Penny Dreadful (2014) s02e06 Episode Script

Previously on Penny Dreadful.
- They were here.
- Take it easy.
- I can't live with this anymore.
- You're safe here.
- We've had trouble in London.
Murders.
- Were the people who were killed shot? - Not a one.
- How can I help? There was something different about the Mariner's Inn.
There was a survivor.
I can honestly say I've never met a woman like you.
You have no idea.
I care for who you are, not what you wear.
I was having coffee with a friend.
He's in love with someone, though I don't know he knows it.
She touched his hand.
And on his face, a kind of peace.
It's lethal, that touch for it leaves your heart at the mercy of another.
I don't know what got into me.
I have to be with you.
It is the most important thing, to have the flesh of the enemy.
Consume it, you take their power.
Your hair.
So, they got what they came for.
- Utterly.
They're making a fetish.
- A voodoo doll.
Good morning.
How do you like your eggs? Sleep tight, dear.
You're gonna have a challenging day.
- Good morning.
- Oh, God.
You can't see me without my makeup.
I'm a holy terror in the morning.
And how shall we spend our day? I've got to go home and change.
Do you mind if I bring some clothes here? Not at all.
Then some shopping perhaps? What do you favor, Burlington Arcade or Bond Street? That's awfully public.
Perhaps discretion.
Anathema.
In this house, we celebrate the unusual.
We set the tune, and the world follows.
That's a reckless philosophy.
But exciting.
The thrill of the forbidden? There's nothing to match that.
In fact I'm going to throw a ball.
Invite everyone who's anyone.
Let them gape at our uniqueness.
- Dorian - You deserve a proper coming out.
- Good morning.
Splendid day, isn't it? - Sir Malcolm, we need to speak with you.
First, you must acknowledge the splendidness of the day.
Perhaps you should sit down.
What is it? - Why don't you sit with me here? - Vanessa, what's going on? - Mr.
Boyd came to see you.
- My solicitor? Yes.
You see something awful has happened.
Yes? I'm terribly sorry, but your wife is dead.
Gladys? I'm so sorry.
How? That's not important now.
How? She took her own life.
Gladys did? That doesn't seem like her.
If there's anything we can do - How did she take her own life? - I really don't think - She cut her own throat.
- Where? - "Where?" - Where did she do it? In the master bedroom, apparently.
At the country house.
Oh, I see.
I shall have to have the carpet replaced, then.
Good morning.
Good morning.
Of course, I can't mold them from scratch.
We've a man who does that.
But I give them that final touch of life.
It's very impressive, all told.
Yes.
I like to think my blindness makes my fingers a bit more sensitive to the nuances.
Here, I'll show you.
Come over here.
Let me take your hand.
- It's so cold.
- Sorry, miss, it's - It's how I am.
- No, it's too cold, I mean.
It doesn't feel fully alive.
- Sorry, miss, I've work to do.
- Wait.
Mr.
Clare why does your hand not feel alive? I can't speak to that, miss.
It is how it is.
Then why am I frightened? You've no cause.
Whatever your past, I know you are kind.
But why am I frightened? There you are.
We've veritable mountains of work before the crime scenes open tomorrow.
- Grab some blood.
Come along.
- Yes, sir.
By the way, I'm expanding down here in the cellar for a new attraction.
More crime scenes? Something much more ingenious.
There'll be some construction work, but I've hired others for that so no need to bother about it.
- What's the attraction? - Just another ballyhoo.
See you at luncheon, dear.
Come along.
It's like he doesn't care.
It's like he doesn't care.
When he found his son dead, I was there.
This is not him.
- Maybe he just needs time.
- This is not him.
Maybe he doesn't really care that much.
Not all deaths are the tragedies we think they should be.
The woman cut her own throat with his razor.
Mr.
Chandler.
You have a visitor.
Hello, old pal.
Gonna introduce me? Give us the room.
Hell of a nice set-up you got here.
Much more commodious than the old place and I daresay, much less blood splatter.
Planning for a battle? You tell me.
I just smiled at that.
Can't tell if you can see that.
Still getting used to the brace, you understand.
Hard to express much through a quarter-inch of leather.
You're not gonna try and gun me down, are you? - Give me one reason I shouldn't.
- Come on, sport.
In cold blood? Right in the middle of this fashionable drawing room with your friends outside? What do you want? Can I tell you a story? No.
It's not long.
Figure you owe me at least that.
Before I became the fine Pinkerton man before you, I was a Texas Ranger.
We was after some Mexicans.
Rustlers, they were.
We spent months on their trail.
Finally, we captured them.
End of the day, we were so fucking sick of hunting them that we couldn't face dragging them back to Abilene so, we shot them, took their scalps, which fulfilled the warrant, you see.
It was proof of apprehension, as the lawyers say.
I'm not going back to America.
Oh, you are.
Or maybe I'll sell you to a freak show.
It's quite a trick you have.
Never seen the like, and I've seen most everything.
Now, there will be no more fisticuffs or gunplay between us.
Your daddy wants you back in the all-together, so, back you go.
You know I see you outside of this house and I'll kill you.
Well you might try.
But let me present an alternative tale for you.
Say you fall asleep.
Say you take a walk.
Say you blink.
Say I come in here.
I can do it.
You know that.
There's no door that can keep out the devil.
Say I have my bowie knife.
Say I roam.
Say I take the scalps of every blessed person under this roof.
Mr.
Chandler, I bid you good day.
And I await a speedy and pacific resolution to our particular situation.
Your girlfriend there is on the second floor.
At the back.
Corner window.
Such hair she has.
You're forever trying something else, that's the problem.
The public's imagination soon tires of the familiar.
Repetition is the bane of sensationalism.
- Well, we'll soon see, won't we? - Mr.
Clare.
There's something wrong about Mr.
Clare.
What do you mean? I touched his hand today.
It was cold.
- Lots of people have cold hands.
- Not like his.
It's like It's like he's not really alive.
Go on, my dear.
"He took us by our winged backs and raised us over his head.
Thence did he fling us from his heavenly throne and cast us down to Earth into hell, so, we were" Damned? At the very least.
I'm sorry, this is a fascinating narrative but I don't see it's much help to us.
It's the hidden language of the demon.
It must have a purpose.
Not everything does.
You sound like my friend Mr.
Clare.
What did you say? A man I met recently.
Same name as the poet John Clare.
He breaks my heart, Mr.
Clare.
Kindred spirit, I think.
We met in the strangest way.
Is it random we met, I wonder.
Or is there a hidden design like these relics? Science would tell us there's always an inner clockwork.
Nothing is happenstance.
Yet, you wear a flower.
How's your cousin? Functioning.
You can't fool me, doctor.
I saw your eyes light on hers.
It's the oddest thing, Miss Ives.
My whole life, I thought I was bound to live with exceptionality.
I was not like my brothers.
I was resolutely this disjointed thing, this freakish thing.
So, I came to celebrate what uniqueness I had.
And now? I wear a flower.
I find, lo and behold I'm just like everyone else.
Then I'm glad for you.
My cousin and I it's not without its complications.
That's what they call the workings inside watches.
Did you know that? The intricate gears and mechanisms.
Complications.
Then enjoy them, doctor.
They will tick away no matter what we do.
Mr.
Gray.
For you.
Show him in.
Miss Ives.
Mr.
Gray.
May I present Dr.
Victor Frankenstein? - How do you do? - Mr.
Gray.
I like your flower.
- I come bearing adventure.
- When do you not? I'm hosting a ball.
I wanted to invite you personally, and Sir Malcolm, of course.
Would you do me the courtesy of attending? I haven't been to a ball in some time.
There's a woman I'd like you to meet.
It's rather a coming out for her.
It seems the world is filled with romance these days.
I would love to have you meet her.
And, doctor, of course, you must come.
I'll get your address and dispatch an invitation.
That's very kind.
Thank you.
Do say you'll think about it.
Of course, Mr.
Gray.
Is it not "Dorian"? After all this time.
It is safely Dorian.
Then I'll bid you good day.
Doctor.
Vanessa.
So, doctor, will you give me the first dance? Perhaps the second.
Come in.
Vanessa.
What do you think of my beard? - I'm sorry? - My beard.
I've had it for as long as I can remember.
I don't know that it entirely suits me.
Why not? Makes me look older.
Sir Malcolm is everything all right? What do you mean? You're not as I thought you might be.
You mean, Gladys? Poor thing.
I'm not going down to the funeral.
So much going on here.
What's that? Yes, it's It's an invitation.
Mr.
Gray's hosting a ball.
- I was confident you wouldn't - You know I've not been to a ball in ages.
I used to be quite the dancer in my salad days if you can believe such a thing.
Of course I'll attend.
Can you find a proper escort without me? What? Yes.
I just don't know.
Of course I'll attend.
My gallant young swain was most insistent.
Poor love-addled fool.
Are you sure that's wise? Miss Ives will be there.
The time comes when the spider must touch the fly.
And if the fly eats the spider? You admire her.
In our dolorous old bestiary, she's a truly unique creature.
More than you know.
Did you know that during the Renaissance women used to put poison into their eyes? A little drop of belladonna to dilate the pupil to simulate erotic excitement.
But like all addictions it took more and more to produce the desired effect.
So, they slowly killed themselves.
What won't we do for beauty? And youth.
Yes.
Youth.
That takes more than a drop of poison.
That takes everything, doesn't it? It's such a price we pay.
Such a price.
You know, despite what you may think I didn't turn from God.
He turned from me.
From all of us.
Look around.
You tell me, where is he in this city of perpetual suffering.
In this life.
You tell me where.
There are those who say you can find him within.
They're wrong.
So we must carry on.
And earn our reward from the master.
And that reward? To live forever while the world suffers.
Such a sad prize, isn't it? We've had an invitation.
To a ball.
Quite the gala, I imagine.
Are we going to go? We would have to prepare.
Dancing, for one.
And there would be a lot of people you don't know, you'd have to talk with.
You're afraid I'll embarrass you.
No.
No.
You could never do that.
I'll work very hard not to.
I promise you.
Of course we'll go.
It's a ball.
- What's the worst that could happen? - Who's giving the ball? A fellow I met today.
Name of Dorian Gray.
- What are you making? - Shepherd's pie.
Go upstairs.
I'll call you when it's ready.
No Step up, step in.
Awaiting you, a panoply of London's most heinous crimes in livid color.
Explore the lurid byways of terrible homicide and atrocious depravity.
Step inside and steel yourself.
Whodunit? - Inspector.
- Mr.
Chandler.
Is it realistic? What? The depiction of the inn.
Can't rightly recall.
Place didn't leave much of an impression.
- And the crime scene? - Oh, very accurate.
I think they must've gained access to our photographs.
Not all of the particulars, of course.
- Such as? - There was more cannibalism.
When I was in the Transvaal I saw lions feed.
It was much like the Mariner's Inn.
They're always tearing pieces off and stealing away.
With a purpose.
- To eat.
- Not always.
Sometimes, a shock would run through the animals like a tremor for no reason at all.
A kind of bloodlust.
I often wondered if they remembered it afterwards.
This frenzy.
What do you think? I have no experience with lions, I'm glad to say.
Well, other predators then in America.
Grizzly bears, I suppose.
Wolves? I suppose.
Why are you here? I saw the sign.
And you? Well it's an old trope, but not without merit.
The murderer returning to the scene of the crime to relive the glory of it.
Only here enacted in wax.
I know you were involved.
- And your proof? - I'll find it.
I always find things.
When they cut off my arm, I was anesthetized.
When I woke I went and found it in a pile of discarded limbs.
Not unlike this tableau.
What did you do with it? Oh, I tossed it back.
I just needed to finish the story in my own way.
Write "finis" in bold letters and move on.
Then I wish you luck rooting through this pile of bodies.
Thank you, Mr.
Chandler.
And don't worry, we shan't try and follow you this time.
- No need.
- Why is that? Because no man involved in crimes like this can live with them forever.
Better the quick hanging than the slow torture of guilt, eh? Mr.
Chandler.
Mr.
Chandler.
Miss Ives.
Sorry.
Is everything all right? I have a lot on my mind.
I have a personal request, if I may.
I I was wondering if you might like to accompany me somewhere.
To a ball, actually.
As your escort, you mean? Yes.
- When is it? - Friday.
Friday.
No, I can't.
- Miss Poole.
- Mr.
Lyle.
Will you dance with me? Oh, I would be a poor partner.
I can't imagine you're not schooled in all the social graces.
Especially mendacity and betrayal.
I'm not sure what game you're playing, my dear but I so enjoy watching your scales catch the light as you coil.
Don't you like games, Mr.
Lyle? Some.
And is your mother aware of yours? My mother has games of her own.
Mine are more farsighted.
But there's time enough for that.
I am, after all, very young.
As is she.
For now.
My Lord.
Victor.
- Rather puts our tiny rooms to shame.
- No, it doesn't.
Dr.
Frankenstein, good evening.
May I present Miss Hecate Poole? Miss Poole.
This is my cousin Lily.
And Mr.
Lyle.
- Charmed.
- Miss Lily.
Such beautiful jewelry.
They're very old.
Scarabs, I think they are.
Hecate is an unusual name.
I had unusual parentage.
Now, please tell me you will dance with me, doctor.
Mr.
Lyle has proven oddly recalcitrant to my desires.
Perhaps later.
I'm promised to my cousin.
- I'm bereft.
- Come along, Miss Poole.
We'll drown your sorrows elsewhere.
Oh, Victor, this is all so splendid.
But I have the funniest feeling I've been in this room before.
I would think that unlikely.
Will you really dance with me? If you'll do me the courtesy.
Dr.
Frankenstein.
Hello.
Mr.
Gray.
Thank you so much for having us.
This is my cousin, Miss Lily Frankenstein.
Mr.
Dorian Gray, our generous host.
May I present Miss Angelique? - How do you do? - Doctor, Miss Lily.
- That's a shattering dress.
- Thank you.
Miss Lily, will you do me the honor of this dance? We're abandoned, doctor.
I think some champagne, yes? I don't drink spirits.
I won't hold that against you.
You dance beautifully.
Surely not.
Though Victor did his best to teach me.
Do you like the room? All those paintings looking down make me a bit nervous.
I have the strangest sense we've met before.
Do you think that's possible? In some other lifetime? I don't know that there are other lifetimes.
Surely, there are.
Echoes of the past everywhere.
My past, your past.
Can't you feel it? Perhaps I can.
Your hands, they're cool to the touch.
- Oh, I'm sorry.
Don't be.
They suit you.
Like the touch of marble.
Would you think it bold if I compliment your eyes? Yes.
But, please, do.
Will you help me with something? Miss Ives is without an escort.
Very daring she is.
- What are you up to? - Be still, little man.
You mustn't hurt her.
Oh, believe me, she is sacrosanct.
Doctor, hello.
Miss Ives.
May I present Miss Angelique, Mr.
Gray's companion this evening.
How do you do? I understand you're rather the guest of honor tonight.
Apparently so.
Hello, Miss Ives.
I'm so glad you could come.
My pleasure.
- Lily, you look lovely.
- Mr.
Gray says pink's my color.
Well, he would know.
Some women should only wear pale colors.
May I have this dance, Lily? - Don't steal her yet.
- May I stay and talk? Victor's afraid I'll embarrass him.
You couldn't.
Natural grace unschooled by society.
That's the greatest gift, isn't it? - Lots of natural grace in the country.
- I grew up in the country.
- Oh, where? - Lake District.
The realm of poets.
And livestock.
Dance with me, Dorian.
In a moment.
First, a toast.
She doesn't drink spirits.
Maybe just a sip.
As you say.
None for you, doctor? No.
He's very wise, our doctor.
I don't know what we'd do without his level head.
I'm not sure this is a night for level heads, is it, darling? It's a night for anything but.
Welcome to my home.
To my dear Angelique.
And a special welcome to Miss Frankenstein, to our glorious city.
Cheers.
Thank you.
Good evening.
Oh, it's fantastic.
I wanted her to succeed here tonight.
I Be still your heart, doctor.
This is but one evening.
Mr.
Gray is being a proper host to a new guest.
That's all.
You're smarter than that, Miss Ives.
I wanted her to have a life.
Now she does.
Miss Ives, good evening.
Dr.
Frankenstein.
I don't believe you know Mrs.
Poole.
- How do you do? - Doctor.
And, of course, I remember dear Miss Ives.
It was the séance.
Madame Kali.
Of course.
So, you shaved your beard after all.
Quite alarming, the change.
I banished the old bear to the cave and lured out the cub.
I feel like a new man.
I've even been boasting shamelessly to Evelyn about my dancing prowess.
Then you must.
Hold on tightly.
It's a complicated dance.
Excuse me.
Shall we take to the floor? Perhaps a drink first, Malcolm.
With pleasure, my dear.
He's a changed man.
Is he? Since he became reacquainted with you, I mean.
Well, he has shaved his beard.
Interestingly, I wasn't speaking of his facial hair.
Well, what, then? More his friendship with you.
No more than a touch of warmth in the winter of his years.
I've known him for some time and never like this.
You're a friend of his late-daughter, I believe.
And his late-wife.
Such a tragedy.
Life does batter at us.
But we must persevere with spirit for as long as we possibly can.
It's the trick to staying young, don't you think? That's not a trick I seek.
He speaks very highly of you, Mrs.
Poole.
While he speaks of you so rarely.
I suppose we could say you're something of a ward to him.
A friend, I like to think, who cares a great deal for his welfare.
Sounds like a warning.
Do you disapprove? Would it matter if I did? But of course.
I hope to be welcome in your life, Vanessa.
Then perhaps you should come and visit us at Grandage Place.
In time.
I need you to chain me here.
Now, I need you to sit over there.
Whatever happens do not move from that chair.
All right? What am I to do? Watch.
Come on, do not embarrass me like this.
Miss Ives.
A dizzying panorama, isn't it? All toys of love out of the box and scattered around the floor.
And at the end of the night to be put carefully away.
These terrible games.
And do you ever play? Or only spectate? I never learned the rules.
The complications, as Dr.
Frankenstein said to me like the workings in a watch.
My dear Miss Ives, will you let me escort you home? This place isn't safe for you.
Safe? There are too many complications, and you don't know the rules.
Do you, Mr.
Lyle? I thought I did.
But the stakes are too high.
Let me escort you home, please.
Let me say good night to the doctor.
I'll be right back.
And thank you.
It is not every night I leave with the most beautiful woman in London on my arm.
We won't be able to do it again, will we? Will we? Miss Ives.
Miss Ives.
- Can you hear me? Can you hear me? - Miss Ives?