Hetty Wainthropp Investigates (1996–1998): Season 2, Episode 2 - Lost Chords - full transcript

Dribble it!

Tackle him, Martin!

Darrel, keep your position.

You're a winger, not a guitarist!

Pass.

Gary, shoot!

Shoot, Gary! Shoot!

'It's Miriam Hamborough,
Mrs Mosscrop. It's about Harry.

'It's his voice. I've had him
inhaling balsam, but it does no good.

'His lower register's knackered...'

'His lower register's knackered,
and his arpeggios...'



That's the fourth, with five days
to go before the final, leaving six.

We saw the poster. Only a few
posters are within reach of vandals.

If it IS a vandal defacing them...

..and not the nameless nobbler
marking his success on every corner.

Don't worry.
Vanity defeats the criminal.

Just take the notes, Geoffrey.

I'll do the theories.
..Shall we start at the beginning?

The Blainthorp Music Festival has
been going 50 years. I'm the organiser.

A great responsibility. Huge!

You must find someone scary enough
to keep mothers out of the judges' eyeline!

What are the prizes?
Usually certificates.

But this year we have
the Golden Voice Competition.

£500 in prize money,

and a career beckons... says our
sponsor. Hardiman's Herbal Healing.



You've done your homework
on that poster.

Finalists have already been given

Hardiman's herbal preparations for nose and
throat in cut-glass crystal with gold stoppers.

The winner gets to promote the range
on radio and TV.

You think a competitor is nobbling
the others? You're the detective.

It's not up to me what to think. You're
the client. You're entitled to an opinion.

Mr Hardiman's the client. I'm to
take you to him if I'm satisfied...

..which I am. Thank you.

Mr Hardiman was born
the year the Festival started.

By the time he was 15, he'd won 12
certificates with distinction and 10 cups.

Born in this house? Oh, no.

As he likes saying, he's of humble stock. Not that
you could use the word "humble" of Mr Hardiman.

He bought this 15 years ago,
when he married.

There's a Mrs Hardiman, then?
Was. She left.

We'll use the kitchen entrance. He's
left it open. Nobody uses the front.

He began with a nasal inhaler

that could shift industrial-strength
catarrh. It all grew from that.

Herbal? Of course! It's all herbal.

People will buy anything these days
as long as there are herbs involved.

He'll be waiting in his office.

He doesn't use much of the house
since Mrs Hardiman left.

What's under the sheets?
Armour, mainly.

I've had a tape
of the finalists made.

Each bit is reduced to ten seconds.

♪ I, through my sorrows... ♪

Harry Hamborough. Baritone. Teaches
geography at the comprehensive.

I have to wipe him off the tape now.

Beverly Prendergast.
Soprano, single mother, student.

Works part-time
in a hairdressing salon.

♪ Where the flying fishes play... ♪

Simon Letby. Bass baritone.
You don't have to worry about him.

Why not? Farmer. Doesn't need
the money. Anyway, he's a friend.

In the Poirot books, it's always the
best friend who commits the crime.

Glenda Jason. Contralto.

A furnace of passion
with a husband in a wheelchair.

That's not fair. Gossip never is.

♪ Pie Jesu

♪ Domine

♪ Dona eis... ♪

Brian Borrowmere. Boy treble.
He does a lot of competitions.

There's something about that boy
worries me.

♪ Dona eis requiem. ♪

I'll put me finger on it eventually.

I always do.

Rita Locheed. Mezzo, single,

fashion buyer for a big store.

There's your passionate furnace.

Nah. She puts it about.
She's not banked up like Glenda.

♪ Oh, ruddier than the cherry
Oh, sweeter than... ♪

And last, Les Maynard.
..Bass.

Works for an estate agent.

♪ Moonshine night...
bright and merry. ♪

Prime suspect, in my view.

Why? No talent. Couldn't win
without nobbling the rest.

If it IS nobbling.
It might actually be a virus.

I do have some medical knowledge.

Find me a virus
which only strikes finalists.

But it's not simple nobbling.

There's no pattern.

They'd have been practising.
They'd all be anxious.

They could have over-strained.
I like a lad to think for himself...

if he keeps his mouth shut!

I won't have my associate insulted.
We don't have to accept this case.

No, but you will. The supergran
sleuth doesn't refuse a challenge.

It's five days until the final.

200 a day plus reasonable expenses.

Free board and lodgings provided here
at the manor. I've a home and husband.

Get him over
if you think you need a chaperone.

I'm hiring a detective,
not a call girl.

May I ask you to fetch my husband?

Geoffrey and I
will be needed in Blainthorp.

I'll make a list of things for him
to bring. Fingerprint powder?

Underwear. A nightie, of course.
And something for Geoffrey.

Mrs Mosscrop will take you there.

Pick a couple of rooms
and wait for us.

Is the festival a full-time job? Three weeks a year.
My degree is in media studies. I can't expect better

The rest of the time, I live with
my grandfather. He's a herbalist.

It depends, Robert...

A herbalist? Like Mr Hardiman?

Most unlike. Grandad's a proper
herbalist. He prescribes.

Hardiman's herbal humbug
you can buy over the counter.

I can't say more.

Don't annoy me. There's nothing
on the allotment that can't wait.

I'd like the finalists' addresses.

Even the ones who have withdrawn?

Particularly those ones.

If I was making the opposition lose their power
of speech, a lost voice would be my best disguise.

At the last minute, I'd "find" what was
never lost and sail through on wings of song.

They've withdrawn.

What's to stop them re-entering?
The rules.

Don't muddle me with facts.

Is this one of your finalists here?

Brian Borrowmere comes in most days. He listens
to the classes, gets to know what the judges like.

Competitions are his life... Brian?

This lady's a private detective. She wants to interview
the finalists. You've saved her a ride to Rochdale.

I've just seen you on video tape...

singing beautifully. Thank you.

How d'you get here from Rochdale?

Mother brings me in the Mercedes. Drops me off,
picks me up again. It's not really inconvenient.

Have you had any trouble
with your voice lately?

A touch of laryngitis? Anyone given
you sweets with a funny taste?

I never have trouble with my voice,
eat sweets or take strangers' gifts.

I'm always extremely careful.
That is why I succeed.

If you'll excuse me, the open entry
traditional ballads has just begun.

How can he lose?

We might as well start
with the closest.

That's the... hairdressing salon
and the estate agent's.

Mr Maynard? Right.

Have you come to view?

I've come to see you.
Shall we go in?

It'll be a bit more private.

You didn't make the sale, then?
How can you tell? Body language.

Here is the light and airy
entrance hall.

You don't mind the patter?
It's good to keep me hand in.

They call me Des res Les, but I've
not even moved a caravan lately.

You're Mr Hardiman's prime suspect.

Why?

You need money and have no talent.

That's his opinion.
I wouldn't know.

I need money, but I wouldn't be
in the final if I was no good.

But it's true, I'm not the best.

If you want to see the rest of the house,
I'll show you. If not, piss off.

You're a student? Yeah. Where?

Open University. I can't
go away to study with a young kid.

How can you study singing by correspondence?
I don't. It's pharmacology. Me mum does it.

It's secure,
and you're always in demand.

But I heard if you win...
I'll turn professional if I win.

That's where me heart is, singing.
Pharmacology's just to fall back on.

You've heard about the others? Have
you had trouble with your voice?

You what?!

She asked if I've lost me voice.
Why? Is she deaf?!

No. She's a private detective.
Well...

It takes all sorts.

Pharmacist... means people come to you asking
about their ailments? When I'm qualified.

If you wanted to make people
lose their voices,

what would do the trick? She's going to be
the Golden Voice. I've got a fiver on her!

Really?
And she's studying to be a chemist.

A damned sight more sense
than poncing about with a camera,

spying on folk who want a divorce.

I try and help people get well,
not make them ill.

Of course.

Who God hath joined together, let
no private detective put asunder.

Ignore her.

Would they cancel the competition?
I don't think so.

It means so much to me to win,
and I really have a chance. Yes.

I feel as if
I'm being manipulated...

Will the food be long? ..Pushed
one way to stop me looking another.

I noticed a sign
for "gourmet cuisine".

If one nobbled the others and
then won for want of competition,

we'd know he or she was the nobbler.
You're right.

.. "Dinner parties a speciality." Mm?

I expect he's gone there.

How's it done?
Find out, and we know who it is.

Eileen Hargreaves' face swelled up.

She still looks like a beetroot.

The others have just got coughs, sneezes,
sore throats that anybody could get.

But nobody has.

It may be a different motive. What?

Someone out to spoil the festival.
Why? It's been going for 50 years.

Not with prizes and promotions.

A business rival
might be out to scupper...

He hasn't got any business rivals.

It says on the label

Hardiman's Herbal Healing is unique.

An enemy, then. Somebody doesn't
like him... He's back!

Move over.

We'll never get through
everyone who doesn't like him!

Pie and chips.

Northern food...
for northern folk.

No bread?! No afters?!

I brought lettuce if you want salad.

Men don't eat salad.
Only women and poofs eat salad!

My wife ate salad.
You don't need plates.

When did she leave, your wife?
What's it to you? I'm not a suspect.

Only making conversation.

It must be ten years ago. She
wasn't right after the boy was born.

Some postnatal rubbish.
Nothing pleased her.

Good riddance to them both.

She took your son? Why not?

Sickly little devil. He could never
have run a business like mine.

You're not eating.
I think I'd like some salad.

You going out again?

The car's done 80 miles since Monday.

Checking up on me?
You bet your miserable life I am.

Worried I'll find
a toy boy or something?

More likely "something".
Even toy boys have pride.

To find a man without pride is bound
to put a few miles on the clock.

I might be late again tonight.
Don't wait up.

This is good.
What's the extra taste?

Berberis and aquilegia.

Aquilegia...
A plague cure which never worked.

No valerian?
D'you want to be put to sleep?!

If I can prepare you to take over,

< I'd go to sleep happily
and never wake up.

- Who is this Betty Maincrop?
- Hetty Wainthropp.

She's a private detective... Could
we start? I may have to go out.

I'm a 65-year-old woman with asthma.

Me voice is going because of the
beclamethasone I'm taking for asthma.

What do you prescribe?

Hardiman's herbal linctus
Don't wind me up, lad.

It's all herbs, isn't it?

What herbs?! Two drops of menthol
and let the problem solve itself.

- "Help the disease cure itself."
- I say that out of knowledge.

With Oliver Hardiman,
it's pig ignorance.

My hope is
whoever's doing it will stop

when they know we have a detective.

Mrs Mosscrop said you were a whizz
at these competitions yourself.

I was. A boy wonder!

I was all set for music school.

Then I started getting
more colds than were good for me.

I realised the potential
for nose and throat remedies.

There are more blocked snouts
in Lancashire than pie and chips.

And you stayed with pie and chips.

♪ La la la la la la la la... ♪

Oh no, Leslie!

You can't get a cold now,
when we need the money so bad.

Geoffrey was asking
who's this mystery celebrity judge?

I wish I knew. From Dame Sutherland
down, they keep refusing. Oh, aye?

It was the smallest bedroom
I could find.

Dust.

We needn't draw the curtains of
the four-poster... unless we want to.

I haven't even found the bathroom.

Aria from "Carmen"

Aaaagh!

Don't the neighbours ever complain
about how you react to spiders?

Would you stand
where the burglar stood?

Standing where I am, what was
the first thing you noticed?

A hat with a feather. Big... like
a plume of smoke twirling round.

And a huge lace collar.

Lots of it. Very pretty.

Sounds like Prince Rupert!

How did he get in here?

She hadn't locked up properly
because... because you hadn't gone yet.

What happened next? He turned...

and shone his torch on me.

I was dazzled.

He ran off downstairs.

Hardiman? Did you see his face?

I don't know. I must have, but...
it wasn't a proper face.

It all happened so fast.
Change places.

Les Maynard's lost his voice.

We're down to five. I may win yet.
Close your eyes.

Open.

Describe the face you saw.

Cat-like... Smiling.

How tall? About your height.

One hand out
towards the bathroom cabinet.

There's nothing in here of value.

The presentation case.
That's valuable!

Cut glass with 18-carat-gold trimmings. It's meant
to be handed down from one generation to another.

Have you used any of these yet?
No. I'd no reason.

Then you can take that scarf off.
You're not losing your voice.

Don't touch these.

Get me the presentation case of a finalist who HAS
lost his voice. Les Maynard. He's just withdrawn.

You can phone the rest of the finalists and
warn them not to use Hardiman's herbal cures.

Hang on! I assume you have
a lab somewhere in your factory

that can analyse the contents
of Les Maynard's presentation case.

Ammonium phosphate.

Ammonium sulphate. That's a lot
of ammonium you've got there.

Is it that choking stuff
that's in smelling salts?

Potassium metabi...
Oh, isn't science wonderful?

I told you, she's at work.

Who'd have thought you could make
wine from bananas and marigolds?

What's this?
Birch sap... It's a hobby.

It'd have to be. Who drinks it?

Me and Glenda... on cold
winter nights, in front of the fire.

She's had no voice trouble?
It's top class.

She'll walk away with a cup, and she'll be singing
for our supper. Those radio jingles for chest rubs.

Hardiman's Herbals proudly presents
Glenda Jason...

Down to five.
Seems so.

- Me grandson says you need money.
- I do.

Good luck, then.

With only five finalists left, and two of
them present when the Cavalier attempted...

..Leaves three, one of which
is a twelve-year-old boy.

So it's Beverly Prendergast
or Glenda Jason?

Beverly's studying pharmacy,
so she knows about medicines.

And Glenda's house is
chock-full of chemicals.

Interesting.

The burglar dresses as a Cavalier,
and Mr Hardiman's name is Oliver.

Maybe Oliver beat this Cavalier person
in a singing contest at Marston Moor!

Just concentrate on the fry-up,
will you, Robert?

The Cavalier costume's easy. Floppy
clothes, feathers so you look tall.

Better than a polo neck and a Balaclava
at hiding feminine bits and pieces.

What about Rita?
She says it was a warning,

and if she competes
she'll be punished.

Down to four. Can't have that.
Talk her round.

It's on local radio. It can't be.

I'm a shareholder.
Was... They had fun with it.

We must delve into Hardiman's past.

There were scrapbooks in his office.

We need to find out where around
here you'd go to hire a theatrical costume.

We'd better adjourn this meeting
to his office before he gets back.

Don't tell me you don't know. Who released
that information to radio without my sanction?

It's not a secret.
Everybody in Blainthorp knows.

..There's that poster where
someone is crossing off the faces.

He's got everything from age eight.
He went all over, like Brian.

Theatrical costume. See Fancy dress.

He won it all. If he didn't win,
he didn't keep the programme.

Fancy dress. There's hundreds!

Manchester. Preston. All over.

Medieval mantles from Macclesfield
with guaranteed genuine fake fur!

He had a restricted repertoire.

I don't know where to start.
The nearest!

Pie Jesu, Pie Jesu... Something
is tickling my memory buds.

Horse coming! Out!

I've had the report from the lab.

There is no alien substance in
Les Maynard's herbal preparations.

Could they have done
the analysis too quick?

My technical team has been working
flat out. They've double-checked.

Since your team
is back at first base,

perhaps you'd like
to get on with your work!

♪ Is it not sweet
to hear the breeze singing...

♪ As lightly it comes
on the deep, rolling sea? ♪

Watch it! The sibilant "S" s
are creeping in again.

I'll be late again tonight.

You'll be the death of me.

Mmm.

- Lucky heather.
- Thank you!

Don't let the buggars get you down!

Edna!

I'll be in there
rooting for you, baby!

If only we had enough singers left,

the publicity would be wonderful
for putting bums on seats.

What about your celebrity judge?
Nobody's nobbled HIM, I trust?

Her.

We had trouble finding one and ended up with
the resident contralto from the Winter Garden.

She's cancelled
because of the bad publicity.

I'll get on me way.
You've a lot to do.

Sorry I'm late.
Errands for Grandad.

She's talking about protection
for the remaining finalists.

I don't know how,
with just one scooter!

What class is this?
12 to 16. Songs from the shows.

All waiting to perform?

Nervous?

Think as you go in that door, "I'll
enjoy it, even if they don't."

What are you going to sing? I'm not. It wouldn't be
fair on the others when I'm a Golden Voice finalist.

Also, my mother doesn't want me to.

She finds adult emotions
sung by children sick-making.

Does your dad throw up easily, too?

I don't know.
He hasn't lived with us for years.

How many years?

It doesn't come up in conversation.

Stop that!
What?

Winding Georgina up just before she
has to go on. It's almost cheating.

Pardon me for living

There's a poster in the office...
"When did you last see your father?"

My son had the jigsaw.

I've been wondering

when you last saw yours.

I'm never rude to older people. One
never knows when one might need them.

So I'll just say au revoir
for the present.

I'm sure I'll see you around.

Excuse me

Where's she gone?

She helps out behind the bar at the
Green Bay Tree and does a cabaret.

We've come to protect her.
It isn't necessary.

They're all friends there.

Come in for a glass
of home-made wine.

Oh... thank you.

Not for Geoffrey. He's driving.
Thank you.

It must get a bit lonely
with Glenda out.

I know where she is.

What time does she leave
the restaurant? About 11.

But sometimes she's a bit late
getting back, I dare say?

She was late last night.
How do you know?

Has someone been talking?

It's no business of anyone else's.

You want to keep it quiet?
I don't want any talk.

Who would?

Trust me.

Not in front of the lad.
Oh, right.

Geoffrey, would you wait outside?

What?! Do as you're told.

She'd seen some play...
in Manchester...

at a cultural evening
with the town's Women's Guild.

It were about husbands and wives
pretending to be other people...

lovers, toy boys...
scuba divers.

It were all pretence,
but it raised the temperature.

She and me were going through
a rough patch. We gave it a whirl.

And ever since... So...

she comes home late...
and pretends you're her lover?

It goes all through the day.

YOU'RE married. Maybe you understand.

Well...

What I can't get into my head
is how you could know.

Who told you? Nobody.

I was just fishing.

If you'd said she always comes home
on time, I'd have believed you.

♪ I'd sacrifice anything
Come what might

♪ For the sake of having you near
In spite...

♪ of a warning voice
that comes in the night

♪ And repeats and repeats in my ear,

♪ "Don't you know, little fool,
you never can win?

♪ "Use your mentality!

♪ "Wake up to reality!"

♪ But each time that I do
Just the thought of you...

♪ makes me stop...

♪ before I begin

♪ Cos I've got you... ♪

Hey! I want a word with you.

You're late. We had ours in town.

May I use your study? I'd like
to have a look at your scrapbooks.

I had to rescue your husband
from a police cell. Eh?

He's a bit the worse for wear.
I'm OK.

Just a misunderstanding.

Robert! You get on
with what you have to do!

I'd rather.

Beat you up, did they?
I should never have tried to run.

Cocoa.

What's this North-West Young Singer Of The Year
Competition? It wasn't a festival as such. More important.

That's when everyone decided
that I had a career in music.

Oliver Hardiman...
Pie Jesu yet again.

D'you ever see the other finalists?

Eric Leavesden, Mary Ann Winterbottom,
Ethel Warders, Michael Morone...?

Too long ago.

So much has happened since.

Yes.

We're going home.

Giving up on the job? I'm not.

There will be no more trouble
before the final.

I shall be at that, of course.

I should like you to invite a few
people round here afterwards. Why?

That's how it's done in the Poirot
books. He gathers all the suspects

and puts his finger on the murderer.

I've not had the opportunity before.

I'll pop round to Les Maynard's
to pick up some toothpaste.

You're not so green
as you're cabbage-looking.

Nothing like, Mr Hardiman.

I'd take it kindly if you'd give
Robert a lift. Pleased to.

And there's just one thing
I'd like you to do for me.

♪ Upon the e-e-earth

♪ Upon the earth

♪ I know...

♪ that my redeemer liveth

♪ And he shall stand... ♪

♪ But my kindness shall not be bound

♪ But my kindness... ♪

♪ Pie Jesu

♪ Pie Jesu

♪ Domine

♪ Dona eis

♪ Dona eis

♪ Sempi ternam requiem

♪ Sempi ternam requiem. ♪

You're looking at yourself
at his age, aren't you?

He's your son.

That being so,

I shouldn't give him the prize.

And the cup and the cheque for £500
goes to...

Miss Beverly Prendergast!

Well done!

Don't worry, lad. You don't need a cup.
You've the Hardiman empire to inherit.

Mostly, it was
to do with wrong trails.

I never really believed
one of the finalists was nobbling.

But I did swallow the idea that the bottles in
the presentation cases were being spiked. Why?

A competitor trying to damage you.

We have no competitors in the area.

Someone trying to show you up, then.

Someone who doesn't believe that
Hardiman's Herbal Healing actually heals.

What caused them to lose their voices, Mr Hardiman?
How should I know? Aren't you a herbs expert?

Mr Slater?

It has to be something
like xin yi leaf, a Chinese herb.

In substantial amounts, it causes
inflammation of the nose and throat.

Over how long? A week or so.

I give it homeopathically - in tiny doses to
stimulate the body's defences against hay fever.

How would you give it in large
amounts without anybody knowing?

Add it to something
with a strong taste...

tea caddy, instant coffee...
Home-made wine? If you like.

Make a tincture and inject it
into the mixture... Toothpaste?

Les Maynard's wife has dentures,
so she doesn't use it.

Does your grandson have access to
this herb and know its properties?

It's me that has no use for this
quack, Hardiman, not me grandson.

Are you saying you did it?
I'm not saying I didn't.

A tinpot herbalist
in a country town.

I'll ruin you. OK, Oliver Cromwell.

You can bully your way around
Blainthorp, but I'm in charge here.

Mr Slater was never the Cavalier.
Breaking and entering at his age?!

You're enjoying this. Of course.

Shall I go round with more champagne?
Not yet. I'm just reaching the best bit.

Step forward the wardrobe mistress
of the Blainthorp Amateur Operatic,

AKA Mary Ann Winterbottom.

Is this the bit when
the criminal makes a run for it?

You!

Me.

"When did you
last see your father?"

Cavaliers and Roundheads.

Why?

Revenge.

The Cavalier
was getting his own back.

I've never harmed you.

I think you have.

Mary Ann... Annie.

Married name Mosscrop.
Born Winterbottom.

In every one of your scrapbooks
she was one of the contestants.

And suddenly she wasn't.

North-West Young Singer
Of The Year Competition, 1960?

You were 12.

I was 14.

You winked and smiled at me and
whispered it was a two-horse race.

You sang She Moved Through The Fair.
It was beautiful.

And it moved me through to the final.

You joked about the obsessive way I wiped
and blew my nose just before going on stage.

While I was in the loo,
you opened my purse

and put sneezing powder on my hanky.

- You must have planned it.
- Dad!

I had to walk off in the middle.
They couldn't even give me a merit.

After that, my aunt changed her mind
about funding my musical education.

I got in to a third-rate university.

Then marriage...

divorce...

finally revenge.

I'm proud of what I did.

I'd have pulled it off completely,

had Mrs Wainthropp not come so close.

Even so...

A final of five can't have done
Hardiman's Herbal Healing much good.

You won't get away with it.
I'll sue you for all you have.

No, Dad. We don't want the publicity.

Five finalists nobbled. They'll
sue, and I'll pay the lawyers.

Would you?
Les? Harry? All of you?

Even if he pays out, would you sue?

We'd look stupid.
We knew we didn't stand a chance.

It was always going to be Beverly.
That's right.

I won't give you the satisfaction,
Mr Hardiman.

What hurt was that after stealing my
chance of fame, you threw yours away.

..Just to make money.

I would have liked, just once, to sing
in a really big hall with a full orchestra.

Geoffrey...

I'll have that refill now.

A good job well done.

Mr Hardiman found a son. Beverly won
the prize. Annie got her own back.

And nobody hurt at the end.

What I don't like about Poirot
is somebody always ends up hanged.

Subtitles by Clare Symmers
BBC Scotland 1996