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Leave me alone!
_
Oh, hello. Jonah Quigley.
I've come to tune your piano.
Where's your dog?
Oh, I don't have a dog.
The last fella had a dog.
Oh, well, perhaps he was unsighted.
Many of my colleagues are.
They have a heightened sense of hearing,
which makes them ideal for the position.
Relieved himself all up and down my lady's curtains, he did.
Really?
Oh, you mean the dog!
Well, I can assure you I won't be doing that.
Follow me.
Oh, my goodness.
A Bechstein, if I'm not mistaken.
They have one of these in Buckingham Palace, so I'm told.
One of the sweetest-sounding instruments in all of Europe.
May I?
She hasn't been fingered in a number of years.
I do hope you'll be able to tighten the strings.
Devonshire, go and fetch a glass of gooseberry juice
- for Mr...? - Quigley.
Mr Quigley. How quaint.
Or would you prefer something stronger?
I've just popped open a rather perky bottle of poo.
No, thank you. Water is fine for me.
- No ice or lemon. - Don't flatter yourself.
I'll just...
You will have noticed that the Bechstein has seen better days.
I really ought to have it replaced but it's of sentimental value.
Do you play at all?
I'm afraid not. I haven't the patience.
The instrument belonged to my late husband.
After he passed, it rather went to seed.
As did I.
Well, I am very sorry to hear that.
About your husband passing, I mean.
Not about your going to seed.
Which of course you haven't.
Still most becoming.
A fan of Burnham, was he?
- I'm sorry? - Your husband,
a fan of Nathaniel Burnham?
I couldn't help but notice your bust.
On the desk.
And the sheet music.
His 5th Symphony was incredible.
If you like that sort of thing.
I was a keen student of his.
The way he blends so many different styles and moods.
Brooding and violent one minute,
romantic the next.
I studied Burnham's symphonies at the Guildhall.
- Did you really? - Yes.
Yes. I...
I had aspirations to compose myself at one point, but...
life got in the way.
Inspiration failed to strike.
So now I do this.
Satisfying in its own way.
Glass of water, no ice or lemon.
Thank you.
Will there be anything else, Mrs Burnham?
No, that's fine for now. Thank you, Devonshire.
Mrs Burnham?
Nathaniel composed his 5th at that very piano, Mr Quigley.
And you're quite right.
He could be romantic and brooding and, yes...
violent.
Especially when the muse deserted him.
Which is why I wish to preserve his legacy.
After all,
there's many a good tune can be played on an old piano.
Mrs Burnham?
Oh, sorry. I didn't realise you had company.
Not at all.
This is Dickie Van Aas.
A dear friend of mine who was also Nathaniel's lawyer.
He takes care of all my business affairs.
Of course.
- A pleasure to meet you, sir. - How do you do?
Won't you join us?
Oh, well, I don't want to intrude.
Thank you, Somerset.
Devonshire.
Ah, of course. Sorry.
The thing is, Mrs Burnham,
I have just found this piece of manuscript paper
jammed between the C2 and the D2.
I wondered whether it might have been written by Mr Burnham.
Only, it looks to be part of a symphony,
and it isn't anything I recognised.
It's his, all right.
What a sharp-eyed fellow you are.
Does that give me leave to hope
that there may be an unperformed piece?
This could be a major discovery.
That will be all, Devonshire. Thank you.
Ma'am.
Are you familiar, Mr Quigley,
with the Curse of the Ninth?
Vaguely, yes. Isn't it a sort of superstition?
Exactly.
It's a misguided belief that a composer is going to die
after writing their ninth symphony.
Mahler started it. It's all poppycock.
It isn't poppycock, Lillian.
Ever since Ludwig, it's been a decisive landmark.
Beethoven, Dvorak,
Schubert, Bruckner.
After the ninth, they all went from composing to decomposing.
To embark upon symphony number nine is considered a folly,
Mr Quigley.
A challenge to fate.
Poor old Mahler, well,
he was possessed by the idea.
He tried to dodge the curse,
refusing to number his ninth symphony,
passing it off as a song cycle.
- Das Lied Von Der Erde. - Exactly.
But Death was not to be cheated.
By the time he composed this,
his true ninth,
his daughter had died,
his wife had begun an affair,
and his health had started to fail.
He didn't live long enough to hear it performed.
But Burnham...
your husband,
he only ever composed eight symphonies. Correct?
Technically, yes.
He'd been very much affected by what had happened to Mahler.
Two months after attending the funeral in Vienna,
Nathaniel announced he was going to start composing
his next symphony in Gustav's honour.
It would be his ninth.
He never found it easy to begin any new work, but...
this was...
It was torture.
To begin with, we dismissed it as nothing more than writer's block,
but I believe he'd been gripped by the fear of the curse.
The thought of actually finishing the symphony
came to terrify him.
Then one night...
Leave me alone!
We reported it as a heart attack, of course, but...
it seems he'd driven himself completely mad.
I am so sorry.
He brought it upon himself.
And so... the work remained unfinished.
This is incredible. I never heard mention of it before.
I'm sure that the Burnham Society would...
Nathaniel made it clear to me that, should he die
before the ninth was complete,
he wanted it buried with him.
So that's what we did.
It's out there,
six feet under.
Sad, really...
to deprive the world of such genius.
But we had to respect his wishes.
A private burial it was.
Just my ladyship, Mr Van Aas and a couple of other witnesses.
All very cloak-and-dagger.
What are you getting at, Kent?
Devonshire.
Sorry. Devonshire.
Just that he deserved better.
Well, fortunately for us, his music lives on.
Yes.
Most of it.
Oh, well, to have another Burnham gifted to the world...
you couldn't put a price on such a thing.
Here is the key to the tradesman's entrance.
I'm giving it to you now so that you can make your own way out,
via the garden.
Ah, thank you.
I don't want you disturbing Mrs Burnham.
She usually retires early on a weekday. Nine o'clock,
I should imagine. She'll be asleep by then.
No, I won't disturb her.
I'm finished now, in fact.
Mr Quigley?
Do be careful when leaving
that you don't trip over the gardener's spade,
which you will find located in his shed
near the pear tree.
Well, I shan't trip up over it
if it's tucked away in the shed, shall I?
Here is the key...
to the shed.
Yes, but why would I...?
- But... No, I don't think that I could... - Nine o'clock.
We working people have to make our own opportunities, don't we?
Yes.
Yes. I suppose we do.
Just to let you know I've turned down your bed
and put your cocoa on the dressing table.
Bring it down here, will you, Devonshire?
I'm determined to finish this sky.
It's almost nine o'clock, ma'am.
The picture's not complete
until the last piece goes in.
There!
Most gratifying.
Glorious to see all the little...
I'll tidy this away for you, ma'am.
Very well.
Goodnight, Devonshire.
Night, ma'am.
_
Forgive me...
You found it, then?
Here, let me help you.
You're... You're going to have to fill all that back in.
Yes, I'm aware of that!
I think it's better if we don't see each other for a while.
- I've got several people interested. - Interested in what?
In buying this, of course. Like you said, it's priceless.
We just need to find the highest bidder.
I didn't say it was priceless.
I said you couldn't put a price on it.
This is a work of art. It's not a piece of merchandise!
What did you think we were going to do with it?
Well, I want to study it, to hear it played.
I could be the first person to conduct it.
You need your head examining.
Who is going to let you conduct this?
Why not me?
I was one of his greatest admirers.
I've studied his music for years!
You remember your place, Mr Quigley.
You are staff, just like me.
You're just a paid-by-the-hour lowlife piano-tuner!
This is our ticket out of here.
I am not like you. Don't you dare say that.
This music is... is a miracle.
It's a gift we can give back to the world.
I'm not using it to line my own pockets!
Well, I am!
Come back, Derbyshire, please!
My name is Devonshire!
No!
Please...
Ah, Mr Quigley. How nice to see you again. Do come in.
We've been trying to get hold of you all week.
Your employer said something about a leave of absence.
Yes.
I've not been in the best of health since I was last here.
Oh, dear. I am sorry to hear that.
I apologise for having to admit you myself,
but I'm afraid Devonshire has rather disappeared.
Yes. It's quite a mystery.
Took off in the middle of the night without a by-your-leave.
All of her things left in her room. Most perplexing.
Well, perhaps she's just...
Gone to ground?
Yes, that's what we thought. Come through.
You remember Dickie, don't you?
Yes, of course. Hello.
How-de-do?
What, uh, seems to be the problem?
Something seems a little off.
A trifle flat, maybe.
See what you think.
What do you want me to play?
How about this piece of Nathaniel's unfinished symphony
that you unearthed?
Oh, but I'm not very good at sight reading.
Nonsense.
As a student of my late husband's work,
it's surely of some interest?
Mr Quigley, is everything all right?
- Perhaps he'd like a glass of water? - Of course.
Devon... Oh.
I forgot. She's not here.
And she's not coming back,
is she?
You know!
Sit down.
We knew that Devonshire was greedy.
We hoped she might encourage you to dig up the manuscript,
but we didn't expect you to kill her.
Still, gives us more leverage, I suppose.
What do you mean, leverage?
I've been auditing the accounts,
and it appears that Lillian's been living beyond her means.
To put it bluntly, she's broke.
She needs a lot of money quickly,
and the unexpected discovery
of her late husband's final work could be
just the ticket, as they say.
I'll give it back to you.
I wanted to return it anyway.
I think it's that that's been making me ill.
Perhaps.
That and the guilt of murdering a defenceless young woman.
The point is,
Mr Quigley, the symphony remains unfinished.
And who better to complete it
than my husband's greatest admirer?
Water. No lemon, no ice.
No, you don't understand.
I can't complete it! I'm not up to it!
Well, you said yourself you dabbled with composing.
You have the allegro sonata from the first movement,
the andante, the scherzo.
It should be possible to complete the work.
But what about the curse?
Surely whoever completes the ninth
will bring it upon themselves.
The curse is a nonsense, as I've told you before.
It's simply a state of mind.
You can choose not to succumb to it.
I'm already in its grip.
I can feel
a darkness following me wherever I go,
Death's hand on my shoulder.
Better than a policeman's hand on your shoulder.
Take all the time you wish.
You can work here,
have access to Nathaniel's archives,
all of his notes.
I just need you to finish the symphony.
And then you'll be free.
Splendid. That's settled, then.
We look forward to hearing it.
What's the problem?
I don't know where to begin.
It's not the beginning, boy, it's the end.
It's the final movement, remember?
Have you studied what's gone before?
Yes, of course I have.
Then build upon it.
A modified sonata form.
A false recapitulation?
Exactly.
But we must first consider the melody.
What do you have?
The second subject in the strings.
A sequence resolved with a plagal cadence.
Where's the risk?
The final movement mustn't be timid.
Fragmentation, inversion,
imitation within the woodwinds.
Use the diminished seventh to imply the secondary dominant.
Underneath...
a return to the drone of the brass as before,
as in the exposition.
Yes.
Yes, this is it.
I can hear it!
It's satisfying, isn't it?
Can I ask you a question?
Of course.
Why are you helping me?
It amuses me.
I want to see how far you get before it grips you.
- You mean the curse? - Of course.
No, that's your torment, not mine.
I can already see the black shadow of doubt
enveloping your every choice.
Why bother?
You'll never reach the heights of Beethoven or Mahler.
Or indeed me.
But you never try.
Why?
"Inspiration failed to strike."
Piano-tuning is
"satisfying in its own way".
It takes an act of courage to create anything,
and you, my boy,
are a coward!
I'm not listening to this.
What you're talking about
is self-doubt.
It's not the same thing.
Whoever completes my ninth symphony
will end up the same as me.
Food for the Conqueror Worm.
People die all the time.
I've been assured by your wife that the curse isn't real!
Then, why didn't she complete it herself?
Thank you for your advice but...
now I need you to be quiet.
Mr Quigley?
You gave me rather a shock.
I've brought you some breakfast.
Busy night, I see.
It's finished.
Glad to hear it.
I don' t believe in writer's block.
Never did.
Nathaniel just got trapped.
As he reached the summit of his career,
the oxygen of creativity grew thinner.
He became convinced it was only ever going to be downhill.
Yes.
You've been at great pains to tell me.
Several times.
Can't say it was easy,
but after the initial block, it began to flow. Here!
Don't forget the page I found in the piano.
Thank you.
The picture isn't complete until the last piece goes in.
Of course.
Congratulations, Mrs Burnham.
You just finished your husband's ninth symphony.
It's just as well you don't believe in all that poppycock
about a curse.
Indeed.
In the absence of Devonshire, you can see yourself out,
Mr Quigley.
Nice doing business with you.
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