The Limehouse Golem Page #7

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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.

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.

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