(INDISTINCT TALKING) MATHILDA: You are anxious?

REID: No, I'm not...

I'm not anxious.

This work I am set to, my research in Whitechapel, you do not wish me to undertake it.

That I do not, no.

You think I'll be set upon by wolves and demons.

But I've told you before, I'm equal to them.

We are none of us equal to Whitechapel.

Then you are not only anxious for me.

For today you return to your duties at Leman Street.

I am not anxious for that, Mathilda.

I am not anxious at all.

Then I may go about my work alone.

You know you may not.

It is your first day at it, and you will go with me or not at all.

And so you win yourself an hour or two's delay, before you walk through those doors and become a policeman again.

Idle, drinking, violent.

I shall mark these houses, Lowest Class, Loafer, Vicious.

I have my doubts of these categories of Mr. Booth's.

They do not do justice to the human reality.

These people are not vicious, or idle, or violent.

They do not choose this existence and yet, in but three words, they are condemned.

Mr. Booth's categories are none of your concern.

This is not your work, it is mine.

I shall see to this house myself.

Alone.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR) (GROANING) I die.

Father!

Father!

Father, he's dying.

There, boy, open your chest.

What's your name?

Where's your mother?

I die.

I die.

REID: I am here.

You are not alone.

What is your name?

-Tommy.

-Tommy.

There, Tommy.

Do not be afraid.

I am here.

I am here.

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING) JACKSON: He is safe, he is loved, our boy.

Even now your Rose holds him in her arms, do you find no comfort in that?

You're free.

(CHUCKLES) You're alive, and we're together.

(SIGHS) We are, we are safe, let us delight in that.

Nine hundred days we were apart.

I counted 'em, every one of 'em, and I bled each and every hour.

Caitlin... Nine hundred days.

For all the hours we have lost.

We must make amends.

Captain Jackson will be along shortly, I've no doubt, sir.

He's a workhouse boy.

This red scalp is iodine, workhouse practice, against ringworm.

Sergeant, get onto the workhouses between here and Poplar, see who has gone missing, find out who he is.

His name is Tommy, and he has a birthmark here, behind his left ear.

And how should I mark the case, sir?

It is murder?

It is not a case as such.

I mean to find his family, give him a proper burial.

But I must log the action, sir.

It's how it is done now.

And what is your name, lad?

Drummond, sir.

Samuel Drummond.

Do not worry yourself, Samuel Drummond, it is a matter only for me.

Very good, sir, and if you come with me now, Mr. Drake is expecting you, sir.

I, Edmund John James Reid, being appointed a Constable of the Police Force of the Metropolitan Police District, do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare that I will serve our Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria and in all respects to the best of my skill and knowledge, discharge the said office faithfully and according to law.

DRAKE: Who'd have thought, eh?

Welcome back, Inspector.

You have heard me speak often enough of this gentleman, Mr. Edmund Reid.

We are lucky indeed to have him back with us.

I see this wall soon empty, now he is returned.

And if I may?

A little something to ease you back to work... A curious case, a spate of attacks, the victims, separated from their right hands.

I have other business I must attend to but Sergeant Drummond will see you fitted with all the particulars of the case and show you to the suspect.

Give this silent fellow a stir, see if you can't make him whistle.

REID: Your name and business, sir.

I told them slops before, I don't talk to the police.

-REID: Slops?

-Mm.

You've been accused of severing the hands of four men.

It's a most particular crime, in some cultures, the punishment for thieving.

Slops... Coster speak for police.

You're a costermonger?

A market trader and you serve your own justice on those who would thieve from you.

You part them from their light-fingered hands.

It's old coster practice, this.

These scars... You must need knives for your trade.

You are a butcher?

But the scars are on the underside of your palm.

So you hold your work in your left, your knife in your right.

You are an oyster shucker.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING) Mr. Reid, you are asked for, sir.

The boy's mother is found.

(INDISTINCT TALKING) (EXHALES SHARPLY) You have my boy.

Where is he, sir?

I was at my interviews, down Durward Street and along comes this lady, knocking on all the doors, just as I was.

Looking for her boy, she says.

Madam, be advised, the boy that we hold is dead.

Oh, God save us.

Oh, God, forgive me, I lost my boy.

I couldn't keep him no more.

I must put him in the workhouse, I couldn't feed him.

I...

I thought he would be safest there.

But look at him.

Oh, God, look what they did to him!

(SOBBING) Poor boy...

The boy, sir, is Tommy Riggs, missing from Whitechapel Union workhouse.

Look to the mother, see she wants for nothing.

I have questions must be answered at the workhouse.

I wish to know how a boy in its care may die in such abjection.

Mr. Wilde, I have in my morgue at Leman Street, a young boy.

Tommy Riggs.

I am concerned, sir, at the state in which I found him.

Underfed, neglected, mortally so.

Tommy Riggs, yes, a... A runaway.

Missing this week past.

I'm afraid I cannot account for what became of him beyond these walls.

These poor souls whose parents have neglected them, so many feel compelled to run away.

They do not see that the workhouse is for their own safety.

It is our... Our greatest sorrow.

Nevertheless, sir, I should like to see for myself the conditions in which the children are kept.

CORNELIUS: Well, here, you see, we teach literacy.

Along here, domestic skills.

For too long, the workhouse has been a form of incarceration for the poor, with no hope of release.

No hope of a future.

We must let go of this notion of deterrent, of threat and instead give the poor hope and possibility.

I will not consign these people to despair, sir.

Nor to sickness.

We have separated the Children's Infirmary from the rest of the workhouse, a kind of cordon sanitaire.

We must take the spread of disease very seriously.

Even ringworm.

REID: And this?

What is this place?

CORNELIUS: The Casual Ward.

For tramps and vagrants.

Those who stay only one night.

We are obliged to feed and water them, and let them return to the streets.

We are, as you see, in the process of fumigating it, for they bring the filth of the world with them.

Salus populi suprema est lex.

The health of the people is the highest law.

Indeed.

CORNELIUS: I hope you will agree that the workhouse is much changed since you knew it.

It is indeed a marvel of order and hygiene.

Which gives me to wonder, sir, why Tommy Riggs should wish to run away from such a place?

The pauper spirit, Inspector Reid, the spirit of the streets.

It is...

It's too strong in some.

They insist upon their freedom.

His mother blames the workhouse for his demise.

What say you to that?

CORNELIUS: His mother?

-Why, sir, that cannot be.

-How so?

His mother is dead.

Ah, Mr. Reid, sir, I've been seeking word of the coster...

Yes, yes, yes.

The woman, the grieving woman.

-She's gone, sir.

-She's gone?

She packed up suddenly.

Lit out.

She left no word, she gave no sign, no clue to her identity?

Indeed, sir...

It was found in the waiting room.

Bromide of potassium.

Greasepaint.

She treads the boards.

I know how she may be found.

Sir, about the oyster seller.

I've found three stalls on Hanbury Street, Mitre Square and Middlesex Street.

Middlesex Street.

A trader there, some years ago, charged with several counts of violent affray.

Er... Orton... Orton, his name.

This may be his son.

Seek him in the archives, learn what you can of him.

And I would have an autopsy done on this boy, Tommy.

Though I do not imagine Captain Jackson is of a mind to work.

On the contrary, Mr. Reid.

Work is my mind's only refuge.

After the old oak-smoked, that is.

Captain.

Captain.

You are not expected here.

-Go home, man.

-(DOOR OPENS) THATCHER: Riot victim.

Straight to the morgue, boys.

JACKSON: But it would seem I am needed.

Blessed murder.

What's the case, Sergeant Drummond?

This riot we have had at the Salvation Army shelters, the Salvationists are again set upon.

And their captain is now dead.

Murdered and strung up.

DRAKE: Captain Solomon Shaw stabbed in the guts multiple times.

Head sheared, strung up like a piece of meat for all to see, a statement.

Is this the work of the Skeleton Army?

It's a ragtag army of the poor.

They've risen against the Salvationists and their so-called charity.

JACKSON: (WHISTLES) Jesus, that's some kind of a frenzy, huh?

Unless... DRAKE: Mr. Reid, who is this boy in our morgue?

Tommy Riggs, workhouse runaway.

I would request an autopsy.

I am concerned it is negligence caused his death.

DRAKE: You can see the work waiting to be done here.

You will get your autopsy, Inspector Reid, but we have a murder must be solved first.

Thank you, Mr. Reid.

JACKSON: These are double wounds.

My guess is blades, some kind of shears.

See the lateral splits in the wound, most likely the impact of the hinge as the shears hit the flesh... (INDISTINCT TALKING) REID: Mrs. Drake, I wonder if you might be able to help me.

Uh, I seek to discover the identity of a woman, who came to me and since disappeared.

She is, er, I believe, a fellow performer, an actress or a singer.

She left this.

There is a handkerchief, it's embroidered with a swan.

She wears a cluster of flowers in her hair.

Leda Starling.

Last I heard she was singing for her supper at The Four Knives.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR) Who is that now?

Augustus.

Hello, old friend.

Oh.

Commissioner Dove.

Augustus and I were at the Ragged School together.

He taught me to write the perfect R. But, Augustus, I don't doubt you've met Inspector Edmund Reid?

-Indeed I have not.

-Sir.

The honor is mine, Mr. Reid.

Whitechapel rejoices at your return.

♪ My heart will still be thine, love ♪ And its thoughts still cling to thee ♪ Like the tendrils of the vine, love ♪ Around the old oak tree ♪ (SCATTERED APPLAUSE) Thank you.

-Thank you.

-Madam.

You do not remember me?

I am Inspector Reid, from the police station at Leman Street, you are Leda Starling.

This is yours, is it not?

Oh, er, you must excuse me, sir, I am, as you can see, a little mops and brooms.

There was a boy, you came to see him.

No, he was not my boy.

Madam, you must explain yourself.

You had me believe that you were the mother of the boy in my morgue.

No, I am the mother of a boy who is lost.

How is he lost?

I gave him up.

God bless him, I...

I would have kept him but you see what I am reduced to.

That's why I put him in the workhouse.

Oh, gosh, what is become of him?

Do you believe some harm has come to him?

Sir, I do fear it.

In the workhouse?

It's a fearful, dark place.

But they say he's not there, but if he were not there, he would be here with me.

Where else in the world could he be?

Shall we not go there, get to the heart of this matter?

And find my boy?

The master is not in his office, sir, at present.

Then find him.

We're here for a boy, Starling.

What's his Christian name?

Erm... My boy.

My boy!

Ma?

Yes, yes, your Ma is here, come to me!

BOY: Ma!

Oh... No.

You're... You're not my boy.

This...

This is my boy.

Come to your Ma now!

Are you my Ma?

Miss Starling, you must come away now.

Please come with me.

What is this now?

Please remove her, she is disturbing the children.

LEDA: I know I left him.

I know I left him!

My office, if you please.

REID: She seeks her son, she is much distressed.

Inspector Reid, is this woman the origin and cause of your earlier visit?

For you must understand, sir, she is deranged.

Do you not see?

She has lost her wits.

I do not doubt that it was she, claimed to be the mother of Tommy Riggs?

She is distracted, I own, but she is driven to it by the absence of her son.

Then I grieve for her.

But she comes here twice, often three times in a week to ask after him and every time I must tell her that she is mistaken.

We have no knowledge of her son, he has never been an inmate here!

I cannot help her.

She is unwell, sir.

Provision must be made for her.

I will call the Mile End Asylum.

No!

No, no, do not trouble yourself.

I will see that she is taken care of.

Very well.

Mr. Reid, will you take me away from this place?

Yes.

Yes, indeed.

Come.

Please.

CORNELIUS: I see now, Inspector Reid, how it is that you take such an interest.

You insinuate, sir?

I merely remark that it's not a criminal case you pursue here, is it?

I do not doubt you have more pressing police matters to attend to.

(INDISTINCT TALKING) Loss of short term memory, neurasthenia, insomnia, she's taken bromide of potassium.

Tertiary syphilis, it's in her brain.

At one moment she'll be lucid, rational, the next, she'll be scattered, maniacal, bewildered.

The asylum's her only future now.

Dear God, but a road, what sanctuary is there?

I will take her home for tonight.

Er... She needs rest.

And I would know more of this story of her boy and how he is missing.

And perhaps she will be calmer once she has rested.

Perhaps she will remember more.

You cannot take her home, Reid.

She is suffering the general paresis of the insane.

For that, I will find some place for her, tomorrow, somewhere better.

She's not your concern.

Morning, ladies!

Jake Carter, otherwise known as Redskin Jake, -Chief of the Skeleton Army, -(BELL DINGS) and soon to be convicted of the murder of Captain Solomon Shaw.

Caught him trying to shear a Salvation Army lad with these little beauties.

It's the black cap for you, my friend.

Hallelujah, look at him, though, you're a proper little workhouse boy, ain't you lad?

-Go on, son.

-Come here.

Tell the Sergeant what happened.

-Can you tell me what happened?

-BOY: Wilfred Higgins... That man, he grabbed me... DRAKE: You sheared this boy.

I have two other such assaults on my roll.

This is your practice, is it not?

Explain yourself.

I wanted to teach him a lesson.

Have you ever had a Salvation Army breakfast?

'Cause they make you beg for it.

I've had many a Salvation breakfast and never once was I made to beg.

Good people, merciful, who filled my belly and I was glad of it.

Grateful.

REDSKIN JAKE: They want your soul in return.

I sheared the boy, just to show he is one of us.

Human.

And for that, you sheared Solomon Shaw and all.

But it was not for this you killed him.

He came upon your territory, threatened your criminal dominion and you made him answer for it.

Stabbed him in the guts and strung him up.

Do you think me stupid?

I began my days in a prison, the workhouse.

What, do you think I mean to end 'em locked up and all?

We, the Skeleton Army, are the army of the free poor.

We've known the pauper's punishments.

You may eat, but if you're worthy.

You may live, if you're deserving.

We defy 'em.

We will live as we choose, without shame about poverty, without apology.

Beef!

Good beef.

Beer!

Good beer.

-Bacca!

-DRAKE: Shut your noise!

Yes, miss?

I am here to help Mrs. Starling home.

Miss Reid!

(SIGHS) Good evening.

Mathilda, come.

(CLEARS THROAT) There is soup, should she be hungry later.

Thank you for this care of her, only for tonight.

Tomorrow we will find the right and proper place for her.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR) Inspector Drake.

Given the late hour, I assume this is not a social call.

It is not.

Oh, I think you know it.

You overstepped the mark.

And I cannot help but wonder why this is so, when I ask you to pursue one task for me, this amputating costermonger.

Yet I must find you inventing quite another.

Inspector Drake, I do not act in opposition to you, I mean no disrespect.

It is...

It is only my doggedness that drives me.

I think you know that well enough.

(CHUCKLES) I know that, Edmund Reid.

And what of this lady?

Hmm?

This Leda Starling.

Jackson tells me you've brought her home.

And no doubt, that I have lost my judgement in this matter.

But she is ill, and she will be given the proper care, but first she must rest, so that I might pursue my inquiries of her.

And these inquiries are?

She has lost her son.

She says that, in dire straits, she gave him up to the Union workhouse but he has since gone missing.

She haunts the Union for news of him but the master there claims no knowledge of the boy.

I have some sense, a sickening thrum, that there is some kind of malice at work here.

The master, this Cornelius Wilde, he has a needling, deflecting way about him that resists all inquiry.

I wish to talk to the Redskin.

He was a workhouse boy, I should like to hear what he has to say of the place.

I must say, Mr. Reid, I have my doubts for this.

I fear this case is food for the pigs, there are that many scraps.

You are working on the say-so, of, forgive me, a lunatic.

Workhouse boys?

I mean, they run away every day, what is there to see in this?

Your boy, Tommy, is dead, I grieve for him but, you forget, this is Whitechapel.

For all that we have done here, she is still the merciless bitch of the East.

And it gives me to ask, what possessed you to come back here?

LEDA: No!

No!

(LEDA WHIMPERS) Please... (MUTTERING) Please?

REID: Leda?

Where's William?

William is your boy?

Where's Barnabas?

Where's William?

Where's Barnabas?

Where's William?

No, they're missing.

No, no, you must listen to me.

My mind is so often clouded, but it is clear now, for a moment, hear it, please!

My little boy was afraid.

His friend William and his friend Barnabas, they disappeared.

-Disappeared?

-From the house, from the workhouse!

He was afraid for them.

Oh, I'm afraid.

You do believe me, do you?

Yes.

Yes.

Oh, God, and now my boy is such another.

You will find him for me, hmm?

Say you will find him.

If he be... ...dead, I do not care who or why or how, I do not even ask for justice, only that my boy be not alone in the world and forgotten and unknown.

I will find him.

I vow it.

I will find your child.

You've brought Lady Luck with you, sir.

Ah, this winning is too easy.

-(CROKER LAUGHS) -You mean to make me generous.

Do you think me some feeble-headed girl, with her brains... No, sir.

No, indeed.

I will give the job the man who offers me the best price.

For three, four, I will do it for half your fee.

(FLOORBOARD CREAKING) CROKER: Woman.

Make yourself useful.

I am dry.

But not crippled, I think.

There is the wine, there are your legs.

Well, forgive me, my dear, you have not been introduced.

This is... ...Jenny.

I bought her to pretty things up.

Mm.

How much?

How long have you been waiting in dock, while you ferret around for this cheap price?

And all the while paying your port fees and interest.

What is the interest on your cargo?

It is not for this that you are yet unloaded.

It is not the best price that you seek, it is discretion.

Clever little whore.

(GROANS) If you mean to do business with us, you will learn to keep a civil tongue.

Bo Nystrom?

(CLICKS TONGUE) Yeah, you have a memorable name.

You have not traded in the Port of London for many years, sir.

Not since the steamship Gustavus went down with all hands, an unwarranted wreck in a calm sea.

Nevertheless, the insurance was paid handsomely, fraudulently.

Our friends at Lloyd's would be interested to know of your return to the London docks.

These are our terms, the job is ours and no other's.

The price is double.

And there is a premium to pay, for my silence.

One minute and the offer is closed.

(TICKING) If you betray me, I will carve you like scrimshaw.

(CROKER CHUCKLES) Jenny's a wildcat.

Inspector Reid, is it not?

Your name travels ahead, sir.

My name is Castello.

Castello of The Star?

Yours travels too, miss.

And who is this wonderful girl?

I am Mathilda Reid.

Miss Castello, you have some business with me?

(CHUCKLES) Your marvelous return to us here, it is owed to the fate of Isaac Bloom, I understand.

You understand how?

-We have a mutual friend.

-And who that?

Deborah Goren, of the orphanage on Woodseer Street.

Come, Mathilda, we will be late.

She asks herself why it is you have not sought her out since your return.

Wonders if that return is motivated by the execution of your other mutual friend, Mr. Bloom?

If the murder of the Rabbi Rutowski still occupies that restless mind of yours?

As you know, that case is now closed.

And yet so much of its details still stand injuncted, withheld from the public by the unseen hand of police officialdom.

Why is that, sir, if indeed that case is closed?

Will you now leave us, Miss Castello?

Or allow us to leave you?

Be my guest, Mr. Reid.

And a good day to you, Miss Mathilda Reid.

Cornelius Wilde told me this boy had been missing for a week.

But can a mere week out of the workhouse reduce a child to this?

JACKSON: Fingernails missing.

Sores in the mouth and the tongue.

And this cracking about the lips, that's severe dehydration.

I'd say that's chronic in nature.

A matter of months.

Then no more delay, an autopsy must be done on this boy.

Well, my work's done here, anyways, so... (FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING) Got a fragment of steel, lodged in the vertebra.

Broken blade.

Redskin's your man.

You wished to have words with him, Mr. Reid.

Do you come then?

Redskin Jake.

Murderer.

These, your shears.

The missing piece found in the backbone of Solomon Shaw.

What say you now?

We have you, boy.

Your motive, sir.

What drove you to this act?

My protest.

My defiance against the disposing of the poor.

I charge you with the murder of Captain Solomon Shaw...

Inspector Drake, if I may?

You were a workhouse boy, sir?

Here is another fine institution.

I should have killed him, the master.

Should have killed him first.

For it is he that started this pretty business.

Peddling the lives of the poor.

This pretty business, expound it.

Well, he shut down the Casual Ward.

Pays the Salvation Army a penny a man for the vagrants he now turns away.

REID: Shut down the Casual Ward, when?

-Two months since.

-Here is a lie told.

This Cornelius Wilde, he claims he shut it for disinfection.

It's cheaper to pay off these souls at a penny a go, than to keep 'em.

Then he is managing his costs.

Here are boys, one dead, three missing, and here is a man obsessed with his books, his accounts, disposing of the Casual Wards.

What else is he disposing of?

Your name, these...

These markings.

-I'm a redskin and proud.

-REID: A redskin.

These are the Infirmary boys, shaved and painted.

This is iodine.

My badge of honor.

You think the workhouse is the lowest of the low, hm?

Wrong.

It's the Workhouse Infirmary, that's the lowest.

The sick and the weak.

You're just a burden, ain't you?

Left to rot.

Or, better yet, they give you the old black potion... What is the black potion?

Poison.

This old black potion, it is folklore.

You ask any workhouse, you'll hear 'em talk of it.

It is a pauper's myth!

Find Cornelius Wilde, detain him here.

Scour this place, seek out any hidden place, any locked cupboard, bring me whatsoever you may find there.

Do you see it?

Something inhuman here... DRAKE: It is neat and correct.

Orderly.

REID: This order, this marvelous efficiency, this systematization, I believe that here yet attends some unforeseen evil.

Some coldness to humankind, some conscience lost.

This way.

REID: What is this you give them?

MATRON: Cod liver oil, sir.

(CHILDREN COUGHING) And this?

An outbreak of scarlet fever.

You may not go in, sir!

It's quarantined.

-(DOORKNOB RATTLING) -Mr. Reid!

It's quarantined, you cannot go in there.

Mr. Reid, you are going beyond, here.

Where to now?

REID: Casual Ward.

It was recently fumigated.

This is some poor kind of building work.

The ceiling's in the wrong place.

It stinks of carbolic.

THATCHER: Mr. Drake, sir.

Cornelius Wilde, he's found!

You see me here, Inspector Drake, an innocent man.

Shackled.

You will not hear the end of this.

Here is a man with a vision.

He means to invest in his young inmates, teach them skills, build them up, ready for life.

It's a worthy vision, but it costs money.

A great deal of money and he has only limited resources.

What can we see here?

Busy accounts indeed, there's money moved from here to there, robbing Peter to pay Paul.

You pay a small fee to the Salvation Army to rid yourself of the great cost of the Casual Ward.

CORNELIUS: There is nothing illegal in that.

The Casual Ward was a drain on my resources, I freely own it.

These men, these, these loafer paupers, they are the lazy, the indolent, the residuum.

They are irredeemable.

Undeserving of sympathy, of kindness.

Undeserving of life.

Tommy Riggs, a boy in your care, and yet he died in abjection, in my arms.

Tommy Riggs ran away.

Tommy Riggs escaped from you!

He fled for his life!

Mr. Reid, here is something you must see.

The boy Starling, marked here.

Jabez Starling, lost to his mother.

She, dying of grief, and you denied all knowledge of him.

You denied her her boy, you told us she was mad.

That woman... That woman... She... She gave him up to the house.

-She is a prostitute, a lunatic!

-REID: Bluster, sir.

You could not acknowledge him, for you could not produce him.

What have you done with him?

What have you done with him?

How have you disposed of him?

Hey, Mr. Reid.

I will find you out, sir.

You have taken leave of your senses, Mr. Reid.

You accuse me of killing the boys in my care?

Inspector Drake, will you allow this obsession?

This...

This mania?

You stop your yapping now and be silent.

REID: The money from the Casual Ward then.

Yes, here, you pay the salaries of three school teachers, and yet you are still in the red.

Now let me see, where is the greatest expenditure made?

I will warrant it is in the Infirmary.

The Children's Infirmary.

Costs fall, month on month, this last quarter.

As the children are dispatched.

How much does a sick child cost, Mr. Wilde?

How many do you need to be rid of before you balance your books?

Why would I want to kill my boys when my only purpose is to give them life?!

A locked cabinet, Mr. Reid.

And inside, these.

REID: Blaud pills, treatment of anemia.

Sulphate of iron.

Huge cupboard, full of them.

Hundreds of bottles.

Tommy Riggs died from scarring of the intestinal tract, and dehydration caused by the excessive ingestion of iron.

He's killing the sick.

For it is cheaper than keeping them.

Dear God, he is killing children.

Tommy Riggs ran away, Jabez Starling ran away.

Inspector Reid has taken leave of his senses.

Not for the first time.

(BOTTLE THUDS) Deaths...

They are not marked here.

He is not taking them to the pits or he must document them.

THATCHER: Then where's he putting them?

The Casual Ward.

It was not the ceiling, that was too low.

It was the floor, it was too high.

(GASPS) THATCHER: Sweet Jesus.

REID: You will dig up every single one of these boys that you have buried -and you will identify them!

-(CORNELIUS COUGHS) You will identify this boy or you will join him in the earth.

(RETCHING) This, Jabez Starling.

You... You do not understand, you cannot!

This place, the waste of life, it is...

It is intolerable.

This...

This boy, this Jabez himself blighted with syphilis, his mother deranged, his... His father absent.

There...

There is no hope for him, only poverty and degradation.

These...

These...

These others, polio, rickets.

I only hasten the inevitable.

And there is...

There is a kindness in it, there is a kindness in it for them, their sufferings, their pitiful lives are shortened.

These useless boys.

I have given 100 children, 100 children the start in life they deserve.

(GRUNTS) But at what cost, hm?

Deserving poor, the undeserving poor.

Who are you to judge?

(CONNOR SHOUTING) ROSE: Connor!

Connor!

(CONNOR STRUGGLING) Connor... Connor, calm yourself.

Rose.

All day it is like this.

He will have nothing of me.

Why don't you quit your fooling, little man, huh?

(GRUNTS) You've gotta behave, for your mum.

(CONNOR LAUGHS) ♪ Little girl, little girl ♪ Don't you lie to me ♪ Tell me where did you sleep last night ♪ In the pines, in the pines Where the sun never shines ♪ Shiver... ♪ The only kind of song I know.

You will come see him again?

I don't think Mr. Drake would care for that very much.

Well...

He need never know.

LEDA: I lost my boy.

(WOMAN SOBBING) But I know where he lies.

It's a bright spot, beside the trees, where birds sing.

Why do you weep, sir?

The comfort you have for your son, I could not give to my wife.

Our girl was lost to her forever.

LEDA: You are a good man, Mr. Reid.

Do you not know it?

You are a mighty heart.

(SOBBING) I lost my boy.

(SNIFFLES) But I know where he lies.

Beside the trees.

Among the birds.

Edmund Reid, you are forgiven.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES OUT)