(THEME MUSIC PLAYING) But I seen it.

I seen 'Gustus kill him.

He witnessed Sergeant Thatcher shot, Mr. Drummond.

I believe him.

And who is he, that we should give his word credence?

Who you and all, Miss Hart?

In!

You're gonna leave her be, Drummond.

Then you shoot me now, Captain.

Because this is either done by the law, or it is not.

You let him do his job, Captain.

And he shall let you do yours.

It is only you can make this case.

(PHONE RINGING) (CROWD SHOUTING INDISTINCTLY) (PHONE CONTINUES RINGING) That was my Uncle Bennet's chair.

And before it was his, it was my father's.

(CHAIN RATTLING) Inspector Drummond.

Are you returned to your authority?

Have you prevailed?

Leave us.

Now, you wish to make your case.

You go on then, 'Tilda.

The man in the cells beneath, he who says he is your brother.

I am going to interview him.

Drummond?

MATHILDA: I am going to make written record of it.

You will release me, Inspector.

Now!

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING) REID: A murdered child on a mortuary slab.

The entropy of the universe extended to a maximum, Mr. Dove.

JACKSON: Every stroke of this blade to the boy's body, I'm imagining it done to you, sir.

I'm hearing your screams.

NATHANIEL: I do not know how... How long we sailed.

But I do remember the stench, miss.

I remember the fear.

Go on, sir.

I do not know how my brother found Rabbi Leon.

But he brung him from Paris in the hope he might know how best to quiet my tempers.

But that counsel, he did not soothe me.

It only roused my hunger.

I had to feed it.

'Cause you see, Miss, he had shown me myself.

My childhood self.

I saw the forest, and the ease and grace with... With which the wolves might move through it.

Whilst we simply trudged.

So heavy and slow.

And as the Rabbi spoke of the morning they found her, I did not think on the sight of my mother.

No.

Of my mother's body and blood.

I thought only on their power.

The pure purpose of their need.

And how that need might be met.

There's no frothing or water logging to the lungs.

There are, however, tiny hemorrhages to the lining thereof, and the burst capillaries beneath the eyelids.

The cause of death was suffocation.

These are contusions, about the neck and face.

Similarly to his fists.

We may therefore presume his death, a violent one.

Within the lining of the respiratory tract, there are trace elements, inhaled at the point of death and adhered within.

So we have a wool fiber.

The wool is an alpaca blend, charcoal grey in color.

Most likely from the person who throttled him.

The suspect is frequently seen sporting such an overcoat, Inspector.

Correct?

DOVE: Grey alpaca.

Am I the only man in London with a woolen coat?

No, I am not!

You have no witness, no physical evidence.

You have no fingerprints, Mr. Reid.

You must surely see it, Drummond.

These men, these criminal murdering men, wish to tar me with the black pitch of their own hearts.

DRUMMOND: Mr. Reid.

Captain, please.

The boy must be found on the man, or the man on the boy.

Augustus and Abel they...

They found a man.

A mad man known to the police, as such, for his attack on... On another rabbi.

And, sir, that was Mr. Isaac Bloom?

NATHANIEL: Yes.

And I heard them say how they would take my acts, and they would hand them to him.

DRUMMOND: Captain.

Whatever it is you hunt for, please find it.

DOVE: He will find nothing because there is nothing to find.

Save the wreckage of your life along with theirs.

(INHALES SHARPLY) (BREATHES HEAVILY) My, sir.

You are flush.

Mimi.

Are you feeling all right?

Other than flu, I'm fine.

-Are you feeling quite well, sir?

-(GASPS) There's infection within.

A swollen tongue.

The throat red with infection.

An infection he might have set loose on any soul with whom he came into contact.

Particularly, one which was trying to kill him.

Because he would have fought.

He would have spat and screamed.

He would have clutched and clawed for the breathing of air.

And he would have sprayed that infection all over the man whose arms were now choking the 10 little years of life from him.

Does a fever rise in you, sir?

Is there a chill through your bones like a nameless haunting?

Well, I have the name for it.

Oh, you brave, clever little boy, Robin Sumner.

The gift you bring with you.

(BOTTLE CLINKS) MATHILDA: And, sir, will you confirm your spoken confession that you murdered Inspector Bennet Drake?

Yes, Miss.

And Assistant Commissioner Dove had full knowledge of this?

Augustus knew it.

Augustus knew it all.

And, erm, how was it Augustus killed Abel?

Abel Croker wished to take my life, but Augustus Dove, he...

He took his instead.

'Gustus saved me.

'Gustus always saved me.

Reid, did you catch scarlet fever as a boy?

-I did.

-JACKSON: So did I. Caitlin too.

Now, what that means is that once caught, we cannot catch it again.

Now, Miss Morton, I believe, has not suffered it before because she suffers it now.

And where else might she have contracted it, but from a sickly child who's taking refuge with her.

It's like a string of purple pearls.

Streptococcus Pyogenes.

It's scarlet fever.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES) (BREATHES DEEPLY) (DOOR OPENS) OFFICER: Sir, Commissioner Bradford.

Well, Fred.

What do you say?

It is a cat meat soup, Teddy.

There is one more intervention you might perform for us.

Reid.

There will be an inquiry.

Internal.

-(DOOR OPENS) -But we here have decided what Edmund Reid's fate shall be.

ABBERLINE: And the others?

Your man, Dove?

BRADFORD: Imagine the world's joy at our disgrace, Fred.

No.

Sudden illness.

Lengthy convalescence.

Disappearance from public life.

Get him out.

BRADFORD: Dartmoor Prison will receive a new inmate, however.

The victim of a clerical blunder.

His paperwork lost, the man likewise.

(CHAIN RATTLING) NATHANIEL: 'Gustus?

Think how far we came, brother.

How very far.

-'Gustus, where... Where do you go?

-Hush.

We must be brave.

I knew chaos and horror a good long time before I came to Whitechapel, Mr. Reid.

I'm to bring you out as well, sir.

(KEYS JANGLING) Mr. Abberline's waiting for you outside.

Augustus Dove is to be buried deep and forgot.

Our shame alongside.

Is this the reason for our stroll?

How else is the pit to be limed, Fred?

The brother, that beast.

He is to be choked, and in short order.

The woman, Hart, similarly.

What else, Edmund?

Clemency?

And the Captain?

Send him home.

Where he belongs.

Besides, it is not the fate of that evil pair brings me to you now, but your own.

And that too is decided, I imagine?

A little further, yet.

That is right, my friend.

Think of what you and I once found in a tenement room off that courtyard, beyond.

The cut and strewn remains of the Ripper's last victim.

Ten years ago, Edmund.

Ten years.

That barbarism, then.

That which these Dove brothers have only now enacted.

They were forged from the same furnace.

A furnace which requires permanent vigilance, Edmund.

A watchman.

Set for the night, when that fire finds another crack in the world and sets its creatures free once more.

Bennet Drake was a fine man.

But he... That paleface Drummond, they do not see.

Not in the way you see.

You are needed here, Mr. Reid.

My crimes?

Wish to face them, do you?

They are true.

I would own them.

I am to tell you that such an owning will not find favor.

And, to extend Commissioner Bradford's wish and invitation for Edmund Reid to resume his command at Leman Street.

That is some bold denial to mount.

It is a public redemption of a good man wronged.

And if I refuse?

(INHALES) Well, then, your American will not find himself so easily forgot.

In point of fact, his many misdemeanors will be pursued with full rigor.

And he will dangle, Edmund.

(DOOR OPENS) Have the man brought out.

-In irons.

-Miss Susan?

-Miss Susan?

-(CELL DOOR UNLOCKING) Where do they take me?

Wait, wait.

Please, please, please!

Please.

Wait!

-(GRUNTS) -No, don't!

Stop!

Don't!

Stop!

Leave him!

No, please!

Where do you take him?

JACKSON: I'm with you, darling.

I'm coming, too.

Come with me, Miss Hart.

Wait, Drummond.

(SIGHS) What about me?

What about me, God damn it?

What... What about me?

Take me!

Your prisoner, Mr. Reid.

Reid?

What the hell?

Where's he taking her?

-(MOUTHS) -JACKSON: Reid?

Reid?

(CROWD CONTINUES CLAMORING OUTSIDE) Reid, God damn it.

What?

Your personal effects, Captain Jackson.

You're releasing me?

(CLAMORING GETS LOUDER) JACKSON: Caitlin!

Caitlin.

You sons of bitches!

DRUMMOND: Let him go!

JACKSON: Let me go.

Let me go!

DRUMMOND: Let him go.

For him?!

You did this for him?

I did it before, I'll do it again.

-I'll save you.

-No.

No, you will not.

You are a father now.

What kind of example would that be for our son?

No.

What kind would I be if I let you die?

You must.

You see?

(INHALES) Because he must have one of us to care for him.

And it seems that one will be you.

-It was you and me.

-(SOBBING) You and me.

And it ever will be.

Because of our boy.

We are in him.

One.

-So, you go and you raise him good.

-(SNIFFLING) Raise him right.

I'll think of how we were made, and I'll do the reverse.

(LAUGHS, SNIFFLES) I love you.

I will never stop.

Please, Mr. Drummond, take me away.

Walk with you?

Is there a law that says you can't?

(INHALES DEEPLY) (SHIP HORN HONKS IN THE DISTANCE) (SHIP HORN HONKING) REID: Well, goodbye, Master Judge.

Shake the man's hand, Connor.

I'll be seeing you, Reid.

Captain.

Are you going there now?

I am.

Tell her, erm... What?

Ah, never mind.

It don't matter.

(SIGHS) (SHIP HORN HONKS) (SOMBER MUSIC PLAYING) Nathaniel!

Miss Susan.

Mr. Theakston!

Please!

Only for a moment.

Do not let them touch.

We are to go together, then.

One after the other.

(SUSAN SNIFFLES) I'm...

I'm...

I'm coming after you, Nathaniel.

I shall be following you on, calling your name, and whatever it is that waits, we will go there together.

(SOMBER MUSIC CONTINUES) (THUDDING) (BANGING ON DOOR) DRAKE: Mr. Reid!

-(BANGING CONTINUES) -Mr. Reid, sir!

Please, sir, raise yourself!

Stop your hammering, Sergeant.

I'm here!

Mr. Reid, you must come, sir.

There is another.

(FRED GAGGING) Her name was Mary Jane Kelly.

Edmund, I want to unmake the world.

(CAMERA CLICKS) (PIANO PLAYING) (PEOPLE CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY) Drum.

Drum!

The toasts.

(GLASS CLINKING) (CLEARS THROAT) My Mathilda.

This is the last, I believe.

Oh, thank you, sir.

There's no need to "sir" me.

Not any longer.

So, you really couldn't have waited another few weeks?

Samuel doesn't want the child born here, Father.

Of course.

Well, travel carefully.

Father, please.

It is the Great Western to Cheltenham Spa, not a steam turbine to the Congo.

I know, Mathilda, but, er... Bad things happen everywhere.

I know.

You are my daughter, and I worry.

Don't.

Remember the conviction that you held, that I was alive?

Yes.

Of course.

Then surely it is not such a struggle to hold the simpler belief that I am well.

Mr. Reid.

Samuel.

Right.

You will visit, of course?

No, Drum, he won't come.

He won't ever.

He cannot.

REID: Nothing?

ABBERLINE: A witness.

Of sorts.

REID: Description?

Five foot, six inches, fair, curled mustache, 34 years of age.

About.

Well, I shall add it to the catalog.

These are not clues, Fred.

They are half-glimpsed imaginings.

A tangle of shadows.

And you and I floundering at them in the ever vainer hope that we might corral them into meaning when we will not.

We will not.

Er, here.

Mr. Reid.

-Let us get you home.

-No, no.

Sergeant, Sergeant, Sergeant.

Sergeant.

My girl is gone.

My wife will barely look me in the eye without the wish to spit in it and curse me for the loss of her.

So... No home.

-Come, sir.

Please.

-No!

Damn you.

Damn your care!

Damn your endless fawning!

Are you a dog?

Are you?

-I am not, Inspector.

-Then stop following me!

It shan't bring you any good.

WORKMAN: That's it, up a bit.

More... More to... More to me.

How's that, sir?

Afternoon, Inspector.

REID: Six months they're gone.

He is now a teacher.

She, er... She writes a novel, she says.

And the child prospers.

Have you been to see her?

The child.

Er, no.

Not yet, no.

Your granddaughter, Edmund.

Soon, however.

I shall take some holiday.

And so, your visit?

This is the death certificate of a woman named Mary Spinks.

Her named husband, see, is George Chapman.

Only that is not his true name.

Sorry, Fred, but... George Chapman only became so in 1895.

Before that, however, he was called Severin Klosowski.

The Severin Klosowski who was once a suspect of ours in the Ripper murders?

But, he has gone to America.

Not since 1892, he has not.

He has returned to this country.

Ah!

Confidential autopsy report.

His wife.

He beat her.

Ceaselessly.

You know?

He's a brute, I'm sure.

And more than that.

Severin Klosowski, 1885, he finishes his surgical studies at the Praga Hospital in Warsaw.

June '87, he's in London as a barber.

A position in a shop on the corner of Whitechapel High Street -and George Yard.

-Yes, the skills and the knives, Fred.

-I do not forget.

-George Yard, where Martha Tabram was killed in August '88!

I never credited Ms. Tabram as his.

Oh.

Did you not?!

And the world must kowtow to Ed Reid's theories, must it?

Not mine, no.

Her killer was right-handed.

The Ripper used his left.

You know that, Fred.

You know that.

And you sit here now in the belief I might recommence those same investigations.

-The file remains open, Inspector.

-And what?

A man we once identified as a suspect, has a wife who dies of consumption, and you are roused from your retirement to berate me that I do not set myself and my station house to his capture?!

Read the autopsy, Inspector!

Consumption would present itself as a hardening rash on the arms and legs.

What she had were pustular swellings around the eyes and mouth.

Now, I am not your American surgeon, -but I know the symptoms of antimony poisoning... -Fred!

Fred.

Even if it were true, and proved, it is still only a poisoning.

The man that we hunted eviscerated his victims.

He ripped the flesh and the organs from their bodies.

Nevertheless, it is murder by a man we know capable of that evisceration, who was proximate to the acts.

Who even now is abroad in this town, acting out his hatred of women upon their bodies.

Means.

Opportunity.

Motive.

Will you bring him in?

No, I will not.

For why?

Because it is a fancy.

It's a dark daydream in the mind of a retired police officer, who would do better to return to his roses and his wife.

It is a case, Edmund!

No.

It is a ghost.

And a dead one at that.

(SIGHS) Do not think you've heard the last of this.

-(DOOR SLAMS) -Out of my way, you men.

Move!

(PAPER RUSTLES) (SPOON CLINKS) -(INDISTINCT CHATTERING) -Good evening, Inspector.

And a very good evening to you, Miss Mimi.

Ah!

MIMI: The dramatic life, Mr. Reid.

Ah, it's...

It's wonderful.

Remarkable.

Although it is not quite the place you once knew as home.

(AUDIENCE CHEERING) (AUDIENCE APPLAUDING) MIMI: My friends, my friends.

(CLEARS THROAT) F.J. MICHAELSON: Sir.

I write as regards my execution of the will of the late Matthew Judge, in which you are mentioned as beneficiary.

His assets were limited, but the enclosed was to be forwarded to you at the police station in Whitechapel, London.

It may be of some comfort for you to know that whatever the circumstances of Mr. Judge's past, his son, Connor Judge, has now become the ward of this office here.

We are also the executors, under Grant of Probate, which has recently seen Master Judge named sole heir to those assets held by us of his grandfather, Mr. Theodore Patrick Swift.

REID: He and the boy had been fishing.

They were on their way home when the girls' mother came calling for help, her two daughters dragged into the current and downstream.

The Captain swam out.

Brought one child to shore, before returning to the other.

She too was saved.

But, in so doing, the cold, so they say, the river icy with the new spring's thaw, his heart gave up.

(SOBBING) (SOBBING) Oh... (WHISPERS) Thank you.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR) (DOOR CLOSES) (CLEARS THROAT) -Help you?

-Pale ale.

Do you know an Elizabeth Taylor?

Who asks?

Police.

H-Division.

Good day to you, Mr. Reid.

(GAVEL POUNDING) OFFICIAL: The Coroner's inquiry into the death of Mary Jane Kelly will now come to order.

I live at number five, Miller's Court.

It's the last house on the left hand side of the court.

I'm a widow, and I get my living on the streets.

She said, "Good night, I’m going to have a song."

I remained for a quarter of an hour in my room and went out.

Mary was still singing at one o'clock when I returned.

I remained for a minute in the room just to warm my hands 'cos it was cold and I went out again.

She was singing still.

♪ Scenes of my childhood arise before my gaze ♪ Bringing recollections of bygone happy days Mr. Reid?

What am I to say to them, Bennet?

Say?

I am expected to stand there and explain a thing.

And yet I cannot find the explanation.

Because this man's acts are beyond such?

Sir, I do not say they are not dreadful.

They are that and more besides, but...

Yourself, Mr. Abberline, these newspapermen councilors screaming their horror to the skies.

It is as though they imagine some fantastical creature about his work.

My feeling, Mr. Reid, if you will allow it?

You speak, Bennet.

This here, Miss Kelly, what was done to her, it is down to you to name it.

So this killer's acts are not dreamt of as the stuff of fancy, but known as the cruelty of men.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR) That is you, sir.

(SIGHS) The whole of the surface of the abdomen and thighs was removed, and the abdominal cavity emptied of its viscera.

(CROWD GASPING) This was found in various parts.

The uterus and kidneys under the head, the liver between the feet, the intestines by the right side and the spleen, by the left side of the body.

(INDISTINCT MURMURING) The pericardium was open below, and the heart was absent.

(CROWD MURMURING) It is concluded that the mutilation was inflicted by a person favoring their left hand.

The bed clothing at the right corner was saturated with blood, and on the floor beneath was another pool of blood... Police.

H-Division.

My wife is unwell, has asked not to be disturbed.

(DRAWER OPENS AND CLOSES) Are you much troubled in this house, Mr. Chapman?

We none of us can be too careful, Inspector Reid.

-What did you say you wished to ask her?

-I hadn't yet.

Well caught.

Right hand.

Lost property.

Umbrella.

She registered it with us.

And?

I'm sad to say, it hasn't been found.

You'll pass the message on, I'm sure.

(DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES) NEWSPAPER BOY: Get your final edition here.

Last day of the Century!

(DOOR OPENS) I left word.

I was unsure whether we... Well, it is a special occasion.

And I wanted to ask if, after the performances, we might dine together?

Perhaps see in the New Year?

Mr. Reid, stop.

I shan't be here tonight.

I have to go to a ball.

In Richmond.

There is a man who wishes to marry me.

It's his ball.

He's quite old, and, erm...

I am minded to encourage his attentions because I'm frightened that if I'm still in Whitechapel at midnight, I will be here for another hundred years.

You know I'm very fond of you.

Dear, dear, Edmund.

I'd forever be seeing the Captain's smile.

I refuse to be haunted by him.

Do you see?

(AUDIENCE APPLAUDING) (A VIOLET FROM MOTHER'S GRAVE PLAYING) ♪ Scenes of my childhood arise before my gaze ♪ Bringing recollections of bygone happy days -♪ When down in the meadow in childhood I would roam... -(DISTORTED VOICE SINGS) (DISTORTED VOICE CONTINUES) No, no, no!

(SHUSHING) You cannot!

This is her song!

It is her song!

-Stop this!

Stop!

-(SHUSHING) (SINGING CONTINUES) Stop this, this is her song!

-Mr. Reid!

-Come.

You cannot... -You cannot... -(AUDIENCE BEGINS SINGING) -It cannot be allowed.

Stop this, damn it!

Stop!

-AUDIENCE MEMBER: Quiet, sir!

♪ This small violet -♪ I plucked from mother's grave... ♪ -Do you not know any respect?

-Or is that you do not know at all?

-(SONG CONTINUES) It is her song!

It is the song that Mary Jane Kelly was heard to sing, the night the Ripper killed her!

Mr. Reid!

Is that not the reason why it is sung?

♪...has brought me joy ♪ So while life does remain Please, sir.

♪ In memoriam I'll retain... Perhaps it is time you went home.

-(DOOR OPENS) -♪ This small violet I plucked from mother's grave ♪ Yes, of course.

I'm, er...

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry.

(PEOPLE CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY) (PEOPLE CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY) (WOMAN LAUGHING) (INDISTINCT CELEBRATING CONTINUES) (CLOCK TICKING) (CHURCH BELL TOLLING IN DISTANCE) (INDISTINCT CHEERING IN DISTANCE) (THEME MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES OUT)