Get up!
What time is it?
Time you did some work. Lying around like a useless lump!
Sorry, Dad. I don't feel well.
You think I take the day off when I feel poorly?
Feeble little runt!
Look at you.
Pathetic!
You want to be a man!
But what did I expect? You take after your mother.
- What did you say? - You heard.
You're just like your mother.
I'm nothing like my mother!
- Pathetic, am I? A little runt? - Get off me!
Why should I? Now who's the feeble one?
Things are going to change around here, Dad.
Things are going to change!
Father Brown 2x09: The Grim Reaper Original air date: January 16, 2014
- Mrs McCarthy. - Honestly!
I go away for one week and when I come back, what do I find?
Chaos!
That is a slight exaggeration.
Oh, has someone done the Mass lists or the bidding prayers
or written up the weekly collection?
There have been slips in administration.
Slips? It's a complete landslide!
And who on earth is responsible for that?
We decided to let Mrs Tindall have a turn.
She's been waiting for a very, very long time.
I am very, very well aware! Look at that foliage.
It's half-dead!
Who would have thought ﬂower arranging could be so dangerous?
I think it was the eryngium that got me.
- What? - Sea holly?
Oh.
Well, you take the eye drops three times a day,
and my wife will make you an appointment to have the stitches out.
- Are you all right, Mrs McCarthy? - Yes, fine.
Well... I'm still a bit shaken.
Well, now you know why we don't have flowers in the surgery.
Although I do have one very beautiful rose.
So, when would be convenient for you?
I suppose I could do any morning except Tuesday.
Nine o'clock, Tuesday.
I said any morning except Tuesday!
Um... Sorry!
Tuesday afternoon?
Oh, for heaven's sake! Am I surrounded by incompetence?
Oona, Oona!
I'm sorry.
No, no. I'm sorry. Um, what's the matter?
It's nothing.
No, it's not nothing. Just look at the state you're in.
It's just...
I think I'm going to have a baby.
Come on! Come on! Move!
Must stop smoking.
Traditionally, Sid, shouldn't you be inside the car?
That's very funny.
I've been saying to Lady F we should get this serviced for weeks.
Does she listen? Mind you, only 200 yards to the garage.
I will share your load.
Ah, would ya?
Right, I'll steer. Right, you ready?
One, two... What?
That was Alfred. You know, Farmer Tatton's son?
Well, if he carries on riding like that, he won't be for much longer.
What did he say?
I haven't told him.
Why on earth not? He's a doctor, for heaven's sake!
It's just...
Last year, I lost a baby.
Oh.
And afterwards, the doctors said I could never have another.
Adam was sad, and... said perhaps it was a blessing.
He's too old for a family.
Oh, he may have said that,
but I've known him since before you were... Well, for a very long time.
And he is the kindest of men.
I'm sure he'll be thrilled at your news.
I've tried to tell him, but recently, he just seems so distracted.
He's a very busy man.
I know,
but please, don't tell anyone till I know for sure.
I am the soul of discretion.
Though I may have to start knitting!
- Excuse me! - You're excused.
What do you want?
Isn't it obvious, Oona?
Alfred wanted to see you.
Right, well, you'd better come through.
So, what seems to be the trouble?
Well, I need some painkillers.
And where's the pain this time?
It's the headaches. They're all the time now,
like someone's banging a hammer on my skull.
Look, Alfred.
I do have to be careful about how many of these I prescribe.
I'm in agony here.
I think we both know what you could do to reduce the headaches.
Give it to me!
All I'm saying is that certain actions have inevitable consequences.
What, like if you marry a woman half your age,
then she'll run off with somebody else?
Let's just stick to your health problems, shall we?
Don't bother.
I reckon you've got enough problems of your own.
Alfred! Alfred, wait!
I don't know how you put up with that old fool.
You want to spend some time with a real man,
come see me at the barn.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
Never!
I'll see you later.
Adam?
That boy gets more like his father every day.
Do you fancy some lunch?
No. I've, um, got some errands to do.
Now, about these annual reports...
Don't say it.
Say what, Mrs M?
That I... That I look like Lord Nelson.
I was going say Long John Silver.
Pay no attention.
I'm sure Dr Crawford did an excellent job with your stitches.
He did.
Do you know, he spent ten minutes looking for the right shade of thread
to match my eyebrows?
How very meticulous.
And then I bumped into Alfred Tatton at the surgery.
He is turning into a very unpleasant young man.
Mm... He does seem to be a lost soul.
You lost something, Mrs M?
Oh, I left my eye drops at the surgery. Well, it'll have to wait.
Now, about these annual reports,
which you have done no work on whatsoever.
Yes, well, that sounds like a marvellous idea,
but I did promise to speak to Mr Sim about the Bishop's visit.
- Mm. - What?
And I could pick your eye drops up on the way over.
It's a good idea.
But...
I think we need...
Oh, you were a while.
I ran into Mrs Gillespie.
You know what a chatterbox she is.
Are we going for lunch?
Ah, well, Mrs McCarthy forgot her eye drops,
but before that, I'd better give Alfred his prescription.
Right.
I'll be as quick as I can.
I tell you what. Why don't we take a picnic up to Tawny Lake?
- Oh, Father! - Oona!
I'm looking for eye drops.
I think Mrs McCarthy may have mislaid them.
Oh, my husband's just gone off with them.
Really? Where to?
Tatton Farm.
Well, it's not too far. I'll try and catch him.
And I can have a word with young Alfred.
Everything all right?
Yes. Yes, I'm fine.
Everything's fine.
Mind my bike!
Alfred?
No! No!
Father Brown. Everything all right?
No. Everything is not all right.
That'll do for now. Thank you, Doctor.
I don't know how this could have happened.
What a terrible accident.
Yes... It must have been.
These machines are so unreliable.
I'm sure there'll be a full investigation.
He was such a good boy, you know.
Couldn't do enough for me.
Maybe God took him because he was short of angels.
- Inspector? - Father Brown.
Isn't it interesting?
Whenever there's a suspicious death, you're never far away.
Does the Grim Reaper give you advance warning?
I don't want to step on your toes...
Obviously.
But why do you consider this death suspicious?
Several reasons. One of which, Alfred fell backwards.
But if he'd been loading the machine, he would have been facing forwards.
It's difficult to believe
that an experienced operator would suddenly fall in,
whereas it's very easy indeed for him to be pushed.
So what brought you to Tatton Farm?
I wanted to catch Dr Crawford, but his wife said
he'd already left for Tatton Farm, so I came after him.
Interesting.
What is?
You both made the same journey,
but you went by bicycle and the doctor came by car.
So how did you manage to get here first?
Just double check all of that.
Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch.
And if you ever need to talk, the door of St Mary's is always open.
Thank you, Father.
Because I was surprised when you described your son as an angel.
I know, in the past, you said that living with him was a trial.
We had our ups and downs, but he were a good boy.
I prefer to concentrate on the happy memories.
What was your last memory of Alfred?
What?
When did you last see him?
I need to lie down, Father. Good day to you.
It's awful. What do they think happened?
It was an accident.
Of course.
He fell.
It would have been very quick. I mean, I don't think he suffered.
Er... There's just one thing I must do.
Adam, there's just something I've been meaning to tell you.
What?
Dr Crawford.
Can we have a word?
So, you went straight from the surgery to the barn?
That's right. I parked round the corner in Lovage Lane.
These country roads play havoc with your suspension.
Mm.
I'd say that's a two-minute journey.
And yet, you're unaccounted for, for nearly ten.
Well, I may have stopped somewhere along the way.
Really?
Actually, yes. I think I did stop to admire the lavender.
Is that so?
Yes, it's rather magnificent this time of year.
Hm.
What time was this exactly?
Well, er...
Quarter past... Twenty past twelve. Does it matter?
I'd say it does matter.
John Tatton has just lost his only son.
Yes. Yes, he's had such a terrible run of tragedies.
He must constantly be asking himself, why me?
Mm.
You know, if I had to name anyone, I'd go for John Tatton.
Would you?
Such a cruel man!
He never seemed able to look his son straight in the eye.
Bit late for the post, isn't it, Mrs M?
There's no name on it.
"Alfred Tatton was killed by Dr Crawford." No!
Who could have written such a thing?
Who indeed?
Inspector, did you want to see me?
Always a pleasure, Father, but no, I'm here for the funeral.
Have you seen these?
Several dozen letters, sent all over town.
We're looking into who sent them
and the possibility that it could be true.
Sid? Sid?
I want you to try every typewriter in Kembleford.
The library, village shop, school.
Even the one Mrs McCarthy uses. And see if you can find a match for this.
Why do I get all the boring jobs?
Because it is vital that we find the author.
They're called poison pen letters for a reason.
Mr Tatton... My condolences.
You're very kind, Mrs McCarthy,
but the best thing in my life has been taken away from me.
Of course. If you'll excuse me.
Oona!
Don't you know it's bad luck to come to a funeral in your condition?
Ssh! I don't want anyone to know.
- You still haven't told? - It just never seems the right time.
And now these awful letters!
Oh, you shouldn't pay a blind bit of notice to them.
Nobody else has.
And, um... where is your husband?
- I don't know. - Amen.
- I'm so, so very sorry. - You're drunk!
Drunk? Of course I'm not drunk!
Showing up at my son's funeral in that state! It's disrespectful!
Well, your son was hardly the most respectful of people.
How dare you!
- You seen this? Hm? - What is it?
I think you know. It's true, isn't it?
It was you! You're a murderer!
It should be you in that grave!
- Stand back! - Calm down, please.
You're just going to let him get away with it?
We are investigating your son's death,
and I would ask you to be patient.
It's all right. Just don't... don't make a fuss!
Why is everybody staring at me?
I'm sorry, Father,
but I had to come here in case I did something I'd regret.
You made...
a very serious public allegation.
I don't regret one word of it.
What makes you so sure that Dr Crawford killed your son?
You remember how my Eileen died?
A road accident.
Eileen used to drink
till she could hardly put one foot in front of another.
One day, she went to see Dr Crawford...
drunk out of her mind.
He gave her a prescription for a headache
and sent her on her way.
She walked straight into a lorry.
I'm sure if he could have foretold the future,
he would have stopped her.
He sent my Eileen to her death and now he's killed my boy.
I'm sure of it!
Did you send those letters, John?
No, but I'd like to shake the hand of whoever did.
I can't prove he did it, but I know he had the motive.
Really?
Oona was having an affair with Alfred, you know.
He often used to boast about it.
What's wrong with you? I've never seen you drink before.
- Maybe it's time I started. - What?
Seeing Alfred, a young man, suddenly taken,
it makes you think - maybe it's time we started living.
But you were drunk at a funeral, Adam!
Yes, and in a few hours, I'll be sober, whereas Alfred... Alfred will...
Poor Alfred!
I'm sorry.
It's these letters, isn't it?
No, I just need to lie down for a while.
Yesterday, you were going to tell me something.
What? No. No, it's nothing. Go and lie down.
Oona.
I'm sorry. My husband can't see anyone at the moment.
Indeed, he did seem somewhat overwrought.
He does get upset whenever a patient dies.
Yes, of course.
And you? Were you upset?
What do you mean?
Well, were you close to Alfred Tatton?
No.
I saw him when he came to the surgery, but that's it.
Corona Standard.
Er, yes, it's my husband's.
Why don't you type a notice to say that afternoon surgery is cancelled?
No! He just needed a few minutes' rest.
I'm sure he's better now.
Then I'll pop in and see him.
Just a minute.
Yes?
Father Brown!
What on earth?
Yes, I'm feeling much better, thank you.
There's been a lot of talk about your behaviour today.
My behaviour? All I was trying to do was pay my condolences.
Yet you told John Tatton you were sorry.
What exactly are you sorry about?
I'm sorry that I didn't get to his son sooner...
that I paused along the way,
I'm sorry that I can't bring people back from the dead.
Sorry. Things just keep going wrong.
Have you any idea who wrote this letter?
Some very troubled individual. I won't let it bother me.
That's the spirit.
Didn't know you were an astronomer.
It's just... Just something I dabble in.
Yes, everyone should have a hobby.
Was there anything else?
No.
I'm so sorry, but they wanted to speak with you.
What's this about?
We can tell you at the station if you'd like to come this way.
- Inspector... - And you can stay right where you are.
I have brought your laundry. A clean cassock.
Yes.
And I've sorted out the mess you left the accounts in.
No.
Oh, they asked if you'd like to be the next Pope.
Yes.
I'm sorry, what were you saying?
Oh, nothing important. What's that?
It was written on the typewriter that lives on Oona's desk.
The same typewriter that wrote the poison pen letters.
How do you know?
- Look at the O. - Yes?
Every single one blocked in.
But that means... Do you think that...
Right, well, I have tried every typewriter in town.
Not one of them matches.
I think that deserves a cup of tea.
Or something stronger.
I'm afraid we've discovered something unpleasant.
The letters were written by Oona.
Oona?
Hello?
Sid's shepherds crook.
Father Brown?
What have you got there?
Adam's star charts. Your husband said I could borrow them.
I thought lying was a sin, Father.
Yes, it is.
And you haven't been honest about your relationship
with Alfred Tatton.
Of course Alfred used to chase Oona. It was embarrassing!
He seemed to be obsessed with her.
And how did she feel about him?
He repulsed me.
Did you ever see him outside of the surgery?
Oona?
All right! I did go to the barn on the day that he died,
but only to tell him to leave me alone, once and for all.
Why did you wait so long to talk about this?
- Because I knew it would look suspicious. - Well, it does.
But what is even more suspicious is this.
I've no idea who wrote the letter.
A patient with a grudge?
I think this was written by someone who knows you very well.
Who wrote the letter?
- It wasn't me. - It was written on your typewriter.
I could never write such a thing.
The police will believe otherwise.
I can't write English.
What?
All my education was in Gaelic.
I can't read or write English at all.
You see, despite your lies, someone out there knows the truth.
I'm telling you the truth. I didn't kill him!
Though you admit he had designs on your wife.
Yes, he had excellent taste!
And you knew you were going to lose her.
Oh, don't be ridiculous!
Still, you and Oona had 18 months together. Not a bad innings.
Inspector, just stop this.
Because how could you ever compete with such a young man?
Just stop it, whatever you're suggesting!
One so much more virile!
Just shut up! Just shut up about Alfred Tatton!
All right. It was me.
What?
I did it.
I killed him.
I cannot believe I was fooled by that woman!
Well, if that's Ursa Major...
This eye patch must have made me blind!
- Then that should be... - Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
What if it isn't Dr Crawford's?
- What if it's... - The pole star!
Are you listening to me?
Mrs McCarthy, don't move.
- What? - Stand perfectly still.
Are you all right, Father?
Yes, unlike the poor soul who will have made these drawings.
- Father, I need to... - Ah, Sid!
You're here to tell me that Dr Crawford has been charged with murder.
- Well, yeah, that's right. - And indeed he's confessed.
Well, yeah, he has. How do you know?
Because it's written in the stars.
Father Brown, I do hope you're here for religious purposes,
and not to meddle.
I don't know what you mean.
Perhaps you should think about leaving things
to the professionals from now on.
Never forget that professionals built the Titanic.
But an amateur built the Ark.
Hello, Adam.
Hello, Father.
Thank you for coming.
I hear you've confessed.
I knew Alfred had designs on Oona, so I followed him to the barn
and told him to leave her alone.
And he laughed at me.
Said I was a clapped-out old has-been,
who could never please her the way he could.
So I climbed the ladder and I threw him into the metal jaws.
I'd like to say it was a moment of madness,
but I think I went there intending to do it.
Well, thank you.
What for?
The story.
And when you're released without charge,
you may think about taking up a new career writing pulp fiction.
Oh?
You wrote those poison pen letters, didn't you?
But why would you write something
that could lead to the hangman's noose?
I think the answer lies in these charts.
They're not stars, are they?
They're marks.
Maybe moles on a human's body. Perhaps a patient?
But not just any old patient.
Someone whom you observe everyday.
They are a self-portrait... of your body.
If anyone could see through me, I might have known it would be you.
Is there something you want to confess?
Bless me Father, for I have sinned.
It has been three weeks since my last confession.
And they've been busy weeks.
What are those marks?
Tumours on the skin.
The first sign of a virulent form of cancer.
I've only got a few months left.
So sorry.
Well, it's not your fault.
When I found out, my first thought was to take my own life.
But suicide is a mortal sin.
And then came that day in the barn.
I'd gone there to give Alfred his prescription,
and he was blind drunk, as usual.
As I entered, he turned to see who it was
and he lost his balance.
There was nothing I could do to save him.
I see.
There was a whisky bottle on the ﬂoor
and I knew that John had lost his wife to alcohol
and I thought it might break his heart if his son went the same way.
So I picked it up and took it to my car.
And then when I came back, you were there.
Father Brown! Everything all right?
I can see how you would want to protect his reputation.
But why frame yourself for a murder that was never committed?
Because I've only got a few months left to live
and a hangman's noose is a less painful end.
And I'll be saving Oona the trouble of nursing me
and the pain of watching me rot away.
And John. Poor John.
It must be the worst thing in the world to lose your only child.
But you see, he might gain some comfort from believing that it was a crime,
not some random act of God
and that the murderer had been punished.
As I walked towards you that day,
with that terrible machine in the background, I thought...
I can't save Alfred.
But I can help the people left behind.
Before making a quick, painless,
if rather theatrical exit myself.
So, it was almost therapeutic writing those letters.
Knowing they would start a rumour.
Which would lead in a few weeks to a guilty verdict.
This is simply suicide by another name.
It will bring no peace to John.
It will break Oona's heart.
And it will horrify anyone who has ever known you.
No, you're wrong.
They'll be happy to see me hanged because they'll think I'm guilty.
Besides, it's too late.
Public opinion is against me
and it's my first court appearance next week.
When they ask me how I plead and I say that one word.
- It's only a matter of time. - It is not too late.
Oh, but it's been good to have someone to confide in.
And it's nice to know that thanks to the seal of the confessional,
nothing I've said
can go beyond these walls.
Feeble little runt!
You're just like your mother!
Things are going to change around here, Dad.
John!
Things are going to change!
Father.
Did you know Dr Crawford's appearing in court?
- When? - This afternoon.
Right.
Well, he'll soon get what he deserves.
And I can look him in the eye
as the noose goes round his neck.
And I can say, "This is for Alfred."
And when you've done that, will you feel less guilty?
It was me, Father.
I killed him.
Not with my own hands, but I drove him to it.
How?
Three years ago, with Eileen.
I didn't do enough for him, when she was in the gutter, and...
Someone said she ran in front of that lorry.
And I knew Alfred drank, the way she did,
which was why I was so hard on him.
I wanted him to knuckle down.
But what if I drove him to this?
Was he having an affair with Oona?
I don't know.
Perhaps it was just a teenage boy bragging.
But you needed someone to blame?
I don't really think Dr Crawford did it, Father.
Why would he?
If you truly believe that... you should come to the court.
Please.
Please God, whatever happens to me, will you keep my child safe?
And help me to understand why my husband did this.
Father?
I've just been talking to Mr Tatton.
He's decided to come to court with me.
Right.
I wish that you would do the same.
Just to say goodbye.
To a man that you promised to love, to honour...
- Father Brown? - I'm sorry.
I got a bit close to the threshing machine.
It's this chaff...
Chaff?
Yes, I got some in my cassock last week.
It seems to get everywhere.
But I do my husband's laundry and his suit was completely spotless.
- Was it? - Yes, it was!
A general practitioner is to appear in court today,
charged with the murder of one of his patients.
Dr Adam Crawford of Kembleford, Gloucestershire,
is said to have deliberately pushed 19-year-old Alfred Tatton to his death.
Adam, why are you doing this?
We know you didn't kill Alfred. I know he drank.
Are you trying to punish me? Because I've done nothing wrong.
Just go, Oona.
I can't.
Everyone thinks I was with Alfred and that's why you killed him.
People spit at me in the street.
I did a terrible thing. And now I have to pay for it.
No, you don't. You're lying and you're destroying my life.
Why?
You have to forget me. You have to leave Kembleford.
You can start again.
With a child who'll never know their father?
What?
I'm going to have your baby.
Adam! I love you!
Are you Adam Henry Crawford of Kembleford in Gloucestershire?
- I am. - Adam Henry Crawford...
you are accused of the wilful murder of Alfred Tatton.
How do you plead?
Not guilty.
- I've come to see my husband. - Take her through.
You'll get into serious trouble one day. Interfering in police business.
I don't believe this was police business.
This was a terrible accident,
where, for whatever reason, someone decided to take the blame.
Perhaps on this occasion, you might be right.
Indeed.
And perhaps some things are too important
to be left to the professionals.
How could you tell such a terrible lie?
For a long time now, I've not been very well, and...
I couldn't bear the thought of you seeing me suffer.
So I thought this would be the easy way out.
Is it serious?
You will get better?
I don't know.
But doctors said you could never have children,
so what do they know?
Is there anything we can do?
We can find out. I'm not giving up.
So...
What are we going to call this baby?
Well... do you want a boy or a girl?
I want a girl. I want a girl just like you.
I think we should call her Hope.
Mrs McCarthy!
Turned your back on piracy, I see.
Are you... knitting?
No.
Well, yes, obviously, but for no particular reason.
You knew Oona was expecting, didn't you?
All right, but I was sworn to secrecy.
Even though it would have been quite useful for me to know.
Oh, talk of the devil.
How are you, Oona?
I'm great, thanks, Father Brown.
How's Adam?
He's fine. He's... looking forward to the future.
Oh, that's very good to hear.
Of course, I never suspected either of you of anything.
'Course not.
And I hope you'll accept
this little garment as a token of our ongoing friendship.
Thank you.
That's very impressive knitwear, Mrs McCarthy.
But I think I read that the women of Breganmore
have much more chance of producing twins.
Old wives' tales.
No, it's true. Sure, I'm one of triplets myself.
Oh...
Indeed.
I'll have to get some more wool, then!
Yes, I think you will.
Happy knitting.