indeedsir_backup | Fic: Muder at Totleigh Towers Ch. 2 (Reply)

Title: Murder At Totleigh Towers; First Hour of the First Game
Rating: I not too sure. I guess PG, since there is a corpse (but it's not so bad).
Words: Approx. 1300
Pairings: Nothing here yet.
Warnings: Turn away if you have an aversion to burnt bodies.
Author's Note: Chapter 2 for this fic. Still background story, but at least something happens.
Disclaimer: All of Wodehouse's wonderful creations are not mine. I only took them and put them into a (unoriginal) mystery plot.

Chapter 2: Tick Tock

We were able to arrive at Totleigh Towers at around four o’clock, and I could plainly see that this was no ordinary request for a sharing of meal and words. Maids, butlers, and servants a like were moving around quite diligently. I could see a look of anxiety with a tinge of fear on there faces. Something about it was certainly unsettling to me, along with gray looming storm clouds that lay above the massive estate.

Standing beside me, Mr. Wooster gave a small sigh. “Well, I wonder what the deuce this is all about. The people act if the Queen had come to visit!” Before I had a chance to inform Mr. Wooster that that being the case was highly unlikely, I spotted Mrs. Gregson coming towards us with a glint of fury in her eyes. “BERTIE!!!” she hollered in a voice that would have made the British troops stop in their tracks while on their way Lexington. “I want to take to you this instant about some issues that I have been noticing.” She glared briefly at me before focusing her stare at my employer, “Especially those relating to the fact that you’ve yet to find yourself a proper wife!”

Mr. Wooster gave yet another sigh in exasperation, “Very well, aged relative.” Turning towards me he asked, “I trust you’ll be bringing the bags into the guest room, Jeeves?” I gave a small bow. “Indeed I will, sir.” He nodded his head in approval as Mrs. Gregson proceeded to drag him off. I myself had gone to bring in the suitcases of luggage which, to my happiness, did not contain the ghastly tie that was a gift from Mr. Little. Along the way, I was able to identify some of the other guests: Mr. Finknottle, Mr. Glossop, Lady Craye, and Mrs. Travers. After unloading the suitcases in the one of the guest rooms, I overheard a chilling conversation outside the room.

“Are they all here?”

“Yes. Mr. Wooster had just arrived.”

“Perfect. Hopefully, God help us, we shall be able to see the light of day.”

“But all those poor people….”

“Shhh! We shall not talk about it! You’ve read what it said! We can only hope

that it shall be as swift and painless as it can be!”

I opened the door in great haste, yet not a soul had been standing in the long corridor, which only caused me more confusion. I then concluded that I had been just hearing voices from another room and I had in fact not heard the words correctly. However, further investigation showed me that no one had been occupying the rooms as the moment.

I shook my head, ridding the strange event that had just occurred from my mind, and headed to the kitchen were I was preparing to help serve tonight’s courses. As the dinner bell rang and the guests were seated, I studied carefully who was where around the large, rectangular dining table.

On one end of the table sat Sir Watkyn Bassett. On to the left of him sat his daughter, Mrs. Madeleine Basset, and to his right his son-in-law, Lord Sidcup. Also seated along with the other guests that I had encountered before included Reverend Harold Pinker, his spouse, Stephanie Pinker, and Tom Travers, a rival of Sir Basset in the field of “silver collecting”. Around the room stood Mr. Butterfield, a butler currently under the service of Sir Bassett, myself, Anatole, who came along with Mr. and Mrs. Travers after a peculiar request from Sir Basset, and a young servant boy and girl who were called in to the dining room. Sir Watkyn, I had then noticed, was clutching on some sort of parchment.

And so, the guests ate their meal (a remarkable one, considering that it was made by the great Chef Anatole), and so did Sir Basset, even if his strange expressions didn’t fade away. As the last bit of dessert was gobbled up and all silverware was put down, Sir Basset stood up.

“I have an important announcement to make,” he declared in a firm declarative tone. “Two weeks ago, a letter has been sent to me from an unknown address, and whose sender is completely unidentifiable.” He closed his eyes in deep sadness before opening them once again. “You’ve all been invited here for a reason. In this letter,” he held up the paper, “contains the names of every single one of you who stands in this room today. The sender has requested that every one of you were to come at this exact day at Totleigh Towers, and that we shall all be part of something even bigger.” A crack of thunder was heard in the distant background. “It seems,” he took a deep breath. “That we have all been selected to be pawns, pawns in a murder game that shall take place here, at Totleigh Towers.”

At first no one spoke while everyone gave Sir Basset a wild stare. Lord Sidcup, known for his usual bursts of anger, exclaimed “WHAT? A murder game? What in the heavens do you mean by that?!”

Sir Watkyn gave a small cough as if clearing his throat. “I believe it would be appropriate to read an excerpt from the letter for clarification.” He started to read:

“ ‘Welcome all of you wonderful people this fine evening! I Trust Sir Watkyn Basset have given you a bit of a backup story to this whole mess, and I assure you everything will be going exactly as planned! You’ve all been chosen for one reason, only one reason, to come here. You shall all be part of a little game that I had devised myself,. While I don’t mean to brag, I say it’s pretty ingenious myself, but let’s not get side tracked here. Some much blood to shed, so little time! As this wonderful night continues on, each of you shall be murdered in some sort of malicious and seemingly impossible way! Simple enough right? You’re all just going to die! But if I gave you no chance to fight back, that wouldn’t be very fun now would it? So here goes. All you have to do is play detective and found out how is this charming little devil is. Do that, and all the killings shall stop. I assure you; I really am a sore loser and will do anything to stop you from winning. So, the best of luck to all to all of you and may the smartest one win!

P.S If you do not acquire all the people that have informed you to acquire, Sir Watkyn, I will not hesitate to kill your precious little daughter. Think of her life as collateral, ok?

P.P.S: I really hope we’ll have some fun, Reggie.’”

My own head pounded at the thought of me being addressed directly by this lunatic scum. Part of me even felt somewhat frightened at the though, but it quickly dissipated as I listened in to the nervous murmur from the crowd.

“Murder game?”

“Are we all going to die?!”

“Daddy, I don’t want to die young!”

“I never even received the new silver I ordered!”

What was mostly unexpected, however, was the silence of Mr. Wooster. I figured that it he just too frightened to speak, yet there was something in his eyes.

Was that….playfulness?

My own thoughts were pierced when a high shrill scream was heard outside the room.

“What was that?”

“Oh no… could it be the killer???”

“Quick! Maybe we could catch him!”

We all ran outside of the dining hall, only to come face to face with a truly grotesque image.

At the bottom of a long path of stairs was a dark, foul-smelling figure; burnt to a crisp and hardly recognizable, although judging from what was left of the pelvic bone, it appeared to be male. What was equal horrifying were the words that were clearly written with blood next to the body.

When tomorrow comes, no one shall live.

Many of the guests were crying in each other shoulders. Others, such as Mrs. Gregson and Lord Sidcup, started solemnly at the corpse. Mr. Wooster started at me with blue eyes that were blank and expressionless. He muttered to me five words.

“The clock has started ticking.”