Ripper Street

I want to see the pyramids.

I want a suit made out of silk from Hong Kong.

I want my own blend of tobacco and a pipe of ivory.

I want a pair of shoes... made out of silver.

That's the stupidest idea I think I've ever heard.

You'll be jealous.

It's your turn.

I want you.

Nothing more.

Tell me.

- Tell me we can do this. - We can do this.

I promise you.

We have Quint's folio.

He'll pay.

He has to.

He'll pay whatever we want.

Then I want my suit and my silver bloody shoes.

Shit. Luke's gonna skin us.

Let him try.

Come next week, we'll be long gone from all of 'em.

All of this.

Harry Collins! Harry, liven up.

Regent Street, Baker Street, Haymarket.

David Goodbody.

David Goodbody.

David?

No Vincent neither.

Otto Roberts.

- Do you want to earn a few quid? - Special?

Harlequin. David's ground, but...

Early bird and all that.

Please come in.

- You may close the door now. - I'm the boy you called for.

I, er... have something for you, sir.

Yes, David.

I believe you do.

Ripper Street 2x04: Threads of Silk and Gold Original air date: November 25, 2013

Buggery, sodomy, and acts homosexual are crimes.

There'll be no bail, sir. Go.

- If you'll follow me, sir. - Next!

Oi! We'll have less of that!

Quite a haul, Inspector Ed.

Another foul molly house brought to ground by the brave crusaders of Leman Street.

On the side of the pansies now, are you?

On the side, as ever, only of justice.

Tell me, Sergeant, what room here for the cut-throats and filchers of Whitechapel,

when your cells runneth over with mandrakes and rantipoles?

Oh, no doubt you'd have the streets amok with arse-mongers.

Streets, sir? You raided a private residence.

Are there any, um...

are there any blue bloods this time?

Or are they all still running scared after Cleveland Street?

Do not ever again come here for your muckraking.

Escort Mr Best back to the gutter.

This is a free land, Inspector, first in the civilised world.

It is not muck I seek to shovel into cold light here, but rank hypocrisy!

Goulston Street, sir, telegraph boy.

- Otto Roberts? - Yes, sir.

Who was it occupied this room?

Didn't give his name, sir.

This ain't The Savoy.

Could have fooled me. His appearance?

Middle-aged business type.

Not too shabby, not too smart. He looked like anyone.

My guests don't care to be studied.

- Faces come and go. Some pay by the hour. - Did he?

Coughed up for day and night. Said he awaited a telegram.

I should send up the boy.

Get inside! Come on, Tommy!

If you could perchance hasten matters,

I should like to rent the room again before lunch.

Get him before Jackson.

All right, which of you goddamn whoresons is a flimflam man, huh?

Come on, I'm not fresh off the...

Good to see you. I'll get a drink.

All right, we're not done here.

What say one of you fellas lends me the money for another hand, huh?

Dr Yankee.

Nice duds.

My ship came in. Gin for everyone.

- Must have been a goddamn galleon. - Call it a fleet.

Well, I'd love to stand up and grade you a penny, Charlie, but I'm a shitty liar.

How about you squaring some of what's owed, huh?

Plus interest, with thanks.

And I can do better than that, Doc. You've done me a turn once or twice.

All this...

it's there for the taking.

- You boy! You manage here? - Barely.

Messenger was sent this morning to Goulston Street.

- Is that so? - Harlequin Hotel.

Oh, that was...

He shouldn't have even been there.

- It wasn't his job. - Then whose?

David. David Goodbody. Around that way's his patch.

- My ears are burning. - I wish all of you was burning.

- What's afoot? - Otto's dead.

- What? - Took your rounds

cos you'd done a bloody bunk, and some bastard killed him.

- Who are you? - Am I under arrest?

- Watch your tongue, boy. - Vincent...

Featherwell.

I was with David today. Went to the fair in Bethnal Green.

- During work? - Isn't illegal to hate your job.

- Who was the telegram for? - I only had the address.

Is that usual?

It happens. We just deliver.

You, David, have you been at the Harlequin before?

No.

- Are you certain about that? - Yes. Yes, sir.

Help me discover what befell your friend.

I need to know where that telegram was sent from, when, and by whom.

I do not wish to make such a visit here again.

According to their ledger, the telegram was sent from a bureau in the city.

No name given.

You can see here, all these, day after day, week after week,

sent from the heart of the City to addresses in Whitechapel.

But no replies. The mail only travels one way.

That's banker's turf.

What business have well-to-do's telegraphing the rookery?

Why indeed? See here. David Goodbody lies.

He's been dispatched to the Harlequin three times this fortnight.

Find these other addresses. I want to know who's been receiving these missives.

Strangulation, then?

Silk fibres.

From a scarf maybe.

A knot tied in it.

And the boy was sexually active.

Very active, and not with women.

- Was he forced? - Not that I can see, least not today.

He was just, I don't know, an enthusiast.

They're bloody everywhere.

Don't knock it till you tried it, Benito.

I know some stevedores'd treat you like a princess.

Those addresses, almost all of them,

- flag the Harlequin. - I want to know the movements

of this boy, David. Trail him.

- And his friend, sir? The gobby one? - Him too.

Tierra del Fuego.

South America.

It's the land of fire. My friend Charlie gave it to me.

Might as well be goddamn hieroglyphics to me.

I mean, look at this.

You know anything about investments,

stocks, bridge loans?

Land of fire? Sounds like hell.

I'm looking for my friend...

David Goodbody.

He's off shift.

Who, then, might know where I could find him?

I'll give it back.

- Tell Quint it was a mistake. - No.

- We see this through. - How?

Quint's gonna kill us. I mean, that should have been me today.

I know that.

My love, believe me, I know that.

You're here and we're alive,

and, while blood still pumps in me, I'll not give up on the plans we've made.

Whoever Quint sent for us went to your patch

and assumed the boy who showed up was you.

- He didn't know Otto was Otto. - He doesn't know my face.

Nor mine. There's still time to see this through.

So, we hit back and we hit hard.

What we asked for, let's double it.

I'm going to see Freddie Best. We need to ensure we're safe.

- Come with. - I've a job.

- No. - Take my knife.

- And what about you? - Please. For this job, at least.

I told you.

We can do this.

- You heard about Otto? - 'Course I bloody did.

Poor sod. I thought you'd given up the frig jobs.

Money's money.

Is, um...

- ...is Harry all right? - Harry's fine.

He sent this. Said he'd meet you at the Harlequin after his shift.

So, Otto, what do you know?

How would you like The Star to turn the biggest bank in London upside down?

- Just what the hell was Otto up to? - Otto wasn't.

He wasn't supposed to be there.

There's a copper watching us.

Freddie, go now.

- You're a policeman, are you not? - Keep your voice down.

I am an abominable bugger, sir, a proud Uranian.

A hunter of hinder parts.

A keen participant in behaviours grotesque and indecent.

Homo sapiens homosexual.

Take me in.

You are aware of the consequences of the admission you made to my constable?

I fear, sir, there may have been a misunderstanding.

My intemperate consumption. You see, I'm...

The wretched gin had quite scrambled my faculties.

I recall not a word I uttered to your good man,

and I must insist I retract, in toto.

David Goodbody sells himself under the guise of his delivery rounds.

Nor is he, as my sergeant has discovered, the only telegraph boy to do so.

- Are you among them? - Certainly not.

Each to their own, mind you.

I myself am partial to a tight mimsy.

A rosy notch.

A dewy flower.