Ripper Street (2012–…): Season 2, Episode 1 - Pure as the Driven - full transcript

Open up!

Where is she?

Where is she?

Police. K Division.

See! Now, where is she?

She not here.

Move!

Oi! You buggers!

Oh, you buggers. Hey,
it's either peace or a clattering.

Yours to say which.

Don't let them out!



Sergeant Artherton sends
his apologies, sir.

Wonders if we might see our way
clear of joining him downstairs.

Billy club, if you please,
Sergeant Drake.

Service!

Move out of the way.
Get out of the way!

Reid! Again? How the hell is
a man supposed to work

amid such an uproar?

Inner peace, Captain.

Are you just going to stand there,
are you?

Marriage, Drake...

perhaps it's slackened you.

Inspector, that is
the third time this month.

H Division is overwhelmed, sir.

Artherton... All respect
for badge and uniform is lost.



We must have order, sir,
and therefore must have more men.

Artherton... That or a Gatling gun.

Artherton... I know not which
costs less.

Artherton, it is in hand.

Hmm, it's been that way
a while now, sir.

The facts remain - we have neither
the funds, nor the reputation.

Inspector Reid. Yes?

Rumpus up on Chicksand.

A man lies impaled
on iron railings there.

Then send him to hospital, man.
Or the morgue.

Sir, it is a copper...

and he lives yet.

He's a copper! A stuck pig.

Hold that mob back!

Leave that man where he lies!

Stand aside. Back, damn you!

If we take him from the rail,
he's going to bleed out in seconds.

A pig on a stick!

Maurice? Maurice Linklater?!

You fetch an ironmonger
and hacksaw.

You know him? Now!

Yes. Detective Sergeant,
K Division.

K? What is it puts a Limehouse man
on a spike in Whitechapel?

Linklater, hold fast,
we shall see you right.

That's it. Jackson - morphine.

By your budgeting?
I got laudanum.

Oh, God.

All right, we've got you.

All right, sir.

We're going to need a foot
or two still in him,

so you're going to saw right here -
clean and quick.

More juice, give him more juice!

That was all I had and that was
enough to drown a bear.

Sergeant, you are to travel with him.

On arrival at the hospital, they are
to understand he is a policeman.

Insist on Mr Treves. If he is not
in surgery within the hour,

I shall have heads!

Yes, sir.

Hold still, Maurice. Hold still.

Morphine.

Get it analysed, get certain.

Not the girl she once was.

At least she profits, however.

A tart then?

Little sign of a struggle
before he went through the glass.

When the rail lanced him...

the wound was direct,
almost perpendicular -

back through front.

It went through clean.

Fell down straight.

And he is, I would say,
approaching 200 pounds,

so we must assume that he was...

projected by more than one man.

Unless he flew.

One hour more, they'd have
lit a fire,

used that rail for a spit
and ate him.

A policeman so violently humiliated,

a street thronging to celebrate -
a culprit must be found.

And a meaty correction delivered

so that this multitude may
see it swift and clear.

I'm here with you, Maurice.

Bennet Drake?

Is that you? Yes, it is, brother.

Then I must be in the shit.
What happened back there, Maurice?

Passing Christchurch now, ain't we?

We are. You remember that verger?

Verger?

Ackford, yeah.

Took us a week to fill that barrel.

Sold him piss for apple cider, eh?

We're none of us the boys we were.

I'm asking again,

what befell you, brother?

These streets.

The sufferings felt here,

as nothing to what comes.

It will fall...

like the Red Sea.
Like the Red Sea, Bennie.

Right, hold him steady.
Take the brace.

Hold still, sir.

I want that man scrubbed
and prepared now, Jarvis. Mr Treves.

Inspector. My thanks.

A man of your skill -
this man is lucky.

- We shall see about that.
- More, by Christ.

That morphine barely touched him.
Another dose, then the chloroform.

As we travelled here,
and it made no sense, sir,

but he spoke of something coming,

like a wave of suffering.

His meaning?

He spoke no more of it.

Leastwise nothing that
might be made sense of.

But he was frighted, sir,
and earnest in that fright.

We must hope he lives.

There is no man better to save him
than this man Treves, here.

First appendicectomy
this country has seen,

performed right here at his hands,
June '88.

This is Treves, eh? Mm-hm.

Hmm, he's very good.

Inspector, your American
will extinguish his cheroot
this moment.

Hey!

Treves.

Mr American?

That man's sternum,
is that a bruise, there?

It is.

It's about the size of a fist,
you might say?

I might.

You observe any other trauma
on the body?

Aside from the self-evident,

historical shattering of the patella
and upper thigh, here,

some infection, pock-marking.

Prior needling, most like
for management of this knee's pain.

Now, may I continue?

Yeah, knock yourself out.

You described those rooms, who
we might imagine the tenant to be?

I was... getting there. Erm...

Well, we questioned whether
Maurice, here,

went there with his badge out or
with something else altogether.

You'll let me through, God damn it!

Maurice, do you live?

Inspector Shine, you will remove
yourself and Sergeant Barton

from my operating theatre

or I shall remove
your nose from your face.

Are we understood?

Inspector.

We need to talk, Edmund.

If it was a case that brought him
to Whitechapel and this woman...

Who's to say it was not?

then I would have the file,
Jedediah.

File? Hmm. You think it only
H Division that faces down mayhem?

That we at Limehouse do nought
but dunk biscuits in our tea?

Besides, as you know,

we lack your taste
for clerical work, Inspector.

This crime, a policeman,

we must be seen to be remorseless
in our pursuit of it.

Then I am ideal.

While you take your hand-lens
and your great brains

and apply it to
whatever chimes in those rooms,

I shall pull up every paving stone
from Chicksand to Pennyfields.

Wherever this Chinky miss hides,

she will be found and rattled for
the truth of it

till her teeth drop out.

May I speak with him, Treves?

You may not and must not.

Most like he will still die.

But what little chance
he has of surviving,

it's only rest that will secure it,

rest and peace.

Am I understood, inspectors?

All that we need from the rooms
on Chicksand shall now

have been returned to Leman Street.

Good day to you, Mr Merrick.

Good day to you, Inspector.

No-one never told you
it's rude to stare?

Reid knows the Elephant Man?

That's Mr Merrick to you.

On rare occasion, he may travel
and leave the city for a while.

When he does, the men at H Division
provide escort.

Good day, sir.

Good... good day to you.

Mr Merrick.

He's a friend of yours, Reid?

I wouldn't say that.
I admire him, though.

His life, the suffering,

forced to wear without
what others hide within

and yet I have never known him less
than courteous, considerate, hopeful.

The two of you back to Leman Street,
make a start.

Where are you going?

If that woman was indeed tart,

there is but one individual who
I would trust help me identify her.

So, I go to take tea with your wife.

The day a girl like that
goes unnoticed here, well,

I shall be seeking
other employment, myself.

And yet she refused your entreaties?

Indeed.

Two years past,

recently disembarked
from a Hong Kong steamer,

she turned her pretty nose up
and assured me

she had no call to demean herself,

so I quite took offence, Inspector.

I'm sure.

She travelled beneath
the moniker Blush -

Blush Pang.

Beautiful.

And she made no hint, then,
of how it was

she expected to support herself?

None. Although she clearly lacked
the sufficient low self-esteem

to send herself to
a sweatshop or scullery.

But, Inspector, I had no doubt
of her ability to do so.

Support herself, that is.

Before you go...

Charity, will you fetch
Mr Reid's shirts?

You will let me know if
there is anything else you require -

some fruit, a chop for your larder.

Oh, I manage quite well, thank you.
Of course.

Thank you, sir.

This, madam... this remains...

Between ourselves.

He knows nothing.

Blush Pang - the girl's name.

No bawd, I am told.

Then those funds raised how?

He confers with his kinsman.

Quiet, sh.

Miss Pang's morphine.

Getting it analysed,
getting certain.

The station house
is a pit of filth, Reid.

Fine, I shall add rat-catcher
to the roll of staff

Sergeant Artherton craves, shall I?

Does he offer anything else,
beyond complaint?

Oh, he does.
Our surgeon has a theory.

Indeed? Let's hear it, then.

Drake's friend Linklater,

the distance flown from window
to rail,

we've assumed more
than one assailant. We have.

And yet the lack
of disturbance in the room,

absence of other recent trauma
to the body,

as we've discussed,

he's not the stripe of man
to go down without a struggle.

He is not. And so?

Ten years past,

I spent a winter crewing
sea-draggers out of San Francisco.

It's a hard life, I wouldn't
commend it to anyone.

Even you, Drake.

Get to it, Captain. I am, Reid.

Frisco...

shitty weather, ugly women

and working the Pacific Railroad.

Celestials.

Chinamen.

And one such I knew.

He was a monk, they said,

though he drank and whored like
a man running from God,

not the reverse.

This monk, he had
a particular way of raising funds -

circus tricks, in the main.

But one night, I saw him
do things with his body

that ought not to be done -

bricks broken
on the back of his neck,

timber cleaved in two

with one blow of his fist,

men struck...

here,

knocked clean off their toes,

thrown two, three yards.

Damnedest thing I ever saw.

And the only mark on
Sergeant Linklater's body

was a circular bruise to the sternum.

You ever punch a man
clean off his feet, Sergeant?

With respect, sir, if I had,

I wouldn't be here coppering
my life away, would I?

No.

So you suggest, then, that
there may be one such man here,

now, among us?

If so, what took him
to Miss Pang's rooms

to throw your friend from her window?

Gaming chit for Chinese dominoes.

Is this how she profits?

Do you know any oriental
gaming houses, Sergeant?

A man does not have to search far.

There's only two streets of China
in this city.

They both fall within the beat
of your man Linklater.

These men are collected on
the docksides of Hong Kong, Macau,

waged sleepless on
British India steamships.

They are 200 now, their number
grows with every docking.

Why do they not go home?

It's the same the world over,

the Chinatowns of Manila,
Frisco, San Diego,

they can't.

They are worked and abandoned.

No promise of return,
no knowledge of how to survive here.

It is a purgatory,
which grows by increment.

Lost men gather here and find
what they can.

Whilst others profit.

Stand aside, H Division.

Men of Whitechapel.

Come for dominoes, have we?

The rooms Linklater was thrown from,

the woman there goes
by the name of Blush Pang.

Evidence collected there
brings us here.

Of those interviewed, we are told
this is the work of but...

one man.

Reid!

Edmund, this is a K Division case.

Then best you listen
to my American, Jedediah.

Look at him, slumped in his shorts.

You think him caught
getting his jollifications?

Of a kind.

Pockmarks. Same manner found
on your sergeant.

And your point?

This here had a taste,

it's the same as taken from
the woman Pang's apartments.

This needling, you think
morphine-mania joins the two men?

No.

No!

Besides, no law is broke.

He may freely take morphine
for the pain of that knee,

allow himself respite so as
to go about his work untroubled,

such as protecting
this woman from an attacker.

Whichever, Sergeant.

But now, this man becomes relevant.

So who is he?

This... German. "Florian Janker?"

That a language you know, Edmund?

No. But this, "Barmen",

it is a town in Germany.

And this, "60"...

Birthday gift?

He look 60 to you, Captain?

Not a day over 35.

Got something here,
caught in his spinal column.

Cut with such venom,
the blade sheared.

Is that Chinese? Show me.

I know that sign.

The Three Harmonies Society,
or Triads.

That's some special purpose
knowledge there, Chief.

Ten years Hong Kong Police.
Were you not, Jedediah?

This action here,

it is a land grab.

One clan hoping
to place influence over another.

Whatever his motivations,

it is this which Sergeant Linklater
found himself amidst,

this which laid claim
to our German, here.

This is not China.

No, Edmund, it is London.

And this here - nothing but
our chickens come home to roost.

London is our Empire's heart

but the East End, its arsehole.

Its sins,

committed out in
the subjugated world yonder,

they are shat out right here.

I shall turn this town over, Edmund.

No matter my Sergeant's sins -
whoever did this,

I shall dig them out
and see to their pacifying.

You men can see yourselves home,
I'm sure.

No, no, no, do not disturb for me.

You concentrate.

You do not wish your wife
to fetch your dinner for you?

Fetched me own for many a year now,
you know.

I am stuck in my ways.

Come here.

Where did you learn such skill?

I learn it now, didn't I?

Then you master it fast.

Something tugs at you, Bennet.

Does it not?

It's an old friend of mine,

one I have not seen
for too many years.

Police, he is,

and lies now, near death,
at the London.

He was attacked. But...

there are those who believe

Maurice bound in some way
to his attacker,

a way that does him no credit.

I have no old friends close to me...

no-one to remember me as I was,

before Long Susan found me.

Only you, Bennet.

You make me what I am now.

If you wish to go help your friend...

you do so.

Whitechapel
is not Chinatown. No, it's worse.

At the very least,

those men know what they want most
out of this life. And that is?

To leave this place, goddamn it.

You and me...

we got the funds.

One mile from here, there are ships
that could deliver us to Shanghai,

Siam, Mandalay!

All our enemies are dead and gone,
darling.

There's no call to hide any longer.

However, these corridors have
come to feel like home, now. Home?

What the hell is home?
Home is a brickwork anchor.

What about Reid?
You would just leave him?

He's welcome to tag along.

What and leave this place?

He would stop breathing.

Then screw him.

It's you and me, darling,

it's the dream that joined us.
Remember?

Of course I remember.

I'd sit with him a whiles.

Maurice?

Hello?

What've you been about, Maurice?

Oh, Mr Merrick, my apologies.

I didn't...

You have been out walking, sir?

The hospital garden is
a little more peaceful at this hour.

And you?

I...I visit a friend, sir.

Mr Linklater?

Mr Treves says
that there is hope for him.

Of a kind, sir... Yes.

Good night. Good night.

Sir.

I found this in
Sergeant Linklater's personals.

It's a cargo docket.

300 pounds of raw tar opium.

Hong Kong to London

and a name here - Pang.

For collection by Maurice Linklater.

Sergeant, opium is not
yet contraband.

If your friend...
Friendship is trust, sir,

and I do trust him no longer.

So are we to assume her
his taskmaster?

Taking orders from a woman?

He's not the breed of man for that.

What breed is he?

The kind to co-ordinate
this trade himself?

That's not the Maurice I know.

He is a follower, not a captain.

Miss Pang's opium.

Oh, Maurice.

Fighter policeman.

Wait!

What is it you want? Where is she?

Blush? I know not. I seek her also.

You lie.

The man you work for, who has
her order this opium, he keeps her.

I work for no-one,
I work for no-one, unlike you, sir,

here on order of
the Three Harmonies Society

to steal Blush Pang's trade.

I'm here to take my sister home...

Sister? ..to restore honour
to her mother and father.

Where do you hide her? Wait!

One man is murdered by your hand,

another is sure to go that way soon.
Would you add another?

One dead British policeman -
one less evil in this world.

It was a policeman who stole her,
many years ago.

A British policeman?

In Hong Kong? My sister,
where is she?

Your sister was brought here
to trade opium.

The man you hunt, the man
that brought your sister here,

is not this man.

Are you well?

I'm all right, sir.

You heard that, Sergeant?

Inspector Jedediah Shine -

ten years Hong Kong Police
before he landed at Limehouse.

A man so respected.

And so eager to blind me
to the truth.

I begin to wonder

if we should not do what we can
to obscure ourselves.

The man...

is a suet pudding.

He who wrecked The Pearl last night,
however...

it is your brother come
to find you, is it not?

What does he want here?

He may kill you.

Then it is all gravy.

For I would surely die
without you...

my dear.

Had a bill in the post, have we?

Duggan, you cannot do this.

Do you forget, Miss Hart?

You, your life here...

every success you might measure,

none of it... none of it
would have come to pass

without my generosity.

As your landlord and benefactor,
I can do what I like,

because I own you.

And what a pretty parcel to own.

Ah, Mr Reid, news for you.
The Kraut you sent word for...

Yes? ..some kind of chemist.

Chemist?! Indeed.

I passed the communication
to Captain Jackson.

He seemed quite taken with it, sir.

Florian Janker - Bayer Laboratories,
murdered March '88.

Only suspect is Johan Carsten,
aged 31 at the time.

So this must be Carsten?

Says here he worked at
Bayer Laboratories also.

He's a chemist,

not accomplished
but a chemist nonetheless.

My friend here got me curious.

The one you treated
to Miss Pang's morphine?

If it was morphine.

He's been... testy.

More so than you might expect.

Imagine Drake, here,
with a rash on his conkers -

that but worse.

Had me confounded

until that man.

A chemist found,

cut down whilst
in the company of a woman,

Blush Pang...

his thighs puckered
with signs of this substance.

The same substance we believe
Maurice Linklater may have taken.

And you...

have reverse-engineered it.

I have. And so what is it?

Syringe, please.

Let's find out why people are
killing each other over this juice.

And some privacy.

Can you say it?
Can you say it?

Can you say it? Can you say it?

I can. I can.

Then say it

Jackson!

You listen to me,
you listen good.

Morphine...

takes the body with
tenfold the power of opium.

This stuff...

stronger still.

It comes up in you like lava.

Nothing for it but to surrender.
But that step taken...

Think of a cold morning...

ice on the inside
of your window...

you're warm in your bed
with a woman clasped beside you,

no call to ever move more.

Drink your coffee!

Drink it!

A man might have that, now,
whenever he wished for it.

It is life
stripped of all judgment.

No pain, no hunger,

no sorrow, no tomorrow.

Qualities much in demand hereabout.

Morphine is dear, however.

The cost of such a narcotic
must be likewise.

Not if it were cooked from
the source, from the tar itself.

Tar that is sat waiting
for Maurice Linklater to collect it.

And no law yet made is broke.

Jedediah Shine's lackeys
may set up stall

outside this station house,
should they choose.

What Linklater spoke to you of in
the carriage, a wave of suffering...

Falling like the red sea.

Reid, this gear gets sold cheap,

the men and women of this quarter

are going to grind their children
for bread to find spending for it.

No. Not here,

not whilst I breathe.

Linklater must talk to us.

Jackson, this... this juice.

Is it really so simple to make?

Even you might do so, Drake.

Then make some more.

Sergeant Linklater
is to be left in peace, Mr Reid,

as you well know.

Do you know, Sergeant,

when we first plucked you
from that pike on Chicksand Street,

I thought, above all,

that the sanctity of this force
must be protected.

Because, to those who wish
to live in peace hereabout,

we must be their buttress
to that aim.

We found a powdered substance

on the dressing table of a woman
named Pang...

discovered its nature
and made our own,

here.

I beg you, sir, give it to me.

One or two questions answered

and I shall.

Stay here, get it all.

Now, this is what I know already -

this narcotic for which you clamour

is about to be launched
onto our streets.

Do I have it right, Sergeant?

You do, sir.
Now, please, let me have it!

No, not yet. The woman,
Blush, Blush Pang,

she supplies the opium
dens on your watch?

And then the German, Carsten,

the chemist landed in your
hands. What was it he sold you?

A promised relief to the
pain in your knee?

He spoke of a laboratory
where he worked.

Of what he himself had helped
to make. A drug, like morphine,

which they wished to develop.

To be named heroin, sir.

And he made this heroin
for you and Miss Pang?

The narcotic, where is it cooked?

Benny, for all the years we have
known each other - take pity on me.

No, Maurice.

You spoke of that suffering,

knew the part you played in it.

You had this coming.

Now, you do what you can to make
amends, and you speak.

Benny! And your commander, Sergeant,
you name him.

And all his crimes.

Benny, you've no idea...

Come, Sergeant Drake, we waste too
much time. No! No!

Return, I'll tell you,

I'll tell you everything.

The cookhouse, where is it cooked?

Chicksand. Chicksand!?

Where we found you?

Where?! The ginnels beneath,
dug into the earth.

Now, the commander.

List his crimes
so I may bring him down.

It is not as if we do not know
of his corruption.

So you speak and make amends,
Sergeant.

We just need to hear the words.

Only say it, Sergeant, say it.

Juice first.

Juice first.

Now, confirm it.

Confirm it.

Confirm it! Maurice!

Confirm it! Confirm it, damn you!

Inspector Reid!

You ignore my explicit instructions.

This man is to be left in peace.

This man bears great responsibility
for the future welfare

of this parish, Mr Treves.

I must have his knowledge!

And I must do all that I can
to ensure his survival.

Out, Inspector!

This moment!

All of it, get rid of it, all right.

H Division. Now, you got a cookhouse
here,

you're going to tell me where it is!

You're going to tell me
where it is now!

Don't tell me you don't
know anything... Sergeant!

Over here, boys!

Nobody move!

No law is broken here.
This is a legitimate business.

You are set on bringing

a special kind of hell to these
streets, Miss Pang...

My streets!

And here, my word is law.
Get her in irons.

She is not for you to take.

She is for me to return back
to where she belongs.

I don't think so, my friend.
Not this time.

The hammer is cocked, friend.

Quick as you are, brass is quicker.

What is it you believe?

That even if you fight your way 6,000
miles from here to Hong Kong,

that you might there make of her
the innocent she once was?

There she will see China.
She will know who she is.

China itself is changing

and is corrupted by this country
here.

A corruption that cannot now be
reversed. As with her.

For she now is London.

And her heart,
I suspect, as black as soot.

Well, Inspector.

Now, as ever, the great Edmund Reid
is one step ahead of his rivals.

What work you have done
for your people.

This narcotic, this creeping evil

which otherwise would have broken
lives.

You are owed great thanks. My thanks
also for delivering these two to me.

In particular, this murdering
pyjama-fighter.

Cuffs, sir.

Thank you, Constable.

Jedediah.

If you want him, you fight him.

You are in Whitechapel now.
My streets, my laws.

If you have it in you?

You take him.

Be my guest.

Wish me to fight
for your entertainment, do you?

Quite the Roman Emperor, ain't you?

I am Jedediah Shine,

ten years undefeated
in all divisional competition.

No man yet found
drinks his tea blacker.

Know you only as my family's curse.

I know you do.

Fair enough. Fair enough.

Word has it you are quite some tiger
when your tail is pulled.

What say I give it a tug?

She was just a child
and you stole her.

That girl. She was never a child.

Take them.

You arrest her on what charge?
She protected an officer.

Whatever I choose. Murder?
The theft of a boiled sweet?

I care not. But you will not see
her again, Jedediah.

Not this young and lovely,
leastwise.

Do not think your wider corruption

and avarice is obscured to me,
Inspector.

Or to the wider world in due course.

Sergeant Linklater, a man covered
in guilt and so close to death,

he will ask for his grace
one hour or the next.

Inspector.

I hear you've been getting
loquacious.

What was I to do, Inspector?

I shake at how vulnerable
you have become.

And what else you might reveal
to men such as Edmund Reid...

if denied your comfort.

Jedediah, I swear on my life,
I am your loyal soldier.

I know it, sir.

Which is why I ask you...

one last service.

Name it.

Well, you are to incriminate

that inspector for me.

That is a mighty dose, Jedediah.

And you a mighty man,

Maurice Linklater.

Clumsy bugger...

I know it painful, Sergeant,
but it cannot be helped.

Good men may go bad.

Although I am yet to see
a bad man go good.

The world is unjust in that way.

Indeed.

My brothers, you do not send word
for me to join you for a glass?

A more sensitive soul
might take insult.

You have some brass coming in here.

Do you not notice, Jedediah,
that you are watched?

That the people of this quarter
follow all that you do.

And they are right to follow me,
Edmund.

I lead well.

No. You lead with venality,
lies, corruption.

And you are a fine one to speak,
Edmund Upright.

Pure as the driven, are you not?

I make no claims for myself.

Then how is a man to know you?

By your actions alone?

Oh.

Word has not reached you?

My sergeant has succumbed
this night.

From his injuries?

Mr Treves is yet to decide. But...

there is word, Edmund, that you
were come upon in my man's rooms.

A syringe...

a dose of narcotics administered
to Sergeant Linklater.

I do not credit it myself.

But Mr Treves...

he is a stickler for that version
of the truth.

Ta-ta, old cock.

How do, Mr Merrick?

Why the long face?

You are a disgrace to badge
and uniform.

Talk of the wolf.

You will not bring your Leman
Street ways to this hospital again.

But... No, sir!

Re-enforcements.