Is this the moors?
It is.
Good afternoon.
Miss Lea? I'm Miss Winter's housekeeper.
My name is Judith.
Very good. I'll send up some sandwiches right away.
You must be hungry after your long journey. Thank you.
Miss Winter expects to see you in the library at four.
So, Miss Lea, have you read ANY of my books?
Almost all of them, I think.
Well...
You'd better sit down.
Now, if I interpreted your answer to my letter correctly,
you're not exactly leaping at this very attractive offer I've made you.
Well, I... You'd be guaranteed a very healthy advance.
Hmm. But I can see from what you're wearing,
you're not particularly interested in money.
I've written about people who don't care for money,
but I never actually expected to meet one.
Are my books too popular for you?
What exactly makes you hesitate?
I'd like to know what made you choose me as a potential biographer.
Ah.
It certainly wasn't your celebrated biography of the Bronte sisters...
..which I wouldn't dream of reading.
No, what caught my attention, Miss Lea,
was that piece you wrote for that pretentious little magazine
about the Landier sisters, the twins.
Obviously, I've been doing some research,
and I couldn't help noticing
in the couple of dozen interviews I looked at,
you give a different account of your life in every one of them.
You think I'm a liar?
That isn't quite what I said.
You surely don't think I'm so dull
as to trot out the same story over and over again?
I make things up so as not to bore myself.
It's my profession. After all, they're only journalists...
..if you take my point.
I'm not sure that I do, exactly. I'm sorry.
You don't need to be so polite. I can't abide politeness.
I always think that being nice...
..is what's left over after you've failed at everything else.
You're obviously a great success.
Ah!
Oh, that's better.
Have you a love life?
Oh, wait, wait! Wait!
I have an extraordinary story. Don't turn your back on it.
It's about twins.
Please, come back.
Come on.
Sit down.
Don't take offence. I'm only trying to get to know you.
I can't be expected to spill the secrets of a lifetime
to a complete stranger.
But this was your idea.
I thought this is what you wanted to do.
It's not that I want to. I have to. Why?
Because I'm old. I'm dying.
Dying?
Why else should I subject myself to all this?
Hmm.
What do you need from me?
I need to be sure that you're intending to tell me the truth.
I'm a biographer, I deal in facts.
Oh, how stupendously boring, you poor thing.
Suppose we start by me
asking you three independently verifiable questions?
And then if your answers are true... Three questions.
Pleasantly traditional.
My first question - what is your real name?
Ah, I could easily bamboozle you there.
It's Vida Winter. I had it changed by deed poll.
What you really need to know is the name I was originally known by.
That's right, yes.
Adeline March.
My next question is your place of birth.
You can check in the records of St Bart's in London.
Next.
Um, I'd like you to tell me something that happened to you
before you changed your name, which is also a matter of public record.
Hm, I can do that, but first I have some conditions of my own.
What are they? You must let me tell my story chronologically.
No interruptions, no questions
and no sneaky peeping at the last page.
All right. Good.
Do you believe in ghosts?
That's not a very easy question.
Do you or don't you?
Certain kinds of ghosts, maybe.
I was brought up in a house about five miles from here.
A haunted house.
I see. No, you don't.
I call it my story,
but it has none of the familiar consolations that word implies.
It's something far harsher...
..much more painful.
Something I suppose we have to call the truth.
I was brought up in a house called Angelfield.
When I was 17, there was a fire. The house was destroyed.
And there's a public record?
It was in all the local papers.
And I can show you a different sort of record...
So, you see, in spite of what I just said...
..you know the end of my story.
The end? You said that happened when you were 17,
before you'd even started writing. Oh, writing.
That was just to fill in the time.
I'm sorry if I've shocked you, Miss Lea.
One becomes so accustomed to one's own horrors.
'Don't be like that, Margaret!'
Come in.
If you don't mind, Dr Clifton, Miss Winter's doctor,
would like to have a word with you.
Ah. OK.
Thank you for agreeing to see me, Miss Lea.
Miss Winter wanted me to explain her condition to you.
Oh? Miss Winter has cancer of the pancreas,
which we've recently discovered has spread throughout her body.
This means she has very little time left.
How long?
We're not able to say precisely.
Most people wouldn't have survived this long,
but Miss Winter is extremely tough.
She just wanted me to make you aware that time is of the essence.
You can let her know I understand.
Thank you.
Um, have you been her doctor long?
Long enough to know that I'm extremely impatient to read your book.
I was pleased last night
when you didn't ask the question everybody else always does.
What question's that? About the first book. Oh, The Thirteenth Tale?
That's right. And everybody always asks why there are only twelve?
That's right. Why are there only twelve?
Shall we get started?
The story begins at Angelfield.
After the mysterious, unexplained death of their parents,
the house now belonged to Charlie Angelfield and his sister Isabelle.
She'd left the house less than a year before but her husband,
Roland March, had been killed in the war
and now she returned.
Of course, in their parents' day,
there had been dozens of servants to run the estate
but now only two remained -
Mrs Dunne the housekeeper, known to everyone as The Missus,
and the gardener, John Digence,
who we called John The Dig.
Can you put it down there?
Well, well.
What are they called? Adeline and Emmeline.
Which one is which?
You know, I haven't the slightest idea.
Where is Mr Angelfield?
He'll be in the library, I expect, madam.
I'll leave these with you.
Truth to tell, it was not poverty or even the demands of the war
which brought about the exodus of the Angelfield staff.
It was the sense of chaos
and unease caused by the bizarre and unpredictable
behaviour of Isabelle's brother.
Charlie, I'm back.
What do you mean?
I'm back for good. I brought the children with me.
What?
What children?
Oh. Oh, yes. It's just you and me now, Charlie.
You shouldn't have gone away for so long, Isabelle.
I had to, Charlie. I explained it all to you.
All the same.
This one can be Adeline.
I suppose we were shamefully neglected
when we were children. No schooling, no discipline.
We were so much on our own, we invented our own private language.
Charlie and Isabelle were so wrapped up in one another
that the only people in our lives vaguely resembling parents
were The Missus and John The Dig.
Are you all right, missus?
But we did have each other, and we were all the world to one another.
We couldn't imagine that anyone but ourselves really existed.
I expect that's why we were so cruel.
The topiary garden had been planted
by John The Dig's great-grandfather.
It was his pride and joy.
We weren't confined to the house and garden.
We roamed all over the estate and did exactly what we felt like.
We were the children from the big house, so they put up with us...
One...
..until the day we took Mary Jameson's baby.
..two...three...
Good afternoon. Is your mother in?
Perhaps I'll try the back door.
Mrs Theodora Mawsley, the local doctor's wife
and something of a busybody, eagerly volunteered to take up
the matter of Mary Jameson's baby with Charlie and Isabelle.
Hello?
Is anybody there?
Mr Angelfield?
What's the matter? Miss Winter?
It's just my wolf.
Wolf?
That's what I call it.
Pills are meant to keep him at bay, but he...
he comes a little earlier every day.
Is there anything I can do?
Should we stop for the day?
No. No, no, no, he's just sniffing around.
We mustn't encourage him.
Now...
Miss Lea, where were we?
Erm...the doctor's wife and the violin.
I'm desperate to know what happened next.
Oh...
Surely it must have been one of the children? No.
No, I told you, I saw the children out on the steps on my way in.
No, it was a woman in white.
There's no woman in white in this house, ma'am.
You must have seen the ghost.
They do say Angelfield is haunted.
Dr Mawsley. I'm not sure if you remember me.
It has been some time.
Oh, yes.
Might this be the person who attacked you?
Yes. Yes, I think it might.
Excuse me, but could you tell me, did you do these yourself?
Yes.
Mr Angelfield, do you mind if I have a word with you in private?
I think it would be best not to visit her for at least a month,
give them time to... draw some conclusions.
Oh, Mr Charlie...
Oh, now hush.
'There's no woman in white in this house, ma'am.
'You think I'm a liar?
'Do you believe in ghosts?
'They do say Angelfield is haunted.'
After they took Isabelle off to the asylum,
Charlie Angelfield went completely to pieces.
Dr Mawsley arranged through the family solicitor
to appoint a governess to look after us.
Her name was Hester Barrow.
Welcome to Angelfield.
I'll get your bags.
So the children never knew their father?
Oh, no, miss, none of us did.
I don't even think Miss Isabelle knew him very well.
The only man she ever took any notice of was her brother Charlie.
And when she came back here, she did everything for him...
..if you know what I mean.
I'm not sure I do, Mrs Dunne.
Well... In any event, it's probably time I met Mr Angelfield.
I don't know as he'll want to see you, miss.
He's not very well in himself, like.
He keeps to his quarters and no-one's allowed to disturb him.
I see.
He never was very sociable,
but since they took Miss Isabelle away, he's hardly showed his face.
I don't know where those children can be.
I'll go and see if I can scare them up.
No, no, Mrs Dunne, it's not for us to go chasing after them.
No doubt they'll come down for their dinner.
Well, often as not,
they just creep down and help themselves to summat out the pantry.
Oh... I don't think we can allow that.
We'll try the twins' room, miss,
which is the third door along here on the left.
It's just here...
Shh.
Now, come along, girls. It's time you met your new governess.
I am sorry, Miss Barrow.
Don't you worry, Mrs Dunne, we have all the time in the world.
I should like to explore the rest of the house.
I'll show you around.
No, no, you get back to your kitchen, Mrs Dunne.
I shall get on much better on my own.
That first afternoon, we refused to come down and meet her.
We thought she might be discouraged and go away.
But she wasn't? No!
She was the first person who tried to take us on.
I went to have a look at Angelfield.
Hmm. Did you?
Did you see the ghost?
I saw something.
What?
Not sure.
Erm, you were telling me about Hester.
Yes.
You remind me of her a bit.
In what way?
She was very determined and inquisitive.
Food.
Food. Hungry.
At the end of Hester's first day at the house,
she'd already formed a strategy
for dealing with her as yet invisible charges.
No keys.
Emmeline? Adeline?
Which one are you? Adeline or Emmeline?
Emmeline.
Are you hungry? Would you like some supper?
Mmm.
And what about your sister?
Never mind. Let's go to the kitchen.
Follow me.
So, right from the start, Hester managed to drive a wedge between us.
I can't say our education was entirely plain sailing...
..although Emmeline continued to be pretty much of a pushover.
Well, a very good morning to you, Adeline.
Thank you so much, John.
Very good of you to join us, I must say.
We're starting the morning
with a drawing of our beautiful Angelfield House.
You're most welcome to stay down there if you're more comfortable.
Ah! Ow!
Adeline! Adeline, this behaviour will simply not be tolerated!
Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Adeline?
Miss?
Yes, Emmeline?
Finished, miss.
Just a minute.
Very nice, dear.
Oh, I don't believe you've quite finished, Adeline.
'Margaret?'
Do you believe in ghosts?
You asked me that before.
Your answer was evasive, as I recall.
Well, let's just say I'm beginning to.
Oh? Why would that be?
Anyway, Hester didn't.
Too sensible, poor thing.
It would have been easier for her
if she hadn't insisted on being so rational.
Is there really nowhere we can get hold of some decent fish?
Well, yes, you can, if you really want to. It's a bit of a palaver.
Emmeline?
She's out in the garden, miss.
I... I just saw her.
I can hear them outside.
That's strange. I could have sworn...
Was she wearing white, miss?
Yes, she was.
That'll be the ghost.
Oh, don't be ridiculous, Mrs Dunne.
It's probably just the sunlight flashing in the mirror.
Woman in white, miss. We've all seen her.
Well, I haven't, and I certainly don't intend to.
During that summer, Dr Mawsley visited
a little more frequently than was perhaps medically necessary.
I'm at my wits' end with Adeline.
She's an aggressive and dangerous child.
She hardly eats anything.
It takes two of us to hold her down at bath-time.
She seems impervious to any kind of human emotion.
Is she intelligent?
It's hard to tell, given that she refuses to speak.
Soon after I arrived, I sent off for a number of studies of twins.
Really?
If I've understood correctly,
what tends to happen is that certain pairs of twins
divide up available emotions and personality traits between them.
Thus, one being placid and passive, the other wild and violent.
One clean, the other dirt-loving.
Of course, you would know much more about this than I.
Not necessarily.
Yes.
My wife's opinion...
I... I do sometimes discuss my patients with my wife.
She thinks the child may quite simply be wicked.
I think the explanation may be a little more nuanced than that.
No doubt. My wife is apt to take the layman's view.
I was thinking that the situation
does present a rare opportunity for original research.
Indeed.
In which I would be more than happy to assist you.
Hmm.
Where's Adeline?
Back soon.
I hate you! Adeline, behave, please.
Emmeline! Be careful, John.
Watch her, please.
Adeline!
Miss Barrow, take the door.
Emmeline! Is she in?
Come on. Ready to go?
Come away.
Oh, my goodness, Emmeline.
Come in. Let me show you your room.
You'll like it, you'll have it all to yourself.
I tell you, no good'll come of this.
Adeline...
And naturally there have been reports that point to some evidence...
Hester and Dr Mawsley had become so engrossed
in their scientific experiment
and so relished their daily discussions
they quite failed to notice that their patients
were making no progress whatsoever.
They completely ignored the only and most obvious diagnosis -
the twins were missing each other desperately.
Emmeline!
There you are. Come along, it's time for your tea.
Where have you been? I've been looking for you.
We went down to the woods.
No, you should say, "I went down to the woods."
I went down to the woods.
Mm. And what did you do there?
We picked some bluebells.
Come on.
Where did you put your bluebells?
The bluebells you picked? Did you put them in the vase?
No, we saved them for Adeline.
Well, you correct her, you see, and she gets it right for a moment
but then she always goes back to saying "we".
I'm afraid Adeline never speaks at all. Oh, dear.
I don't think it would be prudent
to let her out of the house, do you?
I say, I don't think it would be safe
to let Adeline out of the house.
No.
I thought we'd agreed that the rooms not immediately in use
should be kept locked.
Yes, that's right, miss.
Well, just now I found the drawing-room open.
Not a bad idea to give it a bit of an airing.
Oh, so you opened it, did you?
Oh, no, miss.
I don't have the keys any more, remember?
You've got the keys.
What is it? Why have you let Adeline out?
Oh... Oh, that's impossible!
I've just seen her this minute with Emmeline in...in the grounds!
Calm down. Here.
Adeline has been here, in this room, this past hour.
Ever since breakfast.
But...
I must be going mad!
I'll thank you to leave this house immediately.
And send John for the child.
I can...
I'll speak to you later.
The next day, Hester had vanished.
Packed her bags, slipped away, never seen again.
What happened to her? I've no idea.
The doctor had disappeared as well, so we can make an educated guess.
Rumour was they'd disappeared to America.
Wherever it was, I'm sure they both flourished.
Hester was a resourceful little... THING.
She's upstairs.
Emmeline!
But why did you do that?
I...I-I couldn't tell you.
Over the next five or six years, in spite of strenuous efforts
to maintain the status quo, bit by bit, everything changed.
First, a letter came from the asylum
saying that Isabelle had died of pneumonia.
A week or so later, we noticed that Charlie had stopped touching
the food that The Missus had left for him.
He'd gone.
I had an idea where Charlie might be.
I'd often followed him and watched what he did there with Isabelle.
I never said a word to the others.
If Master Charlie has gone, didn't we ought to tell someone?
No call to.
I collect the money from the bank end of the month,
same as always.
And if we run short,
I know a man that'll buy some of that wine from the cellar.
Oh, he wouldn't like that.
Anyroad, I better take him up his dinner.
Of course, The Missus was suffering from some kind of dementia.
But we drifted on pretty much as we always had.
'Forgive me, please!
'Margaret, I'm sorry.'
Underground...
Emmeline?
Dead go underground...
Are you Emmeline?
You look like death warmed up. What's the matter?
I didn't get sleep much last night.
Oh?
Are you in a fit state to continue?
Yes, of course.
Um, we were talking about what happened after The Missus died.
John brought in a local boy to help with the garden.
Ambrose Proctor.
I don't see why we need him.
He's all right.
Keeps himself to himself. Works hard.
Gives me a bit of time for what needs doing in the house.
You said you were going to show me how to trim the topiary.
Well, I will, then. Huh?
Now, you check the safety latch first. Right?
Right. Bit wobbly-like, against the tree.
You need to test it before you go up it.
Right...
Up you go.
Never cut into the sun or towards your own shadow, all right?
Yes. And never look at the clouds.
They keep moving, see, and they throw you out.
Good girl.
Yes.
Where's the ladder?
Mr Digence took it. He's round the back, fixing the guttering.
Obviously somebody had tampered with the safety catch. Who?
We said no questions.
After that, everything's a blur.
But I did have the presence of mind to tell the police
that Uncle Charlie was away.
After the funeral, we had a meeting with the family solicitor, Mr Lomax.
So where exactly is your uncle?
Peru, I think.
Peru? I believe so.
And when will he be back?
I'm not sure. Quite soon, anyway.
You're 17 now, if I'm not mistaken.
That's right.
I'm just wondering what arrangements we can put in place
to make sure that you and your sister are properly looked after.
We're quite used to fending for ourselves.
Yes, but I... My grandmother knows the house very well.
She can look in every day, like.
There's no need for your grandmother to trouble herself.
Well, that's lucky, because I haven't got a grandmother.
So, who do you think killed John?
It certainly wasn't Emmeline, if that's what you're thinking.
And Ambrose had no motive. Quite the contrary.
Then...
We agreed no questions.
Patience, Miss Lea.
That was that. You got away with it.
Mr Lomax was very happy not to put himself out.
You got away with everything.
I can't understand why the police didn't properly investigate
John's death after all the...
I'll tell the story my own way, Miss Lea!
I think that's probably enough for today.
'We said no questions.
'It certainly wasn't Emmeline, if that's what you're thinking.'
Sorry. Forgive me.
So you're treating Emmeline as well?
Yes. Yes, um...
As a matter of fact, she's even more seriously ill than Miss Winter.
Is she?
We tried to move her to hospital a few weeks ago
but she refused to get in the ambulance.
Do you know if anyone's living at Angelfield?
Why do you ask?
Well, I know it's pretty much a ruin,
I've been there a couple of times,
and the first time some enormous man chased me out of the house,
and the second time, in one of the rooms,
there was signs of someone living there.
He's called Aurelius Love.
He's not quite right in the head, but he's totally harmless.
Bit of a local character. Works with his mother in the bakery.
Was that what you wanted to ask me about?
Um...no, not really.
I think Miss Winter may have confessed to committing
a murder when she was a teenager.
Erm, well... Well, did she or didn't she?
I haven't got the whole story yet but somebody killed the gardener
and I can't see who else it could have been.
And I don't know what to do about it.
Do you have any evidence?
No, and even if I did...
Hmm.
I'm sure you're right.
Maybe wait until you've heard more?
Emmeline...
Dr Clifton tells me you've been asking questions about her.
How did you find out?
I saw her one night in the garden,
and eventually worked out who she was.
I see.
I wanted to know why she was digging in the garden
and what it was she kept saying all the time. Any theories?
Erm...I think what she's saying is, "Dead go underground."
Very good.
Miss Lea, you're doing very well.
So she IS looking for someone underground?
Who could it be? A child?
When are you going to tell me your story, Margaret?
I haven't got a story.
Everybody has a story.
If you keep it to yourself, it dies and comes back to haunt you.
You take my word for it.
Well, I have no intention of telling anyone my story.
Would you mind passing me that bottle?
Yes, of course.
What is it?
Liquid morphine.
For my wolf.
What did you say?
'I said I'm sorry.
'I was saving it specially.'
'It's me!'
I want to spend more time with Emmeline
over the next couple of days.
I always thought of Emmeline as a twin.
There is something special about losing a twin.
My dear, whatever's the matter?
I had a twin.
Margaret, I'm sorry. I'm not talking to you.
I'm not even going to walk with you.
I'm going over to the other side. Don't!
Walk by yourself.
Please forgive me, please!
It was all my fault.
She'd eaten a bar of chocolate that I'd been saving
and...I wanted to punish her.
Oh, all right.
Come on, then!
Moira!
Feeling guilty doesn't do anybody any good.
It wasn't your fault.
My mother thought it was.
And she never forgave me.
I've been so lonely all these years without my sister.
We all have our stories.
You've been here before, haven't you?
You're Aurelius?
I frightened you when you came here. I didn't mean to.
No, I... It was my fault, I panicked.
Look what they've done. Yeah.
Developers.
Didn't you live here?
No, I just used to camp out, like.
I live with me mum.
I loved this house.
And what's going on down there?
Oh, yeah. Funny thing.
They found some bones.
Skeleton.
'She's an aggressive and dangerous child.
'I always thought of Emmeline as a twin.
'The twins were missing each other desperately.'
♪ Ring a ring a roses
♪ A pocketful of posies... ♪
'Emmeline...'
There were three of you.
It wasn't just Adeline and Emmeline, there were three of you.
There were police at Angelfield. They've found a body.
A skeleton. Mm-hm.
There were three of us. And now there's one of us.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry, I got carried away.
Oh, I'm sorry.
So, you see, there WAS a ghost at Angelfield all along.
A ghost with no name.
It was me.
Like it or not, I was the ghost.
Who was your mother?
Oh, I've no idea.
All I do know is that when Isabelle went away to have the twins,
Charlie went on some kind of a rampage.
What I do know is that I was born a few months later than the twins,
and Charlie, God knows if it ever dawned on him...
..was the father of us all.
How did you get to Angelfield?
All I know is what John The Dig told me.
Which was what?
He started to notice his strawberries
and his carrots were disappearing from his vegetable garden.
And he thought he saw
signs of someone sleeping in the potting shed.
Also, this someone was not properly turning off the outside tap.
Hey, you!
John and The Missus took me in.
Or he did, really.
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
The hair? Yes.
Should we tell them?
And I spent as much of the time as I could with them.
He taught me how to read out of his seed catalogues.
But of course Adeline never even wanted to learn to read.
She was...?
Genuinely dangerous, yes.
Violence was always her first instinct.
Finally, she killed John.
What made her do it?
She hated him for some reason.
She seemed to think he was responsible
for taking her away from Emmeline that time.
Or perhaps she was jealous of all the attention he gave me.
He was the closest I ever had to a real parent.
After John's death, we were alone with Ambrose.
It's a lot harder than it looks.
I was never easy in my mind about him.
Don't you touch Emmeline, you hear me?
I haven't touched Emmeline.
Good. Well, don't.
It's not Emmeline I wants to touch.
Even though she's kinder than what you are.
Why can't you be kind like Emmeline?
'Before long it was obvious that Emmeline was pregnant
'and I dismissed Ambrose.
'I decided not to ask for any help with delivering the baby.'
'I read up for it as much as I could.
'So, I was deluded,
'Adeline was insane and Emmeline was helpless.
'All the same, somehow or other...'
That's it, Emmeline, keep going.
'..we managed.'
It's a boy, Emmeline. It's a boy.
There.
Shall I leave you to rest a while?
No.
I want to finish the story tonight. The wolf is at the door.
It's time to tell you the Thirteenth Tale.
I realised very early on how jealous Adeline was
and how much she resented the baby.
Please go on.
And before long, I discovered the baby was in real danger.
I knew I had to keep her under constant observation.
Shh, shh...
Emmeline!
Adeline, no! Emmeline! Adeline, leave her alone!
It's the only time I've ever seen Emmeline fight back.
The baby's safe, Emmeline! He's safe!
Emmeline! No, Emmeline! No!
Emmeline!
You saved the baby's life. Yes.
I left the baby
outside the cottage belonging to the baker's widow, Mrs Love.
Everybody knew she had a kind heart.
Aurelius Love. Yes.
He turned out to be a bit simple, but warm-hearted...
..like his mother.
When I got back to the house,
of course, everyone assumed...I was Adeline.
When we started, Margaret, I told you this was a story about twins.
What I didn't tell you was that I wasn't one of them.
Oh, I longed to be,
but they always kept me out.
So I stayed outside.
That's what made me a writer.
You lost your twin, Margaret.
Margaret... Oh, that was terrible.
But you had her with you for a while.
She's always with me.
I envy you.
Oh, I'm so tired.
Hee-hee-hee, the wolf is in the room.
Thank you.
Margaret?
I didn't want you to go before I had a chance to say goodbye.
I'm going to stay in the area for a while,
at least until after the funeral.
Good. Good, well, I'll see you there.
And then will you go back to London?
Um, I'm not sure. I think I'll stay up here somewhere to write the book.
I'll let you know what I decide.