BOZ: Can you confirm this is the second murder of a clergyman?
Two men were torn apart but Father Ambrose wasn't.
His heart was cut out.
Only Hervey's sick enough to think of this.
I'm Augusta Ada Byron.
I may require your services for a dress.
Frederick, may I introduce Mrs Rose. - FREDERICK: Thank you for coming.
You can have bed and board here. With all this talk of the Devil in Pye Street.
I would prefer to have someone here.
SPENCE: "Dean of Westminster announces intended evacuation of the Pye Street Area
amidst fears of public safety and plague."
SHE SOBS Why would God abandon us?
My flock lies here in the cradle of the church
under the gaze of God.
Yet every day they wander further into the valley of death...
BELL RINGS
SPENCE: That's her third dead child in as many days
and her sister will soon follow.
CROWS CAW
Pye Street is cursed, no superstition.
MARLOTT: Why the red ribbon?
If the bereaved can ever afford a consecrated burial
they know which body to look out for...
HORSE NEIGHS
FOLK MUSIC PLAYS
CHILDREN LAUGH AND CHEER
Peelers all over the Archdeacon's crypt this morning?
You still haven't told me what you were after.
You're as jagged and closed as one of these.
Pye Street's emptying fast.
Plague's scaring 'em off.
BILLY: Right then, move on.
CHICKEN CLUCKS
Let's go.
Billy Oates.
SPENCE: Friend of yours?
FOLK MUSIC PLAYS
BELL RINGS
Somebody left the horse untied, who was it?
And don't blame Thomas, Thomas gets blamed for everything...
Hey! Thomas!
Thomas!
We want them scared of you, remember?
You haven't seen a black horse roaming loose have you?
One white sock?
It's alright, Mrs Wild...
What do you want?
Where's Hervey? - Oi!
What do you think this is against your neck?
A spoon? - WILD: Easy.
He's trouble, Mrs Wild.
And a dead man for that matter.
Then he must have something important to say.
Let's talk like gentlemen.
So where is he?
I ain't seen no Hervey, Mrs Wild.
You covered for him. You could've saved Flora's life.
That's a bit rich.
I kept that girl fed, kept her pure.
I cared for her, in my own way...
You sliced that poor girl's throat, didn't you?
Ah, ah.
I didn't kill her.
You sure about that? - Hervey framed me.
You lied to me about him, gave me the wrong man.
And I got you transported.
Yeah well, I got myself out, didn't I?
Always do. Saw myself some sea...
What? You think I'm lying?
I'm a London-lubber at heart, so I came home.
Point being, I ain't seen hide nor hair of Hervey, before or since.
Somebody's supplying him with human hearts.
Murdered priests.
You supplied him once, didn't you.
I'm a showman now.
Either way, you'd have to tell me your trick.
Slipping the noose.
Might have to call for it myself one day.
Roll up, roll up!
Mrs Wild's Penny Exhibition!
KNOCKING ON DOOR
Would your mother be at home?
Mrs Flynn.
FLYNN: If it's payment you're after, you've a wasted journey.
I've nothing left for you.
This is to put towards your children's burial.
A proper one.
It starts in the hands.
SHE SNIFFS
Your help would be more use.
LEVER SCREECHES
WATER RUNS
Do you know how your children came by the sickness?
They say it's the air that's killing us.
They gave us a choice.
Freeze to death without a roof over our heads...
or hold our breath.
Whatever the cause, no one's going to save us.
It is God's will...
Elsie, come help your ma!
LEVER SCREECHES
When the time comes, I beg of you.
Lay us down together.
Elsie.
BELL RINGS
DOOR CREAKS
Thank you for waiting Home secretary
Mr Dean sends his most sincere apologies.
You will have heard of these terrible murders on our brethren.
I'm aware.
Then you will understand that, with regards to your discussion about your new cemeteries
Mr Dean must concentrate on preserving the interest of the living
rather than the dead.
Any message you have I shall pass... - Then inform your Dean
that the dead are killing the living.
With the miasma from their overflowing burial grounds.
And that my new cemeteries will be built, whether the Dean likes it or not!
Does Mr Dean truly seek to prevent grieving families
from having a proper Christian burial
just because he will loose the right to the burial fees?
As if this is a mere business and the church created to make money?
One would hope not.
Then he must stop obstructing the King's royal assent
to the consecration of the new burial grounds.
Then perhaps, Sir Robert, this conversation would feel more relevant
after you've sought re-election and of course triumphed.
D e o vo le n te.
Mr Requist, wherever I sit in the Commons
I am this country's greatest reformer.
So tell your Dean that with your saturated graveyards
and your clergymen being devoured right under your very noses
that it is not the devil you should fear.
It is me.
DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES
JANE: Oh my...!
Oh my God!
JANE SHOUTS He's done it again! Another body!
Another murder!
Bloody hell. - WIND BLOWS
Sir, another murder!
NIGHTINGALE SHUSHES HIM Where?
Pye Street. A street away.
Crowd's gathering quickly, sir.
Parish Watchmen'll be there any minute... - Run! Run!
Stop. Stop. I need your help!
HORSE NEIGHS
I need to get this man's body to Westminster Police station
before the Parish Watchmen take him.
Come on.
NIGHTINGALE: Get it open, we need to leave!
DOOR CLOSES - Nightingale! You know what you're doing?
It's against the law!
Well take it up with the Home Secretary.
A pox on you!
PEEL: Another murder!
If you still suspect the killer to be a Bethlem lunatic
how difficult can it be to find him?
TREADAWAY: Being honest, sir, I'm less certain than ever that it is the inmate.
Whoever is doing this is making a mockery of our service.
Something that the Dean and his Parish Police will exploit with relish!
With respect, sir, Parish Police are already obstructing us with private inquests
and not letting us within twenty yards of the poor souls' bodies.
What else can we do?
Show some initiative, man!
BIRCHER: Get back, everyone back!
Sir Robert.
Inspector...
I took the liberty of claiming Reverend Eastman's body
to beat the Parish Watchmen at their own game, sir.
I do hope it's legal.
Promote him.
TREADAWAY: Fetch the Coroner!
SPENCE: Reverend Eastman... dead...
Who would do such a thing?
Somebody who has no fear of God.
Maybe...
I preached sermon after sermon three sheets to the wind.
Finally the Dean of Westminster hung me out to dry
not because of my rotten inner, because I kept to my bearings.
I dared to criticise Mr Dean for all his selfishness and his greed.
I soon learnt that if you dare to raise your head above the pulpit
the Dean'll come along and knock it off for you and you're out on the street
or so I thought.
The Archdeacon, Reverend Ambrose, and now poor Reverend Eastman...
They all knew that he was as crooked as my elbow
and formed a faction against him.
A sort of holy trinity they wanted to prevent him selling off the church's land
for his own personal gain.
Pye Street.
But instead these three good men are dead.
Murdered.
The church blames the devil, the Pye Street deal goes through
and the Dean's pockets burst with gold.
Pye Street?
Who would buy it?
Fetch me another nail for my coffin and I shall think on it.
MARLOTT: A small beer, please.
The plague is clearing the place.
- You forgot my drink! - You said the Dean wanted to sell Pye Street
but you don't know who to?
This land is worth a hundred times that value.
If they cleared the slums, that is...
The plague's doing that for them.
Read the bible, Martins.
Only God can send down a pestilence to punish us sinners.
Not only God's work...
A man of science who believes he has God's power.
God's right.
ESTHER: What is it that you're doing?
I'm configuring a clockwork figure, just as life-sized and life-like as you or I.
An automaton, wearing that gown.
We will be unveiling her at Mr Dipple's party.
You mean... you mean the gown is for a doll?
BOTH CHUCKLE
Why would a grown man be so enamoured of a contraption?
Knowing the gown is to be worn by a mere contraption
will not diminish your attention to detail.
Of course not.
And in answer to your question
I believe these machines to be the pinnacle of man's own creation.
In the future, they will be able to do anything we tell them to do.
Perhaps even put you out of a job.
That is if your tongue doesn't get you there first.
HORSE NEIGHS
MARLOTT: Hey... - HORSE SNORTS
What are you doing here?
There's people looking for you.
Go home.
THUNDER CRACKS
RAIN POURS DOWN
WATER DRIPS
HE GASPS
DOOR CREAKS
I didn't disturb you, did I?
No.
You're a night owl like myself?
Not through choice.
We have that in common.
Do you play?
As a boy, a little...
At service.
PIANO STARTS PLAYING
THUNDER CRACKS
If you played something, it might help me sleep.
PIANO PLAYS AGAIN
LENNOX: The Reverend's throat was sliced first, incapacitating the victim.
The knife was then used to carve through the ribcage
from the top of the chest to the sternum.
But he left a wide enough margin to ensure
that the victim's heart could be removed without any harm to the organ itself.
No other organ was taken.
Whoever committed this crime was well practiced
precise and methodical.
If you ask me, he is no escaped lunatic.
Thank you, Dr Lennox.
The other two clergymen had exactly the same wound.
Hearts missing, yes, but not torn limb from limb by the Devil himself.
To whom do I owe this privilege?
Your articles are terrifying and misinforming the public.
Whoever your source is, you're printing their lies.
And er...
you believe that missing hearts will scare them less, hm?
DOOR OPENS - INDISTINCT CHATTER
Sir, this man's asking for you.
Well I just came to collect my cart, sir
but I wanted to express my thanks
for the bravery you showed amidst such passionate local mistrust.
Thank you, sir. You see, not all the public hate your guts.
I believe the victims from the clergy were murdered
by order of the Dean of Westminster, on account of their opposition to a land deal.
Details here, names...
Hey!
Do you know of any other priests that might be in danger?
Yes.
Me.
You're a priest? - Ex-priest.
If the Dean finds out I'm talking to you...
DOOR OPENS - Go, follow him.
Make sure you get his name.
That's him, Mr Renquist.
Sergeant Nightingale. - We're already acquainted.
Sergeant Nightingale, I have here a magistrate's order
to release Reverend Eastman's body at once for a private autopsy.
He's all yours.
Go ahead, take him. We've got everything that we need.
Mrs Rose, will you permit me to see your work so far?
It is very fine.
Thank you, sir.
I've been beguiling Mrs Rose with tales from the future.
about how there will come a time when everywhere you look
everything you see and do, will be influenced by machines.
You talk as though you have seen the future with your own eyes.
I don't intend to see it, I intend to make it.
Mrs Rose, Ada is an analyst and this is her age, the age of machines
and we must embrace it or we will be chewed up in its cogs.
If man can create machines and make them do as we command
then man will have more power than God.
ADA: I've no desire for man to have power over God.
For women to have power over men however...
Why shouldn't man have power over God?
Because "power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes what'er it touches.
And obedience, bane of all genius
virtue, freedom, truth
makes slaves of men, and of the human frame
a mechanised automaton."
I said that to your father?
It was Mr Shelley.
FREDERICK: Do you enjoy poetry, Mrs Rose?
When I have the time.
In all honesty, I prefer your father's work
leaflets and verse, only do so much to hold power to account and...
what it really takes is blood.
Lord Byron knew that more than most.
Will Miss Ada be back with us again tomorrow?
She shall.
I have told her if she doesn't finish her work on time
I shall paint her gold and pass her off as an automaton myself.
ESTHER CHUCKLES I believe she would!
She is certainly a force of nature.
Oh, she is more than that.
Her mother was afraid she would inherit her father's turbulent spirit...
She hoped that science would curb her lust for life.
It has done the opposite.
ESTHER: I wish I had her courage. - How so?
I can see the cogs whirring in your mind...
How would it be to try an answer without calculation?
I think perhaps I am afraid to live.
I'm sorry, you must think me very weak.
Not at all.
Are you married.
I'm widowed.
Well I'm sorry for asking.
If I may...
you are not alone in being afraid to live.
There is much to lose.
Perhaps that is why I am so entranced with these machines.
They never change. I am... envious of them for that.
Does that explain how a grown man
can be so enamoured of a contraption?
Undoubtedly.
HE CHUCKLES
SPENCE: Come on, don't you have a home to go to?
Come and sit down here, Martins.
It's no palace but you are most welcome.
Now...
This is a map of St John's and the parish
and this is the location of every death from the fever during the past month.
That's only around Pye Street.
Not only that, it's all clustered around this market area here.
That must be where the miasma, or the... pox-ridden air
whatever you wish to call it, it lurks at its thickest.
That's right outside here, how come you're still breathing?
I could ask you the same.
LEVER SCREECHES
RUMBLES
HE PANTS
SPENCE: Martins!
PUMP CREAKS - Stop!
HE GRUNTS
RUMBLE
Martins, what have you done?
It's not the air, it's the pump! HE PANTS
Get water to your family from somewhere else, anywhere else.
Do you understand?
What you waiting for child? Go! Spread the word!
It's poisoned!
The water's poisoned!
Go on, get away!
It's not the air, it's the pump!
Who you talking to Martins? - MARLOTT: What are you waiting for?
Get away!
Go!
Go away, get away!
It's poisoned! HE PANTS
The water's poisoned, it's not the air!
It's the water!
What are you waiting for? Go!
Get away, all of you!
Go!
I've told you! The water's poisoned!
Go!
SPENCE: There's no one here Martins...
HE PANTS
WATER RUNS
SPENCE: Martins?
MARLOTT: There's a body tied down here.
Oh God.
MARLOTT: A sailor.
DOOR OPENS
FREDERICK: Miss Pickett tells me your work here is done.
Indeed.
I hope it meets your expectations.
FREDERICK: It is exquisite.
I am fortunate Ada brought you to me.
Thank you.
Has Braun arranged you a carriage home?
There's no need. I prefer to walk.
Thank you, Mr Dipple. I have enjoyed this immensely.
Mrs Rose...
I paid you a gross insult in what I first said to you.
It was I who spoke out of turn... - Please, allow me to finish...
I did not believe that you would meet my expectations
but you have surpassed them.
You have breathed your own life into this gown
I can see it.
I hope your evening is a tremendous success...
And if the gold thread works loose again, which it shouldn't, please send for me.
DOOR CREAKS
CROWS CAW
RENQUIST: Is there a patron saint for journalists
or is that a contradiction in terms?
You're late. - A minor disagreement with the police.
Reverend Eastman's autopsy report.
Courtesy of the church.
Was his corpse eviscerated
his body dismembered, like the other priests?
Tragically, so.
Indeed.
For a man of God.
DOOR CLOSES - CROWD CHEERS
It is a stormy night, a pervading omen.
For this evening I, Dr Victor Frankenstein, shall complete my task.
I've become master of the secret of bestowing animation
upon lifeless matter.
The object of my experiments...
a huge automaton in human form!
METAL PLATE RUMBLES - The thunder!
THOMAS GROWLS - The lightning!
HE WAILS
WILD: Calm!
HE GROWLS - RUMBLE
CROWD GASPS
It lives!
If you wanted a seat, soldier, all you had to do was ask.
You poisoned Pye Street.
Did Hervey's bidding. There's a dead sailor in the well.
And I know you put him there.
RUMBLE - LOUD GROAN
HE GRUNTS
HE WAILS
ROSE: What have I done?
MARLOTT: Where's Hervey? - I don't know.
BURNING NOISE - BILLY YELLS
WILD: He has become a demon!
THOMAS KEEPS GROANING
Avaunt, you fiend!
Avaunt!
APPLAUSE
Hervey!
He's still killing people, he's still killing them now!
Thomas, no.
And you're going to help me find him.
Same as yours?
Yeah.
You know him?
No.
I can show you where he come from, though.
I have been invited to a grand occasion tonight.
I thought you might be able to accompany me?
Frederick Dipple. - Jack Martins.
Jack Martins.
Yes. - NIGHTINGALE: Marlott lives again.
This time I can stop him.
QUEENIE: Good. Because you've blamed yourself for too long, Joseph Nightingale.
DEAN: It's very unfortunate that the sad business of these murders
seems to hamper us in our parallel endeavours.
PEEL: I blame the newspapers, fanning the fires of public alarm
These are not the words of God.
These are lies, spoken in a house of lies!
Mr Dipple's endeavours have criminal intentions.
Mr Dipple harbours nothing but good intentions, I'm sure.