Mistletoe Mystery (10 page)

“Don’t worry,” said Matt, “we won’t be testing you.”

“That is a relief! Before I came here to teach I worked …
ah!” Monsieur De Lacey raised his hand. “I shall not tell you yet. It is very
secret and sinister. If I had a moustache, I would most surely twirl it.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Matt. Philly noticed he was taking
over again, and yet she could not bring herself to mind. She realised that she
was having the time of her life. All her nerves about the weekend seemed to
disappear as she enjoyed the way the guests gradually eased into their
different roles. “Reverend, would you like to tell us about your role, apart
from the fact that we already know you are smitten with the English teacher?”

“Whatever gave it away?” said the Reverend, looking at his
wife with loving eyes. “Apparently I am a school governor, so I do not teach
here at all. I merely come and stick my nose into things that don’t concern me
from time to time, and wonder why the girls are not fed bread and water.”

“Best thing for ‘em,” said Mr. Scattergood, who had been so
quiet up until then, Philly had almost forgotten he was there. She was glad to
see that he at least took his flat cap off to come in to dinner. “Kids today
are spoiled rotten.”

“But we are not talking about kids today,” said Monsieur De
Lacey. “We are supposed to be in nineteen sixty-three. Is this not so?”

Philly could not help noticing a certain animosity between Mr.
Scattergood and the suave Frenchman. Two more different men she could not
imagine. “Yes, it is,” she agreed.

“I bet the girls at this school were spoilt,” said
Scattergood. “Little madams, the lot of them, living off daddy’s riches.”

“Mrs. Cunningham has already told us that some of the girls
went on to be very successful.”

“Yeah, some. But I bet the rest didn’t. I bet they all
married lords and rich men, and never got their hands dirty in their lives.”

Matt smiled, disarmingly. “Are we to take from this that
your role is that of a staunch socialist who would bring down the system, Mr.
Scattergood?”

“Too right it is. But it says on my card that I’m the cook.”

“We’ll have to be careful you don’t poison us all and
overthrow the state then.”

“Don’t give me ideas, young man. You Americans are all the
same.”

“Bravo, Mr. Scattergood,” said Reverend Cunningham, clapping
his hands. “A very convincing performance of an ardent communist.”

It was clearly a joke to try to lighten the mood, yet the
more Philly thought about it, the more she wondered whether there was a real
element of play acting to Mr. Scattergood’s performance. Except she would have
sworn it had nothing to do with what it said on his card.

“Yes,” she said, clapping her own hands. “You’re a real find,
Mr. Scattergood. We’ll have to employ you as a regular on these weekends.”

“You’d be better off selling this house,” said Scattergood.
“Let them turn it into a block of flats so that more families can live in it,
and not just you and a couple of your equally privileged friends.”

Philly felt her cheeks flame. She knew that she was
privileged to own such a wonderful house, but Mr. Scattergood could not
possibly know how difficult it was to pay for the upkeep or that Meg and Puck
were far from being privileged. She wanted to rise to the defence of her
friends, but felt it would be inappropriate in front of all the other guests.
Just because Scattergood behaved badly, it did not mean she had to.

“Maybe you got a bit too much into character there,
Scattergood” said Matt, his voice sounded strained, and somewhat dangerous. His
fingers tightened around his wine glass, turning his knuckles white. “And maybe
you owe the young lady an apology, since you’re a guest in her house.”

Scattergood glared at Matt, but was resolutely out-glared.
“Of course, sorry Miss Sanderson. I get a bit carried away sometimes. I meant
no offence.”

“None taken,” said Philly, smiling tightly.  Matt’s
defence of her had been even more shocking that Scattergood’s verbal attack. It
churned up her emotions in ways she found disturbing. “Shall we all take coffee
in the drawing room? Then we can hear some more stories and maybe watch the
first part of our mystery.”

“Wow,” Rachel Jensen whispered to Philly as they were
leaving the dining room, “This is turning into an interesting weekend. I wish
we’d been recording old Stalin over there. As you said, he’s a real find. I
didn’t know people like him still existed.” Rachel nudged Philly and winked. “I
could say the same about your handsome American headmaster. With those looks
they’re going to love him back at the television station. I reckon if you can
persuade Matt to do more of these weekends, you’ll have women breaking down the
doors to get in. That’s if the channel don’t snap him up. I reckon he could
just stand in front of the camera all day, giving that smile and talking about
the weather, and the female populace would still be enthralled.”

“We only have the very best at Bedlington Hall,” Philly
quipped, deeply concerned that the lovely Rachel Jensen really did seem to
fancy Matt. It would solve all Philly’s problems if he reciprocated, but that
did not mean she wanted it to happen.

***

“Our story begins in early nineteen sixty three,” said Matt,
standing with his back to the fireplace. As the fire crackled in the hearth,
casting a warm glow over the dimly lit room, the guests sipped their coffee and
listened avidly. Puck had come from the kitchen to join them, his role that of
one of the schoolchildren, looking comical in a blazer and short trousers, with
a black school cap sitting on the back of his head.  “It is a time of Cold
War and the Space Race,” Matt continued, “with America and Russia vying for
supremacy in both. It would be another six years before man stood on the moon,
but the excitement of the challenge enthused everyone. Science fiction had
prospered throughout the nineteen-fifties, particularly in films like The Day
The Earth Stood Still, and it led to questions about life on other planets.”

“Ooh, I like that one,” said Mrs. Bennett. “Michael Rennie.
They don’t make them like him anymore.” Her husband shushed her, but Matt gave
her his most charming grin.

“I love that film too,” he said. “Much better than the
recent remake.” Philly wondered at his ability to disarm people with a few well
chosen words, and a dazzling smile. He had also quickly weighed up his largely
middle aged audience, knowing just what references would appeal to them.
“Britain has finally recovered from World War Two, heading into an age of
prosperity. A group of young men who had been honing their craft in a club in
Germany just burst onto the music scene. I am, of course, talking about The
Beatles.”

“I had a huge crush on Paul,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Still
have.”

“Oh it was Ringo for me,” said Mrs. Bennett. “He wasn’t as
pretty as the others, but he reminded me of my husband.”

Mr. Bennett harrumphed in the corner and muttered something
about playing the drums better than Ringo Starr. “Let the man get on with his
talk,” he said, grumpily.

“I don’t mind,” said Matt. “It all adds colour to the
proceedings, and helps us to get to know each other. Where was I? Oh yeah, The
Beatles. So that was the larger picture. We know bring you to the smaller
picture. A boarding school in Shropshire. Not one of the top seeded schools,
but still a good school, teaching the children of the nouveau riche. Before
Bedlington Hall was a school, it had been a military hospital during the war,
for officers recuperating from dreadful injuries. In between times it had been
owned by a Colonel Trefusis, who had died mysteriously.”

This was something that Philly had learned from Mrs.
Cunningham.

“My husband and I found his killer, you know,” the vicar’s
wife had said. “But it was a long time afterwards. It was how we met.”

“Many years before that, during Victorian times, it had been
owned by Lord and Lady Bedlington,” Matt continued. “Before passing into the
hands of the Sanderson family at the turn of the century. They could not afford
to live in the Hall, so went to live cheaply abroad whilst they leased the hall
to the hospital and then the school.” He went quiet for a moment to give people
time to digest what he had said. He caught Philly’s eye and mouthed ‘how am I
doing?’

She put her thumb up in appreciation. He was doing very
well. “And it is into this picture we introduce seventeen year old Dominique
DuPont.” At his words, the door flew open, causing everyone to jump. A plain
looking girl walked in. Meg had done her hair up in pigtails, covered her face
with freckles, and plumped out her tummy with cushions, looking nothing like
Philly’s normally pretty friend. ‘Dominique’ stood silently, illuminated by the
light from the hall, whilst Matt finished his monologue.

“Dominique, as you can see, was a plain girl, lacking in
social graces. She does not make friends easily, and guards her food parcels as
if her life depends on eating the entire contents. One teacher, Mrs.
Cunningham, feels sorry for her and tries to reach out to the girl, but
everyone else considers poor Dominique to be tiresome.” Matt’s voice lowered in
tone, adding more drama to his words. “One morning, Dominique disappeared.
Completely. And not just Dominique, but all her belongings. It was as if she
never existed. For years afterwards, girls at the school would say they had
seen her. Some believed they heard her moving about upstairs long after she had
gone.” Matt became more business-like for a moment. “Just to be clear, the
events of this weekend are entirely fictional. We do not know what happened to
the girl. Your task this weekend, ladies and gentleman, is to come up with a
solution for Dominique’s disappearance drawn entirely from your imaginations.
And now…” Matt gestured with his hand, “Let our story begin.”

The lights in the room became brighter. The guests looked at
each other, wondering who could have done it, not realising that Puck had a
remote control unit in his blazer pocket.

“Oh this is good,” said Mrs. Bennett.

“We’ll see,” said Mr. Bennett.

Dominique walked forward and stood in front of Matt.
“Monsieur Cassell, I weesh to speak wiz you.”

 “Not now, Dominique. As you can see I have guests.”
Matt rubbed his cheek awkwardly, as if caught off guard.

“No, it eez important zat I speak wiz you now.”

Monsieur De Lacey chuckled and sipped his coffee. Philly
winced, guessing he was laughing at Meg’s dreadful French accent. She was sure
her friend had been practising. The effect was less
Catherine Deneuve,
and more
Allo Allo
.

“Eet will be bad for you, if you do not speak wiz me,” said
Dominique.

“Are you threatening me, Dominique?” asked Matt.

Dominique turned around and addressed the room. “I am
threatening all of you. I have ze secrets.”

“Are zey hidden in ze portrait of ze Madonna wiz ze big…”
Frank Bennett could not get any further because his wife nudged him fiercely.

“Behave!” she said. He slumped in his seat, looking glum.

“Ah,” said Dominique, truly in character, “You may mock me,
Monsieur Janitor, but I have ze secrets about you too. I know where you go on
ze Saturday night.”

Mr. Bennett looked a bit taken aback, his eyes darting
upwards to where Dominique stood in front of him. The room was filled with
uncomfortable coughs and embarrassed chuckles, until the other guests realised
it was indeed a joke and part of the entertainment. It took Mr. Bennett a few
seconds longer to get the joke. “You watch yourself, Madam-moiselle,” he said,
in a jocular fashion. His voice became lower and deeper, sounding like the man
who did the movie trailers, but he could not stop his lips from twisting into a
grin as he spoke. “I don’t make threats, I make promises.”

Philly’s eyes widened in surprised. She had expected Mr.
Bennett to be difficult. She smiled with relief when she saw him nudge his wife
and say, “It’s a bit of a laugh, all this pretending, innit?”

Dominique pointed around the room. “I know ze truth about
all of you, and I will tell if you do not leesten to me. Something bad eez
going to ‘appen…”

She flounced out of the room, and was rewarded with a round
of applause.

“And that,” said Matt, “was the last time anyone saw
Dominique in public. Some girls saw her go into her bedroom at night, but she
did not turn up for breakfast the next morning. What happened to her? That is
up to you. The clues are out there, so you’re welcome to start hunting for them
as soon as you are ready.”

Philly looked around the room at apt faces. Things were
going so much better than she ever dreamed. Even Meg’s dodgy BBC sitcom accent
had not dampened their enthusiasm. After a moment’s silence, everyone started
chatting avidly.

Philly’s alighted on Mrs. Cunningham. The old lady looked
sad and confused, shaking her head at her husband. Philly went over to her.

“I hope it hasn’t upset you, Mrs. Cunningham,” she said
quietly.

“No, dear that’s not it. It’s just that … oh do you know how
it is when you only realise something long after the event.”

“You mean about Dominique’s disappearance?”

“No, that’s not it. I think it’s Monsieur De Lacey being
here that has brought it to mind. That and your fellow actress’s awful French
accent. Oh please don’t think I’m being rude.”

“No, not at all. It was a little bit rubbish. She hasn’t had
time to practice,” Philly added, feeling she could defend her best friend.

“I’m not complaining. Only noticing.”

“What is it, darling?” asked Reverend Cunningham.

Mrs. Cunningham shook her head. “I need to think about it a
bit more. To collect my thoughts. I could easily be misremembering.”

“Oh for goodness sake, darling,” said the Reverend. “You
know darn well that when people say things like that in films they end up dead.
So out with it.”