The Mystery of Edwin Drood

in his face. And look at him, I rest my case. Well, there you are.

There you are.

And it matters not to me what part of town you come from. We but cheer you've made it here at all.

Hey, hey, hurrah!

Here within this ghetto parish called the Music Hall. There you are. How very glad we are that there you are. It isn't who you are, but where you are.

Yes, there you are. And grateful are we to see how fine and fair you are. There you are!

Angela, Angela, my dear, are you out there?

I'm here, Royal Boxville!

Ah, yes, and who's that with you then?

I am standing with a gentleman who seems singularly bent on attaching both his hands above my knees. I am about to sing the Lamb of a Most Faithful Chap, and I let him do exactly as I say.

Ah, fine! He's down in front who saddles me, a latchkey. Surely you must know that spells a duke.

Victor! Break a villain just by finding us. Oh, won't it be wicked breaking binding us?

You're finding us.

We want you and us. Pilots, be careful where you've been. And not to jump in here, how you got in. We must get out, get out, get out. There we go, you lot!

Thank you so very much and welcome, a very warm welcome to all of you here on this most thrilling of evenings here at the Music Hall Royale. Yes, and tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have the pleasure of presenting for your approval the premiere performance of The Mystery of Edwin Drew. This being a musical, a dramatic, Now, as you are all no doubt already aware, our very own Mr. Charles Dickens was full halfway through the creation of the greatest mystery novel of our time when he committed the one ungenerous deed of his noble career. He died, but leaving behind not the slightest hint as to what he had in store for this bizarre yet uncompleted puzzle, the mystery of Edwin Drood. Tonight, however, ladies and gentlemen, when we reach that point in our program beyond which Mr. Charles Dickens wrote no more, I will be asking you devoted to a few concepts regarding the outcome of our votes.

Yes.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, let's all kick back and be as vulgar and uncivilized as is legally possible. Yeah. So please, kick off your boots, loosen your gussets, and enjoy yourselves. Yes. And to all of you gentlemen who have arrived alone and require Companionship up through the final curtain.

40 yards.

I want to come. Do you know, they speak to our stage manager, Mr. James Throttle, whose pleasure it will be to see this.

You need never be lonely again. I'll fix you up later, son.

Oh no, look, Jim, he wants fixing up now. Look, his tongue's hanging out. Oh, never mind. Just go to Pinktop. But please do remember, gentlemen, these sparkling yet vivacious ingenues are not salaried employees, and so please do contribute generously towards their theatrical studies and make sure all goods are returned tomorrow morning.

None the worse for wear.

Thank you. And so, by all means, let us continue with this evening's bill of fare. I give you for the first time ever, the completed musical rendition of The Mystery of Edwin Truth! Cloisterham, the ancient mouldering cathedral city of Cloisterham. Not a particularly encouraging setting for the Christmas season now upon us, but As the wintry air goes through the great elms, they shed a gush of tears. We now arrive at the home of Mr. John Jasper, choir master of Gloucesterham Cathedral. Choir master, composer, organist, and gifted vocalist himself, Mr. John Jasper has a voice the angels themselves might envy. And who better to essay the role, ladies and gentlemen, than that gifted vocalist himself, Mr. Clive Bajentz! From Jasper, now waiting for his nephew and title character for this evening's diversion, Edwin Drood.

Hello, Uncle!

Oh, why, there's the lad now.

My dear Uncle.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, your eyes do not deceive you. Devotees of male impersonation are more used to seeing Miss Alice Nutting in a top hat and tails. Doing her inimitable rendition of "Auld Lang Syne." But this evening, she hides her distinctive form beneath the garb of young Edwin Drood. Yes, a warm round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, for tonight's guest artist and London's leading male impersonator, Miss Alice Nutting!

Any dinner, Uncle?

You forget, Meg, that the words uncle and nephew are prohibited here by express agreement.

Of course, you're right, John. Why, we do only have half a dozen years or so between our ages. Thank you very much. Don't drink yet, Jack. I must propose a toast.

A toast to what, Meg?

He asks, to what? To Rosalind. Fair, Miss Rosa Budd. Surely you've not forgotten that Rosa and I are soon to be married?

It has not quite slipped my mind.

Yes, a tedious ceremony in your creaking cathedral, John, and then I'm off with my wonderfully pretty bride to dusty Egypt, where I intend to shake things up a little.

Is it certain, then? Egypt seems a desperate great distance.

Indeed it It is, John. You know this portrait is not one of my better efforts, and yet you choose to hang it here. In heaven's name, why?

Because it reminds me of you, Ned, and the happiness I wish you and Rosa.

Yes, I'm sure we'll be very happy, although our courtship suffers from an unavoidable I wish the fact that my dead and gone father and her dead and gone father had as good as married us at birth. Why the devil couldn't they have left us alone?

Tuts, tuts, dear boy.

Oh yes, tuts, tuts. It's all very well for you, John. You have the freedom to love whomsoever you choose.

Don't stop, dear fellow. Do go on.

Have I hurt your feelings, John?

Why, whatever could you have said to hurt my feelings?

Great heavens, Jack! You look frightfully ill. There's a strange film come over your eyes.

I have been taking medicine for a pain, an agony that overcomes me. Fear not, the effects will soon be gone. Dear uncle, and take it as a warning, Ned, and Ned, Aidan, this is a confidence between us.

Oh, it shall be sacredly preserved, John.

I have confided in you because—

because we are fast friends and because you love and trust me as I love and trust you. Both hands, John. Right. My dearest Uncle Jack, my dearest living man, a life without your friendship would be nigh as good as dead.

As the winter's hail may blow, as you well may know, I'll heed your call, no name too small to face the fires below.

For you, you, just you, true kingsmen born of brothers, we know no next of kin, and yet we know no heart as close beneath the skin. The blood that flows between us, the bonds that tie us twain, two kingsmen born of brothers, Leave and weary me. My dearest nephew Ned. My dearest uncle Jack. If men say words against you, I shall make them take them back. And I, a lad, if I could be more glad to die, if by my death one extra breath of life for you I buy. 'Tis true, 'tis true, for you, for you, you keep me warm and proud. We know no next of kin, and Yet we never ought to personally perceive the blood that flows between us, the bonds that tie us twain.

To keep the bonds, we let the wheels spin. 'Tis true, 'tis true, for you, for you, to keep them are we due. I trust the moderation of your applause merely means you're conserving your energies for the final curtain. But to continue our story, Edmund Drew is visiting Cloisterham to offer his regards to be to the fair Miss Rosa Butler, who, I gather, is in awe. Rosa resides in Cloisterham's most respectable a seminary for young ladies, correctly, if not aptly named, the nuns house. And who better to play the part of Miss Rosabelle this evening than that most delicate of English roses, that blossoming bud, who has even yet to be plucked, the unspeakably lovely Miss Debra Berkeley. Rosa, the happiest of birthdays to you, my loveliest subject. I only pray if I have I say these words on each of your birthdays.

I fear that is not likely, since, as you know, your nephew Edwin and I will be departing for Egypt once we are married.

It was only a wish, Rosa. How lovely you look. I have awaited your birthday with eagerness.

Eagerness, Mr. Jasper?

Yes, your voice will no longer be subject to the fluctuations of adolescence. And in what condition is your voice today, my dearest student?

Well, as my tutor, perhaps that question shall be best answered by you, Mr. Jasper. Shall I sing the Mozart?

No, I've composed a song especially for you, my lovely subject, on the occasion The occasion of your birthday. A choir master's pay being what it is, my life's blood is the most I can afford.

Mr. Jasper, I cannot sing this. It would not be proper.

Whatever can you mean?

I am not worthy of it.

As your music master, that should be my decision from the beginning. If you please.

Between the very dead of night and day, upon a steamy sheet of light, I lay, and in the moonlight I'll give my I trust myself to you. I have faith in you, you call. I dress myself in you. Before the cloak of night reveals the glory, time holds its breath when it comes to see —step down and be no more. All sound is frozen still, yet pressed against me, your skin will warm the chill of winter. My feet will spring up Wings as lovely as nightshade, light made from stars that hold the sun afar. and far from you. Betwixt our hearts let nothing intervene. Between our eyes a yearly sun. His lustrous moonfall as it blinds my view, so does my yearning seek, oh, what you That was lovely, Rosa. Thank you, sir.

Was lovely. It will not do. When you sing the words, you must make me feel them from the beginning, if you please.

Between the very dead of night and day, upon a steely— I can't bear this sacred life! Stop it! It's all over. Don't speak to her for a minute and she'll be well.

She's not used to an audience. Besides, Mr. Jasper, you are such a conscientious master that I believe you make her afraid of you. No wonder. No wonder. Why, you'd be afraid of him under similar circumstances, would you not, Miss Landless?

Not under any circumstances.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give I give you the unpredictable Miss Janet Cordova! Good evening, Reverend Chris Barlow. Good evening, Mr. Jasper. Allow me to introduce young Neville Landless. He and his twin sister Helena have just arrived from Ceylon, and they no longer have any family. Neville has has been entrusted to my care, and Helena will be staying here at the nuns' house. Welcome to Cloisterham, Mr. Landis. I'm afraid young Neville has been handed over to me to calm his rather hot-tempered nature and to help him make a new beginning here in Cloisterham. You and your sister lost your parents recently, Mr. Landis. Their mother died when they were quite young. Now their stepfather has crossed over as well. I'm most sorry. There is no need for you, bright gentlemen, to console me. As it happens, it was very well my stepfather died when he did, or I might have killed him. The newest member of our company, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Victor Greenstead. You shock me, unspeakably shock me. You never saw him beat my sister. My stepfather was a brute, Miss Jasper, and in desperation Helena tried on more than one occasion to flee his cruel and miserly hand, even disguising herself as a boy. But to no avail. As for myself, I have had, from my earliest remembrances, to subdue a deadly and bitter hatred which has made me secret and revengeful.

I say, However, sir, your kindness and goodwill has deeply moved me.

I vow to change my ill-tempered ways and break new ground for myself here at Cloister House. There's the lad. He'll soon blend in, Mr. Jasper. Your pupil, Mr. Jasper, she sings beautifully. Ah, maybe. Your efforts have not been without success. I trust soon And may I inquire if your relationship extends beyond that of pupil and master? Why, heavens no, Neville. Miss Budd is betrothed to young Edwin Drew, Mr. Jasper's nephew. You do best to cast your eyes and interests in other directions, sir. I beg your pardon, sir? Oh, no pardon is necessary. However, I must be off. Quiet practice, I fear. I wish you well in your new life, Mr. Landis. Thank you, Mr.

Jasper. I pray we shall meet again.

And I should like to meet this Ruth, see what sort of man is worthy of the affection of Miss Steady.

This place is very unfamiliar to me. You'll be my friend, won't you? I will be as good a friend as a miser's name can be to such a womanly and handsome creature as you. Who is Mr. Jasper? My Edwin's uncle and my music master. You know that he loves you. No, no, the devil terrifies me. I feel I am never safe from him. He's made me a slave with his locks and forced me to keep silent without uttering a single threat. Careful, you are tearing Mr. Jessop's composition. It is of no matter. I do not intend to sing it again.

Oh, I'm sure we'll have at least one reprise of this before we're finished, don't you think? But we now step and travel for reasons which will soon become clear to the wickedest court in the wickedest home in the fabric of the city of London. Below the street and beneath contempt lies the opium den of the Princess Puffer. Here, the universal tongue of opium is spoken, with its sub-dialects of prostitution, burglary, violence for profit, and murder. And who reigns supreme over this blemish on England's fair complexion? It is the princess, though, who ministrates to her clients' needs and who hears more than she tells. Portrayed this evening by the grand dame of the music hall royale, the Queen Mother of the red light district, that good woman of ill repute, your very own and beloved Miss Angela Price.

Crime don't pay, that's what I tells 'em. If it did, would I be here mixing pipes, what that I sells up for a pint of rotten beer? Throats ya cuts, so I give rubbins, or I yassle up to cop some sleep. Bash your face for bleeding tummies. Pure disgrace to work so cheap. So I say, don't be a sinner. For the price of London gin, you can't pay for one square dinner with the wages of sin. Well, it's only saw, a collar, come on, Finn. Who would buy this sack of skin? On the whole, there ain't much profit in the wages of sin. In the wages of sin. In the wages Hello, love. Fancy seeing you two nights in a row, eh? What little slice of crumpet you've been buttering up instead of me? Raspberry tart? Oh, pardon me, miss. First night out on the town with him, then, is it? Well, I've had him on numerous occasions, and let me assure you, whatever he's got in store for you? Have him show you the money first. What are they, cabbies lost by the note? Oh, I love Did you miss me? I've seen girls from gutter families trap rich men with fluttery ways, and they call, call, pass the jam please, over napkins, breakfast trays. Over there, in Bedlam, sleeps our beloved inner heaven-raised. Spent his days on his cusp to heaven, spent most nights among the sheets. Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't know, it just popped right out of my mouth. I promise it will never, ever happen again. Where was I? Shit. So I say, don't take half measures. Do things right and dig right in. In this world, there's greater treasures than the wage. Of sin. I get threats, seldom offers. If I did, I'd pack it in. You can't fill that many coffers with the wages of sin. Now give your love some help on the last line then. Wages of sin, please. Thank you. With the wages of sin. Bloody hell, you can do better than that! Now get off your bums and give us the notes! We will raise us ourselves!

The meanest room in London. And as the light of day steals into the room, would not the parishioners of Cloisterham be astounded to discover in bed 11 the goodly choir master of Cloisterham Cathedral, Mr. John Jasper, with a woman hiding more love Garden and wine! My task is only half finished and your medicine is less potent than usual.

Oh, Gardener, the elixir will be on the vine these days.

I'll fix it for you now. Yes, yes, before I enter the change of colors and great landscapes, I must be rid of him.

Him? Him? Him? You are lucky, there's no one there. There he is! Just lie still and have yourself a pleasant journey. Rosebud! What did you say? Did you say Rosebud?

I can't seem to recall what I've said. Could you direct me to the nearest railway station? Railway station I seem to be lost. 5 and threepence shows me. That's a large sum for a small courtesy. However, if you are that in need—

and the railway station? Nearest is in Aldgate, 10 minutes of a walk away from the river.

Aye, thank you.

Incredible. Who are you then? What are you?

I wonder how many of you caught that meaningful statement. That sounded suspiciously like a clue to me. Yes, I might be having to guess, my dear.

Yes, once again, please. Who are you then? And what are you?

What indeed? But we now return to our less sordid surroundings the next day. Yes, and we meet Cloister Town's leading citizen, Mayor Thomas Sapsy! Good afternoon, Mayor Sapsy! Really? With a sack of what? Well, that's unacceptable, isn't it? You'll not sort of get sad over this. Ladies and gentlemen, in your kind indulgence for a short announcement, the part of Mayor Thomas Sapsy will not, I repeat, will not be played by Mr. James James Hitchens, as is stated in your program, yes. For as many of you already know, Mr. Hitchens tends to appear more frequently at the bar in the back than up here in front of the footlights. It will come as no surprise to you regulars that Mr. Hitchens is once again massively indisposed, yes, due to the injuries he received while fighting for a lady's honour. The lady wished to keep it. And so, dear ladies and gentlemen, his part will be played by your own humble chair. Yes, of course, ladies and gentlemen, I do refer to myself, Mr. William Cartwright. I do pray this last-minute substitution meets with your approval. Yes, please applaud for the theatre. And might I add, it's more your luck than mine. So just kidding. Good afternoon, Mayor Sapsy.

Good afternoon, Mr.

Chris. These are my new trousers from Ceylon. Bringing them to meet. Oh, there he comes now. Neville, Helena, allow me to introduce young Edwin Drew. Sir. Sir. I congratulate you on your good fortune. Good fortune, sir? Your betrothal, Mr. Drew.

Oh yes, Rosa.

Our young Ned is soon to depart himself to your segment of the world, Neville. Say on, Mr. Drew.

Oh no, but much the same.

Egypt. Oh, to make your Good fortune, sir?

Why, no, to ensure that Egypt has one. You see, I shall shortly be taking over my family's engineering concern there, where I intend to pull off a miracle.

Pray, what miracle?

Why, the Cairo Transverse, Mr. Landless. A thoroughfare for commerce and coach travel across the desert to Alexandria. A monumental task, Mr. Drew. Indeed. One wonders from where one might obtain, for example, The paving stones? Oh, why, from the pyramids, of course. No! Why, yes. My studies show that there is enough rock in the top half of the Great Pyramid alone. This is English blasphemy! It is not enough that you take our delicate brew of tea leaves, and likewise you pollute it by pouring cow dung! Never! Let us not raise our voices here in cloister and high street. I meant no offense, sir. I did not mean my awkward ways to arouse such emotion or to ruffle your splendid feathers, Miss Fudge. I'm sure Mr. Landis only feels passionately about his part of the world, Edwin. Yes, so long as he keeps his passions in check. I'm afraid I have not yet adapted myself to your restrained climate, Master Edwin. Miss Fudge, my uncle's given me some account of your hot-blooded temperament at Bath, sir. I hope you've left them far behind you. My reputation precedes me here. This situation, I need must fear. What hope have I of blending in with so much left to win? I thought I'd cleaned my slate at last, but they anticipate my past. What do I show them? What do I owe them? What do they expect? A British subject drawn to slay, and from St. Lawrence to day. Out of migration, through dislocation, I brought my station down in my destination. In my creation, any rank and file man English are they, and British am I. British are they and English am I. There are two subjects we don't discuss.

One is our monarch, the other's us.

And yet I hear you still of me, a subject of tragedy. A British subject nonetheless. Wherein lie thou curse?

Kingtown, Alberta, what's all the fuss? All terra firma belongs to us. A British subject bred and born, a subject not to scorn.

Our immigration and relocation has brought us nations down a mile. This destination gave us creation. Smiling and violent, English are they and British am I. Here are the MacGrisharts too. British is the truth, I love this town. Again and through, this is the way, this is the way. Smiling and violent, English are they and British am I. This is the way we'll stay, this is the way we'll stay. Till we die, till we die.

You see, Miss Sapsy, it's just as I've been telling you. There's an indistinct rivalry between my own dear boy and this landless fellow. I fear he's bought by the Easterns. I think you exaggerate the matter, Mr. Jasper. I will go mad! Do you not realize there's more than one face, one side to all things in nature? Beneath Neville's tainted English accent and adopted English manners is a heathenous landless, a tribal half-blood, half-bred, half-calf who would kill as easily as he would go in his sleep. But Mr. Jasper, you must admit this is quite extraordinary. Oh, not contrary. Nothing could be more ordinary, sir. I myself suffer from this sort of duality on occasion. Sometimes I will forget things, and in going back to fetch them, I half expect to meet myself rounding a corner. I'm already turned. But what about me having to be your chairman and the sapsy bloke at the same time? Well, it's damned confusing, yes. Oh yes. I am not myself these days. For all I know, I might be you. It's all been brewing up inside my mind. I am likewise in a haze of who I am from scene to scene. What more be true before I meet an end? Or is it I who's to be Just a while, It's odd or even, heads or tails, it's high or low, black or white, it's up or down, left or right, or night or day. Nature seldom ever fails to most obligingly provide, and under closed doors the most excited ones dismay. The shutters in, the sun called, if there's a rose, if there's a gold, the food is dead, soon is boiled, and yet we smile. But yet luck's diversion is perverse, it seems to work or be reversed, these things are better now All together now! Ah, yes, yes, Mr. Jasper. I shall keep my eye fixed upon this landless fellow. Yes, a brilliant and original idea, Mayor Sapsy. I must be off. I need to shave. Good day, sir. Bye-bye. But we now step out from Cloisterham High Street and fall instead with a relic that can only be known to Cloisterham as Durdles. A man whose knowledge of the cathedral tombs is only surpassed by his capacity for wine and spirits, he is now wending his way toward an important assignation. What is that you say, Bill? I say Assignation? A week, may I ask? Well, it's just a round behind. Hey, what's that you say, Bill? I said a round behind. And so are you! I do not come here to be insulted, you know. Oh, why? Where do you usually go? I'm not a complete fool, you know. Oh, which bit's missing? Garnet! You an idiot! It's my simian! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Cloud Prince of the Music Hall Royale, assaying the role of Durgess this evening, and your friend— not mine— I give you, and I don't want him back, Nick Cricker! A fist-bump here in Birmingham by my own lad, young Nick Cricker II. Good afternoon, Mayor Sapsy, sir. Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Hedges. Excuse the cough, your lordship. This needs a touch of tumatism. No, I think you mean rheumatism. No, sir, I just finished working on your dead wife's grave. Please refer to the late Mrs. Thomas Mrs. Sepsy is just dead. The late Mrs. Johnny Sepsy. Yes, that is how I like to speak of her. Yes, that is how I like to think of her. But is my dead wife's tomb ready? Well, yes, the door's all ready for my enscribing, sir. She'll be much happier once we've moved her from her more temporary grave. Oh, it's not been all that bad. So the mows weren't too bad? I wouldn't have been able to get it there yet for the worms. There's nothing you can do about the worms, they've already made a meal of us. Yes, yes, that's quite enough, Miss. And who is this being with you? This boy? It's my protégé, his wife, name of Deputy. I'd put the rock on your wife's crypt myself, your lordship. Yes, and I have the case right here. Didn't my pleasure hum up the tomb and slide your coming in there tomorrow. There's room enough for the entire royal family to have afternoon tea. Okay, yes, yes, that crypt is a national treasure. If I may make so bold, Mr. Jasper wanted me to take him down into the crypts to see it. Ladies and gentlemen, you might like to add that to your list of suspicious statements. Yes, right, then don't know. Stay on, Bill. We don't want these people jumping to conclusions. Conclusions without all the evidence at hand. Otherwise, they might be off to the races!

Shut! Let's have a chorus of off to the races!

That's not scheduled until later in the program. We must embrace the dramatic momentum we're building here. But now, ladies and gentlemen, we must now descend into the darkness in hopes of shedding a new light upon our curious story. Yes. So now we follow both dirt and deputy into the graveyard of Cloisterham Cathedral.

Daddles! Daddles! Hello? Who's out there? Mr. Jasper?

What? Have you been watching me? You cunning devil! I'll have the blood of you! There, that'll serve you. You made it him! What? Made him! Made him! Stop talking such lunacy, dear. It doesn't help me revive. I only pray that— Oh! That, you bastard!

And next time I'll sew your eyes out! Sell out me!

Why are you, young wretch? Why do you assault me in this way, gentrifying?

You're right for the asylum, Mr.

Jasper. Laying it on his infectious youth, sir. Though that was excellent wine you gave me. More potent than I'm accustomed. Did you get a look inside Miss Sapsy's tomb while I was asleep? No, I seem to have gotten lost. Mine too was lost in a fitful dream. I imagine somebody had touched me and taken something from me.

And here's what it was!

Ah, these subs would like me leaving the Muslim keys lying about in front of his wife's crypt. That would be— he gave me strict instructions to take keys with. Well. And now the key to Miss Shapsey's tomb is missing. What do you think, Mr. Jasper? I think it's Christmas Eve and I have guests due for Christmas dinner any moment, and I, a poor host, not to offer them the comfort and joy of the season. Oh, and a merry Christmas. Christmas to you. Let's marry Mr.

John Jasper. Yes, we've spent many a bright and chatting afternoon here among these silent tombs. Aye, my lady, your truth. You know, Rosa, we are not legally bound to marriage. Then, Ellie, dearest, let us remain brother and sister from this day forward. Never to be husband and wife? Never. Oh, I am honor-bound to confess that this thought does not originate with you alone, Rosa. We know, dear one, you have not been truly happy with our engagement. I am sorry, Rosa. I mean you. Poor, poor Rose. If only our marriage had not been assured since birth. Perhaps then we would know truly how we feel for each other. I'd know if I adore you. You'd know if you love me. Too much we've seen together to judge the view. Too much we've been together, and I must use the future and dive through If we were perfect strangers, I'd find my way with ease. I'd see the path before me, the forest from the trees. Could life be real without you? You're always there. How do I feel about you? I can't. Just not you, my dearest Ned. How about you, my favorite husband? If we flowered, would you kindly weed it? Kindly share it? Brother, sister, I pray you will take this clasp left to me by my mother as a vow of our eternal friendship. God bless you. May God bless you, my dear. Oh, do I feel upon you my care and nearness. Just how true, my dear, it is. How much you have my soul and endless heart. We cannot but feel how we feel this parting. If we were far as strangers, I love you perfectly. Whatever is the matter, Bessie? Do you mind if we keep this from Mr. Jasper for a while? Oh yes, yes, of course, you're right. Why give him such sad news on Christmas Eve? But come, we must be off. He's expecting us for dinner, and I fear there is a storm brewing.

What a bizarre climate you have here in Cloisterham. First the snow, and now this threatening storm. The gods must be angry. God must be angry, Neville, not gods. We use the singular in England.

What a storm for Christmas Eve.

Yes, 'twas like this the night Rosa's mother died.

Neville tells me you were once engaged to Rosa's mother too.

Yes, but I'm afraid I was a bit too Anglican— a bit too angular for her taste. And then, at a seaside party celebrating her second anniversary, only a few months after Rosa was born, she apparently slipped while walking unobserved along the cliffside and drowned in the embrace of the ungrateful waves. But enough. Let us follow Mr. Jasper's lead and forget our grievances with life and with each other over a sturdy Christmas dinner. I pray you will forgive the meagre merits of my humble thing.

Oh, so sorry we're late, but we fought the storm all the way here. Miss Bard, it is wonderful to see you again. Let me take I had no idea that you'd taken on domestic staff, Uncle.

Mr.

Landis will take you seriously.

No fear of that. Now, lads. Rosa, you've no idea what it means.

Miss Clarke, how is it that in the season of folly you remind me of the flower And how is it that you remind me of an inconsistent baker, Neville? For while your metaphors seem quite stale, your manners are uncommonly fresh.

Don't you pass, sir! Gentleman, this is Christmas Eve, and I will tolerate no further unchristian-like behavior between you two. Now, this mulled wine The wine is very good stuff indeed. I prepared it especially for you from a recipe I obtained on a recent trip to London.

Well, any port in a storm for me, Uncle. Oh, any port in a storm.

Very good, Edwin, very good. Thank you. None for me, thank you. Now let us drink deep.

This wine is more potent than usual, Jack.

Well, I thought you lads would like it. Now let's have no more ill will between you two.

Please, Edwin, there is no more cause for rivalry between us. Neville, you have my friendship.

If you wish it. Then a Merry Christmas to you, idiot. The goose is cooked!

Miss Scott, I think your next Christmas dinner shall be in Egypt. Oh, why, Landis, perhaps you should accompany us to Cairo. I'm sure Rosa and I could use someone to carry our bags. What? You know, Someone more acquainted with the foreign tongue than he is with minding his own.

Gentlemen, ladies, please be seated.

Sir, I thought much like your throne, that's supersmooth. I fear you wear a finer cut than mine, but a waistcoat worn can soon be torn away like tissue. Something in this speech seems ominous to me.

Praise to him, divine Lord, this we should be glad.

Won't you try some wine? No, good can come from bad.

My dearest nephew dear, I wish to wish you well. The words you're throwing just like oysters on the shell.

Landless as you are, and though your blood is hot but less impure, Ness, I'm sure that we Your history would indicate the past of some outcast from three of eight. Your crew is nothing's fate. Something sends a chill like fate upon my grave. Can my strength and will completely never sink?

Could these ones, they say, bring harm upon the land? The night was followed day.

Now good can come from bad.

My dearest, deepest friends, may I propose a toast to those aboard and in the crew Here's the roast! How very blessed are we when oh so many star. My kingdom one day will be large. All of you will come.

The masses come and they demand me. Time has come, I married you.

Married you? Yes, you married me.

My lady, my wife, share my life. I see you daily. For these rows of roses. I feel it, I fear it. We are —friends in it. They'll not soon forget every devil's threat, every habit's habit.

In younger days I hungered for another, Rosa's mother. After Rosa's birth she left this earth, now dust is all I'm worth.

So long a time they thought that I was dressed in no white naive, but I perceive these boys' stories far larger than they might seem. Why, what a storm for Christmas Eve! I must go down to the River Wear to see this bit of nature unchecked.

Will you excuse me? Of course, I will join you on your walk.

I'm afraid we shall surprise Aunt Hester from the storm. Be guided, my dear. Everyone, Rosa, be careful how you tread in that mud.

Well, I shall see the ladies safely home.

Will you join Uncle? No, Edwin. I have plans I must execute.

But I will not let you go with that flimsy coat. You shall take my own humble but serviceable coat. Come, Edwin, your destiny calls.

Then goodbye, Poops.

Goodbye, all. When, if ever— well, it's now late the next day, the following day, Christmas Day to be sure—

and though the storm has passed, there is to be no found trace of young Andrew Drew. Mr. Chris Markle! Mr. Chris Markle! I fear something terrible has happened to Edwin!

Let us wait until my assistant Bazzard reports. You have heard the sentiment voiced, I am sure, that no news is certainly good news. Ah, and there he comes now. Bazzard, what news? No news. There, you see? I'm afraid you haven't met my assistant, Bazard. His chief occupation is guiding excursions and parties to our cathedral. Quite the showman is our Bazard. It's so tragical, this place. This place? Yes. Mr. Bazard carries with him a secret. Now, Rosa, what is it, do you believe, that Mr.

Bazard has done? Oh dear, nothing dreadful, I hope.

He has written a play! A tragedy! The thorn of anxiety.

But when will it be performed, Mr.

Basil? Never. Sometimes I believe that Mr. Basil takes more pride in its lack of support, like a citizen of Greece who prefers the Parthenon ruined. But I do hope to see Mr. Basil's work performed someday. I do, Mr. Basil. I love the theatrical world, but there are many stages beyond the proscenium. I long to play a larger part. Well then, Mr. Bazzard, let us use your enviable creativity to find some accounting for our young men. That assignment I eagerly accept.

Oh, my dear hopeless husband! How like her mother she looks.

Had the Lord seen it fit to smile upon me, had her mother not married another, nor died died 2 years later at that pleasure party by the sea.

I might have been Rosa's— Father, give me your hand!

Rise, my child, the cathedral bell summons us. Anne, is it not significant, Miss Sapsic, that Neville Landless was last seen fleeing the district? Yes, you've convinced me, Mr. Jasper, that secret murderer He could indeed be hiding in Cloister House, a fake Sunit Boson. Yes. Oh, good evening, Madame. Yes, all signs do point to Mr. Neverland. Yes, my thoughts exactly, sir. Yes, I shall instruct a few strong gentlemen to apprehend him by whatever force is necessary so that we may question him. If you do that, sir, I will—

Move on, guys. Never land. Let's strike enough now.

And when we find him, we will execute that murderous swine.

Right. With any luck, we'll have a hanging for Christmas.

Fetch the dogs! Mr. Jasper! Look what I've discovered! Why, it's my coat, the one I gave to Edmund last night. It's been torn to ribbons. And— look! Oh God, there is blood on it! Where did you find this? Under a rock by the river weir. My dear boy has been murdered. I take this oath before you, Basil. Record it in your memory. I shall fasten the crime of the murder upon the murderer and devote myself to his destruction. I shall remember your words, Mr. John Jasper. I think that's it for you tonight, Philip. That's right, Bill. Ah yes, it hardly even seems you're worth coming down from Oxford each night, does it? You seem to You seem to specialize in these narrow parts of late. Not by choice, Mr. Cartwright. Ah, yes. But I do recall in Julius Caesar you played the part of— A senator. Ah, so at least you were in for the kill. Come to think of it, it's rather strange that Charles Dickens created your character at all. Unless he had something greater in mind. I spent my solace in the role of Mr. Cartwright. Yes, yes, that's right. However, I do recall you understudying Mr. Clive Padgett as Mr. John Jasper. I know, surely one of those days— In actuality, Mr. Padgett claims never to have missed a performance in his entire career. Ah, well, come to think of it, Philip, we're almost finished with this act. And our second act is considerably shorter than the first. Could you, would you have a song at hand? Shall we? Its title, Mr. Bax. Oh, Never the Luck. Ladies and gentlemen, an unscheduled diversion in our journey this evening. Yes, the debut performance of an unpublished and perhaps rightfully unheard composition. Mr. Philip Bax singing his very own Never the Luck. Never the luck and never the lead and never you mind, they say. In time we all taste the lime in the light and I'll have my night someday. Still Each precious part seems over and done before I've begun to speak. I cast out my line and keep my hand in, but I'll not stand in this week. Some starless night, they'll call towards the winds, who here That's when he always truly springs, and seeing him cry. Why, he knows each line and everyone's cue. We must let him do the part. I will center stage, the music will play. I've lost my way. So ever I plan and ever I not with ever the luck to try. I wait for my star by fate to be struck, but never the luck.

I am all alone and never see what I want to dream of. And you fellows, enough! Enough now! There's your murderer, sir. Reverend Crispin, what have I done?

You've done nothing, I'm certain. And so is— Never latticed. Where is Edwin Drood? Why do you ask me that way? Because you were the last person seen in his company. Now he is nowhere to be found. Ma'am Sapsley, do you wish to question him? Uh, yes. Mr. Meredith, at what time did you leave the river with Edwin Drood? I, in all honesty, I cannot recall anything of what transpired once Edwin and I reached the And these bloodstains upon your shirt front? Upon your walking stick, Mr. Landless?

I acquired these bloodstains, sir, just now, when these men of yours forcibly dragged me back from the countryside where I had been walking.

Neville Landless, as acting constable of the district, I place you under arrest.

Never! Never! Calm down! How many of them did it take to bar you in this way. 8. You have an interesting way with the law here in Gloucesterham, Mr. Sapsy. And to you, Mr. Joshua, 4 days now you have been warning all of Gloucesterham of impending violence between your nephew and my brother. What do you know of all this?

Only that my nephew is dead. Mayor Sapsy, I warrant that young Neville has no knowledge of Edward Rood beyond that which he has freely volunteered.

And you shall volunteer nothing further, Neville.

Might I remind you and your brother that we still have the issue of murder at hand?

Before you utter that word again, you laughable man, perhaps you will be good enough to supply a body. A victim, a corpse, something more tangible than an errant nephew, a timorous uncle, a ludicrous city official who has no backing for his charge beyond to a pomp and show of circumstance. Hear, hear! Well said, Helena!

She is right, you know, Mayor Sapshee. Without Edwin's body, you cannot possibly hope to arrest Neville. Yes, very well then, release him.

Oh, bless you, Mr. Christophe. I am overpaid. I only wish I could express my gratitude. Attitude without this strange, somewhat geographically untraceable accent.

Ah, yes. Let's halt for a moment, shall we? All right. And let us find where our matters now lie. Edward Drood has vanished and may likely be— climbed— dead.

John Jasper has sworn vengeance upon his nephew's murderer, whom most of this populace suspects to be— never Well, the charges against Neville have recinded thanks to Helena Landis' steely resolve and the support of a kind lady. Reverend Mr.

Chris Sparkle, who was once engaged to—

Rosa's deceased mother, though it's difficult to know what one should make of.

The drunken stonemason Durnals and his apprentice Deputy, not to mention—

the mysteriously motivated purveyor of opium, the Princess Puffer.

Yes, all statements to consider during the this interval with one admonition: that you not leap to conclusions without all of the relevant information, or you could find yourselves carried off to the races.

Yes, Piers, let's have a chorus of off to the races!

What a spontaneous request! For what night at the Music Hall Royale would be incomplete without a rendition of its stray. Mark Anthem! Quick conclusions often lead the best of us astray. The wisest move in life is just to wait. Otherwise, your galloping emotions run away. My horse is at the gate. Off to the races, off to the races, off to the race we go. But what the chase is and what the race is, we seldom seem to know. With broken hearts about to nevermore pursue a member of the soft and sabre race. Sabre race! When on the apron to the ground they suddenly review a fair and favoured face. Then off to the races, off to the races, with empty cases cold. His name embraces storied replaces his people of that old Don't fall back on your assumptions, hasty presumptions might do you in.

Find the track like a mad running lion, try lagging behind, you'll find you'll win.

Bless our Queen Victoria, she's had 9 kids to date. You wonder how Prince Albert got the blues. Probably by her decree he had to procreate, said she. Make me a boy!

Hey! Hey! And the race is won by the tardy, not the bullhardy. Fools that we be, don't unlace your madcap of an two.

You and the man done done got me.

So we call upon you all to hold your horses reins before we start to speak in dog cry.

Sometimes having patience is as good as having brains, so take your bloody time. Oh, out the spirits, the end is nearest. Only your length or so. Don't begin to beat your thoroughbred, the finish is a thorough through the races. Off to the race we go!

Daddy out!

Do take time in resuming your seats, please. My dear friends, don't worry about being the last. Madams, it only means we're only looking at you. Sit now. I will not begin until you are sitting. Yes, by and by, I trust you managed to find our laboratory facilities this evening, which are second to none in the district. There are none in the East. Incidentally, if you are enjoying our modest efforts this evening, I heartily recommend you return to this venue next week when we will premiere the Musical Royale's most ingenious and latest work, Hamlet, Part 2. But before we take those tangled threads of our story left dangling before the interval and attempt to tie them all together again, let us, as has always been a custom here at the Music Hall Royale, unite in that sturdy chorus, in the hymn to our beloved yet enduring land: England reigns!

Singing with praise, singing with praise.

And it seems like it rains every day. Over the land till evermore, may it still. And it will, if I have my say. British suns never set, and they burn in the yet, though they often forget to shine. On this land And its lanes of the main silver threads of the serpent twine. And I pray I die 'neath the gray English sky. And if signs of a clearing appear, if one cloud remains, then I'll know England reigns. England reigns each day, each day.

Right then.

We are, I trust, rested, relaxed, restored. How dare you waddle your way in here? I gave you an interval. 10 whole minutes? And now your turn. Everyone admonish her. Boo! Right, we are, I trust, rested, relaxed, restored, and renewed— some of us more than others— and ready to begin this evening. Yes, I give you the mystery. Of Edwin Drood. 6 months have passed. An English summer is now in progress. And though it has been 6 months, there is to be found no trace of young Edwin Drood. All of Cloister Ham is agog with rumor and suspicion, but there are inquiring eyes. Elements. Yes, two new inquiring students are about to appear on the scene. Yes, one being the Princess Baba, whom you have already met. The other being a detective, a man of mystery in a bulky coat and a fulsome beard, and the name of Dick Dasher. Hi! I said Dick Dasher. No, I— Yes, that's right. And these apparent strangers now arrive with grand intentions and great expectations, which, might I add, we will be premiering in Brighton next season, so please get your tickets, Marius. And so now, just like us, they will be arriving at— Kreuznach Station!

Ah yes, and there's Mr.

John Jasper, back from another treatment in London. And in his wake, no That out of the many injurious souls of choice to have, none are more intensely curious than these two spirits.

On the track of a man in black, he disappears before the smoke clears. I want the scent of our resident. I'll check them well, inspect the paths on hill. I made a point, I doubt Chase? Who's dead or gone? Out of trace? This is a private investigation. Just went through deep pass and went for artist destination. It's a private investigation. He's vanished into air or vanished where it all began. While on the trail of a small tail, I threw a bead. Upon a blue-eyed bee I navigate as me own first mate incognito. Into the fog we go. I'm not a man of any means. I'll search and scan behind the scenes. This is a private investigation which fared in through deep halls and where for honest destination we surprise. Private investigation. I'll turn this private club into a public situation. It's a private— it's a private— it's a private cruise. It's a private cruise with a lost destination. Private investigation. A very private cruise. Lost cruise. Private investigation. I'm hearing fry and scrutinize.

Yes, as though the stars were mere punctures in the ceiling of the earth through which heaven's light could be seen, or something along those lines. I only wish that my assistant Bazar, who is away on business this evening, could see such a night as this.

Hold on there.

There's a face we've not yet seen before. Welcome to Cloister Ham, Captain. I'm in lieu of the official greeter of anyone who might have a price of wine on them, my name is Dirtless.

And I am Datchery. Dick Datchery. I was wondering if lodgings could be found in these parts? Oh, no doubt, Mr. Datchery. Oh, something architectural and out of the way. Something inconvenient.

Well, there are a number of inconvenient lodgings here in Gloucester, I'm sure.

Oh, and close to the cathedral as well.

I don't mean to overstep, but the only lodging that I know of along those lines are the rooms above Mr. John Jasper.

Yes, he is a great admirer and fellow who's been much afflicted by by the loss of his nephew, Edwin Groove. Away from work. And this much afflicted fellow, John Jasper, is he always dressed in mourning these days? That's the man. You won't catch me going near him again. Wait, why is that, boy? Because I ain't got any lids on my legs and shouts again. Well, I find that most interesting. I shall enjoy watching the comings and goings of this town.

That man should see his tailor.

Hey, miss, do you know where I can find Mr. Joplin? No. Are you ill? No, miss. I always look this way.

Rosa! We have both been guilty. Of neglecting your music lessons. When shall we resume? Never, sir. Am I being politely told you've chosen to abandon your studies altogether?

The politeness is yours, not mine. I beg not to be questioned anymore. I will not answer. At least I have that in my power. Rosa— I wish not to hear you, sir.

I know it's on the eyes of many of you of us, but you shall hear me, even against your wishes. Dearest Rose, darling Rose, even when my dear boy was engaged to you, I loved him mad. I hid my— our secret loyally, did I not?

You were as false to him, sir, daily and hourly, as you are now. You know that you made me blind to show his kind eyes to the truth, that you are a bad, bad man. How beautiful you are!

You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I do not ask for your love. Give me yourself, that pretty rage, that enchanting scorn.

That would be enough for me. You're mad!

I mean to say you are mad.

My love is— Love? You dare use that word? Love is but a word, seldom heard from pastor's screen, a word rarely said or seen and seldom sung. Innocent enough, it was intended to be used on rare occasions, not abused by every tongue. Rarely has a word been ever taken to invade, what little meaning might remain is quickly blurred. Never has there been since quite exhausted such a term. Your sighs and syllables confirm I've read this word. You call it love? I call it rude. You call it rude? I call it lust. You call it lust? I think it's rude. And I am rude? I cannot bear it. This is not enough. I think it's lust. I think it's lust. You see this lie? You think you won't break? I will not. No words that matter.

What words that matter? You don't get to see. I speak the truth in the name of love.

Rosa loved the lady, little flinch would ever tell. You found that she's a child of Galilee, you'll find. Rosa is the only starlit voice I have been seeing. She stands in splendor, soft and dreamy, even night. Did you think your stare was not my seeing? Every fiber of my being told me since I was betrothed. That's your most unnatural attention. Conscious ones I dare not mention. You must know how much I love to know your wants. Walls, I need not climb.

Rocks, for me to ask. I only seek the name of love.

I will not fear the angry bite of the voice.

Or blazing knife, you will subdue. As you go back to the name of love. The name of love. The name of love.

The name of love.

Stay wherever he sees you.

Create a world that makes no dresses with water mixed with the thunder of his love. You want to know the name of love? It's dealing too. Me.

When these skies run white on earth, what is there between our eyes but sights alone? We share the sights of So I—

that's exactly true. I will put my arm around you and just sing along. Well, just over at something. Yes, and now I have one of the very bits of information I came here for. You're leaving quite a lot already. Bloody likely. I didn't come this far just to turn back with but one piece of puzzle in the end. I've never in my wretched life come so close to getting anything I set about after. What would I do now to turn back just when I'm winning? Never understood those who like to ease up just when they I ought to press on. Once I put in my last 10 pence and won. Twice as rich then, friends said, call it done. How sad, I said. So that's your wildest dream, amen? 20 pence instead of 2p. Double up my bet again. In life we start the same as when we're done. If you lose, you're just where you've begun. If you've won, Don't quit while you're ahead, just press your blessed luck instead. Don't try to think what move might be the best, use the heart that beats within your chest, never rest. Don't quit while you're ahead, sing out, there's more in store for me.

I see my dream ship Finally coming in like a steamship, hankering to win.

Lift your chin, remember what I said, don't quit while you're ahead. Let's go! I know Denver City, love it yet to be, only just 3 weeks away from me. Hopefully, don't quit while you're ahead. Moment. Worry how you tread, who cares?

There's a chance, one light dream that is mine, a romance quite ripe upon the vine.

No victory ever fled, don't quit while you're ahead. To stay, tara tara, whoa, make your passion do rain for all Boom! Playing it fast and you lie down.

Don't quit while you're ahead.

Don't say I want to bid farewell.

Well, I know. Don't let the moment go to waste. Not with things close enough to taste. Heave the coal with all due haste.

For God's own sake. So raise a stake. You struck a lucky vein. Never break through any lucky chain. The refrain: Don't quit while you're ahead. As Giesli Gartner said, you'll see. Go! Bang it, bash it, and glory be! Go! Bang it, bash it, and glory be! Go! Quit while you're ahead.

Sing out, there's more in store for me. There's much more for me.

There's much more For me. So long have we been guided by maybe a blind uplust.

The truth is this: we are gonna rise! Sadly, ladies and gentlemen, this is where Charles Charles Dickens laid down his pen forever.

All right, good night everyone.

And so, my dear friends, this is all we'll ever know for sure of the mystery of Edwin Drew. But tonight, in the confines of this humble theater, we shall do our part to solve, resolve, and conclude the mystery of Edwin Drew! I can resolve immediately, though it has little to do with the plot at hand. Many literary experts agree that our inquiring detective, Mr. Dick Datchery, is actually someone we have already met. A character from Act 1 who has disguised themselves as Datchery as to better investigate the murder of Edwin Drew. Yes, and as many of you have already guessed, though in the part of Mr. Datchery this evening and has taken the role thus far, that master and mistress of male impersonation, Miss Alice Nutting! But this does not mean that Edmund Brood is Datchery. No, no, far from it. The reason for Miss Dudley's portrayal in the role this evening is— well, she was contracted to 2 acts of this play, and here at the Music Hall Royale, we believe in an honest week's work for an honest day's pay. Yes, you can't say I didn't warn you. And so this brings us to our first key question: is Edwin Drood dead or alive? Mr. Charles Dickens experimented with many different titles for our story.

For example, The Loss of Edwin Drood, The Flight of Edwin Drood, The Disappearance of Edwin Drood.

Yes, but nowhere The Death or Murder of Edwin Drood. On the other hand, many would argue, well, a mystery without a murder, well, that's no mystery at all. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, our questions will be primarily answered by you. However, in a dangerous democratic move, Musical Royale has offered its company the right to vote upon one issue each night. And so, my fellow acolytes of the thespianic persuasion, your question tonight will be: Mr.

Fulton, is Edwin Drood dead or alive? Miss Aristophanes, who has vested interested in the outcome of this question, will kindly turn her back to the class. Now, gentlemen, ladies, as your whim takes you this evening, all those who believe Edwin Drew is dead, please raise your hand. Thank you. Now, all those who believe Edwin Drew is alive, please do the same now.

Thank you. Oh, Miss Dutton, oh, you stumped it by a massive majority, I fear. Which brings us to our next key question. Uh, Mr.

Throttle, who is the detective Dick Dattery?

Yes, but we can now safely eliminate had been drooled from consideration, for he has been voted dead by the cast for the rest of the evening. Dead!

Ha! Envy! Ha ha! You absolute envious little waiters! It's very clear to everyone here that Drew— that I am Datchery, and it is even more transparent that this petty jealousness of cast bitterly resents the attention that I have received in the local press. Goodbye! Oh no, no, no, please! You have no idea the week we had.

First, her dressing room was too small and that her mustache was too long. I told her she was splitting hairs, but do it yourself. Ladies and gentlemen, I must apologize for this bit of unpleasantry in what I'm sure you'll agree has otherwise been a flawless evening. But in all fairness to our cast and to Your story. I must strenuously point out that many literary experts disagree with Miss Nutting's contention that Edmund Brood and Dick Datchery are one and the same person. Yes, there are several prime candidates for the role. Yes, I offer you Helena Landless. Neville revealed of her in Act 1: In desperation, Helena tried on more than one occasion to flee our father's cruel advisement. Hand, even disguising herself as a boy. Ah, yes, a hit, a palpable hit. But was it a meaningful thrust or a misdirection? Would not Helena be fearful to pursue John Jasper under the given circumstances? Not under any circumstances. Aha! And the candidates hardly end there. What say you of Bazard? I love the theatrical world, But there are many stages beyond the proscenium. I long to play a larger part. Yes, who more likely to don such melodramatic garb and seek the spotlight? Why otherwise does he appear in our story at all? From my earliest remembrances, I have been secret and revengeful. Ah, yes, and who more likely to assume the murder than the one assumed of foul play? Yes, or did someone Someone simply wished to clear Neville's name. Neville has been entrusted to my care. Ah yes, the Reverend Chris Barker, whose passions and energies lay hidden beneath his clerical garb. Perhaps he has adopted yet another uniform, that of dachshund, to save the young lad who has been his charge and responsibility. And then there is the puzzling intriguing possibility of Rosa. Could it be that we have underestimated the resourcefulness of this woman-child? Yes. Could she have investigated the disappearance of Edwin? Well, looks can be deceived. Of this, ladies and gentlemen, I do know for sure. Dick Doughtery is not John Jasper, the Princess Burble, Dursle's deputy, or even your own Mayor Sapsley. For in our play and in Mr. Dickens' novel, they appear in scenes with him. Yes, they are observed to be in his company. Yes. And so that leaves present us with the following candidates for the role of Dick Datchery. Ah, yes. And let us, as it is done in amateur theatrical productions, vote by a show of applause. Yes, as this handkerchief is placed above the head of each candidate, pray applaud for your favorite in the part of Dick Datchery. And do remember, ladies and gentlemen, We do have larger decisions yet to come. Yes, soon I will be asking you to vote. Who is the murderer of Edwin Drood? Yes, yes. So please don't just vote for some distant cousin of yours, for God's sake. Mr. Throttle, if you please.

The underrated Mr. Bazzard. I will name the tableants. Mr. Neverland, the ecstatic ecclesiastic Reverend Chris Sparkles, the lovely Rosebud, and the tempestuous I do think it's a tie between our landless siblings.

Yes, at least we're not the lovers. Of Dick Datchman? Yes, Helena? Yes, yes, and you believe Victor Greenstead? Now, you let Victor change her costume. I can see several members of our audience waiting to hear Yes. And so this makes us go much more serious. This next thing is called— Oh, Miss Adams, did you say you were coming back? I'm serious.

How dare you! No, no, I will ruin your career if you walk out now!

I will hang you alive! Her attitude is entirely due to upbringing! Her father and mother were in the iron and steel business. Get it? Mother irons, father steels. You mean you didn't like that? Well, how about this then? She was previously known as an orthopedic soprano. She sang in all the joints! So that's the new word for tonight. Okay, well then, this brings us to a much more serious issue. For now, we must find ourselves a culprit, a fiend, a killer, and in short, the murderer of our dear departed, vanished, vanquished, late lamented title character of this evening's play, Edwin Brrr. Shut up! Shut up! One more like that and we'll have you all sent back to the Salvation Army. We'll have you standing in the rain singing, "Jesus wants me but has not me." So, ladies and gentlemen, who will be our murderer? The killer, I give you for First, the most obvious candidate for the part of the villain this evening, Mr. Clive Paget, is Mr. John Jasper. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, don't you know here at the Music Hall Royale we boo and tease the villain? Boo! Boo! Boo! No, no, you're too late now. We've got to go back, we've got to do the whole thing over again.

Yes, go back. Oh no, don't go back.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to do this until you get it right. And if you don't, we're going to have you all stand here in a line and sing 83 choruses of The Church Bell Walkway Tonight, because the vicar's got the clap You're going to ruin your evening, yes. Now here we go, last chance. I give you the most obvious candidate for the role of the villain. I say his name again. You're going to do it with me? Oh yeah. I give you the most obvious candidate for the part of the villain this evening, Mr. Clive Bantams, Mr. John Jasper! Ladies and gentlemen, do be serious. I ask you, is this the face of a murderer? Yes! I ask you, could this be all there is to the mystery of Edwin Drew? That— No. John Jasper did indeed kill his nephew in a hopeless attempt to attain the affection of the fair Miss Rosa Barton? Well, where then the mystery? See? Oh, that's taken the wind out of your sails, hasn't it, big mouth? Yes. Where then the mystery? Where then each Yes, so I ask you, how stand you? For the obvious answer, or for a more perplexing solution? I hear like 3 of you. Obvious answer, perplexing solution. 2 answers and you clap for one. Yes. For the obvious answer, no one wants you here. Or for more perplexing— And so we must first remove some of us from the bidding. The young deputy and your own Sassy were purely intended for comic relief and do not factor in intimately with the lives of our other characters, which leaves us with the following candidates for the role of the murderer this evening.

Yes? Helena Landless, did I, in trying to save my brother, bring harm to Miss Edwin Drew?

Bastard! My need for attention has made me quite mad. Someone stop me before I sing again!

The Reverend Mr.

Crispapple. Have I in some way confused my mission here on Earth? Terence! I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than give Druid a frontal lobotomy.

Princess Puffer. Who am I? And what am I? Someone as innocent and pure as I? Really murder my own true Ned? Yes. Thank you.

Thank you, John Jasper. I stood in the cold No shake of suspicion since our story began. Yes, time, time, ladies and gentlemen, at last to decide. And so, for the sake of accuracy, might we vote by a show of hands? Yes, let's bring up the house lights and we can begin. Yes. Oh, good Lord, is that what I've been dealing with tonight? Why don't you all join hands and try contact? let us offer a sip of port to him or her that he is our chosen fiend for the evening. So that they may know your choice.

Yes.

Very good. And so now.

So the following day no more may become as a surprise to all of us. Let us now close our eyes.

Yes. Pray close them. Now close your eyes.

Close them. Close your eyes. All of you. Ladies and gentlemen, I will be taking the votes with this poll. My name is Christina Leanne and I am taking votes. Now, if I can get everyone to put up how many fingers they want for which candidate. So for example, number 1, pick up 1 finger if you want to vote for him. So please pick up how many fingers you want for each candidate. But you only get 1 vote. So make sure to make it count, all right? Please pick up your lovely gifts. Number 5?

Are you kidding me? How dare you? He's a reverend, he would never kill anyone.

Or would he? Thank you guys so much, and enjoy the rest of the show.

Grand Inquisitor, here's the news. Your judgment has been passed.

You've settled up the score. At last.

Yes, your murderer has been picked for this evening. And so now, as is tradition here at the Musical Royale, No. You were born. Bathed you and fed you. Don't look at me, Rosa. I don't want you to see me like this. But can you remember some 12 years ago, your nanny. Rosa. Do you look at me now, my own darling girls.

Okay, you. Okay, I am now offering the murderer the ball.

The murderer is No peeking. You may open your eyes. Oh, and so you see, you cannot trust anyone here tonight. Yes. So as our cast departs backstage, I only caution you to prepare for some twists and turns as we serpentine towards the conclusion that you have chosen for us tonight. Yes. And so So, my dear friends, so, my dear friends, for the first time and at long last, I give you, by your determination, the conclusion, the finale of The finale of The Mystery of Edwin Drew.

We love you! I only need a—

I can kick you out. Ladies and gentlemen, the first chapter of the novel was entitled "The Dawn," and perhaps not coincidentally, his final chapter was called "The Dawn Again." And so, yes, let us begin our last chapter amid the cold, grey tendrils of a dim Oh, I suppose he's freezing again.

Oye, missy, can you spare 3 and 6 for a Christian soul in distress? I'm afraid I've only got about 3 and 6 to get myself to London. Oh, running away from something? Yes, almost, yes. Rosa? How on earth did you know my name? No? I haven't been nothing to you since the day you were born? Who bathed you and fed you? Don't look at me, Rosa. I don't want you to see me like this. But can you remember some 12 years ago? Your nanny, Rosa. Would you look at me now? My own darling girl. And see your Nan instead. Nan. Somewhere. I was 6 and then you weren't there anymore. Do remember, God love you. Never really knew your mother, did you? I was the closest thing to that for you. So why did you leave me? It's a sad story, brother. And a common one, I fear. I was once a man, then I was dead. Tall dog with golden hair was where my end began. Let him have his way with me, he knew his way so well. —led me down the garden path to hell. Marriage in the air. What I got instead was a bed in Camden Town. And then to me he said, Should I send around a friend? Be nice to him? Swell? Stroll down your garden path? To help? Make your bed of roses? Send sleep in? and pray you'll never wake. Soon the deadly poppies come cropping up, fairly coming from the seed of one mistake. On my fateful day, planning Satan's pay. Took a drink so as not to think of who would come next to play. Gave my gent my every cent, and he gave me farewell. He began to weave the path to hell. Life's a maze of hedges, that bring you as they take you, they'll tear you all about. Strolling through the maze seems amusing too, but confusing when you find there's no way out. Lost my looks by then, couldn't fool the men. So I learned a trade and earned my keep with drugs and then found myself some wicked shelter where open I sell. Here's a pint for you, sir, price is 5 and 2. Luce, can't you see the garden? It's such a lovely garden. I'll take you there, I know the path so well. Too well. When he was chained, you went through life alone. And yet despite my dreadful fall from grace, I never once forgot your name or face. One icy evening, a client of mine began to rave and pray so loud and unwind. And as he drank his cup of Satan's blood, he made the grave mistake of crying, "Rose!" from so far? Now it's one thing for them like me to mix and mingle with the likes of he. We are both made from God's most lovely clay and mud, but how comes this man to cry out from so far? Well, I heard She took the air and followed him here, finding out who was who. I've come back a time or two, and last night tracking me was this Mr. Dattery. So I followed his tracks to his lodgings in the back. Though I hate to confess, when I watched this man undress, but I saw suddenwise him without his bold disguise. Though my morals are tilted, my eyesight Is level, dictatory is Neville. My motive in taking the role of a wicked and white-whisted soul was to give myself back to this city and track down the culprit, for that is my goal. I had also intended to find just what Jasper has had on his mind. Much too eager was he that all Poisoner hands see me the murderer. God, are they blind! All of these people suspicious that I had killed and intruded, and with their anger so vicious, I wore this costume so crude, stepping out on a limb or a gout, on a limb or a gout, on a limb or a gout.

I found a theatrical kit, and as naturally I did my bit, To clear my good name from the blemish of blame, 'twas for Helena too, I admit.

I followed John Jasper high-low, found the dainty descent to below, and when Puffer came here, 'twas immediately clear my suspicions were quite apropos. So I crept in the lodgings of Jasper, pressing his garb with a sight. There I found Rosabeth's glass, her mother she gave to that knight. Jasper took it from Ned after hurling him dead. 'Twas the wearer of the bed, I suppose. Tell him that that tree knows, and the proof is quite clear. Let us bring Desmond Hughes to be tried and then tied up and strung. And for this limerick, let him be hung.

I will not fly. I wish not to die. My stead am I. Men upon his brain, but if he draws upon the pulse in madness, I'll be in smoke. Surprise! Why this great surprise? There are both two men in me, and something bright as he who hides himself resides itself where I've no eyes to see. But now I think he's at the brink of breaking through the door. I mean, he's out. I'm out. He's free. I'm free. I'm me once more. How many times I killed a dude upon my bike? The first person smelt something off his ride. His right to share my roast steak. It took no smoke for me to picture Edwin dead. That night I bought myself a flask of laudanum, and as a toast to Ned and Neville, I drank some. That's when my greatest vital fancy did take place. I saw my hands outstretched, your dead wind-bell-like face. I saw my fingers touching his neck so tall lightly touching my sleep.

It felt so like moonfall that fell on me.

But Gothitine was much too easily done. As much as over as it had begun. Such tragedy to finally make the kill. And not too awake to taste the thrill.

Now I've confessed. Now we both can rest.

Yes, you placed the coat that young Edwin Drood wore that night down in the river where it took no suspicion on Neverlandis. You heard that one, Jasper, when the evil one's inside you. But sure, no matter, you didn't kill Edwin Drood. What? Gentles, are you telling me That John Jasper did not kill his nephew? You're right, Your Lordship, sir. It was a wild night that Christmas Eve, as you'll remember, and I sought shelter near Mr. Jasper's door when I saw one amongst you cross the language room. In a continued flash of lightning, I saw who it was. That was quite a long speech, Bill. Do you think I could have that quicker? Well, I see Jasper stagger out of his own home under the influence of the Pope's medicine when suddenly he collapses. Then he gets up and he picks up Gondrew, carries him into the cathedral, down into the crypt, depositing the body right in Miss Sapsis's tomb. What? See, I told you there's plenty of room in there. But, Daggles, you might You must tell us, who killed Edwin Drood? It was Princess Puffa!

May God have mercy, your forgiveness do I need. My string of sins ends here with this most dreadful deed. I only meant to save I rose above his true— You bastard Jasper Christ! I meant to murder you! Could I see my grandson threatened by this man of massive sin? He revealed his vile desires, so I had to do him in. To my endless ruination, I took smoke to see me through. In my sweet hallucination, I saw Drew and thought So I say to all who hear me, you must plan the murder well. You must see your victim clearly as you send him off to hell. It was well intended. Drink and smokes, what did me in. For my chores, I'm apprehended. There's the wages of sin. Everyone please— with a raise! Oh, don't you know they hang women these days? This is undoubtedly my last chorus.

Is our murderer for the night. But surely we are entitled to a happy ending, are we not? Yes, we are. Now, we all have need for love in our lives. Yes, or at this late in the evening, any reasonable facsimile thereof. And so, ladies and gentlemen, who will find that commodity that we all seek? I leave it to you to answer one final question: who will be our lovers tonight? Yes! And so, let's not waste any more time. We have the lovely Miss Rosa Budd, the tempestuous Miss Neville Matthews.

Yes, Neville? Neville? It's easy to mix them up.

Yes, it's a match with Miss Helena Landry. And so, once again, let us show a vote by applause. Yes, the votes for Miss Rose are but— Miss Helena Landry. I do believe Miss Roosevelt ran away with this one. And so, right, we are left with a field of well-heeled bachelors. Yes, once again. What's that supposed to mean? Never, never, Agnes. The Reverend Mr. Prescott, the specimen that can only be known Mr. Bazzard. And so once again, are you sure? Are or not? Yes, never. The Reverend Mr. Crispin. Jasmine. John Jasper.

So I take you to the polls. Yes.

Once more, John Jasper. And— Dave Houston. I do, yes. I do believe the dog will set the stage. Yes, I have no idea. So we now have 4 remaining. Yes, now how about Pink Floyd? Pick one and applaud for only that one. Yes? Very good, ladies and gentlemen. Now for Reverend Mr. Chris Barker. The specimen: dirt.

Do we do bastard?

Yes, I think we did. Yes, yeah.

Are you sure we can't get—

Okay, my friends, my dear friends, I know it's between Bathurst and Helen, and I hear Helena.

Between Helena and Basil.

Yes. So first, who votes for Basil?

You can only pick one. Bazzett. So those are your lovers this evening?

I'm afraid we're stuck with it, I fear. Mr. Burton, adjust your crease if you will. I feel that we are about to have a love song.

I told you I would be as good a friend as a mite of a thing can be to such a womanly and handsome creature. I'm very glad you did. I'm so sorry I didn't stop Jasper from all those creepy, creepy things he was doing. I told you, let's not resist this envy. Once we have kissed, we may never be free. Once we were perfect strangers, and now I walk in the back seat with you.

If only he could speak to us from beyond the grave. What would he tell us?

What would he say? I am Lazarus, risen from the grave. Quite alive you'll find me. This tomb behind me is where I faced my closest shame. When I struck my head against the street, I was stunned, not stricken. A plot doth thicken as Jasper flew me off my feet to the crypt. I awoke in dark beyond belief, and while all above me showed their grief. I was screaming for my very breath, only moments from death. You have no idea the sudden strength that you feel within you, the steel and sinew, as death is now smiling at arms' height. I escaped there, as well I fled, and I did not return here till I could learn here just who in hell would wish me dead. More than one solution fits the crime. What I've learned is life is bits of time, and you fight for every tiny speck when you're held by the neck. I have read the writing on the wall, and the greatest mystery is not the history of Jasper, Drood, and one and all. I have met my maker and returned. What advice I'm giving to all those living is just to learn what I have learned. Like this deer, there can be no victory in defeat. If outnumbered, beat a fast retreat to the nearest shelter and dig in. When you live, then you win. Scratch and claw for every day you're worth. Make them brag Screaming from life, keep dreaming you'll live forever here on earth. I have seen the writing on the wall, and it's clearly spelled out for those who held out that holding on to life is all. Is it clear? If you hear my voice, then you're alive. What a bloody marvel. We survive. When you think of every risk we face in our mad human race, I have read the writing on the wall. Try to live forever and give up never the fight. You'll need the wherewithal. Can't you hear the warning? The lights of warning, to red, riding on the—

Star for me.