Athica Crispy - Death by Cradle-light!

DRAFT FOR COMMENT - STORY UNDER CONSTRUCTION

    “Inspector Pilchard sir, we have just received a telephone call from Lyle Hall of a suspicious death.”

    “A suspicious death, aye, Constable, at Lyle Hall? That’s the estate of Sir Crispin Blaze-Lyle, isn’t it? Out at Little Breythorpe?”

“Yes sir, apparently Sir Crispin was holding a literary soiree for writer types over the weekend. It’s A famously haunted house, is the hall. People come from miles around just to spend a night there, sir; they never come back, though! I’m told that Lady Athica Crispy is there giving a talk on…”

    “Do stick to the point, Perkins; just who has died and why it is suspicious? Yes, yes, man fetch a car, and bring the new Woolsey 14 round to the front of the station; an inspector, such as I, cannot be seen arriving in an old dented Standard 9. Quickly now, man!”

    “No, no, you drive Perkins. Oh, Perkins, must we bring Constable Bright? She hardly makes the right impression of modern policing. He then mumbled something about suffragettes and the King’s horse. “I, will sit in the back, thank you; it is only proper to my rank. And, on the way, you had better fill in the details, Perkins.”

    “Details, sir?” He was thinking about the young PC Clara Bright in the seat next to him.

“Of the case, man, do try to keep up!”

    The police constable had to crane his neck to speak to the inspector who had spread himself luxuriantly across the back seat. The smell of new leather and the walnut panelling made him feel right at home among people of quality, so different from the average ‘back street’ murderer ‘one normally has to deal with.’ He lit his pipe, closed his eyes with his head against the upholstery.

    “Please proceed, Constable.”

“Well, it’s like this, sir. It's the son and heir, just a nipper by all accounts, under a year old. The old boy didn’t ‘av any children on account of ‘is misses being well, lacking in that department. ‘Fand blue, he was, as a ripe blueberry ‘dis morning, he was, if ya takes my meaning sir.

“Came as a nasty shock I spect to the family what was about to inherit when the old boy, Sir Crispin, pops ‘is cloggs. They say he’s about 85, the old boy I mean, but he must ‘av got some ‘go’ still in ‘im, to get the maid in the family way and all. Big scandal it was; family couldn’t ‘ush it up, they couldn’t. But the old boy didn’t blush one bit, delighted ‘e was, changed ‘is will immediately leaving the nipper, the ‘ol blinking lot, if you will ‘xuse my French miss.”

    The tyres of the Woolsey crunched along a long gravel drive lined with old lime trees. The honey coloured sandstone of the house glowed in the morning sun. Windows sparkled as the car approached the front entrance. A maroon Lagonda Rapier and a Railton 8 Special, along with an assortment of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys, were parked nearby. A groundsman tending the shrubbery doffed his cap as the car approached. The inspector drank it all in. ‘Oh yes, this is more like it,’ he thought.

“I think you should remain silent whilst I interview Sir Crispin and his guests. You gather statements from staff, below stairs, and take young miss err, thingamy with you.” A butler came down the front steps to greet them as the car pulled up.

    “Perhaps you will be more comfortable coming in through the trade entrance sir, It is around the back, through that archway there, if you please, sir.” But as he was speaking, an old man bustled past him, trotting as best he could on thin, bandy legs. He was dressed in pyjamas, a burgundy dressing gown, and had obviously only just risen.

    “Inspector, inspector at last, come quickly, this way.” The wheezing old man took the officer by the arm and pulled him into the large entrance hall. Between gasps of breath he said, “My son - my son is dead - this morning – when, when - nurse went to wake him - come quickly, please officer.”

    The inspector rather enjoyed striding through the large entrance hall with his black raincoat, bat-like flapping behind him; distinguished guests looked on. He might have said, “Step aside, professional Police inspector coming through,” but this, he thought, might sound a little pompous.

    “Take me to the child’s nursery”, he said, in a commanding voice, which echoed through that voluminous space. As he began to climb the steps of the grand staircase, he turned to address the onlookers, “No one may leave these premises until I give the say-so!” Several voices protested,

“Now look here, my man…” and “Do you know who I am, sir! I am…” But the inspector turned his back on them all and strode on up the staircase, thoroughly enjoying the drama of it all.

PLOTTING DRAFT

• The nursery

• The evidence presented. Exhibit A etc

• All are gathered in the morning room

  • The nephews and nieces are called

  • The tox report and post-mortem are brought in

• The staff set out the events leading up to the discovery

• The botched summation by the inspector

• All the armchair sleuths give their opinion

• Athic makes a blunder

• Various people are falsely accused: the maid, the butler, the nurse

• Constable Perkins solves the case

PLANNING DRAFT

The scene

1930’s - Large country house – Staff of: butler, cook, two housemaids and an old head gardener plus his son assistant.

The motive

If Sir Cuthbert had no children until well into his mid-80s, when he fathers a son by the maid. This disinherits nephews and nieces who were expecting to divide up the estate between them. They helped to ‘Old Man’ to devise a detailed will. The arrival of an illegitimate son and the will is revised in favour of his new son.

The method: A bedside candle half, normal, but after burning for an hour it gives off a toxic vapour then goes back to normal, so if the stub is examined it is just normal candlewax. By an illegitimate son who works in the village shop that supplied candles to the house is not named in the new will. His mother was a maid in the household 35 years ago but was summarily dismissed when she fell pregnant. The whole thing was hushed up whilst Lady Blaze-Lyle was alive.

The nursery candles are scented with lavender, rosemary, chamomile, and lemon; this masks the scent of cyanide. (Like bitter almonds)

The clues:

A photo of the family and staff taken 34 years ago where Sir Cuthbert has his hand on the shoulder of one of the maids (aged about 18 at the time)

The red herrings:

• Poison in the baby’s milk - Suspect the nanny – Hates babies because she could never have one. Finger prints

• Suffocation by pillows - Suspect the maid – Mistreated by Sir Cuthbert

• Cot death, a natural tragedy

• Gassing from Gas lighting, the butler who sets the gas mantles.

• Frightened to death by seeing the ghost of Lyle Hall

• Intruders. No, the maid said the windows were locked tight.

The victim: The baby who will inherit the title and vast fortune following the death of the wealthy heir Sir Cuthbert ??

The scene of the crime: The children’s nursery, Lyle Hall, the family estate overlooking the sea off Purbeck Island coast. Because of fear of the dark in the haunted building, a candle was always placed in the nursery at night.

Quirks of Sir Cuthbert: didn’t trust electricity, all windows had to be sealed shut at night, at least one candle had to be lit at night.

The date: 1934: before electricity was installed. Sir Cuthbert did not trust electricity. Gas lighting was used. The house is said to be haunted; Sir Cuthbert, who is mortally afraid of the dark, insisted on having a candle burning in the room of his son.

The list of suspects:

• The child's nanny, known to hate the children of the family. She lost her own when young and always hated other people’s children.

• The distant cousin who came to visit. He would have inherited the fortune but for the birth of this child.

• The Butler, he knew secrets of Lord Crispin; there is some suspicion that he was Blackmailing Sir Cuthbert,

• The family solicitor who drew up the new will. He also had access to the family fortune.

Sir Cuthbert: in his early 80s, it's made in dubious circumstances. He married the maid nine months before the child was born.

The Police

• The police inspector: Pompous, Slow witted, but highly self-confident

• His sergeant: DC Perkins. Often drunk

• PC Clara Bright. The real brains behind the inspector

• Lady Athica Crispy: The well known crim slooth writer, but incompetent. Staying as a guest of Sir Crispin.