1: S2E1

SFX: Applause from a very large crowd is in full flow.

VIDOCQ speaks from the stage

VIDOCQ: Thank you. Thank you.

SFX: Applause dies down.

You have seen many a wonder here tonight. It has been my privilege to have you here to watch my little trickeries. As with all good things, however, the evening must come to an end. But before we part, I have one final illusion for you all. It's never been seen before tonight. (PAUSE) I think you'll like it.

VICTORIOCITY THEME

SCENE 2: London Central North

NARRATOR: It was a cold, bright day in January, 1887, and the clocks were striking thirteen (BEAT) -hundred hertz: the frequency proven by clockmakers throughout London to command the most attention. Not that you'd call it London. Your London stays more or less put, swallowing up just those towns that were close by and should have seen it coming. Not this London.

Even Greater London, to use its proper title, which would mark you out immediately as not being from there, was a sense-numbingly vast expanse of city, spreading greedily across the entire south of England. From the fishing armadas of Cornwall in the south-west, to the ocean-blinding Lighthouses of Great Yarmouth in the north-east, London was a fortress of impregnable urban supremacy. Our story begins at London Central North, a forbidding iron and stone train station built in the distressingly unpleasant style of Chief Engineer of the Realm Isambard Kingdom Brunel's early "blue" period. Deep inside one of the station's cavernous halls, Detective Inspector Archibald Fleet was attempting to find some way of departing from it.

SFX: Train station ambience

CLERK: Sir, I really cannot help you.

FLEET: I have to say, you're being very closed-minded about this.

CLERK: And I am saying, sir, that there is a very clear limit to my powers in this matter.

FLEET: You sell train tickets.

CLERK: Yes.

FLEET: That's all you do.

CLERK: I wouldn't say that's all I do, sir.

FLEET: But selling–

CLERK: I play the mandolin.

FLEET: But selling train tickets is all you do when it comes to your job, yes?

CLERK: I can't sell you what doesn't exist, sir!

FLEET: The ticket doesn't exist?

CLERK: The train doesn't exist.

FLEET: I'm reliably informed that it does.

CLERK: And I am informing you, even more reliably, that it does not. Do you see it on the departure boards?

FLEET: The departure boards out in the main station area?

CLERK: Yes, sir.

FLEET: The departure boards which are, because around 200 trains depart every hour from this station, the size of a building?

CLERK: They're all on there.

FLEET: And do you have binoculars for me to read whatever's at the top?

CLERK: Not at this office, sir.

FLEET: Regardless, the 11:57 exists and I need a ticket for it.

CLERK: I'd be very happy to sell you a ticket for the next train to your destination, but–

FLEET: I don't know the destination, I just know it's the 11:57.

CLERK: Yes. I must say, sir, that normally customers know where they wish to go.

FLEET: I wish to go onto the 11:57. It's a matter of some importance.

CLERK: I'm sure it is, sir.

FLEET: Don't you "I'm sure it is, sir" me. It is!

CLERK: Yes, sir.

FLEET: A very important person has told me this train is the train to be on, and it's for a very important reason!

CLERK: Which person, sir?

FLEET: I can't tell you.

CLERK: And what's the very important reason?

FLEET: I don't know. I'll find out when I get there. Which is all the more reason for me to get on this train!

CLERK: Sir, I have other passengers to sell tickets to.

FLEET: We're not finished here!

CLERK: Good day, sir.

FLEET: (SIGHS)

SCENE: Departure hall.

FLEET: Right. No ticket. No train. Not a great start, Archie.

SANDRINGHAM: You know what I like?

FLEET: Excuse me?

SANDRINGHAM: I said, you know what I like?

FLEET: Do I know you?

SANDRINGHAM: I am confident you do not.

FLEET: Alright.

SANDRINGHAM: What I like is ordering off-menu. You go to a nice restaurant. They give you the menu. You say, can the chef do something special? Just for me. And if they know you, they'll say "Of course."

FLEET: Yes. Wonderful. Sorry, I'm just looking for–

SANDRINGHAM: The 11:57.

FLEET: That's right.

SANDRINGHAM: And I'm telling you, Inspector, that it's off-menu.

FLEET: What?

SANDRINGHAM: Off-menu, Inspector. Doesn't mean it can't be had. You just need to ask the right way. And the right person, of course.

FLEET: Who are you?

SANDRINGHAM: Sandringham, Inspector.

FLEET: That's your name?

SANDRINGHAM: As good as, yes.

FLEET: And you are...

SANDRINGHAM: The right person.

SCENE: Bus

NARRATOR: Meanwhile, just over nine tenths of a mile to the south-east, journalist Clara Entwhistle was on the lower deck of the number 38 voltaic omnibus, which was itself hovering imperceptibly above its copper tracks and traveling towards the station at a speed of exactly zero.

CLARA: No, no, no, no, no. I'm going to be late. Driver?

DRIVER: No discussions with the driver while the bus is in motion, Miss.

CLARA: But we're not in motion. And you've got the paper open and you're doing a crossword.

DRIVER: No discussions, Miss.

CLARA: What's all this traffic about?

DRIVER: People wanting to get places at the same time.

CLARA: Is there any way around it?

DRIVER: This isn't a cab, Miss. I drive along a route.

CLARA: But the route is jammed.

DRIVER: Yep.

CLARA: So what will we do?

DRIVER: We'll be a bit later than planned.

BALMORAL: You know what I'd do in your situation?

CLARA: Oh, hello. What?

BALMORAL: I'd have left earlier.

CLARA: Well, thank you for that advice but I didn't have a choice. I only found out I was even going 45 minutes ago and I had to get home and throw everything I own into a bag.

BALMORAL: Not a planned getaway then?

CLARA: No. Work. Sorry, have we met?

BALMORAL: We have now. Balmoral.

CLARA: What about it?

BALMORAL: That's my name.

CLARA: No it isn't.

BALMORAL: It might as well be. Miss Entwhistle–

CLARA: I'm going to miss the train at this rate.

BALMORAL: If you stay on this bus, yes. You know what I'd do?

CLARA: How did you know my name?

BALMORAL: You're the journalist. You wrote about the home secretary and all his shenanigans.

CLARA: He had people murdered and was conspiring to lead us all into a police state. I'm not sure I'd call them shenanigans.

BALMORAL: Perhaps not.

CLARA: But how do you know that's me? My paper doesn't print photographs of journalists.

BALMORAL: It's my business to know people, Miss Entwhistle. And can I make a suggestion?

CLARA: Yes.

BALMORAL: Run.

CLARA: Run?

BALMORAL: Yes.

CLARA: Where?

BALMORAL: To your train. The 11:57.

CLARA: Run through the street? I'll look like a madwoman.

BALMORAL: You want to be on that train though.

CLARA: Yes.

BALMORAL: Well then.

CLARA: (SIGHS)

SCENE: TRAIN STATION

FLEET: Sandringham, where are we going? The platforms are the other way.

SANDRINGHAM: Your train is departing in 4 minutes, Inspector. Let's not delay. Through here.

FLEET: Through this door saying "Do not enter", and which is–

SFX: Tries door handle.

Yes, which is locked.

SANDRINGHAM: Oh yes. "Sandringham".

SFX: Door unlocks.

FLEET: Who are you again?

SANDRINGHAM: Sandringham. Agent Sandringham, in fact.

FLEET: But that's not your real name.

SANDRINGHAM: My name's not "Agent", if that's what you mean.

FLEET: No, it wasn't– * * * * *

CLARA: (OUT OF BREATH) Ah!

BALMORAL: And we're here.

CLARA: And why did you come with me?

BALMORAL: My job today is to make sure you get on the 11:57.

CLARA: And why didn't you help me while I ran with my bag for a mile?

BALMORAL: That's not part of my job.

CLARA: Fine. Where's Fleet?

BALMORAL: Around, I'm sure. This way.

CLARA: No, the trains are the other way. * * * * *

SANDRINGHAM: Right. This is you. Carriage A.

FLEET: There's only one carriage. Where are we? What platform number is this?

SANDRINGHAM: It isn't. Do get on, Inspector.

FLEET: You're not coming?

SANDRINGHAM: Oh no, no. Just you and Miss Entwhistle.

FLEET: Clara! I was supposed to meet her in the station.

SANDRINGHAM: Oh dear. Anyway, the train is departing in 75 seconds, and they do lock the doors early, so–

CLARA: Fleet!

FLEET: Ah! Good.

CLARA: What's this?

FLEET: Our train, apparently.

BALMORAL: 60 seconds, Miss Entwhistle, and they do lock the doors early, so–

CLARA: Yes, yes OK. Are you coming?

BALMORAL: Oh no, of course not. Good morning, Sandringham.

SANDRINGHAM: Only by three minutes and 48 seconds, Balmoral.

BALMORAL: Quite.

FLEET: Who are you?

CLARA: Yes, really, who are you?

BALMORAL: Were you not introduced? This is Sandringham.

SANDRINGHAM: And this is Balmoral.

FLEET: Neither of you are telling the truth. Those are royal estates, not surnames. Give us a straight answer.

BALMORAL: 11:56 and 40 seconds. Time's up. You'll want to pop your heads back behind the carriage door frame. There you go.

FLEET: Who are you?

SANDRINGHAM: We work for Julius Bell.

CLARA: You do?

BALMORAL: Yes, we do.

SANDRINGHAM: And so do you.

BALMORAL: Bon voyage.

SFX: Doors shut.

SCENE 3: On the train

NARRATOR: Bradshaw's Railway Handbook, encompassing every rail route in Even Greater London and not so much a handbook as a decent-sized library just off the Clerkenwell Road, describes the route Fleet and Clara were currently taking as follows: "London Central North station, northbound. Sights to see during your journey: seven exquisitely overlapping Brunelian viaducts at Leamington Spa; just outside Bletchley, a half-mile-radius ring of large copper obelisks that appeared suddenly in 1866 without warning or planning permission; and the Hanging Gardens of Welyn. Sights to avoid during your journey: the city refuse fire at Newport Pagnell; the haunting, earthy void of the Watford Abyss; and in general the middle distance or any view that reveals the mind-shattering, unfathomable endlessness of the city. Second class fares from six shillings."

CLARA: So. Fleet. Here we are.

FLEET: Yes.

CLARA: I mean, here we are again. A mission.

FLEET: Let's not call it a mission.

CLARA: But it is a mission! You were singled out by the private secretary to the Queen and given a task so secret he wouldn't tell you then and there!

FLEET: I think it was more to do with me being barely conscious after 35 hours of surgery.

CLARA: Does it count as surgery if the patient starts off dead?

FLEET: (UNWELL) Oh...

CLARA: Sorry.

FLEET: No, it's… it's fine.

NARRATOR: Fleet had recently been the recipient of some of the most remarkable medical attention ever provided to humanity. After being rather vindictively pulled to his death off the rooftop of the Houses of Parliament, he had been revived in secret through the efforts of the Royal Medical Engineers: experts in the business of replacing non-functioning organs and bones with various mechanical alternatives, who had had plenty of opportunities to become experts in this task thanks to numerous projects on their only other client, the largely beloved but nevertheless frequently assassinated, armour-plated, hydraulic and clockwork mockery of death that still referred to itself as Queen Victoria. To the untrained eye, Fleet appeared no different to how he did before, and certainly not empowered with any interesting mechanical gifts. The trained eye, however, knew this for certain to be true, and indeed that what new parts he had been given were really the bare minimum to get him up and walking again. At that moment, Queen Victoria – together with the consciousness of her deceased husband Prince Albert somehow trapped in a romantic but inescapable undeath inside her – was preparing to make one of her addresses to the nation, and the speakers came to life inside Fleet and Clara's carriage.

SFX: Speakers activating.

VICTORIA: My loyal subjects. It is the year of our Lord 1887, my golden jubilee. Hard to believe it's been fifty years since that day in Westminster Abbey. Archbishop someone-or-other saying some things to me and me agreeing. Someone putting a crown on my head. My dear Albert by my side.

ALBERT: We were in fact not yet courting at that point, my love.

VICTORIA: Really? Well who was I there with then?

ALBERT: There with?

VICTORIA: I went with someone.

ALBERT: It was your coronation, my dear. An entire, hopeful nation was there with you.

VICTORIA: I want to say Geoffrey.

ALBERT: Oh.

VICTORIA: No, no look, don't be like that.

ALBERT: I'm not like anything.

VICTORIA: It was fifty years ago, Alby!

ALBERT: It saddens me to think of a time we were not in love. Like a world without an ocean. An ocean without a shore. A shore without the most beautiful feature of a shore.

VICTORIA: But as it is my Jubilee year, there are a great many activities to be enjoyed by the public! And it is my greatest joy to announce to you all today the first Jubilee surprise. Prize. It is my greatest joy to announce to you all today the First Jubilee Prize.

For years mankind has looked at the stars and thought to itself, "You know what would make that better? Me." And it is in this spirit that I say today that we will break free of the bonds of earth. We will step up into the beyond.

We will conquer the heavens and make them Britannia. Our aim is in twenty years to put a man on the moon. And in forty years to retrieve him. We choose to go to the moon not because it is easy, but because I say so.

Details about the prize in all national newspapers this Sunday in the Royal Business pullout colour supplement. Anything to add, Alby?

ALBERT: It wasn't Geoffrey. It was Prince Alexander of the Netherlands.

VICTORIA: Good day, subjects!

SCENE 4: Julius Bell

SFX: Speakers deactivating, back in the carriage.

CLARA: So, do you–

FLEET: What?

CLARA: No. Never mind. (PAUSE) Do you remember anything? From, you know.

FLEET: From being dead?

CLARA: Yes.

FLEET: I don't think so.

CLARA: Nothing from the beyond?

FLEET: I'm not planning on starting a religion, if that's what you're driving at.

CLARA: This is my new friendship strategy, Fleet.

FLEET: What is?

CLARA: This. Big talk.

FLEET: Big talk?

CLARA: You don't like small talk. I've discovered this already. Your family. Your background.

Nothing. So, big talk. Topic one: the great beyond. What do you think?

FLEET: I think we should concentrate on the case at hand.

CLARA: Fine. But we don't know anything about it.

FLEET: We know Julius Bell's the one running it. What do you know about him?

CLARA: Not a lot. Which I suspect is how it is with everyone, and exactly how he wants it to be.

NARRATOR: Julius Bell, of course, was private secretary to Queen Victoria – and, as Fleet and Clara were rapidly discovering, his duties extended a little beyond arranging the Queen's luncheon engagements. Eventually, the train pulled to a stop at a quiet platform in a large field of scrubland the surrounding city hadn't quite enveloped. There was no sign stating the station's name, nor any buildings or other people. Just the lean figure of Julius Bell watching them pull to a halt, standing exactly in front of where the doors came to a stop.

SFX: Doors open, Julius walks onto the train, doors

close.

JULIUS: Inspector Fleet, police detective both renowned and generally agreed to be deceased, except he's not, thanks to a little help from us.

FLEET: I did say thank you.

JULIUS: Don't mention it.

FLEET: You mentioned it. You keep mentioning it.

JULIUS: How could I not? Apart from Her Majesty, you're the only person to be revived post mortem with this clever business! You're a mechanical man! Machine man? Auto-mata-person? What do you prefer?

FLEET: I prefer detective.

JULIUS: Indeed! A crime solved, tick! A mystery understood, tock! Tick-tock, tick-tock. How are you settling in with your new parts?

FLEET: They're fine. What did you actually replace? Is there anything I need to know how to fix?

JULIUS: Don't worry yourself, Inspector. Stress has a terrible effect on some of the parts.

FLEET: Really, even just a list, or a diagram.

JULIUS: (SHUSHES). And Miss Clara Entwhistle, barely off the train from the North and now the toast of journalistic London. To what do you attribute your glorious success?

CLARA: It was just one story–

JULIUS: Nonsense! Acclaim undreamt-of! But never fear, I'm sure it's not all downhill from here.

CLARA: I–

JULIUS: Not a problem for writers to be lost for words, I'm sure. Anyway, good of you to come. I've been doing some work as the vanguard for old Vicky's jubilee tour. Much to prepare, many places at which to take a peek and make sure shipshape and Carstol fashion.

FLEET: Where are we?

JULIUS: Nowhere important. Just giving me a lift back to town. Off we go!

SFX: Train sets off.

FLEET: You brought us all the way here just to pick you up?

JULIUS: I did, yes. Afraid my schedule demands many meetings en route. Plus, this is my personal carriage. Fully secured and swept for listening devices twice a day. Most private. Quite suitable.

FLEET: What's the case, Julius?

JULIUS: Hmm?

FLEET: The case. You said you had a job for me.

JULIUS: And I do. And for Miss Entwhistle too.

FLEET: What's the case, Julius?

JULIUS: A missing person. PAUSE.

FLEET: We're going to need more to go on.

JULIUS: How tedious. I will furnish you with two pieces of information and two pieces only.

FLEET: If you want us to find them, why not tell us everything you know?

JULIUS: For a very good reason, Inspector, and that reason not being one of the two pieces of information I am willing to provide.

CLARA: What are they?

JULIUS: Fact the first. The missing person's name is Tilvane.

FLEET: Do we know them?

JULIUS: You absolutely do not. Fact the second. This brooch.

CLARA: What about it?

JULIUS: It is a fake.

FLEET: The jewels are fake?

CLARA: They don't look fake.

JULIUS: The jewels are real. The brooch is fake.

CLARA: It's a copy?

JULIUS: Yes.

FLEET: It's a copy of equal value to the original?

JULIUS: Yes.

CLARA: What's fake about it?

JULIUS: That's for you to figure out.

FLEET: Julius!

JULIUS: Inspector, you cannot understand the risks I am taking even providing you with this much information. I am counting on your discretion. Find out who made this brooch and that should lead you to her.

CLARA: Aha! It's a "her"! Fact the third!

JULIUS: Damn it to hell. Yes, Tilvane is a woman.

FLEET: So, to summarise the case: Tilvane – female – has gone missing. Brooch – valuable – has been copied, with copy being of same value. Relationship between Tilvane and brooch unknown.

JULIUS: Not unknown.

FLEET: You're just not telling us.

JULIUS: Correct.

FLEET: There's a distinct lack of trust here, Julius.

JULIUS: (LAUGHS). Trust. Wonderful.

CLARA: What happens if we can't find her?

JULIUS: Well, may God have mercy on us, I suppose.

FLEET: So you'd say she's important.

JULIUS: I only know important people. Present company, well, you know. Now, it's fourteen minutes past the hour and I very much doubt your destination is the same as mine. Where can I drop you off?

SCENE 5: The Art Forger

NARRATOR: The answer to this question was not straightforward, given how little Fleet and Clara had been told, but two lines of enquiry suggested themselves. First, the name Tilvane; and second, the priceless brooch which related to her in some unknown way. Fortunately, the train journey back passed very close to one of Fleet's contacts, and they made their way through the dark, claustrophobic back alleys of the district of of Coventry until they found themselves, hidden behind stacks of discarded boxes and broken furniture, in front of a dirty metal door.

CLARA: So who are we seeing?

FLEET: Someone who can tell us about the brooch.

CLARA: A jeweller?

FLEET: Sort of.

SFX: Knocking on door. Screen wakes up on door.

HUYT: (D) Face the lens.

FLEET: Open the door, Eva.

HUYT: Face the lens, please.

FLEET: (QUIETLY) Eva, It's Fleet.

HUYT: Really?

FLEET: No, not really. Open the door.

HUYT: Face the lens.

FLEET: Eva.

HUYT: Face the lens, please.

FLEET: Fine. Hello!

SFX: Shutter.

HUYT: And your companion.

CLARA: Oh, hello, I'm Cl–

HUYT: Face the lens, please.

CLARA: Oh. Alright.

SFX: Shutter.

HUYT: One moment.

FLEET: Eva!

SFX: Line drops.

She's very security-minded.

CLARA: Did she take our photograph?

FLEET: She did, yes.

CLARA: Why?

FLEET: To keep a record of whoever last visited.

CLARA: Why?

FLEET: In case we murder her.

CLARA: Are we likely to murder her?

FLEET: Not us specifically, but if you take her visitors in aggregate she's probably doing the right thing.

SFX: Series of heavy bolts unbolting and locks

unlocking. Door opens. Ah. In we go.

SFX: Recording of classical music. Opera. Resonating

around stone corridors. Door closes.

NARRATOR: The passageway beyond the door was exactly as dazzlingly opulent as the area outside was filthy. A series of subtle lights running at knee height along the polished stone walls guided the pair as they walked past a few dozen marble busts of solemn-looking ancient types. After a minute of this, Fleet and Clara arrived in a courtyard of elegant, palazzo-style splendour. Statues of real and mythic heroes, in perfect condition, lined the walls around them, facing towards the fountain at its centre, in which an anonymous sea nymph frolicked unnecessarily. On a mezzanine above, and through several of the doors leading away from the courtyard, Fleet and Clara could see paintings by old masters, exquisite ornamental sculptures, and yet more stone people with stone togas not quite covering the more risqué parts of their stone torsos.

CLARA: So this Eva – what does she do, exactly?

FLEET: Well, she would probably say she's an art dealer.

CLARA: And what you would you say she is?

FLEET: Informative.

HUYT: (CRIES) Mr Inspector!

FLEET: It's just Inspector, Eva. In fact it might not even be that. I should really check in with the Yard.

CLARA: Clara Entwhistle, Miss...

HUYT: Eva Van Huyt. Art dealer. Art lover. Artist. Welcome to my humble atelier. Workshop.

CLARA: For a workshop it's quite–

FLEET: Felonious.

CLARA: Resplendent. I was going to say resplendent.

HUYT: Such is my art, Miss Entwhistle. And do ignore the Inspector Mr. He is quite the barbarian in such matters.

FLEET: Eva, we're very short on time. We have this brooch, and I was hoping–

HUYT: Magnificent, isn't it, Miss Entwhistle? The Degas that has catched your eye.

CLARA: Yes. I thought I'd seen this painting in a book.

HUYT: Perhaps you will have. It is La Classe de Danse. A masterwork.

FLEET: No it isn't.

CLARA: It's pretty good.

FLEET: The original is pretty good.

CLARA: It's a copy?

FLEET: Everything in here is a copy. She's a forger.

HUYT: How dare you, sir. Everything in here is original Van Huyt. And a Van Huyt, Miss Entwhistle, is whatever you want it to be.

CLARA: Oh. Do you do Seurat?

FLEET: No, Clara–

HUYT: Ah, you are a fan of Monsieur Seurat! Just through here.

FLEET: Eva, we don't have time for this.

HUYT: Mr Inspector rarely sees the point-illism. (LAUGHS) Now you see, if you listened to me more on matters of art I think you would have enjoyed that.

FLEET: Eva.

HUYT: Archibald.

FLEET: That's Mr Inspector. Inspector. That's Inspector.

HUYT: Miss Entwhistle, do you know why I am in such high demand as an art dealer?

CLARA: Because you're very good?

HUYT: Because I'm the best.

FLEET: At copying.

HUYT: Anyone can copy anything. This is the tragedy of our age of mechanisms. There used to be an art to forgery. Now, you want a perfect reproduction of "Laocoön and his Sons" for your own personal Uffizi?

Just head to Monsieur Jacquard to buy one of his punch-cards, give it to a sculpting automaton and boom-tiddly-boom, Robert is your father's brother. Leonardo's Last Supper? More like first of thousands. Painted on command for you at any back-alley paint mill in Little Zeebrugge.

What is the value, today, of a Michaelangelo's David? Nothing, I tell you. There are four of them holding up a section of Blackfriar's Bridge from one afternoon when Brunel and company ran out of brick. David, Inspector.

Possibly the most perfect representation of the human form other than myself. It's a tragedy. But an opportunity for those of us who can see clearly. When everything is without value, when perfection is routine, what becomes desirable?

The handmade. The artisanal. The product of genuine, finite labour. For what reason?

Only this: that not everyone can have it.

CLARA: Miss Van Huyt.

HUYT: Eva.

CLARA: Eva. This brooch.

HUYT: Yes. It is a Van Huyt.

CLARA: What is it a... van Huyt... of?

HUYT: I cannot tell you. I worked from a photograph only. It is an exceptional piece. Gold of Ducat fineness, Britannia silver pin, and a seven-pointed star of flawless alexandrite.

Most uncommon. Most extraordinarily difficult to reproduce. And then of course there was my final challenge: this.

SFX: Click.

FLEET: What?

CLARA: It lights up!

FLEET: How did you do that?

HUYT: I turn the star. You see?

SFX: Click. Click.

CLARA: Why did you make it so it lights up if you turn it?

HUYT: Because that is what the photograph suggested it would do.

FLEET: But what does it mean, the light?

HUYT: What does the light mean? Does light have meaning? What does it mean for something to have meaning? Mr Inspector, what a captivating avalanche of questions you have provoked. You astonish me.

FLEET: I just meant it must do something else as well as light up.

HUYT: You should ask the young woman who brought me the photograph.

CLARA: Who is she?

HUYT: That's more a question for her, wouldn't you say? We must never let others define who we are, Miss Entwhistle. They never love enough to do it well.

FLEET: What's her name, Eva?

HUYT: Why would I ask? She paid in full, in advance. That is name enough.

FLEET: Eva–

HUYT: I think you misunderstand my relationship with my clients, Mr Inspector. I am sorry I cannot help you further. Of course if you do not need the brooch I am happy to buy it back from you. I can offer thirty percent of its original price.

FLEET: I'm not selling it – it's evidence! Also, thirty percent? That's outrageous!

HUYT: It is clearly a criminal matter now. I must ensure a margin for the risk I am bearing.

FLEET: It's not for sale.

HUYT: I cannot move a fraction above 35%, Mr Inspector.

FLEET: Again, I'm not going to…

HUYT: Fine, fine! As we are friends. 36%.

FLEET: You crook!

CLARA: The photographs!

HUYT: Hmm?

CLARA: From the front door. You have a photograph of the woman.

FLEET: Yes!

HUYT: I don't think I can share my security–

FLEET: Eva!

HUYT: Alright.

SFX: Opens a drawer, rummages through paper, pulls

out paper. Here.

CLARA: Shirt and jacket. Almost seems like she's wearing a uniform.

FLEET: There's something written on her lapel. It's… Eva, hand me that magnifying glass.

HUYT: I am not an insect collector, Mr Inspector, I do not have magnifying glasses. This is a loupe.

FLEET: Does it magnify things?

HUYT: Of course.

FLEET: Is it made of glass? PAUSE.

HUYT: Here you are.

FLEET: "Allerton's".

CLARA: Where?

FLEET: I don't know it.

HUYT: Neither of you have any taste. It is a dressmaker's. Exquisite. The finest, perhaps. They tailor the queen.

CLARA: Well there we are! Our next lead. We'll go to Allerton's, find the girl, and find out what she's doing ordering a copied brooch, and what it has to do with our missing Tilv–

FLEET: –Ah haha! I think, Miss Entwhistle, that this is a conversation we should have elsewhere.

HUYT: He doesn't trust me.

CLARA: He's not especially trusting, I think.

FLEET: He's standing right here. And it's not trust, it's just– I'm not explaining myself to you, Eva! You're a criminal!

CLARA: Fleet!

FLEET: She is!

CLARA: Thank you, Miss Van Huyt. You've been very helpful.

HUYT: Eva.

CLARA: Oh yes. Eva.

HUYT: It is my pleasure, Miss Clara. Good luck with your investigations. And Mr Inspector?

FLEET: Yes, Eva.

HUYT: You've seen my paintings.

FLEET: I have.

HUYT: My sculpture. My tapestries.

FLEET: Yes, it's all great.

HUYT: You understand the composition of this brooch.

FLEET: I do.

HUYT: Do you really think a shop girl can afford my work?

SCENE 6: Scotland Yard Reception Area

NARRATOR: By the time Fleet and Clara made it back to London Central, it was later than a store as high-class as Allerton's would have been open. This left only one avenue of inquiry: the name "Tilvane".

SFX: Typing, background chatter.

Fleet headed to Scotland Yard to find out what he could. In the reception area outside the office of the Detective Chief Inspector, he found the comfortingly familiar presence of Miss Waverley. Fleet approached the desk while considering how best to reveal to her the shocking news that he was alive.

WAVERLEY: Hello Archie.

FLEET: Oh, hello.

WAVERLEY: How are you?

FLEET: I'm well, well I'm more than well, Miss Waverley. I'm alive.

WAVERLEY: Is that more than well?

FLEET: No, I suppose it's the bare minimum. Aren't you surprised to see me?

WAVERLEY: Well you never make appointments, so–

FLEET: I died, Miss Waverley. It was in the paper.

WAVERLEY: Well, it takes all sorts.

FLEET: What?

WAVERLEY: Are you here to see Keller?

FLEET: Aren't you a little surprised to see me, Miss Waverley?

WAVERLEY: Oh you know how it is when a colleague leaves. It's sad at first and then you just sort of get on with things.

FLEET: I died! Never mind. How is Keller?

WAVERLEY: He's under a great deal of pressure with the merger.

FLEET: Merger?

WAVERLEY: With the Warders of the Tower. Apparently they weren't doing a very good job operating independently.

FLEET: I think it was less about not doing a good job and more about their immense conspiracy to take control of the city.

WAVERLEY: Oh, you know about it.

FLEET: I died in it!

WAVERLEY: Anyway, Keller has all that on his plate on top of the normal business of running things here. It really is a strain. I don't know how he does it. He's out at the moment though, so if you want to see him then you'll have to come back.

FLEET: Oh no. That's perfect actually, because I was hoping you could help me.

WAVERLEY: Of course, what do you need?

FLEET: I need you to look something up for me.

WAVERLEY: Will it get me into trouble?

FLEET: Not if you don't mention it to anyone.

WAVERLEY: I thought as much. (PAUSE) Go on then, what is it?

FLEET: A woman named Tilvane.

WAVERLEY: Murderer... confidence artist…?

FLEET: She's not a criminal. See if she's ever reported a crime.

WAVERLEY: Reported one? Why?

FLEET: It'll have her address on it.

WAVERLEY: Ladies don't like unexpected callers, Archie.

FLEET: They don't like being kidnapped, either, Miss Waverley. Can you help me? (BEAT) Find her. Help me find her. I'm not going to– I'm on her side! Let me start again.

SCENE 7: Outside Tilvane's House

SFX: FLEET attempts to pick a lock.

CLARA: Where did you learn to pick locks?

FLEET: Trick of the trade.

CLARA: The detective trade?

FLEET: Sometimes you need to get into places people don't exactly want you to go, and sometimes there's no-one around to convince.

CLARA: Is it difficult?

FLEET: Picking locks?

CLARA: Being a detective.

FLEET: Can't complain. I mean, I died doing it, but–

CLARA: So you didn't find out anything at Scotland Yard.

FLEET: I found out where she lives.

CLARA: Not who she is.

FLEET: We'll find that out once we're inside.

CLARA: Why do the police know about her?

FLEET: Someone tried to break into her house last year.

CLARA: They weren't successful?

FLEET: They were not.

CLARA: Why not?

FLEET: This bloody lock! FLEET stops attempting to pick the lock. Oh. Yes. It's a Trilling.

CLARA: Good brand?

FLEET: The best. Trilling was a detective. Realised there was a gap in the market for a lock that couldn't be picked in five seconds. And he realised he could make a lot more money doing that than actually being a detective.

CLARA: He left the force to sell locks?

FLEET: Sell locks, sell alarms, sell handbooks for amateur detectives, sell guard dogs...

CLARA: There's a handbook for being a detective?

FLEET: No. No. I mean, he called it a handbook, but–

CLARA: Do you think I can borrow it from Mudie's?

FLEET: Probably, but you can learn much more by practicalCLARA: Although perhaps my own copy would be better. That way I could make notes in the margins. FLEET Save your money.

CLARA: Maybe there's a chapter on how to pick a lock. PAUSE.

FLEET: Alright, Miss Entwhistle. You want to learn the arts of detection? Lesson one: be prepared to improvise. (LOOKS AROUND) Ah. Boot-scraper. Perfect.

SFX: FLEET lifts heavy boot-scraper.

CLARA: Trilling locks aren't totally indestructible then?

FLEET: Not very much is indestructible when it comes to a strong blow from a solid piece of ironwork. Although I think old Jack Trilling would call this cheating. Stand back.

SFX: Metal boot-scraper bangs ineffectually against the

lock, then falls to the floor. Damn you, Trilling.

CLARA: What if we just look through the window?

FLEET: I think I broke my hand.

CLARA: Come on, look, we can see into her parlour. What do you think?

FLEET: It's an appalling mess. Piles of clothes on every chair. Half-drunk cups of tea on the table and on some of the books. Post, unopened. Mirror hanging askew.

CLARA: (EXCITED – SEES SIGNIFICANT CLUES BUT DOESN'T KNOW THEIR SIGNIFICANCE YET) Look at the books!

FLEET: I– what are you smiling at?

CLARA: Sorry. I'm excited. We're detecting! Look at this, find out that. It's fun!

FLEET: You know this woman could be dead or in grave danger, yes?

CLARA: Yes. Sorry. But the books. Look.

Advances in Linear Hydraulics. Practical Combustion. Tower Energy Receivers. (REALISING) She's an engineer!

FLEET: Yes, this room does have the feel of the obsessed professional about it. Oh.

CLARA: Oh?

FLEET: The mirror. You can see the hallway.

CLARA: Oh yes! With a small light on the wall. Lit up. Odd location for a light.

And underneath…(REALISES SHE'S SEEN IT BEFORE) a seven pointed star. (EXCITED) Like the brooch! FLEET and CLARA think through what they know

FLEET: Which lit up when you turned it.

CLARA: And the original of which must do something else when you turn it.

FLEET: Something like light up a matching light in Tilvane's house.

CLARA: (CONFUSED) A signal? From a brooch?

FLEET: A priceless brooch which signals an engineer. And all of which is very important to Julius, who is...

CLARA: (SLOWLY, THINKING) Private secretary to the Queen.

PAUSE

FLEET: She's her doctor. Tilvane. She's one of the royal medical engineers. A brooch only someone extraordinarily wealthy could afford. Which allows the wearer to signal Tilvane from wherever they are at any time.

CLARA: Tilvane, who Julius refused to tell us anything about.

FLEET: Because she's the Queen's bloody doctor!

CLARA: And the brooch calls her in a medical emergency!

FLEET: Only someone made a copy.