Father Brown (2013) s02e03 Episode Script

Branwen! I condemn thee for exercising wicked arts in pact with the Devil by means of incantations and magic No! .
.
of bringing death by Satanic abominations upon the newborn of thy neighbour.
Lies! They bear grudge against me! The sentence for thy foul maleficium .
.
death fire! No! I'm innocent! Mercy, my Lord! I beg you mercy! Take her.
No! My Lord, I beg mercy! No! No! Udolf of Pryde, I curse thee and the male of thy line, that they be for ever tainted with insanity! "Having delivered her prophecy, "was hauled to an agonising death by fiery torment, "rendering the male line of the Prydes for ever accursed.
" Riveting.
Bravo.
Extraordinary use of language.
Chapter two Parish business presses, but I'm looking forward to buying a copy this afternoon at the Grand Opening.
Oh, thank you! And I'll show Miss Diggle to the office so she can get on with her research.
Thank you so much! So pleased you like it! The servants' and tradesmen's entrance is at the back.
I'm neither, and worthy as the next man to stand here.
The front is for guests, and you are uninvited.
I explained my position.
I must act in the best interests of the estate.
These men are your estate! We open to the public this afternoon, if you hadn't noticed.
So those you pay meagre wages to can hand them back to snoop round your house? Can I help you? You can't even help yourselves! I'm warning you, Pryde, if you go through with this sale, I swear you'll pay! Come on.
Father Brown, how simply miraculous! I was just on my way to see you.
How simply miraculous.
Hop in! I'm sorry to disturb, Miss Diggle.
I wondered if you might like a cup of tea.
No, thank you.
A sporty little number! An engagement present.
I'm betrothed to the Marquis of Bingley.
I was just on my way to discuss banns and other such guff.
Mrs McCarthy's posted the announcement on the parish notice board.
I hope you'll be very happy.
Yes, of course I will.
Bingo's a sweetheart and frightfully generous.
What do you think, Father? I think perhaps you should keep your eyes on the road! Oh, yes! Do you think I'll make a good duchess? Do you want to be? We're not in Catechism class now! Can't you just tell me the answer instead of making me work it out? It's all so exhausting! I think, if your heart's in it, you'll make a very good duchess.
If the great unwashed descending in droves to gawp was not bad enough, now we have the tenants rebelling on the doorstep! They want me to cancel the land sale while they raise mortgages to buy their farms.
I told them it's too little, too late.
We complete at the end of the month.
Your daughter has just landed the catch of the century, and you'd announce our penury from the battlements before the ring's on her finger? Our poverty is hardly a secret.
The assumption is that they're marrying into the landed gentry.
There is no such thing as a gentleman without land! The bank has given me a deadline.
Either the sale goes through or they foreclose on the castle.
Hobson's choice.
Lose our land or would you prefer to lose your home? This would never have happened on your father's watch.
Man up, St John! Think of something! But you ruin that girl's marriage over my dead body! So you've heard my news? It's the talk of the county.
One minute, you're the donkey in the Nativity, and the next, our very own duchess-to-be! I expect Bishop Talbot will be officiating? Oh, no! He's got wet hands and a face like a fish.
Father Brown's doing the honours.
And I'm counting on you to make the wedding cake.
Surely not! Such an honour! Finest cook in the county.
WI champion.
Your strawberry scones are simply legendary! And everybody knows Daddy's stony and you're a jolly sight cheaper.
But I meant what I said about your patisserie skills.
And it'll quite probably be in the Tatler.
"Cake created by Mrs McCarthy of Kembleford.
" And quite probably a photo, too.
What do you say, Mrs Mac? "Cake created by Mrs McCarthy of Kembleford"? Mm.
Oh, is that the time? Must dash.
But I'll see you at the Opening.
Do pop in for a sherry beforehand.
Oh! Come on! Demonstration's starting! Hold that position.
That's fine there.
That's great.
Thank you.
Got it.
It'll rot your brains.
Well, if it isn't the saviour of the family fortune! Nice try, Cousin, but I'm not asking Bingo to pour money into this place just so you can inherit it.
Your offspring will be of the highest nobility in the land.
Surely Bingo won't expect them to visit their grandfather in a cottage? For goodness' sake, Jago! Are you trying to blow us all up? It's a dud.
I swapped it with a boy at school.
Audrey? Audrey? Where is the wretched woman? Rehearsing her guided tour for the hundredth time, but you haven't seen the best bit.
What on earth are you wearing? I'm Lady Matilda Pryde, wife of the fourth Baron and my direct ancestor.
She thought it would "lend colour to her guided tour".
You may have been descended from us in the dawn of time, but now you're an employee.
You're paid not to guide tours nor to write pamphlets but to act as my companion! Diggles is in the doghouse again! You arrogant boy! You think you're better than me.
You all do, when I know for a fact that none of you has anything to be superior about.
What on earth are you wittering about? I'm saying - and prepare yourself for a shock - because you aren't who you think you are! Father Brown and Mrs McCarthy.
Miss Diggle.
May I say how much I enjoyed the excerpts from your guide? And to be left with such a cliffhanger! Do we ever find out what the curse of the Prydes was? No-one knows.
It's just a legend.
Hello, all.
Isn't this exciting? Knights, are you ready? Draw swords! .
.
England and St George The outer bailey was rebuilt in the 13th century by the third Baron, Udolf, who was condemned and delivered sentence on Branwen, the witch, who was rushed through those gates to a pyre prepared for her outside the castle walls.
As she was hauled to her execution site, her son, an archer in Udolf's army, let fly an arrow from the battlements and shot his mother in the heart in a final, merciful act of love! Where did that come from? And how on earth did she do that? Gosh! Has she been shot? Hello? Oh, dear! Cordon off the scene and gather the family.
The victim was shot with an arrow fired from a longbow.
Can't be many of those around these days, though.
As long as we find the weapon, should be easy to identify.
Oh, boy! My mother, Lady Pryde, daughter, Bunty, and my nephew and ward, Jago.
My condolences on the death of your cousin.
Extremely removed.
What else can you tell me about her? Well, she was a frightful old busybody.
Enough, Bunty! That's no way to speak of the dead.
It's true, though.
And, as this is a murder investigation, I imagine no detail is too insignificant for the police.
Quite.
In that case, she was an immensely irritating woman, who I wanted to throttle, but I draw the line at shooting her through with an arrow.
Do any of you know how to fire a longbow? Naturally! Pryde's a feudal estate, Inspector.
Most people round here can trace their ancestors back to Agincourt and beyond.
Can I ask where you all were at the time of the murder? I went to bed.
And I was in the nursery, listening to music on the wireless.
Me, too.
And you are? Arthur Danby, Sir.
I was in the butler's pantry.
Did anyone see you? I can't say.
But I saw no-one.
I was ten yards in front of Audrey, which presumably puts me in the clear.
I see.
I don't.
Diggles was a walking, talking target.
Either the murderer was an extremely good shot or else a rather poor one.
Are you suggesting Miss Diggle wasn't the intended victim? A minor fracas this morning.
Estate business.
Go on.
My uncle was a few feet away from Audrey.
All I'm saying is maybe the archer missed his mark.
I say! Can you open that gate, please? Open your own gate.
How dare you talk to me like that! I'll talk to you any way I please.
Who the hell do you think you are? This is my land.
Not for much longer.
Impudent peasant! Stop it! I want the names of all the tenants demonstrating this morning, in particular, the name of the ringleader.
And get that photographer to hand in his films and get them to the lab immediately.
Good luck with the investigation, Inspector.
Thank you, Father.
Incidentally, can you think of anyone who would wish to harm Sir St John? Just one line of inquiry.
Oh, in that case, Mrs McCarthy is widely held to be the eyes and ears of Kembleford.
I don't know about that.
Father Brown will tell you I am not one to gossip.
Isn't that right, Father? I prefer to think of it as community wisdom.
Exactly! Community wisdom.
I can't think of anyone who would want to hurt Sir St John.
Miss Diggle, on the other hand, was a bit of a busybody, if you know what I mean.
Said the pot to the kettle.
But a harmless one? No such thing as a harmless busybody, Inspector.
Yes, that business in the parish office only this morning I don't know what she found, but it turned her white as a sheet.
Looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
Did she, now? Miss Diggle Parish office Saw ghost.
Sir.
Excuse me.
You don't happen to notice which register Audrey was interested in, did you? Not that I was being nosey, you understand.
Perish the thought, Mrs M! I expect you've heard about me and Bingo, then? Couldn't you find a man with a proper name? Do you like my ring? What does it do? Do? What is it for? What's the purpose of it? It doesn't do anything, except be beautiful and be admired.
In other words, it's just a worthless bit of sparkle.
Don't suppose we can do this once I'm married.
Don't suppose we can.
Of course, I could always jilt Bingo and marry you instead.
An alliance with the enemy? After I've sworn to annihilate your class and everything it stands for? Mrs McCarthy? Mrs Mc I heard you first time! Have you found something? Either there were no marriages, births or deaths in Kembleford between February and November 1850 or .
.
we have a missing page.
Holy Mother! Who would want to kill a busybody? I fear the answer is a great many people indeed.
Alan Archer? I'd like to know your whereabouts at 3:30 this afternoon.
Audrey Diggle? I'd barely ever spoken to the woman.
Really? I was here.
And before you ask, no, I don't have an alibi.
And the fracas with Sir St John this morning? Not sure of the relevance of the question.
I'll be the judge of that.
He's drowning in death duties, selling off the estate for a Government housing scheme, leaving his tenants of centuries without land or livelihood.
You're not a tenant, so what's your interest? I'm their lawyer.
It's funded by the Socialist Workers Association.
We're helping them raise mortgages to buy their own land.
Seems reasonable.
Pryde rejected it.
And this morning? He ordered us off his land and we left.
Is this you? My father.
Did he teach you archery? I wouldn't be much of a father if I hadn't.
Mm! Mm! Heavenly, Mrs Mac! Mm! I'm famished.
We had to let Cook go and now Nellie's in the kitchen.
Did your mother teach you how to cook? Everything I know.
She was the finest cook in County Cork.
Sometimes I wish I wish that my mother was around so that we could talk about wedding stuff.
All brides get the jitters.
It's not that I don't love Bingo.
It'll be awfully good fun being a duchess.
It's just .
.
well, how does one ever know if it's right? Just you remember, you are the luckiest girl in the world and will be the bride of the year and your cake will be the talk of the county.
Ah! Thank you for a most generous lunch.
You won't be saying that in the middle of the night.
Nellie's Yorkshire puddings have a tendency to outstay their welcome.
I understand, when she died, poor Miss Diggle was researching another project.
She took it upon herself to write a history of the Prydes.
Fascinating as our family is, I doubt Audrey's tome would appeal.
She did have a rather florid style.
The woman was obsessed.
Paranoid! Claimed people had been reading her papers.
Look who I found on the doorstep! I'd like a word with Sir St John and Lady Pryde, please.
In private.
Father Brown is our trusted spiritual advisor.
We have nothing to hide.
It seems there's a widely held belief on the estate that Sir St John and your butler are related.
We share a grandfather.
What of it? There's no secret Danby's father was the youthful indiscretion of the tenth Baron after a fumble with the housemaid.
It seems paradoxical to find first cousins in the role of master and servant because of an accident of birth.
Actually, the aristocracy have a long tradition of giving preferment to their by-blows.
Quite.
The woman died in childbirth.
What were they supposed to do? Cast the infant into the workhouse? Danby's father was adopted by a footman.
He worked his way through the servant's hall until he became butler, as did Arthur after him.
But not his son.
Butterfingers! Alan Archer is the prime example of the folly of Rab Butler in trying to educate the lower classes.
He was permitted to march off to a left-wing university, from which he returned with ideas above his station.
The question is, does he hate the ruling classes enough to kill for his beliefs? Don't be odious, Jago! The murderer probably meant to kill Audrey, for all we know.
Bunty's right.
We are forgetting Audrey.
I've forgotten nothing.
She writing a family history.
Codswallop, more like! You're welcome to it.
Thank you, but I find the present more relevant than the past at this stage.
I can't understand why you're interested in Audrey's dreary book.
I wonder, as you were so close to her heart, whether it would be apt to include an extract in her eulogy.
You might rethink when you've read it.
'Can you lend me five guineas? 'Why on earth would I lend you money?' Because you're going to be the fourth richest woman in the land.
And if you don't, I'll tell the inspector that you were with the butler's son when you said you were in the nursery.
'You wouldn't dare!' Can I fetch something 'Why not?' .
.
something to drink? Just a touch of heat stroke.
Excuse me.
'My wedding to Bingo would be off 'and you'd never see a whiff of his money.
' And I'd have to kill you.
I trust I'm not interrupting work on next Sunday's homily? History of the Pryde family.
Illustrious but bloody, full of violent deaths and strange disappearances.
Is Mrs Clackett ill? Oh, she'll be in tomorrow as usual, and she won't be finding a godly man in unclean surroundings.
Well, go on.
Lots of family members who disappear from their annals and then reappear, marked simply "deceased".
And all male.
Branwen's curse? Destined never to die peacefully in their beds.
Does this shed any light on our missing page? When Audrey died, she was researching St John's grandfather, Ralph Pryde, 1829-1901.
So in 1850, he would have been Were there any births, marriages or deaths in the family that year? Not one.
Well, tomorrow's Monday, so no doubt all will become clear then.
Feet, Father! Will it? When you go to the Diocesan Records Office.
Do I? Where we keep copies of the parochial registers! Angel and saint rolled into one, Mrs M! Morning, Father.
Thank you for coming.
I hear he had a lucky escape.
Luckier than you know.
He was pulled from the pool with a lethal dose of barbiturates in his system.
If he hadn't spewed them out, along with a stomach full of water, he'd be dead.
How were they administered? Jago has a habit of filching whisky when our backs are turned.
Traces of drugs were found in his hip flask.
Who would want to kill a child? You have no evidence.
Your well-documented hatred of the Prydes, the imminent completion of the land sale, the threat you made on the day of the murder, your father a county archery champion.
A chip off the old block, I bet.
He taught me to shoot.
He taught all of us, Jago and the girl included.
Ah, yes! Jago.
I suppose you heard what happened yesterday? I heard he had a swimming accident.
We believe it was attempted murder.
You think I fight with children? With Jago dead, Pryde is without male heir and the estate passes to an eighth cousin in Canada.
I think, when your attempt failed on Sir St John, you went after his pup.
This is all circumstantial.
Hm.
This isn't.
Taken 15 minutes before the murder.
So I await your convincing explanation as to why you lied as to your whereabouts.
No comment.
Where are you off to in such a hurry? To see the police.
Alan Archer's been arrested.
So I heard.
And I can't say I'm surprised.
A young man with a lot of anger in him, by all accounts.
It's not anger.
It's passion.
And he didn't kill Audrey.
What makes you so sure? Because he was with me.
We'd just met in the walled garden when we heard all the screaming and commotion.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus! Look, it's not what you think.
Or rather, it IS what you think.
Oh, but I do like him awfully, Mrs Mac.
And he must like me, too, or he would have told the police he had an alibi.
But it would never work, child.
Yes, that's what he says.
At least one of you has got some sense.
And though it's a sin, a visit to the confessional and a few Hail Marys - well, a few DOZEN Hail Marys - and you'll be as right as rain and you can forget about the likes of Alan Archer.
Do you really think so, Mrs Mac? Just youthful indiscretion.
Put it behind you.
Marry your marquis and live happily ever after.
Thank you, Mrs Mac.
I popped in to see the invalid and Danby said I'd find you in here.
What are you up to, Father? I was wondering what happened to Jago's father.
Mm.
Simon and his wife died in a car crash in France.
Poor little chap was only six weeks old.
France? Close enough to have the body repatriated, yet conspicuous by his absence in the family tomb.
I thought it was odd at the time, but then there were the rumours about his job.
Something in the Government.
Terribly hush-hush.
Is it important? I sense the key to this crime is in the past.
Well, then I'll telephone Monty.
He's sitting in the Lords this week.
Plenty of right ears he can pop a word in.
Thank you.
And now, I must away or I'll miss my train to Gloucester.
Oh! Are you going to see Bishop Talbot? Not if I can help it.
Why didn't you tell the police you were with me? Why do you think? I don't know.
Well, I hope it's because you care about me and you don't want to ruin my reputation.
YOUR reputation? The arrogance of your class! You think I want it known that I've been consorting with the likes of you? Well, good, because all consorting between us is over! I'm going to marry Bingo and you and I will never see or speak to each other again! Father Brown? I'm glad I caught you.
I just got off the phone from Monty.
He found out what happened to Simon Pryde.
I hope you're sitting down.
It gets rather unpleasant from here on in.
Thank you for gathering everyone together.
We're all keen to know why.
To hear the truth, which involves you all.
Your son, Simon.
Absent from the family tomb.
He died abroad.
But not in a car crash.
I've been informed that Simon's body wasn't repatriated because a Government department appropriated it.
What's this got to do with Audrey? Does Jago know the truth? This is none of your damn business! That's enough, St John! It's too late now.
Jago's a child.
Do you think we'd want to burden him with the knowledge .
.
that his father .
.
slashed his mother's throat before blowing his own brains out? Daddy? Simon was MI6.
It was all handled very discreetly.
We never knew what happened to the bodies.
The curse of the Prydes.
It's a legend.
All legends have some truth, and your family has spent centuries covering up the curse of hereditary insanity.
Everybody knows the Prydes are as mad as a box of frogs.
Are you seriously suggesting that Audrey was murdered because she'd uncovered some imaginary curse? I'm suggesting the curse is the reason why you attempted to murder your grandson.
'Why on earth would I lend you money?' Because you're going to be the fourth richest woman in the land.
And if you don't, I'll tell the inspector that you were with the butler's son when you said you were in the nursery.
It wasn't the shock of Bunty's love affair.
It was the knowledge that Jago didn't have an alibi.
How dare you insult Mummy like this! I insist you leave this castle immediately! Who would want to kill a child? Someone who loves him the most .
.
like Udolf's archer, who shot his mother to spare her torment.
Branwen's torment would have been relatively short-lived.
But Jago's would have lasted a lifetime, incarcerated with lunatics.
Preposterous! Oh, do be quiet, St John! What choice did I have after what the boy did? Will somebody please tell me what you're all talking about? I'm so sorry, but it was Jago who killed Audrey.
.
.
In a final, merciful act of love.
What possible reason could He was your brother's son! You, of all people, should know that he didn't need a reason.
From the moment of Simon's birth, I knew that there was something missing.
An emptiness.
Call it a curse, if you like.
When he did what he did, it was almost predictable.
And after, when Jago came to us .
.
I saw, in an instant, he was the same.
He didn't need a reason to kill Audrey.
For all I know, she may have beat him at chess or taken the last scone at tea.
He did have a reason.
What reason? Well, why don't you ask him yourself? You can come out now, Jago.
Oh, no.
Be my guest, Father.
I wouldn't want to spoil your moment of triumph.
Audrey found record of a secret marriage between Ralph Pryde and Violet Archer three months before she died in childbirth.
Your father wasn't born the wrong side of the blanket.
He was the Pryde's legitimate heir.
That's ridiculous! The priest that married them would have said something.
Father Dominic Gleave, buried August 28th, 1850, ten days after the wedding.
Poor old Diggers! I was winding her up, spooking her by messing up her stuff, and then she found a letter to my great-grandfather from some housemaid and went rummaging through all the records.
She wasn't exactly subtle about it.
Neither were you.
You left whisky on the desk when you tore the page out of the parish register.
That was careless.
You didn't kill her, Jago? What did you expect me to do? I did it for you, too, Cuz.
That piece of paper makes all of us nobodies.
So now all that's cleared up, will you please all line up, facing the wall? I'm ordering you, boy! Put down that bow! Quiet! Face the wall! Turn around! Get down! No, no, no! Don't worry.
It's a dud.
Thanks be to God.
Just to be on the safe side Jago! Jago! I thought you'd be here.
The murderer returns to the scene of the crime.
The master tactician withdraws to a height more easily defended.
I'll pick them off, one by one.
It's over, Jago.
The police are on their way.
It was all Diggles's fault.
She shouldn't have been so nosey.
And now here am I, between Scylla and Charybdis! Incarceration or death! On balance, suicide would be the more honourable way out.
Not in God's eyes.
I don't believe in a supreme being.
The only god my family worships is the god of pride.
And I'm sure Granny would approve, especially as she tried to kill me.
She had me there.
My money was on Bunty.
Take one more step and I'll jump! I'm sorry you heard about your parents like that.
Oh, I don't know.
I'd rather my father was a spy than a careless driver, even if he did kill my mother.
Remind me, Father.
What are the rules on lunatics and Hell? Maybe the decision has been made for me.
Don't let go! How do you know I won't pull you down with me? I'll take my chance, and I'm not alone.
Buddha says the secret of existence is to have no fear.
Never fear what will become of you.
Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.
I'll soon know if there's a hell or not.
Hell is only the absence of God.
If you repent and accept Him, there will only be bliss for ever.
It sounds nice.
It's yours for the asking.
Bunty! Bunty! Quick! Quick! Requiem .
.
Requiescat in pace.
Amen.
If Jago killed Miss Diggle, then who was responsible for the attempt on his life? Perhaps he took them himself to avert suspicion.
Is that likely? I wouldn't have put it past him.
Yes, it's just the sort of thing Jago would do.
I'll see myself out.
Well, I'd better telephone Bingo.
I doubt there'll be a wedding now.
Would you like me to serve tea? Don't be ridiculous! This is your house now, isn't it? You think we want any of this? What is it you always say? You don't choose what class you're born into? Words spoken by some priest a century ago doesn't make me one of you! Don't you see? There is no them and us! The War changed that.
High and low, shoulder to shoulder, as brave or scared as the next man.
All your talk of breaking down the class divide whilst you build up your own walls! You're a fool, boy, for all your fancy education! What a bloody mess! By rights, I should be devastated.
Instead, all I feel is a weight lifted from my shoulders.
What are we going to do? God knows! I won't contest it.
What if I don't want it? I'm afraid it's yours, whether you want it or not.
Jago died in the light of God.
Of that I am certain.
Thank you, Father.
Time to face the music, I think.
What end would confessing serve, Lavinia? Are you saying I shouldn't be held to justice? I'm saying no such thing.
Very well.
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
It is decades since I made my last, honest confession.
In addition to the attempted murder of my own flesh and blood, I am guilty of many things, including the sin of pride.
I fear this may take some time.
Take as much time as you need.
I'm so sorry.
Poor Jago.
And Daddy.
And And I've just been on the telephone to Bingo.
Some things just aren't meant to be.
Thanks.
You don't understand.
Bingo was a total gent.
Said he couldn't give a fig for scandal or my family and that he'll marry me if he damn well pleases, and that if his father cuts him off, then so be it, although that would probably involve an Act of Parliament.
And now I don't know what to think.
I think your marquis sounds like a very fine young man.
Not a nasty bone in his body.
And if as fine and as handsome and as rich a man loves you that much, and you're stood here crying your eyes out, then that's your answer.
Don't let pride stand in your way.
Go to him.
You're right, Mrs Mac.
Not quite what I meant! You are an arrogant, fat-headed pig, Alan Archer, and an inverted snob to boot! And it serves you damn well right you're going to inherit a title! "Sir" Alan Pryde.
How do you like Daddy and Danby - I mean Arthur - are being frightfully civilised.
The land's being sold to the tenants to pay off the death duties and the castle's being handed over to the National Trust, who'll let them stay on as sort of caretakers.
And even Granny seems to be somehow more at peace with herself, but only when she thinks we aren't looking.
Is it moist enough? Scrumptious! and six tiers.
I don't know if I mentioned it That happens to be one more than Princess Elizabeth's! How are you? Outstanding work, Mrs McCarthy.
Outstanding!