Ronald!
Mr. Treeves!
Ronald!
Shut up!
Shut up!!!
Aaah!
My son was a mystery to me.
Why should a man with a double-first in economics
wish to study for the priesthood?
Especially that vice-ridden, medieval pile.
Commander Dalgleish
has childhood links with the college.
I spent many happy summers there when I was in my teens.
My father was a clergyman.
I've asked the commander if he will visit St. Anselm's
in a semi-official capacity
to see if there are any aspects
of your son's death
which have not been researched.
Obviously without upsetting the college authorities.
If not upsetting people were a prerequisite,
we would still be living in holes in the ground.
Or else the garden of Eden.
St. Anselm may have seemed to you like the garden of Eden
when you were a child, commander,
but you're gonna be very disappointed
if you expect to find that today.
Of course, a plastic cup and a paper plate
would do just as well.
You were out of the country
when the inquest was held, sir aldred?
I washed my hands of Ronald when he insisted upon...
Following his vocation.
And you're not satisfied
with the verdict of accidental death?
I expected an open verdict. Accidental death surprised me.
Is your concern suicide?
Or murder?
I expect your report.
My concerns always constitute "any other business."
I'm just saying one day it would be nice
to have them inscribed on the agenda.
One day, father peregrine,
errant car-parking and the nocturnal use of washing machines
might be all we have to discuss.
Today is not that day.
Today we are discussing the impending visit of the archdeacon
and his burgeoning desire to close us down.
The man's a barbarian.
A barbarian with enormous influence in the diocese
who needs to find massive savings
and looks up on us as out of date and elitist.
How has "elitist" become such a dirty word?
I mean, Manchester city are elitist.
United.
Manchester united.
The church of England is in financial crisis,
and Anselm's is small and, yes, elitist.
But it is expensive to run.
You don't have to be a rocket scientist
to understand the archdeacon's thinking.
So how do we stop him?
Well, yes, father John... There's the question.
Yarborough.
I know you're here, Yarborough!
Yarborough!
Two other guests coming this week.
Clive Stannard will be here tomorrow.
Another barbarian.
And the other...
Well, father Martin?
Yes, commander Adam Dalgleish of New Scotland Yard
is arriving this morning for two days
at the request of sir aldred Treeves.
He'll be taking a second brief look
into the circumstances of poor Ronald's death.
But we've had the inquest. What more does he want?
The last thing we need while we're fighting for survival.
And if word of his presence here gets out,
it'll look as if there has been a cover-up.
Do you mean he'll be raking it all up again, Sebastian?
I think this is him now.
Where's he parking?
Adam Dalgleish is a man of discretion.
He's not just a policeman.
Most of you will know some of his poetry.
If you're planning for the weekend,
Roger Yarborough's coming.
Adam!
Father Martin?
You expected me to be dead.
No...
Don't rack your brains trying to be delicate.
It wasn't that, I...
There you go, trying to find words
to contradict the truth of your expression.
Ha ha!
You parked unwisely, but we'll deal with that later.
I'm very much alive, as is St. Anselm's.
Very much alive.
Do you think we don't have problems enough
without inviting Roger Yarborough?
How is he a problem?
Because you believe what he says,
or because you don't?
Stand up when you're speaking to me.
Yes, father Sebastian.
The man persecuted the archdeacon
after his first wife's death.
You mean after he murdered her.
Crampton is looking for excuses to close us down.
And you recklessly jeopardize our position
by pursuing a petty vendetta.
Is child abuse petty? Is murder?
You may be descended from our founder, Raphael,
but if you go on like this,
you'll be overseeing our demise.
I'm asking you to put him off.
Mrs. Crampton.
For the archdeacon.
For all his help last week.
Thank you. That's very kind.
You! Stop! What do you think you're doing?!
Matthew!
I beg your pardon?
I-I'm sorry. A misunderstanding.
She's been dead four years.
Let it go.
I'd forgotten how beautiful it was.
Yes.
The archdeacon Crampton feels very strongly
that all our treasures should be removed,
and it may be that he'll get his way.
Removed?
To a cathedral, perhaps,
where more people could see them.
And greater security would be possible.
But there are those why say he'd simply...
Sell them all off.
And give the proceeds to the poor, of course.
Our founder gave these things to be placed here.
And here, I think, they should stay.
That's one thing I wouldn't mind seeing the back of...
The doom.
Unfortunately, it's a fixture.
The last judgment still always manages
to unsettle me.
Ronald Treeves, father?
Something set Ronald apart.
I think he felt he knew more about the real world
than did the rest of us.
And did he?
Well, in many ways
it was the real world he was trying to escape.
The priesthood was his only chance
of superceding his father.
Sir aldred might wield enormous influence
in matters secular,
but only an ordained priest
can have power over the human soul.
Did Ronald have any particular friends at college?
Not among the ordinands, no.
He was very close to Margaret Monroe, who does the laundry.
It was she, unfortunately, who found him.
I say unfortunately because she'd lost her own son
not so very long ago.
He was in the army.
I'm not sure that she ever really got over that.
My son used to like havin' the radio on with the cricket
if he was ill,
when he was a boy, if it was summer...
Measles and so on.
Not that you're allowed to get the measles nowadays.
That's why you've all got these other things coming in.
It builds you up, the measles.
Mumps, et cetera. Chicken pox.
I brought you some books.
I'll stop by later.
Good of you.
Is there no cricket on?
All finished.
Well, just when you need it, it's over.
Raphael.
How is the translation going?
Actually, I haven't had as much time as I'd hoped.
Well, then, we'll work on it together.
What's your honest opinion of father Sebastian?
I get the impression your own opinion is the more imminent.
The man's got no bloody balls.
That would certainly explain his singing voice.
You were always down here as a boy,
we always knew where to find you.
In the waves...
Collecting driftwood...
Or messing about in the old boathouse.
The boathouse.
It was a girl.
Sadie.
Mrs. Milson, used to be cook here, her granddaughter.
She would have been about your age.
You never remarried, Adam?
No.
So, this is where Margaret Monroe found Ronald?
Yes. All this was an overhang.
You'll sometimes see things buried in the sandstone...
Bits of Amber, old bones... You remember.
Perhaps he was rooting about.
If you're beneath an overhang,
of course you run the risk of it collapsing on top of you.
In 50 years' time, the encroachment will be complete.
For St. Anselm's, it'll be under the waves,
like the lost villages.
Is it possible that Ronald was hiding something?
Or looking for something that was hidden?
I don't suppose we'll ever know, will we, Adam?
Aaaah!
It's a terrible way to die.
I often think of it.
And?
When you think of it?
Father Sebastian talked of suicide.
I don't believe... I don't want to...
I don't know.
We failed him unforgivably.
I nearly fell.
Emma.
Emma lavenham.
Literary research fellow at Cambridge.
We second her to lecture on poetry to the ordinands.
Adam Dalgleish. How do you do?
The poet?
Yes. and policeman.
I'm sorry. I...
No, it's all right. We'd finished.
I was just... I'll carry on with my walk.
It's very nice to meet you. And you, too.
She's a brilliant girl. We're lucky to have her.
She's engaged to an extremely prominent linguist back in Cambridge.
John!
Your scarf!
Archdeacon.
We weren't expecting you until the weekend.
The schedule for the removal of items most at risk.
Starting with the altar piece later this month.
Raphael, suppose I just went away.
Do you think the archdeacon would leave St. Anselm's alone?
It's Ronald dying that's put us
to the top of his agenda it's not you.
I was just thinking that if I wasn't there...
You exist, John, face it.
If anyone should disappear, it's the arch-bloody-Deacon.
May we enter?
By removal,
do you mean requisition?
If the altar piece and the other items were removed,
you'd have no need of keys.
What's it worth, do you think?
Three million? Five?
If you get away with forcibly removing
our founder's endowments, will you leave us in peace?
You'll have to read the document.
Why do I have to read the damn document
when you're standing right in front of me, quite capable of an answer?
The conditions here aren't right
for the preservation of great works like these.
The humidity...
The lack of real high security..
The risk of accidents.
Ronald Treeves told you, did he?
Do you wish to punish him further?
What the hell do you mean by that?
Have you ever asked yourself how an institution like this,
supposedly infused with love and light,
could drive a young man like Ronald to his death?
It was an accident. Read the coroner's report.
Do you think harboring a convicted pedophile
in a place where young men come to follow their vocations
sends out a good message?
Father John has served his sentence
and deserves to be left in peace.
Leaving aside whether he was guilty in the first place.
Left in peace would be one thing...
Featherbedded and salaried is another.
I think we can safely say this meeting is concluded.
Not quite.
There's something else here at St. Anselm's, isn't there?
Something more valuable than all the works of art put together.
Something powerful enough to threaten
not just the church of England, but the whole Christian faith.
The papyrus. The St. Anselm papyrus.
You're the warden, you're charged with its safekeeping.
I want it handed over at the weekend.
In the meantime,
I'll leave you to lock up the house of god.
Come in!
Mrs. Monroe?
It's... it's you, mister, um...
Dalgleish.
Do you know why I'm here?
About, um...
Ronald Treeves, yes.
Um...
On the doorstep.
Can I make you a cup of...
tea would be very nice.
Right, tea.
Leeks.
They'll be from Eric Surtees, the caretaker.
He's got a kitchen garden, and he's,
he's kind like that.
He thinks of people when they're...
I'll wash those after.
You were close to Ronald.
This must be a hard time for you.
A hard time, it is...
A hard time.
Have you worked here long, Mrs. Monroe?
Margaret.
Six years. Just the laundry.
Not the personal laundry, just the sheets and towels.
Ruby... Mrs. Pilbeam...
She does some personal laundry for some people,
but I,
I used to work at the hospice at ashcombe house.
I was good with the terminally ill.
I was a nurse there, but my heart's poor,
and the work was...
So I applied here, and the duty's much lighter,
much lighter than at ashcombe...
Can you tell me about Ronald, Margaret?
What is there to say? He was a boy.
They don't seem like boys here sometimes...
So clever, and these outfits they wear,
but, um, that's what they are
and that's all he was, whatever some people might say.
He was a boy.
"Whatever some people might say"?
They said he was arrogant, some of them,
and said he didn't choose his friends too wisely.
I heard that he didn't have many.
Well, only Peter, really. Peter buckhurst.
And that was hard for Peter,
because Raphael didn't like Ronald.
Raphael?
The senior student.
And... why didn't Raphael like Ronald?
Who knows, with him?
He's gotta be kingpin...
You're either in or you're out.
Did you have someone in mind
when you said that Ronald didn't choose his friends wisely?
They said he was friends with the archdeacon,
with... with Mr. Crampton.
And Mr. Crampton isn't well-liked around here?
Could you tell me about how you found Ronald?
My journal.
No, no. I'd rather we went over it afresh. If you wouldn't mind?
( Sighs
it was his cloak and his cassock I saw first.
Folded beside each other, not...
And then I saw the cliff had fallen.
Big clumps of sand and bits from the top, tufts of grass.
I knew straightaway what had happened,
and I... I started digging with my hands...
And then a piece of wood I found.
And I kept thinking, would it be better to go for help,
and then I...
I felt something soft.
No...
He was wearing corduroy trousers, and...
He was kneeling, sort of.
Then I...
Then I remembered
that all cloaks have nametags in them,
so I... I... I ran across.
I picked it up...
And it was Ronald's.
Then I heard a car coming over the road, quite a way off.
Then all of a sudden, I didn't want to be there on my own.
I ran back up the steps.
It was a professor, Mr. Gregory. He came down and...
Where is he?! That way!
And we dug some more.
And I remember I started to pull him out,
and Mr. Gregory shouted, "stop!"
He said we should leave him as he was... his clothes, as well.
That there was nothing we could do.
But I wanted to be sure.
And Mr. Gregory took off his glove
and placed his fingers against Ronald's neck.
And he...
Is there something?
No, no.
He was dead, of course.
And we went and got father Sebastian, father Martin,
and the police came, and the ambulance.
They're... they're nice, the ambulance men.
Crampton mentioned it by name.
He's determined to get it.
The papyrus is perfectly safe where it is.
It would be safer still in my keeping.
Are you saying you think I'll give it up?
He's got the bit between his teeth.
You don't know what he's like.
Where is it?
The papyrus remains my responsibility
until the time of my death.
After that, it will be yours to do with as you wish.
I'm not sure I like the tone of that.
Then I apologize.
So when you heard
the coroner's verdict of accidental death,
did you have a strong sense of whether he was right?
Whether it was suicide, you mean?
The ordinands do a reading before dinner in the refectory.
They're takin' turns, those that want to.
Ronald started saying he wanted to do one.
But not a reading, more a... a...
He wanted something off his chest.
And what was it he wanted to say?
He didn't tell me, and...
He never did it, so...
Something that was troubling him?
Did you mention this during the investigation?
"Stick to facts"... that's what he said, father Sebastian.
"Don't go bothering them with all your"...
Father.
I just wanted to be sure
that you were all right, Margaret.
I am, father. Thank you.
And your cardigan's nearly ready.
Splendid.
When you asked me what I thought about the verdict,
you didn't mean murder?
I just wanted to know your thoughts.
There's an atmosphere,
father.
I don't know if it's me going over things
that people thought they'd put behind them,
or the archdeacon's plans.
Or Ronald Treeves' death.
Or simply your memories of this place
becoming unsettled.
Expecting your sister, Eric?
She's late.
Man of few words.
Mr. Surtees.
I hear it's you we have to thank for saving the church.
Putting out the fire?
It was you, is that right?
Well, father...
I don't use that term, "father." You can call me archdeacon.
A candle, was it?
I heard about it from Ronald Treeves.
We used to chat about life at St. Anselm's.
He'd keep me up to date.
Ronald.
He'd visit and we'd talk.
Perhaps... you and I should talk, Eric.
No. No, I don't think...
Not much of a talker, is that it? More of a doer?
But tell me this, Mr. Surtees.
What exactly is it you do here?
Caretaker, father. Er, arch... archdeacon.
It won't last, Mr. Surtees, it can't.
I hope they've made that clear to you here.
The bishops themselves are laying off chauffeurs and cooks.
Do you really suppose your position is more crucial
to the smooth running of the church of England?
We'll continue this conversation at the weekend.
Father John, wait!
My father told me
someone brought a baby to the college, after my time.
Someone related to the woman who founded the college... Agnes.
Agnes Arbuthnot.
It was her great-niece Clara who abandoned the baby
into our care, as it were.
What became of her?
We never saw her again.
She spent some time in France, I believe,
and she died in the ashcombe house hospice
not far from here. When... Ten years ago... more, more.
And the child?
Raphael.
He's to be ordained very soon.
Here?
Yes, well, it was father John and his sister Agatha
who really brought him up.
Now, it isn't one of those productions
where they mumble all the time, is it?
Right.
You!
How dare you address my brother?!
John, come here! Come here immediately!
You're not welcome here, you know!
Not welcome at all!
We wish you were dead. All of us!
Wait till the weekend.
Peter buckhurst?
My name is Dalgleish, I'm a police officer.
I'd like to speak to you about Ronald Treeves.
Margaret Monroe said you were friends.
He's dead.
Yes. Before he died, did he say anything to you?
Did he mention about getting something off his chest?
He said almost nothing for two weeks before he died.
Raphael, this is...
Ronald didn't have anything on his chest.
He had an enormous chip on his shoulder, is what he had.
He said he was like me... abandoned.
Unlike me, he hasn't got a raving lunatic
trying to destroy his home.
That's the man you should be investigating... archdeacon Crampton.
He killed his first wife and got away scot-free.
Who are you?
You know who I am.
He's here, you know, Crampton. Skulking about.
He destroyed father John.
Pushed through the child abuse charges.
Didn't matter that father John hadn't done anything.
And he murdered his wife, you say?
I know what happened.
So does the man who was in charge
of the case against Crampton... Roger Yarborough.
Inspector Yarborough.
They suspended him because he wouldn't give it up.
They said he was hounding Crampton.
Well, someone needed to.
Crampton's the man you should be talking to.
The college has a beautiful facade.
Expensive and desirable as your automobile undoubtedly is,
I don't think it enhances it.
I'm surprised you haven't resorted to wheel clamps.
And risk delaying your departure?
Another transgressor?
A great avenger of transgressions, I understand.
- You've met Emma? - Briefly.
As you may recall,
the tradition is, the first course
is eaten in silence
while one of the ordinands gives a reading.
Emma you know, and this is George Gregory, our professor of Greek.
And Raphael Arbuthnot...
we've met.
On a busman's holiday?
What was Crampton doing here today? We'll talk later.
Are you here to haul us all over the coals, Mr. Dalgleish?
We rather felt the coroner's court was the last word
on the ultimately dampening subject of Ronald Treeves.
The commander is here on a flying visit.
It's a formality, really, to reassure sir aldred.
Trying to threaten father John, after what he did to him.
I said we'll talk later.
A formality? Sir alred received a letter
suggesting he look further into the matter,
and I'm here to do that.
A letter from whom?
An anonymous letter. Intriguing.
Please, take a seat.
People really do send anonymous letters, then?
I'm taking today's reading from a book of poems
called a case to answer by Adam Dalgleish.
No need to hide your light under a bushel, commander.
The first poem's called a confession.
Raphael, please. Grace first.
Karen, it's me.
I don't want to leave another message.
If you're there, pick up.
It's just, the archdeacon, he was talkin' to Ronald.
He... he said...
Karen, please pick up.
Are you there?
I need you.
Tell me what to do.
Aren't we blessed that it's been so mild today?
There'd been talk of storms on the way.
I'd like to get a walk in before bed.
Take a torch.
Yes, it can be... Shockingly dark
once one leaves the lights of the buildings.
White or red, sir? What's the white?
A courtand chardonnay.
One of the few pleasures of our studious and ascetic life here.
A really first-class wine cellar.
That, and the excellent cooking and the beauty of the setting
and the burne-Jones paintings on the walls.
And the Van Der weyen in the church.
We don't do so badly, do we, Sebastian?
Despite our disavowal of worldly pleasures.
I wasn't aware you had made such a disavowal, George.
I forget sometimes, with all the shining examples round-and-about,
that I'm nothing but a wretched and unrepentant sinner.
Just keeping the conversation going.
I'm sure the commander isn't writing any of this down.
If I'm making people uncomfortable,
perhaps I should eat in my set.
No, no, it's not you, Adam.
We... we all have a lot on our minds
with the archdeacon returning
to tell us our fate.
But we are all...
Under suspicion a bit
till you've made your report, aren't we?
Are you?
Everyone felt very sorry about Ronald.
I suppose we all wonder whether we could have done more to help him.
I'm terribly sorry!
I do beg your pardon.
Perhaps we could inaugurate
a new topic of conversation.
Raphael, would you like to kick us off?
The consolations of beauty, perhaps?
Come in!
Eric.
Are you coming in?
I meant to come and say thank you for the leeks.
No. I was just waiting for Karen...
Is she late again?
Her mobile's off.
I expect she'll be here before long.
Did he come round here?
The policeman? Mr. Dalgleish?
Policeman?
Asking about Ronald.
Crampton.
He said Ronald told him about the fire in the church.
He said Ronald told him a lot of things.
I wondered if... if he...
What'd the policeman want?
There she is now, there's Karen.
What'd the policeman want?
He wanted to talk to me about Ronald,
about what I remembered.
Ronald. Yeah.
Did you say anything about me?
Mr. Dalgleish?
Ronald!
What sort of thing, Eric?
Eric.
Eric!
Come on, I'm freezing!
Where have you been? I've been trying to ring you.
They used to say
that you could hear the bells ringing beneath the waves.
The drowned churches.
The last call of a lost civilization.
Did you know Ronald Treeves?
I taught him Greek.
What about the coroner's verdict?
Can you really imagine him giving any other
with those four black-clad crows
glaring down at him from their perch every day?
Are you suggesting that the priests had some influence?
No, I'm making a joke.
But I have to say that if death can have an upside,
and let's face it, it can,
it had to be seeing cool and unruffled Sebastian so beside himself.
You don't like him? I don't like pomposity.
What about religion?
Not for me, either. What keeps you here?
There are pleasures to be had, even in this isolated life...
Walks on the beach amongst them.
I said I'd stop on the way for shopping.
You're always in a big panic about things these days.
You're getting like dad.
It's the way he looks at me.
Probably wondering why you're in such a bloody flap.
And there's a policeman.
Eric, chill out!
I'm here.
You're going to put me in a mood.
I'm here.
That's probably him. The policeman.
Well, he better watch where he's going.
You won't find any answers here now, commander Dalgleish.
No?
Matthew Crampton.
Is it Ronald Treeves you're investigating?
Murder, isn't it? Your specialism?
Is there some reason why I should tell you?
It might affect the plans for the future of the college.
It has a future, then?
You've been listening to rumors.
It breeds them, this place.
Removing paintings from the walls
might give rise to speculation.
I'm often accused of wanting to shut down St. Anselm's.
It's not me who'll inherit millions if it closes.
They haven't told you about Agnes Arbuthnot's will?
That they inherit what could amount to ł10 million,
the four priests in residence?
Sebastian, Martin, peregrine, John?
That they inherit the college and whatever its contents at the time of closure?
Clearly not.
In the matter of his first marriage,
the archdeacon was certainly unfortunate.
She was young, unstable, totally unsuited to her role.
And she was...
Was, or swiftly became, an alcoholic.
How did she die?
An overdose of aspirins, I believe.
Of course, Raphael is convinced that
the archdeacon administered them.
And you? What do you believe?
That it's between Crampton and his conscience,
I'm afraid.
Who's the beneficiary of Agnes Arbuthnot's will?
What on earth can that have to do with Ronald Treeves?
Me.
And the other three priests.
That is, if St. Anselm's closes.
And we do not intend to let that happen.
And Raphael?
Well, he's the direct descendant of our founder.
Sadly, illegitimate.
Agnes Arbuthnot's will states clearly that
the heir must be legitimate within english law.
So Raphael is and always will be...
A poor bastard.
Ruby.
You gave me a shock.
I saw you finish your run.
I thought, "he'll be ready with his laundry."
Thank you.
Barefoot in the breakers.
It's surely the poet I'm talking to now,
not the policeman.
What's that, a towel? You've come prepared.
Be my guest.
You're leaving today?
Yes, this afternoon.
I'll, um...
Probably be teaching, so...
That's a bit stupid. Um... We'll be walking up together.
I mean, if you're finished here.
Yes, I am.
The towel... aren't you going to use it now?
Um... no.
I... I thought I might swim, but...
What are you doing?!
- I... i spilled something!
Did you see him on the day he died?
Ronald? No, no...
It was the day that Karen, my sister,
was comin' up from London.
And I'm usually on the lookout for her on those days, so...
So, you would have seen him if he'd come this way?
No.
No, I don't think I would have, no.
My pride and joys.
Pride and joy. Whatever.
Do you slaughter them yourself?
No.
No, I couldn't slaughter a fly, least of all them.
A farmer I know does that.
Karen, this is commander Dalgleish.
He's lookin' into Ronald's...
I better shift this or I'm gonna get a note on my windscreen.
It's worse than Camden.
I've been asking your brother for his thoughts
on Ronald Treeves' death.
Lonely. That's what he looked like to me.
I'd have said suicide, but I can't say I really knew him.
You get an impression, though, don't you?
You know, from little things.
I'm a journalist, so I use all that.
Same as you, I suppose. Always trying to work people out.
And do you think that you worked Ronald Treeves out?
No, I'm just bullshitting. Hardly knew which one he was.
Ciao.
Mrs. Pilbeam's made you some porridge, Peter.
For god's sake!
How many times do I have to-!
I had the most incredible recollection yesterday
while I was talking to that policeman.
When you're better, I'll tell you all about it.
So you're time is up.
Yes.
Get back to the yard this afternoon.
I'm addressing a conference in Stockholm.
Goodness me.
British consul? Interpol.
Come back and see us when you can. I will.
I hope I've been the best man for the job here.
Well, you're familiar with the place,
you know our ways.
Someone coming in fresh might have been able
to differentiate better
between what was then and what's now.
Hello, father.
Clive Stannard.
Clive, this is... Adam Dalgleish.
Clive Stannard.
Research papers. Might look impressive,
but I'm only here for the wine cellar
and a weekend in the country, if you want to know the truth.
Excuse me.
Do you want a hand with all that stuff?
No, no, I'm fine.
I see him sometimes, Ronald.
The sand all in his eyes, his mouth...
Suffocated. Stifled.
Sometimes I think I'm cursed.
You were a good friend to Ronald,
perhaps the only one he had.
Is there anything else that's occurred to you since we spoke?
It doesn't matter how trivial. No, no.
Would you... Pray for me?
Shit!
Yes.
I'll be very glad to see the back of him...
So we can put that wretched incident behind us...
Once and for all.
It's you. I must have dropped off.
Father Martin!
Father! Father Martin!!!
"My dear Adam,
"seeing you again after so long
"has left me with many emotions.
"I feel a disproportionate
"and probably wholly misplaced pride
"in seeing what you've become.
"But I have a strong sense
"you're allowing your past
"to determine your present.
"Let an old man impress on you:
"This is a mistake.
"Our time on earth is limited, and we must spend it wisely.
"All my life I've stood by,
"taken the reasoned path,
"turned the other cheek.
"I didn't fight to keep the job I loved
"when Sebastian wanted it,
"though I knew I was the better warden.
"And now the whole college is under threat,
"and what do I do?
I pray."
In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost.
Amen.
I always thought god was on our side in this.
I'm beginning to wonder if he's on the archdeacon's.
"I feel a time is coming when only action
"will win the day.
"Forgive my temerity when I say
"that you must open yourself
"to the possibility of love
"and allow the acquiescence of the heart.
"To live always in grief and regret
"is to denigrate god's greatest gift.
"You will be as sorry as we all were
"to learn of the death of Margaret Monroe.
"She passed away peacefully the night you left
and is to be cremated."
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
and forgive us our trespass...
Forgive us our trespass...
Our father, which art in heaven, hallowed by thy name.
Thy kingdom come, they will be done,
on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
and forgive us our trespass...
No sign of a struggle?
The only struggle that took place
was between her and the ischemic attack.
It was brief and conclusive.
What about poisoning?
If I thought she'd been poisoned,
do you think I'd have pronounced death by natural causes?
I'm going to authorize an autopsy.
Are you calling me incompetent?
You expected her to die of a heart attack.
You may have been predisposed to find that she did.
I'm sorry, but it still sounds like
you're calling me incompetent.
Perhaps you're predisposed to hear that, as well.
Paranoid now, too, am I?
I'm also off-duty.
Adam! Who discovered the body, father?
Margaret Monroe... Who found her?
What...
I need to know, father.
Well, I... she... She died in her sleep, and...
Father, who found her?
Nothing whatsoever seemed odd or different?
Doesn't matter how silly or insignificant...
Please think very carefully, Mrs. Pilbeam.
Her glasses, that's all.
For knittin', she used to wear her readin' glasses.
If she was watchin' television, she'd wear her other ones.
And it was her other ones she had on?
It's probably nothing.
Couldn't she have been knitting
while she was watching television?
The cable knit for father Martin's cardigan was too complicated.
In any case, the television wasn't on.
What about the pattern... Was it on her lap?
Come to think of it, it wasn't.
"Father Martin was right.
"It has helped me, writing down all the details.
"Something important did happen,
and I need to make the account complete."
He's here again?
Shit.
Good morning. Eric?
The leeks that you gave to Margaret Monroe...
I'll get my sister. Karen!
No... I just wondered if you wrapped them yourself.
In the newspaper.
Can you recall what newspaper it would have been?
What is it? Good morning.
Can't you see the effect you have on him?
The newspaper that your brother used
to wrap the leeks he gave to Margaret Monroe?
He only buys one. The sole bay gazette,
and it couldn't have been this week's, 'cause that's in there.
So, last week's.
Sorry.
After you. Thank you.
Weekend exodus. Are you leaving too?
Not at the moment.
I've saved you the front seat.
Actually, I'm not leaving today.
Me, neither.
Really? friend coming.
See you at dinner, then.
He knows nothing, you know. Dalgleish.
Nothing about Ronald.
I saw him the day he died, running past the piggery.
He was in a state.
Did you mention it to the police?
Well, they asked whether I thought
he had any reason to commit suicide.
Running past the piggery didn't seem like a reason.
What the hell are you doing in here?!
Have you brought the papyrus?
Answer my question!
Why is Dalgleish here again?
I've been given the go-ahead by the diocese
for the removal of the first of the artworks.
Why do you hate us, archdeacon?
What is it that we've done that you find so very irksome?
I don't hate you, Sebastian.
But if you're looking for factors over and above
your lack of cost-effectiveness,
your elitism and your over-privileged status,
you might take a look at your untroubled saintliness,
a quality derived solely from absenting yourselves
from the grubby taint of reality.
And don't we send our priests out into grubby reality?
Armed with a talent for Greek translation
and a taste for expensive wine?
Then what are you offering? Worship at lower unit cost?
Churches decked out from Ikea,
St. Anselm's
sold off for a drug rehab unit?
The Crampton project, maybe?
Crammed full of alcoholics.
Would that secure your ascendance
in the bean-counter's hierarchy?
You're never called to account here, none of you.
You treat commander Dalgleish
as though he's trespassed on your person fiefdom.
Who knows what other corruption,
what secrets, you might be hiding?
Likewise, archdeacon...
Likewise.
"Before commander Dalgleish arrived,
"I'd been re-reading my account of finding Ronald's body.
"As I unwrapped the leeks,
"that scene on the shore was fresh in my mind.
"And then things came together as clear as a photograph,
"and I remembered every gesture,
"every word spoken... everything.
"Except the names.
"It was twelve years ago,
"but it could have been yesterday.
"I knew that I must tell the person most concerned.
"Once I had done that, I would keep silent.
Two hours ago, I told what I knew."
You must stay tonight.
I'm afraid I've requested an autopsy on Margaret Monroe.
You must do as you see fit, Adam.
What will be, will be.
In Margaret's journal she talks about a secret,
about talking to "the person most concerned."
That wasn't you?
Well, no.
Did you know she used to work at ashcombe house
before she came here?
It's where Raphael's mother died. Clara.
Yes, at different times, I think, Adam.
She asked me to pray for her.
And did you?
No.
Good day for it.
You don't get this in London.
When I'm here...
Of course, I don't know how welcome I am at the moment.
Father Martin thinks the world of you.
He speaks very highly of you, too.
We's orphans in the storm.
Are you?
An orphan?
I lost my mother young,
and a sister... my father loved far more than me.
Car crash.
Conversation-stopper, isn't it?
I thought I might as well put it in a nutshell.
Why?
I don't know, really.
Maybe I thought I'd seen the last of you too.
What's your nutshell? Have you got one?
I don't suppose you came down here to be interrogated.
No, no, you...
Surprised me, that's all.
My being here? Or my question?
Both.
You give a good impression of a man immune to surprise.
Do I?
I imagine it might spill over from your work.
The temptation must be to keep your private life on predictable lines.
I don't know if you know very much about my private life.
I suppose I'm guessing.
And perhaps I shouldn't be.
I was going to come and see you.
I made my mind up sitting here.
Raphael said he saw Ronald Treeves
in a state of distress the day he died,
running towards the beach.
I don't think he told you.
No, he didn't.
Then I'm glad I did.
That nutshell...
You lost your wife. Father Martin told me.
In childbirth...
And the baby.
I thought perhaps I was ready to say it myself.
I think it's going to rain.
Come on, we'll get soaked.
I have to go now, Mr. Stannard.
So, if you'd like to borrow the book?
I'll read it here.
No stone left unturned, clive?
Raphael.
Have you put Yarborough off?
Can't reach him.
Have you told him archdeacon Crampton is going to be here?
I told you, I can't reach him.
And he is talking about taking the altar piece.
He can't do that.
He can't just start ripping stuff off the walls!
Then get hold of Yarborough.
Keep him away.
I had told inspector Yarborough he could use this set,
now I find that you're back, I told them that you get priority.
Though I don't really know why you should.
Now Emma lavenham's staying, too.
If everyone gave notice of their comings and goings,
none of this would be necessary.
There's plenty of rooms where I am.
I'll sleep up there. Please, it's fine.
Don't start changing everything!
Are you staying, inspector? We need to talk. I am.
Anybody else anyone would care to invite?
A male voice choir, perhaps?
Are you sure you're gonna be okay up there? Yeah, fine.
Roger's had some setbacks, but he's on the mend.
He's been a great help to me.
I just want to get back to work.
I'm trying hard to hang onto my faith, commander.
The spiritual atmosphere here, it helps... the peace.
Can't say there's much chance of peace with the archdeacon here.
The archdeacon?
Crampton?
It'd do you good to face up to the man, Roger.
Is that wise, putting them together?
Kill or cure.
Who invited that man here?
Which man?
You know which man... Yarborough! I've just seen him!
I didn't invite him.
You didn't prevent it.
He was suspended from the force, did you know that?
Because of the way he treated me?
Hounding me with his allegations when Barbara died.
Hounding me beyond all reason.
Inspector Yarborough is in need...
Of retreat.
The gloves are off, is that it?
How else to dirty my hands?
It's you, isn't it?
You that's behind this.
Speak to me, boy!
He was like a father to me... Before.
John betterton?
It would never have got to court if you hadn't pushed for it.
He pleaded guilty.
He pleaded guilty so that those boys wouldn't have to perjure themselves.
Is that what he told you? I spoke to them.
After he went to prison, I spoke to them.
They as good as admitted they'd made it up. Rubbish.
Do you think I wouldn't know if he was a pedophile?
I think you would know, yes.
He's an innocent! That's all!
Or he was until you got hold of him!
You did it for your own sick reasons,
your own sick conscience at the guilt of killing your wife!
Say that again, and you'll never be ordained.
Be sure of it.
None of us will need further exhortation
to pray once more for our dear friend
Margaret Monroe.
In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost.
Amen.
Sorry I'm late.
You've surely exhausted our humble library by now, clive.
A true scholar always finds more than meets the eye.
Be seated, please.
And feel free to talk.
We are dispensing with the reading.
No, we're not.
He is certainly very well aware that I do not drink that.
Ruby, would you be so kind as to fetch the archdeacon...
A soft drink of his choice?
This is the first chapter from Anthony trollope's barchester towers.
"Archdeacon grantly sits beside the bed of his dying father.
Get me some water.
"In the latter days of July in the year 1850,
"the most important question was for ten days hourly asked
"in the cathedral city of barchester,
"and answered every hour in various ways.
Who was to be the new bishop?"
There's going to be trouble in there.
"Thus he thought long and sadly
"in deep silence,
"and then gazed at that still-living face.
"And then, at last, dared to ask himself
whether he really longed for his wife's..."
I'm sorry... "...His father's death."
Enough!
You think that's me?
You think that speaks to me?
Is that what you all think?
That those words will break me down?
That any words spoken in this... this...
slough of depravity and insinuation will Pierce me?
You don't know me, boy.
None of you do.
Keep your food. I have sustenance enough.
May the lord god almighty Grant us a quiet night...
And a perfect end.
- Amen. - amen.
I was talking to a young priest last week,
newly ordained.
He'd recently had cause to call at the old vicarage,
a six-bedroomed house, detached.
Three of four years ago, before it was sold to raise money,
it would have been his home.
He lives in a small semi on a new estate nearby.
He said to me, "archdeacon,
"if I was living in that huge old house,
I don't think I could look my parishioners in the eye."
That young priest is the future of our church.
A church that will not survive to meet the needs
of a violent, troubled,
and increasingly unbelieving century
unless it returns to the fundamentals of the faith.
A church...
...that will not survive
unless it descends from its ivory tower
and embraces the truth of the gospel...
Embraces the people as it finds them...
Embraces life as it is lived.
I thought you'd be gone after compline.
The storm. And Yarborough's here.
You're staying?
I'll read you to sleep.
But will you stay all night?
You killed her.
You killed her!
Look at you... Skulking in the shadows.
You forced the tablets down her, and the wine,
and then you wiped the bottle clean!
You killed her!
You're an empty shell.
Your career's in shreds, your nerves are shot...
What's left for you?
You killed her!
I won't be defeated.
I will not!
Say you will.
Say it.
I will.
Say it. I will.
Barbara?
Barbara!
God forgive me.
Crampton.
Where are you?!
Unh!
Forgive us our trespasses...
Dear god, help me!
God...
Come away, father.
You can come away. It's all right.
God! what have we done?
He won't come away.