Penny Dreadful (2014–2016): Season 2, Episode 5 - Above the Vaulted Sky - full transcript

Previously on Penny Dreadful:

It's an autobiography.
The memoirs of the devil.

It's possible he wasn't just recounting
the past, but foretelling the future.

- Whose future?
- Yours.

Your wounds were likely inflicted
by some sort of animal claws.

Will you describe
what happened at the Mariner's Inn?

I don't remember.

Who was he?
Your intended.

To marry?
- Yes.

- Must I love him now?
- That's for you to say.

You're raising a few eyebrows.



- If you don't mind.
- Let them stare.

Does this corset flatter me?

Yes.

It's my cousin, she's coming to visit
and she's a simple girl.

- From the country, you know?
- Your cousin, how lovely.

Who's the lucky lady?
- You know her, in fact, Mrs. Poole.

Oh, yes, our clairvoyant friend.
Well, proceed with caution, eh?

We have no more children
for you to kill.

I love my wife.
- Will you divorce?

- That's impossible.
- I appreciate your honesty.

Always good
to have something to aim at.

Do you truly not believe in heaven?

We're accountable
to no one but each other.

That's a profound responsibility.



I'll prepare
the enchantment for tonight.

- You know what to bring me?
- Yes.

Don't disappoint me again.

You'll understand
I find it difficult to accept.

I'm the object
of an eternal satanic quest.

Mother.

Her hair.

May I?

Daughter.

Lucifer.

I know what a siege is like.
I've been there.

You get the enemy
when they're relaxed...

...and making dinner
or feeding their babies.

You get them concentrated
in one location, you surround them...

...and then you attack
with every weapon at your disposal...

...until every one of them is dead.

When were you in a siege?

During the Indian Wars.
I was seconded to a cavalry unit...

...that had as its goal
the annihilation of the Apaches.

Dress it up any way you want,
that's what it was.

We were in the southern part
of the Arizona Territory...

...and there's one little tribe we're
supposed to send to the reservation...

...or murder, didn't matter.

They were dug in on a cliffside.

We moved in at night, with our
horses' hooves wrapped in burlap.

We surrounded them very slowly.

Hours of getting into position.

Some of us,
lucky ones who spoke Chiricahua...

...infiltrated the village.

We stood in the darkness
20 feet away...

...while they talked and smoked
and made dinner.

They had no idea.

They thought they were safe.

They had underestimated
the ruthlessness of their enemies.

Sound familiar?

What happened?

One bugle call and we attacked.

We didn't talk.

We didn't negotiate.

My squad worked from the inside out.
They had nowhere to run.

In 15 minutes,
that tribe had ceased to exist.

They were wiped from history.

We can't let ourselves
be infiltrated and surrounded.

We defend our cliff.

And we know what they want.
Yes.

That we know.

Now, if we only knew why.

They're making a fetish.

Which is?

A voodoo doll.
Very like.

The Nightcomers value simulacra...

...those things that take
the appearance of other things...

...so as to more easily enchant them.

Your hair.

So they got what they came for.

Utterly.

I know totems like these.

It is the most important thing,
to have the flesh of the enemy.

Consume it...

...and you take their power.

What do we know
about these creatures?

We're safe during the day.

- They're only transformative by night.
- How do we protect ourselves?

- There is lore to ward off witches.
- And rituals.

And sturdy locks,
and a shitload of weapons.

Every weapon at our disposal.

Every superstition.

Every ritual.

We defend our cliff.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

What is it?

They were here.

No, they weren't here.

- I can't tell anymore.
- Take it easy, you're all right.

I thought I saw them,
but they weren't there.

I can't tell the difference,
whether they're real or in my head.

I can't live with this anymore.
But they're in my prayers now.

Shh. It's okay.

- You're safe here.
- Safe?

I wish I were going mad.

Then the doctors could lock me away
and cut out the madness.

Anything to make it end.

You know the true path to freedom?

Open any vein.

That you can't do.

No.

God has a plan.

May I sleep here tonight?

Of course.

You think me foolish, I know.

No. No such thing.

I know what it is
to be scared of the dark.

Sofa's pretty comfortable. I'll be fine.

You were praying.

Old habits.

Don't lie to me.

I know you believe
in the word of God.

I believe we make ourselves
who we are.

The blood's on our hands,
not God's.

And did you make yourself
into who you are?

First time I picked up a gun
and decided my life...

...was more important
than anyone else's.

You never go back from that.

And are you sure
that wasn't part of his plan?

You've never killed anyone.

Talk to me then.

Whatever you have done,
whoever you have made yourself...

...I'm here to accept you.

We're together for a reason.

God's plan?

Yes.

You need to sleep.

May we leave the candles?

All night.

Enough.

I have lived
with your evasions too long.

Don't think I can't look
into your wretched black heart...

- ...and see the machinations laid bare.
- Then do as you like. I'm done with it.

Go rampaging up there
like the unholy monster you are...

...and let the consequences
be on your head.

I'm powerless to stop you.

Yes.

Whatever power you held over me
at the moment of my bestial creation...

...is gone.

Then, you had a power, Frankenstein.
Had you only used it kindly...

...what a different story
we would be telling.

I will see her.

Then go.

You know the way.

What have you told her about me?

No more than you know.

She thinks you were her fianc?
before the accident...

...that robbed her of her memory.

And how did you paint me?
How did you...

...limn the story
of our romance?

I told her nothing.

I thought it best
you extemporize on that.

And her response
when you spoke of me?

She asked if she loved you before.
I said I didn't know.

She asked if she must love you now.
I told her it was up to her entirely.

Was I wrong?

- Was I wrong?
- No. No.

No, she must care for me
of her own accord.

And did she speak of my face?

In what way?

Such sadism even now.

She knows you look differently
than she or I.

She's seen no one else.

If you come as the jolly wooer...

...I wish you luck.

And I wish you and she gone
from my existence...

- ...as if you had never drawn breath.
- For once, we are both in agreement.

Then let it be done.

Cousin.

Mr. Clare. Good evening.

Miss Lily.

I've brought Mr. Clare
to entertain you.

You must be bored by my company.

I'll leave you to it.

Cousin Victor, you won't stay?

I've work downstairs.

I'll come back.

Won't you sit, sir?

Thank you.

And you may call me John,
if you will.

That's a lovely dress.

What?

Yes. Victor picked it out.

And do you like it?

Yes.

Victor picked it out.

You're looking at my face.

I don't mean to. I can't help it.

Kind eyes can look on anything
and find it beautiful.

I don't mean to be forward.
I'm sorry.

Ours is an exceptional history.

We were friends once, and...

And that friendship
grew between us.

Victor told me.

Let me tell you, for I was there.

I remember one night,
we were walking through the village...

...and we came across some men
outside a tavern.

Drunken, they were.

And they saw me with you.

And they laughed
and pointed and said:

"How could the likes of her
be with the likes of him?"

And what did you do?

It was more what you did.

You took my hand, and you held it.

And you looked at them.

Then you raised my hand
to your lips.

And you held it there.

I don't remember.

- And yet, it happened.
- To someone else.

I've no wish to cause you pain.

Let us start by being friends,
Mr. Clare. I can do no other.

I understand.

Lucifer.

Mr. Chandler.

Who's asking?

Inspector Bartholomew Rusk.

Scotland Yard.

I should like a few words,
if I may.

You may.

Perhaps my office
would be more comfortable.

For whom?

This way.

Miss Ives.

Doctor.

May I present Miss Lily Frankenstein.

Such a pleasure, miss.

Your cousin has told me so much.

How do you do, Miss Ives?

What's the one thing
a sharpshooter is sure to need?

Bullets.

I've given up
the theatrical profession.

- Oh, why?
- Didn't suit my character.

Yes.

I see you don't seem
made for the limelight.

- Then again, we just met.
- Indeed.

One wonders how you keep
body and soul together...

...without employment.

Bit of this, bit of that.

I lost it in the Transvaal.

Boer sharpshooter.

I think a carbine.

They never use long-barrelled weapons.
They are so frequently on horseback.

Much like your...

...Red Indians, yes?

Is that right?

I mean, you must know weapons,
given your former occupation.

Just the theatrical kind.

I'm not that good a shot.

We used shotgun pellets
in the show.

Well, these aren't pellets.

And I'm not in the show.

- You lived in the Mariner's Inn.
- Did I?

You registered
September 25th last year.

Must have, then.

Where do you live now?

Elsewhere.

Are you aware
of the recent trouble at the inn?

No.

Don't you read the newspapers?

No.

There were murders.

- Were there?
- Many.

Shame.

All of the guests at the inn
have been accounted for...

...but for one Brona Croft and one...

...Ethan Chandler.

And?

And I'm bound to ask.

- And am I bound to answer?
- Well, you haven't been remanded.

- Am I free to leave?
- Any time you like.

We've had some trouble
here in London.

It started in early September
last year.

Is that so?

According to customs records,
that was when you arrived...

...with your Wild West Show.

September the 3rd, to be precise.

How can I help?

You can tell me why an American
seemingly without employment...

...and a place of residence
and proficient in firearms...

...is currently buying ordnance.

Is it illegal?

Not in the slightest.

Were the people
who were killed shot?

Not a one.

Then, I'm not quite sure
what I'm doing here, Inspector Rusk.

Because...

...you're a mystery.

And you don't like mysteries.

I like order.

And peaceable streets
upon which to walk.

As do I.

There was something different
about the Mariner's Inn.

There was a survivor.

That must be useful to you.

People who were there seem to
have a way of forgetting things.

Well, it was a forgettable place.

Not to me.

What's your name?

- You know my name.
- I know your stage name.

We've been cabling
American colleagues...

...for information on an Ethan Chandler
with few useful results thus far.

I have reams of documents
on a farmer in Iowa...

...and a cotton grower in Louisiana...

...and a chemist in New York.

All men without mystery.

That must be frustrating for you.

Only temporarily.

Well, since I have
nothing to tell you... Ahem.

Of course. Do you mind
if I walk with you?

- I never seem to get any air in this job.
- My pleasure.

He's been very generous.

Yes,
the doctor is a kind man.

I think that rather
comes with the job.

And are you intending
to remain in London?

- As long as she likes.
- As long as he'll have me.

Makes a change from the country,
at any rate.

And how do you find London, Lily?

The weather is challenging,
but the excitement is palpable.

There's a lot to explore here.
Have you seen much of the city?

Just the usual tourist spots, mostly.

It's very loud.

Loud. That's silly. Sorry.
No, you're right.

The din is everlasting.

- I think that's probably enough.
- Sorry.

These are fun.

They are, indeed.

Well, if you'll excuse me,
I've an engagement.

I hope we'll see you
at Grandage Place soon, doctor.

- We miss you.
- Of course.

Such a pleasure, Lily.

I hope we'll meet again.

You're very pretty.

Well, thank you. As are you.

And thank you for the dress.

Next time, we'll go alone.
I think the doctor was mortified.

- Good day to you both.
- Miss Ives.

Did I do all right, Victor?

You were perfect.

It's never what
you think it's gonna be.

We expected a proper
military engagement...

...but the Boers
didn't play along.

There we were in our formations
and our scarlet uniforms...

...while they were a guerrilla force
who struck at will.

Never seen better on horseback.

Like the Sioux Indians
in your country.

- I read about them in dime novels.
- Your accent isn't from the East.

Aren't you a Westerner?

You've been to America?

I have an ear.

Works with the ladies.
Who doesn't love a cowboy?

Or a soldier.

I suppose.

Your War Department hasn't been
particularly forthcoming with records.

Too busy invading Haiti and killing Red
Indians at the moment, I should think.

But I'll keep at it.

You do that.

It's been a pleasure,
inspector.

But I've got shopping to do.
If you'd excuse me?

Of course.

Be careful, Mr. Chandler.

With the bullets.

Inspector.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

Mr. Clare.

Miss Ives.

Do you know you share your name
with a dead poet?

Yes.

Do you like poetry?

All sad people like poetry.

Happy people like songs.

I've always been moved
by John Clare's story.

By all accounts, he was only 5 feet tall,
so considered freakish.

Perhaps due to this,
he felt a singular affinity...

...with the outcasts and the unloved.

The ugly animals.

The broken things.

I am

Yet what I am none care or knows

My frienss forsake me
Like a memory lost

I am the self-consumer of my woes

They rise ans vanish
In oblivious host

Like shasows
In love's frenzies stifles throes

Ans yet I am, ans live

- Like vapours tosses
- Vapours tossed

I long for scenes
Where man hath never tros

A place where woman
Never smiled or wept

There to abise with my Creator,
Gos

Ans sleep as I in chilshoos
Sweetly slept

Untroubling ans untroubles
Where I lie

- The grass below
- The grass below

- Above the vaultes sky
- Above the vaultes sky

I wonder if he ever found it,
his silent place with God.

The poem tells me that he did.

As you will one day.

Peace.

Is that the goal of religion?

Isn't it?

That can be found
in the smallest details of life.

The kind touch of a hand.

I saw it earlier.

I was having coffee
with a friend.

He's in love with someone,
though I don't know he knows it.

But she touched his hand.

And on his face...

...something I'd never seen before.

A kind of peace, anyway.

The cruellest kind.

It's lethal, that touch.

For it leaves your heart
at the mercy of another.

You're so unprotected.

We're all awkward in love.

Mine has always gone awry.

When I've opened myself to it
in the past, it's left me...

...damaged.

The consequences are too grave.

And what is our recompense?

We who cannot cast
our boats on that sea?

And how are we to navigate the waters
when they are so alien?

I've met a woman recently, in fact.

But I don't know how to behave.

- As yourself.
- Ha, ha.

Or as anything but.

I'm so maladroit, Miss Ives.

I can speak poetry
to the end of days...

...but I cannot take her hand
in this hand...

...so pale and ugly.

All the stratagems of the battle
are unknown to me.

When to laugh.

How to laugh.

How to stand and sit
and bow and dance.

There at least, I can help.

See this woman in me, Mr. Clare,
and follow your heart.

It's the curse of my class.

I was taught dancing
from a very young age.

No. Please, I can't.

Come on.

No.

Mr. Clare, the sea is waiting for you.

Set sail.

And try not to look at your feet.

Follow gently in this,
as you do in all things.

One, two, three.

That's it.

One, two, three.

I'm sorry, I think it's highly improper.
They're brother and sister, after all.

I finally found something
that shocks you.

If it were possible for me to blush,
I'd be as red as an apple.

God, it can't be.

I know you.

- I think not.
- Oh, yes. Hold on.

This is the little minx
I told you about.

In Belgravia.

- Excuse us.
- Hold on, friend.

This is the little freak
that took 40 pounds off me.

Quite a surprise
in store for yours truly.

- Wasn't there, dear heart?
- Take your hand off me.

Or maybe you like
that kind of thing.

Ah.

It's a complete myth.

Quicksand can't actually
swallow you up.

You can struggle and get trapped
for a while, that's all.

It's just like love.

Better not to struggle, dear.

I can honestly say
I've never met a woman like you.

You have no idea.

You're a breath of air
in a complicated life.

Well, let's hope we can
simplify it someday.

Oh. Here's your brandy.

I...
- Oh.

Oh, my ring pricked you, I'm sorry.

Oh, it's ridiculous jewellery.

Foul baubles of our vanity,
aren't they?

You were saying, dear?

Well, I'm damned.

Well, I'm sure of that.

Mr. Chandler, you dazzle me.

I always expect you
to be so fiendishly manly...

...then out come
these soupcon of wit.

- You inspire me, Mr. Lyle.
- Ha-ha.

So, what's damning you tonight?

Well, look at this. Our narrative
proceeds along at a stately pace...

...without a trace of Dickensian flourish
or Thackerayan japery.

Then I come across this.

A phrase repeated
in a variety of languages...

...seemingly at random,
like a poetic repetition.

I can't make fit anywhere.
I'm boggled.

What is it?

Here it is in Greek.

And in Latin.

The Hound of God.

Yeah. Or something very like.

Sir Malcolm will have to help us
with the Arabic.

I can't endure
dangling repetitions.

It's like a poem
waiting to be rhymed.

- It makes me sad.
- Heh.

But we'll get it, Mr. Chandler.

For we are what above all?

I haven't a clue.

Tenacious.

We keep after our quarry
until he, she or it is ours.

The Hound of God.

I borrowed your clothes.

Why are you doing this?

Being what I am?

That's not what you are.

You prefer the freak.

It adds spice for you, doesn't it?

From the moment I was born,
I was not as I was meant to be.

No one spoke of it.

My parents ignored me
as best they could.

So I came to London
and created Angelique...

...leaving me fit for no trade
but whoring...

...and myself fit for nothing
but degradation and ridicule.

Have you ever known that?

No.

You've led a charmed life here.

We're not all so lucky.

Or so normal.

Do you think I don't understand
what it is to be different?

I think I'm tired, Dorian.

I've been fighting so long.

You're not fighting alone...

...Angelique.

And if I chose always
to dress like this?

Would you care for me then?

I care for who you are.

Not what you wear.

Quick. Quickly.

- I'm sorry, Mrs. Poole.
- You mustn't be.

I don't know what got into me.

Must be the Wagner.

No.

Not that.

I have to be with you.

Yes.

Lily.

- What is it?
- The storm.

It's all right.

Don't worry.

You're safe.

Thank you, Victor.

I'm so silly.