01x06 - Only Memories Remain

[bunniefuu]

(pleasant music)

- [Regan] Something's not right.

- What's this?

- [Regan] Black rose.

- Is that not the

flower you give

when someone has already died?

- Or a lost love.

There you are now,

Miss Nancy Vickers.

Consorting with the low

sorts and the likes of that.

- [Regan] There's

a Yank in town,

photograph collector

of some sort.

- You stole this

when we were there?

- Well it was just lying about.

- Some years ago I

traveled with an assistant

who subsequently

committed suicide.

I saw him!

- You've seen a dead person?

- You're not dead, Vudry.

I allowed him to

introduce a motif

into my work, a black rose.

- And you're saying

someone k*lled him

in the cell, in Dublin Castle?

- Is that what you

are, detective?

Suspicious of your colleagues?

- Someone's trying to

cover something up.

- I think you may have got

my heart off current, Nancy.

- What?

Can you see those?

- [Molloy] Whoever

commissioned this album

are very sick, dangerous people.

- Tends to be the case

with secret societies.

- Henry took it.

Who do they think has it now?

- Your employer

sent you this, sir.

Not too happy that we

haven't found it yet.

- Make sure it disappears.

I don't want anyone

to know I've got it.

- [Nancy] The photo album,

did you tell him about that?

- I told him everything.

- I hope so, Uncle.

People are dying.

(intense music)

(man yelps)

- Jesus Christ.

I don't think we're

looking at a suicide here.

- No boy, we're not.

And you sh*t talking

me down in the yard.

Look at this, escalation.

- f*ck me.

This isn't a pretty picture.

- No it is not.

(suspenseful music)

(dramatic music)

(plucky music)

- She came here to work.

- She came here

because you could

keep her trapped no longer.

You want to keep her

fragile and useless,

just like Mother

used to do to us.

- No, brother.

I just want to protect

her from herself.

The two of you are more alike

than I ever could have feared.

- A package, two

letters, a postcard,

and a new camera brochure.

There are some nice

new models listed.

- Another new camera?

- [Nancy] We can't be falling

behind in trends, Mother.

- That's not it.

He was drunk one Christmas.

Blabbering about how the

camera, what was it Brock?

How the camera

captures the soul,

or something silly like that.

What's the matter with you?

- I

I fear something

terrible has happened.

(somber music)

- [Molloy] How are you feeling

since the funeral, sir?

- I'm fine, Molloy.

So fine in fact that I'm

confident in my abilities

to work on my own again.

- Sir?

- What I mean is, your

trial period of employment

has come to an end.

My foot has healed sufficiently,

and I want to thank

you for your work.

- I'll be happy sir to

continue the same hours

but half the pay.

This job means a

great deal to me.

- You're dismissed.

- Uncle, I'm going

with Carruthers now.

If Mother is as bad as

she was at the funeral,

I might be gone a few days.

- You should stay with

your mother, Nancy.

She needs you now.

- I thought you'd

rather have me here.

- I don't need you anymore.

- Seems we've both

been dismissed.

- Molloy!

You really dismissed him?

- It's for the best.

- And me?

- Thank you for

your efforts, Nancy,

but I'm back to being

independent now.

- You spoke to Regan, you said.

This was all

supposed to go away.

What were you sent

that's so alarmed you

the day that Henry was found?

Why do you place a black

rose in your photos?

- I don't.

- You did.

- I didn't.

- I saw them.

On that strange little wall

you keep hidden in your study.

- The black rose is not mine.

- Who then?

- Go now, Nancy.

- My brother is

dead, so if you think

that I won't get to

the bottom of this,

then you are sorely mistaken.

I am not the same eager

little girl I once was.

Neville taught me to

be as cold as you are.

Don't think I won't use that.

Watch your back, Carruthers.

Everyone's getting

dismissed today.

- So, what you reckon?

Laying it all out now,

with what we know.

- Right, this Yank by

the name of Whacker.

He wants to make a buck

off m*rder photography.

He's w*r hardened, committed

atrocities no doubt.

- Comes to Europe looking

to add to his collection.

Falls in with Louis

Cannon and this crowd

looking for ways

to make more money.

- But Whacker needs

a photographer to

make some of his own.

One who can pose and

photograph the victims.

- If not butcher them outright.

- The last three

fellas are connected,

but the first two suicides

have nothing in common.

- Well nothing's come up yet.

- Happenstance.

- What did I say about--

- Don't, wait, now,

you're looking for someone

to photograph the dead.

Who won't ask questions

and can keep secrets.

- Someone whose business

isn't what it once was.

- Sometimes it's just as plain

as the nose on your face, Fred.

- Blennerhasset.

And I the fool, tellin'

him my theories.

- Sure, of course he

won't cooperate with you

if the whole bloody trail

leads back to his doorstep.

- I knew there was a reason

why they were shuttin' me down.

- See if Whacker contacts him.

Business proposition.

Lethal business, like.

- But the guilt is

gettin' to Blennerhasset.

His nephew's just done,

it's gone too far.

The man is shook to

f*ck, rattled so he is.

- The net is closing in, Fred.

- It is, girl.

- I can't keep our

secret anymore.

Not if you aren't dead.

(ominous music)

(loud thud)

(intense music)

- Good day, sir.

I'm lookin' for a photo album.

- I have no idea what

you're talking about.

Very well, perhaps we

could have some tea.

Or perhaps not.

(somber music)

- [Nancy] There ya are now.

- Here I am now.

How have you been?

- Sad.

I'm just sad, Molloy.

Henry didn't deserve

to die like that.

And I don't like being at home.

It makes me sadder.

- I can only imagine, Nancy.

- Is your confidence

in yourself so shaken

that you're back digging graves?

- I promised a

better life, Nancy.

Work, food on the table.

A small bit of comfort.

I don't have the luxury of

not working like you do.

(shovel clangs)

I'm sorry, that was mean.

- It's fine.

But why do something you

hate for a better life?

Who needs that promise from you?

- Me wife.

I promised her.

I bought a small plot for

Siobhan when she died last year.

- My goodness.

I'm so sorry for

your loss, Molloy.

- I don't want anyone's

sympathies, Nancy.

I just wanted to do

me work, you know?

- Do you have to give up

doing something you love?

- I never said I was giving up.

I'm gonna go to Rubinstein,

or the Grave Brothers,

or some other fellow gaffer.

Given up?

I mean absolute

bollocks to that.

- Good for you, Molloy.

Good for you.

- It's not so bad.

I get to spend some

time with yourself, so.

It's grand.

- I'd like your

advice on a matter.

Will you have a

cup of tea with me?

- I'd k*ll for a sup, Nancy.

(ominous music)

- I don't know what

to do about Uncle.

Something isn't right.

I feel like I

should go to Regan,

but what would I tell him?

- I didn't burn

that photo album.

- The one you stole

at the seance?

- Yeah, but don't say steal.

Steal makes me nervous.

Because that's what

your brother did,

from some gathering that crashed

in the Wicklow mountains.

That album was never

supposed to get out.

- The photos in that

dreadful collection.

Are they in his style?

- Yeah.

They're posed, delicate,

almost as if they're alive.

- Did any feature a black rose?

- Yeah.

- There was one in the

photos Henry stole.

I lied to Regan when he asked,

but Uncle used to place

them in his photographs.

They were once his signature.

- You don't think

your uncle could--

- I don't know what

to think anymore.

It's all so odd.

But something has to be done.

I don't want anyone to

suffer the way Henry did.

- I have the album at home.

We could take it to Regan.

- No, let's take it to Uncle.

You go get it.

I'll get Regan.

- And meet at your uncle's?

- Let's do that.

(somber music)

- I know who he's

been workin' for,

but I don't know who he is.

And see I've been

gettin' paranoid

on account of him k*lling folk.

- So these people

that he's working for?

- An organization.

A very--

- Ambitious one?

- Exactly that.

I've seen some dark

souls in my life.

Evil that would

turn your stomach.

Kinda folk that don't mind

prick teasin' the devil.

But this organization,

oh my they are

pioneers of carnage.

And so creative

for one so young.

- Well, don't keep me waiting.

- They call themselves

the Hellfire Club.

- Oh, paying tribute to that

myth from a century ago.

- Who knows, man.

Maybe they're immortal.

Been here all this time.

- Well whatever their commission

is, it's not my business.

(ominous music)

- Death and photography

is your business, sir,

and they've been paying

someone to k*ll their enemies

and document it as they do.

And you know who

it is, don't you?

- These police

cabs are always out

when there's an emergency.

- It is an emergency.

Cattle farmers

rioting in Smithfield.

Three cows dead.

Bloodbath.

(hooves clopping)

- Farrelly has been watching

Blennerhasset's house all week,

and he's actually

spotted Whacker

going in not 15 minutes ago.

- The call is out.

Have a little patience, man.

- Detective!

- [Regan] Everyone is only

doing their best, aren't they?

- [Man] Yes sir.

- [Man] Would you ever

stop being so bloody simple

and just knock off?

- Get up on yourself if

your mickey's long enough.

- Hup, go on.

(Nancy screams)

(dramatic music)

(Nancy screams)

- You see, I'm merely a

collector of the macabre.

An enthusiast.

Not a maker, like you

are Mr. Blennerhasset,

and if they're trying

to hang this on me,

well I ain't going

down without a fight.

- All right, let's have

this out once and

- Have a seat, boy.

Sit down.

Where's the g*dd*mn album?

Because that's the only thing

that's gonna get any

of us outta this.

- I don't have it.

I might know who made

it, but I don't have it.

- So you do know who it is.

Who is it?

- Speak!

- His name is John Vudry.

- Who the f*ck is John Vudry?

- He was my

assistant, my friend.

For five years we

had a nice life.

Then one day, we

went to see a family

whose daughter had

died from a fall.

There was dispute

over the payment,

which can be difficult

with bereaved families.

And after it was all cleared up,

I went to the room where

the girl was being waked,

and that's when I saw him.

I saw him cutting her.

- The dead girl?

- Yes, he had been

defiling corpses.

Young, old, boys, girls.

Whenever the opportunity arose.

- You Irish are f*ck' dark.

- I cast him out, but then

I couldn't tell anyone.

So I,

I just covered it up.

- So you knew about all

of this from the start?

You could've stopped it.

- But then he disappeared.

I was led to believe that

he'd committed suicide.

It was only when I

saw the photograph

that Regan had found that

I suspected maybe

that he had returned.

But I just suppressed it.

And then, when

Henry was m*rder*d,

I knew that I couldn't

protect anyone.

So I made a decision to go

and tell Regan everything.

- Don't sh**t him.

- Please, he's

merely my coachman.

- Merely?

- In you come, coachman.

Have a seat, right over there.

(ominous music)

- Please tell me someone's

closed the front door.

- I did.

No use having it open,

not in this weather.

- But I closed it.

- You left it on the latch.

- It was on the

latch when I came in.

- Shut up!

State your business, coachman.

- Oh, I have a letter

for Mr. Blennerhasset.

It's him, sir.

- Who?

- The old assistant.

(suspenseful music)

- He has Nancy.

- Where?

- In the Wicklow mountains.

- We're going.

- No, he just wants me.

On my own.

(eerie music)

- No one's goin'

nowhere unless I say so.

(loud knocking)

- Open it up now, come on.

(loud knocking)

Bushrod Whacker, come

out with your hands up,

you villainous Yankee.

- This f*ck called

me a g*dd*mn Yankee?

A villainous one he say?

- [Regan] Mr. Whacker,

I know you're in there!

- I need to find Vudry,

and put an end to this.

If the police intervene,

he's going to k*ll her.

I need your assistance.

- Yeah, of course.

- Whatever you

need, Mr. Whacker,

I will be forever in your debt,

but we must get to Nancy.

- Son of a b*tch.

- [Regan] Right now,

get your battering ram!

- I lied to you.

- You thieved this from me?

- No I, I accidentally

thieved it.

Give it to Detective Regan.

Trust only him.

- [Regan] One, two!

(ram thuds)

Again!

- You think he's

gonna believe anything

that comes out of my mouth

when he sees what

I've paid money for?

(ram thudding)

- [Regan] Blennerhasset!

- Perhaps Mr. Whacker isn't

the most suitable negotiator.

- [Regan] Come on lads!

- [Police] One, two.

(ram thuds)

- Give this to Regan.

We best leave by the back way.

- I want my innocence proved.

All right.

(police grunt)

- Right, stop the corridor.

- Ann's parked round the back.

You be gentle with

her, do ya hear?

- You'd let me ride your horse?

- I said be gentle with her.

- [Regan] Let us in.

(suspenseful music)

Lads come on, quick, quick!

- All right lads.

Let's just slow this all

down nice and carefully now,

before someone gets shot

in the face, namely me.

- Don't worry, Carruthers boy.

We'll get you outta this.

- Oh, I'm all right.

I just needed you

to all slow down.

- Why?

- So I can tell

the story clearly.

Because it's a matter

of great urgency.

(eerie music)

(Nancy gasping)

- What is this?

- Nancy.

It's a photo studio.

Is it not obvious?

(birds chirping)

(cart rattling)

(horse whinnies)

- Ann, come on, go!

Move!

I don't think she's movin'.

Hey.

She's not movin'.

Think we gotta go on foot.

- [Brock] Let's make haste.

- Don't move.

Well, not that

you can move much.

I mean, you could kick and

scream all you want, Nancy,

but we're in the middle of

the bloody Wicklow mountains,

so best of luck to you.

- You m*rder*d my brother.

- Oh, I slaughtered

him like a pig, yes,

but he stole a photo album

I didn't get a

chance to complete.

And that was a

commission, you know.

I need to get paid.

So many empty pages

left to be filled.

- I don't have your album.

- I know.

Don't worry, my employers

have doubled their efforts

to get it back, leaving me

free to continue my work.

- You're a rare type of b*stard.

- Oh Nancy,

the rarest b*stard going.

You wouldn't find

a b*stard like me

in any old corner of Dublin.

(eerie music)

You really were a

good crack, Nancy.

You're an absolute tonic.

I don't know how you managed

it coming from that shower.

Brock managed it, I suppose,

for the longest time.

- When you were his assistant.

- We could've had a lovely life.

If only he weren't so

judgmental about my habits.

He brought me into his world,

and then he took it

all away from me.

Now I'm going to

take it from him.

(Nancy chuckles)

- It's already been taken away.

Can't you see that?

He's been mourning it

for the last 10 years.

He didn't ruin your

life, you ruined his.

- Well then,

it's time to put him out

of his misery, isn't it?

Now that I've mastered my trade,

it's time to take over the

death photography business.

The apprentice becomes the

master, the way it should be.

(somber music)

- [Carruthers] And then finally.

- For f*ck's sake.

- They went out

through the window,

youse came battering

through the door,

and here we are.

- Now.

Consider this a surrender

safe in the knowledge

that I am an innocent

man in all this m*rder.

- And,

Mr. Blennerhasset said I could

entrust this photo album to you.

(eerie music)

- Men, take these boys in.

- Yes sir.

- Come on, you.

Come on now.

- Get in there now, and make

yourself nice and comfortable.

(Whacker sighs)

- Can I get a cup of coffee?

(Regan chuckles)

- That's not how it works

around here at all, boy.

m*rder suspects

don't get coffee.

- They told me you're the

only one I should trust,

so if I'm gonna talk,

we're gonna need plenty of it.

- Regan?

Roper tells me the suspect

helped Blennerhasset and Molloy

escape for some

rescue operation?

- Yes sir.

But I want to question

Mr. Whacker here.

- Find those men.

Mr. Whacker's not

going anywhere.

(gate thuds)

- Surely one of you f*ck

knows how to make a

decent cup of coffee.

(eerie music)

- Remember how he'd dress you

up and give you direction,

and you loved it,

and yet you never noticed

me, your audience.

- You're distinctly unmemorable.

- Look at you now.

You can't keep your

eyes off of me.

I thought you

might recognize me,

but I was glad when you didn't.

I knew then that he'd

kept all of my secrets.

(ominous music)

(suspenseful music)

(crow cawing)

- Now if the coachman moves

against me, you take him.

- But you're in Vudry's trap.

What if he just jams a knife

in your throat there and then?

- That's not his style.

(men shouting)

- Carruthers, if they're

engaging with a k*ller,

you have to tell me.

We need DMP men there.

- If they wanted DMP men there,

there'll be DMP men there.

(glass tinkling)

(flames crackling)

- [Man] There's a fire!

- Open the g*dd*mn door, fire!

Fire!

- Don't f*ck' move.

- [Whacker] Get me outta here!

- [Man] Fire!

- Get back, get back!

(Whacker screaming)

Jesus Christ!

(intense music)

Call the fire brigade.

Call the fire brigade!

Jesus Christ!

f*ck

(suspenseful music)

- I think you're expecting me.

- Look how brave you've become.

- Oh Nancy, I'm so sorry.

- I'm sorry too.

I should've introduced

you to my beau, Percy.

- Look at that face.

Now that is a picture.

That's a right picture.

- So you've progressed

to murders, John.

Quite the leap from

defiling corpses.

- That's merely an insult, yes?

- You don't need to know.

- That's been your

strategy all along, Uncle,

and look where it's gotten

me, thank you kindly.

- I was never dead

to you, was I?

- You were.

I never reported you.

I never spoke of you.

And I refused to let

your indiscretions

ruin my reputation.

- Goodness, Brock.

You've become fierce

gloomy, haven't you?

Maybe you shouldn't have

kicked me onto the streets.

- Well, you did turn out to

be a deranged fiend, John.

Unfortunately.

- Well, I wasn't as calm

under pressure as I am now.

I've gotten terribly

good at biding my time,

waiting for the perfect moment,

waiting for the

right commission.

No.

No.

You don't get to

play the hero now.

You had your chance.

- Let her go, John.

(Nancy whimpering)

Let her go, and I

will take her place.

No harm will come to you, Nancy.

I'm sorry.

- Spare me.

(somber music)

- Knowles, bring her in.

- I thought you

would let her go.

- Oh, no.

I just wanted to

get your hopes up.

Isn't that funny?

Knowles.

(Knowles grunting)

- You're gonna regret that.

(both grunting)

- Well, I regret a

lot of things, so.

- Rest assured,

this isn't a memory

that I'll need to

photograph, dear Brock.

I'll remember it for

as long as I live.

(both grunting)

(both gasping)

(John sputtering)

Brock, please.

Me dying won't

make this go away.

They know about us,

about everything.

- Quiet, John.

This is your time.

Shh.

Let it go.

Shh, let it go John.

- Well what are we

supposed to tell people?

That the f*ck

spontaneously combusted?

(plucky music)

- This f*ck.

- That f*ck!

You k*lled him.

- It was an accident.

- Was it?

- Yes.

- I have the coachman

trussed up outside.

He's not moving anywhere.

- I would like to

take a photograph.

Just a small commemoration.

- I want no part of this.

- We need to warn Regan

about this organization

of psychopaths.

- No we don't, Molloy.

- No?

Have you not

learned your lesson?

- John Percy Vudry is dead.

And his vendetta

against me is dead.

Now we don't need to

antagonize his employers.

We've seen the

lengths they go to

to cover up their atrocities.

- And you want us to help

them cover it up, even more?

- This will protect us.

- Protect your

reputation, you mean.

- And you, Nancy.

In my own odd way, I've

always tried to keep you safe.

That's why I sent you both away,

to keep you from danger.

- That's what you call this?

- All right.

I'm sorry.

I made a mistake.

But these people,

whoever they are,

if they think that

we're a threat,

they will strike against

us, and our loved ones.

So this might serve as a

warning to leave us alone.

- But if Regan has the

photo album, it's--

- Then they become

his problem, not ours.

- You do what you need to do.

I'll do this.

(somber music)

- Good man, freed up

for your wild goose chase

Freddy and this is why I--

- I had an album of

m*rder photography.

Roper, you saw it.

- Yeah, I caught a glimpse,

but it could've been a fake.

- Look, do you have to

have everything in color

in front of your eyes

before you make judgment?

You absolute f*ck'

pox of a man.

- Freddy!

Language!

All right, where

is this proof now?

- Right, there was a fire.

- Oh yeah, and the

collection of photographs

just disappeared,

disappeared on you?

- Do you not f*ck' think

that sometimes that maybe,

just maybe, I'm

onto something big,

and someone is trying

to k*ll these f*ck

from stoppin' em talking.

- You are dragging foreign

lunatics into custody

where they're being left

to their own devices

and k*lling themselves!

Now clean this mess up, man.

God's sake!

- Jesus, I hope that's

the end of it now.

(birds chirping)

(somber music)

The album vanished.

Like me case.

- Or gone up in

smoke like the Yank.

You can be sure now

he's not behind it,

and he burnt to a cinder

down in the city morgue.

Only the f*ck'

legs left on him.

- The bollocks scorched off him.

Somebody wanted him

dead, and they got it.

And pocketed my evidence

when I was distracted.

- Fred, you can't trust one

single b*stard in there anymore.

- You're right, girl.

Not one single b*stard.

(hooves clopping)

- Carruthers, have

you not locked up?

- Sure I did nothing wrong.

- Nancy, please listen.

I will make this right, I will.

It's just that we need

to stay out of trouble.

- Regan knows you lied to him.

We all lied to him.

- Exactly, that's why

we need to cover it up.

- And what'll you do when he

comes after you with proof?

- Oh I don't think that'll

be a problem anymore.

There was drama in the barracks.

The Yank and the album,

gone up in flames.

- Glad someone did it.

- I expect they'll be

calling on you soon, sir.

- Oh, can't wait.

Look, Molloy.

Please don't leave my employ.

I think we make a

good team, don't you?

- I've had me time.

Thank you for the

apprenticeship.

- Molloy.

It's been lovely

to get to know you.

Feel free to write

to me if you wish.

- Yeah, of course.

- Good.

We'll do that.

Pack up the last of my things.

- My intentions were good.

It's just that my

manner needs work.

- When me wife died, I never

had a photograph of her.

- I didn't know, Molloy.

- No, you did, you knew.

Before I met ya, I

wrote you a letter.

I explained what I could afford,

and you never even

replied to me.

It was just business

for the likes of you.

I don't wanna be that

kind of photographer.

- You're going to be a very

good photographer, Molloy.

- Thank you.

Good luck.

- Ah, he wasn't the worst at it.

- Nancy, you're much too bright

to be living in that morgue.

- And stay living

in your morgue?

No thanks.

You stopped me visiting because

of what happened with him.

- Nancy, you don't understand.

- No.

I think I do.

You cared for him, didn't you?

You cared for him,

and he was a monster.

Even now you can't

tell the truth.

Are all your secrets gonna

be worth it on your deathbed

when there's no one there

to hear you confess them?

- I really would

prefer if you stayed.

You really have been a

great help to the business.

- You've been a memorial

photographer how long?

- Nearly 20 years.

- Soon so many people

will have cameras

that there will be countless

photographs of the living,

people together in the

moment, being present, alive.

When you could only

have those photographs,

why would you even

want the dead ones?

- This came for ya.

- Thank you, Carruthers.

(eerie music)

- I hear you're going

back to the grave digging.

- Oh yeah, not for long, Bessie.

- Good man.

It's what your

father would want.

Leave the past behind.

Keep the memories.

(emotional music)

(singing in foreign language)

(knife scraping)

(man screaming)

(plucky music)