Let us begin, my friends, at the end.
Lizzie: John?
John!
He left nothing?
No...Note?
If he meant to poison himself,
why would he not at least leave a note?
I fear that the act of burning his papers
bears testament enough to his state of mind.
Mrs. cree...? Forgive me --
i-i know this is neither the time nor the place --
but may I say what an ardent admirer I am of your work?
I looked in the kitchen, sir.
This was all I could find.
I'm afraid this'll be it.
There was residue in a glass on the nightstand.
Oh, it can't have been in there, sir.
His nightly cordial was always prepared by Mrs. cree.
Aveline...?
You...Did not make the drink?
Surely you're not asking me in earnest
if I poisoned my husband?
Oh, sir, believe me, she cannot have done this!
The two of them were in a most violent dispute yesterday!
Why would she prepare Mr. cree a nightcap
when they were not on speaking terms?
Aveline, what has possessed you?
Sir, please, allow me to explain.
I'm sorry, Mrs. cree.
You'll need to do that down at Scotland yard.
A woman accused of poisoning her husband.
But not just any woman --
little Lizzie,
darling of the music halls.
But the city was in thrall
with the fearsome limehouse golem.
Who was he?
Who would be his next victim?
The golem had last struck
the day before her arrest.
And his was the name
on every londoner's lips.
How many are dead?
Five.
Shopkeeper Mr. Gerrard, his wife Mary, their maid...
And the two Gerrard children.
It's not...Number 29.
29 ratcliffe highway?
What of it?
The ratcliffe highway murders?
John Williams?
It's a bit before my time.
Kildare: And mine! It was 70 years ago!
Inspector Roberts!
Can you confirm that this is the work of the golem?
Evening post reporter: What is it about this house?
Do you think it could be cursed, sir?
Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!
I'd ask you to, uh, direct your requests to my colleague,
detective inspector kildare. He's taking over the case.
Evening post reporter: Kildare? How are you spelling that?
Taking over?
I'm just stepping aside, not stepping down.
The public seeks reassurance, kildare.
What better way than to give them new blood?
Are you fearful of stepping into the shoes of the great Mr. Roberts?
Evening post reporter: Can you confirm this is the work of the golem?
How many more people have to die before the golem is caught?
Driver!
Man: Detective Roberts!
Inspector kildare, is it true
that this is your first murder case?
Inspector kildare!
Kildare!
Move. Move back.
Do you know if they'll be
displaying the bodies today, sir?
Flood: Step aside, sir.
The maid was found over there.
Were there footprints when you arrived? The golem's prints?
Flood: Half of limehouse was already here.
Which of the victims was found there?
None. The golem moved that one himself.
Either Mr. or Mrs. Gerrard. -More likely him.
If the maid was killed first,
he'd investigate the disturbance.
Where is her body now? -We took her upstairs, sir.
At least up there we can keep the hoi poloi out.
Down here is a lost cause. -They can't all be reporters.
Oh, no. Locals looking for entertainment.
Cheaper than a ticket to a shocker.
Sometimes I suspect if i was dispatched to hell,
I'd barely notice the change, bar the weather.
This is inspector kildare.
Taking over from Roberts. -Sir.
Can you tell this idiot to let me up?
I'm with the evening post!
This is the maid?
I'm sorry.
I've never seen anything of this kind.
Neither have I.
"He who observes spills no less blood
than he who inflicts the blow."
Lactantius.
Impressive, sir.
The truth has a habit of sticking in the mind.
Truth?
Those who fail to prevent injustice
are as guilty as the perpetrator.
It's a message...
To us.
Evidence -- John cree case.
The poisoning.
You've had quite a week.
First the limehouse golem, now this.
I heard inspector kildare was asking after you.
Yes.
I don't know what he wanted. I keep missing him.
Well, they did right giving him the golem case, I reckon.
He'd have risen well above Roberts by now
if those rumors hadn't done for him.
You know.
That he wasn't the marrying kind...
Men.
Oh, it's before your time, i suppose.
Come in.
I got your message, sir.
I'm being assigned a constable.
I thought someone of your knowledge of limehouse
might be an asset.
When I heard nothing back,
I thought perhaps the offer didn't appeal.
I came by twice, sir. You were out.
I was at limehouse. Appealing for witnesses.
To no avail.
-What are you looking for? -I'm just looking.
Trying to understand.
The golem's a madman.
What else is there to be understood?
Even madness has its own logic.
Here there's none.
At ratcliffe highway, he slaughtered a household.
The previous week, a prostitute. Alice Stanton.
Before that, Solomon weil.
He was an old man, a -- a scholar.
Oh, my god.
Is that his -- -yes.
Laid upon the open pages of a book on Jewish folklore,
like a bookmark.
"The legend of the golem."
Is that how the press got the name?
Our murderer obviously approved.
And who were the first two?
Both women of the streets.
I do remember reading of that one.
"Old salty." -Her name was Jane quig.
The point is there's no story to any of them.
Men, women, young, old. Jew and Christian. Rich and poor.
Perhaps he just likes to kill.
No.
I'll wager there's a tale being told.
If we can sink to his circle of damnation to comprehend it.
If I may say, sir,
seems you've been wasted down in theft-and-fraud.
Oh, I'll be back there soon enough,
if the golem strikes again. That seems to be the plan.
What do you mean?
The yard is setting me up as a scapegoat.
They'll not risk Roberts, will they?
I'm expendable.
They get to preserve the reputation of their golden boy
and the public...
Get blood.
Well, as I said back in limehouse...
Seems they never have their fill of that.
"He who spectates." He doesn't mean us.
He means the public.
The public want blood. The golem provides it.
Yes!
I'm sure that must be it, sir.
Are you?
I'm not.
Do you feel like a walk to the library?
Rowley: Ah! That quotation. About the gladiatorial ring?
The guilt of the audience who seek bloodshed?
Well, perhaps you read it elsewhere.
It's quoted in an old piece by the essayist Thomas de quincey.
One I imagine might be of interest to a man
in your line of work. -Kildare: What's the piece?
"On murder considered as one of the fine arts."
A satire about the ratcliffe highway killings of 1811.
Should we talk with this de quincey?
He has been dead for 20 years, flood,
so it might be a bit --
what is it?
Man's voice: Left to rot.
To kill a whore.
Who last borrowed this book?
This is a reading room, inspector, not a local library.
So nothing leaves the premises?
Do you keep an attendance record?
Of course, but there's no earthly way of knowing
what anyone read or when they read it!
Who was here on September the 24th?
There were four men in the reading room that day. Why?
It's the final entry in a diary someone has kept
in the pages of this book.
Were you here yourself? -I'm here every day.
Then I must ask you for a sample of your handwriting.
I'll need the same from all the staff.
And those four names, please?
The Dan leno?
And the Karl Marx and George gissing.
If you're a follower of philosophy and literature.
What do you know of John cree?
Sir?
If he's the same John cree I'm thinking of...
I believe he's dead.
Place the diary in my files. Keep it safe.
Find out all you can about George gissing,
Karl Marx, and Dan leno.
Where are you going?
To investigate the dead man.
If he was the golem, London's troubles are over.
Greatorex: And you describe your husband
as being in a state of despair
in the weeks leading to his death, yes?
Lizzie: My husband had spent several years
writing a play, your honor.
Entitled "misery junction."
It was...Not a success.
I believe he never recovered from that.
And yet he continued to pass each day in the reading room
at the British museum,
reading and writing.
A change in mood and a change in habit are two different things.
Greatorex: On the day of his death,
the librarian described your husband
as being in good spirits.
My husband was adept at presenting
a false face to the world, sir.
And that is something you would understand,
is it not, Mrs. cree?
Playing...
A role?
I used to be a music hall performer,
if that's what you mean.
Greatorex: And what of the role you play today before this court?
That of a respectable, educated lady.
You were born out of wedlock, were you not?
- Yes, sir.
As a child, you stitched sailcloth
and passed much time with men.
I can assure you I was a god-fearing child.
An innocent.
I was tasked by my mother to deliver our sails to the docks.
Encountering men was not something I could hope to avoid.
Here you go, good as new.
Carry that all the way?
Look at your poor hands, Lizzie.
Me ma says I'm made for the bloodtubs with these hands.
Don't you dare run off and join the theater.
These sails ain't gonna mend themselves.
I like the comics.
Charlie's gonna take me to see Dan leno one day.
Aren't you, Charlie, when I'm older?
Fisherman: Dan leno was never that blue.
Did Charlie teach you that?
Just don't let your ma hear it. She'll kill ya.
What's it mean?
If you want, I'll show you.
Me mum will be wanting me home,
if you'll give me our pay.
Money's in my hut.
Mother: What took you so long?
Has a man laid hands on you?
You liar.
I fell.
Come here.
What did I do wrong?
Mother, no, please.
Did I not teach you well enough?
No, I beg you!
Mother: Come here.
You want me to go to heaven, don't you?
That place will keep you from heaven, Lizzie.
That is enough, Mrs. cree!
Court is adjourned for lunch!
Anyone come by from the era newspaper?
I'm expecting a package.
No package.
Just this.
Flood: John cree.
No luck getting a sample of cree's handwriting
from his old employers, I'm afraid, sir.
They don't keep reporters' submissions.
Had a more recent portrait, though.
And I've asked archives for all the files on gissing and Marx.
Kildare: Very good. See if they have anything on leno.
Kildare and John cree: September the 5th, 1880.
It was a fine bright evening...
John cree: ...And I could feel a murder coming on.
Since it was to be my first show,
I decided by way of inspiration to pay a visit to the site
of the immortal ratcliffe highway murders.
More than half a century ago on this sacred spot,
an entire family was dispatched into eternity
by a man named John Williams,
a man Thomas de quincey described
as an artist of exquisite skill.
And yet now the site of his greatest work was defiled
by a seller of secondhand clothes.
We're closed, I'm afraid, sir.
Oh, sorry.
The door was open.
No matter.
I'll be sure to return.
But I was a beginner, an understudy.
Not yet ready for the great stage.
An artist must perfect his craft,
and tonight I would start with a small, private rehearsal.
Gin?
Don't you think you've had enough?
I want you awake.
Or else you'll miss all the fun.
I felt that she suspected my game from the start
and offered herself willingly,
warm in the knowledge that the world
would soon be forced to confront the plight of her kind.
I took out her eyes in case
my image had been imprinted upon them,
and washed the blood from my hands with the gin
in her chamber pot.
My first performance was complete.
Mrs. cree? I'm inspector kildare of Scotland yard.
I suppose you're here to chastise me
for my candor in court. -On the contrary,
I applaud you for it.
It's all too easy to imagine that those
who have enjoyed success
have never known suffering.
Well, to quote the great Dan leno, "here we are again."
I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the music halls.
He portrays the suffering of women.
My gender becomes inured to injustice.
We expect it.
Until we can greet it merely with a shrug.
Oh. I understood he was a comic.
The line between comedy and tragedy is a fine one.
You haven't told me why you're here.
I wish to put it to you that i know why you might have had
good reason to poison your husband.
Please, sir, I'm hoarse from repetition.
There will be no confession. My plea has been made.
Mrs. cree, I'm not assigned to your case.
I'm here because your husband is a suspect in...
Another matter.
What matter?
A journal has been found.
I'd like to compare the handwriting with his.
Might you have anything that he wrote?
-His papers -- -he burned them, yes.
Mrs. cree, if your husband were found to have committed murder,
your claims of suicide gain weight.
Do you understand? You could go free.
Murder?
I'm investigating a series of deaths.
They're calling them the "limehouse golem" murders.
You can't honestly think my husband capable of such things?
It's not my place to have an opinion.
I just follow the threads.
The newspaper said it was your first murder case.
That's a rotten kind of chance to be given.
Excuse me?
I wanted to be a serious actress, you know.
Had my chance once, too.
They don't give you another.
That's why I'd like to help you.
You needn't feign interest in me.
There's nothing feigned about it.
Raised in cruelty and yet you stood tall and thrived.
That's...
Uncommon.
My mother did me the great service of dying young.
I was raised in the music halls.
You want to buy some sweets, miss?
Man: Hey, get out of here.
Man #2: What?
-What a play. -It was.
It's halfway over, love.
Come back tomorrow.
All right. Go on in.
You can still catch leno if you're quick.
Lizzie: God bless.
Uncle: All right, there we go!
Ah! What fine manners.
Such fine manners!
I feel as if I'm at a tea party.
Please note the oxtail in the jelly tonight is three pence.
Now... -That's for later.
Uncle: ...Without any further ado,
may I introduce the man of the hour,
Mr. Dan leno!
Here we are again!
Mummy!
Man: More!
Uncle: Pies, pies, pies, pies.
All in dire need of pies. I'll tell you what, dearie.
Seeing as you're here again, be a good girl.
Give uncle a hand.
Be careful with that. All too good to drop.
As the pregnant woman said to the midwife!
Here you are, Vic.
A little bit of what you fancy. -Ooh, pie.
John John.
Aveline, dear, nice and hot, just as you like it.
But not quite so big.
Woman: Thanks, uncle.
Last one's for you, Mr. leno.
Mr. leno, is it?
Did you find her at the grocers, uncle?
She's certainly a green one.
Now, now, girls.
What's your name? -Lizzie, sir.
Lambeth marsh Lizzie.
I thought I could smell marsh gas.
Oh, don't let 'em dumb you. It's just their way.
And call me Dan.
This is Tommy farr,
theater manager and keeper of the bunce.
Speaking of which, we owe you something for your trouble.
What in god's name did they have you doing down there
in those marshes?
Digging graves.
Five years it was before I found out
you're supposed to use a shovel.
I like this one.
Can you read?
Like a native.
Here.
Lizzie: "What's fame?
A fancy'd life in other's breath.
A thing beyond us, even before our death.
All we feel of it begins and ends in the small circle
of our foes and friends."
That's my favorite line.
Alexander pope.
Are you looking for work, Lizzie?
Yeah.
Only, our prompter ran off with a lion comique.
And it won't all be lavender.
There'll be some fetch and carry,
but there's decent bunce
and room in the digs with the dancers.
What do you say?
How would you describe your relationship with Dan leno?
Lizzie: We were friends, sir.
And he was...My mentor.
He took me under his wing.
Dan: "No, Mrs. Killian"...
Where did you learn to read and write
if you didn't go to school?
My mother's Bible, I suppose.
Oh, and speaking of books...
Oi.
Thank you. -Dan: What?
Finished already?
That's the second this week!
Lizzie: I think books might be my first love.
And I've always heard it said that first love is insatiable.
Sod writing new gags,
they can have the milkmaid again tonight and like it.
I want to show you something.
Where are we going?
Dan: You'll see.
A whole room?
Full of books?
Every inch of it.
Lizzie: People come here just to read?
To read. To learn. To create.
It's like...A great furnace.
I mean, the future is being forged here.
Writers, philosophers, men of science.
All the way down to lowly clowns like me.
The ladies' table is upstairs.
Oh, thanking you kindly, good sir.
You were never more than friends?
Lizzie: No, sir.
I believe he felt protective of me.
The prosecution wishes to remind the court
that Mr. leno was recently questioned
in connection with the "limehouse golem" murders.
Defense: Objection, your honor!
Judge: Order, order!
Inspector kildare!
Kildare!
Why was I not aware
that Dan leno was previously a suspect?
You tell me, kildare.
It was in every daily newspaper.
But not in the brief you gave me.
Well, he was eliminated from inquiries.
The, uh, report's on my desk somewhere.
You didn't think to place it in your files?
The streets of London run red with blood,
and you concern yourself with paperwork?
You'd have made a fine politician, kildare,
were you not the topic of such...
Speculation.
Kildare: I wouldn't read that.
Disgraceful lies, all of it.
The poor woman spoke of misfortune and cruelty
and they've turned it upon her.
Makes my blood boil.
Seems your beloved leno wasn't actually a suspect.
My beloved?
What man doesn't enjoy Dan leno?
One who doesn't care for the music halls?
Well, I'll venture to say you've not seen the right shows, sir.
If you ever wish for a recommendation...
He was questioned in regard to Alice Stanton's gown.
A label sewn into it identified it as his,
a stage costume. -So he knew her?
Kildare: "Leno stated that the dress was part
of a consignment of stage costumes
he'd sold a year earlier
to a purveyor of secondhand clothes."
And apparently he provided a receipt which proved it.
Well, then it was merely a coincidence.
Kildare: Perhaps.
As is perhaps the fact
that the purveyor of secondhand clothes
was the late Mr. Gerrard,
murdered at ratcliffe highway.
We should get a sample of his hand.
Quite. And can we find out what's happened to that dress?
It wasn't with the rest of the evidence.
I'll look into it, sir.
Why didn't you tell me you questioned Dan leno?
I haven't. Though I shall have to.
In court they said you had.
Not me. Before I joined the case.
So is he a suspect or not?
Do you think he should be?
Please don't play games with me.
I have no desire to!
The golem is still at large.
Wasting my time could cost lives.
Unless you are correct about my husband.
If the golem is no more, then none are at risk.
Besides yours...
You needn't hang, Mrs. cree.
Please call me Lizzie.
Just assist me in assisting you.
I can't tell you what I don't know.
All I ask is that you tell me what you do.
Where should I start?
How you came to know John cree, perhaps.
Dan: Jim is very partial to me!
Though never a word has he said.
Right now he's lodging with Mrs. Kelly.
Do you know Mrs. Kelly?
Don't you know Mrs. Kelly?
Good life-a-mighty, don't look so simple.
Everybody knows Mrs. Kelly.
Am I -- am I going too fast for you, love?
You spoof it, I'll write it.
Oh, she's a mean one, Mrs. Kelly.
She'll buy half a dozen oysters
and eat them in front of a mirror
to make them look like a dozen.
What about...
"I saw her take a coin from her purse the other day,
and I swear,
I saw queen Victoria blinking
at the sight of sunlight"?
Are those petticoats ironed yet?
Good.
Then you can come over here and lace me up.
Fuck off, Victor.
Victor: Come on, dear.
You know I can't see from the back row,
and I do so love a double act.
Victor, out, out!
Come on. -Victor: Just a joke, Dan.
Get that, will you, Lizzie.
That'll be the reporter for my interview.
Hmm, you're new.
Lizzie. Seen you before, haven't I?
You work for the era.
I'm a playwright, but yes, indeed,
the era puts food on my table.
For now.
John cree.
Man: You got to sweep it.
Shall we?
Man #2: Can you help me dress, love?
Victor: Jumped out the window.
Waitress: The usual for everyone?
Dan: Oh, yes, please, darling.
Waitress: What about you, dear?
A baked potato.
You don't fancy a bit of meat tonight, Lizzie?
What's the matter, Dan?
She must be over 16.
No, I mustn't.
So, Lizzie, what's your act?
Do tell.
Uh, it's called "little Lizzie the dogsbody."
Mm-hmm.
Yeah, I do all manner of gags with an iron
and a pile of dirty smalls.
Oh, that sounds extraordinary.
It is.
She's dumbing you, John.
She means she's the prompt.
I was only saying earlier you might make a good gagger.
She's got the dial for it, hasn't she, uncle?
Say that again.
She's got the dial for it, hasn't she, uncle?
Dan: Oh, thank you.
I don't know where you put it all, Victor.
You must have hollow legs.
I can hold as much as the next man, thank you very much.
Pour a quart in a pint pot, you'll make a mess.
Nonsense. I'm as right as rain.
Can't keep a good man down, as they say,
but I know where you can put a good man up.
Aah!
What in god's name is going on?
Nothing.
Lizzie stepped on my foot by mistake.
No harm done.
I'm taking Lizzie home.
This is no place for an innocent young girl.
Come, gentlemen. No harm done.
As the executioner said to the hanged man.
I'll -- I'll -- I'll take her.
There's no need. I can walk alone.
John cree: No, I'll not hear of it.
Please, your food will get cold. I'll be quite safe.
Our digs are just around the corner.
Then I'll be back in good time.
Uncle: Watch yourself, Victor.
John cree's got a temper.
I'm not afraid of him.
Dan: Lizzie...
I'm afraid there's...
Awful news.
Victor was found at the bottom of the stairs last night.
Kildare: Lizzie...
Are you trying to tell me you suspected John cree?
I didn't say that. I merely said he was protective.
You said the same of Dan leno.
I seem to ignite the urge in men.
He was a terrible little turd.
But he was our terrible little turd.
That's it,
cheer up.
I've suggested that we make
tonight's show a special tribute.
We'll give him a grand send-off,
won't we?
Kildare: Did you ever speak of it to John?
Lizzie: No.
I never spoke of it to anyone.
I preferred to chalk it up to fate.
Would you rather owe your happiness to simple good fortune
or to an unspeakable act of violence?
Little Victor's death brought you happiness?
Lizzie: Little Victor's death gave me life.
Dan: The people come through the doors and they laugh.
Uncle: Dan, I was hoping you'd wipe your ass with the papers.
You don't read them. -Dan: What more can I do?
Lizzie: Dan?
Do you think I could pay my respects to little Victor, too?
Good god.
This is a funny thing.
What a funny thing.
Lizzie: Just a little song.
A blue one maybe, Victor would like that.
A salty sailor act, as if I were a man.
It could be a scream. -Go on, then, Lizzie.
Give it a try.
Isn't that costume a little bit small for you, dear?
That's the point.
Excuse me --
oh!
Oblige again!
Lizzie, oblige again!
They want more!
I don't have any more.
You have them!
Would you look at these rotten cotton gloves?
That saltwater will shrink anything.
Least that's what the ladies down at the docks tell me.
I don't know, I just looked at the gloves and they looked
so absurd that the line just came to me like that.
"Them rotten cotton gloves!"
It could be your catchphrase.
No need to dip into the blue bag so much.
They loved it. They loved it all.
They love you.
And who wouldn't.
-Uncle! -Aveline: Careful, uncle.
With Lizzie in that getup,
anyone looking over might think you have an eye for the boys.
Well, let them think what they like.
More drinks, please!
Little Victor wouldn't have wanted any of us
standing up at the end of the night.
I'm tired, I'm afraid.
Walk me home, will you, John?
I'll come back.
Why are you still wearing your costume?
I hoped it might keep the men away.
You prefer the girls, Lizzie?
Nothing wrong in that if you do.
Come on, no need to make something from nothing.
You dress like a girl. -Yeah, on stage.
Well, if you really care,
maybe I like how I felt on stage.
I care.
I care to see you happy.
Tonight...
Tonight, you look happy.
Flood: We still need handwriting samples
from Marx, gissing, and leno.
Kildare: Did you speak with the maid again?
Flood: Aveline Ortega? I did, sir.
She won't hear a word said against him.
You showed her the journal entries?
She swore the writing wasn't his.
If cree were our golem, it would certainly make sense
of him destroying his papers.
And god knows as a failed playwright,
cree must've grown sick of watching his famous wife
earn London's attention.
Do you fancy another?
Trying to get me drunk?
A pint, please.
It was a joke. Didn't mean nothing.
I didn't mean to offend.
I'm...
On your side.
It's not the golem haunting you, is it?
It's her.
She's going to hang, flood.
We have to rule out the other suspects.
Well, I may have found an eyewitness in limehouse, sir.
Scaoil liom! Scaoil liom!
You're not in any trouble.
I'm taking you to someone who can translate.
Understand?
This is -- this is sister Mary.
Tá mo mháthair tar éis mé a dhíol cheana.
Tá fear do m'fhuadach ar mo lá breithe.
The child says she's not for sale.
Her mum's got a fella taking her on her next birthday.
No, no, please.
Tell her my colleague showed her some photographs,
suspects in a crime.
She seemed to recognize one of them.
We need to know where and when she saw him.
Flood: Sir, this is where Solomon weil lived!
The scholar, the third victim.
Which house number did he -- -kildare: Number 4.
This man?
Families starve in the streets.
Women are used up and thrown away, then you --
you persecute one who fights for the people.
You're not fit to clean the boots of a man like Karl Marx.
So...
London declares that the Jew was murdered
by a Jewish monster?
And so absolves itself of all responsibility.
Make no mistake, gentlemen, it is not Solomon weil
who's mutilated and murdered here.
It is the Jew.
None of the golem's other victims were hebrews, sir.
Marx: But do you not see?
This murderer strikes at the very symbols of the city --
the Jew, the whore.
They are the sacrificial tributes
in this labyrinth of London.
And so of course must be ritually butchered.
What is it that you wish me to write?
"The morning herald...
Had declined to review my debut."
Marx: All that work for nothing.
I resolved that this time I'd put on a show
that everyone would notice.
A fine opening act of the crowd-pleasing sort.
Marx: And I went on to create a spectacle
that no beholder would ever forget.
"It was all too easy to kill a whore.
Tonight I would return to kill the Jew."
This is absurd.
You didn't do this.
Of course I didn't.
Greatorex: Would you agree with the defendant
that in the weeks before his death,
Mr. cree had seemed "morbid"?
No, sir.
He was in good spirits.
Greatorex: And how would you describe relations
between Mr. cree and his wife?
Aveline: Not especially good, sir.
They saw very little of each other.
And yet Mrs. cree insisted on preparing him a nightly draft?
That is correct, sir.
Greatorex: And did you hear Mr. cree express suspicions
that she might have tainted this draft with something?
Not quite.
Though just before his death,
I overheard them in dispute.
I heard Mr. cree say,
"you devil. You have done this."
She may as well have placed the noose around my neck herself.
You must make it plain to the jury that there was bad blood
between the two of you.
Romantic jealousy.
I never stood between them.
I'm sure my feelings on intimacy are plain to you by now.
John was free to court aveline if he wanted to.
But he had his heart set on you.
I did nothing to encourage it.
My stage career had taken off. I rarely saw him.
And then...
Out of the blue, he invited me for supper.
Your new show's tremendous.
Fashionable young man: We feel awful intruding.
We simply adore you.
Thank you.
I'll treasure this.
Thank you very much.
-I can't believe it. -What a surprise!
As I was saying, I have reached the end of the first act
of "misery junction."
But I can't quite decide what to do with my heroine next,
and, um, I thought you might advise me.
I'm flattered.
The heroine's name is Katherine dove.
-Hmm. -John cree: When I began,
I had her in the workhouses,
but now I have her sewing sailcloth on the docks.
Lizzie: My mother died when I was young.
Her kidneys.
It was so fast.
Orphaned and alone at 14.
Is Katherine dove an orphan?
She could be.
But you've still not told me what to do with her
by the end of the first act.
Lizzie: What's your dilemma?
John cree: At the moment,
she's very close to salvation and ruin,
and I'm wondering if I should rescue her.
Lizzie: Yes.
Have her become successful.
Loved by her audiences.
But she's very much alone.
Living in theatrical digs, hand to mouth.
It's a life of degradation.
Come on.
People love to see degradation upon the stage.
It's what they pay for.
Yeah, but they expect to see a happy ending.
And Katherine deserves a protector.
She does.
Her manager, perhaps.
Someone kindly, like uncle.
No, an elderly character, the audience would know
he wouldn't live to see her into old age.
A friend, then.
A comic, maybe.
I would like to give her a suitor.
Someone who cares fiercely for her well-being.
A white knight.
What do you think?
I think Katherine dove can look out for herself.
Dan: In the bowl.
Yes, there we go.
Get it out.
That's it.
Gin.
Down here.
There we go.
God.
I think I put my back out carrying her up the stairs.
I see you decided to dress as a woman this evening.
Can't wear a costume out to supper, can I?
Wouldn't be the first time.
Be careful of that one, Lizzie.
Don't lead him up the garden path
unless you're prepared to be dragged indoors.
He offered me the lead in "misery junction."
He'll expect something in return.
You don't need him, Lizzie.
You did all this on your own.
I could do more.
Could be a real actress.
Show the world what people like us are really capable of.
I just need a chance.
Here we sit, the two most famous faces on the stage,
and you suggest the world conspires to oppress us.
Remember that book you lent me?
Pope? In the temple of fame,
some people's names are carved in stone and others in ice.
We're clowns, Dan.
We'll be forgotten.
If you think a man like John cree is going to change that,
I don't have the breath to argue.
And you know she's got a soft spot for him.
And whatever her faults, she's family.
And we look out for each other, don't we?
The big finale is the hanging.
We've a life-size gallows.
I'll wear this harness, concealed,
and then drop right through the trap just there.
Looks just like a real hanging.
Lizzie, you sure it's safe, this contraption?
You're not wearing a real noose, are you?
Oh, the noose is real,
but the fall is broken by the harness.
Where's Lizzie?
Up above giving John cree an interview for the era.
Is that what they call it?
I'll go and tell her to hurry up.
The play's a shocker, but a spoof shocker,
the way only our marvelous company can do it.
Dan wrote it. It's based on the, uh,
the ratcliffe highway murders of 1811.
-John Williams. -Pardon?
The killer's name was John Williams.
Oh, quite. But much of it is fiction.
It's all great fun, and terribly gory.
Oh, you must put that in for your readers.
Dan says everybody thrills to Gore these days.
Let's have you finished, John.
She's not even ready and she's on stage in 10 minutes.
We can't have the star late for the first performance.
Lizzie: Dan's still the star. Always will be.
Thought I felt my ears burning.
Did anyone check the safety? -Of course.
Wouldn't let anything happen to our Lizzie, would we?
-How's the crowd? -Excellent.
Great number of Jews.
I believe it's one of their holidays.
You should speak to them in yiddish.
They will love it.
Wish them...
"Meesa meschina."
Welcome, brave hearts, to an evening of horror.
Our play's about to begin,
but first, ladies and gentlemen,
and those not unconnected with a certain historical chosen race,
may I wish you all from the bottom of my heart
meesa meschina.
Man: That is mashugana!
What did you say that for?!
What happened?
Lizzie wished the Jews a sudden death!
Oh!
Here we are again!
It was only a lark, Lizzie.
I came back at once to see if you were all right.
Kildare: And after that, you began courting?
After a fashion.
I could never love John enough to give him
what he really wanted.
But you grew to love him?
I wanted to be in his play.
He wanted the gratification of plucking a poor needy girl
from misery and saving her.
We used one another equally.
Perhaps that's the best that can be said of any coupling.
That's a very dim view.
If you seek a dim view, be sure to ask a comedian.
Alice Stanton's dress finally showed up.
Improperly archived, like everything else here.
Been at the jail again?
Anything more on cree?
Only that he was a manipulative ass
who fancied himself as a white knight.
I meant as relating to our case.
The golem. Remember him?
Cree knew of the murderer John Williams.
Yet, apparently, so did Dan leno.
In fact, leno wrote a whole play about the fellow.
Golem suspect who is alive. That would be bad news.
-For his next victim, certainly. -And for you.
Or do you no longer care what becomes of your career?
I've a job to do and I'm doing it.
-And which job would that be? -Watch your tongue, flood.
Do I need to remind you of your position?
That may be helpful.
Because there are times when I'm confused
as to whether we're here to find the golem
or to save Elizabeth.
Perhaps we'll do both!
Who knows...
Dear god, how many pockets did leno need?
He tosses things into the crowd.
Sweeties. Flowers. Undergarments.
Sounds hilarious.
Didn't Roberts empty the contents?
The coroner's office did it.
Why? Did they miss something?
8 gower place?
Why do I know that?
Perhaps because we're due a visit.
It's George gissing's address.
Flood: His wife gave him an alibi for the night
of the ratcliffe highway murders,
but she seemed fond of her drink.
We need to talk to Mr. gissing, madam.
George isn't here. He just left.
Do you know where he was going?
Limehouse, perhaps?
Kildare: Not yet.
I'm interested to see where he goes.
What business a scholar has in the streets of limehouse.
Madam, we're from Scotland yard.
Den proprietor: We're just a pharmacy.
You go away! Check my record!
Our business is with Mr. gissing,
the man who just entered, not you.
Den proprietor: Good customer.
He keep his work here.
Always working.
Writing.
Mr. gissing, I'm detective inspector kildare
of Scotland yard.
Perhaps you could explain how this came to be
in the possession of a murdered woman.
Gissing: I'm afraid you'll find my address in the pockets
of a great many women in this area, sir.
My wife, Nell, is in the habit of...Going missing.
I give my address so that
they may contact me if they see her.
Let us just say my wife used to ply the same trade.
You don't seem in the least bit surprised.
By what?
That a gentleman like me, a-a scholar,
should have wed a fallen woman.
Why would anyone be surprised?
The world is full of men like you, Mr. gissing.
I beg your pardon?
Men who feign generosity when what they really seek
is congratulation.
Men who play god by saving lives.
Is it really so different, i wonder,
from playing god by taking them?
I am not a murderer, sir.
Then perhaps you will write the words that I dictate?
Let's get this thing done.
"September 10, 1880.
My public debut...
Kildare and gissing: ...Had garnered rave reviews."
I could scarcely wait to begin work
on my next creation,
but there was time to pass before dark,
so I paid a visit to the ratcliffe highway shop.
I bought some cufflinks from the owner's wife.
I could tell that when the time came,
she would make a fine player in my Magnum opus.
You're not the Jew from the library.
Ah, well.
No matter.
Who are you? What do you want?
I have come to discourse with you.
About death and everlasting life.
Herein...
Lies the secret.
It was here that i read of the mythical golem,
a homunculus of Clay given life by man.
How could any londoner fail to delight
in this piece of theater?
I could even see myself appearing before
the next unfortunate with mallet in hand
exclaiming, "here we are again."
May I go now?
What?
Oh, yes, I'm sorry.
Why would you be thinking of me still?
My hand doesn't match at all. You know I'm innocent.
I know. I was reading what you wrote.
You were in my mind. I'm sorry.
Something I missed.
Oh, I see. What is it?
A line from the journal.
"I bought some cufflinks from the owner's wife."
On September the 10th,
the golem made a purchase from the ratcliffe highway shop.
Dan: A new production of "bluebeard"
opens this weekend,
and all of London longs
to see the great Dan leno performing it.
But I know they yearn for more potent excitements.
This is pantomime in its purest form.
I could even see myself appearing
before the next unfortunate,
with a mallet in my hand, exclaiming,
"here we are again!"
Dan: What strange coincidence and delight to discover,
on the streets of limehouse,
a whore wearing a costume i remembered well.
She was a player waiting for a role.
Of course, I obliged her.
The public yearned for the next installment.
And one should never keep an audience waiting.
Flood: We need to forget about cree and concentrate on leno.
The golem even imagined himself saying, "here we are again."
I know, but apparently everyone knows leno's catch-phrase.
There's Alice Stanton's dress
and the fact he knew Mr. Gerrard.
We're all part of London's tapestry.
Sometimes threads get crossed.
Good lord!
We should buy tickets.
I'd be intrigued to see how it ends.
I could recommend many better shows.
I was making a joke, flood.
As was I.
Obviously.
Who'd wish to see something in such poor taste?
Apparently London's appetite for horror knows no bounds.
Our golem was quite correct about that.
Dan: Oh, bluey, please!
Have mercy!
It's been days since I've eaten!
Oh, you are a kind man, bluey!
I shall never have it said you're not good to me.
I thought I might expire from starvation.
What on earth are you doing, dear?!
Bluebeard: I'm taking my medical treatment.
Dan: You're treatment?!
The doctor told me to take a daily walk on an empty stomach.
Ah. Brought the receipt, as you requested in your telegram.
As you will see, i did not buy cufflinks.
A ladies' hat.
I often shopped for stagewear at Gerrard's little shop.
God rest him.
I knew him well.
Oh, now, you mentioned needing a sample of my hand.
Well, i-i-i brought a pile of my old papers.
Please, take as many as you see fit.
I'm afraid I'll need you to produce a sample
in my presence, Mr. leno.
Then you will permit me to pay you a visit
at Scotland yard tomorrow afternoon?
Only, i have supper arrangements.
And I've still to be rid of all of this.
If you'll...Excuse me?
Kildare: Perhaps we could continue
to talk while you're...
I've some questions I'd like to ask you about John cree.
Then I shall try to answer them.
Though one should never speak ill of the dead.
You didn't care for the man?
I was friendly with his wife.
He made her unhappy.
You may extrapolate the rest.
When did you last see him?
First night of his play, "misery junction,"
which also happened to be the closing night.
I know. Did you see him afterwards?
Dan: Of course.
This is my theatre.
I took over managing it last year when...
Uncle joined the great pantomime in the sky.
The performance was here?
For Lizzie's sake.
Whatever became of our friendship,
we'll always be family.
Is John cree a suspect?
I'm not at Liberty to say.
Dan: A posthumous suspect.
What will you do, dig him up for the trial?
Kildare: Do you know why Lizzie might be
reluctant to voice any suspicions?
You think she's protecting him?
Now, that's a novel slant.
Most people believe she poisoned him.
Do you?
Either way, that man was the author of his own demise.
He practically destroyed her.
Insisting she give up the stage...
I mean, he may as well have ended her life.
Kildare: Do you think he was capable of ending a life?
Literally, I mean.
Who knows what any man is capable of?
We all wear pantomime masks,
do we not?
I'm sorry, i really must dress now.
First, tell me about little Victor.
If the injustices of the past interest you,
you'd do better to look into the demise of Tommy farr.
Uncle?
Uncle.
They said the jury expects
to reach a verdict this afternoon.
I know. Lizzie...
It would seem the press
have reached theirs already.
Lizzie, I spoke with Dan.
He urged me to look into uncle's death.
If you wanted to know about uncle,
you should simply have asked.
Come into the parlor.
As the spider said to the fly.
Isn't that how it goes?
The rhyme?
It may be, Lizzie.
It may be.
Cucumber sandwich?
No, thanks.
Uncle: Oh, I forgot.
You're not entirely partial to cucumber, are you?
What's this about, uncle?
Why'd you invite me?
I want to show you something.
Well, close your eyes.
Good girl.
Shh!
It's just my fun, Lizzie.
I like a good beating every now and again.
Doesn't everyone?
I know her.
That's the girl who assisted the great bolini.
She used to be sawn in half.
That's her, ducks.
What a performer.
But it's a shame she had to leave the company.
Why have you shown me this?
Don't play the innocent with me.
I am not playing. I am real.
Well, I'd be grateful if you could oblige me, Lizzie,
with a pose, a tableau.
Perhaps a little beating?
I'd rather be destroyed first.
I'm prepared to forget this visit ever took place.
Well, as I said, it is a pity she had to go.
She grew tired of performing.
You would never be rid of me.
Dan would never allow it.
Uncle: Well, I find, as keeper of bunce,
that I can do as I please.
Now, you keep my secret
and I'll keep yours.
I have no secrets.
You shall in a moment.
Lizzie: He said I'm return to him next Sunday
and every Sunday hereafter.
To do the same again?
There's photographs.
John, I had to speak of it to somebody.
This is monstrous, Lizzie!
You can't tell a soul.
I shall put a stop to this.
But first...
I wish to do this.
He's robbed you of your honor.
Let me restore it to you.
Uncle died three days after John confronted him.
Uncle was not young.
He had a weak heart and a fondness for drink.
That's not what Dan leno thinks.
He thinks that John blackmailed uncle into changing his will
and then killed him.
£500 and the camera.
It would seem I gave an excellent beating.
You don't want to be saved, do you?
Not by me.
Not by any man.
I don't deserve to be saved.
John, I can't.
Huh? What do you mean?
We're husband and wife now, Lizzie.
I know.
Three years I've waited.
Three years of courtship and endless bloody engagement.
It's hardly my fault that panto season extended 'til easter.
Would you have had me spend our wedding night playing Aladdin?
It seems now that option
would've been scarcely different.
Please, John, just try to understand.
No, you understand!
John, please, I don't like it.
John cree: I don't ask for gratitude for all I've done for you.
All I ask is that you fulfill your duties as a wife.
Man: What are you doing here?
Hello.
-Hello. -Hello.
Dan: I'll have a new contract drawn up tomorrow, John John.
But don't you worry. -Lizzie!
Lizzie.
Well, well.
If it isn't Mrs. John cree.
Three months of married life and you're missing
the roar of the greasepaint already.
Lizzie: Oh, nonsense.
I've been too busy to miss anything.
Oh, what tosh!
Little Lizzie without an audience.
You mustn't let that rotten man order you about so.
John is perfectly happy for me to perform.
Still going to play the lead in "misery junction."
Oh, come of it, Lizzie.
That man's so petrified of failure
he'll never bring himself to finish it.
He's writing every day at the library.
It's almost complete.
I'm telling you as a friend, Lizzie.
Forget "misery junction." Forget John.
If you want your name etched in stone,
you're gonna have to take up the chisel yourself.
So, to what do we owe the pleasure?
I'm actually here to see aveline.
I have a proposition for you, dear.
I'm in need of a ladies' maid.
-Me? -Mm-hmm.
You must be playing.
I can offer you twice the weekly wage you're earning here.
What I require is some help bearing the load of my --
my wifely duties.
Dear god, Lizzie.
Do you know how John's play is coming along?
Very nicely, he tells me.
You know, there's no need for you
to prepare his nightly cordial, Lizzie.
I can do it.
I make one for myself.
It's no more effort to prepare two.
Aveline: I'd be happy to make both.
I could bring yours to your quarters
before I take John's to his.
Mm.
What on earth are you doing here?
I should ask you the same thing,
because I know what it is you're not doing,
and that is writing.
Why tell me "misery junction" was not finished
when it was hardly even begun? -It was!
It's nearly complete. I've just put it aside for now.
Put it aside?
I support you financially.
I allow that your every need is met!
Oh, don't pillory me about my damn play
if what really irks you is aveline.
Why would that irk me?
Go home, Lizzie.
Let me finish my research.
Your research?
Into what?
My play.
My new play.
But what of "misery junction"?
I grew tired of Katherine dove.
Is there a role in it for me?
John cree: No, Lizzie.
There is not.
You're a lady now,
and the stage is no place for a lady.
You staged it without permission and it was poorly received.
"'Misery junction' leaves audience in misery, indeed."
Isn't it funny how the savage reviews are the ones
you can recall word for word?
More! More!
Lizzie: Uncle, please.
You have stolen my honor!
I am innocent!
You wish to be a man?
Just pretend that I'm a women!
It's Lizzie they're mocking, John.
It's not your play.
You lie! This was not for me!
This was for you!
You wish to prove yourself as an actress,
you selfish whore, and you failed even at that!
You are the failure.
-Jesus! -See?
Where's the white knight now, John?
You are just as all men.
One more word from your mouth
and I will snap your wretched neck!
--John, go home.
My play was unfinished and you destroyed it!
Destroyed me and my reputation!
You don't have a reputation!
Who do you believe yourself to be?
You are nobody, John, nobody, and you never will be!
Get out of here, John.
Out!
Look at you both.
You're clowns.
Worthless clowns.
You're the ones who'll be forgotten, not me.
Not me.
Man: Whoa! Whoa!
-Aveline: John? -John cree: Drive on.
-Aveline: John. -Man: Giddyup!
John.
John!
That opening night, September the 5th,
it drove him over the edge, but not to suicide.
It drove him to prove to the world that he was an artist.
That night, the golem made his first kill,
and you think it's your fault.
You are putting words in my mouth.
Why this dance, Lizzie?
Why won't you admit that you came to know
or at least suspect what he'd become?
If this is a dance, it is you who is leading.
Let me read you the last entry.
"Ratcliffe highway was a tour de force.
And as an actor may take home a program as a souvenir,
so I returned with a blood-soaked shawl
belonging to the clothes seller's wife.
The next night, fearful of discovery,
I ventured to destroy it,
and therein lay my mistake.
Lizzie: John, you're home.
I didn't hear you come in.
John cree: There were no questions asked, no recriminations.
I believe a homemade punishment may be planned for me instead.
I no longer feel safe under my own roof.
I cannot go on like this.
You poisoned him, didn't you?
Lizzie, listen to me. We have a few minutes.
You can still change your plea. Confess.
You did it because you knew what he was.
You did it because you were in fear for your life.
I promise you'll have the sympathy of the jury.
I don't want their sympathy.
Kildare: Why do you not deserve redemption?
Because you killed him or because you believe
you created a monster?
What I deserve is to live freely,
and in death be remembered for my accomplishments,
not as the wife who poisoned her husband,
my name forever tethered to his.
Man: Mrs. cree.
While that chance remains, i have no choice
but to cling to it.
Judge: Have the jury reached a verdict?
Yes, my lord.
Judge: How do the jury find the defendant?
Guilty.
Judge: Order!
Order!
Elizabeth cree, you will be returned to prison
and taken from there to a place of execution,
where at 10:00 tomorrow morning,
you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead.
May the lord have mercy on your soul.
Inspector kildare, Scotland yard.
I need a moment with her, please.
You don't deserve this.
It's done. I hang tomorrow at 10:00.
No. I won't let it happen.
John cree was a murderer.
I mean to prove it and appeal for your pardon.
The world needs to know the truth.
I'd like for you to unmask the golem.
This is your moment, your chance.
I'd like for you to have that.
I'm sorry, sir. We need to leave.
Kildare: We don't have much time.
The manuscript of "misery junction" is handwritten.
Dan may still have it.
I shall stop this. I promise you.
You filthy...
Here we are again!
Lizzie paid for the hire of the theatre.
I advised her against it, but she was adamant.
And it was not a success.
That's putting it mildly.
So put it any way that you will.
Dan: Barely any tickets sold,
but Lizzie insisted on a full house,
so she took to the streets and gave them away to the poor.
Ah.
Aha! Here it is.
"Misery junction."
It's typeset.
Oh, I don't have the original manuscript, I'm afraid.
A usual practice is to have it archived,
unless the author asks for it back, which he didn't.
Archived...Where?
Flood: The librarian agreed to open up early, sir.
He should be here any moment.
Kildare: I pray he is.
They hang her at 10:00.
Woman: Lizzie!
Lizzie!
Lizzie.
I'm ready.
Rowley: But this is most odd.
Should be here.
Could someone have withdrawn it?
Not unless they did so just now.
Kildare: Quickly, the door.
Flood: Sir!
Unhand me! I've done nothing wrong.
Then perhaps you can tell us why the hurry to obtain this?
I plan to rewrite it, sir.
Demand a production.
A topical shocker about Lizzie cree.
Now she's to be hanged, it'll be a smash.
Flood: Really? So you're a writer now,
are you, miss Ortega?
Aveline: No, sir.
But it won't require much work.
It was the story of her life, after all.
My idea is to begin the play at the gallows,
then retrace each step that led her to them.
I cannot help but think that the addition of a murderous husband
might be popular.
I told you all I know, sir.
John is innocent.
Jesus!
You're the ones who'll be forgotten!
Not me.
Lizzie: Is it time?
There's no one here.
They hardly ever admit the public these days, Mrs. cree.
Only for the most hated.
Please, no. You must help me.
Please. Please tell them to wait.
Inspector kildare is coming. -I'm sorry.
Can't you go any faster?
Prison's just around the corner.
I know!
No, we must wait for him, please.
This is wrong! He will prove it!
I beg you, just a little longer!
I'm sorry.
Man: Come on!
Man: Coming through.
Guard: Steady, sir.
Who are you here for? -Kildare: Elizabeth cree.
Say I'm not too late.
They're just taking her down. Quick as you can.
Send for the magistrate!
Stop! Stop!
Don't thank me yet.
All they've given me is an hour's grace
to speak to the magistrate.
I've still to convince him to reduce your sentence.
Don't be glum.
You have the golem.
The world will know the real story, and it's you --
you who will know every chapter, who will tell it.
You have my gratitude. Always.
And you mine.
Kildare: Lizzie, Lizzie, don't.
Lizzie: Could any believe John cree capable of such deeds?
I guarantee it.
Have no doubt.
Then let us bring this to an end.
Here's what you will write.
"I am Elizabeth cree, and in September of this year,
I came to know that my husband was the limehouse golem."
All you need to do is tell the truth.
I have never told you anything but the truth, kildare.
You shall have your moment, and I mine.
In the temple of fame, our names will be written side-by-side
in stone for all time.
Kildare: Who was here on September the 24th?
Rowley: There were four men in the reading room that day,
but there's no earthly way of knowing
what anyone read or when they read it.
Lizzie: John. You're home.
I didn't hear you come in.
There were no questions asked, no recriminations.
I believe a homemade punishment may be planned for me instead.
I no longer feel safe under my own roof.
I cannot go on like this.
Uncle: Still, we had agreement to keep each other's secrets.
And you didn't keep mine, did you?
I wonder what I should do with yours.
I think you should take it to the grave.
Aah!
Annie: Mr. Gerrard, sir?
Gerrard: Annie?
Lizzie: Oh, I know, I know.
Few would think a woman capable of such artistry.
Gerrard:
Here we are again!
You were too late?
This, um...
This is probably the last thing you want at present,
but they're waiting for you downstairs.
You're about to be the toast of London, John.
I know how much you cared for her.
Just...
Know how grateful she would be that the world
will know what her bastard husband really was.
Not just as a murderer, but as a man who sought to deny her
all she wanted to be.
It's you who saved her honor.
Her memory.
She would've wanted you to have this.
Lizzie: No! We must wait for him. Please!
This is wrong, he will prove it!
I beg you, just a little longer!
I...
I don't believe inspector kildare will be coming back.
I am not a poisoner.
I believe you.
I am so much more.
We shall be issuing our full report on John cree
in an hour, gentlemen.
Well. It seems the show must go on.
Londoners can sleep easy in their beds again.
The golem is no more.
Evening post reporter: Inspector! Inspector,
any comments on your promotion, sir?
Executioner: Any last words?
Here we are again!
Let us begin, my friends,
at the end.
N-not the green, love, the red.
Mother doesn't get sick until scene four.
Did anyone check the safety?
Stagehand: Take her weight. Take...
Woman: What's going on?
Is she breathing?
We have to get back out there.
You're Lizzie's mother now.
I'll be Lizzie.
Lizzie!