by Ian Shimwell
TRENCH: There is no cause to worry. As long as Mayflower Court remains, there is no need for me to say or do anything.
(Softer music changes the scene and time.)
(We hear TRENCH walking along the outside balcony-corridors of Mayflower Court.)
TRENCH: Ah, Mr. Jenkins, I’m glad I bumped into you. I have some wonderful news.
JENKINS: Excellent, so when are they sending the bulldozers in to finally flatten this useless pile of concrete? The sooner, the better. You can give me a date, can’t you?
TRENCH: Oh yes, the date is only next month…
(We hear JENKINS rubbing his hands with glee.)
JENKINS: Earlier than I dared to hope…
TRENCH: … when the Mayflower Refurbishment Project is due to begin.
JENKINS: (Who says not quite believing:) So, the flats are not going?
TRENCH: Mayflower Court is here to stay. Isn’t that wonderful, ex-Sergeant Jenkins?
JENKINS: Err, yes - I suppose.
(A brief interlude of music moves things on a little bit.)
TRENCH: So, Old Tom, what do you think of this week’s Stokeham Herald headline?
(OLD TOM opens up the newspaper.)
OLD TOM: ‘The Mayflower Blossoms’ …very nice.
TRENCH: The headline was Sally-Anne’s idea… unfortunately.
OLD TOM: ‘Councilor Stonebridge has confirmed that the Mayflower Court flats are not only to remain, but to be fully refurbished and modernized - thanks to a campaign by the Stokeham Herald…’ They will not be refurbishing anything in here. I like it just the way it is.
TRENCH: Now, Old Tom, why doesn’t that surprise me?
(We hear OLD TOM fold the newspaper up and then throw it on the floor.)
TRENCH: By the way, I checked at the Station and Sergeant Strong confirmed that the inquiry, at the time of Jill’s father’s death was officially declared an accident, witnessed - along with Jenkins naturally - by the duty sergeant of the day and, surprisingly, the Chief Inspector. Something to do with a wet, slippery floor and a fall…
OLD TOM: A tragic accident? Simply far too convenient for Jill Masterson to ever believe…
TRENCH: But it seems that Jenkins was only guilty of greed…
OLD TOM: Strange that the Chief Inspector was there though… Unless he was there to dismiss Sergeant Jenkins as criminal allegations would have probably been building up against him by then.
TRENCH: Analytical deduction at its best… and I imagine you could be right.
OLD TOM: I am right… I think…
TRENCH: So, the Mayflower Mystery is finally over.
OLD TOM: You did quite well, my boy. You just required a little prodding in the right direction…
TRENCH: It’s been fun though, hasn’t it?
OLD TOM: Oh yes, I haven’t had to think like this for a long, long time…
TRENCH: Tell me more.
OLD TOM: That was all in the past. I only concern myself with the present.
TRENCH: Good for you. Well, I don’t think I’ll be calling on the Armchair Detective again, though. Goodbye Old Tom.
OLD TOM: If you ever need my help on any other mysteries you may stumble over - you know where I am.
TRENCH: I know where you are.
(TRENCH gets up to leave.)
OLD TOM: Just before you go, Trench - would you pass me my cup of tea?
TRENCH: All right. Hey, wait a minute, there are two cups here.
OLD TOM: Of course. One is for me… and one is for you.
TRENCH: But that’s the first time you have offered me anything.
OLD TOM: I know.
(We hear the slight clatter of crockery as the teas are passed.)
TRENCH: This tea is stone cold; do I have to drink it?
OLD TOM: It would be rude not to.
TRENCH: Here goes then… Ughh! This tea is dreadfully cold… but curiously pleasant.
CLOSING MYSTERY MUSIC
THE
ARMCHAIR
DETECTIVE
and the
Manor-House
Mystery
INTRODUCTION
A missing girl...
The manipulative aristocrat, Marcus Dreadbury.
A local gangster with a drug-dealing problem.
The Manor's locked room, with a dusty handle.
Stables, but with no sign of any horses.
A subterranean stream.
Marcus' madcap father.
And a Manor-House full of surprises.
Trench and Old Tom must somehow make the connection, if they are to succeed at playing find-the-lady...
CAST LIST
TRENCH
OLD TOM
SALLY-ANNE
EDITOR LAW
MARCUS DREADBURY
SAWN-OFF
LORD DEVESHAM
GEMMA
LANDLORD
HAPPY
ACT ONE
OPENING MYSTERY MUSIC
OLD TOM: I have not seen you for months, young Trench. And as you can see, Mayflower Court is still standing. How can I help?
TRENCH: Yes, it certainly is, Old Tom. I just thought I’d have a chat - that’s all.
OLD TOM: I will ask you again: what’s on your mind?
(TRENCH shuffles uncomfortably)
TRENCH: How’s the armchair?
OLD TOM: As you can see, just as comfy as ever.
TRENCH: And the refurbishment project? Has the Mayflower had its makeover?
OLD TOM: Yes, the refurbishment project is complete.
TRENCH: Can’t say I’ve noticed.
OLD TOM: Naturally I refused to let them in here. I like…
TRENCH: …it just the way it is - I know.
OLD TOM: If you’ve just come here to annoy me, Trench - then you are succeeding.
TRENCH: No, I’m sorry.
OLD TOM: Is it girlfriend trouble? Do you wish for my advice on the birds and the bees?
TRENCH: Not exactly, but it does concern Sally-Anne.
OLD TOM: Go on.
TRENCH: She has been dating this shifty so-called aristocrat by the name of Marcus Dreadbury. I just don’t like him.
OLD TOM: (Who laughs, softly.) Accuse me of pointing out the obvious, but is all this fuelled by the green-eyed monster?
TRENCH: No, it’s not that. Simply for Sally-Anne’s safety, you understand, I did a background check on him.
OLD TOM: (Who coughs.) For your sake, I hope Sally-Anne doesn’t find out about that.
TRENCH: Yes, I know what you mean, Old Tom.
OLD TOM: Well, young man - what did the background check reveal about this Marcus Dreadbury?
TRENCH: A previous girlfriend of his, a Miss Emmy Hargreaves disappeared whilst visiting Marcus at the Dreadbury family home. Apparently she’s never been seen since.
OLD TOM: That’s actually not much to go on - but I can see why you are concerned, Trench.
TRENCH: So, what do you suggest?
OLD TOM: Keep a close eye on your fellow reporter. Now, would you pass me my cup of tea?
TRENCH: Here.
OLD TOM: I would have made you one, but I didn’t know you were coming.
(A short piece of music changes scene and time.)
(We hear TRENCH yawning.)
TRENCH: Another busy day at the hi-tech, modern offices of the dynamic Stokeham Herald. Hah.
SALLY-ANNE: Hmm, yes. We have had plenty of rain lately.
TRENCH: Oh Sally-Anne, didn’t I tell you before? I fell down a manhole on the way to work, and this gigantic rat nearly…
SALLY-ANNE: Oh, lovely.
TRENCH: Anyway enough about Editor Law… Earth to Sally-Anne - are you receiving?
SALLY-ANNE: Sorry Trench. I was miles away.
TRENCH: More like on another planet.
SALLY-ANNE: I was just thinking…
TRENCH: About a mysterious aristocrat, by any chance?
SALLY-ANNE: My thoughts did just touch upon Marcus, yes. What do you mean �
��mysterious’?
TRENCH: You don’t know very much about him.
SALLY-ANNE: What do you want me to do - a background check or something?
TRENCH: (Says guiltily:) Of course not.
SALLY-ANNE: Anyhow, the Dreadbury Family can be traced back centuries - sixteenth, I think. So, how much do you want to know?
TRENCH: Me? I don’t want to know anything - nothing to do with me.
SALLY-ANNE: Exactly.
TRENCH: Sixteenth century, eh? That’s an awful long time to be lord of the manor.
SALLY-ANNE: Will you shut - oh hello Editor Law.
EDITOR LAW: Afternoon. What are you two young people doing this evening?
SALLY-ANNE: I will be spending the evening with Marcus. I think he’s planning on taking me to that ridiculously expensive Italian restaurant…
TRENCH: And I’m washing my hair.
EDITOR LAW: Your plans have now changed. I want you both to investigate a story…
(We hear TRENCH trying to suppress a laugh.)
SALLY-ANNE: But sir, that’s not fair.
TRENCH: Sounds perfectly fine to me.
SALLY-ANNE: Trench - shut up, will you?
EDITOR LAW: We have had several letters from the locals at the Cock and Pheasant Public House, claiming that the Landlord is regularly watering down his ale. I want you to look into it.
TRENCH: Oh yes - we could pose as normal punters; drinking plenty of beers; seemingly enjoying ourselves but all the time, watching…
EDITOR LAW: (Who clears his throat.) Yes, you’ll probably have a barrel of laughs.
SALLY-ANNE: That was awful.
EDITOR LAW: I suppose it was - but just be there.
(We hear EDITOR LAW leave the office.)
TRENCH: I thought it was quite good - Editor Law doesn’t often come out with funnies. Oh, come on Sally-Anne, what are you so miserable about?
SALLY-ANNE: I won’t be able to see Marcus.
TRENCH: Yes you will - just invite him along to the Cock and Pheasant to join us.
SALLY-ANNE: Wonderful idea, Trench. Oh, sometimes I could kiss you!
TRENCH: Me and my big mouth.
(A few humorous notes move the scene to the evening.)
(We hear the pouring of a pint of Bitter by the LANDLORD and the usual sort of background of a pub - conversations etc.)
LANDLORD: Do you normally watch the pouring of your pint so enthusiastically?
TRENCH: I’m sorry Landlord - bad habit I suppose. It is just that I believe that pouring a pint is really an art form.
LANDLORD: Oh, you do? That’s all right then. There’s your perfect pint and a Pimms and lemonade.
TRENCH: Thanks.
(We hear the exchange of money. TRENCH moves a chair before eventually settling next to SALLY-ANNE.)
TRENCH: Cheers.
SALLY-ANNE: Hmm.
TRENCH: What’s wrong with you, Sally-Anne? Afraid that lover-boy won’t lower himself to turn up in this fine old establishment?
SALLY-ANNE: Marcus has given his word - so he will be here, yes even here, in the Cock an’ Pheasant.
TRENCH: You have faith in this Marcus, then?
SALLY-ANNE: Oh, stop being ridiculous Trench - I’ve only just arrived. How long have you been here?
TRENCH: About an hour.
SALLY-ANNE: And what have you discovered, apart from the various merits of the many lagers and bitters?
TRENCH: Hah, well the Landlord is definitely a sneaky character who doesn’t like being watched - but it was just before I set foot in this pub where I overheard a rather interesting conversation.
SALLY-ANNE: Like when the price of crisps are going up next?
(We hear SALLY-ANNE heavy breathe a ‘get on with it then, will you?’)
TRENCH: It seems that this ‘watering down’ lark is big business. That unpleasant, ‘you don’t want to know’ type - a local ‘business man’ known as Sawn-Off was politely threatening the Landlord. Sawn-off as in Shotgun.
SALLY-ANNE: ‘Sawn-off’ not him. He doesn’t usually use his surname, ‘Shotgun’. Were his bunch of heavies with him?
TRENCH: Probably. They are obviously in on this low-alcohol beer racket.
SALLY-ANNE: (Cuts in.) Better for one’s health though
TRENCH: (Continues.) And I think they were in the process of extracting their cut.
SALLY-ANNE: We should tread very carefully with this story.
TRENCH: I know, I like my face exactly where it is.
(TRENCH takes another sip of his beer.)
SALLY-ANNE: (Says loudly:) Oh Marcus - over here darling.
(Chairs are shuffled as TRENCH and SALLY-ANNE stand up.)
MARCUS: (His voice is deep and sickly.) Dear, Sally-Anne - and Trench I presume.
TRENCH: Hello, err sir, Lord..?
MARCUS: As dear old Daddy is still alive, I have yet to inherit my hereditary title so, Marcus will suffice.
TRENCH: …Marcus.
MARCUS: (Who clicks his fingers.) A pint of your best bitter, barman and whatever my young friends are drinking. Bring them over.
(We just hear the LANDLORD grumble a ‘yes’ and a ‘who does he think he is?’ to his nearest customer. There was a low rumble of laughter at ‘bring them over’.)
(We hear them sit down.)
MARCUS: The lady is beautiful, Trench. Is she not?
TRENCH: Who are you talking about?
(SALLY-ANNE kicks TRENCH under the table.)
TRENCH: Ouch.
SALLY-ANNE: Ignore him, Marcus. I am so glad you came. We are on rather a dull assignment.
MARCUS: I admit, I usually frequent more grandiose locations.
(The LANDLORD places the drinks on the table.)
MARCUS: One will settle the bill at close of evening.
LANDLORD: Yes ‘one’ will. (Gruffly, he returns to the bar.)
(MARCUS drinks some of his pint.)
MARCUS: A rather peculiar taste. Now, what is the nature of your assignment?
TRENCH: Oh, I wouldn’t do you the disservice of boring you with the details.
MARCUS: As you wish.
TRENCH: Oh, it’s just so lovely to see such a handsome couple together.
SALLY-ANNE: (Says in a warning tone:) Trench.
MARCUS: Yes - and, dearest Sally-Anne, I wish us to be together this weekend for shooting at Dreadbury Manor.
TRENCH: (Who coughs) No, she err can’t.
MARCUS: Why ever not? Prey the lady speaks for herself.
SALLY-ANNE: I would love to come. Thank-you Marcus. Now, Trench, why can’t I?
TRENCH: Editor Law might have another assignment for us.
SALLY-ANNE: Yes well, he may own my evenings but not my weekends. I’ll be there, Marcus.
TRENCH: Shooting you said? I’ve always wanted to do that. Ah well…
MARCUS: Then you must come too, dear Trench.
TRENCH: Good-oh.
MARCUS: Look for the line of oaks that line my estate…
SALLY-ANNE: Wonderful - excuse me a minute. (She leaves.)
MARCUS: Never been shooting? Try to be very careful though, there can be the most dreadful accidents…
(Ominous music changes the time and scene to the following day.)
OLD TOM: So, you will be shooting Grouse, my boy?
TRENCH: Yes, not really my idea of fun, but I couldn’t let Sally-Anne go on her own, could I?
OLD TOM: Evidently not.
TRENCH: Then, you will never guess what happened next in the pub?
OLD TOM: Sawn-Off and his heavies arrived and Marcus put his aristocratic arms around young Sally-Anne?