Thy Fury Spent (2020)
Hey. This is the life, isn't it?
We have been invited here as esteemed members of the business community!
Could you just start looking a bit more esteem-worthy?
I hate museums.
Yeah, but this isn't some sort of dusty old fossil-y place anymore, is it? Look.
They've even got a Shakespeare-aoke booth.
Dropped your shopping list there.
Speech, actually. For my sins.
Oh... Here you are, neck that.
I haven't even had a sip. Best not.
I need my wits about me.
You know what you wanna do? Just picture everybody here naked.
Thank you, Sigmund Freud.
What? That's what you're supposed to do...
♪ We'll never be defeated! ♪
♪ Deleted, mistreated, but we'll never be defeated! ♪
♪ Deleted, mistreated, but we'll never be defeated! ♪
Hashtag "what the hell"?
Oh, the evening's looking up.
Get rid of them! Get rid of them!
♪ Deleted, mistreated, but we'll never be defeated! ♪
Um, hello and welcome.
Please excuse the interruption although what's a party without a few gate-crashers?
Typical man, dodging the awkward questions.
So, do tell... why have you deleted the important women of the town's history?
No, no, no-one's been deleted.
Suffragettes, lawyers, warriors, academics.
All consigned to storage while we make way for yet more Shakespeare.
I would like to thank my venerated colleague for her opinion but I am proud to be at the helm of a new Shakespeare centre of international repute.
Yes, you keep telling yourself that, Sir Tim.
I would like to introduce the man who was inspirational in this reinvention the curator, Mr Lucian Shaw.
Uh, well... perhaps the champagne has got the better of Lucian so I will ask Jasra, our Head of Antiquities, to help me with the ribbon cutting.
Um, perhaps my wife would do me the honour of standing at my side?
Shoot me now.
And this is prosecco, not champagne.
Go home, Athena.
Wonder where my bloody curator is?
The actual Society of Herstorians?
Yeah, with placards and everything.
Oh, that's like seeing a herd of unicorns.
Angry, feminist unicorns.
I can't believe you took Frank and not me.
Yeah, sorry, but Frank's like the old museum, isn't he?
In need of a cultural overhaul. That's true.
Frank could be way more interesting and relevant.
I am sitting here, you know?
I, um... I need to report a missing person.
Lucian Shaw, he's my curator.
He hasn't been seen since his no-show last night.
Yeah, but how do you know he's missing? Well, he wouldn't just not show up.
This is an important day for the museum.
Could he have just felt a bit pressured, and decided to go AWOL?
Or do you think some well-meaning idiot could've said something really inappropriate and made him run away?
He didn't go home, he's not answering the telephone... he hasn't been admitted to hospital, it's just completely out of character.
My gut says it's Dr Middleton and those... those fearsome feminist scolds.
Your gut really ought to refer to them as The Society of Herstorians.
Yes, well, they'd do anything to torpedo my museum... with me in it.
Small thing, why not just go to the police?
No, no, not the police. This is a potential PR disaster.
We've already stirred up quite enough controversy.
So how long have you worked with this Lucian?
Ah, well, I-I-I hired him straight out of Cambridge.
He was the best pick of the bunch.
I brought him to the British Library and then the Museum of Scotland and now the Arden Museum, about, um... about 12 years in all.
"Sorry about your lost property."
Yes, it's got her toxic, female fingerprints all over it.
Well, we don't know that for sure, do we? It's important for us to be methodical.
I'm gonna get over there. Excuse me.
"Here lies a wretched corpse..."
"...of wretched soul bereft."
"Seek not my name... a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left."
Where is he?
Maybe he's lost somewhere in the 19th century along with your attitudes.
Oh, for the last time, I don't have your curator.
Have the Herstorians got him? I don't know, you'll have to ask them.
If you can find them.
Good luck with that. No-one knows who they are, not even me.
Please. You're one of them, I-I-I'd bet 5,000 crowns on it.
Well, thank you, I'm very flattered.
No, I'm far too old to get up to that kind of mischief.
Anyway, anonymity's not my style, as well you know.
Well, if anything has happened to Lucian, his blood will be on your hands.
Ooh, gosh. Bit early for melodrama.
I warn you, I've got top investigators looking into this.
Then let battle commence.
I will crush you.
Not if I crush you first.
Oh, she's pleading ignorance.
These angry women types are all in bed together.
Uh, metaphorically speaking.
Let's not jump to any conclusions. There's lots of other leads we can follow.
Do you know anything about his personal life?
No, why should I?
Well, we're gonna have a look at this, check his recent movements talk to museum staff...
From security. It's all they had, they only keep 48 hours' worth.
Well, that should keep Sebastian busy, shouldn't it?
It's all interior CCTV, public areas only, so I'm not sure how useful it'll be.
Yes, we've been having teething problems with our new security systems.
Teething problems? The new humidity and temperature controls.
Vital for conservation purposes.
They make massive demands on the circuits.
Anyway, I've been called down to the Arts Council so I shan't be back in my office till late.
Here's my address in Woods Lane. I shall be there tonight.
Thank you. Great, thank you.
Well, I better get back, make Sebastian's day.
Oh. Better take this as well.
Safe side. OK.
See you. See ya.
Where are you up to?
Camera seven, manuscript gallery.
Care to share 20 gripping minutes of one woman and her vacuum cleaner?
It's tedious, I'm sorry.
Tedious? This is Kafka-esque.
I feel like I'm stuck in some black-and-white CCTV nightmare.
Oh, well, here's a bit of colour for you.
It's really good, isn't it?
Do I spy a potential new recruit?
Yeah, I did actually think that would be a good way in, but it's impossible.
Cos you click on their "Contact Us" bit and you just get a load of shouty manifesto.
Don't you mean "womanifesto"?
Oh... That's very good.
There's loads of pictures of them online doing demos and sit-ins and stuff but you just can't identify any of them.
They're really mysterious, they're like a group of Banksies.
I'm a bit stumped, to be honest.
Well, look, I've traced Lucian's every word, thought, and deed since this time last week.
Found sod all except his bicycle.
Well, you must have found something? He can't have just vanished.
Yeah, there was a banana in a bag.
Are you eating it?
You are, aren't you?
Well, look, it'll only go to waste otherwise.
Right, well, when you've finished one of your five-a-day could you get yourself down to Dr M's house and ask her some questions?
No, I can't, I'm afraid.
I've got a date with a strong, blonde Belgian.
Right, let me guess. A guest ale at the Mucky Mallard?
Oh, busted. Hm!
Come on, Frank. One of us has got to find something out before Sir Tim checks in later.
Fine, but if they run out of Donker Oudekiirk it'll be on your conscience forever.
It won't be.
From now on, I'm just gonna eat fruit.
Jaffa Cakes don't count!
"Prepare for mirth."
You're supposed to say, "For mirth..."
I'm done, 11 hours and 43 minutes' worth.
Brilliant, what have you found?
We've got Lucian here, camera four, 18:31.
He's here, he's holding his index card, practicing his speech.
Oh! That must be around when he met him.
He loiters by the drinks table for a couple of minutes but then the footage blips out until camera five picks him up at 18:46 as he heads towards the Shakespeare-aoke.
Oh, Sebastian, you would have loved that. It was amazing.
I gave my Lady MacBeth at Sydney Opera House.
It was a wonderful stage. It was actually surprisingly intimate...
Are you trying to ruin my epiphany?
No, sorry, go on.
But then we lose his trail again until camera seven finds him near the cloakroom at 18:49.
Where does he go then? Nowhere.
He's gone. Are you sure?
I have checked every camera. That's the last we see of him.
No, but if the Herstorians did take him out... how did they get him out?
Oh, I think I know.
So, the security guards took the Herstorians back outside and then Sir Tim stepped up onto stage to make a speech.
Yeah, but they were still chanting outside, so I remember I looked outside and I saw a van.
A van? Yes.
It was a van and it was revving its engine while he was talking and it was blue, and...
It was bit grubby, had a dent in the driver's door.
Methinks the lady finally hath a hot lead.
Yes! Well done, me.
Get yourself down to that museum and track down that van.
Although 'tis pity the lady hath not remembered it before I endured an eternity of CCTV footage.
Yes. Sorry about that.
It's a celebration one. Mm-hm.
So, Sir Tim says you've got it in for him and his museum.
That glorified gift shop that ordinary people now have to pay to enter?
I don't suppose you've got any idea where Lucian is, do you?
He's a grown man.
People should stop treating him like a missing child, or a lost puppy.
So you don't know anything? Well, if I did...
I wouldn't tell.
So you and Sir Tim have got history?
Sir Tim has proved to be yet another male philistine who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
As far as I'm concerned, Sir Tim is history.
- Allez! Oh!
Oh, bless you!
You alright? What happened?
"Purr-icles, Stratford's Favourite Shakespearean Cat Café"?
I went to the museum, I tracked down your blue van to a cat café but the manageress would only let me speak to her if I was a paying customer.
You're so brave.
Kenneth Branagh wouldn't get off my lap.
Dame Judi kept trying to lick my crumpet and after all that, it turned out the van was only just delivering leaflets.
Why didn't you warn me I was walking into the bloomin' Battle of Agincourt?
I could've been skewered like last night's kebab.
I'm missing something. Yes, you are.
The fact that I stared death in the face.
Oh, stop being dramatic!
That's my thing.
Lucian was last seen at the cloakroom at 18:49 and the van left during Sir Tim's speech.
But if he wasn't in it...
If you make me watch one more minute of CCTV, I am running away to join the circus.
There was another getaway vehicle?
Or... he never actually got away at all?
Never mind him, me!
I was wondering...
D'you think Sir Tim cares this much about all his employees, or just Lucian?
What are you getting at?
Some of the boxes are humidity controlled.
Ask if you want to look inside.
Is it alright if I...? Go ahead.
Don't just stand there.
It was awful. They didn't hurt m...
They said they were teaching the museum a lesson by removing me from public view consigning me to storage and leaving me there to be forgotten.
Like the suffragette exhibition?
Exactly. You want another custard cream?
Ahem. Well, you weren't forgotten about, not for a second.
Do you, uh... think you could identify them?
No. Possibly their voices, but they kept those creepy masks on the whole time.
They said that if I don't re-instate the important women of the town's history they'll tattoo it on me... like a human placard.
And then they made me spend a ghastly night alone with that horrific mummified woman.
Give us half an hour and I'll drive you home.
Don't worry, I'll drive you home.
Yeah, Sir Tim, this is Frank Hathaway.
Good news, one curator found and returned.
Yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.
It was just a basic facial, cos he's still quite puffy.
Y'know, he's quite sensitive to cats.
Well, I'm glad you've spent our hard-earned fee before we've even cashed the cheque.
I really can't tell you any more than that.
Yeah, you can tell us though, can't you, PC Deacon?
Not unless you're museum staff.
Well, we are contracted labour in the pay of the museum, so technically...
No, I'm sorry.
The museum's been sectioned off until further notice.
Well, what about my artefacts?
The dust alone is a constant daily battle.
I have to temperature-control things. Are you museum staff?
Well, then I'm sorry to have to tell you this but the museum director's been found dead this morning in suspicious circumstances.
Oh, that's awful. In his own museum.
I only spoke to him yesterday evening.
In that case, you're gonna need to give a statement to the DS.
We're, uh, really, really sorry. Yeah.
But we're late with the rent, so if I could leave that with you...
Sir Tim hired you, personally.
We couldn't possibly pay you out of museum funds.
But I... If you'll excuse me.
Wow, that was insensitive.
Thinks a lot of herself, that one. No, I meant you!
What? You! That was...
Oh, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.
What are you two doing here? Just passing.
This isn't one of your shabby scratch-n-sniffs.
This is a murder investigation.
It behooves you to remember the boundaries, Frank.
Behooves? Behooves my backside.
Did I just say that out loud? Yeah.
You know the difference between you and a real detective, Frank is instead of weighing up the facts, you always see the worst in people.
Which is why you will always be a bottom-feeder.
Y... It's not worth it. Ahem.
Say hi to Sebastian for me. Yeah, will do, Viola.
So, looks like the Herstorians have chalked up their first murder.
I think we should pay our condolences to the widow.
Very decent of you.
What is the definition of "behooves"?
Lady Forbes-Allen, hello.
Um, we met briefly... I remember.
So we were just passing, and, um... we wanted to come and tell you how sorry we are to hear about Sir Tim.
Must have been a terrible shock.
Thoughtful of you.
It's, uh... Yeah, I suppose that's a good way to take your mind off things, isn't it?
Well, of course I've had all manner of demands on my time today but the helianthus simply won't wait, so...
There is one thing, er... the small matter of an outstanding invoice.
You'd better come inside.
This really is a lovely house.
Yeah, it's, er sumptuous.
There you are.
Must say, you do seem remarkably OK, under the circumstances.
I suppose it hasn't really sunk in yet?
I might even miss the old fool, though it's common knowledge ours was a marriage of convenience. Really?
He was cultured, I was wealthy.
Not what you'd call a love match, but it suited us.
We were about to mark our 40th wedding anniversary.
Oh, wow, that really is a milestone.
"Celebrate" would be the wrong word, considering the banal sacrifices one makes within the confines of a marriage... There it is.
I don't suppose you've got any idea who did it?
I've already told the police.
Sir Tim's social media was a toxic swamp.
The man literally had millions of enemies.
And now, if you don't mind...
Ey... Thank you!
That's it then, isn't it? Job done.
Yeah. Bit of a relief, really.
Wouldn't wanna be the one to have to find the killer.
Yeah, lucky escape.
Not for Sir Tim, poor bloke.
What a way to go, eh?
Yeah, it's hard to believe, isn't it, really?
Because he seemed so posh and clever.
Talking of posh and clever.
Aw, hello! How's the puffiness?
Abating, as long as I keep my feet up.
Poor lamb. Lazy sod.
Just a quick one, I've seen on Dr Middleton's online feed that's she's about to make a statement outside the museum.
Shall we? Yeah.
A crime committed not just against the women of history but against us, their descendants.
My forthcoming book...
Debunking An Outdated Legacy"...
...attempts to address this particular patriarchal injustice but there are times in life when the sword is mightier than the pen.
I solemnly confess to the murder of Sir Tim Forbes-Allen.
Are you sure you want to do this here?
Cuff me! That's really not necessary...
Cuff me or I'll resist.
Dr Helen Middleton, I'm arresting you for the murder of Sir Timothy Forbes-Allen.
You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.
Anything you do say may be given in evidence.
Let our bloody colours wave!
And either victory, or else a grave!"
Was that a confession or a plug for her new book?
There's no such thing as bad publicity.
means, motive, opportunity.
Nah, she's an insufferable, self-promoting narcissist but I don't think she's the killer.
Another day, another dollar.
Why do I feel like I've been invaded by fruit?
Just trying to be healthy.
Might have got a bit carried away.
Oh, Sir Tim certainly has his fair share of death threats.
They're not killers, they're trolls.
Going nuclear over whether Shakespeare's got a Van Dyke beard or a common chinstrap.
Any fool knows a common chinstrap connects transversely to the side burns whereas a Van Dyke is a totally different matter...
I didn't know where else to turn.
So, when did you last have this letter?
It was tucked it into my breast pocket last week.
Could have fallen out anywhere between home and the museum it could even be among Sir Tim's things.
If you're hiring us to find it, it must be pretty important.
The content is... somewhat personal.
If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous especially now that Sir Tim...
Sir Tim is...
Was there something else?
It was a love letter.
The last one he ever wrote to me.
Bless. You must be devastated.
"Poor honest lord..." brought low by his own heart."
Did Lady Forbes-Allen know?
We were meticulously careful.
That is, until I was careless enough to lose it.
Look, don't worry. We'll find your letter.
Do you want a satsuma?
I mean, fair do's, Frank, you actually called that.
See? Just goes to show ya that even someone as unrefined as myself can be finely attuned to the foibles of human nature.
Do you think Athena really didn't know?
That was your cue to say, "You're not unrefined, Frank."
I mean, imagine... imagine finding out that your husband has been writing love letters to a man half your age.
What's going on? It's Keeler.
Tsk! Says I'm a bottom-feeder.
Well, if I'm a bottom-feeder, Joe Keeler, at least you and me are in the same pond.
I hope you don't mind me asking...
Loose leaf or bags?
Always loose, and oolong must be brewed between 85 and 95 degrees otherwise the nuances are lost.
We'll remember that, won't we, Frank? Loose, nuances, roger that.
And also, um...
Um, we were wondering if...
If you knew your husband was cheating on you?
Well... Where to even begin?
I'm guessing you mean Lucian.
Sweet boy, rather intense.
He wasn't the first, of course, and I very much doubt he'd have been the last though I suspect he was rather more smitten than most.
So you knew?
Well, Lucian's hired us to find a letter that Sir Tim wrote to him.
Just wondered if you'd come across it in the last week or so?
I'm really sorry to have to bring it up, cos it must be painful for you.
Our marriage survived all manner of peccadilloes, on both sides.
It was probably stronger as a result.
What about, well...
I don't know, love?
Clearly neither of you are married?
Oh, no way... Almost, actually.
But no, basically no. Never again. No.
Indeed. Well, marriage... is like yellow.
Doesn't suit everyone.
More tea? No, thanks.
It's good for my gut bacteria.
So, what do we know?
Pickled radish is a bad idea...
What was I thinking? Ugh!
I meant about the letter, Masterchef.
Perhaps the better question is what don't we know?
Athena said she didn't have the letter, and I believe her.
Based on what?
Well, you heard her, she just... She just didn't seem to care.
As Hazlitt said, "Love turns, with little indulgence, to indifference.
Hatred alone is immortal."
Who's Hazlitt? No idea.
Well, Dr M, she's a museum trustee, maybe she found it?
If Dr M had it, the entire world would know about it.
Maybe it's just lost.
Like, gone. You know, down a drain, in a bin... shredded in someone's rabbit hutch.
"Lost" is not an option, because "lost", may I remind you means no fee.
It seems to me Lucian had it before the kidnapping but he didn't have it after, so surely the Herstorians have it?
What possible use could the Herstorians have for the intimate musings of their arch enemy?
Yeah, talk about "payback time".
So, all we need to do is track down the Herstorians.
Did you say just "payback time"?
They were gonna tattoo that on Lucian's back.
I heard someone say that recently...
Yeah, I know. Well, one of these days, it'll be payback time.
Put that in the fridge, mate, will ya?
Lu! Yeah, coming!
Looking for Lucian?
Er... wanted a quick word with you, if that's OK?
Sure. Come in.
Have you met Alvecote Woman?
She's usually up in the Copthorne Gallery.
I'm hoping she doesn't mind being down here now since she's been in a peat bog since the Bronze Age.
Is that an elbow that's...?
Uh, don't answer that. Listen, I'm gonna cut to the chase.
We know you're a Herstorian.
Don't leave me in here with her. Lu? Lu!
How could we have lost her? I dunno.
But I am not looking in any more storage boxes, I'll tell you that for free.
For God's sake!
I didn't catch that.
Please choose your speech and press the orange button.
Look, we're not the police. We just wanna ask you something.
Yeah, Lucian asked us to find a letter and we thought the Herstorians might have it. What letter?
It's a love letter, actually, to Lucian from Sir Tim.
We didn't kill him. We're not here for that.
We just thought he might have lost it when you kidnapped him.
Nope. The Herstorians don't have it.
How can you be so sure?
Because I'm their leader.
If Lucian and Sir Tim were lovers, then there was something...
The evening Sir Tim was stabbed, he'd just got back from London.
No, it's too late!
Just tell me what I need to do... You know what to do.
You simply refuse to do it.
So Lucian lied to us.
He said the last time he saw Sir Tim was at the museum opening.
I think it's time we paid our lovelorn curator a visit.
Sarge... you might wanna come down to the front desk.
Yeah, now, I reckon.
So, it's Marie Corelli.
One "R" and two "L"s? Yes.
Right, take a seat.
I don't suppose any of you have any ID?
Right, what is so important?
Uh, Sarge, here we have Mary Arden Marie Corelli, Annie Justins and Elisabeth Scott.
They all claim to have killed Sir Tim.
What, all four of them?
The Angel of Stratford just popped to the loo.
Oh, here she is, Emily Minet.
Well, whoever they are, get 'em off my front desk and into custody.
Let's see what Middleton's got to say about this.
We'll just have to doorstep him at work tomorrow.
Do you think he's alright? Did you see his little misery pit?
Candle and photos, box of tissues.
Lucian, it's Frank Hathaway, just checking you're alright.
Er, give us a call when you get this.
I'm just gonna say it out loud.
I think that Lucian going missing at this point is a little bit suspect.
Should we call the police? Not enough information.
Guess we call it a day then.
My gosh... I'm so sorry, Frank.
Must be the pickles.
How should I know if it's a hungry cry or a tired cry?
She's a baby! What's she got to be angry about?
I gotta go, babe.
Custody Sarge wants to know how longer we're keeping the ladies.
He's worried about the backlog.
Those bloody Herstorians.
"Mary Arden", that should have been a give-away.
There's also Annie Justins, Stratford's first female mayor.
And Elisabeth Scott, she designed the RSC building.
Did it not occur to you that they're all dead?
I don't know why, but those women are trying to do a Spartacus and I am not having it.
In hindsight, yes, yeah.
Publicity stunt. Mm, of course.
What, all of them?
Well done, girls!
I have a message, to those who condemn us for throwing a stone at the window of patriarchy by confessing to a murder we didn't commit.
I give you the wisdom of Emmeline Pankhurst.
"The argument of the broken window pane is the most valuable argument in modern politics."
Yes! So, let's break some windows!
Clock's ticking, Frank. Come on.
Yeah, I'm just checking the message board again.
You don't think we should offer a reward, do ya?
Ha! What, how much for a letter that's basically worth nothing to anyone?
Except one person.
The mild-mannered curator who loves his mum and his bicycle and also possibly murdered his lover in a jealous rage.
I don't suppose you've seen Lucian? No.
Why? Haven't you? He was in this morning and then he went out, he said he was going to "meet the monster".
Yeah, I'm not gonna lie, he had this kind of dangerous gleam in his eye.
That doesn't sound good. And then I found this on his desk.
"It was I who stole them both.
The life cannot be returned, but the letter awaits thee this day in the Woods, at the eleventh hour."
Oh, brilliant. A riddle.
That's all we need.
Simple. The murderer has the letter.
Obviously they can't return Sir Tim...
Oh! But they can return the letter.
In the woods. What woods? Any woods?
They've made a mistake, they've written "woods" with a capital W.
What if it's not a mistake?
It's a street. Woods Lane.
Do you think Lucian's in danger?
Or is he the danger?
Look! Come on, we need to be quick.
Eh? No time to explain!
How'd you know she wrote the note? The "T" s!
Athena's "T" s! What?
Find the cheque. You'll see what I mean.
Oh, yeah. A few snacks in there...
What, the...? The "T" s!
The "T" s are the same, see?
Oh, the "T" s!
I thought you were having some kind of posh caffeine withdrawal.
We should call the police.
What you doing?
Huh? I do this every day, Frank, I do know!
Watch the wall!
Where you going? I'm going round!
The entrance is there! Yes, I know that, Frank!
I have done this before.
She'll have left the country by now!
There we go!
Right... Go, go, go!
I am going at the correct speed for the tunnel!
Let me do it!
Thank God! He's gone mad.
Stay where you are!
Let-let's talk about this.
She's the murderer, not me, so don't speak to me like I'm some petulant child.
Stop acting like one. Lucian, just give me the knife.
Anyway, it's not a knife, it's Sir Tim's garnet-encrusted letter-opener and I'm not afraid to use it. Please don't.
Why not? Because... she doesn't deserve it.
Her plan was to make me eat every single one of those letters.
Washed down with Sir Tim's favourite red, I'm not a monster.
And then murder me in cold blood, so I'd say she does deserve it!
She deserves to be tried by a jury in a court of law.
I want the truth!
And I want to hear it from you!
Want, want, want.
The whining, needy voice of the avocado-on-toast generation.
Athena, maybe you could just try and co-operate a bit.
She killed him...
...over a letter!
It wasn't just a letter!
Though finding that squalid note on the museum floor was a low point.
It was all the other letters, the photographs the nauseating love tokens...
What is it, Athena?
A roasting from those Arts Council despots...
I've got mutinies breaking out right, left and...
We had an agreement.
I can't do this anymore.
You don't get to revise the rules.
We are both allowed a measure of freedom, as long we don't... fall in love!
I didn't mean to... but I did.
And so did he. Nonsense!
That's how it's always been, and that is the way it will continue to be so you tell that... boy that it's over and we'll say no more about it.
I'm sorry, Athena.
I'm leaving you.
Now, now, steady, darling... you could actually hurt someone with those.
Well, darling... maybe you should know how it feels to be stabbed in the heart.
I'm sorry! I didn't mean to...
You actually really loved him, didn't you?
Even though you tried to convince the whole world you didn't care.
Probably even convinced him I didn't care.
He was the love of my life!
No, he was the love of my life.
Please, don't do anything you can't undo.
Don't listen to her.
Do it. Kill me.
Go to prison. The world will be better off without you.
5960 on scene, further assistance required, over.
Where's a battalion of Herstorians when you need one?
Lucian's having a lie down, then he's gonna present himself at the police station.
Oh. Is that necessary?
Well, he might be charged with ABH after his little tangle with Sir Tim's letter-opener.
Lady Forbes-Allen, you alright?
Actually, I'm somewhat relieved.
Yes, I can imagine the life of a fugitive not being quite your cup of oolong.
Ha! Is it?
I had to abandon my doctoral thesis some years ago and I'm quite looking forward to having time in prison to finish it.
Good for you.
The title is "Shakespeare Was A Woman: The Incontrovertible Truth."
Hathaway. Sticking your fingers in other people's pies as usual, eh?
Pulled you out a murderer though, didn't I?
Yeah, you seem pretty sure about that. Bottom-feeders instinct.
It behooves you to take it from here, Detective Sergeant Keeler.
Stick her in the car.
You know, the only statue of a woman in this town is of Lady Macbeth.
A figment of Shakespeare's imagination.
Well, I didn't know that about the statues, did you?
No. Definitely time things changed.
When are women gonna stop banging on about their "rights"?
All I want now is my right to a pint in the Mucky Mallard.
Of course! I'll run you over, shall I?
When you say "run me over", you don't mean...