Penny Dreadful

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Splendid day, isn't it?

Sir Malcolm? Is everything all right?

What do you mean?

He's a changed man.

Since he became reaquainted with you, Ms. Poole.

Scream for me.

You're in danger.

That big book,

with the glyph on the side?

If ever the day comes

when my Little Scorpion is crushed and beaten,

only then does she open it.

On that day, she will have gone away from God forever.

This is my cousin, Miss Lily Frankenstein.

Do you think it bold if I compliment your eyes?

Yes.

Be still your heart, Doctor.

Mr. Gray is being a proper host to a new guest.

You're smarter than that, Miss Ives.

I believe we make ourselves who we are.

The blood's on our hands, not God's.

Whatever you have made yourself,

I'm here to accept you.

We're together for a reason.

Will you let me escort you home?

This place isn't safe for you.

Things become other things.

The leopard consumes the monkey

and becomes leopard and monkey.

The crocodile consumes the leopard

and becomes crocodile and leopard...

and monkey.

I have seen this.

The shamans in my mountains call it Uchawi Mabadiliko...

the changing from one skin into another.

The ones so cursed do not always fully remember it,

this... becoming.

Is it a sickness...

or is it something else?

Is it a blessing,

the purpose of which we cannot yet see?

I say this is what it is.

For I know you, my friend, Ethan Chandler.

I see inside you,

past the crocodile... and the leopard...

and the monkey.

And the wolf.

Tell me what you saw.

No, Sir Malcolm, that's not it at all.

It wasn't female hysteria.

- Don't insult me. - Then what was it?

She was in danger, and she sensed it.

I was on my way to say good night to the doctor

and I felt I was being surrounded.

I couldn't breathe.

And who was surrounding you?

I don't know.

I find this difficult to credit, I'm sorry.

Hold on.

You don't credit Miss Ives' ability to sense things?

I think it more likely the room was crowded

and she became overstimulated.

We have been living under a certain amount

of pressure here, Doctor,

as the mountains of armaments might suggest.

And now?

I need to go.

- What? - I need to leave.

- London isn't safe. - I'll go with you.

- I'm not sure. - I'm coming with you.

I think that's a wise precaution.

Both of you go somewhere far away and stay there.

She's safer here.

I won't be kept a prisoner in this house, Sir Malcolm.

If I'm to be pent up, I'll choose my own cell.

Don't tell us where you're going.

Just go.

- This company is safe. - Is it though?

Are any of us immune to this danger we can't see,

can't touch, but is everlastingly present?

Mr. Lyle's right. Tell no one.

And we're not to even trust one another, then?

Has it come to this?

Then why trust Mr. Chandler to go with you?

Because he wasn't there.

You were all in the room with me.

And yet the lions still hunted.

We'll leave immediately.

Yes.

Doctor, may I have a word?

I want to tell you alone where I plan to go.

Are you sure that's a good idea?

Someone has to know. I trust you.

What are you up to, Vanessa?

I've never met a woman less likely to run and hide.

So far we've been thrashing at specters.

I'm going to find a better weapon.

While I'm gone, do be mindful of Sir Malcolm.

He's losing his heart and needs our care.

I shall.

And if he needs me, don't hesitate, come.

And be patient with your cousin.

It's all so new to her.

London and all the bright shiny prizes it offers.

She'll grow tired of them.

That's very kind.

Only what if she doesn't?

Then we'll have a long talk on a dark night.

That's where it happened?

Yes.

Where should I go?

I slept down here. There's a bed upstairs.

Why don't you take that? This is your house now.

We'll have to replenish the stores.

I know the forest. It'll supply us.

And Sembene sent along some tins as well,

so we won't starve, anyway.

Do you believe a place can be haunted?

Yes.

Have you been in such a place?

Indian graveyard in Arizona.

Indians I killed.

Were you frightened?

I felt I belonged there.

Perhaps I belong here.

She always thought that.

I don't know that I'm made for company.

I think I'm made for something...

like the moors.

And for doing such things as hurt even as they help.

She called me her Little Scorpion,

and only said my name aloud once,

before she was murdered,

tied to that tree outside.

I've never liked trees since.

Not one.

Thank you, I will go upstairs.

For years now, Sir Malcolm and I

have had a very private relationship.

In a way, I think I savored that.

The intensity of it.

Perhaps I even fed on it.

And Mrs. Poole threatens that?

Doesn't she?

He's lost his anger.

That resentment and rage is what we shared.

Our bond was in our mutual suffering.

Despite all that,

you're still the closest thing to a family he's got left.

He didn't go to his own wife's funeral.

Doesn't that demonstrate his allegiance to his family?

Because it was too painful, maybe.

You know better.

He's in love.

The memories of his past, including me,

are clouds he doesn't want to face.

And why should I demand him to?

Just so I can retain my unique bond with him?

It's selfish.

My God, let him be happy.

Wood betony,

attracts bees for honey.

Crushed and put into your pillow,

it prevents nightmares.

Ooh, get a lot of that.

When I was with Miss Croft,

I was more content than I ever thought I could be.

For once in my life, I didn't feel like running away.

I felt I had a place to belong.

She was your moors.

Your solitude.

In a way.

Sir Malcolm's just looking for where he belongs now.

Without Mina.

Without you, even.

But when he settles down, he'll come around.

He won't forget about you.

I certainly didn't.

Are you making a rabbit snare?

Surprised?

Who knew you were so handy?

Life isn't all tarot cards and pagan blood glyphs, you know.

You know what?

You're gonna make someone a great little wifey one day.

So...

I'm all of eight or the like

and my father takes sadistic glee...

in pulling me out there,

pointing at the biggest one, and saying,

"Ride, boy!"

Now, all the vaqueros,

those are the Spanish ranch hands, are watching

and they can't wait to see the little lord,

in his velvet knickers, fall on his ass.

I walk up to this monstrous big horse,

who goes by the name of, I kid you not, Diablo.

Ooh.

And he's snorting fire

and his hooves are pounding the earth.