City of Vice

London. My city.

A monstrous place.

Commerce and trade have made it that way,

and filled it's ever expanding streets with the rural poor...

and the new, urban rich.

Only one thing in the midst of this anarchy could truly be said to be organized...

Crime.

By the 1750's, London streets belonged to the armed gangs.

There were a few brave constables, but they faced a near impossible task.

Hey! Unhand the lady and piss off back to Clerkenwell.

What are you gonna do about it, huh?

Right then, come on.

But these few brave constables were simply overwhelmed.

And they needed help.

To this end, I devised a proposal to Parliament, to remedy this growing evil.

I turned my attention from my celebrated works of fiction,

and accepted the post of Magistrate of Westminster.

And with my brother John, blind since youth,

resolved to create a new organization that would bring law and order to the city's streets.

London was in need of a police force.

We had night watchmen and thief-takers, but they were deeply corrupt.

To create an effective police force I needed money and I needed sponsors in Parliament.

We hoped to have found such a patron in Lord Newcastle.

My brother has performed the most exhaustive calculations

and we require merely £500 to employ six men.

With such a force, we can crush forever these gangs that infest our streets.

Even six men will be considered a police force, Mr Fielding,

and Parliament is unlikely to regard it with enthusiasm.

The very idea remains foreign to the English temperament.

Indeed. We'd make sure not to call them police.

Our proposals to Parliament in detail, my lord.

As luck would have it, here's Mr Saunders Welch.

Which family of shitsacks spawned this one?

The Mooney gang again, Mr Fielding.

Assaulting a gentleman and his good wife not two streets off, weren't you?

Ugh!

Nicholas Mooney - perfect example.

Absolutely the vilest man that ever wore a head and yet unhindered in his foul, violent work.

Observe our predicament.

Mr Saunders Welch,

the most trustworthy man in London, and a master craftsman with his fist,

He is not enough.

Six men the like of Mr Welch.

With just six, we can make a beginning.

Hmm, gentlemen, a most interesting discussion,

and I have no wish to curtail it.

It would afford me the most immense pleasure if you would be my guests.

Oh, that's most generous, sir.

Sling the Boglander in the Compter.

We'll discuss him in the morning.

We knew what Newcastle meant.

Covent Garden heaved with brothels. Indeed, there was one next door to my house.

But some thought it worth braving the embattered streets to reach Pall Mall,

where the most exclusive brothels could be found...

the Temples of Venus.

Are you acquainted with Mrs Fawkland?

No. It's a pleasure we've hitherto been denied.

Sir?

My Lord Newcastle, a pleasure, as always.

Madam.

You must know my guests,

who have most generously escorted me through these perilous streets.

Mr Henry, Mr John Fielding.

How delightful.

The magistrates of Westminster.

Madam.

Madam.

Can I offer you tea or wine?

Order a bottle of port, Fielding.

They have the finest in London.

Just late arrived on a ship from Lisbon.

And so, immediately, you discover my weakness.

There are two temples here, one for younger ladies,

the other for those who cater for more specialized tastes.

A tour is surely in order, Mrs Fawkland.

It would be my most ardent pleasure.

Well, then.

It would be ours.

Do you require assistance, Mr Fielding?

No, thank you, I am perfectly mobile.

Very well.

Let's take a walk.

Who is this most delightful of creatures?

Susannah White, my lord.

People call me Sukie, sir.

Mrs Fawkland,

I trust Sukie is new to your house and you haven't been hiding her from me.

Not hiding...

saving.

These are my renowned guests.

Mr Henry Fielding is the greatest writer in England,

a master of stage and the printed page alike.

My lord is endlessly kind.

Perhaps madam will be generous and lend me some of his writings so as I can

improve myself.

Speak presently.

Gentlemen.

Such close friends of Lord Newcastle are of course welcome to visit any time.

Returning home that night, warmed by Mrs. Fawkland's port, all seemed well in the world.

Lord Newcastle was having a satisfying evening and was likely therefore to be enthusiastic about our scheme.

One of the Mooney gang was in jail.

Nothing now could divert us.

Do you think 6 men will be sufficient?

No. No. In a year we should petition for more.

Just think what marvels we will have accomplished in a year.

You look tired, Mr Fielding.

It would do you good not to stay up all night.

Yes, yes.

Good evening, Sir.

Mr Fielding! Mr Fielding!

Mr Fielding!

I just want to see the magistrate.

You can't wake him up?

No, I can't.

I just want to see the magistrate.

I'm begging you, sir.

I gotta speak to you.

Young woman, the hour is very late.

The Temples of Venus ain't what they seem, Mr. Fielding.

Things go on there.

Things you ought to know about, sir.

Things evil in the sight of God.

Me and my sister, we walk to the piazza every day from Hackney, where my father works the orchards.

We was um...selling apples when one of Mrs Fawkland's people saw us.

And offered you employment?

Last Thursday.

My father don't earn much,

most of what he does earn he spends on ale.

Our mother's dead, God rest her soul.

So, Mrs Fawkland's offer was a stroke of remarkable good fortune.

I sent her home -

my sister. I sent her home. But..

a bully in Mrs Fawkland's employment must've snatched her somewhere on the road.

No sooner was I given food and clothing at the Temple,

did I discover that my sister was there, too.

Mr Fielding, she...

For all I know they've...

deflowered her already.

I imagine the sale of apples was not the extent of your prior experience.

In the name of God, Sir.

In the name of God.

Polly's not quite seven years old.

How dare you march into my house like this? Excuse me!

Mr Fielding.

You have some property here of mine.

These pretty clothes on your back belong to me, Susannah.

Dress, made specially for you, cost me ten shillings.

Skirts and petticoats, eight and six.

The hat was four.

The shoes, with buckles, eight shillings.

Of course, you know the law...

Of course he knows the law. He's a magistrate... Mary.

Then you must agree the girl's a thief.

Either throw her in the Compter,

arrange for her hanging or see to it she returns with me.

Mr Fielding...

It seems you'd best return with Mrs Fawkland.

The devil fuck you, Mr Fielding.

I had heard you might be more difficult than your predecessors,

but I see you are a reasonable man.

In all things.

I don't know what you earn from your novels, Mr Fielding.

But I'm sure the office of magistrate is less than serious lucrative,

without the beneficence of patrons.

We share many patrons, I've no doubt.

Sir.

Rabid bitch.

Well, she's right, Henry.

The law is clear.

The girl's a thief.

Did you hear anything -

any children?

No. No, I did not.

Could there be children there?

Henry, our objectives are clear and within sight.

It would be a mistake to permit diversion.

The violation of a child?

The girl is right.

There is God's law.

Come to bed, Henry.

Get some sleep.

The creation of a police force was a Christian duty.

Needed, not only to enforce the law, but also to protect the innocent.

Three-quarters of the city's children never saw their fifth birthday.

Foundlings begged for survival or turned to crime, or died of neglect.

I needed to know if such children were, indeed,

being unnaturally exploited in Mrs Fawkland's exclusive house.

Under cover of accepting her offer of the previous day,

I returned to the Temples of Venus, in the guise of a customer.

What service do you require this time, Mr Fielding?

I wish to talk.

With you. Madam.

Tea for one.

You are a great man, Mr Fielding.

But still a man.

There's no shame in that.

Rest assured, Tom Jones alone ensures you a most reasonable price.

I can see why Lord Newcastle holds you in such high regard.

What encouraged you to turn from the world of letters to crime and punishment?

Pecuniary hardship.