The Limehouse Golem Page #2

---

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.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes