(DOG BARKING IN DISTANCE) (HOOVES PATTERING) (HORSE WHINNIES) (DOOR OPENING) (BLOWS) (DOOR OPENING) (DOOR OPENING) (FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING) (SIGHS) (BIRD CAWING) (DOOR OPENS) (SCREAMING) (THEME MUSIC PLAYING) REID: Mathilda, you'll be late.

Til...

Wait.

Have you been sat here this whole night?

What is this robs you of your rest?

Vampires?

Really?

Go.

Ready yourself.

(SIGHS) When the Count comes to London, he makes his lair in Whitechapel.

Like you.

Croker!

She's gone.

What are you, simple?

You're there to keep lookout, you goddamn imbecile.

Careful now, Captain.

Your lady is no rash girlie.

I doubt she now rows a skiff to Dunkerque.

She will not be far.

You'd best hope he's right.

(INDISTINCT TALKING) Jesus Christ, Caitlin.

Have you lost your mind?

I woke.

I reached for my son.

And my son was not there.

He is safe and he is cared for.

And he will be yours again.

It's just time, darlin'.

The biding of it is all.

(INDISTINCT TALKING) Ah, Inspector Drake.

Inspector Reid.

It is the new cold stores, sir.

It's this way.

REID: They may keep meat for six months before it spoils.

Six months?

Who wants mutton that's half a year old?

(DOOR CREAKS OPEN) DRAKE: God's teeth.

-Jackson?

-Jackson.

(SIGHS) Oh, the American, sir?

Yeah, I've...

I've banged that drum, Mr. Drake.

Ordered that the, er, carbon lights to be brought here also.

The man learns.

The hanging man's wrists are bound.

There's someone else restrained here, therefore.

This their spray, a lot of it, too.

-Mr. Thatcher!

-Yeah.

Whoever sat here was either spirited away or left on their own engine.

If the latter, having lost this weight of blood, they will not have gone far.

I'll have the men pick the market clean, sir.

-You do that, Sergeant.

-Yeah.

Skin penetrated at the jugular and the radial beneath the bicep.

This?

It's another lancing.

Older, however.

Less precise instrument.

And that's what killed him?

The blood-letting?

No, ligature marks.

He was strangled, killed, and only then is his blood let.

To what end, however?

The blood is the end.

This poor bastard's cadaver's been exsanguinated.

Every last droplet siphoned out of him.

Why, do you suppose?

(PANTING) The other party bound to that chair, she is found, sirs.

Get more.

Get everything.

REID: Another puncture wound.

Same method?

No ligature marks, however.

She was alive while they tried to siphon blood from her.

THATCHER: But escaped.

She held her neck.

She hoped to staunch the blood flow even as she ran for her life.

(SIGHS) Tonsillar pillar, inner mucus membrane undamaged.

No hemorrhaging of the capillaries.

Third and fourth.

Oh!

And so?

What more?

What do you think this is?

A crystal ball?

Did you find the other?

Young woman.

Puncture wound here.

No strangulation, however.

Well, have Thatcher bring them home.

I need my knives.

Where do you go?

About my work, Drake.

(GRUNTS) The hematoma about the man's neck is from a rope.

The insides of his cheeks are unbitten, there are no burst capillaries in his eyes, therefore he's not strangled.

His neck is fractured clean at the third and fourth cervical vertebrae and he is at least, er, 120 pounds.

-Do you see where I'm going yet, Doctor?

-(GRUNTS) Such a break on the neck of a man of such weight, that's a drop of, er, seven feet, at least.

Professional work.

The kind of work that puts me in mind of you, Probyn.

Standing over your hangman's recent execution, pronouncing them dead.

That's, er, impressive police work, Captain.

Yet, no policeman, you.

I wonder, have you shared your expert imaginings with your friends on Leman Street?

No?

I wonder why that might be, if not because you fear what I might choose to tell them.

Do you not recall my promise to you?

Or is it that you doubt my sincerity?

Now will you assist in my inquiry or won't you?

Which recently hanged cadavers have you seen diverted from burial pits, no longer than two days past?

(SIGHS) (GUN COCKS) Two details.

His name.

And where you sent him.

Meet Percival Monks.

Staved his mother-in-law's head in with a fire iron, got the rope for his troubles.

Newgate hanged him yesterday.

Sent his body to the London Hospital for evisceration.

How have you done this, Jackson?

Just merely read the signs, Inspector.

Now, are we moving on or do you wish me to showboat further?

No, no.

Please move on.

Scorbutic tongue.

Teeth as loose as the keys on a saloon piano.

Drake?

Scurvy.

Privations suffered on a migrant's passage, perhaps.

Polish.

Prayer card.

St. Mark 3: 11.

Curious it is in English.

St. Mark what?

3: 11.

Here we are.

"And unclean spirits when they saw him, fell down before him..." There's more here, however.

You see here, this is indigo staining, and here, that's the mottled scarring of seamstress needles.

She had been sweated.

That would be my assumption.

Polish Catholics are only recently so visible in this city.

Their...

The numbers are not so swollen that finding one such from a Whitechapel sweatshop should be beyond us.

DRAKE: Might you say what made an end to her, Jackson?

I am at a loss, Drake.

Genuinely.

It is not the blood-letting that done for her, then?

No, not at all.

In point of fact, she ain't been bled at all.

Can you account for the blood that covered her?

I cannot.

The sole wound on her, it's the exact same puncturing to the neck with the same instrument, but it's not been used to drain her.

On the contrary, she's, er, well, replete.

As we discussed, perhaps it is not the end that is germane.

It is not the end, but the means.

This is a clean wound, is it not?

There's nothing savage.

It is precise.

One might even say skilled.

And whether it is drained or not, it is the blood that is of chief interest here.

Why preserve a dead thing?

What is it happens to blood when it decays, Captain?

It clots.

Does it not?

Unless you keep it cold, Reid.

Puncture wounds administered with skill and with clean instruments.

An act carried out in the full knowledge of a clinical need for refrigeration.

DRAKE: Such as the cold store at the meat market.

This man, this executed cadaver, the recent property, we are told, of the London Hospital, it is a medical stripe of man we search for.

Mr. Reid, I do not forget what the place once meant to you.

But would you take a turn round to the London this afternoon?

See how it is they misplaced this corpse.

I shall, Inspector.

DRAKE: I shall pay a visit to our Polish community.

Sergeant Thatcher...

Yes.

You and I are out to kick some rocks over.

DRAKE: She's a Polish woman.

Twenty years old.

(WOMEN WHISPERING) Have a look at her photograph here.

You see.

Murdered not half a mile from here.

Does she not have one friend who would speak for her?

(COUGHS) Will you not look, miss?

(SPEAKING POLISH) I'm sorry, miss.

I don't speak Polish.

(WOMAN COUGHING) Why will you not look, miss?

WOMAN: Please, sir.

You need to talk with the foreman.

Pardon me, miss.

This wound needs attention.

Will you let us see to it?

No.

I have made no request for your help.

Now, please.

The foreman will return, I must work.

To hell with your wretched foreman, miss.

-You're coming with us.

-(SPEAKING POLISH) Come on, calm down.

Agniezka.

This was her name.

A friend?

Our mothers were.

She was given an address where to find me.

I...

I helped her find work.

Pardon me, miss.

Has she not left word of where she was going?

She just vanished, you say?

If she had left word, it would not have been a vanishing, would it?

Now please, I must leave.

Or there will be no work when I return.

I will starve, and that will be on your conscience, Inspector.

Uh-uh-uh.

No, miss.

You will not talk to me of conscience.

That girl down there looked to you for leading.

Seems to me you led her nowhere but her death.

Now, you wish to leave us, you will speak to me.

Or I will arrest you, miss.

Put you in a cell and forget for why.

(BREATHES SHAKILY) She said only that she had been asked to meet a man.

A man who said that she had only to come with him and she would be paid 1000 times over what she would make with a needle in her hand.

She was to sell herself?

Spread her legs for money, you mean?

No, I did... (STAMMERING) I asked...

But that was not it.

She swore to me.

(SIGHS) It must be that she was robbed.

Killed for the money she earned.

No, miss.

It wasn't a robbing of her that caused her death.

There was a good deal too much trouble taken for that.

Then if you, a policeman, do not know, I cannot see how I, a seamstress, can help you.

Now, may I return to see if I have been discharged from my work?

See her returned.

Yes, Inspector.

The sight of blood frighten you, Drummond?

Not in small amounts, Captain.

(CHUCKLES) Well...

It frightens some, however.

It's an instinctive phobia.

It's an inescapable a part of any man as... Well, as his blood itself.

You know where Wyoming is, Drummond?

It is in America, I imagine.

Take a prize.

There's big mountains there.

And big, high mountain passes full of virgin snow.

And I saw a man, friend of mine, as it goes.

A Comanche brave put a hunting knife through his guts before I could get a shot off.

And my friend died.

(HEART BEATING) And I'm a doctor, understand, so... Well the...

The impotence of it... All I could do was watch his blood spread through the ice... A white world made red.

Miss Mathilda!

Your visits are a ray of sunshine.

Here, come, sit, join me.

I am eager to know what latest there is concerning Samuel Drummond.

-Have you now spoken with him?

-I have.

-But he is, I believe, bashful.

-(CHUCKLES) And timidity, so the world insists, is the preserve of our sex.

You seek to draw him out then?

I seek to know him a little.

What might make him sad, or happy, or excited, or afraid.

There are means by which you might discover such, Mathilda.

It is no magic, merely offer him the opportunity to know something of yours.

Show him something about which you might own a passion.

See if then he might share his thoughts on it with you.

That is wise council, thank you.

There is no one else with whom I might share such questions.

-Not your father?

-No.

-Do you travel somewhere, Miss Castello?

-Paris.

It is no gentle tour however, but work of a sort.

A story, hunted down.

Is it related to that photograph you take with you?

Of the man who was my father's friend?

Who that?

Mr. Isaac Bloom and the man, the Rabbi Rutowski who all thought was killed by Isaac Bloom.

He lived in Paris, did he not?

And how would you know such things, Mathilda Reid?

(SIGHS) My father keeps some of his work at home.

On occasion, I'm interested to read it.

Mathilda, there are few women who will tell you this, but one of the greatest qualities we might own, is that of disobedience.

(BOTH LAUGH) -(INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS) -(PATIENT COUGHING) TREVES: My thanks, Martins.

Yesterday, you say?

Yes, the name Monks, as I have it.

No, as you see, no such name.

No, indeed.

-A wasted visit, then.

-Oh, never that, Mr. Reid.

Mr. Treves, tell me, the cadaver whose origin I seek, we have him currently.

He was found, perhaps one day after his Newgate execution.

His neck punctured, his body inverted and it entirely exsanguinated.

At the fringes of medical practice, to take blood and then preserve it, what purpose can you imagine for such an action?

Knowledge.

To know.

Blood is life.

How might that life be taken, preserved, handed on.

Mr. Treves.

I always recommend a smoke when you're two pints down.

Never known a head-rush like it.

Ah, Inspectors.

You come for some answers and now I have a few.

(INHALES SHARPLY) Your, er, your lady there...

Her name was Agniezka.

Ah.

Well, now I know her name and what killed her.

And so?

It's organ collapse.

Almost total, internal collapse.

Heart, kidneys, bladder, liver.

The cause of their failure, it's a corruption in her blood.

Come, see.

Now, you know what hemoglobin is, Reid, I assume that?

It is the compound which carries oxygen through the blood to the organs.

Ever-eager student, this one.

Now, this is Angiezka's blood, take a look.

Her blood ain't carrying nothing nowhere.

-Thus the organ failure.

-JACKSON: Now... Have you bled the whole division?

Save you two, almost.

Now I take two different samples.

Reid, make a comparison.

-It is clotting.

-JACKSON: Mm-hmm.

The men's blood meet and corrupt.

Do we say then, that the blood that covered her as she ran, it was not hers?

But his piped from him into her through the puncture in her neck.

Only she feels her body rebel the panic of it, and runs.

But why?

Why do this?

The care taken, it cannot be for cruelty, for death alone.

Even a vampire inflicts death so that he may live.

But what if two men's blood does not always corrupt.

Now what if my blood is somehow different from yours but akin to Drake's?

-As if I don't have troubles enough.

-Thatcher here, for example.

Now, I mixed his blood with, er, your hanging man there, Monk's.

Now take a look.

It prospers.

Thatcher... Thatcher, you... You are a match for him.

So, together they make life.

This earlier lancing you identified, Captain...

The puncture wound infected.

Could this be the means by which a... A sampling took place?

The preselecting of a correlating blood match.

Inspector Drake, the, er...

The wound I bound on the girl, Magdalena, it is the same infection.

Do we... Do we say perhaps that Magdalena's was the match?

And not Agniezka.

Who has no such infected wounds.

Did she go in Magdalena's stead, therefore?

Her blood, no match.

It corrupted.

And her death brought down.

And this man, Monks here, this sampling could only have happened before his execution for the blood to be alive.

Mr. Drummond, run a records search.

Magdalena Dobrowski, 23.

I expect you'll find she's spent some time behind the walls of Newgate.

It is curious, this, Captain, but Mr. Treves' records show no transfer of this man's cadaver from Newgate to the London.

Oh.

We must assume your source corrupted also?

(TELEPHONE RINGING) Drummond.

Yes.

Thank you.

Four months, for the theft of bread.

You find that girl, you bring her back.

I imagine we are to Newgate, Inspector.

Quite so, Mr. Reid.

Oh, Jackson, best you come too.

Introduce us to that source of yours.

You lied to me, Probyn.

Who did you pass Percival Monks' cadaver to, sir?

Er, the disposal of prison remains is very far from my responsibility, Inspector.

The London Hospital is where such cadavers are, under normal circumstances, sent.

If one has gone astray, then it has not done so from within my remit.

Where is it you keep your needles, Doctor?

You have the key about you?

Your instruments are much used, sir.

Blunted, in fact.

I am provided with but a modest stipend, Mr. Reid.

I'm sure.

Mr. Monks had a needle-fester wound on his arm.

Here, in the crook of his elbow.

Polish woman, Magdalena Dobrowski, likewise, Doctor.

So to what end, such needling, Doctor?

(STAMMERS) In...

In an enclosed environment, er, such as this, outbreaks of disease are all too common.

My... My duty would be neglected if I did not attempt to contain them by inoculation.

And this?

If you please?

No, sir.

No.

I...

I will not be so suspected.

I am a doctor.

My entire life given to the care of... Of these incarcerate wrecks and villains.

I...

I will have some respect, damn it!

Oops.

(PANTING) Magdalena?

Magdalena?

(SPEAKING POLISH) Magdalena!

Where is she?

(SHOUTS) Where is she?

As I had it, Frank, you were tasked to return in company, not alone.

Drum, do you wish me to take that reading machine of yours and bury it in your head?

Not overly, Sergeant.

Then stop being a lob and tell me where they put Probyn.

Hello?

Please.

I have come as asked.

-(GRUNTS) -(WHIMPERING) Where?

Where?

-You tell me where she is.

-(DOOR OPENING) (GRUNTS) -Explain yourself, son!

-She's gone, sir.

-Who has?

-Magdalena is gone.

Get out!

Captain Jackson to attend an injury in the cells, immediately.

PROBYN: Who do you think I am?

Some drunken navy?

I am not.

(BREATHES HEAVILY) I'll have your warrant cards for this.

What if I took blood from our inmates?

Is there a law that says I cannot?

No.

I am a public servant.

No, sir.

You are an accessory to murder.

You have no option but to release me, and you know it.

Well, let me patch you up at least before you go, huh?

(GRUNTS) (PANTING) (GRUNTS IN PAIN) No.

Er, they do not improve your health, I believe.

[no audio] Probyn.

What does?

(GROANING) (GRUNTS) It's superficial.

You'll live.

-(GASPS) -No.

You do her the honor of looking at her.

I thought you were a doctor, Probyn.

That such sights were humdrum.

(WINCING) Then why the discomfort unless you, er... You feel some responsibility for her?

(SCREAMING) Sorry.

It's the rubbing alcohol.

My mistake, still there are worse mistakes to suffer, wouldn't you say?

By way of example, a transfusion experiment on a girl with the wrong blood!

-(WINCING) -Now, you matched Magdalena and Monks!

-I did.

I did... -At whose instruction?

A name.

He was French, I believe.

He did not give it.

Well, what did he give you?

Money, and the promise of more.

And we know how motivated you are by that currency, aren't we?

It was for the saving of a child, his child.

And he was a doctor, correct?

I mean, he would have to be to attempt such a thing but he needed to employ another, such as yourself, Probyn.

Did he... Did he say he'd been struck off or... No.

Er, but I...

I imagined it so.

You know, Probyn, I think me and you may yet escape this particular pickle in one piece.

CROKER: I never had a daughter, you know?

I should have liked one, however.

SUSAN: And what benefit do you imagine she might have carried?

No ship's head was ever made from the figure of a man.

(BOTH CHUCKLE) She would have been pleasing to have about the place, is all.

A kind word, a pot of coffee.

Sons do not offer such.

They do not.

They are altogether more bother.

The man, Nathaniel, -he's yours?

-My responsibility, I feel, if not my blood.

You?

You have a child?

(CHUCKLES) I do not believe you would allow me to rest here ignorant of who I am.

(CROKER CHUCKLING) Or my monstrous crimes.

Certainly that is true.

They do not trouble you?

The crimes?

Should they?

There is, erm, one blacker, it felt blacker, I mean, in my heart.

Oh, believe me, child, many's the fellow to have lost his life on my account.

You be calm on this score.

Mine is not a place of judgement or justice.

I leave such refined notions to others.

REID: Scotland yard, the British Medical Association, the French Confederation Gendarmerie Nationale.

All that have been barred in the last three years, say.

Suggestion for the cause as such barring as illegal transfusion of bloods.

Yes, Mr. Reid.

Do no harm.

It is the first and most abiding maxim at which you practice by.

And yet you have done plenty, Captain.

I have seen it.

Only when sorely pressed.

And never to a soul that didn't have it coming.

You had a moral imperative.

You want to call it that, I did.

This man, likewise.

A child, his child.

No sin too great to save her, I imagine.

Perhaps you know how he feels, Reid.

Drum?

I'm sure I saw a bottle back here, somewhere.

-You hope to get a little reading, are you, Sergeant?

-(COUGHS) No.

No...

I mean, well, yes.

At a quiet moment.

Dracula.

The evil Transylvanian count, because all foreigners are dangerous predators, set on the parasitic cannibalism of our young women.

I shall see this returned then, shall I, Sergeant?

Yes, I would, erm, a... A kind thought, Inspector.

(TELEGRAPH CLICKING) Is that...

It is, sir.

French police, there is a pursued felon, sir.

Thus the urgency of their response.

And his crime?

His wife... (TELEGRAPH CONTINUES CLICKING) ...found bled out in their Paris home.

And neither he nor their daughter seen since.

And his name, Drummond?

Blanchard.

Tristan.

Forty-eight.

His wife?

Why would he perform the same experiments on his wife?

Perhaps she was sick also?

REID: With the same disease?

An inherited disease of the blood.

Hemophilia?

That can be bad but it can be managed with skill and care...

Worse, then.

Rarer.

Incurable, even.

Porphyria?

It's the discoloration of the teeth, anemia, photosensitivity, breakdown of the bones.

One might consider it a moral imperative to seek to spare a child from such suffering.

Thatcher!

How's your French, Sergeant?

-Worse than my Polish, sir.

-Then simply shout louder.

Get a hansom to Albert Gate, the French Embassy.

Wake them.

Do not leave until they have provided you with full photographic details of this man.

Blanchard.

Miss Dobrowski.

I am relieved to finally meet you in person.

I did not mean to deceive you, sir.

Before, I mean.

When you sent another, in your name?

Hmm?

She who is now gone.

I made a sacrifice for her greater need...

The only mercy is that it was a final trial, else you would now also have the sacrifice of my daughter's life on your conscience.

Your life transformed, hmm?

In return for the transformation of my Camille.

They moaned a good deal, sir.

This is because they are French.

But as Mr. Reid suggested, I shouted and they soon packed up their moaning.

That is also down to their being French.

May I, Inspector?

This man.

I have met this man.

It begins now, my Camille.

Hmm?

(CLATTERING) JACKSON: He'll need a theater.

With me, with me.

JACKSON (WHISPERING): Hey, stop.

We can't just go in there and thunder with our irons out.

You tell us why not.

What he does in there is delicate.

We jump him, it goes bad.

They start to bleed out, they won't stop, understand?

Let me talk to him, Drake.

Surgeon to surgeon.

Go.

Has she lost consciousness yet?

Who are you?

Hmm?

And what do you want?

Has the board of this fine hospital approved the carrying out of discredited medicine by fugitive outlaws?

What are you?

Police?

Just another physician, of sorts.

I performed the autopsy on the other girl.

Saw what catastrophe this science caused to her organs.

(GROANING) It's okay, darlin'.

Shh, shh, shh, it's okay.

BLANCHARD: Well, then you know, hmm?

Death was the result of a... An opportunistic falsehood.

This girl will come to no harm.

You take all of her blood, sir.

She's gonna die.

Now I expect you didn't tell her that when you struck this deal?

Who is this man, Father?

No, no, no, no, no.

Be still, my Camille.

Be still.

You trust in me?

Yes.

Rest.

Close your eyes.

You can't save her.

You can't.

Even if this transfusion is completed, the symptoms will only regress for a while.

Whatever it is.

There's no way yet on earth found to alter those cards.

BLANCHARD: No!

You step back.

What do you know?

You judge me but any father would do the same.

This is my life's work.

She will recover, she will transform.

She will live.

Gentle, sir.

I beg you.

Do not do this.

BLANCHARD: As you wish, sir.

Reid!

Drake!

Get in here!

Get after him!

Thatcher.

You're with me.

I need your help, man!

There's too much blood, there's too much goddamn blood.

We're going to have to try a vessel ligation.

Hand me those forceps.

For Christ's sakes, man.

Right there.

Forceps!

Got it.

If I can clamp the vessel, that might buy us enough time.

Come on, Magdalena.

Stay back!

How can I let her suffer?

Without me, what hope does she have?

DRAKE: There is always hope, sir.

None.

In heaven she will know the love of her mother.

Such love, sir.

All that you are, put to the protecting of her.

I do not believe you will now do this thing.

(BREATH SHUDDERING) God damn it!

It's too late, she's lost too much.

We've lost her, Thatcher.

No, no, no.

Look, Captain, take mine.

Remember?

If I...

If I was the match for the hanging man, then I'm also a match for her, am I not?

-Thatcher, you son of a bitch.

-Yeah.

Hold tight, girl.

Frankie Thatcher's coming for you.

(SIGHS) (SOBS) My Camille, I have failed you.

(SOBBING) PROBYN: I, er, served for a time in Alexandria.

Ah.

And grew fond of the blend there?

Quite so.

I was not misinformed, then?

You do have access to the Egyptian brand of tobacco I favor?

It has taken me an age to hunt down a supplier.

(CHUCKLES) Well, you may rest gentle, sir.

That hunt is now behind you.

Mister...?

His name's Probyn.

Not a tobacconist, then?

No.

He is a doctor.

The Newgate doctor.

I am relieved of my duties now, however.

How have you found me?

How?

I am shocked you asked.

That husband of yours stalking back into my life with his threats.

It is his colleague has me reported and deprived of my work.

Two hundred pounds.

Otherwise my own further harm or no, your secret will be told and that wretch son of yours will never see your spiteful little face again.

Abel, I think, on reflection, you should not.

CROKER: For why?

Naught but a dome-headed sack of jelly, this one.

No threat, certainly.

And I cannot believe he will be missed.

I shall tell you for why, Abel.

Between first and second rib, is it not?

It is, my dear.

Oop.

(BLOOD SQUELCHING) (CHOKES) Nate!

Two rocks and a tarpaulin, if you please.

Speak to me of my son, would you?

Here.

Here, here, sit.

Brandy.

Here.

Fit for a king.

Had the French not done away with such things as kings.

(WHISPERS) What am I, Abel?

Why, a princess.

(GRUNTS SOFTLY) How now.

-(SOBS) -Why do you weep?

Not for him, surely.

No.

The other.

The dark secret I spoke of.

The last definite death by my hand.

And who he?

My father.

It was my father.

I killed my father.

(SOBBING) (SOLEMN MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES OUT)