Ah... That's the last of your cavalry.
And that, Father, is check mate.
SHE CACKLES
Yeah... never did have much luck with my bishops.
Still, it wouldn't be summer until you'd beaten me at chess.
So...
- time for a rematch? - 'This way, Mr Moxley.'
DOG BARKS
Later, perhaps. Right now, I think I have some visitors.
Father Brown, I might have known.
Mrs McCarthy, Jeremiah...
I was just welcoming Aggie back to Kembleford.
Bridget, how have you been keeping?
Until this morning, I was doing quite well.
Then I entered the church
only to find a chalice had been snatched off the altar.
Oh, dear. I presume you have informed the police?
We're on our way.
But first, we thought we would confront the culprit directly.
Your son was witnessed by Mr Moxley here, fleeing the churchyard.
What rot. ALFONS!
The bearded, brutish fellow. I'll swear on the cross.
- Alfons was here all morning. - I saw him there with my own eyes.
Aggie and her family have been visiting Kembleford for years.
If you would only take time to get to know them...
I do know them. They're all the same.
And that Chalice is worth all your caravans put together
AND it's a personal favourite of mine.
Let's see what the inspector says, shall we?
You! I've warned you about coming round here.
I could make the same request.
Isn't there a rubbish dump somewhere you could occupy?
Young man, we are here to investigate a theft.
DOG GROWLS Alfons.
You keep away from here.
Alfons...
may I remind you, that violence begets violence.
And, Jeremiah, may I suggest you don't lose your head.
- In a manner of speaking. - He doesn't frighten me, Father.
Then I'll try harder.
You're just dirty pagans, raising dirty children
on other people's land
and it's always other people that has to pay the price.
BIRDS FLUTTER
This is your final warning. Keep away from this land
or you'll have to be carried away...
in a box.
On the third night, as the fire burns to embers
and she sits beside the cradle,
Clarissa realises it's not the house that's cursed at all, it's the baby.
And in the corner of the room, in the dying light,
she sees the twitching shadow of a wicked boggart.
- You hate it? - No, it's thrilling.
- One thing? - Yes?
I'm not entirely sure I know what a boggart is.
- Oh, that's easy. It's... - A boggart, Father, is an unwelcome little imp
from another world.
One who causes nothing but trouble.
Forgive my daughter. She has a fine talent, I'm assured,
but her fantasies are a little far-fetched for my taste.
I think it's wonderful that a young woman has such passion.
- Hannah, I laid out a dress for you. Go and change. - Yes, Daddy.
You're not one of those priests who don't partake, I hope?
And what sort of priests are those?
I must say, again, how surprised I was to see you
at the traveller's camp, this morning.
Surely, you of all people, know that some souls are not worth saving?
I must respectfully disagree.
The travellers may not be your sort of people, Jeremiah,
but they're always welcome at St Mary's
My daughter has always been so fond of you.
So, I must thank you for escorting her to Lady Felicia's.
Without a chaperone it would be out of the question.
We are all looking forward to hearing her latest work.
Her last novel sold very well, I hear. You must be proud.
I am just happy that she spends her time upstairs writing,
not socialising with every Tom, Dick and Sid in Kembleford.
Still, they attempt to woo her through the post,
her so-called fans.
All these letters are for Hannah?
Yes, and gifts. Perfume from Paris, chocolates from Belgium.
Help yourself, Father.
Since they published her photograph in Modern Profile magazine,
the letters seem to come in almost daily.
And let me tell you, these men have not got literature on their minds.
She's 22, Jeremiah.
She is no longer a girl.
And her work, I understand, is very mature.
Yes, she has done very well for herself, there's no mistake of that.
But she knows that her duties here are her first priority.
When the time is right for a suitor,
it's a decision we'll take together.
Ah, Hannah.
Yes, you look very smart.
You will read your work,
take an hour to socialise, and then return here.
- Is that clear? - Of course.
Goodbye, Daddy.
Yep. Eight o'clock, then.
Don't take your eyes off her.
I used to dream of losing myself in these fields.
I'd run out as far as I could go,
but I was never more than half a mile from home.
Daddy still thinks of me as that little girl.
I fear, he always will.
Do you know how many weddings I've been to, Hannah?
For the bride, it's always the happiest day of her life,
for the father, it's often bittersweet.
Did somebody tell you I was courting, Father?
It's not true, I assure you.
All I meant to say was, sometimes it's hard for a father
to let go of his daughter.
But it's necessary to give her some freedom
or let her access her own finances, at least.
- He's unreasonably strict. - Mm.
If my second novel is published, I hope it will give him the chance
to see how I've matured.
If?
From what I hear, the literary establishment
is waiting with baited breath.
I wanted to ask, if you'd be the first to read it?
It would mean so much to me.
It'd be an honour.
Goodness, all these people. They're not here for me?
Indeed, they are. And these are just your local fans, Hannah.
Ah. Oh, Mrs McCarthy,
how nice of you to come and support our local writer.
Oh, yes. And I thought I might see Jeremiah.
I do hope he has made a full statement to the police
about those...those travellers.
Daddy stayed home tonight.
In fact, I expect he's already asleep by the fire.
We are all distressed about this theft, Mrs McCarthy,
but the matter is now in Inspector Sullivan's hands.
Perhaps you could take the night off?
- A sherry? - Oh, well. Maybe a little one.
Help me relax.
Father Brown, Hannah. Let me introduce, Harry Grandage.
Father Brown.
Harry. I'm a journalist and a big fan.
I sent Harry a copy of The Darkest Rose last year.
And I fell in love.
Well, thank you, really. Mr...Grandage?
Harry, please.
Harry's something of a globetrotter,
he seeks out the truth.
Where you deal in fiction, he finds the facts.
Sadly, my stories rarely come with happy endings.
Your words took me away, Miss Moxley,
at a time when I needed saving.
It's so nice to tell you in person.
Come, Hannah. It's a sorry sight to see the guest of honour
without a drink in her hand.
Are you staying with Lady Felicia?
She mentioned a reading by Miss Moxley, how could I resist?
I've only just got back from Brussels.
I spent two months there before travelling down to Antwerp.
I was covering the damage from the North Sea floods.
So many lives affected.
My work always seems to bring me to people in times of grief.
It takes its toll.
So, when I read The Darkest Rose, I was so happy to lose myself to it.
It's a modern masterpiece.
Well, you're certainly a fan.
More than a fan.
Miss Moxley's work offers escape.
- HANDBELL RINGS - I'm sure her second novel will be just as uplifting.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
if you'd like to take your seats, we're ready to begin.
MUSIC: Kindertotenlieder by Gustav Mahler
Mrs Mallory lay stiff and bloated at Clarissa's feet.
Across her throat a tidy, fine slash,
the stinging mark of a whip sharp tail.
And all around the room, she saw the messy trail of an uninvited guest.
A fresh fall of soot blanketed the hearth
and the floor was marked by jagged claws.
As she rushed to the empty cot,
she saw the boggart's promise had been fulfilled.
The housekeeper was dead and the baby was gone.
APPLAUSE
What a frightful story.
If that's what passes for modern literature,
I'll stick with the Woman's Weekly.
It's certainly a change of tone from her.
From high jinks and espionage, to things that go bump in the night.
Still, Harry seems rather impressed.
I'm not sure it's Hannah's work he's so taken with.
He certainly didn't waste much time in getting her autograph.
Now, I doubt Jeremiah would approve
his daughter talking to a journalist.
Really! She spends all day and night locked up in that room
tap-tappidy, tap-tapping away, how's she supposed to ever meet anybody?
I don't suppose she is.
Besides, she's got a lot more to offer than just her writing.
- She's kind and beautiful and she's... - She's vanished.
I beg your pardon?
- Where's she gone? - I haven't the foggiest.
Excuse me. Oh, thank you.
Ahem, excuse me. Thank you.
No luck finding her?
I've tried every room of the house.
All 600 of them.
She's probably away with the fairies.
That seems to be where she's most comfortable.
Unfortunately, her father was very keen
on the importance of time keeping.
So, unless you'd like your parish to be without a priest...
We could cut across the fields and maybe meet her on her way home.
Good idea.
DOOR CREAKS
Hannah?
Jeremiah?
- The door was open. - We are not trespassing.
MUFFLED THUD
Father, what was that?
May I borrow your hatpin, Mrs McCarthy?
Thank you.
Holy mother of God!
HE PRAYS IN LATIN
What an almighty mess.
Some kind of burglary, I suppose.
Or... or maybe an attack?
I mean, a dead body...
and Father, what do you make of these deep scratches on the floor?
And look, soot everywhere.
- Perhaps, Hannah's boggart was here? - Oh, what nonsense.
After this morning, I think we both know who is responsible for this.
And how do you think Alfons disappeared? Up the chimney?
DISTANT SMASHING
Father, it's locked.
Downstairs.
Mrs McCarthy? Father Brown?
Whatever's the matter?
You say you came straight from the reading, Father?
That's correct. Miss Moxley is a fine writer.
So I've heard. What's she like as a daughter?
Mostly, I think, very obedient.
Does she know? About her Father?
She's distressed. Lady Felicia is well acquainted with the family.
She'll be looked after.
Might be an idea to get some light in here, sergeant.
Shutter's locked tight, sir. There's no key.
So, did anything unusual happen at the reading?
Did Miss Moxley seem at all distracted to you?
- She was nervous before she read. - What's her latest novel about?
It's...
it's about a murderous boggart
locked in an attic wreaking havoc,
scratches up the floor and then disappears up the chimney.
- A boggart... - Yes, I know what a boggart is, thank you very much.
I just don't think it's likely that one jumped out of a novel
and into this study.
That'll be all, Father. Thank you.
Oh, you're politely asking me to leave?
- Inspector... - I can be more direct, if you like?
- Break-in gone wrong, inspector? - Possibly, sergeant.
Let's wait and see what Miss Moxley has to say for herself, shall we?
Good morning, Father.
Well, don't you look dreadful?
You've had your nose in that book all night, I suppose?
Well, Hannah left us with such a cliffhanger,
I wanted to see how Clarissa faired with her little boggart.
- How did you sleep? - Not a wink.
I had nightmares about sinister men and wicked creatures.
I'm going to speak with Hannah this morning.
She seemed very upset.
Well, tell her never fear.
I'm sure the inspector will catch up with that Alfons soon enough.
- You seem certain he's involved. - The men clearly had history.
He should be taken in for questioning at the very least.
They need to act quickly.
Aggie and her family will be leaving soon.
Leaving Kembleford? Well, they can't!
Mrs McCarthy, I think you need to make your mind up
because you are in danger of sending mixed messages.
Where are you going now?
I'm going to the police station.
A man has been murdered and somebody must be held to account.
There was a jewellery box in the attic, Miss Moxley.
I was hoping you could tell me what the contents were?
Oh...
- I'm not sure. - You're not sure?
They were my mother's, but I never wear them.
Do you think it was stolen?
Yes. There seems to have been a struggle in the attic.
Downstairs, however, there was no sign
of any forced entry into the house.
Whoever was there, was most likely welcomed in by your father.
Hannah, good morning. How are you?
Father, I was just asking Miss Moxley some questions.
Well, just ignore me. Quiet as a mouse.
Where were you after the reading?
I was with Mr Grandage, we walked around the grounds.
Right, of course. I was boring her with travelling stories.
When Hannah realised Father Brown had gone, she hurried home.
If I had never come for drinks in the first place...
He didn't want me to go.
Poor girl's exhausted. Can't your questions wait?
- HE CLEARS HIS THROAT - Yes, that will be all, for now.
- I'll show you to the door, inspector. - Thank you.
Hannah, I know this is a terrible shock...
- Excuse me, Father. I'm sorry, I think I need to lie down. - Yes.
Try and rest. I'll bring you up some tea.
- She's in shock. - Hm.
It's only natural she should feel guilty about leaving the house,
but nobody could foresee a burglary.
I think her sense of guilt goes deeper than that.
What are you suggesting?
She seemed nervous about more than her reading, yesterday.
And the goodbye hug she gave her father was rather...
..final.
How long has she known Mr Grandage?
As I understand, she only met him yesterday. You were there.
Lady Felicia, there seems to be a disruption
in the west part of your wood.
- I trust you wouldn't mind accompanying me down there? - Yes.
Jeremiah Moxley is dead
and we must make sure his murderer is brought to justice.
Nobody here knows anything of that man,
besides the fact he was a sourpuss with a face like thunder.
Oh, speaking ill of the dead now?
That lavender will never settle the child, rub chamomile on the gums.
Nobody asked for your advice, thank you.
Here, take him.
Perhaps you could call out your son? I've got some questions for him.
If you want to speak to Alfons, you'll have to go through me.
My back may be shot, but my fists work just fine.
Ma! Go inside.
Not for all the whisky in Windsor.
Oh, here's the inspector now.
At last, someone with some actual authority.
What seems to be the problem, here?
While the whole of Kembleford is reeling from the murder of Jeremiah,
your prime suspect is about to hitch his wagon to the next town
to sell his ill-gotten gains.
We had no business with that man.
It's true, Jeremiah had more enemies than friends, Mrs M.
Yes, but which of those enemies threatened his life
on the very day he died?
Is that right?
Did you threaten Mr Moxley?
Perhaps you'd be more comfortable answering my questions
at the station.
It wasn't a threat, it was a warning.
Father Brown heard it himself, he was standing right there.
Father? Can you verify this?
I don't think anybody was acting reasonably yesterday morning...
Father Brown, did you see this man
threaten Jeremiah Moxley the day he died?
I saw something of the sort.
That's good enough for me.
I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Jeremiah Moxley,
you are not obliged to say anything,
but anything you do say will be taken down and given in evidence.
According to my records,
Jeremiah has complained several times about your presence.
Is there a particular reason why you settle so close to the Moxley house?
Her ladyship has always offered the land.
From what I know of the man, he was a controlling bully.
I'm sure many people wanted him gone.
May I remind you, you're still under caution.
And if you expect me to believe you were nowhere near the house...
I was at the camp. And a dozen witnesses will confirm it.
I've no doubt they will.
But I'd rather stick to the evidence.
So let's just wait and see if your fingerprints match the ones
we found in the attic.
Shouldn't take long.
In the meantime, I've requested a warrant to search the caravans.
What are you expecting to find?
I'll know when I've found it.
"Dear Larry..."
Ah, yes, I did correct her.
Rather charming, really.
Added to which I have an Uncle Larry whose birthday is fast approaching.
Mr Grandage, are you planning on staying long?
Hannah asked me to stay.
I think she finds some comfort in me.
The two of you are becoming close.
I'm pleased to say, we are.
When I first read her book, I was in the Republic of Korea,
covering the war,
a taste of hell.
Her work offered me the chance to escape then,
and now I can do the same for her.
A distraction in the worst of times.
Father Brown, here you are.
Hannah.
If you're ready, I thought I would escort you home.
I did promise your father.
That's kind, but I think I will stay put.
Felicia and Mr Grandage are looking after me.
Felicia said that one of the travellers
was arrested for Daddy's murder.
Who is he?
Your father had a minor dispute yesterday with a man called Alfons.
The police are investigating.
How could he... To an old man?
I can't bear to think...
The Inspector is asking him some questions.
I'm sure if he wishes to press charges,
he will have to provide serious evidence.
You've no right going through my belongings.
Your son is in serious trouble, do you realise that?
You've got an awful lot of junk in here.
I trade door to door,
home-made jams and wild flowers.
Things I find and make myself, what's wrong with that?
Nothing at all.
How much for this?
Well, that's not...
That don't belong to Alfons.
You don't say.
I mean, I've no idea who put that there.
Kembleford Boggart, perhaps?
That must be a very gripping book
because you haven't said a word for an hour or more.
I am so proud of you, Father.
It's nice to leave the investigation to the police, for once.
On the contrary, Mrs McCarthy, my investigations have been ongoing.
And if you'll be so kind I would like you to accompany me
to the Moxley house.
Whatever for?
Yes, I think we both need a lesson in perspective.
And how are you proposing we get inside the house, Father?
Oh.
Perhaps we could use this.
Come up to the attic and I'll explain.
Miss Moxley certainly is a popular girl,
make of that what you will.
They're fan letters. They might cheer her up a little.
Come along.
Found in your waistcoat.
I'm not sure they're really your style.
But you'd make a tidy sum selling them.
I didn't steal those.
I didn't kill that man. I've done nothing wrong,
I swear on my life.
You may well be swearing on your life.
The jewellery in your pocket,
and now the matching fingerprints on the attic room door.
You could well be heading for the gallows.
When we entered this room the other night,
what was the first thing you remarked on?
Well, the body, obviously,
and then those scratch marks on the floor,
and soot everywhere.
It reminded me of Hannah's story.
Like some dreadful re-enactment.
Precisely.
But neither of us had ever been in this attic room before.
So how would we know that what we saw was unusual?
Perhaps it wasn't unusual.
What if soot fell from that chimney every day?
For instance, when somebody retrieved something from it.
Like what?
For example...
A key.
And what if a badly hung door
made marks on the floor every time it is opened,
makes the scratches of deadly talons.
Not life imitating art, Mrs McCarthy, art imitating life.
It wasn't until I finished Hannah's manuscript that
I realised the most significant image of all...
The missing child.
Heavens above... A baby, hidden away!
To his shame, Jeremiah Moxley was a grandfather.
I believe it was his influence that kept the child hidden.
It's high time some light was let into this gloomy place.
- Father, the chalice! - Mmm.
What on earth is it doing here?
My guess is that Jeremiah stole it himself
in an attempt to frame the travellers.
But why?
Because the father of Hannah's child was not the sort of man
Jeremiah Moxley wanted in his daughter's life.
Two minutes.
So, what words of comfort do you bring me, Father?
Only these.
If Hannah Moxley seemed ashamed of your relationship, if she asked you
to keep quiet about it, it was only at the insistence of her Father.
You must know that.
I found the nursery...
..and the key to the front door she left for you.
You were planning to leave together, yes?
She swore me to secrecy.
She was terrified about what people would think of her
and of our child.
She was desperate to leave but only if nobody knew the truth.
Well, now your life is at stake
and I fear her father's shame may last for the rest of her life.
They found her jewellery, Father, in my waistcoat.
Ah, I see.
She told me to take it from the house.
Jeremiah controls her money, just like he controls everything else.
Those jewels were the only thing of value she has.
We first made plans to leave last summer.
She was freer, then.
She'd visit the camp, read us her stories.
I never intended it to...
But...
You fell in love.
And she fell pregnant. Her father was beside himself.
"I've just locked her up." When she first came to see me,
just a few days ago, she told me about the child.
She told me where to find her door key
and she promised to meet me from the party.
I was worried her father would catch me
sneaking back into the house, but...
Jeremiah was already dead.
And when you heard us, you locked the study door and...
Holy Mother of God.
'..hid in the nursery.'
'I could heard you but I was trapped.'
So you created a diversion.
'Up the chimney.
'Leaving me to ponder a broken flowerpot
and a distressed geranium.'
I could have killed him.
For what he'd done to us, the way he kept them locked up in that house
but I swear, Father, on the Lord's name, I didn't.
I found him there, dead, beside that letter opener.
Letter opener.
Of course.
Initially, I thought that the murderer must be close to home
but now, I realise that he has been at a safe distance all the time.
Father, nice to see you.
You've caught me on my way out of town.
Just come from Lady Felicia's, looking for Hannah.
Well, that is her shawl in the back of your car?
I've offered her a place to stay in the city.
She's desperately in need of escape.
I presume you'll be informing Inspector Sullivan she's leaving?
Actually, Father, we were hoping for a bit of discretion,
a new start for the girl.
I've offered to help her in any way I can.
Things are very complicated.
Don't mind, do you?
I know about the baby, Harry.
I've just met with his father.
Yes. A terrible business.
She feels quite betrayed by him, obviously.
She'll be back from the camp any moment now -
I'm sure she'd rather just disappear with little fuss.
I'm trying to piece together a story,
and I have a few pages missing.
I thought you might be able to fill in the gaps while we wait.
I'm not sure I'll be much help.
Yesterday, when she signed your book,
I saw a frown set on your face.
She got my name wrong.
It was more than that.
She had no idea who you were.
And when you first saw her handwriting, you realised
you had no idea who she was either.
It was then, I think, you decided to pay a visit
to the place you'd been writing to.
Writing to? I don't know what you mean.
You had been writing to her from Belgium for months.
And you thought that she was writing back to you.
But you had no idea she didn't even get to read her fan mail.
Her father controlled that, as he controlled everything else.
You felt betrayed. It must have made you very angry.
This is a wonderful work of fiction, Father. You're quite the fantasist.
Father Brown!
I can explain.
BABY CRIES
There's no need.
I've seen the nursery for myself and I've spoken to Alfons.
What a beautiful baby boy you both have.
He deserves a good life.
I wish we could we could stay, Father,
but I can't imagine what people would say if they knew.
Hannah, listen. I don't think Alfons killed your father.
- We really must go. - I wish I had your faith,
but I don't know what to believe any more.
Goodbye, Father. Pray for us.
When I went to your house,
the key you left for Alfons was still beneath the statue.
He didn't need it to get in, because somebody was already there,
- with your father. - Why were you at my house?
I think it's time you read some of your fan mail.
This one from Belgium is particularly interesting.
Hannah...
BABY GURGLES
You span a good story, Harry, and now it's time the truth comes out.
I know you think you're trying to help the girl,
but please, just let us go.
She's made her choice. Hannah! Get in the car.
She is a grieving woman who has been easily influenced.
You have manipulated her into thinking that she is safe with you,
while an innocent man may be sent to hang.
What does this letter mean, Harry?
Have you been writing to me?
Yes.
He has been writing to you.
He and your father have been making plans for your future.
Harry didn't come back to Kembleford for your latest work.
He came back for you.
It wasn't like that, Hannah. I didn't know!
I thought it was you writing back to me, I thought we were...
You were at my house last night?
It was you.
For your own sake, tell the truth.
I only wanted what is best for you.
Your father told me he had been writing back to me on your behalf.
That he needed to be sure I was the correct suitor for you.
What kind of twisted old man are you?
I was going to explain everything to her.
It's much more complicated...
'I was furious.
'Humiliated.
'And then, as we spoke downstairs, I heard the baby cry.'
BABY CRIES
What in God's name?
It didn't make a difference to me. I wanted you both.
But he wouldn't listen...
A baby. All this while, you've been hiding a child?
No, no, no, no! Please, please! The girl made one mistake.
There is no reason why anyone should know.
- I'm going back to the party. - No, you're not!
- I need to speak with her. - No! You mustn't! You can't.
'When I threatened to tell you the truth, he turned on me.
'He was too afraid to lose you. It was an accident, I swear.'
GRUNTING
HE SCREAMS
BABY CRIES
All I wanted was to take you away, to escape with you.
- Isn't that what you wanted? - No!
You're no better than he was.
You want to control me.
Well, I won't let you.
I've spent too long locked away.
I want a free life.
I owe that much to him.
Hannah, please!
BABY CRIES
When that child is safely with his grandmother,
she will take that letter to the police.
He came at me. I had no choice.
Then that is what you must tell them.
I don't know how any of this happened!
All I wanted was to escape to the life she wrote about.
No more misery and suffering, just...
..a family.
Some peace.
If you love the girl, you must come clean.
For her sake?
No, no.
For your sake.
For the sake of your soul.
You may not get YOUR happy ending, Harry.
But you can give Hannah the life she deserves.
So, has he confessed yet?
Father Brown left in a hurry.
I don't think he's convinced you've got your man, Inspector.
The problem with the priest, sergeant,
is that he over-complicates everything.
Alfons couldn't be easier to convict
if he'd walked into the station and handed himself over.
Yes, sir, how can I help you?
My name is Harry Grandage.
I'm here to confess
to the accidental killing of Jeremiah Moxley.
CHURCH BELLS RING
In nomine Patris
et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
ALL: Amen.
Jeremiah, may you be blessed with a life
free from intolerance and free from shame.
ORGAN PLAYS
Would you mind?
Hello, sweetheart.
Oh, look at them. What a perfectly beautiful family.
It's not hard to see why Harry would crave such a life.
He spent so long reporting the worst of the world.
Perhaps he'd seen enough.
Too much of the world is better than not enough.
And for better or worse, Hannah is a free woman now.
And in the end, Harry did the right thing.
With the church's guidance!
Oh, excuse me.
I owe you an apology.
You owe us more than one.
As though my Alfons could do such a thing.
I was taken in by Jeremiah's lies, and I feel terrible for it.
So this is for you.
For your back - it's a muscle rub.
St John's wort and valerian, my mother's own remedy.
I use witch hazel and beeswax.
Oh, this will work much better. I made it myself.
All right.
Worth a try.
Well, when all's said and done,
we're not so different, Aggie and myself.
What's this, Mrs McCarthy, a change of heart?
"Absolute heathen", wasn't it?
"Nothing but a pest..."
I never said such things.
Malicious gossip. Pure fiction.
And remember, there's a fine line between fact and fantasy.
Couldn't have put it better myself.
Walk on.