HACKMAN: Tanner!

Yes!

Yes!

Work, work with him!

Tanner!

Try my boy!

Run!

WREN: Tanner!

Cross it!

On me!

Tanner, now!

Tanner!

Tanner!

(WHISTLE BLOWING) (CROWD CHEERING) (INDISTINCT SHOUTING) WREN: That was mine, you greedy wanker.

Come on, Will.

We got the goal, didn't we?

You got it.

(THUDS) (INDISTINCT SHOUTING) (WHISTLE BLOWING) (THEME MUSIC PLAYING) (INDISTINCT CHATTERING) Now, I know it ain't mint juleps at the Savoy, or a waltzin' at the Holborn, but I figured it was the next best thing.

Ooh!

(BOTH LAUGH) Maybe go easy on the waltzin'.

(SIGHS) Thank you for this, Matthew.

You know I can't abide a caged bird.

(CHUCKLES) (INDISTINCT CHATTERING) Ain't it always been this, though?

Life in the shadows.

The world shaking its sweet glitter, just out of reach.

We've got to get out of here.

I know.

What, Matthew?

You know that I'd throw the dice with you any day, Caitlin.

You know that.

Me and you, we run till the stars burn out.

For better or worse.

We chose this life.

But the boy, he didn't.

This ain't the life I want for Connor.

With Drake, the boy has a home.

He's safe, he's loved.

I love him.

(SIGHS) We will go to the ends of the earth, Matthew.

So far that no one will ever come looking.

This isn't just you and me anymore.

We are a family.

And I will not leave without my son.

(INDISTINCT CHATTERING) HACKMAN: What business, sirs?

Are you foreman here?

Felix Hackman.

Who asks it?

This way... Charlie Tanner.

He worked for you?

He does.

Except he's late today.

Mr. Hackman, Charlie Tanner is dead.

He's, er... Charlie?

Found in his room.

Beaten.

With a hammer.

DRAKE: He was well known to you?

Well enough.

Took on Charlie Tanner some 10 years past.

Was a muck-scrap.

A street-runt.

Filching pockets and sucking gin like it was mother's milk.

These Ironworks forged a man of him.

And do you often recruit such muck-scraps to your foundry?

We take in all sorts at the Ironworks.

Give them purpose.

Discipline.

Teach them honest work and temperance.

-REID: Temperance?

-Oh, I insist on it, sir.

None of my boys is weak for grape nor grain.

They live, work, sport as men of iron.

DRAKE: You train the football team here?

HACKMAN: I do.

DRAKE: I've seen your boys play.

Reckon they might take the lead this year?

Yeah.

Saint Sebastian?

HACKMAN: The patron saint of athletes.

Didn't watch over Charlie, though, did he?

Charlie Tanner was my best ironsmith and my best player.

Would all these men speak so highly of him?

Groups of young men are seldom without their grudges and rivalries, Mr. Hackman.

HACKMAN: None of my boys would do in Charlie.

He was their brother.

He was a hero in this foundry.

DRAKE: Even so.

We will need to speak to them.

HACKMAN: You heard the Inspector.

Any of you know aught that might help him?

WREN: Them Gasworks bastards!

(WORKERS AGREEING) What's that, lad?

The Gasworks.

They've always hated us.

(WORKERS AGREEING) We beat them every time then they try to batter us.

(INDISTINCT CHATTERING) Me and Charlie get it the worst, for being the best.

(ALL LAUGHING) HACKMAN: Wren's right.

We played the Gasworks Athletic yesterday.

There was a fracas.

You'd do well to bang up all them animals.

(WORKERS AGREEING) HACKMAN: Right.

Back to work.

Iron don't forge itself.

Here, a register of names.

And that lad, who spoke up just now?

Yeah, Wilbur Wren.

Gower?

Thomas Gower?

REID: Not an uncommon name, Thomas Gower.

-True enough.

-But why should the Gower we knew who killed as a boy, and only escaped the rope by our mercy, return to Whitechapel?

Whitechapel has a way of drawing back those who thought it left behind.

Does it not, Mr. Reid?

Thomas Gower?

Sir.

(LAUGHS) It is you.

Wasn't sure you'd recall me.

Oh, I recall you often, wondering if you'd thank me or curse me for putting you on that ship.

Whether the army had made you or destroyed you.

Lance Corporal Gower, Sergeant.

British South Africa Company.

We're a long way from South Africa.

Honorable Discharge.

Even gave me a medal.

What you done for me, both of you, sirs, it changed me.

Let us hope so.

The man ain't the boy.

You should be proud of yourself, lad.

REID: Was Charlie Tanner a friend of yours?

Not so much.

Football lot stick with their own.

He was decent, though, Charlie Tanner, I hope you do right by him.

Now, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say Tanner was maybe killed by a hammer.

You know, to the... Head.

Ah, some days I can't believe they pay me for this.

Thatcher.

Get to the Gasworks.

I want a list of names on the football team and everyone watching the match.

Yes, sir.

REID: This hammered footballer, -you used your fingerprint method?

-Yeah, I'm getting to it.

Better school up, Reid.

(SLOSHING) Don't worry, Benito, I ain't getting any ideas.

You just do your job, man.

I miss the days we used to push him around.

Take a seat, lad.

Come on.

There's things you should hear, Sergeant.

But I...

I could not speak out at the factory.

Well, you may speak in this room as you like, lad.

Charlie and Wilbur Wren, see...

They played on the team together.

Both strikers but, they was at each other always.

Wilbur hated being in Charlie's shadow.

He's good, see, but, Charlie was always better.

And then at the Gasworks game it all went off.

Wilbur went for Charlie like an animal.

Now Charlie's gone, Wilbur ain't in his shadow no more.

He'll be skipper of the Ironworks.

Hackman spoke nought of this.

All Hackman cares about is the team.

He lives for it.

DRAKE: Send a constable.

I want Wilbur Wren brought in.

Thomas.

Thank you.

Wait, lad.

My wife is cooking pie tonight.

Pigeon.

And, um, well, we've room at our table.

Thank you, Mr. Drake.

CROKER: ...two, three... (CRATE SLIDING OPEN) There's no mention of Mulberry silk in your manifest, Abel.

Some things do not need manifesting, my old girl.

Liberated, is it?

From Her Majesty's Customs House to the House of Croker.

Wish me to have a gown cut for you?

-I might.

-(LAUGHS) The Queen's duty must be paid on all imports, must it not?

(CLEARS THROAT) Quite so.

What else languishes there, awaiting that tax to be paid?

What else might be matched to my gown?

Gloves?

Shoes?

Jewelry?

Never you mind, my girl.

Oh, come, Abel, it is only curiosity.

No, Princess, with you it is never only nothing.

Put that cat's nose of yours away.

Nate, see this is parked from prying eyes.

Thought I might join you a moment.

Watch the sun go down.

Call it skimming I believe?

I shan't tell.

Besides, I can't see him punishing you for it.

He loves you altogether too much for that.

Made me his own.

Was nothin' before him.

Would have died without his care.

That is love, Nathaniel.

I would be dead without his care also.

You repay him, however.

You return that love.

I have watched all you do for him.

No son could ever do more.

It is you gains access to the Customs House, is it not?

(SIGHS) That is some skill.

I wonder, might you show me?

Show me how you manage what no other can?

Show me just how brave and quick-witted you are.

GOWER: Hundreds of miles we rode.

Hostile country, swamp, dune.

But we reached Bulawayo, we did, gunned the lot of them to the hills.

Stamped on them Matebeles like rats.

Queen and country.

Thank you, Mrs. Drake.

I never did smell a pie so good.

Thomas, would you care for some wine with your pie, or a beer perhaps?

The lad's teetotal, Rose.

All of us at the factory, Mrs. Drake.

Temperance.

Or else.

(CONNOR CRYING) How do you like the Ironworks?

I like it good enough, sir.

I want to learn a trade, see.

Soldiering is, erm... Well, it's killing people.

It ain't helping them.

You helped them people held siege in Bulawayo.

Only by killing.

I, I want to be a... A useful man.

I've been helping at the orphanage.

Miss Deborah's, that is.

Odd jobs and that.

She must be very proud of you, Thomas.

GOWER: I hope.

Miss Deborah's always been kind to me.

She's closest to a ma I ever had.

(CONNOR CRYING) -Bennet... -Leave the boy, Rose.

-(CONNOR CRYING LOUDER) -Forging iron is honest work.

What about policing, Thomas?

Excuse me.

You're a Whitechapel boy, same as me.

Raised on these black streets then saved from them by the army, same as me.

Mr. Drake, please I am not...

I do not think I'm made for policing.

You are made of stronger stuff than you know, Thomas Gower.

You think on it.

(CHATTERING IN DISTANCE) -(DOOR BREAKING OPEN) -(BOTTLE SHATTERING) (SIGHS) THATCHER: Rise and shine, Wilbur Wren.

I've been looking for you everywhere.

I swear I paid for them this time.

(SIGHS) What chance a tincture for my head?

Feels like a French toilet.

DRAKE: No chance, boy.

Not the ghost of one.

Charlie Tanner was a sanctimonious... with his nose right up Hackman's arse.

I hated him.

But I never killed him.

You attacked him on the pitch.

Bust his nose, so I hear.

-Horseplay.

-Horseplay.

And going to his place afterwards to finish the job with a hammer, that horseplay too, was it?

That night I went to a gin-shop.

Then I went home.

Just me and the bottle.

Bottle is a poor alibi.

It's only on a bottle-hugger's word I'm here, ain't it?

You think I don't know it was Gower what burbled to you?

You said bottle-hugger?

I might like a drop or two, but Gower... Gower's a royal-class, steam-powered... Thomas Gower's a decorated lance-corporal, boy, and you'll show some respect.

WREN: Never shuts his bloody gob about it, either.

What he done in the army.

Gower the hero?

Who cares?

He might be decorated.

Don't make him sober.

JACKSON: Charlie Tanner was found here, huh?

Your wizardry ever astounds.

Photographs, here, here, here and here.

-(SNIFFS) Ooh!

-What?

Now remember Charlie Tanner wasn't a drinker?

The liver I pulled out of him pink as a baby's.

On account of which he had a house-guest.

Take a huff.

Cheap gin and piss, temperance my ass.

Tanner weren't a drinker.

Wilbur Wren was.

Not only Wren.

And it wasn't Wilbur Wren to whom Tanner would offer his bed.

Mr. Drake.

We cannot overlook Thomas Gower's past.

No man deserves to be judged on what he was.

It is the one hope we have to make ourselves better.

I only suggest that Thomas Gower may not have been as forthcoming as you suppose.

DRAKE: Your suggestion is duly noted.

(CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKING) JACKSON: Hey, Thatcher, once these two are done swinging their handbags, bring the camera.

-(HOLLOW TAPPING) -Oh, wait, wait, wait, wait... (WOOD SLIDING) Is your boy Wren missing a shirt?

Or your boy Gower?

-Is Miss Costello here?

-Yes, just through there.

(INDISTINCT LAUGHING) MATHILDA: It's as if he believes I might shatter into pieces, were he to even take me in his arms.

(LAUGHS) Your strong sergeant, he is altogether too well-mannered.

He considers such manners virtuous, I believe.

-(BOTH LAUGH) -(KNOCKING AT DOOR) Deborah, good morning.

Miss Reid, hello.

MATHILDA: Good morning, Miss Goren.

I find myself somewhat adrift from my own family, Mathilda, and so dear Deborah adds me to the tally of those to whom she brings care.

She does not eat.

Someone must make her.

Miss Rachel, I think I must be about my day.

But, again, I am grateful for your counsel.

You are entirely welcome, Mathilda.

RACHEL: What, Deborah?

She's 19 and lives alone with her father and has met her first darling boy!

A policeman also, if you believe that?

I believe it.

I believe you are also only too keen to win her friendship.

Given the identity of her father.

Do you know Mr. Reid still keeps a copy of the Rutowski case file in his home.

It seems your Isaac Bloom still weighs heavy upon his conscience.

And this you established with the manipulation of the daughter.

(INHALES SHARPLY) I think you must leave Mathilda Reid be, Rachel... -Deborah... -You don't know the half of what she has suffered.

If you want to be her friend, then you be her friend, but I will not see her used!

Then I am sorry.

Forgive me, Deborah.

Forgive me.

But I wonder, might you help me?

They are from Paris.

They are Rutowski's diaries.

Wren says that the shirt ain't his.

Ain't that a kick in the head.

Drake still makes Wren for this, huh?

He does.

But you don't buy it.

I know that look on you.

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING) Mr. Hackman?

-Mr. Hackman.

-Inspector.

Do you come to cart off more of my players?

Elliot!

Trap it first!

You spend every lunchtime thus?

Most days.

It's good for the boys.

Let off steam.

Oil the joints.

Remember the team achieves higher than the man.

We used to be employed thus, at this factory.

In a team, I mean.

The division of labor left to our judgement, the spoils ours to divide as we saw fit.

Those days are gone.

Trying to break the union, are them bosses.

Pries apart the worker from his fellows.

But this, the football, they can't take that away from us.

You diagram fastidiously, sir.

Tactics, the inner workings of the game.

My old man was a watchmaker.

Every night fingers at springs and cogs.

Assembling and correcting.

He tried to school me, did my pa. Told me about Isaac Newton, who thought the universe entire one vast clockwork.

And you find this sport, these men to be as cogs?

I merely find they are the best of themselves at work harmonious.

And Thomas Gower?

How does he fit into such work harmonious?

I don't see him here.

Gower?

I sacked him this morning.

-For?

-Turned up stinking of booze again.

A man who can't control himself makes weak his every fellow.

Gower chose the bottle over the hammer.

Forever bragging lies about his military record.

Medals my arse.

(WHISTLE BLOWS) Right!

Right!

Gather in!

(DOOR OPENING) Mr. Drake.

Have you been drinking, lad?

(SIGHS) Come inside.

Come on.

Coffee.

Drink it up.

Thomas...

The booze... What about it?

You know the factory don't allow it.

Would've lost that job anyways.

It's cheaper elsewhere, ain't it?

The North.

Money first, men second.

Mens' lives thrown away like peelings.

(STRIKES MATCH) When you soldiered, you shot rifles, pistols, swung a blade.

You killed, I know it.

But you never saw a Maxim machine gun.

No, boy.

I did not.

I've seen 1,000 men fall, not fall, but, shred.

I've seen men torn and splintered into meat with one trigger.

A valley made a butcher's floor.

Thomas.

You stay here tonight, eh?

I will help you, lad.

I will find a way.

How, Sergeant?

How?

NATHANIEL: This way Miss Susan.

The Custom's house is close above us now.

Cutler Street ahead now.

(GROANS) (SIGHING) Nathaniel, a strong room.

What is within?

Never go no further.

Why?

Abel Croker's say-so.

Here, too much to be missed.

But there, beyond that barricade, treasure.

Gold?

Barricaded for a reason.

But the guard station is unmanned.

They do patrol, however.

Miss Susan!

Miss Susan, please!

Please, they come!

Miss Susan!

We leave, now!

Boy!

I knew you for a cretin, but a turncoat, too.

(GROANS) Wish our lives here to come tumbling to an end, do you?

No, Abel!

Abel!

You beat anyone, you beat me!

CROKER: Think I would not take my belt to you?

Do you test me?

Do you wish to be paid for your care of us?

There is a debt remaining, remember?

Or do you imagine it being paid by me performing your secretarial duties until the day you die?

(BREATHING HEAVILY) I cannot stay here, Abel.

-(GROANS) -Know that.

Know too that I must take my son to my chest once more and be free.

Free?

That is not freedom.

Oh, is it not?

Hmm?

See this, the porcelain alone, three pieces, Japanese, awaiting the duty from Yamanaka & Company, Osaka.

That is thousands upon thousands of pounds.

Do you think me ignorant of such riches?

I am not, I have resisted their lure for reasons with which you ought to be altogether familiar.

(SUSAN SIGHS) The hazards of over-reaching, Princess.

Fifty-five dead and your lovely face at the end of a rope.

But this, this is my escape.

And my husband and I shall do all we can to take it.

Whether you help us or no, Abel, you shall receive a great share of it for the shelter you have given me, the shelter and the care.

Because you are my friend and will remain ever so.

Am I yours?

More than friend, indeed.

You are my girl who must leave me.

Then help me, Abel.

Help me to be free.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR) (DOOR CREAKS OPEN) Thomas Gower!

Thomas!

(GROANING) (RETCHES) Get him out, Bennet!

Get him out of this house!

Forgive me.

Thomas!

REID: Thomas Gower's war record.

Court martial.

Dishonorable discharge.

The man he beat, Private Carey, lost an eye.

There was no medal, Bennet.

Gower spent three years at the military jail in Gosport.

A man doesn't change, Mr. Drake.

And all this you investigated with my back turned.

Would you not have done the same if you thought I had an emotional attachment to the matter in hand?

Of course, just as you taught me, the great objective Inspector Reid.

But objectively, this still does not make Thomas Gower Tanner's killer.

No.

It does not.

But it behooves us to ask of him certain questions.

And I would not do that also with your back turned.

Now he has gone to ground, Mr. Drake.

I know one place he'd be.

(LOUD KNOCKING AT DOOR) Where is he?

DRAKE: Thomas.

Come with us.

You must.

I've done nothing.

That's as may be, boy.

But you must come.

DEBORAH: The boy is sick.

Can you not see that?

A hangover is hardly the Black Death, Miss Goren.

I had hoped perhaps you were coming with news of Rabbi Rutowski's murderer.

Or coming to tell me that Isaac Bloom was vindicated after all and your remorse for his death was fathomless.

I did not expect you to be dragging off a suffering young man.

Will you hang him for Rutowski, too?

Rutowski was murdered by Isaac Bloom, Miss Goren.

And Bloom met his justice.

Thomas.

Now!

DEBORAH: He is wrong, Edmund and you know it!

You lied to me.

I told you what you wanted to hear.

I want to hear the truth!

I don't know the truth.

No more lies, boy!

You dossed in his bed that night, didn't you?

And you hid your ruined shirt in panic.

He was kind to you.

He was a friend to you.

Was Private Carey a friend also?

As you drank and you drank and you blinded Carey and you drank and you drank and you murdered Tanner.

I...

I don't know.

We... We was celebrating, see, Charlie got offered a new job, a team transfer but I, I'd been at the bottle.

Something smashed, it broke.

Then I was out cold.

When I woke, Charlie was...

I had blood on me.

Because you killed him.

I was afraid.

I didn't know.

It's all black.

Don't you see?

I forget all but what I drink to forget.

It was you, you pulverized Tanner with a hammer.

As you beat Carey, your brother in arms, as you murdered Manby the toy-maker, when a mere boy in this parish.

You were a killer then and you are a killer still.

-It...

It is dark... -It was you.

Say it.

-I cannot remember!

-REID: Thomas.

Say it.

Say it...

I done it.

I done it.

I killed him.

JACKSON: I got it!

I got it.

The blood.

The sheet.

The shirt.

Come see.

Gower confessed.

The shirt is his.

Oh, he did, huh?

Well it looks like we got ourselves a little conundrum.

Because whoever was wearing that shirt did not kill Charlie Tanner.

The spattering on the wall where Charlie was killed.

Now you see the force of it.

It's the velocity of the spray.

Now, you look at the bed.

Rounder droplets, less force.

Now this is cast-off spatter.

Your killer is hammering Tanner by the wall, he swings back and blood flies off the hammer, lands behind and over the bed.

But, look at the sheet... Now there should be blood there too.

But there's a ghosting.

So something stopped it?

Somebody.

The shirt...

The pattern matches.

Cast-off spatter.

Meaning, this is Thomas Gower's shirt?

Then Gower ain't your killer.

Because he was flat out on the bed behind the killer, when Charlie Tanner got his brains beat out.

-There was a third.

-JACKSON: Correct.

And they took something.

Now, I almost missed it on account of he was such a mess, but here, it's a faint ligature.

He wore something around his neck.

Hung there and torn off.

Impressive work, Captain.

Where's your money now, Reid?

DRAKE: Thomas, I expected you to be relieved.

Relieved, Mr. Drake?

And if it wasn't for the gin, I would have not lied there in my own black sweat and piss while Charlie took a hammer from some bastard.

You could not help him then, so help him now.

You said that Tanner was offered a transfer.

The Woolwich Arsenal wanted him.

Good job, good pay.

Captaining the team.

Charlie could leave Whitechapel and all these ...caked streets behind.

Thomas.

Did Charlie Tanner wear anything about his neck?

A cross or a locket.

He had a pendant.

Saint Sebastian, he said.

Patron of athletes and of soldiers, too.

DRAKE: Here we go.

Saint Sebastian.

My boy... (SIGHS) I won't run.

Never had the speed anyways.

Not like Charlie did.

He was running from you, wasn't he?

And you couldn't stand to see him leave your team.

I made him.

Here.

He was nothing.

He was the... on your shoe.

And he would repay me thus?

I made him!

Human beings are not cast metal, Mr. Hackman.

They are not ore to be forged as you wish.

My old man would talk of the universe.

God's crankshaft.

Newton.

What good's all them laws against a man's own lawless heart?

It's us, always, ain't it?

The force unfactored.

The secret fault.

The nameless splinter that breaks the system.

I loved that boy.

Men of iron.

Men of smoke, is all we are.

Bring me them shackles.

We made them here.

We find a fence.

Everything has to be right.

And when it's done, everything has to be ready.

Connor.

We cannot make a single mistake when we take him back...

I know, darlin'.

I know.

I need to see the house, the streets around it.

(SIGHS) We need to know how to enter and leave as ghosts.

Well it looks like we have ourselves another midnight ramble, huh?

(HAMMERING) DRAKE: That's useful work you're doing for Miss Goren, Thomas.

Heard it was Hackman done in Charlie.

It was.

Then why are you here?

Because, lad, the offer still stands.

You can work at Leman Street.

With me.

But you have to stop the drinking.

I'd sooner have took the rope than seen what I seen.

Done what I done.

You think you saved me?

You sent me somewhere worse than death.

-Thomas... -You ain't my friend.

You ain't my guardian.

You are black wings casting shadow over me.

And I know not if I shall ever feel light again.

(DOOR CREAKING, SLAMMING) (KNOCKING AT DOOR) You wished to see me.

Inspector Reid.

When you worked under Fred Abberline, did you presume to question his judgement at every turn?

-Mr. Drake.

Bennet... -Inspector Drake.

I am Inspector Drake.

And when I was your sergeant, did I presume to question your judgement?

You did not, Inspector Drake.

Then with what conceited license is it you ceaselessly question mine?

My suspicions of Thomas Gower were, I accept, unfounded.

So they were.

And yet what a merry dance you led behind my back to see him proved otherwise.

But more fool me to be surprised when your very return to Whitechapel was to question my conviction of Isaac Bloom.

Because even though he'd come to pass his days shucking oysters on the sands of Hampton, my judgement was apparently insufficient for the Great Edmund Reid.

Inspector Drake, it was never my intention to doubt your...

Intention, Inspector?

Well, let's not speak of those.

It was never my intention to have you here before me thus!

-Bennet... -You will hear me, Edmund Reid!

I watched you.

Your sly words, pressing and turning him to your will.

Even had the boy himself believe he'd done them things.

We coppered good together, you and I, once.

But, er, maybe them days have passed.

You will henceforth do me the courtesy of respect, Mr. Reid.

If I find you maneuvering beyond my eye-line once more, I will revoke your warrant card, send you away, and do so with joy.

I will endeavor to serve this Division to my utmost, Inspector Drake.

Then we are concluded, Inspector Reid.

(DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING) (COUGHING) (BOTTLE SHATTERING) (GROANING) (SCREAMING) (STRUGGLING) (GASPING FOR AIR) (STRUGGLING CONTINUES) (SCREAMING) (GASPING) (STABBING) (GROWLING) (GASPING) (BREATHING HEAVILY) (GROANS) (STRUGGLING) (RAGGED BREATHING) JACKSON: Connor sleeps in their bedroom at the back.

I'll show you where we can flee with him.

I need to see it.

Caitlin, no!

I need to see him, Matthew.

If only for a moment.

(SIGHS) SUSAN: My boy.

My darling.

JACKSON: Caitlin.

We have to leave.

Mama.

You want your Mama, sweet boy?

Do you want your Mum?

(GASPS) (DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES OUT)