?

- It was never the right time.

The right time would have
been the instant I got here.

I know that now.

But Clara was-- she was
wild when I knew her.

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

I actually thought
she was unhinged.

And when she tracked me
down, I believed her.

The dates were right.

It's quite a thing,
finding out you

have a son at the
very moment in life

when you started to
wish you had one.

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

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

And then I felt I needed
to gain his trust.

And then I couldn't
tell him because it

would break that trust.

I wanted more time with him,

more uncomplicated,

golden time.

- Did you speak
to the archdeacon

before you k*lled him?

Did you tell him what
you wanted and why?

- No.

He wasn't a man to
change his mind.

And Raphael
deserves what's his.

- And what about
Agatha Betterton?

Did you speak to her?

- I didn't k*ll her.

- She found out the proof.

She made that clear.

- I didn't k*ll her.

- Sergeant.

- What have you done?

What have you done?

Raphael.

- He'd already told me.

- Raphael.

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

- That wasn't what I meant.

- Deciding what
sort of boy I am,

to see if I was too stupid,
too ugly, or crazy

like my so-called mother?

Then you would
have run away again

back to where you came from?

- No.
- Don't!

Stay away from me!

- Listen to me.

I didn't know about you.

She never told me.

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

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

- In my home.
- You don't belong here.

You know that.

- Don't tell me what I am.

- You should have been
with me, living our lives,

learning, living.

I know you feel it too.

You are a fantastic
boy, a miraculous boy.

I am so proud of you.

Raphael.

- No.

Let him.

- Raphael.

Raphael, listen to me.

- m*rder*r!

- I love you.
- Shut up.

- Listen to me.

I had to stop him.

This place is yours by rights.

You don't know the world.

You don't know what he
was denying you, what

this place is denying you.

- You are literally a devil.

What did you think
was going to happen?

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

or that we'd what, run
off into the sunset

together to buy fast cars?

- No.

- I'm a priest.

This is my world!

This is my life!

Did you k*ll Aggie?

Did you k*ll my mother?

- No.

No, I wouldn't do that to you.

- You're lying.

Tell me the truth.

- I didn't touch her.

- What am I going to do now?

- Raphy!

- Raphael, wait.

Son, stop!

- Sergeant, hold back.

- Raphy.

Raphael, stop.

Listen to me.
Listen.

- Get off me.
- Listen to me.

- Get off me!

[yelling]

- Hey!

Hey!

I'd save your breath.

He's not going to admit it.

Way too clever.

Listen to me.

Listen to me.

k*lling a man to help his
son, that's one thing.

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

that doesn't read so well.

No legend there.

- Be quiet.

- All the words, all
the telling you he

loves you, maybe
it's true, maybe,

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

It comes down to respect.

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

- She made it impossible.

She'd taken you from me once.

She had you all these years.

I had to make her silent.

I had no choice.

- Yes, you did.

- George Gregory, I'm arresting
you for the murders of Matthew

Crampton and Aggie Betterton.

- You deserve to be free.

[soft dramatic music]

♪ ♪

- It's all right.

It's all right.

- Lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

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

and ever.

Amen.
- Amen.

- Amen.

- Amen.

- Raphael.

- Dear Lord, we pray for
the soul of Agatha Frances

Betterton, mother,
sister, who knew

how to love unconditionally.

[door closes]

- I just wanted to
say I'm leaving.

Finished my work.

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

It's hard to imagine
the doom being

carried out there, though.

- Yes.

I'm sorry that you got
caught up in all of this.

- It wasn't quite the
job I was expecting.

- Ha.

George Gregory has
confessed to both murders.

Hopefully you won't have
to give evidence to trial.

- I'd cope, if you were there.

In case you need me.

- Ready, sir?

- Good work, Sergeant.

[bell ringing]

♪ ♪