Grantchester

Whoo-hoo!

Careful, Sidney!

I don't think so.

Oh, come on, live a little!

Forgive me, Mother.

Amanda!

Amanda?!

It's not funny!

It is funny!

Terrible weather we're having.

Well... Well...

You may kiss me.

Do something for me.

What?

Throw away those shoes.

Train's about to depart!

I'll just pop down to Saville Row, shall I,

and have some new ones handmade?

See you next Friday.

What would Mrs. Maguire say?

"What the Dickens?" "What the Dickens!"

Mr. Chambers?

Sorry, Mr. Brant, can't stop.

What the Dickens?

You know who I blame?

Sidney Becket.

It's Bechet, Mrs. Maguire.

Bechet.

(Sidney Bechet's "Indian Summer" plays)

So inconsiderate.

I won't have it.

They've got a point.

A man who takes his own life is going straight to hell.

Life is a glorious gift.

One that should not be discarded lightly.

But for some, the trials of life can be a terrible burden.

No one can truly understand the depth of another's suffering.

"Verily I say unto you, all sins shall be forgiven

unto the sons of men."

All sins shall be forgiven.

Mrs. Staunton.

Thank you, Mr. Chambers.

Thank you so very much.

Such kind words.

Barely recognize the old bastard.

Sorry, darling.

She's German, you know.

...this German officer...

"I will only surrender to a superior officer."

Was there one anywhere to be seen?

Course there bloody wasn't.

Annabel, do sit down, please.

So Stephen-- bearing in mind he's the same rank as me...

Pamela Morton.

Stephen was my husband's business partner.

Sidney Chambers.

I know who you are.

You looked rather forlorn, standing over here on your own.

No one knows what to say to a clergyman after a funeral.

They can't relax till I've gone.

Perhaps they think they have to behave

as if they're still in church.

Perhaps I remind them too much of death.

Is there somewhere we can talk?

Drink?

Thank you.

Not sherry?

I'm not partial to it.

But you're a vicar.

One of my many clerical failings.

Anything I say is confidential?

You can rely on my discretion, Mrs. Morton.

I knew that Stephen's marriage wasn't as happy

as it had once been.

She is German, you know.

Yes.

Afew months ago,

I was supposed to be meeting my husband from work.

He'd forgotten, of course.

Stephen suggested we go for a drink.

It was the usual chatter to begin with

but then something changed.

He said we should run away together.

Begin again.

He said we could go to Nice

and the French Riviera.

Dance on warm summer evenings under the stars.

We talked.

We planned.

We made love.

I'm sorry, I'm embarrassing you.

No.

No, you're not embarrassing me.

We were going to live

as we had never lived.

Those were the last words he said to me--

"We will live as we have never lived."

So you see why I have come to you, Mr. Chambers?

I'm not sure I do.

Stephen did not kill himself.

When I heard you speak, I knew that I could trust you.

I can't go to the police.

But you, the human heart, that's your responsibility, isn't it?

You can ask any question.

Of anyone.

However private.

I'm sorry... I still don't get your meaning.

I mean murder, Mr. Chambers.

Need a girl?

Not at the moment.

Suit yourself.

Thank you for the kind offer.

Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Chambers.

Inspector Keating.

You behave yourself, Annie.

Piss off, Geordie.

Sorry about that.

I've heard far worse, believe me.

Bugger yourself sideways, Geordie!

Murder?

Yes, Inspector.

You have a source?

An anonymous source.

Anonymous.

Of course.

Look,

I've got two ongoing fraud investigations,

a spate of burglaries.

I've got a black market fellow selling dodgy mutton

that gives his customers the terrible runs.

As far as I'm concerned, the case is as clear as crystal.

Sometimes things can be rather too clear, don't you think?

No, not really.

Oh.

Oh?

He drank.

That's what the Irish do, of course,

but he was in debt up to his eyeballs.

Took from his firm.

He was on the verge of being discovered,

so he stays on in the office, sets about a decanter of whisky,

and he blows his brains out.

Did he leave a note?

Yes.

There was a note.

Oh, well, may I see it?

No, you may not!

Why don't you go back to church and pray for the wicked.

It's murky waters you're sticking your toe into,

Mr. Chambers.

I'd steer well clear if I were you.

Mrs. Staunton.

What game were you playing, going round in circles?

Oh, uh...

I just...

I came to see how you're getting along.

My husband gave that to me.

We met in Berlin after the war.

He said he'd take me to Carrickfergus.

That we'd live by the sea and walk by the shores

of Lough Neagh.

He said a lot of things.

And I used to believe all of them.

Do you believe your husband was depressed?

He was from Ulster.

I've known a few Ulstermen; not all of them are depressed.

Yes, but sometimes the alcohol and...

Of course.

Jameson's.

That's all he drank.

In the end, like water.

I think what you're asking is did it come as a shock,

him taking his life?

At first.

But when you've lost most of your family in war,

then things don't shock for long.

Did you fight, Mr. Chambers?

I did.

Then I think you understand.

You're always welcome in my congregation, Mrs. Staunton.

I'm afraid I'm returning to Berlin.

There's no money so...

Your husband left no will?

Not that I know of.

Perhaps it's at his office.

I could inquire on your behalf.

You took his funeral when no one else would.

You've done enough.

You've been busy,

I imagine, Miss Morrison?

My job is half what it was.

Less than half, if I'm honest.

Mr. Staunton needed looking after?

He was not the most methodical of people.

He was a horror to keep tabs on.

A horror to work for.

I miss him terribly.

So you wouldn't know

whom he met on the day he died?

For example.