Dizzy Dilemmas

by Mary Beeken

  “I cannot possibly reveal my sources, Gherkin; not until I tell you something first,” he smiled. “But what I can reveal is that I have found a publisher interested in your work. He has asked if he can meet with you to discuss a contract.”

  “Really!” she exclaimed, sitting up straight in her chair.

  “Yes” he nodded. “My source has an unusual gift in that they can read your scrawl and so has been copying up your novels as you write them; very neatly I might add. It is those copies I took with me to the publisher and he believes they could be very popular. So shall I arrange a meeting?”

  “Yes please and thank you too.”

  “Then I can reveal my source is none other than Sarah; your maid. You will have to dismiss her I am afraid and re-employ her as your secretary.”

  “Sarah? Of course I should have guessed. We always discuss murders and crimes that are reported in the papers and also talk about the plots and characters for my stories. I did not know she was copying them up though.”

  “She told me how very frustrating she found it trying to keep abreast of the storyline when having to spend so much time deciphering your scribble. She therefore copied out your work so she could read it easily and with enjoyment. She is a great fan of yours and was invaluable in choosing a story for this house party,” he told her.

  “On that subject, Glenmore; why have you given yourself the role of bridegroom? Surely it is going to be a trifle awkward hosting a party when you are dead?” she asked.

  “I could not resist, my delicious Gherkin! Tomorrow the two of us will walk down the isle as man and wife. Is that not the epitome of irony given the foundation of our friendship is our wish to avoid the married state,” he laughed.

  “Who is to play the vicar? Does he know he is destined to be hanged for murder?”

  “Oh he is ecstatic, believe me! He shares your interest in grisly crimes and is looking forward to committing a handful of gruesome murders,” he assured her.

  “Only two; yours and mine!” she corrected him. “I suppose being in the family wing means I can skulk around more easily without being seen once I am dead! I assume you will show me how to get in and out without using the main parts of the house?”

  “Do not worry, Gherkin. I have it all planned out. Have no fear; you will not be in the least bit bored!” he assured her with a grin and then before she could say anything more he stood up saying, “I had best leave you now for Sarah will be here any moment. Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

  Her only reply was to throw a cushion at him which he neatly fielded.

  Dinner that evening was a theatrical affair with everyone affecting the role of their character amidst much hilarity. The acting was over the top and the competition to excel was fierce thus the normal murmur of conversation politely undertaken over the dinner table was replaced by a riot of noise guaranteed to induce a migraine in any persons of a timid nature. Fortunately timid was far removed from those attending and so there was no need for anyone to call for a headache draught though one or two of the staff came close.

  “I believe the butler did it!” Stephen stated in a voice loud enough to be heard by several people. “It is usually the butler!”

  “Did what?” asked Genevieve “Nobody has been murdered yet!”

  “Flockton, do you intend to bump off someone in the course of the next few days?” Glenmore asked his butler.

  “I am not at liberty to say sir!” replied the butler; straight-faced.

  “Does anyone else think the wine smells of almonds?” asked Dizzy sniffing the wine, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief as she looked at the butler over the rim of the glass.

  Everyone sitting around Dizzy picked up their glasses and began to smell and either agree or disagree with her and the commotion set others to ask what was going on until very soon most of the dinner guests were sniffing their wine suspiciously.

  “Is the wine off?” asked Fiona “It smells fine to me!”

  “The almond wine has yet to reach you, Mrs Pearson.” Flockton advised her.

  “Almond wine?” asked Fiona perplexed.

  “Lady Dizzy is implying the wine has been poisoned with cyanide!” Glenmore explained. “I believe her and Flockton are playing a trick on you; cyanide you see, smells of bitter almonds.”

  “But it might be a double bluff and he has poisoned the wine; perhaps one of us is about to die!” cried Fiona and everyone became silent; eyes darting around the table waiting expectantly for someone to slump down dead.

  Flockton cleared his throat. “Rest assured ladies and gentlemen, I would consider it far beneath me to poison someone in the middle of the dinner.” Then when everyone was seen to visibly relax he added “I would wait until everyone had finished eating!”

  “Thank you Flockton,” The Dowager smiled. “You have set my mind at rest. For once I am glad to be excluded from the after dinner port!”

  “Do you think the victim is going to be poisoned?” asked Genevieve. “I was hoping for something a bit more bloodthirsty, like a stabbing.”

  “If it is lots of blood you want; I would suggest an axe!” Ross replied and warming to his theme added; “You could chop up the body into little bits!”

  There then followed a lively discussion on the best way to carry out a heinous crime which moved on to how to plan the perfect murder and the disposal of the body.

  “I am not sure I shall sleep a wink tonight!” said Georgiana half joking, half seriously as the ladies left the dining room. “All this gruesome talk of murder is bound to affect my dreams.”

  “We should change the subject,” announced Mrs Honey Dew.

  “Yes and I know what to,” agreed the Dowager. “We should be discussing tomorrow’s nuptials. It is not quite how I envisioned it but never mind; tomorrow Dizzy marries the Duke and that is all that counts. We need to make sure everything is ready.”

  “It is only acting, Grandmamma!” Dizzy reminded her.

  “Be that as it may; we still want it to be a memorable occasion with everything done properly. You need to get into character and be the enthusiastic and excited young bride.”

  There was only so long a girl could discuss her sham wedding without screaming, Dizzy mused and so after half an hour of pasting a happy smile on her face, she took herself off to her room on the pretext of having an early night.

  “That’s right my darling,” said her mother as she bade her a good night. “It is a big day for you tomorrow and you will want to be on top form.”

  Opening her mouth to retort Dizzy closed it again when she realised the futility of arguing yet again that it was only play acting; they would not listen no matter how many times she said it. She would send for tea to be sent to her room and enjoy reading her book; undisturbed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The overcast skies of the day before had been replaced by a beautiful, warm morning filled with sunshine and birdsong. Dizzy stirred as Sarah entered with a tray laden with breakfast, wishing her a bright good morning.

  “I thought you might like breakfast in bed this morning with it being your wedding day,” she said with a grin.

  “Not you too, Sarah; I had enough of that last night with everyone acting like it was real! Breakfast in bed is lovely though and means I can avoid everyone for a while longer, so thank you,” Dizzy responded whilst sitting up against her pillows.

  “I have arranged for bath water to be brought up in another half hour,” Sarah informed her “And then we will still have plenty of time to get you into your gown.”

  “I have not given a moment’s thought to what I am to wear but it needs to be something out of the ordinary if I am to play my part to everyone’s satisfaction. Of the dresses I have brought, which do you think best fits the role, Sarah?”

  “None, my Lady but there is no need for concern for His Grace has provided you with the most exquisite gown,” Sarah told her and brought from the wardrobe a gown of silver lame netting over a silver tissue slip. The body and sle
eves were embroidered in silver lame with daisies and it was repeated again around the bottom of the skirts; all of which were trimmed with Brussels lace.

  Jumping out of bed, Dizzy went for a closer look, tentatively touching the shimmering material and examining the finely embroidered daisies. “It is beautiful!” she exclaimed “and exactly matches the daisy jewellery. I cannot believe he has gone to all this trouble. He must really want to make an impression with this house party.”

  “More likely he wants to make an impression with you!” Sarah murmured but loud enough for her mistress to hear.

  “He is not doing it for me!”

  “So you say, my Lady but he has gone to great expense to have the jewellery made not to mention this gone, taken your story and arranged this whole gathering around it and found a publisher for your work. Seems to me he is doing it all for you!”

  “He wants me to be his mistress. Do gentlemen not spend a great deal on their paramours?”

  “They do not look at their ladybirds in the way he looks at you, Lady Dizzy. His Grace is smitten with you and it is plain for all to see!”

  “You are a romantic, Sarah and see only what you want to see.”

  Sarah just harrumphed and went to oversee the filling of the bath, leaving Dizzy to finish her breakfast and to mull over their conversation. There could be no doubt that Glenmore found her attractive and was looking for a physical relationship with her but unlike Sarah, she knew his feelings for her did not run as deep as love. At no time had he indicated that he wanted anything more than a short affair to amuse him during the season and to this end she was surprised he had not come to her room last night. She had certainly been expecting him and had a speech all prepared to send him back to his own room but her fortitude in denying him was not to be tested as he had not come anywhere near her. She doubted his desire to bed her again had waned during the evening so she could only assume he was playing some tactical game. Dizzy sighed; it was going to be either a long house party whereby she resisted him and her own desires or a short house party whereby she abandoned her principles and enjoyed a torrid affair which would inevitably culminate in her complete and utter ruin.

  Standing before the full length mirror, Dizzy studied her reflection from the tip of her chestnut hair pulled back into a French plait and decorated with lifelike daisies made from silk, to the diamond and platinum necklace adorning her slender neck, down to her silver slippers that peeped from the hem of her dress. In her hand she held a bouquet consisting mainly of Erigeron blooms tied with silver ribbons. The whole affect was stunning and Dizzy did not think she had ever looked so stylish. She very much doubted she would look this fine on her real wedding day; that was to say if she ever had one.

  The Earl of Brockton watched his youngest daughter walk down the stairs towards him and surreptitiously wiped away a tear; finding it hard to reconcile the clumsy child he had carried on his shoulders with the elegant young woman before him. Upon reaching the bottom step however she flashed him am impish smile and he knew that his very dear, dizzy daughter was still there and always would be no matter the fine coiffure.

  “You look beautiful, my dear,” he said, every inch the proud father.

  “Thank you, papa,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “Has everyone else left for the church?”

  He nodded “The carriage is at the door; waiting for us. So if you are ready, Grace?”

  “You have not called me that since I was seven years old!” she said, puzzled that he should use her given name now.

  “Today it suits you,” he smiled then added in a stage whisper, “Though I hope Dizzy is not buried too deep beneath all that elegance and poise.”

  “No papa, it is all a façade!” she assured him with a laugh. “I only pray it will last as long as the service. I would hate to ruin all of Glenmore’s careful planning. He has invested a lot of time and effort in this murder mystery event.”

  The music could not disguise the collective gasp as everyone turned to watch the bride and her father as they sedately walked up the isle to the waiting groom and his best man. Appreciative whispers floated around the congregation, some of which reached Dizzy’s ears and brought a twinkle of humour to her blue eyes. She saw Ross lean and murmur something to Glenmore who nodded but kept his admiring gaze on her and when she was close enough he bent over and kissed her cheek before whispering; “You are so beautiful, Gherkin; you take my breath away!”

  Dizzy was amazed at how closely Glenmore had stuck to a real marriage ceremony and as her father gave her away; placing her hand in that of the Duke, she caught a glance at her mother weeping gently and for a second she wandered if it was real; only to dismiss it immediately as a ludicrous thought. Of course it was not real; it couldn’t be!

  “I, Marcus William St John Connaught take thee Grace Amelia Brockton to be my lawfully wedded wife…”

  Dizzy’s head snapped up, startled by his use of her name and saw Glenmore grinning at her as he spoke the vows. To hear herself addressed as Grace for the first time in thirteen years, by her father in private was one thing, but to have him use it in front of a sizable congregation was another thing altogether. He leaned towards her and said so only she could hear. “It has to be authentic and so I could not call you Dizzy.”

  “You are taking this much too seriously!” she scowled, but he was not at all perturbed, merely giving her fingers an affectionate squeeze.

  Tradition dictated that the bride and groom, along with the vicar and witnesses retired to the vestry to sign the register but Glenmore had decreed that it should be done in full view of everyone.

  “Glenmore, I am beginning to think you are a little obsessive over detail. Surely there is no need for registers to be signed? It is a mystery themed party; for fun!” she said to him as they stood to one side whilst the witnesses signed.

  “It is the detail that makes it so much better, Gherkin. The more realistic the more people will enter into the spirit of it,” he replied.

  “How realistic do you intend to make the murders? I am getting a trifle worried!”

  The chef and his staff had produced a sumptuous wedding breakfast that took up much of the afternoon and therefore it was early evening before Glenmore could escape with Dizzy into the grounds for a stroll around the well tended gardens.

  “Are you ready to be murdered, Gherkin?” he asked.

  “It has been a lovely day; bizarre but lovely, and what better way to round it off than to be murdered in the summer house?” she replied then on a thought continued. “You do have a summer house?”

  “I had one especially built for the occasion. You will find it is ideally suited to a murder scene and I have provided a chaise-long so you can die in comfort!” he informed her.

  “That is very reassuring; I would not wish to lie on the cold, dusty floor! What are we using for blood?” she asked.

  “I had thought of jam but that would attract the wasps so I asked chef to make a tomato sauce. Ross and I gave it a trial run and were very pleased with the results; quite realistic in fact!” he explained.

  “Then I now understand why you urged me to change my gown for it is sure to stain and would have ruined it. Also the vivid red will be much more startling against the white of this simple dress; very effective.”

  The man playing the vicar was already waiting for them inside the summer house and greeted them excitedly. “All is in readiness your Graces,” he said showing them a bowl of ‘blood’ and a dagger. “I do not mean to make it easy for them to discover my guilt! My motive is that I was raised by my insane mother to believe that I am the rightful heir to the Dukedom and by killing you; the impostor and pinning the blame on your next in line, investigations will show me as being the real Duke all along.”

  “That is correct,” Dizzy confirmed. “You will need to take my bracelet and hide it in Mr Pearson’s room as he is playing the heir.”

  “But keep the necklace for yourself as it is your obsession with it and your inability
to give it up that leads to your guilt being discovered,” Glenmore added.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was much later before Dizzy and Glenmore found themselves alone in the summer house. Having taken up their positions it was not long before their ‘bodies’ had been discovered and then a trail of people had come to survey the murder scene and to pick out clues and surmise on the motive and the killer. Now Ross and Erica had shepherded them all back to the house for a light supper and a chance to interrogate their fellow guests in their quest to identify the culprit.

  “Do you think it is safe to move?” Dizzy whispered tentatively sitting up and peering out the door to see the last of the stragglers making their way across the lawn towards the house. “Being dead is more difficult than I thought!”

  “Yes I believe that is the first time anyone has heard a bloodied corpse giggle!” Glenmore replied, standing up and stretching his cramped limbs.

  “Fiona’s acting of a hysterical young woman was so funny I could not help but giggle,” Dizzy defended herself. “Besides you were snoring at one point! Ross had to kick you to wake you up!”

  “Ah! I have been wondering why my shin feels bruised so that explains it. Let’s get back to the house. I am heartily sick of the smell of tomatoes.” So saying he took her hand and together they started back, taking the longer route to avoid any lingering guests who might still be dawdling on their way in to supper. Before they had gone too far however the heavens opened and a heavy downpour soaked them to the skin in seconds.

  “That has taken care of the smell of tomatoes,” Dizzy laughed, water running unheeded down her face.

  “Come on! We will have to run for it!” Glenmore said pulling her along until they reached a side door and then he signalled for her to be quiet by placing his finger on his lips. Stealthily they crept along corridors and up back stairs until they reached the family wing where he swiftly led her into his room and firmly closed the door behind him; turning the key in the lock for good measure.