Murder at Totleigh Towers Ch 3: Trapped
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indeedsir_backupTitle: Murder At Totleigh Towers Ch 3: Trapped
Rating: PG-13 - slight R? A little gruesome, I will admit that.
Words: Approx. 1800
Pairings: Nothing really here 'cept Spo-, I mean, *cough* LORD SIDCUP and his affection towards Madeliene.
Warnings: Guts (or lack of, therefore), and decapitated heads.
Author's Note: Well finally, I got chapter 3 finished :/. Not much to say, except that Jeeves's is seeing more dead people.
Disclaimer: All of Wodehouse's wonderful creations are not mine. I only took them and put them into a (unoriginal) mystery plot.
Ch 3: Trapped
“Well? What do we do now?!” shrieked a very frightened Mrs. Pinker.
Lord Sidcup yelled furiously at Mr. Butterfield, “What are you doing? Call the blasted police already!”
“V…very well, milord.” Mr. Butterfield grabbed hold of the nearest phone. However, after promptly picking up the receiver, he slammed it down quickly.
“What was that for?!”
Mr. Butterfield bit his lip in frustration, “The line has been cut. I highly doubt any phones can be used at the moment.”
“So? Try them all, just to be certain!”
This, not surprisingly, proved to be futile. It was also clear that no one would be able to walk to the station by foot, given the heavy thunderstorm. Of course….
“Are any of the automobiles functional for travel?” I suggested amidst the yells of clatter and panic.
Mr. Butterfield headed outside to check on the automobiles. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Wooster peering out of the window with the same blank stare I had seen moments ago.
“It’s no use,” he murmured faintly.
After Mr. Butterfield returned inside, soaking wet and shivering due to the freezing rain, he delivered the terrible news that I had feared most, “All of the wheels on every automobile have been punctured, including any spares as well.”
I clenched my fists tightly; whoever set this whole “game” up clearly didn’t want us to leave. Even attempting to walk to civilization would be nearly impossible. Miles separated us from any other living people outside the estate and the storm was very dangerous. Plus, it would leave us open to the attacker who was possibly waiting in the shadows to strike.
Sir Basset cleared his throat. “I suppose it should be wise that every one of us is to return to our rooms. Remember; do NOT open the door for anyone, not matter how trustworthy that person seems. We may have a better chance of leaving this place alive in the morning.”
As every guest went to retire to their rooms, Mr. Wooster and I went on to do the same. As I was drawing out my employer’s nightwear, Mr. Wooster gave a sigh. “What funny business this all seems to be. I do wish there is an easy way out of this unfortunate scenario.”
I looked at him in a puzzled manor, “I do believe, sir, the when Sir Basset read out that extremely chilling letter, you seemed to show some sort of excitement over the whole ordeal.”
That only brought out a frown from Mr. Wooster. “I can assure you I have done nothing of the likes, whatsoever. I certainly, don’t like this any more than you do Jeeves.”
Keeping the features of my face unchanged and stone-like, I gave a small bow, “Of course, sir. I suppose I was a bit rash with my judgment.”
Mr. Wooster opened his mouth as if to comment further, but was interrupted by yet another shrill cry.
“Goodness! I don’t suppose someone else has gone and died, have they?”
Uncertain on how to answer, I ran downstairs with Mr. Wooster following shortly behind me. We spotted the young, female servant from supper earlier the evening standing right outside the dining table, knees trembling and a tray with a broken kettle and cup on the ground besides her feet.
She looked at us with eyes that were red with tears. “M..mr Jeeves…Mr. Wooster….” She stammered in between sobs.
Many of the other guests came down from the stairs as well. “What was that horrendous shriek?!” cried Mrs. Gregson. Mr. Finknottle exclaimed, “My newts were all shaken up by the surprise! I have to admit, so was I!”
As the young domestic worker broke down in tears, Mr. Wooster held her around her arms and stroked her head gently. “There, there. Everything will be okay.”
I went on to further examine the dinning room. Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared me for the gruesome sight that I was about to witness.
I suppose there’s no easy way to describe it without it being somewhat sickening. Propped against the long table where the guests previously had there evening meal was the corpse of Mr. Tuppy Glossop, and were his stomach should have been located was nothing but a big gaping hole, minus part of his spine that was peeking out. His face was frozen in a contorted manner, clearly showing his pain and anguish. On the table was something even more gruesome.
On a silver plate which was garnished with vegetables of all kinds lay the head of Chef Anatole, his own face calm with eyes closed. Written in fresh blood, presumably either Mr. Glossop’s or Mr. Anatole’s, across the table was the single word “Glutton”. I looked away; the scene before us was something so evil and terrifying that I felt that I would go mad just looking at it for a second more. I inhaled a few small breaths of air to help relieve the feelings of disgust and sorrow within me, although to no avail.
Mrs. Gregson looked especially weary. “I knew this wouldn’t be some ordinary night! I could feel it in my old bones that there was an evil presence lurking about!” She raised one of here fingers as if to make a point.
“Oh, do shut it!” replied Mr. Wooster and Mrs. Travers in unison. Mrs. Gregson said nothing more, but kept a cold stare towards my employer.
Sir Basset shook his head in grimace. “It is so said that one must die so young.” He looked mournfully at the body, or rather the head, of Chef Anatole, “And that such an artisan must leave the world of the living.” He then left to his own quarters.
One by one, the other guests left to their own rooms, all of which had looks of fright and sadness on their faces. Yet, I noticed how no one was entirely shocked at the crime. I figured that they given in to the fact we too would be taken out of this “game” by means that were gruesome and highly unfavorable.
Mr. Wooster, who was no longer cradling the young servant, suggested we head back up stairs. Yet, some cruel, dark, twisted part of me wanted to figure out the puzzle that was laid before me. The culprit even challenged me personally (which, I do admit, did bring out a sense of pride within me at the time)! I asked Mr. Wooster if he would object to staying in the dining room for a moment longer. He shrugged and said as long if he could stay far away from the dining table as possible,
I slowly moved towards the bodies, trying my hardest not to vomit at the putrid stench that surrounded them. With further inspection, I could find nothing out of the ordinary; not a strand of hair or even a bit of lint on either victim. This only worried me further. I made a quick mental note; whoever is committing these murders is someone who’s smart and careful, a truly dangerous combination.
“Find anything Jeeves?” inquired Mr. Wooster inquired. “Someone with a mind like yours would probably solve the murder in a split-second!”
I glared angrily at him, “I’m afraid that a crime such as this is not some simple minded matter, and is not something that can be easily resolved, sir.” I looked back at the tragedy-stricken men. “These two have experienced that evil task, first handed.”
“My apologies Jeeves. I honestly didn’t mean to rile you up like that.”
I continued to look at the scene of the crime, paying little attention to Mr. Wooster’s words. Questions continued to float around in my head.
Who was the burnt figure that we encountered on the bottom of the stairway? Sir Watkyn Basset reported that there had been no one that was missing.
How was no one able to notice nothing of what happened here? Surely both Mr. Glossop and Chef Anatole had tried to struggle in some sort of way. Yet, there doesn’t seem to be signs of resistance on either body. And this certainly had to take a while, yet it seemed to be only a short while since we had last seen either of them.
What were the reasons behind Mr. Wooster’s strange behavior?
How did the culprit know my first name?
Who could have done this?
Who will be next?
I gritted my teeth in frustration. This was obviously getting me nowhere.
When I tried to recall my thoughts one more, they were disturbed when Lord Sidcup came bursting in, panting heavily.
“WOOSTERRRR!”
While trying to recover from the shock, Mr. Wooster moaned. “What now?”
Lord Sidcup lifted him by the collar of his shirt, his face glowing red and his eyes as wide as dinner plates. “What have you done to Madeliene now? WHERE IS SHE WOOSTER?!!”
While I tried with great effort to make Lord Sidcup let go of the shirt collar for in fear of it ripping, Mr. Wooster managed to wheeze out, “I…..*gasp* I…don’t..know! With…Jeeves..in dining…*wheeze* room…”
He dropped Mr. Wooster with a heavy “thud” and stamped his foot. “I knew it! That Mr. Finknottle must have taken her away! I haven’t been able to find them at all, and I know the ways of this place like no other!”
This piqued my interest. “Are you suggesting that they may have decided to leave the estate with each other? I had not seen anyone pass by, and it would be incredibly foolish to go out in this weather.”
Lord Sidcup nodded, “Which makes me more sure then ever that Finknottle is behind her disappearance. I’m bet anything he’s filled her head with all sorts of nonsense.”
Mr. Wooster, who was still rubbing his supposedly sore neck, retorted, “The only nonsense business Gussie’s into is those blasted newts! And I assure you that hardly any harm can come from that.”
“Well, if harm comes upon her, I’ll…I’ll…”
He never finished his sentence, for just as he raised one fist over his head, he grabbed his neck as if gasping for breath. He stumbled over, Mr. Wooster barely holding him up.
“Goodness! All you’re all right?”
I helped in Mr. Wooster’s efforts to keep him up right, “It would be in your best benefit, Lord Sidcup, if you could please hold on for a bit longer!” A small bead of sweat slid down my temple as my voice grew slightly higher with every word.
With one dying wheeze, however, Lord Sidcup’s eyes turned glassy as he lay limp in our arms. After a moment’s silence passed, Mr. Wooster slid one arm off his own while I tried to set him on the ground.
It seemed that for an eternity, both Mr. Wooster and I had stood, giving one another solemn glances, as if yet another flame of hope died in a cold, harsh wind.
A clock continued to tick in the background.
A/N: Well that ends it for now! I just worry that many people will hate me next chapter D:...
Rating: PG-13 - slight R? A little gruesome, I will admit that.
Words: Approx. 1800
Pairings: Nothing really here 'cept Spo-, I mean, *cough* LORD SIDCUP and his affection towards Madeliene.
Warnings: Guts (or lack of, therefore), and decapitated heads.
Author's Note: Well finally, I got chapter 3 finished :/. Not much to say, except that Jeeves's is seeing more dead people.
Disclaimer: All of Wodehouse's wonderful creations are not mine. I only took them and put them into a (unoriginal) mystery plot.
Ch 3: Trapped
“Well? What do we do now?!” shrieked a very frightened Mrs. Pinker.
Lord Sidcup yelled furiously at Mr. Butterfield, “What are you doing? Call the blasted police already!”
“V…very well, milord.” Mr. Butterfield grabbed hold of the nearest phone. However, after promptly picking up the receiver, he slammed it down quickly.
“What was that for?!”
Mr. Butterfield bit his lip in frustration, “The line has been cut. I highly doubt any phones can be used at the moment.”
“So? Try them all, just to be certain!”
This, not surprisingly, proved to be futile. It was also clear that no one would be able to walk to the station by foot, given the heavy thunderstorm. Of course….
“Are any of the automobiles functional for travel?” I suggested amidst the yells of clatter and panic.
Mr. Butterfield headed outside to check on the automobiles. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Wooster peering out of the window with the same blank stare I had seen moments ago.
“It’s no use,” he murmured faintly.
After Mr. Butterfield returned inside, soaking wet and shivering due to the freezing rain, he delivered the terrible news that I had feared most, “All of the wheels on every automobile have been punctured, including any spares as well.”
I clenched my fists tightly; whoever set this whole “game” up clearly didn’t want us to leave. Even attempting to walk to civilization would be nearly impossible. Miles separated us from any other living people outside the estate and the storm was very dangerous. Plus, it would leave us open to the attacker who was possibly waiting in the shadows to strike.
Sir Basset cleared his throat. “I suppose it should be wise that every one of us is to return to our rooms. Remember; do NOT open the door for anyone, not matter how trustworthy that person seems. We may have a better chance of leaving this place alive in the morning.”
As every guest went to retire to their rooms, Mr. Wooster and I went on to do the same. As I was drawing out my employer’s nightwear, Mr. Wooster gave a sigh. “What funny business this all seems to be. I do wish there is an easy way out of this unfortunate scenario.”
I looked at him in a puzzled manor, “I do believe, sir, the when Sir Basset read out that extremely chilling letter, you seemed to show some sort of excitement over the whole ordeal.”
That only brought out a frown from Mr. Wooster. “I can assure you I have done nothing of the likes, whatsoever. I certainly, don’t like this any more than you do Jeeves.”
Keeping the features of my face unchanged and stone-like, I gave a small bow, “Of course, sir. I suppose I was a bit rash with my judgment.”
Mr. Wooster opened his mouth as if to comment further, but was interrupted by yet another shrill cry.
“Goodness! I don’t suppose someone else has gone and died, have they?”
Uncertain on how to answer, I ran downstairs with Mr. Wooster following shortly behind me. We spotted the young, female servant from supper earlier the evening standing right outside the dining table, knees trembling and a tray with a broken kettle and cup on the ground besides her feet.
She looked at us with eyes that were red with tears. “M..mr Jeeves…Mr. Wooster….” She stammered in between sobs.
Many of the other guests came down from the stairs as well. “What was that horrendous shriek?!” cried Mrs. Gregson. Mr. Finknottle exclaimed, “My newts were all shaken up by the surprise! I have to admit, so was I!”
As the young domestic worker broke down in tears, Mr. Wooster held her around her arms and stroked her head gently. “There, there. Everything will be okay.”
I went on to further examine the dinning room. Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared me for the gruesome sight that I was about to witness.
I suppose there’s no easy way to describe it without it being somewhat sickening. Propped against the long table where the guests previously had there evening meal was the corpse of Mr. Tuppy Glossop, and were his stomach should have been located was nothing but a big gaping hole, minus part of his spine that was peeking out. His face was frozen in a contorted manner, clearly showing his pain and anguish. On the table was something even more gruesome.
On a silver plate which was garnished with vegetables of all kinds lay the head of Chef Anatole, his own face calm with eyes closed. Written in fresh blood, presumably either Mr. Glossop’s or Mr. Anatole’s, across the table was the single word “Glutton”. I looked away; the scene before us was something so evil and terrifying that I felt that I would go mad just looking at it for a second more. I inhaled a few small breaths of air to help relieve the feelings of disgust and sorrow within me, although to no avail.
Mrs. Gregson looked especially weary. “I knew this wouldn’t be some ordinary night! I could feel it in my old bones that there was an evil presence lurking about!” She raised one of here fingers as if to make a point.
“Oh, do shut it!” replied Mr. Wooster and Mrs. Travers in unison. Mrs. Gregson said nothing more, but kept a cold stare towards my employer.
Sir Basset shook his head in grimace. “It is so said that one must die so young.” He looked mournfully at the body, or rather the head, of Chef Anatole, “And that such an artisan must leave the world of the living.” He then left to his own quarters.
One by one, the other guests left to their own rooms, all of which had looks of fright and sadness on their faces. Yet, I noticed how no one was entirely shocked at the crime. I figured that they given in to the fact we too would be taken out of this “game” by means that were gruesome and highly unfavorable.
Mr. Wooster, who was no longer cradling the young servant, suggested we head back up stairs. Yet, some cruel, dark, twisted part of me wanted to figure out the puzzle that was laid before me. The culprit even challenged me personally (which, I do admit, did bring out a sense of pride within me at the time)! I asked Mr. Wooster if he would object to staying in the dining room for a moment longer. He shrugged and said as long if he could stay far away from the dining table as possible,
I slowly moved towards the bodies, trying my hardest not to vomit at the putrid stench that surrounded them. With further inspection, I could find nothing out of the ordinary; not a strand of hair or even a bit of lint on either victim. This only worried me further. I made a quick mental note; whoever is committing these murders is someone who’s smart and careful, a truly dangerous combination.
“Find anything Jeeves?” inquired Mr. Wooster inquired. “Someone with a mind like yours would probably solve the murder in a split-second!”
I glared angrily at him, “I’m afraid that a crime such as this is not some simple minded matter, and is not something that can be easily resolved, sir.” I looked back at the tragedy-stricken men. “These two have experienced that evil task, first handed.”
“My apologies Jeeves. I honestly didn’t mean to rile you up like that.”
I continued to look at the scene of the crime, paying little attention to Mr. Wooster’s words. Questions continued to float around in my head.
Who was the burnt figure that we encountered on the bottom of the stairway? Sir Watkyn Basset reported that there had been no one that was missing.
How was no one able to notice nothing of what happened here? Surely both Mr. Glossop and Chef Anatole had tried to struggle in some sort of way. Yet, there doesn’t seem to be signs of resistance on either body. And this certainly had to take a while, yet it seemed to be only a short while since we had last seen either of them.
What were the reasons behind Mr. Wooster’s strange behavior?
How did the culprit know my first name?
Who could have done this?
Who will be next?
I gritted my teeth in frustration. This was obviously getting me nowhere.
When I tried to recall my thoughts one more, they were disturbed when Lord Sidcup came bursting in, panting heavily.
“WOOSTERRRR!”
While trying to recover from the shock, Mr. Wooster moaned. “What now?”
Lord Sidcup lifted him by the collar of his shirt, his face glowing red and his eyes as wide as dinner plates. “What have you done to Madeliene now? WHERE IS SHE WOOSTER?!!”
While I tried with great effort to make Lord Sidcup let go of the shirt collar for in fear of it ripping, Mr. Wooster managed to wheeze out, “I…..*gasp* I…don’t..know! With…Jeeves..in dining…*wheeze* room…”
He dropped Mr. Wooster with a heavy “thud” and stamped his foot. “I knew it! That Mr. Finknottle must have taken her away! I haven’t been able to find them at all, and I know the ways of this place like no other!”
This piqued my interest. “Are you suggesting that they may have decided to leave the estate with each other? I had not seen anyone pass by, and it would be incredibly foolish to go out in this weather.”
Lord Sidcup nodded, “Which makes me more sure then ever that Finknottle is behind her disappearance. I’m bet anything he’s filled her head with all sorts of nonsense.”
Mr. Wooster, who was still rubbing his supposedly sore neck, retorted, “The only nonsense business Gussie’s into is those blasted newts! And I assure you that hardly any harm can come from that.”
“Well, if harm comes upon her, I’ll…I’ll…”
He never finished his sentence, for just as he raised one fist over his head, he grabbed his neck as if gasping for breath. He stumbled over, Mr. Wooster barely holding him up.
“Goodness! All you’re all right?”
I helped in Mr. Wooster’s efforts to keep him up right, “It would be in your best benefit, Lord Sidcup, if you could please hold on for a bit longer!” A small bead of sweat slid down my temple as my voice grew slightly higher with every word.
With one dying wheeze, however, Lord Sidcup’s eyes turned glassy as he lay limp in our arms. After a moment’s silence passed, Mr. Wooster slid one arm off his own while I tried to set him on the ground.
It seemed that for an eternity, both Mr. Wooster and I had stood, giving one another solemn glances, as if yet another flame of hope died in a cold, harsh wind.
A clock continued to tick in the background.
A/N: Well that ends it for now! I just worry that many people will hate me next chapter D:...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-11-23 02:05 pm (UTC)Hmm, Wooster is on my list of suspects because of his behavior, but then that would be too obvious since he's been kind of insinuated. Maybe the butler did it. xD
Do keep this up.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-23 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-24 05:33 am (UTC)