The Sins of the Father Father Brown

You seem more on edge than before.

I received another letter.

Does this letter urge confession, too?

Yes.

Could these letters be from your wife?

They're not her style.

But you two are estranged?

For many years, now.

Shall we talk about why she left?

I can be...

..obstinate, Doctor.

Evidently.

To what are these letters urging you to confess?

That's my business.

We are bound by privilege here.

Your secrets will stay secret.

And what will happen if you don't do what this new letter demands?

It says, if I don't confess today, then my son will be murdered...

..tonight.

SHE PLAYS PIANO

SHE FINISHES

APPLAUSE

That was stunning.

Anyone would be hard pushed to take the title from you.

I doubt I'll have to push that hard.

Now, Mungo Hooter will open the programme

-and then, you are on second?

-Yes.

And second, overall.

-Beautiful.

-Thank you.

I believe I have the hall at six.

Can we not have a few more minutes?

I mean, young Calvin here has yet to rehearse.

I don't need a rehearsal. This one's a doddle.

And what will you be playing?

It's a surprise.

Calvin, we're going home.

Dr Jackson, good luck. I'm sorry to miss it.

I quite understand.

Dr Jackson? Sgt Goodfellow, Kembleford Police.

-You know, I knew it was you from your book.

-Oh, to be recognised!

I'm really looking forward to your talk.

I can't wait to read the new book.

This is Inspector Mallory.

It's not going to be a long one, is it?

You sound like a sceptic.

-I am.

-Then, I shall do my best to convince you.

Why wouldn't you say what you're playing?

Does it matter?

A lot of people put a lot of hard work into this

-and he's not taking it seriously.

-It's just a bit of fun!

Calvin, get in the car.

-I know what you're up to.

-I just want to know what he's playing.

You're sailing very close to the wind.

If you know what's good for you, I'd back off!

Everything all right, Rosie?

We'll see tomorrow.

APPLAUSE

As I explain in my book,

Still Waters - A Journey Into The Deep,

throughout history, human beings have held the mistaken view

that we are in control of our experiences.

What I'd like to convince you of tonight

is that we are not even in control of our minds.

You're seriously trying to tell us

-we're not in control of the way we think?

-Yes.

Your choices, your feelings, your passions

are all driven by your subconscious mind.

So, we should say Jack the Ripper wasn't a bad man,

because he had a difficult childhood(?)

Yes. In fact, I cover that in chapter five.

Codswallop.

Now, may I have a volunteer?

Er... Yes, thank you.

-Mordaunt Jackson.

-Lady Felicia Montague.

APPLAUSE

Would you be so kind as to tell us a little about yourself?

Your hopes and fears, your interests.

-I hope I am charitable.

-Very good.

What else? Hobbies, perhaps?

-I sing. Does that count?

-Certainly. What do you sing?

In the church choir.

Would you be so kind as to sing for us for now?

With pleasure. What would you like?

Whatever you're comfortable with.

# Morning has broken

# Like the first morning... #

Another letter, sir.

-Who is it for?

-You.

Finally. Rosie Everton is done for.

Father, I need that for the show.

Check all the windows, check all the doors. Lock everything.

We shan't leave the house tonight.

Nobody comes, nobody goes till the morning. Clear?

Well, go on!

-What was that with Rosie Everton?

-What of it?

-Are we all right?

Lock up the house.

Sir.

# ...of the new day. #

APPLAUSE

What can Lady Felicia's performance tell us about her subconscious mind?

Why do you like to sing?

It makes me feel good.

You like to entertain others.

Freud would say that you require that

because your subconscious mind feels ignored.

He would say that is evidence of a personality craving attention.

Perhaps you feel the need to impress others.

I see you wear a ring.

-My wedding ring.

-I notice that you touch it when you sing.

Just habit.

Heh. Freud would say there are no such things as "just habits".

He would say they are evidence of something deep-rooted.

Perhaps the person you wish to impress is your husband.

He doesn't care for music.

Then perhaps your singing publicly

is your way of gaining the attention that he doesn't offer.

Now, we've interrogated the roots.

Might you perform the song again?

Of course.

# Mor...

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT

# M... #

I think I need a glass of water.

What was your father talking to Rosie Everton about?

Why don't you ask him?

-Did you enjoy your dinner?

-It was foul.

I don't know why he keeps you around.

You're drunk all the time, you can't cook, nothing is ever in order.

I think you should turn in, Calvin.

-I need to practise this new piece.

-Wallace?

-CALVIN PLAYS PIANO

-Is the house secure?

-Yes, sir.

Well, er...

-Don't stay up late.

-Goodnight, Father.

Thank you.

-Oh, I'm sorry if I upset you.

-You didn't.

I was merely trying to demonstrate...

I don't mean to pop your balloon, but I've had a sore throat

coming on for a few days and it merely got the better of me.

If you don't mind, I need to go home and rest my voice for tomorrow.

Goodnight.

Still sceptical?

If questioning a crook's roots

shakes the tree enough to get a confession,

then maybe that's something we can talk about.

Then, why don't you read about it? On the house.

With respect, Doc, all this Freud stuff's French to me.

Freud was Austrian.

Padre, Dr Jackson. Goodnight.

May I?

I've always been fascinated by civilisation and its discontents.

I'd be curious to hear how a man of the cloth interprets Freud.

Why are you in Kembleford?

Publishers clamouring for the follow-up.

No rest for the wicked, particularly in London,

so I thought I'd write it here.

Enjoy it. We're all flawed, Father.

I suspect, even you.

-Would you mind...?

-Yes.

Thanks, Doctor.

CALVIN PLAYS: Nocturne in B-Flat Minor by Frederic Chopin

HE CHOKES

Requiescat in pace.

Amen.

I am very sorry about your son, Mr Twyman.

-When did you find him?

-This morning, when I woke up.

I came down and found him here.

So sorry I'm late.

Can we help you?

-Mr Twyman is one of my patients.

-Oh, hello, Doctor!

Good to see you again.

Goodfellow, how about you do another sweep of the house?

CAMERA BULB PLINKS

And was it just you and Calvin in the house, last night?

And Wallace here, my butler.

-Any sign of a break-in?

-I've got this, Padre.

The house was securely locked from the inside, I made sure of it.

Mr Twyman, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your son?

Well, do you?

-Rosie Everton.

-The journalist?

What's she got against your son?

She thought that he was a threat to her title in the variety show.

I'm not sure she'd kill for that.

-GOODFELLOW:

-Inspector!

-Excuse me.

Goodfellow?

The butler's bag, sir.

-Quite a haul.

-WALLACE: I'll not tell you again - get out of my way!

-Drop it, Wallace!

-I didn't hurt him!

-I've known him for 20 years.

-He wouldn't do it.

-Then why is he swinging a poker at my officers?

Please, Mr Wallace. Put it down.

I didn't hurt him, I swear it.

I know you didn't do it, Wallace. But this isn't the way to prove it!

POKER CLANGS

Right, Mr Wallace...

At last - the programmes for the variety show.

Printed with only hours to spare.

Don't you normally sing in this, as well, Mrs M?

Given that I'm compering, I didn't think it was appropriate.

That's a shame. It's really lovely when you sing.

-Oh, well. Maybe I should...

-Where do I come in the programme?

Straight after Rosie Everton.

I do hope you're recovered from last night.

Yes, thank you. I've been resting my voice today.

Oh, I heard it was a little stage fright.

Not at all.

Well, that's good, because Marlon Clifton is going to be our judge.

I shall make your perfectly-printed programme proud.

Father.

Calvin Twyman won't be performing.

He can't pull out now! He's in the programme.

-He's dead.

-What?

-Holy Mother of God!

Strangled, while playing the piano.

-How bad was he?

-Sidney!

The police have arrested the butler.

Lester Wallace?

I know him from The Red Lion.

Beaten him a few times at poker.

He pinches the family silverware for the buy-in.

Oh, that fits. Rumour has it, he has light fingers.

-He steals the silver for gambling?!

-He wins it back.

Robert Twyman is pointing the finger at Rosie Everton.

Oh, Rosie wouldn't hurt a fly.

She was certainly at that boy's throat last night.

Yeah, but you wouldn't strangle someone

over a little singing contest, would you?

BOTH: "Little"?!

If you're going to run after a murder,

why wait until the police arrive?

When we had a poke around your room, what do you think we found...

..other than your bags packed?

£300...

and all this silver.

CLANK

Why has a butler got all this cash and valuables?

I think you were flogging the Twyman's silver.

Young Calvin found out and you kept him quiet.

I want to make a confession...

..to a priest.

Make it quick, Padre.

Mr Wallace.

Bless me, Father, for I have... changed my mind.

Oh, that's disappointing.

-Sorry to waste your time.

-That's all right.

Mr Wallace, do you mind if I just...

rest my legs?

Bicycling.

You've worked for Robert for a long time.

Yeah, I suppose I have.

But you don't strike me as the butlering sort.

I've known a lot of butlers, and they all have delicate hands -

handling china cups, that sort of thing.

-You make things.

-I did.

-I was an engineer.

-At the aircraft factory?

Yeah, I was a panel fitter.

I've heard it's a RIVETING job.

-Did you kill Calvin?

-Of course not.

Why did you run?

Because I've had trouble with the police before -

but I didn't kill him and neither did Mr Twyman.

-But it was definitely just you and him there?

-Yes.

I really don't know what happened.

You're not still doing that, are you? I really don't think...

Robert Twyman wants it to go ahead.

-What?

-The concert.

He said "the show must go on".

Now, four hands are better than two.

Sid.

I really do have the most terrible scratch in my throat.

What are you talking about? You haven't shut up all morning.

-It comes and goes.

-Oh, well.

If you're really feeling poorly,

I suppose there's only one thing for it.

I'll take your spot in the show.

I won't have you muscling in on my limelight.

Only offering to help.

Of course you are(!)

Sydney, I need a pineapple.

A what-apple?

What in heaven's name do you need a pineapple for?

It's what the professionals use. I wouldn't expect you to understand.

What's a pineapple?

CLOCK CHIMES

How will you manage without Mr Wallace?

-Is there anything I can do to help?

-No. No, thank you.

We can hold the funeral as soon as the police release the body.

I don't think I have the necessary qualifications to become a butler.

What did you look for in Mr Wallace?

He's loyal.

Bit of a change from being a panel fitter.

It's all my fault. I...

I didn't look after my boy, I didn't protect him.

You can't blame yourself.

Nobody could have predicted something like this happening.

Why aren't the police talking to her?

-You think it's Rosie Everton. Why?

-I know how it looks.

Just me and Wallace in a locked house - but it was her.

Seems a bit of a stretch...

-over a talent show.

-You don't know what she's like.

Calls herself a journalist. She's nothing.

Who gets to 35 and is still sniffing around a local rag?

I mean, look at this -

Kembleford's hedge-laying champion, front page news? It's a joke.

She's just desperate for something to say, the vulture.

Would she... Would she kill, just to make a headline?

You don't know how far she'd go to get a story.

I'm sorry, I'm...

You must be exhausted.

I am.

We'll talk about the eulogy another time.

It's for you.

-Goodbye, Father.

-Again, my condolences.

DOOR OPENS

DOOR SHUTS

FAINT PIANO PLAYING

PIANO PIECE FINISHES

FOOTSTEPS APPROACH WITHIN

-Hello, Father.

-Hello.

I just wanted to make sure that you knew the concert was going ahead.

Yes, I'd heard. Thank you.

-Terrible news, about the boy.

-Indeed.

Robert Twyman thinks you did it.

SHE LAUGHS

I think you'd better come inside.

So, tell me exactly what Robert said.

He was adamant.

What, because I was so envious of his son's great talent,

I shuffled him off(?)

-Please(!)

-Why else would he point the finger?

You covered the Belcher scandal.

I did.

I covered business interest pieces.

I read that article.

It was very well-written.

I won Economics Correspondent Of The Year for it.

So, why are you writing about hedgerows for the Gazette?

I just love the local issues - more time to play the piano.

-And you are a composer, too?

-Oh, just tinkering.

In another life, I could have been a concert pianist.

Was Robert Twyman the subject of one of your articles?

-Why would I be interested in him?

-You tell me.

He's a local hero, Father.

He's a philanthropist, a local luminary -

he's a good, good man.

Something tells me that you don't believe that he is.

There are some men you just don't cross.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Father, I must rehearse.

I'll see myself out.

How long does it take to find a pineapple?

If you're going to sing in this competition,

you are going to have to rehearse.

I can't, until I've had my juice!

Well, what did Wallace have to say?

Nothing.

He had changed his mind about confessing before I arrived.

Did you know that Lester Wallace

didn't start out working for Robert Twyman as a butler?

Before that, he worked in Twyman's aircraft factory.

Did he?

If you've got everything, why employ a panel fitter as a butler?

Well, maybe he just saw the good in the man.

I think your friend Rosie

was writing a newspaper article about him

and I think she was silenced.

I don't think so.

Rosie Everton is one of the most formidable women I know.

I hardly think a man like that could silence a woman like her.

-Anyway, she was a leading journalist.

-Was.

Well, she chose to pursue the piano.

Can't begrudge a woman for pursuing her dreams, can you, Father?

I'm not.

I'm just suggesting that Robert Twyman may have influenced

her career change.

Let me speak to her. I'll see what I can find out.

-I've known her an awfully long time.

-Thank you.

You are meant to be rehearsing!

No note shall come out of my mouth until I have my pineapple juice!

KNOCKS AT DOOR

Hello?

Robert?

SHE SCREAMS

Can I have my book back now, sir?

I'm reading the chapter on self-interest, Goodfellow.

Do you have a problem with sharing?

-No.

-Good.

Seems like Twyman's bought Wallace an expensive lawyer.

Doesn't matter. See, there were two people in that house...

PHONE RINGS

..Wallace and Twyman.

And Twyman has no motive.

Kembleford Police.

I don't need to read this book to know what a murderer looks like -

and our murderer looks like Wallace.

Sir?

Lady Felicia.

Hello.

What were you doing in Rosie Everton's house, Mr Twyman?

Did you argue?

Then, how come she ended up dead, Mr Twyman?

I don't know.

Did you kill Rosie Everton and did you kill your son, too?

-I had a dream...

-Speak up!

I had a dream that I did.

A dream?

KNOCKS AT DOOR DOOR OPENS

Father Brown, for Mr Twyman.

Fine.

Get me the shrink.

-She was just lying there.

-When?

When I woke up.

I knocked...

She was playing the piano, she couldn't hear, so I went in...

..and the next thing I remember is...

..she's dead.

She died while playing the piano?

How can I not remember?

You received a letter, when I left.

-Yes.

-What did it say?

"If you don't confess, you will die today."

Confess to what?

Who's threatening you?

Her. She was.

That's why I went to confront her.

Was Rosie Everton writing a newspaper article about you?

How can I not remember killing my son?

How, indeed.

-Dr Jackson.

-Ah. I came as quickly as I could.

We've caught our killer.

Who is it?

Robert Twyman.

Robert Twyman killed his own son?

And he's just killed someone else.

-Who?

-Rosie Everton, a local journalist -

killed at her piano.

Oh, my dear Lord!

-Did you know Rosie?

-No, no, I didn't.

The man's completely lost his head.

I'm going to need you to screw it back on,

so he can start giving answers.

What if he doesn't know the answers?

We caught him red-handed, Padre. He did it.

Yes, but why?

Inspector, I think you need to keep an eye on him.

I believe his life is in danger.

What are you talking about?

He received a letter, threatening his life.

So, he's going to be murdered, as well?

Apparently so.

Wouldn't it be better to err on the side of caution?

Unless the murderer wants to break into a police station,

I think he'll be safe for now. Dr Jackson?

Off you pop, Padre.

DOOR SHUTS

-I've come to a decision.

-Oh, here we go.

I've decided not to sing.

Rosie was a dear friend

and it feels disrespectful to sing in her absence.

But that's three performers out of the running!

At this rate, all we'll be left with will be Mungo Hooter!

I'm afraid that's my final decision.

-DOOR OPENS

-A-ha!

-I've got it!

-Well, she's only gone and thrown in the towel.

Whoa, whoa! I've been halfway to Hereford for this thing.

Now you're telling me you don't want it?

Well, my voice is ruined by screaming, anyway.

There is nothing wrong with your throat.

This is about what happened last night, isn't it?

You are scared of making a fool of yourself...again.

-No, I'm not.

-Yes, you are.

-Bring it back when it's pulped.

-When it's what?

Extract the juice, Sidney.

I'm afraid Robert is a deeply-disturbed man.

It's quite clear he's collapsing into himself.

Well, what do you suggest?

Well, there is a method in my book I've explored, but it's a long shot.

We need to calm him, bring him back around.

I have conducted several experiments that demonstrate that classical music

can draw a patient with this kind of psychiatric collapse

back into cogency.

It might just be enough for a confession.

What do you need for it?

A simple record player should do.

I could have one brought over.

I know it's unorthodox, but I think it's worth a shot.

What do we have to lose?

-I can't believe he killed his son.

-Neither can I.

I think you two were working together.

I think you were going to confess and he got to you

and convinced you to keep quiet.

What I don't understand is,

why were you sending the letters?

I didn't send the letters.

I think I know why Robert killed Rosie,

but perhaps you can help me to understand why you killed Calvin.

I didn't kill Calvin!

I can only assume...

..that it was because of the aircraft.

Rosie Everton may have been sacked from the broadsheets,

but she was a brilliant journalist.

Brilliant journalists don't need to break the Official Secrets Act

to get their stories.

That's hardly a crime, compared with what you and Robert did.

-We were found innocent.

-No, you weren't convicted.

You knew you were fitting faulty parts.

But you put profit over safety.

When did Calvin find out?

I... I don't think he did.

-Then, why kill him?

-I didn't!

Only you and Robert were in the house.

The door was locked from the inside.

We weren't the only ones here. But it can't have been her.

-Rosie Everton.

-'She was only here a few minutes.'

'After I'd locked up the house, I cooked the Twymans their dinner.

'Whilst they were eating, I led her in.

'She copied it down and left.'

She copied the music?

Why did you let her in?

I wanted to keep her on our side.

She might have lost her job, but she still knew our secrets.

Calvin had been promised he'd be told in advance

what the head judges' favourite piece of music was.

He was a deeply-unpleasant boy.

I thought she might like to know in advance what advantage he had.

-So, I invited her over.

-How was Calvin promised the inside track?

The head judge is one of Dr Jackson's patients.

The man knows everyone. Said he'd just call and ask.

APPLAUSE

Welcome to the Kembleford Variety Show.

Due to certain tragic circumstances,

there are some changes in the programme,

but as we say, the show must go on!

So, without further ado, would you please welcome...

-Is that it?

-Big fruit, not a lot of juice.

..Mungo Hooter and his six shooter! GUNSHOTS

KNOCKS AT DOOR

-Do you have a moment, Doctor?

-Of course.

May I?

Please.

Ooh! Knees.

Not your speciality, I know.

I read your book from cover to cover.

The other day, I was trying to remember my father's face

and you wrote that I should remember in context,

so I thought of a favourite hymn of his -

and there he was.

As clear as day.

I'm glad you found it therapeutic.

I admire your work.

I admire the methods you use to treat vulnerable minds.

Thank you.

But I am troubled that you might be using your methods for ill.

I apologise again, if I embarrassed your friend.

I'm not talking about Lady Felicia.

I'm talking about Robert Twyman.

I believe that you put the weapon into his hands.

What do you mean?

I'm not suggesting that you committed the murders.

I am suggesting that you are responsible.

How?

Hypnotism.

You cover it in great detail - chapter nine.

# Dear Lord and Father of mankind

# Forgive our foolish ways. #

And there he is...

..my old dad.

Just that melody connects me to such a clear vision -

and that's it, isn't it?

Music is the murder weapon.

CALVIN PLAYS CHOPIN

Calvin died because you sent him music,

-with the promise that it would win the competition.

-CALVIN CHOKES

You knew he would practise it in front of his father.

And that...

..would trigger his murder.

But what you couldn't know

is that Rosie Everton would copy the music...

ROSIE PLAYS CHOPIN

..and would be playing it

when Robert Twyman visited her this morning.

Both of them were murdered because you had hypnotised Robert to kill

when he heard that particular piece of music.

And why would I do such a thing?

Vengeance.

Did Rosie come to you with the information

she had about the cover-up?

I...don't follow.

Perhaps because she knew that your son had died

at the controls of one of Twyman's faulty aircraft.

Is that your son?

I don't believe you're in Kembleford to write a book.

I think you are here to exact revenge on Robert Twyman.

You sent him letters to unsettle him

and you dangled your services in front of him,

pretending that you could give him some peace.

But why toy with him?

Why not just expose him?

I wanted him to confess.

To feel the pain of what it's like to lose your own son.

And how do you feel about Rosie's death?

She did her best to get justice for your son.

She lost her job, then she lost her life.

I... I'm sorry about that.

Then, confess.

He's the one that has to confess.

That's between him and God.

Vengeance doesn't bring peace.

Then...what does?

Forgiveness.

I fear it may be too late.

What do you mean?

The music...

Well, let's hope this does the trick.

MUSIC: Nocturne in B-Flat Minor by Frederic Chopin

Goodfellow, turn it up.

-Sgt Goodfellow!

-What?

-Turn it off!

-Why?

-Turn the music off!

MUSIC STOPS

What's going on?

-Padre!

-Robert?

MUSIC RESUMES

Robert!

Mr Twyman!

Stop, Mr Twyman!

Sgt Goodfellow, turn it off!

-Please!

-Goodfellow!

MUSIC STOPS

What the hell is going on?

LAUGHTER

-You're on next.

-I can't do it.

There is nothing wrong with your throat.

I know. But that awful man was right.

I do just sing for attention.

-And?

-I should sing for myself.

Well, go out there and do it.

But what if I can't?

Lady Felicia, I really hate to be the person to tell you this,

but you have one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard.

Oh. Really?

Really. So, go out there and do us proud.

GUNSHOT

He-hey!

Doctor. Sorry to interrupt.

-Have you got a minute?

-Er, not really. Needed in London.

What a shame.

We were enjoying getting to know you, weren't we, Goodfellow?

Can't be helped.

Before you go, would you mind coming in and talking to us

about the murders of Calvin Twyman and Rosie Everton?

We'd like to hear a psychoanalyst's view on the matter.

Of course. I'll follow you in my car.

No.

Let me give you a ride.

By the way, that music you gave us

didn't quite have the soothing effect one might expect.

Oh, dear.

But it certainly helped Robert open up.

He's singing like a canary.

With me, Doctor.

This way, sir.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Mungo Hooter, ladies and gentlemen.

And now, for our next act, Lady Felicia Montague.

APPLAUSE MUSICAL CUE

That's your cue.

Go on, milady!

Sorry, er...

Can you start again, please?

MUSICAL CUE REPEATS

MUSIC STOPS

Yes...

I forgot to mention,

this is a duet! MUSICAL CUE REPEATS

# That certain night

# The night we met

# There was magic abroad in the air

# There were angels dining at the Ritz

# And a nightingale sang

# In Berkeley Square. #