01x02 - In The Dark - Final Chapter

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Previously on "Queens of Mystery" Oh, I do hope you win.

You people are k*lling me with your constant demands.

The winner is Thank you.

- Oh, my God! - Help! Oscar Prescott, 42, single.

Oscar and I were lovers.

Snake! You don't think Beth had anything to do - with Oscar's death, do you? - Not without good reason.

- Are those the? - Missing pages? Yes.

The inspector wants this investigation done by the book.

Anybody here? What's happened? Oh, my goodness.

Oh.

How How The how was apparent to anyone acquainted with the rudimentary physics of the domino effect.

What's over there? The real question Oh, my Lord.

Was, "Why?" Beth? An ardent campaigner, double-m*rder suspect Beth Stone has spent a lifetime fighting against injustice.

Today, however, she did not fight.

She did not even declare her innocence.

She did precisely nothing.

For Beth Stone had something more pressing on her mind than the possibility of a lifetime in prison The future happiness of her beloved niece, Matilda.

All ready? On my count, then.

Right.

Three, two, one, lift.

It's Tobias Young.

Oscar Prescott's new agent.

Suggesting there was an old agent.

Guy Ashton.

Not wanting to state the obvious, the victim's body shows signs consistent with crush injuries.

Death was most likely instantaneous.

That's one small mercy.

As is the fact we don't have to look far to find our culprit.

With respect, sir.

Your aunt was caught red-handed, Stone.

But anyone could've come in here under the cover of darkness.

Matilda Sergeant Stone's right, Inspector.

There are several points of entry.

I hope this isn't a reluctance to face the facts, Sergeant.

If Aunt Beth had anything to do with these murders, I won't hesitate to charge her.

T-R-U truncheon.

We've come to see our sister.

Not possible, I'm afraid.

We thought you'd say that.

Terry? Terry? Is that you? Pick up the phone.

Mum? - Terry, is that you? - Yes, Mum.

No, Mum.

- What are you playing at, Terry? - But I didn't know you knew each other.

I will, yes.

- What do you want for dinner? - Tea? Alphabetti Spaghetti.

Thank you.

If you'd like to follow me.

10 minutes.

We know you lied to Matilda about knowing Oscar Prescott.

I saw the pair of you arguing.

- We weren't arguing.

- You were manhandling him.

I was trying to get him to show me something in the library.

Then why not tell Mattie that instead of lying to her? It was for Matilda's own good.

Oscar found out about Dragomir.

Oscar Prescott had spent the previous summer as a writer-in-residence, working in the castle's extensive library, where he came across an article from an obscure local journal about the town's Edgar Allan Poe Appreciation Society and a visiting academic, Professor Alexander Dragomir, a biographer researching the mysterious death of Poe, the founding father of the modern detective story.

I thought we'd heard the last of Dragomir.

So did I.

But the article also mentioned that he hired a local research assistant.

- Eleanor.

- Eleanor.

Although Matilda's mother working for a visiting Bulgarian academic wasn't in itself a scandal the timing of said employment, precisely nine months and nine days before the date of Matilda's birth, was a secret her aunts were determined to take with them to their graves.

Oscar saw Eleanor's surname, asked if we were related.

What you saw was me trying to get Oscar to show me the article, except he was too busy.

If I tell Matilda the truth, she'll find out about Dragomir, and none of us want that.

So where's the article now? That's the problem.

I have no idea.

Despite past generations of the Hiddledean family being enthusiastic bibliophiles, archivists they were not.

Of the tens of thousands of books, newspapers, and journals collected over the years, not a single one had ever been catalogued.

Beth? I've been searching for it ever since.

So how do we get you out of this mess without Matilda finding out about Dragomir and that article? So you do believe I'm not the m*rder*r? Of course.

We were never in any doubt.

If we could only find the real m*rder*r, Matilda would be forced to let me go, and all of this could be forgotten.

What? Don't tell me you already have a suspect in mind? In fact, Cat and Jane Stone had two possible suspects in mind.

It's Cat.

I'm coming in.

I hope you brought coffee.

Do you want to explain, or shall I make an educated guess? I met Sadie Hanson at last year's festival.

She said she wanted to be a writer herself someday, and she'd written some Catherine Parr fan fiction, and I promised to read it.

And? I kept my promise.

It was good.

I mean, it was really good.

So you changed the title, made a few tweaks, and submitted it as your own work.

The rumors were true.

I was b*rned out.

It had been three years since my last book.

My publisher was threatening to take back my advance, for God's sake.

And Sadie Hanson? She read "m*rder on the Mary Rose" and recognized it as her own work.

Please don't do this to me.

And then I did something I'll regret for the rest of my life.

I told her if she didn't keep her mouth shut Isabella, please.

I'd ruin any chance she had of becoming a writer.

And two days ago, Oscar came to my room.

Sadie had sent him a copy of her manuscript.

Yeah? And when he saw my book, he knew I'd plagiarized her work.

I tried to persuade him to see my point of view.

You're a m*rder*r 'cause she's dead.

You k*lled her.

And that's when he told me - Because of you.

- No! That Sadie had taken her own life.

It was the first I knew about it.

And what did Oscar want? Money? Justice.

Justice for Sadie.

He said I had 48 hours to come clean, or he'd tell the world what I'd done.

And you knew if the truth came out, it would ruin your career.

You can't seriously think I k*lled Oscar.

You all but k*lled Sadie Hanson.

She k*lled herself! Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.

Oh, Cat.

- I'll see you around, Isabella.

- Cat.

Please don't go.

No one can know about this.

Cat! Interview between Detective Sergeant Matilda Stone and Elizabeth Margaret Stone.

P.

C.

Terry Foster is also present.

The accused has waived her right to counsel.

You lied when you told me you didn't know Oscar Prescott.

No comment.

A witness saw you arguing with him on the morning of his death.

What were you arguing about? No comment.

Please, Aunt Beth.

I'm trying to help you.

Why were you in the library last night? You've known me all your life, Matilda.

I couldn't love you more if you were my own child.

Well, because in many ways you are.

I won't tell you why I was talking with Oscar Prescott, and I won't tell you why I was in the library.

I want you to trust me when I tell you that I did not k*ll anyone.

Sergeant Stone, a word.

Interview suspended at 11:35.

I want that woman charged with double m*rder.

But, sir She was seen arguing with Oscar Prescott the morning of his death and was caught red-handed at the scene of Tobias Young's m*rder.

But there are more-viable suspects.

Guy Ashton, for one.

He has a temper and was seen arguing with both Prescott and Young.

Please, sir, my aunt's in custody.

She's not going anywhere.

Give me until the end of the day to prove it's not her.

If I can't, then I'll charge her.

- You have until lunch.

- But that's two hours.

Take it or leave it, Sergeant.

Matilda would take it.

- Aunt Jane.

- You have to get down here.

It's Guy Ashton.

He's on the roof, and he's threatening to jump.

Get out the way! I'm gonna do it! Get out the way! You think I'm joking?! What's that bird doing there? Get him away! - Guy.

- What?! - It's Detective Sergeant Stone.

- Stand back or I'll jump! Why don't you tell me what all this is about? - It's over.

- What is? - He's been fired.

- You all think I did it.

I loved Oscar.

And Tobias Young? Duplicitous toad.

I'm glad he's dead, but I swear I had nothing to do with it.

I believe you, Guy.

You're just saying that so I'll come down.

Matildawas just saying it so that he would come down.

No! There are more-viable suspects.

In fact, I'm close to making an arrest.

Ah - Aah! - Help! Pull! Aah! Get the paramedics.

- Will he be okay? - He's fine.

But we're gonna have to keep him in overnight just as a precaution.

George, Matt.

Jane.

Is there anyone around here you lot don't know? Statistically that's highly probable, but in reality, no.

Don't get angry, but I broke into Max Sinclair's room last night.

- Aunt Jane! - I found this in his fireplace.

The Bora Bora Football Association? The British Board of Forensic Accountants.

Think of them as detectives with an abacus.

I did some digging, comparing Sinclair Publishing's annual reports with sales records of Oscar's books.

Max was skimming.

He was shortchanging Oscar by thousands every month.

And Oscar found out? I'm betting he hired a forensic accountant to investigate.

At that precise moment, Maximilian Sinclair was laying a wager of a different kind.

A wager that he could sneak away from Hiddledean Castle without being noticed.

Hey! You! He was wrong.

Stop! Oh! Damn it! We need to talk.

Yours, I believe.

Why were you arguing with Oscar Prescott? Okay.

I was massaging the books.

- And Oscar found out.

- He hired a forensic accountant.

Oscar showed me their report on the morning he was m*rder*d.

The report you stole and b*rned in your room.

He told me he'd go to the police unless I handed over a controlling share of my company.

30 years I toiled to build up that firm.

30 years.

And he wanted me to hand over control for a fraction of what it's worth.

- And so you k*lled him? - What? m*rder was the last thing on my mind.

You'd lost a controlling share of your company.

But I still owned 49%.

And the deal tied Oscar to Sinclair Publishing for life.

Even as a minority shareholder, I was set to make a fortune.

So, no, Sergeant, I did not k*ll Oscar Prescott.

What will happen to him now? That's down to the fraud office.

But he's finished as a publisher.

You don't think he's our k*ller? Too greedy.

Oscar was worth far more to him alive than dead.

If he didn't k*ll Oscar Prescott, who did? The truth, Aunt Jane? I don't know.

Hmm.

I hear you had an eventful morning, Sergeant.

Sir.

But still no arrests for m*rder? I want your aunt charged, or I want your warrant card on my desk.

I'll ask you again.

Why were you arguing with Oscar Prescott, and what were you doing in the library last night? Failure to answer these questions will result in you being charged with double m*rder.

You do what you have to do, Mattie.

So you're refusing to answer my questions? Get on with it, Sergeant.

- Matilda.

- Not now, Foster.

- It's important, sir.

- I said not now.

But Benjamin Kingston's at the front desk.

And he wants to confess to both killings.

I did it.

I k*lled Oscar.

Why? Jealousy.

You were right.

I hated seeing how successful he'd become.

I thought you two were friends.

Contemporaries.

He was a hack.

Flaunting his fame in my face.

b*ating me to the Golden Pick-Axe was the final straw.

When the lights failed I took my chance.

And Tobias Young? Degenerate gambler was my agent.

Borrowed a fortune from me over the years, except he wouldn't pay it back.

Kept asking for more.

So you k*lled him? I had a taste for it by then.

You're free to go.

Inspector Thorne's satisfied you had nothing to do with either m*rder.

Follow P.

C.

Foster.

He'll return your belongings.

Congratulations on solving your first case, Sergeant.

Thank you, sir.

You know what Napoleon said about his generals? He'd rather they were lucky than good.

Not sure I agree.

Have the paperwork on my desk first thing.

Sir.

- Oh! - Oh! To Beth being free and Detective Sergeant Matilda Stone solving her first-ever m*rder.

- Whoo-hoo! - Whoo-hoo! Oh, what's the matter, kid? You should be happy.

I am.

It's just I didn't so much solve the case as have it handed to me.

- A win's a win.

- Mm.

None of it feels right.

Not even Baron Tollage being the m*rder*r in "Brown Bread" makes sense.

I just can't help thinking something's missing.

I told you.

Let us look at the manuscript.

Missing.

Missing.

Of course! - I'll be back.

- Bye, love.

- See ya.

- Take care.

Ohh.

I wish she would let us look at the manuscript.

Mm? Oh, what? Matilda fell asleep on the sofa reading it.

So I made three copies.

- So you stole police evidence? - Ohh! Technically, I just copied it.

I gave it back.

Well, in that case.

Give it here.

Thank you.

Well, I'm surprised to see you again, Sergeant.

I have some questions to ask you about the works you sent for restoration.

Your mother, I believe? Oh.

"Brown Bread" is based on a true story involving your parents.

Do come in.

My parents narrowly avoided a scandal in the '60s.

Do sit down, please.

Lord Blenning was k*lled hunting on our land, and the rumor was that he was having an affair with my mother and that my father had sh*t him.

The description of the baron and the one-eyed baroness in Oscar's book could only be my parents.

So you sent the paintings and photographs away to avoid anyone making the connection? My mother is 93, Sergeant.

A scandal of that magnitude would finish her off.

I needed to know whether Oscar had named the baron My father as the k*ller.

So I thought if I gave Oscar the award, I could steal the manuscript from his bag while he was at the lectern.

And all I had to do was arrange for the lights to fail at precisely the right moment.

Except you hadn't bargained on Oscar performing a reading.

But you had to find a way to stop him, so you k*lled him? What? I k*lled Oscar? In order to steal the manuscript, what, and then post the last five pages on the noticeboard the next day? But I didn't want the world to make the connection between the k*ller and my father.

Why on earth would I do that? Hmm? Have you ever considered maybe the rumors were true? That Oscar uncovered evidence of your father's guilt? Oh, you misunderstand me, Sergeant.

My father wasguilty.

Yeah, no, that's the whole point.

Well, I-I always knew that.

After I saw him burying the r*fle in the garden.

I never told Mother.

It would break her heart if she ever found out the truth.

Oh, golly, I'm beginning to wish I'd given the Golden Pick-Axe Award to Isabella Wolfe after all.

Isabella Wolfe? Don't you mean Benjamin Kingston? No, I don't.

Why would I mean that? Well, I understood you enticed Benjamin Kingston to the festival by promising him he'd win the Golden Pick-Axe.

No, I had much simpler bait to lure him.

I invited Oscar.

And wherever Oscar goes, Emily goes too.

And I knew that Benjamin would never miss the opportunity of spending a weekend in Emily's company.

He'll do anything for her.

Prescott's done a Christie.

And in that very moment, everything became clear.

I know who the k*ller is.

Crikey.

Well, one thing we can all agree with Matilda on is that Baron Tollage definitely wasn't the m*rder*r.

Agreed.

Meaning the missing pages that Matilda took from the noticeboard are fake.

And that Oscar Prescott's death and the stolen pages are connected after all.

Someone's gone to a lot of effort to make sure the real ending to "Brown Bread" remains a secret.

Well, I figured out by page 50 the baroness did it.

That's nonsense.

It can't be her.

It has to be Theodore Gill III.

You're both wrong.

It's Lady Helmhurst.

While Beth, Cat, and Jane Stone disagreed about the identity of a fictional k*ller their niece edged ever closer to confirming her own suspicions about the identity of a real-life one.

The missing pages.

"Palmer coolly turned to take in the guests' expectant faces and declared" And the m*rder*r is So we're all agreed.

It can't be Dr.

Reynolds either.

That's everyone eliminated.

Not quite everyone.

What did Sherlock Holmes say? Once you have eliminated the impossible Whatever remains, however improbable Must be the truth.

- Of course.

- Of course.

He's the only person not on our list.

What the Stone sisters had deduced by a process of elimination was that Lord Grint's k*ller was Me.

Charlie Reginald Palmer.

You see, I'm not a well man.

X-ray showed a shadow on the old lung.

Six months tops, the docs reckon.

Now, I'm not one of life's lingerers.

I can't be dealing with all that hospice malarkey.

Not for me.

But I couldn't leave this little world before settling an old family score.

Lord Grint was a man of dubious scruples who, I recently discovered, was single-handedly responsible for the demise of my beloved big sister, Ida.

Ooh! So, honors even.

An eye for an eye and all that.

I've had my fill of this life.

It's been fun while it lasted, but nothing lasts forever.

Does it? Toodle pip, old chums.

So who would steal the end of the manuscript, then k*ll Oscar to stop the world knowing this was Charlie Palmer's last case? Charlie Palmer's biggest fan.

We have to warn Matilda.

I know you're in here.

And I know why you k*lled Oscar and Tobias.

Emily? Like Christie with Poirot and Doyle with Holmes, Oscar had grown tired of his brilliant creation.

Charlie Palmer had become a millstone around his neck.

It's all people ever wanted from him.

You got an early look at Oscar's manuscript, didn't you? You learned Oscar was going to k*ll off your beloved Charlie Palmer.

Toodle pip, old chums.

It's why you pretended to faint at the awards ceremony.

And when Oscar turned his back on you Oscar you knew he was going to reveal Charlie Palmer was the m*rder*r, and there would be no going back.

You couldn't let that happen, could you, Emily? All this time I thought it was Oscar you loved, but it wasn't.

It was Charlie Palmer.

When the lights failed that night, you knew there was only one way to save the man you loved, and that was to k*ll Oscar.

Oh, my God, Oscar! I begged Oscar not to k*ll Charlie off, but he wouldn't listen.

It's over, Emily.

My inspector's on his way with a dozen officers.

You're lying.

All right.

All right.

I give in.

You've never been in love, have you, Sergeant? Not real love.

Pure love.

That's what Charlie and I have.

Real, pure love.

And I'm not gonna let Oscar or Tobias or you come between us.

How about us?! We always had your back, kid.

Did Emily say why she k*lled Tobias? He was blackmailing her.

After k*lling Oscar and stealing the pages of the manuscript, she forged her own ending to "Brown Bread," one that didn't pin the m*rder on Charlie Palmer.

She secretly posted her pages on the noticeboard for the world to discover, but Tobias Young saw her.

He realized Emily must've been responsible for k*lling Oscar so he decided to cash in on what he knew.

Tobias had seen how expert Emily was at forging Oscar's handwriting, so he blackmailed her Now witness it.

Into forging Oscar's signature on a contract signing Oscar to his agency.

Excellent.

But Emily knew the blackmailing wouldn't stop there.

And from that moment on Tobias Young's time was up.

You said Benjamin Kingston knew Emily k*lled Oscar.

From the moment he read the fake missing pages.

Benjamin had been secretly in love with Emily for years, so he lied to cover for her.

Every author's writing style is unique, like a fingerprint.

I'd know Oscar's anywhere.

And when he mistakenly thought I was getting close to the truth You're just saying that so I'll come down.

No! There are more-viable suspects.

In fact, I'm close to making an arrest.

Lives ruined.

People dead.

All for the sake of some silly fictional character.

Charlie Palmer was as real to Emily as you are to me.

She loved him.

Well, fiction can be so much more interesting than real life.

Sergeant Stone.

Wanted to say, uh, well done.

To all of you.

That's very kind of you, Inspector.

Yes, well, that said, I expect you ladies to steer well clear of Sergeant Stone's investigations in future.

Do I make myself clear? - Crystal.

- Perfectly.

Whatever.

- I'll see you at the station.

- Sir.

Everything all right, old girl? Charlie? What? Didn't think I was gonna leave you all alone, did you? Goodbye.

Do hope to see you again next year.

Isabella.

Oh, yes, goodbye.

About Oscar's book Well, now you've found the real ending, I don't see anything to fear from its publication.

- What?! - Nothing, Mother! I'm just commenting on the weather! Although I can't say I'm ever going to let anyone near the library again.

It's strictly off limits to the general public from now on.

Plato! Come here! Come on! Whatever the reasons, Beth, Cat, and Jane Stone contented themselves that the existence of Professor Dragomir and his connection to their sister Eleanor was at least safe from Matilda for now.

Mr.

Ashton.

How are you feeling? Yes, uh, a-a lot better.

Um Thanks to Sergeant Stone here.

Well, you saved my life.

I'm so ashamed.

You heard about Emily? A crime of passion if I ever heard one.

Will you be back next year? Oh, God, no.

No, I'm I'm getting out of this game.

I'm retiring as of today.

I thought I'd get to know my grandchildren.

Take some very long walks.

Read.

Perhaps you ladies could recommend a book? Thank you again.

Where to, m'lady? What?! - Mattie.

- Hmm? I forgot to mention We've arranged a little date for you tonight.

What do I want to go on a blind date for? Well, it's not a blind date.

You've met him before.

And let's just say he's a certain eligible medical practitioner from around these parts.

Matilda had a sudden and explicable change of heart.

I suppose one date wouldn't hurt.

Come on.

Get in.

Waiting for her blind date to arrive, Detective Sergeant Matilda Stone couldn't help but wonder what romance the evening would bring.

Sergeant Stone? Matilda's heart skipped a b*at.

Daniel.

I, uh, hoped it was you.

You did? Matilda's heart skipped two beats.

Daniel darling.

What's taking you so long? Everyone's waiting.

Matilda's heart stopped b*ating.

Who's this? This is the new detective I was telling you about.

- Martha? - Matilda.

Matilda.

Natasha.

Daniel's fiancée.

We're not officially engaged.

It's always so nice to meet one of Daniel's police colleagues.

You're such a funny little bunch of people.

Come along now, darling.

We're all waiting for you before we order.

Maybe you'd like to join us? I think she has better things to do than Matilda.

Sorry I'm late.

We'll leave you two lovebirds to it.

Nice to meet you, Martha.

Come along, darling.

Have a nice evening.

Your aunts, they said you like pansies.

Sorry? Yes! I do.

Thank you.

Please, take a seat.

Dr.

Daniel Lynch suddenly found himself feeling oddly out of place at a table where, only moments before, he'd felt perfectly at home.

Daniel.

Daniel! Wake up.

What's gotten into you this evening? Sorry.

Where were we? As for Matilda, the evening may not have worked out as planned, but she was nevertheless content.

She was home in her treasured Wildemarsh, reunited with her beloved aunts, living above her favorite place in the world, and doing a job she cherished.

And unbeknown to her, a fraction over 316 yards, two feet, and eight inches away works a man who might Justmight Be able to shed light on the riddle of her mother's disappearance.