Doctor Who

If I have not returned in an hour, you must fetch the police.

Edmund!

Don't fret, Effie, my dear. All will be well.

But we must get to the bottom of this dark and queer business,

no matter what the cost.

Mrs Gillyflower!

We have come about your husband, my dear. A tragedy.

My husband?

Your... late husband.

There must be some mistake. My husband is quite well.

We are so very sorry for your loss.

Hell fire! That's put me right off me mash.

Another one! Another?

He's not the first I've had in 'ere looking like that.

The Crimson Horror! That's what they're calling it!

I have no interest in the deplorable excesses of the penny-dreadfuls.

Hey, hey. Payment in advance, flower.

Taking a big risk, you see, I am.

They'd have my vitals for fiddle-strings if they knew

I'd let you come to have a look at one of their precious stiffs.

This "stiff" is my brother.

I've come up from London to bring him home.

Oh, aye?

Thank you for agreeing to this meeting,

I'm told you are the investigator to see if there are strange goings-on.

I read of your brother's death.

Another victim of the Crimson Horror, I believe?

So it is claimed.

He was a newspaper man. He and a young woman were working undercover.

Tell me, Madame, do you know what an optogram is?

It is a silly superstition, sir.

The belief that the eye can retain an image of the last thing it sees.

Good grief!

Oh, God!

Well, I'll be blowed!

I think, Madame, that we'd better make plans to head North!

According to my research, Sweetville's proprietor

holds recruitment drives for her little community.

She is only interested in the fittest and the most beautiful.

You may rely on me, ma'am.

I was, in fact, speaking to Jenny.

Jenny?

If this weak and fleshy boy is to represent us,

I strongly recommend the issuing of scissor grenades,

limbo vapour and triple-blast brain splitters.

What for?

Just generally.

Remember, we are going to the North.

Bradford, that Babylon for the Moderns,

with its crystal light and its glitter.

All aswarm with the wretched ruins of humanity.

Men and women crushed by the devil's juggernaut!

And moral turpitude can destroy the most delicate of lives.

Believe me, I know. I know.

My own daughter.

Blinded in a drunken rage by my late husband!

Her once-beautiful eyes,

pale and white as mistletoe berries.

And what, my friends, is your story?

Will you be found wanting when the End of Days is come,

when judgement rains down upon us all?

Or will you be preserved against the coming apocalypse?

Do not despair! I offer a way out!

There is a different path! Sweetville!

Join us!

Join us in this shining city on the hill!

# Bring me my bow #

# of burning gold #

# Bring me my arrows of desire... #

You wish to join us, my dear?

If it's all the same with you, ma'am.

Oh, yes, dear. You'll do very nicely.

If our strategy is to succeed, Jenny will infiltrate

deep into the black heart of this place.

And how will she locate the Doctor?

To find him, she needs only to ignore all keep-out signs,

go through every locked door,

and run towards any form of danger that presents itself.

Business as usual, then.

Business as usual.

Did you think I'd forgotten you, dear monster? Hmm?

I have travelled from London expressly to see Madame Vastra.

If you'd be so kind as to announce me, my good man.

Whom should I say is calling?

It asked for permission to enter and then it fell over.

What are we to make of it?

I imagine Mr Thursday wants to know what progress we are making.

The question is,

how did the Doctor's image come to be preserved on a dead man's eye?

It is a scientific impossibility.

I wonder how Jenny is getting on.

If she hasn't made contact by nightfall,

I suggest a massive frontal assault on the factory, Madame.

Casualties can be kept to perhaps as little as 80%.

I think there may be subtler ways of proceeding, Strax.

Suit yourself.

I'm dead nervous, aren't you?

They have to be sure, you see. Only the best for Sweetville!

I hope me teeth don't let me down.

I'm Abigail.

Pleased to meet you.

You're not local, are you? Nah. Up from London.

Different here, I bet.

Oh, yeah! Like a bleedin' horse-market.

Do you know anyone who's come to live here?

In Sweetville, I mean.

I... I had a pal who come here three month back.

She wrote to tell me how perfect it all were.

Funny, though. I've not heard a peep from her since.

Next, please! >

Hang on. We're moving.

What you doin'?

Do us a favour. Cause a distraction.

What?

Swoon. Have a funny turn. Fit of the vapours.

Are you crackers?

Go on. There's a guinea in it for you.

Done.

Them new manufacturers can do 'orrible things to a person.

'Orrible.

I've pickled things in here that'd fair turn your hair

snowy as top of Buckden Pike.

You know what I'm looking for.

Oh, aye. All them bits found in't canal.

The Crimson Horror!

It hardly seems possible.

Eh?

I think...

I think I've seen these symptoms before.

Oh, aye?

A long time ago.

Oh, aye? How long?

About 65 million years!

I trust you had a pleasant day, Mama?

Tolerable.

Will Mr Sweet ever join us for dinner, Mama?

Mr Sweet is rather tired tonight, I fear.

Dear me. How clumsy I'm getting.

To keep the Devil at bay.

All right, mate. You just stay calm now!

I could open this door. Would you like that?

Thought you might.

But you and me has got to come to an arrangement, savvy?

Now, you stand well back. Do you hear me?

I don't mean no harm to ya'.

But you try anything funny and I'll leave you here to rot.

Is that understood?

Right.

Doctor?

What's happened to you?

Can't you speak?

Right. We're getting out of here.

Come on!

Come on!

Oh, my God.

You're all I have, monster. But all will be well.

Imperfect as we are, there be will room for us in the new Jerusalem!

No... NO! Where are you, monster? Where are you?

What is it? You want to go there?

Ah! Missed me? Doctor!

Jenny! Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!

Just when you think your favourite

lock-picking Victorian chambermaid will never turn up!

Jenny!

You've no idea how good that feels! Right! Mrs Gillyflower!

We've got to stop her! And then there's Clara. Poor Clara.

Where's Clara? Clara?

Doctor, wait! Can't. Clara. Got to find.

What happened to you? How long have you been like that?

Days. Weeks. Don't know. Long story. I'll keep it short.

OK. Not London 1893.

Yorkshire 1893. Near enough.

You're making a habit of this. Getting us lost.

Sorry. It's much better than it used to be.

I once spent a hell of a long time trying to get

a gobby Australian to Heathrow Airport.

What for? Search me. Anyway...

Brave heart, Clara!

It's another one, don't you see? Another victim!

Why won't any one of you listen?

We'll listen.

Mrs Winifred Gillyflower. An astonishing woman.

A prize-winning chemist and mechanical engineer. So why...

Why has she decided to open up a match factory in her old home town?

And no-one who ever goes to live there ever seems to come out.

Same as the rest.

All dead from causes unknown and their flesh... glowing.

Like something manky in a coal cellar.

They keep turning up in't canal. The Crimson Horror!

Ooh. Good name. Hey, that's good, isn't it? The Crimson Horror!

I wonder what it is.

Do you know the old Romany superstition, Clara?

That the eye of a dead person retains an image of

the last thing it sees?

Nonsense, of course.

Unless the chemical composition of the body

has been massively corrupted.

Wow. This is nasty. An organic poison. A sort of venom.

And you think it's connected to Sweetville?

I do.