The Frankenstein Chronicles (2015–…): Season 2, Episode 3 - Seeing the Dead - full transcript

Marlott is convinced that Billy Oates and the origin of the fever killing local families will lead him to Lord Daniel Hervey.

Can you confirm
this is the second murder of a clergyman?

Two men were torn apart
but Father Ambrose wasn't.

His heart was cut out.

Only Hervey's sick enough to think of this.

I'm Augusta Ada Byron.

I may require your services for a dress.

- Frederick, may I introduce Mrs Rose.
- Thank you for coming.

You can have bed and board here. With
all this talk of the Devil in Pye Street.

I would prefer to have someone here.

"Dean of Westminster announces
intended evacuation of the Pye Street Area

amidst fears of public safety and plague."



Why would God abandon us?

My flock lies here
in the cradle of the church

under the gaze of God.

Yet every day they wander
further into the valley of death...

That's her third dead child in as many days

and her sister will soon follow.

Pye Street is cursed, no superstition.

Why the red ribbon?

If the bereaved can ever afford
a consecrated burial

they know which body to look out for...

Peelers all over the Archdeacon's crypt
this morning?

You still haven't told me
what you were after.

You're as jagged and closed as one of these.

Pye Street's emptying fast.



Plague's scaring 'em off.

Right then, move on.

Let's go.

Billy Oates.

Friend of yours?

Somebody left the horse untied, who was it?

And don't blame Thomas,
Thomas gets blamed for everything...

Hey! Thomas!

Thomas!

We want them scared of you, remember?

You haven't seen
a black horse roaming loose have you?

One white sock?

It's alright, Mrs Wild...

What do you want?

Where's Hervey?
- Oi!

What do you think
this is against your neck?

- A spoon?
- Easy.

He's trouble, Mrs Wild.

And a dead man for that matter.

Then he must have
something important to say.

Let's talk like gentlemen.

So where is he?

I ain't seen no Hervey, Mrs Wild.

You covered for him.
You could've saved Flora's life.

That's a bit rich.

I kept that girl fed, kept her pure.

I cared for her, in my own way...

You sliced that poor girl's throat,
didn't you?

Ah, ah.

I didn't kill her.

You sure about that?
- Hervey framed me.

You lied to me about him,
gave me the wrong man.

And I got you transported.

Yeah well, I got myself out, didn't I?

Always do. Saw myself some sea...

What? You think I'm lying?

I'm a London-lubber at heart,
so I came home.

Point being, I ain't seen hide
nor hair of Hervey, before or since.

Somebody's supplying him with human hearts.

Murdered priests.

You supplied him once, didn't you.

I'm a showman now.

Either way,
you'd have to tell me your trick.

Slipping the noose.

Might have to call for it myself one day.

Roll up, roll up!

Mrs Wild's Penny Exhibition!

Would your mother be at home?

Mrs Flynn.

Mrs Flynn.

If it's payment you're after,
you've a wasted journey.

I've nothing left for you.

This is to put
towards your children's burial.

A proper one.

It starts in the hands.

Your help would be more use.

Do you know how your children
came by the sickness?

They say it's the air that's killing us.

They gave us a choice.

Freeze to death
without a roof over our heads...

or hold our breath.

Whatever the cause,
no one's going to save us.

It is God's will...

Elsie, come help your ma!

When the time comes, I beg of you.

Lay us down together.

Elsie.

Thank you for waiting Home secretary

Mr Dean sends his most sincere apologies.

You will have heard
of these terrible murders on our brethren.

I'm aware.

Then you will understand that, with regards
to your discussion about your new cemeteries

Mr Dean must concentrate
on preserving the interest of the living

rather than the dead.

Any message you have I shall pass...
- Then inform your Dean

that the dead are killing the living.

With the miasma
from their overflowing burial grounds.

And that my new cemeteries will be built,
whether the Dean likes it or not!

Does Mr Dean
truly seek to prevent grieving families

from having a proper Christian burial

just because
he will loose the right to the burial fees?

As if this is a mere business
and the church created to make money?

One would hope not.

Then he must stop
obstructing the King's royal assent

to the consecration
of the new burial grounds.

Then perhaps, Sir Robert,
this conversation would feel more relevant

after you've sought re-election
and of course triumphed.

D e o vo le n te.

Mr Requist, wherever I sit in the Commons

I am this country's greatest reformer.

So tell your Dean
that with your saturated graveyards

and your clergymen being devoured
right under your very noses

that it is not the devil you should fear.

It is me.

Oh my...!

Oh my God!

He's done it again! Another body!

Another murder!

Bloody hell.

Sir, another murder!

Where?

Pye Street. A street away.

Crowd's gathering quickly, sir.

Parish Watchmen'll be there any minute...
- Run! Run!

Stop. Stop. I need your help!

I need to get this man's body
to Westminster Police station

before the Parish Watchmen take him.

Come on.

Get it open, we need to leave!

Nightingale! You know what you're doing?

It's against the law!

Well take it up with the Home Secretary.

A pox on you!

Another murder!

If you still suspect
the killer to be a Bethlem lunatic

how difficult can it be to find him?

Being honest, sir, I'm less
certain than ever that it is the inmate.

Whoever is doing this
is making a mockery of our service.

Something that the Dean and his Parish
Police will exploit with relish!

With respect, sir, Parish Police are
already obstructing us with private inquests

and not letting us within twenty yards
of the poor souls' bodies.

What else can we do?

Show some initiative, man!

Get back, everyone back!

Sir Robert.

Inspector...

I took the liberty
of claiming Reverend Eastman's body

to beat the Parish Watchmen
at their own game, sir.

I do hope it's legal.

Promote him.

Fetch the Coroner!

Reverend Eastman... dead...

Who would do such a thing?

Somebody who has no fear of God.

Maybe...

I preached sermon after sermon
three sheets to the wind.

Finally the Dean of Westminster
hung me out to dry

not because of my rotten inner,
because I kept to my bearings.

I dared to criticise Mr Dean
for all his selfishness and his greed.

I soon learnt that if you dare to raise
your head above the pulpit

the Dean'll come along and knock it off
for you and you're out on the street

or so I thought.

The Archdeacon, Reverend Ambrose,
and now poor Reverend Eastman...

They all knew that he was
as crooked as my elbow

and formed a faction against him.

A sort of holy trinity they wanted
to prevent him selling off the church's land

for his own personal gain.

Pye Street.

But instead these three good men are dead.

Murdered.

The church blames the devil,
the Pye Street deal goes through

and the Dean's pockets burst with gold.

Pye Street?

Who would buy it?

Fetch me another nail for my coffin
and I shall think on it.

A small beer, please.

The plague is clearing the place.

- You forgot my drink!
- You said the Dean wanted to sell Pye Street

but you don't know who to?

This land is worth
a hundred times that value.

If they cleared the slums, that is...

The plague's doing that for them.

Read the bible, Martins.

Only God can send down
a pestilence to punish us sinners.

Not only God's work...

A man of science
who believes he has God's power.

God's right.

What is it that you're doing?

I'm configuring a clockwork figure,
just as life-sized and life-like as you or I.

An automaton, wearing that gown.

We will be unveiling her
at Mr Dipple's party.

You mean... you mean the gown is for a doll?

Why would a grown man be
so enamoured of a contraption?

Knowing the gown
is to be worn by a mere contraption

will not diminish your attention to detail.

Of course not.

And in answer to your question

I believe these machines
to be the pinnacle of man's own creation.

In the future, they will be able to do
anything we tell them to do.

Perhaps even put you out of a job.

That is if your tongue
doesn't get you there first.

Hey...

What are you doing here?

There's people looking for you.

Go home.

I didn't disturb you, did I?

No.

You're a night owl like myself?

Not through choice.

We have that in common.

Do you play?

As a boy, a little...

At service.

If you played something,
it might help me sleep.

The Reverend's throat
was sliced first, incapacitating the victim.

The knife was then used
to carve through the ribcage

from the top of the chest to the sternum.

But he left a wide enough margin to ensure

that the victim's heart could be removed
without any harm to the organ itself.

No other organ was taken.

Whoever committed
this crime was well practiced

precise and methodical.

If you ask me, he is no escaped lunatic.

Thank you, Dr Lennox.

The other two clergymen
had exactly the same wound.

Hearts missing, yes, but not torn limb
from limb by the Devil himself.

To whom do I owe this privilege?

Your articles are terrifying
and misinforming the public.

Whoever your source is,
you're printing their lies.

And er...

you believe that missing hearts
will scare them less, hm?

Sir, this man's asking for you.

Well I just came to collect my cart, sir

but I wanted to express my thanks

for the bravery you showed
amidst such passionate local mistrust.

Thank you, sir.
You see, not all the public hate your guts.

I believe the victims
from the clergy were murdered

by order of the Dean of Westminster, on
account of their opposition to a land deal.

Details here, names...

Hey!

Do you know of any other priests
that might be in danger?

Yes.

Me.

You're a priest?
- Ex-priest.

If the Dean
finds out I'm talking to you...

Go, follow him.

Make sure you get his name.

That's him, Mr Renquist.

Sergeant Nightingale.
- We're already acquainted.

Sergeant Nightingale,
I have here a magistrate's order

to release Reverend Eastman's body
at once for a private autopsy.

He's all yours.

Go ahead, take him.
We've got everything that we need.

Mrs Rose, will you permit me
to see your work so far?

It is very fine.

Thank you, sir.

I've been beguiling Mrs Rose
with tales from the future.

about how there will come
a time when everywhere you look

everything you see and do,
will be influenced by machines.

You talk as though
you have seen the future with your own eyes.

I don't intend to see it,
I intend to make it.

Mrs Rose, Ada is an analyst
and this is her age, the age of machines

and we must embrace it
or we will be chewed up in its cogs.

If man can create machines
and make them do as we command

then man will have more power than God.

I've no desire for man
to have power over God.

For women to have power over men however...

Why shouldn't man have power over God?

Because "power, like a desolating pestilence,
pollutes what'er it touches.

And obedience, bane of all genius

virtue, freedom, truth

makes slaves of men, and of the human frame

a mechanised automaton."

I said that to your father?

It was Mr Shelley.

Do you enjoy poetry, Mrs Rose?

When I have the time.

In all honesty, I prefer your father's work

leaflets and verse, only do so much
to hold power to account and...

what it really takes is blood.

Lord Byron knew that more than most.

Will Miss Ada be back
with us again tomorrow?

She shall.

I have told her
if she doesn't finish her work on time

I shall paint her gold
and pass her off as an automaton myself.

I believe she would!

She is certainly a force of nature.

Oh, she is more than that.

Her mother was afraid she would
inherit her father's turbulent spirit...

She hoped that science
would curb her lust for life.

It has done the opposite.

- I wish I had her courage.
- How so?

I can see the cogs whirring in your mind...

How would it be
to try an answer without calculation?

I think perhaps I am afraid to live.

I'm sorry, you must think me very weak.

Not at all.

Are you married.

I'm widowed.

Well I'm sorry for asking.

If I may...

you are not alone in being afraid to live.

There is much to lose.

Perhaps that is why
I am so entranced with these machines.

They never change.
I am... envious of them for that.

Does that explain how a grown man

can be so enamoured of a contraption?

Undoubtedly.

Come on, don't you have a home to go to?

Come and sit down here, Martins.

It's no palace but you are most welcome.

Now...

This is a map of St John's and the parish

and this is the location of every death
from the fever during the past month.

That's only around Pye Street.

Not only that, it's all clustered
around this market area here.

That must be where the miasma,
or the... pox-ridden air

whatever you wish to call it,
it lurks at its thickest.

That's right outside here,
how come you're still breathing?

I could ask you the same.

Martins!

Stop!

Martins, what have you done?

It's not the air, it's the pump!

Get water to your family
from somewhere else, anywhere else.

Do you understand?

What you waiting for child?
Go! Spread the word!

It's poisoned!

The water's poisoned!

Go on, get away!

It's not the air, it's the pump!

- Who you talking to Martins?
- What are you waiting for?

Get away!

Go!

Go away, get away!

It's poisoned!

The water's poisoned, it's not the air!

It's the water!

What are you waiting for? Go!

Get away, all of you!

Go!

I've told you! The water's poisoned!

Go!

There's no one here Martins...

Martins?

There's a body tied down here.

Oh God.

A sailor.

Miss Pickett tells me
your work here is done.

Indeed.

I hope it meets your expectations.

It is exquisite.

I am fortunate Ada brought you to me.

Thank you.

Has Braun arranged you a carriage home?

There's no need. I prefer to walk.

Thank you, Mr Dipple.
I have enjoyed this immensely.

Mrs Rose...

I paid you a gross insult
in what I first said to you.

It was I who spoke out of turn...
- Please, allow me to finish...

I did not believe
that you would meet my expectations

but you have surpassed them.

You have breathed
your own life into this gown

I can see it.

I hope your evening
is a tremendous success...

And if the gold thread works loose again,
which it shouldn't, please send for me.

Is there a patron saint for journalists

or is that a contradiction in terms?

You're late.
- A minor disagreement with the police.

Reverend Eastman's autopsy report.

Courtesy of the church.

Was his corpse eviscerated

his body dismembered,
like the other priests?

Tragically, so.

Indeed.

For a man of God.

It is a stormy night, a pervading omen.

For this evening I, Dr Victor Frankenstein,
shall complete my task.

I've become master of the secret of
bestowing animation

upon lifeless matter.

The object of my experiments...

a huge automaton in human form!

The thunder!

The lightning!

Calm!

It lives!

If you wanted a seat, soldier,
all you had to do was ask.

You poisoned Pye Street.

Did Hervey's bidding.
There's a dead sailor in the well.

And I know you put him there.

What have I done?

- Where's Hervey?
- I don't know.

He has become a demon!

Avaunt, you fiend!

Avaunt!

Hervey!

He's still killing people,
he's still killing them now!

Thomas, no.

And you're going to help me find him.

Same as yours?

Yeah.

You know him?

No.

I can show you where he come from, though.

I have been invited
to a grand occasion tonight.

I thought you might be able to accompany me?

Frederick Dipple.
- Jack Martins.

Jack Martins.

- Yes.
- Marlott lives again.

This time I can stop him.

Good. Because you've blamed
yourself for too long, Joseph Nightingale.

It's very unfortunate
that the sad business of these murders

seems to hamper us
in our parallel endeavours.

I blame the newspapers,
fanning the fires of public alarm

These are not the words of God.

These are lies, spoken in a house of lies!

Mr Dipple's endeavours
have criminal intentions.

Mr Dipple harbours nothing
but good intentions, I'm sure.