The Veiled Lodger - Part Two
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Previously on Sherlock & Co. I just met Mark Merillow. Oh yeah, from 208? Yeah, yeah, he's insane. Is he? Totally deranged, Marianne. Do you know him? I know Mark, yeah. Him and his wife are so great. His lodger though, oof, the old lady, haha, she's super mean. His lodger? His lodger. Mmm, his lodger. The scene of the snow flurry last night, coupled with the haunting cries of murder,

I feel it may have stirred up a somewhat emotive response. Hey, I don't blame you, to be honest. It's a real, um... It's blood-curdling sometimes, innit? I know I said all that stuff, but I really do feel for her. She hasn't had it easy in her life.

This is... Eugenia, the lodger. She's a bit guarded. Mm-hmm. Go on. She's kind of shy. Indeed. And she wears a veil over these massive scars on her face. She's got an eye missing and doesn't really have a nose. Cheekbones all caved in, half a mouth left. Whole face completely hollowed out from something nasty. And she remains veiled at all times. Yeah, I've seen her face by accident when I thought she was out, but yeah, veiled.

Always. Yeah, Mariana said the same when she's seen her about. Yeah, she goes to Regent's Park every day with her zoo membership. Walks round bang on 10am back at 2. Daily visits to London Zoo in Regent. Oh yeah, like clockwork. I think our next case will have to be local. Mm-hm. Yep. Very, very local.

What are you getting at? Ready? For what? Are you going to chat to Mobo the lion about his dad? We're going to discover who murdered Eugenia's husband. It was a lion, Sherlock. Could be. Wait, wait, where the hell are you going? You know that the game is afoot. MUSIC

Gentle folks, how are thee? Would thou lend one's ear... Stop, that's terrible. Don't know why I'm talking like that. If this is an outtake, then yep. If somehow this isn't, welcome to The Veiled Lodger Part 2. The final part, of course. What was I going to say? Oh yeah, this episode is... It has, I don't know, a complexity...

to it, I suppose. So have a read of the episode description if you want trigger warnings and we'll see you at the end. Shout out to Nicholas in Australia who binged the whole show in five days. Wow, Nicholas, superb work. Shout out to Alessia Schmid in Switzerland. Shout out to Theo and Star in Kent, to Caitlin from Ireland,

Hey, how about this then? A lion is in a cage. Mr Rhonda opens it to feed him. Something happens. Something happens. I suggest you return to your shout-outs. Something happens, right? And the lion goes for him. For the back of him? Yeah, because he's turned his back, hasn't he? He's legging it. Why? Because it's a bloody lion. And that is why Eugenia is shouting, "'Coward!' when she gets put in the ambulance."

So her husband is lying dead on the floor and she's shouting coward as she's being put into an ambulance, is she? Yeah, she doesn't know he's dead. Yes, she does, according to Edmund's notes. All right, well, you know, maybe she's just had her face torn out. Maybe she doesn't know what she's saying or what's going on. And that is exactly why we're paying her a little visit. A fascinating little tale, Watson, you said it yourself. I hope we are on the same page a bit. We're not even on the same book, mate. We'll see about that.

She won't be back from Regent's Park for another half an hour, mate. Remember, she's like clockwork. Well then, we can get a head start on her bedroom, can't we? Oh, hiya lads. Hello. Again. We were wondering if we could look through Eugenia Rhonda's belongings. Oh God. Oh God.

I don't know if I can just send you up there. It's... it's her room. Mr. Merrillow, your lodger, as you've said yourself, is deathly ill. She wastes away. A sharp decline, you declared to us. How will it look? How will it reflect on the family that was housing her when this poor, fragile woman breathes her last breath in this very house? What damage would it do to you to walk in on her lifeless body? What damage would it do to your wife? Your children?

What will you tell them? That you just wanted to leave her alone? Let her manage her own affairs? Observe her gradual expiry with distant apathy? All right, all right! She's... Bloody hell! Right, come with me. She'll be back in 20 minutes or so. Excellent. So we've got 20 minutes? No, you do not have 20. You have five minutes maximum. But she's not back until... I'm not taking any risks.

There's tribunals for stuff like this. Is there? I should think so. But it's your house. Five minutes. She's not in. I'm just being polite. To nobody. Sherlock. Mrs Rhonda. Eugenia, love. I think the coast is clear, Mr Merrillow. Yeah, it's alright, Mark. We're pretty confident she's still in Regent's Park. Yeah, um, okay. Here we go. Goodness. Okay, this is cramped and, uh...

We're rather stuck here. Can we open the window? Wait, we can't go changing stuff. Why did you let her live like this, Mark? I didn't know. I just... God, I didn't know. I just thought, good Lord above. It's all right. I didn't mean it like that. You know, she's been keeping to herself. You didn't know. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Well, I mean, he'll figure it out. What do you think, mate? She's...

I mean, she's kind of made this into a bit of a den, hasn't she? I mean, you can see where she's closed herself in with the furniture as she sleeps. Yes. From keeping beasts in cages, the woman seems, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast in a cage. Oh, Jesus. Hey, this. What? These are some biscuits my kids made at school. The harvest festival, we gave them to her.

These are from September. Yes. Other foods here. Pastries. Tupperwares of uneaten meals. Hey, there they bloody are. She took these? The Tupperwares. She didn't take them, no. We were trying to give her meals and that to eat something, you know, when we noticed how thin she was getting. Oh, bloody hell. Poor Eugenia. This is just... I feel awful. It's okay. It's alright. It's not alright. This is exactly what I mean. Mean what?

What do you mean? I'm up. I've got a lodger to help with the bills on this place. I'm up first thing. We're getting the kids out of school. We're working, forking out fortunes for after-school clubs and childminders. And I come home fucking exhausted. Can hardly give my kids a moment. And all this time, Eugenia, she needed us. And she's rotting away in my own bloody house. I'm sorry.

I'll take a look at her when she comes back, all right? Give her a check-up, yeah? Make sure she eats something, all right? I'm going to run to the shop and get some bits. Mark, hold on, mate. I can't. This is not right. Mark. I've got to help. Mark. Right, OK, mate, look. I'm not sure if this is any of our business, you know? I mean, sorry, I know you got stuck into it and everything. Please...

Close her drawer. Sherlock, let me see her first, and we can ask her rather than invade her room. It's interesting, is it not, Watson? I think it's sad, to be honest. I think it's sad. I just don't think it's that interesting. Sorry. Her husband died, yet the picture she keeps in her bedside drawer is that of...

Leonardo Boras. Maybe she has other pictures with her. I wonder if they are as worn and as handled as this one. Yep, fair question. But Bloke is absolutely ripped, to be fair. Let's not go through her browsing history, mate. Come on, let's wait downstairs. Sergeant Edmonds spoke of the circus employees. Leonardo Boras was one of them.

Are we on the same page yet, Watson? Well, we may be on the same chapter. That push. But can we please put the metaphorical book down and just... Whoops. Everything must be left in place, Watson. Yes, I know. I was just opening the door to get you out and this fell down. What is it? The thingy, the walking stick that Mark said she doesn't use. Let me see. There. Happy? I said let me see. Yeah, look with your eyes, not with your hands. Watson... Oh, I'm putting it back and we are leaving because... Ow!

Bollocks. What is it? Cut myself on the bloody stick. God's sake, can we go, please? Why is the handle of a walking stick sharp? Dunno, hasn't got a grip on it, maybe. You're straining. Is it heavy? Yeah, very. A heavy, sharp walking stick? Yeah. Hey. Look, Watson. Put it down. Look at the shape of it. Right, yeah, maybe it's not a walking stick, then. It certainly is not.

What do you think it is? This is some makeshift tool. How so? Look at it. The crude wrapping. The sloppy adhesive on the shaft. What are all these spikes? Yes. On the handle we have four steel nails protruding out of the top of the stick. Then another nail.

Not on the head of it, but two inches down the shaft. So heavy, too. There's a lot of weight built into that spiky handle. Heavy enough to smash in a skull, Watson. What? Let's recall the events. Mr Ronda opens the cage. We only think that. But what do we know? He... So from behind he was attacked? Yes. And the lion clawed at the back of his head? What do we know? He was attacked. Yes. Yes.

From behind. And, Watson, by the claw of a lion. Or perhaps something very similar, deliberately similar in its structure, came crashing onto the back of his head. Observe. These four nails, they replicate the dense keratin of a lion's claw, extending out that reach from the base of this weighted head to emulate the plantar ball of the animal's paw.

Then we have this. The fifth nail. Two inches down to imitate the dew claw, similar to the human thumb. It grows higher on the leg rather than on the foot like the others, common in most mammals. This is an ingenious device. Can I just check something? Yes, Watson. Are you suggesting that a lion was framed for the murder of Mr Ronda? And now, Watson...

In this fascinating tale, we are finally on the same page. Hello, everyone. Yeah, so I don't usually do this, but we're about to hear from someone who, an individual, Eugenia, actually, who has severe facial trauma. Essentially...

no nose or nasal cavity, very damaged larynx, her jaw and muscle tissue around there is disfigured to say the very, very least. So if you are having trouble understanding her, transcripts are available at sherlockandco.co.uk forward slash transcripts. Okay, right, back to the adventure. There's someone coming up the stairs. Could be his wife, maybe. Just stay perfectly still.

You should be careful. Hiding in an elderly woman's room. Oh, bollocks. And why is that, Eugenia? My heart is weak. The slightest startle could put me in the ground. God be willing. God be willing? So you do wish to die? Sherlock. Perhaps not wish. No.

But I will it. I will it to wash over me like the soft morning sun, soaring the morning frost. Do you believe in the afterlife, Eugenia? I hope for my sake that it is a fabrication. Why? Because your husband would be there waiting for you?

Impressive, Mr. Holmes. How do you know my name? You are the detective. I am. An old lady will always take to gossip and eavesdropping. But you're not an old lady, are you, Eugenia? You merely adopt the persona.

Why would that be? How could a woman, willing death like sunrise, be so committed to self-preservation? Eugenia, could I examine you for a moment? You cannot! Why do animals, even the most violent, the most dominant, why do they allow us to possess them? To allow us mastery over them? Can you think why, Eugenia? Seems quite the sacrifice.

It is a withdrawal from the ferocious reality of their existence. To remove themselves from the battle of nature. To shelter in the monotony of humanity. And to do so, they disguise their true selves and conceal their traits that may be seen as undesirable. Am I a house cat to you, Mr. Holmes? Like this you are.

This role you have played. That of the elderly reserved woman. It allows you to withdraw, does it not? Eugenia, please, I'm a doctor. Can I just take a quick look? You cannot look! No one can look at me! Please. I want to be left alone. To die? To join Mr. Ronda, who you put in the ground? You...

Yes. Fashioned into a lion's paw. Rather clever. You clearly have moments. Yes. Yes.

Opting to waste away in a box room in Baker Street certainly isn't one. You're wrong about me. How so? When judgment comes, the only life I will be guilty of taking is my own.

Through starvation. Sahara King, start in a cage. Why should I be spared the pain? Sahara King mauled your face, Eugenia. He nearly killed you. He was protecting his master, my husband. Master of many things. Let me tell you, the brutality of that lion is nothing new.

On that demon! That... bastard! Why did you kill your husband? I am a poor circus girl gentleman. Brought up on the swordust, undoing the springs, through the hoop. Before I was ten.

Before I even had time to become woman, Mr. Rhonda loved me. If such lust as his can be called love.

evil moment I became his wife from that day I was in hell and he the devil who tormented me there was no one in the show who could not know of this treatment he deserted me for others

He tied me down and lashed me with his riding whip when I complained. So much else is lost in the fog of terror and trauma. They all pitied me and they all loathed him. But what could they do?

They feared him one and all, for he was terrible at all times and murderous when he was drunk. Again and again he was had for a short and guilty to the beast, but he had plenty money.

And the fines were nothing to him. You didn't kill him. What? You are as soft as my club, Mr Holmes. What do you mean? He was abusing her. She snapped. You snapped, right, Eugenia? The split across the skull of Mr Rhonda was eight inches. It would have taken a force of...

Of? Certainly not of a circus girl jumping through hoops. But a strong man. The bodybuilder? The picture in the drawer? Leonardo. Leonardo. I cannot understand him, but I cannot unlove him either. He pitied me.

Me, yes. But he helped me. Till at last our intimacy turned to love. Deep, deep passionate love. Such love as I had dreamed of. But never hoped to feel. My husband suspected it, but...

I think that he was a coward as well as a bully and that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid of. He took revenge in his own way by torturing me more than ever. My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die.

I have... I don't have the strength for the emotions. I... Just come, sit down, take some breaths. I have to get it out. Hold on, we can just take a second. I have to... Speak, Eugenia. We made a club in the...

On the leaden head he fastened five long steel nails, pointing outwards with just such a spread as the lion's paw. This was to give my husband his death blow, and yet to leave the evidence that it was the lion which we would lose.

who had done the deed. It was a pitch dark night when my husband and I went down, as was our custom, to feed Zahara king. We carried with us the raw meats in a pail.

Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big man which we should have to pass before we reached the cage. He was supposed to... He... We planned the attack to take place there but Leonardo was too slow and we walked past him before he could strike.

He followed us on tiptoe and I... Yes, I heard the crash and the club smashed my husband's skull. Fear and tension just... It was exercised from me in this one sound. The air...

shifting beside me as it moved through the sky and on to his head. That sound...

My heart leapt with joy at this. We had to allow reason for the lion to reach my husband in the first place. So I sprang forward and I undid the cuts which held the door of the cage. And then the terrible thing happened.

You may have heard how quick these creatures are to send blood, and how it excites them

Some strange instinct had told the creature in one instant that a human being had been slain. Or, having studied his son, I now know that Sahara King...

in response to his master's destruction. As I slipped, the bars it bounded out and was on me in an instant.

Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward and struck the beast with the club, he might have cowed it. But he lost his nerve. I heard him shout in terror, but then I saw him turn and run.

At the same instant the teeth of the lion met in my face. Its hot filthy breath had already poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. With the palms of my hands I tried to push the crate

steaming blood stained jaws away from me and i screamed for help that was my last memory mr holmes for many a weary month when i came to myself and saw myself in the mirror

I cursed that lion not because he had torn away my beauty, but because he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire.

Mr. Holmes, it was that I should cover myself so that my poor face should be seen by none, and that I should dwell where none whom I had ever known should find me. That was all that was left to me to do."

And that is what I have done. A poor, wounded beast that has crawled into its hole to die. That is the end of Eugenia Ronda.

What are you doing? I'm holding your hand. Would you like me to find him to deliver some morsel of justice? No, no. But Leonardo killed somebody, Eugenia. Justice has been delivered. But I had my part in this.

He was a strong man, not a strong mind. He didn't construct the Lionpaw Club. He didn't devise the plan. I did. He was muscle in essence and muscle in application.

I loved him, but I used him too. And I paid the price for it. And you've never heard anything of him? Like I said, justice was delivered. How so? I saw his name in an article very recently. I make

promises to myself not to research to look up but i yearn for him not in vengeance i don't think there is still love there what love he drowned this summer

in the channel. He was easily swayed this time into the grips of some human trafficking gangs. He perished with a number of desperate migrants that seeked his help. I'm sorry. Why did you keep the... The club. I think...

It brought me solace, knowing one day I could share this. I don't think anyone would have believed me without my five-clawed club. Die as the woman mauled by a lion, or die as the woman that killed an evil man. Stupid, really. No, I...

I think it makes sense. Could you leave me now, please? I'd really like to just... I know you would. And I'd prefer you didn't. Thank you. An honor to hear your story, Eugenia. An honor to share it with you. I wish for you to hear something from me. Do you?

This man here doesn't have the scars on the surface, but his soul is veiled and will be so for the foreseeable. Yeah, I am. Dr. Watson may look put together, but he is broken inside. And it may be some time until he heals. The weight of loss split him into fractures, you understand. Your life is not your own, Eugenia.

Keep your hands off it. I'm back Eugenia! We're gonna have a family dinner tonight love, alright? What use is my life for anyone? How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of all lessons to an impatient world. You don't have to reveal your face, Eugenia.

I wonder if you would bear it. Eugenia! I just thought you could... Oh. Hello, Mark. Hi. Is everything okay? Sherlock and Co. Mariana speaking. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Trains are running again, from the looks of it? Mm-hmm. Okay, great. Sure. Just visit us any time and we can discuss. Okay. Bye-bye.

Oh, oh, uh, hey, guys. Have I... Have I received a parcel today? Uh, do you know? Hmm, not sure. Great, thanks. I'll go check myself. Yeah. Should probably get back to work now the roads are clear and all that. Hmm. Any, uh,

Potential clients that have tickled your fancy? A few emails, yes. Cool. Well, yeah, pick your favourite one and we'll head out. Yes. Good idea. Hey, did Mark come by? Neighbour Mark? Yeah. May have done. He posted this. What is it? A biscuit. Oh, looks homemade. What? Just one? Yeah. The others must have been eaten up.

Yummy. Find me a new case, Watson. Does this make sense to you? Yeah. Yeah, it does, actually. Are you gonna tell me? Nah. John! John! The adventure of the biscuit that I never got to actually eat. My least favourite adventure. Joking.

Obviously. I hope you all enjoyed that adventure. Sadly, yes, I missed out on that biscuit at the end. But I do have a substantial amount of leftover chocolate. I've got... There's... What the... These are all the horrible ones. Strawberries... Mint... Oh, Sherlock! Oh!