by Ian Shimwell
OLD TOM: I can read, err situations.
TRENCH: But the bottom line is - do you think Sally-Anne is in danger?
OLD TOM: I believe that is a likely possibility, but I still need to know more.
(We hear someone enter the room.)
SALLY-ANNE: What do you mean ‘is Sally-Anne in danger?’ Who are you speaking to, Trench?
TRENCH: Just having a chat with Old Tom, that’s all.
SALLY-ANNE: Give me that ‘phone. (We hear SALLY-ANNE snatch the ‘phone off TRENCH.) Hello good Old Tom, hello..? Who were you speaking to? The line’s dead.
TRENCH: Yes, and so might you be - if we don’t get out of here.
(A longer piece of mystery music indicates the end of Act Two.)
ACT THREE
(We hear a few shots as TRENCH and MARCUS try to kill their prey.)
MARCUS: You missed, Trench.
TRENCH: So did you, Marcus.
MARCUS: Not exactly, I was firing a few warning shots to manipulate my prey.
TRENCH: Good excuse, I mean reason. Who’s letting the birds out - the gamekeeper?
MARCUS: No, a game keeper is not necessary. The Dreadbury Estate is famous for its generous stock of Grouse. Controlled shooting of said pheasants here, dates back centuries.
TRENCH: Missed the blighter again, although as they say I managed to ruffle a few feathers. Err, wait a minute, Marcus - you seem to be pointing your shotgun straight at me, why?
MARCUS: Always so many questions, Trench - may I ask you one?
TRENCH: Fire away - except don’t. Ask away to your heart’s content though.
MARCUS: If you really want to know about Emmy Hargreaves, why don’t you just ask - you know, another one of your questions?
TRENCH: All right, I will. What has happened to her? Where is Emmy Hargreaves? And how do you know I’m looking for her?
(We hear a click as MARCUS prepares to fire.)
MARCUS: Your none too subtle slip about looking for your own supposed Emma was a trifle obvious.
TRENCH: Yes, I admit that was a bit crass. You can stop pointing that gun at me, if you like.
MARCUS: As you are probably aware, Emmy and I were engaged, however for reasons only known to her - maybe the pressure of it all, or she went off me - I don’t know, she decided to leave suddenly, not even having the good grace to leave a note. You do believe me, don’t you?
TRENCH: Of course I do. I believe you, absolutely.
(MARCUS’ shot rings out.)
TRENCH: Ouch! That bullet singed my ear!
MARCUS: But killed the Grouse that was moving just behind your head. I venture that tonight’s culinary delights will be entirely predictable.
TRENCH: You win, Marcus.
MARCUS: I invariably do. We should return to Dreadbury Manor.
TRENCH: One more thing, though - did you and Emmy go on plenty of extravagant parties?
MARCUS: Yes we did, actually - but why ask?
TRENCH: Sorry, just another of my insufferable questions.
(Thoughtful music shifts the scene once more.)
SALLY-ANNE: Right, while we’re alone, Trench - I want to know why my life is in such supposed peril and what are you actually doing here?
TRENCH: All right, I’ll tell you - wait, I think Marcus is coming.
(We hear the door open.)
TRENCH: Ah, Lord Devesham, delighted.
(TRENCH groans.)
DEVESHAM: We are forty runs behind, Tiger Trench. A quick half-century from you and we’ll stuff the blighters! Oh, apologies Miss - I did not realize there’s a lady present, as I’m always saying to my dearest Winnie…
TRENCH: Mad as a hatter.
SALLY-ANNE: Apology accepted, sir. (SALLY-ANNE suddenly takes a deep breath.) Marcus!
MARCUS: I’m sure Sally-Anne would prefer to watch the match than talk about it, father.
DEVESHAM: Oh dear, another one of our chaps out. You’re on next, Trench!
MARCUS: How about we all relax for a while in the err Pavilion first - and drink some punch.
(MARCUS rings for the Maid, who enters.)
GEMMA: You rang, my lord.
SALLY-ANNE: It’s not fair, I’ve always wanted to say that!
MARCUS: Gemma, would you be so kind as to fetch our silver bowl? We shall all be partaking in punch.
TRENCH: Hmm, I think you are trying to give me a clue, Marcus.
SALLY-ANNE: Oh dear Trench, what are you talking about?
TRENCH: Punch… bowl… the Dreadbury Punchbowl! Excuse me, I’m just going out for a walk.
(TRENCH shuts the door sharply behind him.)
DEVESHAM: (Who shouts.) Knock ‘em for six, Tiger!
(Pacey music plays as TRENCH runs along the gravel path and through the woods until he reaches the swamp.)
TRENCH: The Dreadbury Punchbowl…
SAWN-OFF: Trench, what are you doing staring at that swamp?
TRENCH: That’s funny, that’s the same question I asked Marcus… Sawn-Off! What are you doing here?
SAWN-OFF: I am here to find-the-lady namely Emmy Hargreaves. Where is she?
TRENCH: I wish I knew. Why do you want her?
SAWN-OFF: The Syndicate want her back. No one ever leaves the Syndicate… I made her into a Lady and she was our window to the aristocracy. She did extremely well. She sold many drugs for us, at highly lucrative prices.
TRENCH: Which she sold at the many parties her and Marcus frequented, I see. Come to think of it, I don’t really know what the lady looked like. Enlighten me, Sawn-Off.
SAWN-OFF: Platinum blonde - and she was beautiful in a regal sort of way.
TRENCH: Well, the only girls here are Sally-Anne who is dark haired and the Maid is a brunette. Neither of them are particularly regal… Wait a minute, what’s that in the swamp, by the bushes?
SAWN-OFF: A body?
TRENCH: If I can reach, I’ll get it with this branch.
(We hear rustling as TRENCH hauls it out of the swamp with a long branch.)
TRENCH: I’m afraid not, it’s just a coat.
SAWN-OFF: But it’s Emmy’s coat, I recognize it. I must bring Happy and my associates down to dredge this swamp - the body must be somewhere.
TRENCH: See the bubbles, Sawn-Off - that’s where some sort of underground river emerges which originates from the Great Southern Lake - which is where the body of poor Miss Hargreaves has probably been swept to, by the currents. And that lake is far too big to be dredged up, even by your heavies. (TRENCH takes a deep breath.) The Lady in the Lake…
SAWN-OFF: I’m sorry, she is dead?
TRENCH: Why, do you miss her?
SAWN-OFF: No, I wanted to kill her myself – at least the horses didn’t though.
TRENCH: Say what?
SAWN-OFF: She was allergic to horses, didn’t you know? Obviously not. See you around, Trench.
TRENCH: Give my regards to Happy.
(More music and a change of scene.)
TRENCH: I’ll sneak back through the kitchen. (He has a sharp intake of breath.) Marcus and the Maid are embracing - and kissing! I must tell Sally-Anne.
(TRENCH sneaks through to the Drawing Room.)
TRENCH: Sally-Anne, where are you?
(His only answer is the ‘phone ringing.)
TRENCH: Hello? Old Tom… I’ve so much more to tell you.
(Music passes some time.)
TRENCH: So, what do you deduce?
OLD TOM: As far as I’m concerned, the case is almost closed. I could explain the mystery of the missing society girl, come drug pusher right now - but I won’t. This is a case I want you to crack. Now, how do you propose to gain access to the locked room? Come on think, Trench, think.
TRENCH: I don’t know. Marcus said the bedroom is unused but I was sure I heard something… The door is not used though - there was dust on the handle. My hand was covered in it.
OLD TOM: Then the secret must be literally staring you in the face.
TRENCH: I can only see the fireplace.
Of course, I said to Sally-Anne it was almost big enough to walk through.
OLD TOM: And, young Trench, these old manor-houses are notorious for secret passageways - so venture forth, walk through and solve the mystery.
(The ‘phone goes dead and TRENCH replaces the receiver.)
TRENCH: Sally-Anne!
SALLY-ANNE: You’re obviously back, Trench - now tell me what’s going on.
TRENCH: (Who takes a deep breath.) I believe that Marcus Dreadbury’s previous girlfriend, err fiancé Emmy Hargreaves has been murdered by Marcus. He may have disposed the body in the Dreadbury Punchbowl - that’s a swamp leading to the Great Lake, or she’s imprisoned in that locked room upstairs. Want to find out?
SALLY-ANNE: Might as well, I suppose. I’ve nothing else to do at the moment. I think you’ve finally flipped though, Trench.
TRENCH: The fire has long since died, so let’s walk through it.
(We hear them walk through the remains of the fire.)
SALLY-ANNE: A secret passageway with a twisting, spiral staircase.
(They walk up the heavy stone steps.)
TRENCH: Oh, and Marcus is having a fling with his maid.
SALLY-ANNE: What!? I’ll kill him.
TRENCH: Not if he kills you first. (We hear the creepy sound of a rocking chair.) There’s a rocking chair, rocking.
SALLY-ANNE There’s someone on the chair. (She screams.) A skeleton!
TRENCH: Not so much a skeleton in the cupboard - this one resides in a whole bedroom!
(We hear the key tumble in the lock and the door creaks open.)
TRENCH: Marcus, is that what’s left of poor Emmy?
MARCUS: I think we should all return to the Drawing Room, sit down, drink some Punch and talk about this in a civilized fashion.
(Solemnly yet surprisingly they do as Marcus requests and walk downstairs.)
TRENCH: I prefer to stand, actually.
SALLY-ANNE: Me too.
MARCUS: As you wish. Oh, hello father.
DEVESHAM: Would you believe it, my boy? Some blighter’s left your mother’s door open. Winnie will catch her death. See you all in the Pavilion. Cheers!
(We hear DEVESHAM leave the room.)
MARCUS: Now where were we? Now as you have probably gathered, the skeleton upstairs is the remains of my late mother. It pleases father and I don’t really care what you or anyone else thinks.
SALLY-ANNE: What about this Emmy Hargreaves, Marcus? Have you, have you..?
MARCUS: Murdered her? (He rings the bell and the door opens.)
GEMMA: You rang?
MARCUS: For Gemma, read Emmy. Remove your wig, my dearest.
(GEMMA removes her wig.)
TRENCH: Platinum blonde!
SALLY-ANNE: I think you owe us - me an explanation.
MARCUS: I am truly sorry my sweet, Sally-Anne - but you were little more than a diversion. I first met Emmy at a society party - the type of venue I later discovered, where she pedaled those dreadful drugs of hers. We fell in love, of course, but Emmy was trapped.
GEMMA: Sawn-Off and his Syndicate would not let me leave the Drug dealing - it was too valuable. They wouldn’t even accept Marcus’ money, something to do with their reputation. In fact the only way I could be free of them and be with Marcus was to…
MARCUS: … die - or disappear.
TRENCH: Or both - which is why you left Emmy’s coat in the swamp, err the Dreadbury Punchbowl.
SALLY-ANNE: And that’s why you were courting me Marcus, so obviously - putting your arm around me when Sawn-Off turned up in the Cock and Pheasant to at least make it look like you were over Emmy here.
TRENCH: And to confirm you had finally accepted your fiancé’s disappearance.
MARCUS: I am sorry you were both drawn into this.
GEMMA: Me too, we are in love - that’s all.
SALLY-ANNE: But I did have feelings for you, Marcus - so you deserve this.
(SALLY-ANNE slaps MARCUS across the face.)
TRENCH: Well, thanks for a truly wonderful weekend! Come on, Sally-Anne, I really think we must be going.
(A slightly longer piece of reflective music changes the scene and pace.)
TRENCH: A pint of Bitter please - Sally-Anne, what are you doing behind the Bar?
SALLY-ANNE: A girl has to make money where she can, these days - even if it’s toiling away in the Cock and Pheasant.
TRENCH: You toil beautifully - it suits you!
SALLY-ANNE: Thanks, Trench - I’m working here undercover, actually.
TRENCH: And what have you uncovered?
SALLY-ANNE: I have retrieved evidence from the Landlord’s Ledger which will blow this diluting beer scam right open.
TRENCH: A word of warning, Sally-Anne - it’s quite possible you may upset Sawn-Off and his Syndicate. Believe it or not, I like your pretty little neck the way it is.
SALLY-ANNE: Don’t you dare patronize…
TRENCH: Shh, the Landlord’s coming and we have visitors.
(We hear activity as two men enter the pub.)
LANDLORD: What can I get you, gentlemen? On the house, of course.
SAWN-OFF: The usual.
TRENCH: Sawn-Off and Happy, delighted to bump into you again. Are you here for social or business reasons?
HAPPY: Here.. Collect.
SAWN-OFF: No, Happy - how many times have I told you? We don’t ever collect, we are simply paid for services rendered.
HAPPY: Sorry… Sawn-Off.
SAWN-OFF: I’m sure I’ll manage to somehow forgive you in the fullness of time. And what is your business here, Trench? Wait, that barmaid seems vaguely familiar. Drat, she’s gone in the back.
TRENCH: Don’t they all look the same, Sawn-Off?
SAWN-OFF: What, barmaids?
TRENCH: Err, yes.
SAWN-OFF: Actually Trench, I am glad we’ve met again, after that ill-fated search for our Drug Dealer. I now consider you a friend and I like the way you operate.
TRENCH: Gee, thanks.
SAWN-OFF: My brother, who let us say, runs a business enterprise in the East-End of London has met with an unfortunate and fatal accident - which means I will be taking over his patch, along with Happy and the rest of the Syndicate, of course. Care to join us, as my right-hand man?
HAPPY: Me right man.
SAWN-OFF: Sorry Happy is right. As my left-hand man then?
TRENCH: A tempting offer, but if I wanted to eventually leave the, err Syndicate I would hate for you to have to go through all that rigmarole like you did with Miss Hargreaves. And, anyway - I’m just a pen-pusher at heart.
HAPPY: Me kill… boss?
SAWN-OFF: No, not today Happy. I’ve already told you that Trench is now a friend of mine - and we don’t kill friends, do we? Well, not usually.
HAPPY: Me happy.
SAWN-OFF: Yes, I know. Now Happy follow - I have some concluding business with the Landlord. Goodbye for now, Trench.
TRENCH: Be seeing you.
(We hear them move away.)
SALLY-ANNE: Good, they’ve gone.
TRENCH: And we don’t need to worry about them, because Sawn-Off and Co. are off to London.
SALLY-ANNE: That’s a relief.
TRENCH: Sally-Anne, Marcus really hurt you, didn’t he? I’m sorry it worked out the way it did.
SALLY-ANNE: I’m not, because after all, I’m glad I didn’t disappear!
(Music moves time along and the scene changes.)
TRENCH: So, Old Tom before I’ve really even said anything, you’ve told me the complete story of the mayhem at the manor-house, how?
OLD TOM: Deductions enlighten many a shadowy corner. Firstly having deduced where and who Emmy really was, it was easy to assume that the locked bedroom had more to do with the eccentric delusions of Devesham rather than his son. However, the lady in the lake argument was more compelling.