_
Good morning, Mrs. True.
Mrs. True.
Miss Adair.
- You look very fine. - I think so, too.
_
What are you walking around here for? That's what I'm saying.
- Oh, I just... - No, wait!
Will you do something about this man, please?
Read it in "The Star"!
Maladie kills fifth victim!
Murder spree soon to eclipse The Ripper!
I don't suppose you know how this all works out.
The ripplings don't come when they're called.
Well, let's just try to keep it civil.
Not like with the innkeeper.
- He had a shotgun. - I've heard that excuse before.
When they have shotguns.
- What's the, uh, girl? - Myrtle Haplisch.
Something to do with her voice.
Good day, Mr. Haplisch.
Yes.
- Are you, uh... - I'm Amalia True.
This is my colleague, Penance Adair.
The reverend told you we were coming?
Oh, yeah. About Myrtle.
Um, come... in.
Missus!
Please, come through to the, um, parlor.
They're saying Myrtle might be...
Touched?
We, we heard about those girls the last few years.
They're... not right.
Neither right nor wrong, being Touched is not a defect of character.
But isn't that killer...
Mal-Maladie. Isn't she one of them?
Maladie's homicidal. I don't know if she's Touched.
- We don't know if Myrtle is. - Oh, she's Touched, all right.
Touched by Red Boot Teddy!
We're, um, of a mind,
there's a Satanic element.
She's Lucifer's vessel, is what.
He speaks through her.
Up!
Yes, uh, the reverend mentioned an affliction of the tongue.
'Cause old Satan is squattin' on it.
Spewing out his foulness,
making a chamber pot of our Myrtle's mouth.
Well, that's a bit descriptive.
Oh, uh, new kettle.
- It tells you when it's, um... - Sophie!
Is Myrtle here at home, then?
- Why is she chained? - Infection.
W-w-we got the others.
Out. Get out. Get out, I say.
Myrtle was the only one could earn a wage with the new labor laws.
Now this.
Myrtle, I'm Penance and that's Mrs. True.
May I sit?
Uh, we've come to help with what's been troublin' ya.
There's plenty of girls who've been shown
a strangeness of some kind. A "turn."
But Mrs. True and I, we've worked with them, and they come up fine.
Would you like that?
Speak, Myrtle.
You mean, "Speak, Satan"?
See?
Myrtle, you can understand me, yes?
Chinese?!
Most of it. Some of it may have been Russian.
- And I want to say... Turkish? - Huh.
I'd guess every known language is crowding her mind.
How would a girl like Myrtle learn Chinese?
She's never even seen a Chinaman.
Well, at least we can rule out
any sort of Satanic influence.
- Those acrobats. - What?
No! They just tumbled about.
They come to Barney Park doing flips and balancing.
They had an unnatural air.
I said it then. And there was a monkey!
- He looked right at me. - Yes. Well...
- Allow me to be frank... - After being grateful
for the chance to give
Myrtle the kind of care...
Keep them down here.
Right.
Gentlemen.
Might we be civil?
You bitch!
Penance!
Shiner!
Aah!
Get the carriage!
Da! The lady did a wrestle!
Come on. Let's go!
Myrtle, run!
True!
Did you see that face?
I think I preferred when people just had shotguns.
Oh, no. No, I didn't.
We can't outrun them. We're going to have to change it out.
Uh, you mean... It's only a prototype.
This is weird for us, too.
Heads down!
Out of the way!
One side!
I, I think it's best if you come stay with us for a bit.
If that suits ya.
We can, we can deal with those fellas.
We can find out what they want, or what they...
are.
How are we gonna deal with those fellas?
True?
We're going to the opera.
See? We already got a plan.
- Subs by kinglouisxx - for www.addic7ed.com
It's just a woman.
Five men murdered. I'd say she's more than that.
Yes, murder.
Very distressing.
This "Maladie" is a lunatic.
Scotland Yard has their Special Detail to catch her.
What matter if she's Touched? This is beneath us.
She is not killing whores, your grace.
These are respectable men.
Psychoanalysts.
Well, the Prime Minister intends to take
a public position on the Touched.
We need to decide what it is.
A few women pulling parlor tricks...
It's not just women.
And it's not a few.
There are hundreds, at least,
of unique, inexplicable afflictions.
Lavinia Bidlow has made a cause of them.
Which is why the PM needs to take a...
Women are being attacked,
accused of witchcraft, or some island voodoo, and...
Fairy stories.
These are biological anomalies,
caused by electricity.
Uh, Lord Massen?
A girl started in my engine works last month
wiping down the plating press.
She slipped. Got her arm caught in the press.
And then she pulled it back out.
Three tons of pressure,
and she snapped the hydraulic without so much as a bruise.
- People cheered. - Well, I say enlist her.
Point her at the bloody Boers.
A machine breaks. Again, gentlemen,
this isn't a troop deployment,
or a, a market crash.
The Prime Minister will not be taking a position on the Touched.
Nor will he allow any official debate on the subject.
Not until we understand the nature and breadth of the attack.
- Attack? - You're declaring the Touched
a direct threat against the empire.
Which we here are sworn to protect.
Contra hostes omnes.
And this attack is expected to come...
It came three years ago.
Third of August, 1896.
A Monday. Rather gray.
Not one case of someone being Touched before then.
Not one outside London.
Those reported overseas were all here at the time.
And not one man of stature afflicted.
That's the genius of it.
They came at us through our women.
"They"?
I'm still not sure I can equate a few bizarre anecdotes
with the Mongol horde.
Only a blind man measures the length of a blade
by how much is in his belly.
- Your overstep the mark, Massen. - This was designed
so that we would see the parts...
and not the whole.
Philanthropists like Lavinia Bidlow
see the suffering of the afflicted.
The common throng see a macabre murderess.
And you see a broken machine.
That is exactly what I see.
The greatest machine.
The heart of our empire brought to a shuddering halt
by the caprice and ambitions of those
for whom ambition was never meant.
This is the Age of Power.
- New power. - The X-ray.
- The wireless. - Electricity.
We are the first generation accustomed to the impossible.
What women are appalled by today,
they will accept tomorrow,
and demand the day after that.
And the immigrant. And the deviant.
That is the power being wielded,
and not by us.
The blade is in, gentlemen.
We need to know whose hand is on the hilt.
Nobody gets through.
Put your back into it, Jones,
- you lazy... - Yes, sir.
We get any further behind, I'll pluck the lot of ya!
Not in front of the officer. Show some respect.
Detective Mundi.
You're the Special Detail, yeah?
- You're gonna wanna see this. - Am I?
Mind your head.
Was a digger stumbled on her.
Near had a kiss, they did.
Here. You see the stab wounds?
These mates brung the torches in.
They spotted this on the wall.
That's how they knew it was one of hers.
It's a message.
Not from Maladie.
But how can you be sure?
She can spell.
Did he recognize the victim? The digger?
No.
Well, not much to recognize, the rats having had a go.
You get vagrants and drunks taking shelter down here all the time.
Mmm. This woman was neither.
Where does this lead?
It was meant to be the maintenance tunnel
for the southern line, but it got scrapped.
There's too much to do, expanding the underground.
The city'll fall in on itself.
I don't envy you this job.
- Yeah. - Who moved the body?
Must have been... Wait. What?
- No, it was there. - She wasn't killed there.
And her blood's been dry a lot longer than this pig's.
No. It's not... Oi.
You're tossing about a lot of assumptions.
Clearly I meant to.
Right. Shut this lot down. Line 'em up.
- No... - We check every man in here
for blood on his hands or his clothes.
You, you can't stop the dig. We got a schedule to keep.
And what's a murder to that, eh?
What? You think you're the first to try and pin something on Maladie?
People think every Touched they meet might be her.
And some of them Touched, they're weird enough. They are.
Make your skin crawl. But here's you,
letting a killer get off by making it harder to catch another one.
- For a schedule. - I know about you, Frank Mundi.
East End Ape. Always fists first.
He could beat a confession out of a headstone.
You can play the righteous man,
but even you answer to someone.
Yes, I do. She's right there.
Now, that woman faced an horrible end.
And I don't think you killed her,
but I'm not letting you bury her.
What about the Special Detail?
If it's not Maladie done this, then it's not your case.
Oh, no. Maladie done this, didn't she?
Because she left a message.
So you're gonna tell me what was here before you dressed it up,
'cause one more lie, and I'm not on a case,
I'm the fucking "Angle" of Death.
Leave the doors!
Mrs. True's back with a new one.
They's in Penance's... uh, the prolatype.
What, the auto-carriage?
It's mad. Primrose, you got to see.
Mother says motorcars are common.
Common? There's only eight of them that ever were.
I wouldn't expect you to understand,
but Mother says they're a blight.
Yeah? She say that lately?
On a visit, maybe, that we all missed.
As though you know anything about being a mother.
Primrose!
She didn't mean that.
Does she think she's too big for a spanking?
Coming through!
All right. All right, come on.
Don't suffocate them. It's only a carriage.
No?
That's fuckin' amazing.
Myrtle, this is Dr. Horatio Cousens. He swears a lot.
No, I don't.
- How was your journey? - Eventful.
Lucy, I need to send a letter to Mrs. Bidlow.
Let her know about the attack.
Attack? What attack?
Lucy. Pen. Paper.
I'll set up in your rooms.
- Shop talk first. - Not first.
This is just a scratch.
- Primrose? - I can't ride it in,
- so I don't see what... - No, it's just...
I recalled you saying you didn't have anyone your own age to talk to.
Oh!
I'm Miss Chattoway.
But you may call me Primrose.
I hope we'll be friends.
So what's your "turn"? I'm large.
Myrtle has a language situation,
and I imagine she could use a cup of tea.
Oh. Um, do you want...
She does speak English.
But not with her mouth.
All right. Come with me.
We should be married in this.
How is this new?
People been attacking us since they known we was Touched.
- Or since always. - This is different.
This whole day.
We knew people would come down on us the more we were thriving.
Why would they want this...
Myrtle?
I don't think she's the first.
I think they've been doing this for some time.
All those girls we went after who'd "just run away"?
Lord.
We need to bolster our security.
All entrances, windows bolted or blocked.
I could rig up a few surprises, as well.
Nothing lethal, but very discouraging.
Everyone signs in and out. Time and destination.
No one goes out alone or after dark.
- Not even visitors. - One time.
I've been showing the girls a bit of scrapping.
- You'll show them all. - But not using their "turns."
Well, there's plenty you can do with what's at hand.
It's about confidence. As my mum used to say,
if you can look a man in the eye,
you can stab him in it.
Smart woman.
But also, don't do that.
The Beggar King. Tell him I need to see him.
We pay him for protection,
and he's been feeding us potential candidates.
I need to know if he's been feeding anyone else.
Here, first thing tomorrow. Put word on the street.
That's not how it works, Mrs. True.
Amalia, you don't just ask the Beggar King to come calling.
I am, in fact, not asking.
All right.
Better tend to that scratch,
since you're in such a hurry to make new enemies.
Augustus Bidlow to see you, sir.
Augie, sorry I kept you waiting.
Did I keep you waiting? I'm at odds with time.
They're unhappy.
Who? The Humphries? Of course they're unhappy. They're old.
The crows.
They shouldn't be massing here.
Crows...
Do you mean to say we're witnessing a murder?
You know I hate that term.
So unfair, "a murder of crows."
Crows are actually lovely. They're intelligent creatures.
Why is it an "exaltation of larks"?
- Larks are not at all as soc... - Not at all as social.
Yes, Augie, your radical stance on avian nomenclature
- hasn't changed since Eton. - No, thank you.
I think they're here as a Greek chorus to your distemper.
So...
what has you so ruffled?
I assume your sister is angry about something.
No.
I just... I, I've done something stupid.
And that's not why she's...
Fu...
She... This.
You know Lavinia's charity endeavor?
The Touched.
Yes. The, uh...
- The Orphanage. - Orphans. Right.
- No. The Touched. - Yes. They're terrible.
They're wonderful.
They're absurd.
Do you even know what the term means?
"Touched"? Yes! No.
Uh, they're all, uh, they have,
uh, weird, um, deformities and afflictions.
And... Oh! Um. Alderton Musgrove has a niece who can float.
- Really? - Yeah.
Just an inch or so off the ground.
She can't go anywhere unless you tow her about.
Musgrove is apoplectic.
I'm not supposed to tell.
Oh, and, uh, Lavinia's opened a, a home for them.
And it's all rather controversial,
- and... - And...
she, she, she just now got word
from the widow who runs the affair.
Some Touched girl was attacked.
I mean, the girl's fine, but Lavinia, she's aflame.
"It's time society accepted
that the Touched are amongst us, and they're..."
And I said, "Well, they're not amongst us.
You know, they're in The Orphanage."
And she called me a genius.
Which is worse than when she calls me an idiot, because...
I, I never know what she...
She's bringing them to the opera.
Tonight! In our box.
She's ousted the Van Alders for these wo-women.
I'm to make the fourth.
- Are they hideous? - I've no idea.
It's, um...
It's, it's, it's the widow, Mrs. True,
I think, and her companion.
Do you think they might be hideous?
Well, whatever they are, flirt with the ugly one.
It creates an unexpected balance.
I don't know how to flirt.
God, these people make me uneasy.
What if she's some sort of Elephant Man woman?
Well, then, she's probably the ugly one.
You have to come.
Oh! To the opera?
Well, you know everything about flirting.
Plus, you don't mind when people are odd.
It's how we're friends.
But it's "Faust"!
Please?
I'll do anything. I mean...
People are already saying unkind things
about Lavinia's passion on the subject.
- If this whole thing doesn't go smoothly... - Mmm-mmm.
I've got a very important meeting with the Minister of Finance
about The Ferryman's next Midnight Carouse.
The Ferryman's? I don't...
Sorry, wh-what does the Minister of Finance have to do
with your pagan sex club?
Whatever he has to do to get the pictures I have
from the last one.
That's how the club works.
It's all quite delicate. Favors and threats, and then,
one shining night where no law yet exists.
It's more than just a club. It's an ethos.
And I won't sit through three hours of moralistic bellowing
with everyone I know and hate,
just because Lavinia's gone weird.
She's not weird.
I'm an ape.
- But she does push you around. - I know.
I know.
I will come tonight.
If...
No. Me?
At The Ferryman's? No. Hugo, no. Please. I...
Sex club is just...
That's just flirting on a much scarier level.
You don't have to flirt.
You just have to relax.
Endure someone flirting with you.
These are my terms.
Oh, he's a pokey one.
As far as society is concerned,
Augustus Bidlow is above reproach,
and beneath contempt.
- He's perfect. - For what?
You don't have to wear that anymore.
Oh. Right. You are the maid.
I like watching you work.
It's like you're conducting.
Well, get in wrong with the Beggar King,
and you'll get a symphony.
You shouldn't be in that life.
Gift like yours, you should be the Royal physician,
not patching up gangsters and freaks.
Gift like mine gets me branded a voodoo witch doctor.
I gave up being choosy.
Nothing about me not being a freak?
Oh, no, just come in. It's only surgery.
Oh, right.
I'm going to the opera tonight.
I had a rippling.
"...to accompany me and my brother Augustus
"to the opening performance of 'Faust.'
Lavinia Bidlow."
So you send word that you'd just been attacked,
and she says, "Come out to play."
She even sent an outfit.
And what about the part where you rest?
It's the theater, not hard labor.
And I...
think I need to be there.
Trouble?
Hmm.
Katherine will have supper ready soon.
Does Lavinia really think I can fit into this?
It's a good dress for you.
It'll keep pressure on the wound.
- Mrs. True. - Miss Adair.
You look very fine.
I think so, too.
It's like something from a storybook.
I'm not confident in my curtsying.
I'm not confident in my breathing.
Oh, I wasn't planning to breathe.
I think it's considered rude.
- Does it hurt? - Itches.
Aah, that's much worse.
Are you sure we need to go to this?
You have to say yes or I'll cry, but...
We need to go to this.
Wish I knew why.
Aah...
Give us the room.
That's Odium. Pardon the stench.
You cannot get that man into a bath.
Declan Orrun.
The Beggar King.
Or, no...
- Mr. Orrun, Penance Adair. - Yeah, I know.
- The great inventress. - Oh, I'm not great.
- I assume you've heard about... - Do you know how it looks?
Every rum on the street hearing you calling me
come like a bitch puppy?
- There's channels. - We were attacked today.
Only once?
They came for Myrtle Haplisch same time we did.
Probably been after the Touched for some time,
but now they've been seen.
They're a danger to us, and I'd suspect,
anyone known to be connected with us.
Which you made sure I was known far and wide to be.
You called me out, so I'd be forced to help you.
And now you've told me that to my face.
I'm genuinely searching for a way that this spins out...
that I don't kill you.
It would be better if you didn't.
You're a rare fuckin' bird.
You sold us the information about Myrtle.
And you're wondering if I sold it to someone else.
Well, wonder away, princess.
My business is mine.
Apart from the sanctity of my harmonious marriage,
fuck-all is exclusive.
My girls need protection, and I need information.
Exclusive, about who's hunting the Touched, and why.
Skip the posture and name your price.
You ain't got that kind of swag.
We're resourceful.
Is that so? How 'bout you get me the Crown fucking Jewels?
Wait, are you considering that?
We'll start with a gift for today's thoughtlessness.
An automated motor-carriage, designed to your specifications.
And you will be paid, if you help us.
You're mad enough to make this worth it.
But you're mad enough to try not to.
If it goes that way, I will cut your face to a mess.
This isn't my face.
I thought you was gonna scare them.
Spread out your fingers.
- Wait. - Hold up your hand,
and spread out your fuckin' fingers.
Hugo, get off!
I have to go!
I'm done after the cavern ballet in act five,
right before the prison scene.
Hugo? You listening?
Yes. The prison scene.
Yes.
Don't you agree, Miss Bidlow?
Must we fight a war over words?
I'm exhausted by these overwrought alarums
about the Frenchification of our language.
It's the end of the century.
These ancient prejudices have no use.
Dr. Beldon,
you adopt new terms as they become relevant
to your practice of psychoanalysis, I imagine.
Practically every week of late.
Language requires not stasis, but specificity.
I should be thrilled to excise the word "nice."
It's vague as paste. Isn't that right, Augustus?
Augustus.
- Sorry? - We were discussing it earlier.
The specificity of modern language.
Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.
It's very nice.
If it's, uh, French terminology we're discussing,
there are a few terms
we Britons simply don't have a word for.
Oh, excuse me.
I suppose we all know the sort of terms he means.
What on Earth is Swann doing here?
I...
No, I know.
S-so impulsive...
Lord Massen. You're well, I hope.
I am, Miss Bidlow. Thank you. Dr. Beldon, hello. Swann.
We were discussing the panic a few old men are having
about certain French terms.
There was one debated on the Parliament floor. What was it?
"Employees."
Employees. And here we say it, and yet live.
It is not panicking to abhor something.
Neither is it useful to replace
a perfectly good Anglo-Saxon word
with some foreigner's flourish.
In England, we say "the employed."
What possible benefit in replacing it with "employees"?
The singular.
One may refer to a single employee,
whereas "the employed"
can only be used to describe a mass of people.
It doesn't allow for the idea that a single worker
may be a whole and meaningful being.
Mrs. Amalia True. Miss Adair.
May I introduce Lord Massen?
- Mrs. True runs The Orphanage. - Indeed.
Which one's the ugly one?
I take it then that you are yourselves
among the afflicted?
Touched, yes. We don't consider ourselves afflicted.
Perhaps some women are more fortunate
in the nature of their ailment than others.
That's true, but,
more suffer from society's perception
than their own debilitation.
Well, so what's wrong with you?
I, I think he means me.
- Uh, where to begin... - No, it's just, you, you lo... you...
You look...
You're qu... You're quite nice.
And you, um, y-you have the charity, The Orphanage.
That seems... normal.
Miss Bidlow runs The Orphanage.
We're just the employed.
Shockingly, I'd say my brother has spoken for everyone.
They're anxious to know what your "turns" are.
- A "turn" is a trick. - It's not a trick.
Penance is an inventor. A creator, really.
Oh. There's only one Creator.
No, uh, I can see energy.
Potential energy. Like with electricity.
I can see where it wants to go, or,
move, or settle.
It helps me put things together.
And yours?
Mrs. True tends to be a few steps ahead of the rest of us.
Mmm. A prognosticator.
Nothing so grand.
So I shouldn't ask how I'm going to die.
No, but one can safely assume it will involve a French word.
- You see the future? - Snippets.
It's as confusing as it is useful.
You were a soldier.
You've seen men who suddenly feel themselves back in battle.
Well, sometimes I go forward.
I never said I was a soldier.
- You're probably going to. - No, it's the eyes.
Assessing every threat.
Lord Massen is the last line of defense
against the scourge of modernity.
I'm old and I've seen too much change
to fight against the tide, but, uh,
chaos is not change.
Shouting for recognition does not make a people worthy of it.
There's a harmony to our world that's worth preserving.
As I understand it,
a harmony is made up of different voices
sounding different notes.
Yes. And one is always above the other.
Ladies.
I killed the devil.
It's Maladie!
It is Maladie!
What does she want?
Is no one going to say "thank you"?
It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay.
It's okay, petal. It's not your fault.
It's the doctor.
Oh! Oh, there's so many people.
Did you all come in hats?
Now all of your brains are naked. No?
You shall have a wreath
of eels
with the tail in your mouth.
Please!
Please.
Don't... go.
Devil's speciality is eels.
Which is known by you as a serpent.
Oh, but it's only Adam.
It's all the same when it slithers.
Eve had a cunt.
Why am I here?
I came to kill an angel witch.
Oops.
But the closer I came,
the more I felt
I was here for a r...
Because I... saw God.
He was all light.
And He put on me His wreath. He came.
He came to us all,
and you all turned your backs on Him.
You lied. You said He never.
But He makes hum.
Oh, He sings.
I could never make it out,
but I feel His hum, like a comb in my throat.
And I feel it.
I feel it.
Him. Here.
Who... Who...
Ah, bugger it. Take the angel.
Oh, nothing?
Anyone? Tell me what you want!
Either I am here for a reason,
or for a bonfire.
Oh, no! She fell!
Mice. Tiny mice.
How is that still hard?
- Go. - Damn it.
Come on, don't stop.
La!
Just let me have the girl.
Just let me have the girl...
No.
Well, you've made a mess, little songbird.
Aah!
Boss...
Huh?
Oh.
Hugo Swann.
Lord Swann.
But I'll overlook the breach this once.
I'm sure this must be a very difficult time for you.
On the contrary.
London's deadliest maniac was as close to me as Kitty is now.
- It's Katie. - And the presence of sudden death
makes one appreciate the act of living.
He did seem to appreciate it.
I'll need to interview his lordship alone, Katie.
- I don't see why... - It'll be quicker.
But don't leave the theater, please.
Oh, I could never leave the theater...
So I don't suppose you made any effort
to stop Maladie.
I have it that that's... your job.
Oh, and that there's a young widow doing it for you.
Amalia True.
Guest of Lavinia Bidlow. Runs The Orphanage.
Maladie kidnapped a girl. Mrs. True gave chase.
Champion of the unfortunate,
and she knocks dangerous men about.
Then I guess you're lucky she don't know what you're up to.
What we're up to.
I think of you as a partner, in a way.
I don't profit by what we do.
Well, neither do I.
Yet.
Once you've sent enough suitable girls my way,
and a certain investor is invested,
The Ferryman's Club will become
not just a profitable business,
but a phenomenon.
I might even forget a few debts.
Take the fucking champagne, Frank.
You'll want it.
You see, I know the name of the girl Maladie took.
And so do you.
One little polyglot.
One tiny Touched girl.
That's all you had to bring me.
I like that word. "Touched."
Like the finger of God gave a few of us a little poke.
Woke us up.
Every subject gets me closer to finding exactly
where it is He touched us.
Oh!
Not today, though.
Mmm. No. Today...
let's just see where it hurts.
Stop him, George!
He's got it in his jacket pocket!
We didn't want it anyway!
Fucking tart!
Oi. Is that maniac a friend of yours?
Amalia?
Mrs. True?
Miss Adair.
You look very fine.
Got into a fight.
It's been a day for that.
I didn't win.
Maladie has the girl.
Mary. Brighton, they said.
She won't kill her.
Not right away. We have time.
We... have some time.
And you've found an invigorating way to spend it.
- They started it. - Mmm.
Not...
- No, I started it. - I know.
I know. Trouble makes you troublesome.
But nothing sets you off like good fortune.
Mary's song.
Reachin' right into me.
Tellin' me that...
that I'm here.
I belong here.
And you.
And... all of us that's Touched.
We're woven into the fabric of the world,
and we're meant to be as we are.
We find Mary. We get her singin'.
They'll all come to us, and they'll be safe.
They won't be safe.
Less lonely, then.
And that's a start.
It's a start.
CREDITS