14x08 - The Dominion of New South Mimico

[bunniefuu]

Murdoch.

Where's Higgins?

Uh, we...

I haven't seen him in a day or two, sir.

- Suffering an illness, I believe.

- Still?

I'll tell you what: he'd better be knocking on Heaven's bloody door!

Gentlemen, I beg your pardon.

My name is Roderick H.

Roderick.

I've been sent to collect a detective from Station House Number Four.

- Ah, we are they.

- That is us.

- What's this about?

- Uh, I cannot disclose any details.

Please, your help is needed most urgently.

For what, exactly?

There's been a m*rder.

Henry?

Oh.

Detective!

Ah, Detective.

What is going on?

Isn't this the old Newsome estate?

Ah, it is!

Ah, they bought it back.

I'll need to see your papers.

What papers?

Your visas?

Your permission into the country?

What country?

Their presence has been requested by the King.

Let's see here.

Ah, sir!

You're really not...

Ah, sir!

I...

I'm, you know, I'm sure it's all in order.

I...

MURDOCH: Rupert Newsome.

King Rupert The First.

Thank you for coming, Detective.

A great tragedy has befallen our nation.

What nation?

This one.

Newsome-Mimico.

New South Mimico.

Ah, it's pronounced Newsome-Mimico.

You elide the "th".

I know.

It leaves one lacking the capacity for speech.

Something like that.

[RECORDED MUSIC]

Why is there music?

Oh, oh, oh, oh!

Oh!

Our national anthem.

It is that time.

This will only take a moment.

♪ Over great Mimico ♪

♪ With our heads high we go ♪

♪ I am the King ♪

♪ Tall strong and handsome King ♪

♪ Noble and valiant King ♪

♪ We all adore the King ♪

♪ I am the King! ♪

Long live The King!

Mr. Newsome, you can't just simply make your own nation.

Why not?

We have our own constitution.

We have a border, enforced by our department of justice and security.

- Henry Higgins?

- Mm-hm!

We have a currency.

Oh, and soon we will have our own postage featuring the visage of the Queen.

Uh, dearest?

Your hand.

- Oh.

Bother.

- Oops.

Mr. Newsome, what makes a nation is recognition.

By other nations.

I highly doubt any nation will ever recognize New South Mimico.

Therefore, it is not a nation.

Allow me to introduce Agnessa Vrioni, visiting dignitary from Albania.

Miss Vrioni.

Do you recognize Newsome-Mimico as a sovereign nation?

I do.

Well, borders aren't real.

They're arbitrary divisors of people, but insomuch as we acknowledge them, we may as well acknowledge Mr. Newsome's.

Watts, he can't make his own country.

It seems he already has.

Now, was there not some mention of a m*rder?

His name was Dickie Fanshaw.

He was my friend.

A close friend?

Bosom.

When was his body found?

Uh...

Few hours ago.

I preserved the crime scene and sent for you immediately.

WATTS: Bashed with a heavy object.

Scratches on his neck.

It's signs of a fight.

- Mr. Newsome...

- Ah, ah, ah!

King Rupert the First.

Mr. Newsome.

- Did Mr. Fanshaw have any enemies?

- Of course.

In Canada.

- We're in Canada.

- No.

We're not.

Our borders with Canada were closed all night.

That's why I called you!

I believe the k*ller is right here in Newsome-Mimico.

We sat for a nightcap at pm.

It was myself, dearest departed Dickie and Courtney here.

Courtney van Doren, Minister of the Interior.

It was just the three of you?

No, Lucy was here.

Lucinda Helmsworthy-Newsome.

- The Queen.

- Oh, yes.

But she was knackered, so she went to bed at : .

After that, it was just the three of us, our double malts and our plans for the dock.

- The dock?

- Yes.

Those half-witted gargoyles down at Mimico City Council wouldn't let me build a simple yacht dock!

One of them couldn't even say yacht dock.

So, Dickie thought pffft.

Let's secede.

And thusly Newsome-Mimico was birthed.

Mr. Newsome, do you recognize this?

Of course I recognize it, whoever you are.

It's a feather.

Ah, yes.

Do you have any idea why it might have been stuck to Mr. Fanshaw's waistcoat?

His "wescut"?

No.

It could belong to McGeorge.

Oh, yes.

- McGeorge?

- Yes.

Dickie's pet goose.

Little critter went missing yesterday, come to think of it.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Gentlemen, last night, when did you last see Mr. Fanshaw?

I retired to my rooms at pm on the dot, but I believe Dickie said he was going for a stroll.

Yes.

It was pm.

He went out that door and...

[WHISTLES]

[WHISTLES]

[WHISTLES]

That's the song he was whistling as he strode into the night.

Not a care in the world.

So, what are you all doing here?

JULIA: William asked us to come.

Per orders of the King.

He is not a King.

He is my idiot cousin.

Per orders of Effie's idiot cousin.

- Henry, what are you wearing?

- What?

- It's my uniform.

- You look like a feathered beefeater.

Ruth designed it.

On your way.

- Roderick.

- Fiona.

What...

What are you doing here?

I came to see this madhouse for myself.

And you are?

George, this is Roderick H. Roderick, my ex-husband.

Roderick, this is George.

My lover.

Hm.

A copper?

And you're a citizen of New South Mimico?

Yes.

Chief legal counsel.

Then you actually believe this is a real country?

I do, it is.

Would you like to see proof?

Certainly.

I could use a good laugh.

Dearest, I am supposed to be in charge.

I know that, Henny.

Say, I'm not showing, am I?

No.

You're as sleek as an antelope, dear.

I am Chief of Justice and Security for Newsome-Mimico.

Yes.

I know that, Henny.

Grape!

But all I get to do is sit at the border and turn away undesirables.

When a m*rder happens, they call someone else in.

I've solved murders before, you know?

Really?

I've been involved in solving murders.

Oh, well.

So have I.

Scads of them.

Cantaloupe!

But, Henny, this is Dickie we're talking about.

It's all rather remarkable, isn't it?

They really made their own country.

You're impressed by this?

I suppose I am.

Did you see the flag?

And the coat of arms?

This place is the manifestation of a lunatic's untethered vanity.

Thank you, Detective.

Well, I'll examine the body.

- Thank you.

- I've confirmed everyone else was in bed for the evening before pm.

The last Mr. Fanshaw was seen.

The victim's guest room was in the east wing.

No one heard anything.

All the other sleeping quarters are in other parts of the building.

Yes, I searched his room.

Found this.

A daily journal.

This looks interesting.

Watts!

Last journal entry was yesterday.

"One, select pajamas.

Two, pack pajamas.

Three, tell secret," with a question mark.

Where is it?

Dickie was Newsome-Mimico's Secretary of State.

He handled all the files and administration.

Why are there files and administration?

Rupert Newsome didn't just say he had a country and everyone just went along with it.

Well, I think he did.

I don't see how any paper you show me will prove

- that New South Mimico is real.

- It will.

They don't teach you everything at Osgoode, Fiona.

As a lawyer, I have significantly more experience than you.

Oh, Roderick.

There is lunch.

The Albanian woman has made lunch.

Ah.

Yes.

All right.

Um, just a moment.

Oh, hello.

Hello.

Hm.

Who's that?

- How am I supposed to know?

- RODERICK: Huh!

Ha.

Here it is.

The Founding Documents.

Proof that New South Mimico is real.

This is nonsense.

It simply refers to Canadian treaties that harken back to Confederation.

One could simply pop 'round Queen's Park, glance at the copies and prove once and for all that there's no such thing as Newsome-Mimico.

Yes.

No one has ever accused you of not being sure of yourself, have they Fiona?

George.

I shall be back in the wink of an eye.

And when I return, New South Mimico will be no more.

Tell secret?

Dickie wrote that?

I haven't the foggiest.

What about these symbols?

Ah!

This is a note.

Those colours and symbols are, in fact, a language...

Solresol.

Solresol?

What is Solresol?

The official language of Newsome-Mimico.

An international tongue that allows for communication through letters, numbers, music, or colour.

Is this language a product of your own imagination?

MURDOCH: "La langue universelle."

It was invented by a Frenchman, although it's more theoretical than practical, I believe.

Well, Dickie went to pastry school in Paris and said it was all the rage.

I find that hard to believe.

But what does this say?

It says...

"Best friend."

"Best friend, Rupert and Dickie, Dickie and Rupert, best friends are we."

- Huh.

- My God!

What is it?

It's a bloody axe.

Uh, pool of blood, partially congealed.

I believe this axe was used in the last day.

Well, we know an axe wasn't used in committing the m*rder and we believe that to have occurred at the door to the East Wing.

What brings you out here, Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome?

I was...

taking a walk to...

I...

I can't remember where.

I just wanted a walk.

WATTS: Detective.

Look at this.

Another feather.

Mm!

My goodness.

That is transcendent!

I'm sorry.

What is it?

This is goose.

- A family recipe.

- Mm.

- I'm sorry.

Did you say goose?

- Mm.

Where did you procure this goose?

Miss Vrioni, I'm afraid I must press you for an answer.

The victim's goose disappeared shortly before he was m*rder*d.

m*rder?

No.

I am not a k*ller.

William?

I found this in the victim's clothing.

Broken fingernail.

Presumably broken whilst leaving those nasty scratches on his neck.

CRABTREE: Ah, sir.

Miss Vrioni.

May I see your right hand?

- No.

- Uh, Miss Vrioni.

Please.

A broken fingernail.

Thank you.

You're coming with me.

Watts!

What happened?

I see the goose.

I take the axe.

I k*ll the goose.

Normal.

This man?

He is crazy.

So angry, yelling, attacking.

I defend myself.

Hm?

[MIMICS SCREAMING]

Ah, yes.

Ah, what time was this?

o'clock.

I already hung the goose and was on my way to my room.

You didn't hit Mr. Fanshaw on the back of the head?

No!

Right.

What happened after the two of you fought?

Nothing.

He screams, "Ahhhhh!"

Then he runs to the house.

This way.

Toward the East Wing.

Very good.

Thank you, Miss Vrioni.

Dr.

Ogden confirms that he d*ed between and pm last night.

That seems to line up with Miss Vrioni's story.

If she's telling the truth, he would have come this way and entered through this door here.

It's curious, given that he d*ed at the other end of the wing.

- What is this?

- Blood.

♪ Do fa sol mi si fa ♪

♪ Do mi fa sol do mi fa sol do mi fa sol. ♪

So what does that mean?

Oh!

"Lovely little baby."

Yes, our child is going to be the first native speaker of Solresol.

- Isn't that wonderful, Henry?

- Mm.

It is wonderful.

So is the entire language musical?

Oh, doesn't have to be.

I suppose you could say, "do mi fa sol," but what fun's the fun in that?

♪ Do mi fa sol. ♪

Yeah.

Incredible.

Do you mind if I have a look?

Certainly.

- So it's true, is it, Higgins?

- Sir?

Well, that you thought you could call in sick and that I wouldn't find out you're working another job?

No.

Sir, I...

I...

BRACKENREID: Oh, spit it out, Higgins!

I'm actually looking forward to hear you try and worm your way out of this one.

Well, I had no choice.

It pays more.

Then be a man, be upfront and hand me your resignation.

Ah, sir.

You can understand why I might want to not tie my entire career to Rupert Newsome.

I suppose so.

This new country business can't actually last.

Just trying to make a little extra money while I can.

I promise, after today, no more taking off work.

Mm.

- Oi, Bugalugs!

- Oh!

Sir!

- Are you getting paid to read?

- Sir, this is evidence.

What have you got, gentlemen?

The victim is a Mr. Fanshaw.

We believe he was in this hallway shortly before his death,

- likely headed to his room.

- Oh, oh, oh.

Look at this.

- Blood.

- And it leads here.

There's some on the door, Watts.

Uh, is this Mr. Fanshaw's room?

No.

His room is that way.

I've already inspected it... no blood there.

So what's in there?

What are you doing in my study?

Mr. Fanshaw came here directly before being k*lled.

Why would he do that?

That's what we're asking you.

Well, I just asked you.

Why would I know?

What was the question?

Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome, last night you had drinks in the sitting room with your husband, the victim and Mr. Van Doren, correct?

Yes.

You then left their company at : p.m., according to their recollection.

Where did you go after?

I...

I can't remember.

Did you come here, to your study?

Did you see Mr. Fanshaw at or just after pm last night?

No.

Of course not.

She's bloody lying.

Inspector, Detective.

- MURDOCH: What have you?

- Letters.

And I believe they may explain why Mr. Fanshaw came to this room last night.

Ah, no, no, no.

You must hold the final syllable.

- "Solremi-i-i." - Solremi-i-i.

Fabulous!

That's it.

I do adore you, Courtney.

Whyever did you break things off with Lucinda?

Don't answer.

It's obvious.

You have quite the sharp tongue, Ruthie.

That's Princess Higgins-Newsome, sir.

Yes, of course.

My apologies, Princess.

Oh, thank you.

Courtney, we must find someone in the family for you to marry so you can be a proper royal, like us.

Who is that tall woman?

The one without any hair.

Oh, Effie!

Oh, yes!

Oh, she's perfect!

- You must marry her straightaway.

- Scrumptious!

Effie's with George.

- Still?

- Hang on.

What's this?

Oh my.

I've got to find the detectives.

Miss Helmsworthy-Newsome, these are love letters.

Written to you by the victim.

What?

That's absurd.

They're quite passionate.

In this one, he says he's going to reveal your affair "to the world".

Well, I've never seen those letters before in my life.

Young Detective Watts found them right here in your study just moments ago.

Mr. Fanshaw was injured after his argument with Miss Vrioni.

He went not to his room, but came here, perhaps to seek solace in your arms.

But you then argued, possibly about this letter.

And shortly after that Mr. Fanshaw was dead.

No.

No.

- I...

- Where were you last night at pm?

I can't remember.

No, no.

I do.

I do remember.

I...

I took a walk.

In the rose garden.

- And from there I went straight to bed.

- Sirs?

- I found something.

- What is it, Higgins?

I was walking outside with Ruth and Courtney.

I spotted this on the ground.

- There's dried blood on it.

- Mm-hm.

Oh.

Based on the wound, this could be the m*rder w*apon.

Oh, it's the other bookend from this shelf.

Oh!

Very good.

- Where did you find this, Henry?

- In the rose garden.

No, no.

No, I didn't k*ll him.

I swear!

I...

I just can't remember anything!

Perhaps she really doesn't remember.

It's possible she k*lled him and the experience was so traumatic that her mind just blocked it out.

Unfortunately, there are no fingermarks on the m*rder w*apon.

Detective, I understand my wife has m*rder*d my best friend.

The evidence strongly suggests that's the case.

- However, we...

- The King, me, is despondent.

But there's nothing to be done.

Henry, arrest the Queen on the charge of m*rder.

Really?

But she's your wife.

And she m*rder*d my best friend.

No man has known true friendship until he has known the friendship of Dickie D. Fanshaw, Esquire.

Mr. Newsome, at the conclusion

- of our investigation, we will arrest...

- No!

This is Newsome-Mimico.

Henry, arrest the Queen.

He has a guillotine?

It's in the constitution.

I'm not actually allowed to cut her head off?

- Absolutely not.

- Oh, thank God.

Might as well have a little fun with it, then, huh?

Ladies and gents, in accordance with my duties as Chief of Justice and Security for Newsome-Mimico, I shall now execute the Queen!

Just let me put her in the thingamajig before you put a stop to all this.

Come on.

What's wrong?

On your feet.

I did nothing wrong.

Stop this!

Perty!

I'm your wife, how could you?

Your hands are stained with the blood of Dickie.

I can't say I'm surprised to find out that you're a m*rder*r, Lucinda.

- I...

I'm not...

- Henry, are you really going to chop off her head?

- 'Tis my noble duty.

- Oh!

All right, Higgins.

That's enough.

Hand her over.

Yes.

The Queen is coming with us until we complete our investigation.

Well, I object!

But in the name of peace, I offer full compliance.

Henry!

You're supposed to...

Detectives?

Inspector?

It's about this whole sovereignty business.

Ah-ah-ah, don't listen to her.

She's just a foolish woman.

Henry, do not unhand my wife.

BRACKENREID: We're taking her.

Meanwhile, Miss Newsome here can explain to you why you're not the king of your own country.

EFFIE: The thing is, the founding documents of New South Mimico refer to a federal waterway treaty,

- which was revised only this year.

- MURDOCH: All right.

The treaty defines Canada's borders with America.

It's signed off by officials from Canada, the US and Great Britain.

And there's one article, which must have just slipped in.

- The officials have no idea.

- No idea of what?

Once they're alerted, I'm sure they'll re-write it immediately.

Go on, Miss Newsome.

What are you getting at?

According to the government of Canada, New South Mimico is real.

You're trying to tell us that Rupert Newsome really is the King of his own country?

Well, of course I am.

Henry?

Off with her head.

Yay.

Even if he is some sort of king,

- we can't let him k*ll his wife.

- Hm, yes.

This may call for a coup d'état.

I'll handle this.

Right, Higgins.

You're not k*lling anyone.

- Gosh, fine!

- Take her inside.

She can wait there until we decide whether to take her to the cells.

- Thank you, Inspector.

- You can't do this.

This is my country.

Effie just proved it.

I don't give a toss whose country this is.

And if anyone cares to disagree with me, they can do it right bloody well now!

Get it?

Got it?

Good!

Lucinda Helmsworthy-Newsome said she was in the rose garden last night, but within minutes she was back in bed with her husband for the night.

So, she placed it here in the morning after the blood had dried?

Why?

Why not clean it off and put it back in her study?

And why feign to not remember where she was last night, only to eventually volunteer being in the very place where the m*rder w*apon was discarded?

Ah!

Someone may be trying to cast suspicion on her.

Hm.

Think about it.

Who could have possibly slipped that article into the treaty?

One three, one four five three.

- What?

- That means, "You are lovely".

I thought it was a musical language?

Yeah, well it can be.

But you could also use numbers, symbols, ah...

Colours, even.

Invented by a French chap, François Sudre, to allow a truly universal language.

Effie, if everybody learned this, we could communicate with people from China, Russia...

- Here we go.

- Mars, Venus, Quebec!

Perhaps it was Dickie Fanshaw who altered the treaty?

Ah, we should refer to Mr. Fanshaw as...

Six five four seven seven.

"The victim".

Six five four seven seven handled all the Newsome-Mimico paperwork.

But six five four seven seven was a wealthy layabout.

He wouldn't have known to do this, even if he could.

Hm.

Well, if it wasn't six five four seven seven, perhaps it was...

Six seven seven four one.

Precisely what I was thinking.

Assuming six seven seven four one means "the lawyer," or "my ex-husband".

Indeed, it does.

There are inconsistencies in the evidence against you, so, at this time you are not under arrest.

You see?

I told you I didn't do it and you sentenced me to death!

[STAMMERS]

I thought you k*lled Dickie.

You can imagine how distraught I was.

I don't care how distraught you were.

How could you believe such a thing of me?

You're right.

I am so stupid.

I'm a weak fool.

Please, show mercy on this insufferable twit.

And, also, it was mostly Henry's fault.

He found that evidence and said it was you.

It was not only Henry.

And you are not yet cleared of suspicion, Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome.

What?

Right.

It was Henry Higgins.

He tried to have me k*lled.

You accused the Queen of m*rder.

- That is treason.

- I was only doing as I was told.

- Your husband...

- Do not speak ill of the King!

Now, put yourself in the stocks.

You are hereby sentenced to death.

- Henny!

- Don't worry, Ruthie.

They can't let this happen.

Right, sir?

Oh, you want my help now, do you, Higgins?

HIGINS: Sir, she is going to k*ll me.

She's serious.

Look at her eyes.

Oh.

Is Henry to be ex*cuted?

- Yes.

- No!

I'm sorry, Ruthie, Ruthie's baby.

But we must abide by the laws of Newsome-Mimico.

Well...

Yes, of course you're right.

- What?

- What?

Oh, no.

Wait!

No!

No, Rupert, no, no!

You have to save him.

Oh, well, given Henry's the one who does the executions, who's going to chop off his head, anyway?

He can scarcely do it himself.

Well, it says here that if the chief of justice cannot perform his duties, his responsibilities fall to the King.

- Ah, well.

- Thank you.

Oh!

Inspector!

How would you feel about a new title?

Chief of Justice and Security.

What, so, uh, I'm the one who gets to chop off Higgins' head?

Worth considering, I suppose.

Enough chatter.

Why is this taking so long?

- Behead this simpleton, Perty.

- But Lucy, it's Henry.

You know?

Henry.

- Can you really imagine him without a head?

- Yes!

Now you do as I say right now and chop...

off... his...

[ALL GASP] I've been so unwell lately.

Can't imagine why.

Can you describe exactly what you've been feeling?

Untethered, I suppose.

And my body...

Pain?

Feels like I don't have control.

I can barely feel it at all.

Nothing in his briefcase that would explain his motives for helping to make New South Mimico a reality.

It's essentially using numbers one through seven.

You could assign anything you like.

Musical notes, colours of the rainbow.

If I had seven different beans, Effie, I could display them variously and communicate with people!

I can't believe this hasn't caught on.

Now this is interesting.

"Dearest Lilith, from my heart to yours, Roderick".

He moved on quickly.

Uh, so have you, dear.

Well, we're not going to prove his guilt sitting around here.

We need to get back into that office.

- But the office is locked.

- Well, we'll need to convince the King to let us back in.

Or perhaps another member of the royal family.

Based on Lucinda's symptoms, I'd say it's neurological.

When we arrived, she cut herself and hardly noticed.

That's right.

And when Henry was marching her to the guillotine, she could barely walk.

It was as though she'd lost all coordination.

Interesting.

Plus, the loss of memory.

And the general madness.

Well, that may just be her.

I have to say, these are all effects of mercury poisoning.

Then someone wants the Queen dead.

And if that someone also targeted Mr. Fanshaw, then perhaps he wants both of them dead for the same reason.

And we do have a strong motive.

Dickie Fanshaw was carrying on with the Queen.

The k*ller could be the man most aggrieved by the affair.

The man who counts them as his wife and best friend.

The mad King who thinks himself above the law.

You learned of the affair between your wife and your best friend and then set out to m*rder them both.

BRACKENREID: Poisoned your wife, m*rder*d Mr. Fanshaw and then framed her for it and tried to execute her when the poison didn't do the trick.

MURDOCH: You thought yourself above the law.

Perhaps that's why you pushed to have this country of your own so that you could m*rder with impunity.

I did all that.

I found out about the affair yesterday.

My honour was at stake.

A king cannot be made a cuckold in his own country.

But, as you say, I am above the law.

This isn't a real country, Rupert.

Yes, it is.

Effie proved it!

And she will prove it again to the Canadian government.

And then they will undo it.

And then you will be arrested and hanged.

I should like to see you try.

I am banishing you.

You are banished.

And if you try to get back in, you will regret it.

I could make one phone call to the Chief Constable and have a hundred men here this afternoon to take you by force.

Are you threatening to inv*de my country?

It's not a bloody country!

You won't take us over.

We'll take you over.

You're going to take over Canada?

I was thinking Mimico, but yes.

If you so much as step foot over our borders...

We're already across your borders.

We're not leaving here without you in shackles.

You leave me no choice then.

I declare w*r.

w*r!

I boiled off one of Lucinda's daily tinctures and it was laced with mercury.

So, this wasn't a one-time occurrence.

She's been slowly poisoned for a week or more.

Then Rupert Newsome lied.

He said he found out about the affair only yesterday.

If there's one thing we know about Rupert is that he'd rather confess to a m*rder than suffer embarrassment.

Sons of Newsome-Mimico, I am your King, Rupert the First.

The Canadians are coming.

They will outnumber us.

They will be armed.

And, most likely, they will slaughter us all.

But I stand before you today to tell you they may take our riches.

They may take our country.

They may take your lives.

But they will never take our freedom!

Mr. Newsome, you are not going to w*r with Canada.

Because you didn't actually k*ll anyone, did you?

Of course I did.

I've already explained that.

If you are the k*ller of your own best friend, why did you call in detectives from outside your little fiefdom here to solve the m*rder?

And why did you begin to poison your wife at least one week prior to learning of the affair?

Yes.

We already know of the affair.

Everyone will learn of it.

Can whatever you're hiding be that much worse?

You have no idea.

It's much, much, much worse.

You see...

There was no affair.

Wh...

what on earth are you talking about?

The note that Dickie wrote to me, with the colours.

It is not about our friendship at all.

It isn't?

Well, what did it say?

It says, "I put the letters in the study.

Now you can expose the fake love affair."

Why would you fake a love affair between your wife and your best friend?

I wanted an excuse to leave her.

In a dignified manner.

All while making it your wife's fault.

Precisely.

You understand.

- No, I don't believe I do.

- Please.

Detectives.

Lucinda cannot find out about this.

Do not proceed with this investigation.

I beg of you.

Hang me and be done with it.

What did you find?

Roderick H. Roderick is being paid by the Government of New South Mimico in at least a dozen different positions.

Legal advice... departmental oversight...

currency advisor.

He's paying himself thousands a week.

He's fleecing these idiots.

Well, perhaps he just does a lot of work?

Ah, "exotic fruit procurement"?

Well, that's ridiculous.

Anyone can procure fruit.

You just ask the servants.

What are you doing?

- You can't be here.

- I beg your pardon?

Have you forgotten my title?

No, Your Ladyship.

You're behind all of this, aren't you, Roderick?

You've been stealing from the Newsomes

- in the form of all these payments.

- I beg your pardon.

Perhaps Dickie Fanshaw found out.

He's the one who keeps all these records.

Maybe you k*lled him to silence him?

Mr. Newsome wanted a country.

I helped him achieve this unprecedented feat and, yes, was compensated generously.

No matter how delighted you might be to find me guilty of m*rder, I think you know in your heart I'm not.

Perhaps this wasn't Mr. Fanshaw's secret, then.

Secret?

Yes.

Well, apparently he was considering divulging some sort of secret just before he was k*lled.

You know...

There was something he referred to last week.

He was finishing the portfolios on all the members of the Royal Family.

He had just discovered something down at the courthouse.

- What?

- All he said was it was a thr*at to the monarchy.

MURDOCH: A thr*at to the monarchy?

That was Mr. Fanshaw's secret?

Well, I can't be certain, sir, but it seems a possibility.

What could he have come across at the courthouse?

- Property records, maybe?

- [WHISTLING]

Wouldn't be the first time the Newsomes learned they were paupers.

Sirs, that tune?

Oh, yes. Apparently, Mr. Fanshaw was whistling that shortly before he d*ed.

Well, that's no tune, sirs.

That's a message.

- Solresol.

- Sol-what?

Uh, the official language of New South Mimico.

Ah, ah, Rupert!

Whistle that tune again!

Whistle what?

Was I whistling?

Ugh.

- Yes!

That tune!

- The one Dickie was whistling.

Oh, ah... yes.

Right.

Um...

Mm...

Uh.

Oh, yeah.

- [WHISTLES] - Wait, wait, wait.

♪ Do-do-re-mi-fa. ♪

♪ Do-fa. ♪

[WHISTLES]

♪ Fa-fa-so-la-la-so. ♪

[WHISTLES]

♪ Fa si-mi. ♪

[WHISTLES]

♪ Si-re-mi-mi. ♪

Sirs!

It is a message!

"He never divorced the physicist."

The physicist?

- What bloody physicist?

- I don't know any physicist.

Ah, Rupert, is it possible you were mistaken about the last note?

I...

I mean, could it be...

♪ So-re-mi-sol? ♪

And what would that mean?

"He never divorced the queen."

- Oh.

- Ah, no, no, no.

Definitely not.

So, who's this physicist?

No, no.

There is no physicist.

He was sending you a message about your wife.

Now, unless she has another ex-husband, I believe he was trying to tell you that Mr. van Doren never divorced Lucinda.

BRACKENREID: He could have found that out from the courthouse, which means your marriage to your wife never happened, Newsome.

You don't say?

Well, that's why Courtney was trying to poison Lucinda.

With her dead, this entire estate would become his.

That would certainly be a thr*at to the monarchy.

What's does one rich toff want with another fortune?

Oh, I might know.

What is it, Henry?

Well, I've been manning the border and turning away undesirables for the last week or two.

There have been more than a few debt collectors looking for Courtney.

- And you never thought to mention this?

- Of course not.

It's rude to talk about money.

Then Courtney van Doren is broke and tried to k*ll Lucinda for her money.

Dickie Fanshaw found out...

He then tried to warn Rupert, but Rupert didn't understand.

Unfortunately, Mr. Van Doren did.

So, he had to k*ll Dickie.

- Let's go and get the little bugger.

- Sirs?

Wasn't Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome just sitting right there?

[DISTANT SCREAMING]

Ah, you go that way.

Oh!

He fell.

These trousers were from Antwerp.

I suppose I'm under arrest.

The national borders will be redrafted on Monday, with all mention of New South Mimico excised.

I'm sorry your dream won't be coming true.

Well, to be perfectly honest, it was becoming a little stressful being a monarch.

I'm much more heartbroken that, tragically, sadly, our marriage seems never to have existed at all.

I don't understand it.

- I signed the divorce papers.

- He never filed them.

Must have been planning to come after my money all along.

Yes.

What a horrible man.

- Well, I suppose I shall pack my things.

- Oh!

You don't mind if I make use of the lake house for a time, do you, dear?

Oh, you needn't worry, Rupert.

I've taken care of it.

I beg your pardon?

EFFIE: Roderick and I spoke to a judge.

He'll validate the un-filed divorce papers and ensure that your current marriage stands.

Oh, thank heavens!

How wonderful.

Thank you, Effie.

I do have one question, though.

Why would Dickie want to pretend we were having an affair?

Oh!

- It was likely one of his hilarious jokes.

- What's the joke?

I'm not sure, but I think, out of respect for the dead, we'd best never speak of it again.

As in many cases, some questions never come to be answered.

And that whole business with the, um...

scimitar in Courtney's leg.

No, uh, charges to be laid there, huh?

No.

Given that Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome was likely acting under influence of poisoning, the constabulary will look upon it as a self-inflicted wound.

Right.

Everything's back to normal then.

Aren't we so wonderfully lucky, Perty?

- Yes, dear.

- Shall we have a tussle?

Yes, dear.

[GROANING]

Okay.

Oh, that's good.

I've been thinking about the idea of building a nation

- around science and universal truths.

- Have you, now?

A country whose every citizen would commit all of their resources toward progressive, technological innovation.

The result would be a nation where everyone would have enough wealth that his or her every need would be met.

Is productivity your first concern when building a new society?

Productivity that leads to greater social good.

Such a nation would require impressive leadership.

William Murdoch, you fancy yourself a king, don't you?

- What?

I nev...

- You called Rupert Newsome mad, but, secretly, you'd love to rule your own country.

King William the First of Murdochonia.

Doesn't have a bad ring to it.

And, as king, I will be free to choose whomever I wish to be my queen.

Oh, well, yes, I would quite like to be queen.

I'll think about it.

[SCOFFS]