Murder as Totleigh Towers Chapter 4
Title: Murder at Totleigh Towers Ch. 4: Cat and mouse.
Ratings: PG-13.
Pairings: none.
Warnings: Blood and those of the dead.
Author's Note: To be frank, I'm kinda scared posting this chapter up. Sure hope no one throws a shoe at me, or any hard inanimate object. And yes. I'm kind aware that it's a bit fast paced. I assure you though, I plan the story to be fairly long and paced slower, so I just want the intro to be somewhat finished.
Disclaimer: All of Wodehouse's wonderful creations are not mine. I only took them and put them into a (unoriginal) mystery plot.
Chapter 4: Cat and Mouse
The rain pattered heavily against the window pane as the clock struck eight. We all sat in the family room; Mr. and Mrs. Pinker in each other’s arms, Mrs. Travers and Mrs. Gregson quarreling with one another as Mr. Travers drearily looking over the two, and Mr. Wooster playing a lively tune on the piano. Mr. Basset sat on a recliner as Mr. Butterfield poured tea into his cup. I stood by the sleek, glossy, grand piano as Mr. Wooster continued on with his playing. For a moment, it seemed like everything was normal as it should be. Just another relaxing evening at the Totleigh Towers Estate, even though in the past it was usually anything but relaxing. Of course, deep in everyone’s mind, it was clear that it wasn’t.
Mrs. Craye let out a shriek. “Why aren’t we doing anything to get out of this miserable place? Why are we just sitting here while some crazy lunatic weeds us out one by one?!”
Mr. Basset gave a solid glare, “It’s best if we all stay together. We’ll be able to make sure that the murderer isn’t one of us.”
“What about your own daughter? Don’t you worry that Mr. Finknottle is alone with her? Who knows, maybe their already dead!” She broke down into sobs, “I don’t want to die here.”
Mr. Basset firmly stated, “No one else is going to get killed!”
Mrs. Craye looked up, her eyed puffed up and red, “How would you know?! Three people were killed, two missing! What if…” She stopped dead cold. “Bertie…?”
Mr. Wooster stopped playing. “Yes Florence?”
“Your valet, Jeeves, you…you’ve said he’s really smart, right?”
Mr. Wooster grinned, “One of the smartest! Brighter than Newton and Galileo, or whoever those old smart fellows were called!”
I almost winced. Not the greatest time to say that now Mr. Wooster.
Mrs. Craye pointed wildly at me. “YOU DID IT! That’s it, you did it!”
Everyone was stunned silent. Suddenly Mrs. Gregson’s voice ran out in the air, “That’s it! I knew your valet was up to no good Bertram.”
More voices joined in.
“What? But he’s helped us out so many times!”
“Don’t be silly Harold! It was obviously just to create a false sense of trust.”
“It could be possible. Jeeves did help steal that cow creamer. He’s obviously very sneaky.”
“What was that Dahlia?”
“Oh, nothing Tom.”
Mrs. Craye smiled, “See? It makes sense! Jeeves could have easily committed the murders.”
“But, Florence…”
“Oh do shut up Bertram.”
Mr. Basset frowned, “Could Jeeves really do such a thing?” He sulked, “Oh Madeliene…”
“I bet Jeeves is planning to kill us off right now!”
While I tried to remain unaffected with the accusations, Mr. Wooster pounded a fist on the piano. “That’s ENOUGH!” Everyone stared at him, eyes wide as plates. “Jeeves didn’t do anything and you’re all silly asses for thinking so!” I silently thanked my gracious employer. “This is someone who has been kind enough to offer help to all of us. Don’t you dare ever forget that!”
Mr. Bassest loomed over Mr. Wooster, “And don’t you forget that Jeeves has done anything to help us in this situation! So far, he’s the most suspicious out of all of us. He could have easily killed those three men.” He looked at me, “However, if he’s willing to prove himself innocent.”
I looked back with wide, questioning eyes, “What exactly do you have in mind, Sir Watkyn Basset.”
He grabbed a rifle that been resting on top of the fireplace and shoved it in my heads. “Take this gun, and do a search around the grounds of the estate. Try to find Madeleine and Mr. Finknottle. If you do find them, dead or alive, you will be allowed to come back in. However, if we find them dead with gunshot wounds, or if you do not come back in less than a quarter of the hour,” his eyes turned dark, “I have no trouble scouting for you and placing a bullet in your head myself.”
Mr. Wooster gulped. “Isn’t that a tad harsh…?”
“He is a suspect in a murder, Wooster. We need to be catious.”
I nodded, “Very well then, I’ll do as you ask.”
I was led outside in to the pouring rain by Mr. Butterfield and Mr. Wooster, who each gave a goodbye before I left, “I do hope you find them, for your sake Mr. Jeeves.”
I shook his hand, “Thank you.”
“Please, old-fruit, I really wouldn’t want to find out that my valet had been chopped and fed to a hungry old bear.”
I gave a ghost of a smile towards his crude humor. “I would find it unlikely that there would be on the premises, sir.”
“Well, it was only a thought.”
I had bid them both farewell as I started my little search.
The ground was muddy from the rain, and it was hard to see much except for the faint outline of most objects. 5 minutes around the grounds and yet I had not seen a trace of Mrs. Basset or Mr. Finknottle. I had a sinking feeling that it would highly unlikely to find them, and that my best bet would be to run from the estate it order to evade a bullet in any part of me. I figured, however that during this heavy storm (which did cause me to shiver for a moment or two), that escape would be difficult. 10 minutes into the search of the dark abyss turned up nothing, and I felt as if my life was a string soon to be cut. Then, as I was exploring one in the brushes, I heard the most peculiar thing.
Here Reggie…
Come and plaaay…
Voices? I must have been going insane.
Is the little mousey scared of the dark?
Does he still cry out for “mommy”?
Laughter followed the taunting words.
I covered my ears, yet I couldn’t drain out the horrifying sound. “Whoever you are, show yourself!” I raised the gun up and shot into one of the trees. However, after I did so, a furry being with red streaks covering its muzzle fell out from one of the branches. It was a tabby, shot dead in the heart. I gritted my teeth, “Damnit! Who’s there?”
The laughter started up again.
We’re hurt!
Don’t you remember us?
We just want to plaaaay!
I raised my gun up again as the maniacal snickers surrounded me. “Who-”
Instead of firing the trigger, I lunged forward and fell to the ground, paralyzed. I lay on a liquid that was warm in contrast to the cold rain. I tried to reach my hand to the searing pain that was on my chest. I felt it right there, a dagger that pierced right through my upper body as if there was nothing there. I panicked as the searing pain made me cry out.
I coughed up blood as a shadowy figure stood over me. I felt its smile as it looked down pitifully at me. I was amazed that I was still able to maintain consciousness,
Oh look. It seems he lost yet again. And a bit earlier than we thought.
I felt more ashamed then anything. As if I was exposed, naked, to this…this thing. Why was this so familiar? This whole scenario, felt like something from the past. Think, will you Reginald, think!
But I couldn’t. In just a short moment I stiffened in the mud and died as I heard the figure shuffling away, laughing only to itself in this cold, rainy night.
A/N: Ok. So, great. He’s dead. Not to worry! The story will continue, but I must warn you. What lies ahead might be a bit, err, “magical” (and the chapters should be longer, as this segment of the story was more of an introduction than anything else).
Ratings: PG-13.
Pairings: none.
Warnings: Blood and those of the dead.
Author's Note: To be frank, I'm kinda scared posting this chapter up. Sure hope no one throws a shoe at me, or any hard inanimate object. And yes. I'm kind aware that it's a bit fast paced. I assure you though, I plan the story to be fairly long and paced slower, so I just want the intro to be somewhat finished.
Disclaimer: All of Wodehouse's wonderful creations are not mine. I only took them and put them into a (unoriginal) mystery plot.
Chapter 4: Cat and Mouse
The rain pattered heavily against the window pane as the clock struck eight. We all sat in the family room; Mr. and Mrs. Pinker in each other’s arms, Mrs. Travers and Mrs. Gregson quarreling with one another as Mr. Travers drearily looking over the two, and Mr. Wooster playing a lively tune on the piano. Mr. Basset sat on a recliner as Mr. Butterfield poured tea into his cup. I stood by the sleek, glossy, grand piano as Mr. Wooster continued on with his playing. For a moment, it seemed like everything was normal as it should be. Just another relaxing evening at the Totleigh Towers Estate, even though in the past it was usually anything but relaxing. Of course, deep in everyone’s mind, it was clear that it wasn’t.
Mrs. Craye let out a shriek. “Why aren’t we doing anything to get out of this miserable place? Why are we just sitting here while some crazy lunatic weeds us out one by one?!”
Mr. Basset gave a solid glare, “It’s best if we all stay together. We’ll be able to make sure that the murderer isn’t one of us.”
“What about your own daughter? Don’t you worry that Mr. Finknottle is alone with her? Who knows, maybe their already dead!” She broke down into sobs, “I don’t want to die here.”
Mr. Basset firmly stated, “No one else is going to get killed!”
Mrs. Craye looked up, her eyed puffed up and red, “How would you know?! Three people were killed, two missing! What if…” She stopped dead cold. “Bertie…?”
Mr. Wooster stopped playing. “Yes Florence?”
“Your valet, Jeeves, you…you’ve said he’s really smart, right?”
Mr. Wooster grinned, “One of the smartest! Brighter than Newton and Galileo, or whoever those old smart fellows were called!”
I almost winced. Not the greatest time to say that now Mr. Wooster.
Mrs. Craye pointed wildly at me. “YOU DID IT! That’s it, you did it!”
Everyone was stunned silent. Suddenly Mrs. Gregson’s voice ran out in the air, “That’s it! I knew your valet was up to no good Bertram.”
More voices joined in.
“What? But he’s helped us out so many times!”
“Don’t be silly Harold! It was obviously just to create a false sense of trust.”
“It could be possible. Jeeves did help steal that cow creamer. He’s obviously very sneaky.”
“What was that Dahlia?”
“Oh, nothing Tom.”
Mrs. Craye smiled, “See? It makes sense! Jeeves could have easily committed the murders.”
“But, Florence…”
“Oh do shut up Bertram.”
Mr. Basset frowned, “Could Jeeves really do such a thing?” He sulked, “Oh Madeliene…”
“I bet Jeeves is planning to kill us off right now!”
While I tried to remain unaffected with the accusations, Mr. Wooster pounded a fist on the piano. “That’s ENOUGH!” Everyone stared at him, eyes wide as plates. “Jeeves didn’t do anything and you’re all silly asses for thinking so!” I silently thanked my gracious employer. “This is someone who has been kind enough to offer help to all of us. Don’t you dare ever forget that!”
Mr. Bassest loomed over Mr. Wooster, “And don’t you forget that Jeeves has done anything to help us in this situation! So far, he’s the most suspicious out of all of us. He could have easily killed those three men.” He looked at me, “However, if he’s willing to prove himself innocent.”
I looked back with wide, questioning eyes, “What exactly do you have in mind, Sir Watkyn Basset.”
He grabbed a rifle that been resting on top of the fireplace and shoved it in my heads. “Take this gun, and do a search around the grounds of the estate. Try to find Madeleine and Mr. Finknottle. If you do find them, dead or alive, you will be allowed to come back in. However, if we find them dead with gunshot wounds, or if you do not come back in less than a quarter of the hour,” his eyes turned dark, “I have no trouble scouting for you and placing a bullet in your head myself.”
Mr. Wooster gulped. “Isn’t that a tad harsh…?”
“He is a suspect in a murder, Wooster. We need to be catious.”
I nodded, “Very well then, I’ll do as you ask.”
I was led outside in to the pouring rain by Mr. Butterfield and Mr. Wooster, who each gave a goodbye before I left, “I do hope you find them, for your sake Mr. Jeeves.”
I shook his hand, “Thank you.”
“Please, old-fruit, I really wouldn’t want to find out that my valet had been chopped and fed to a hungry old bear.”
I gave a ghost of a smile towards his crude humor. “I would find it unlikely that there would be on the premises, sir.”
“Well, it was only a thought.”
I had bid them both farewell as I started my little search.
The ground was muddy from the rain, and it was hard to see much except for the faint outline of most objects. 5 minutes around the grounds and yet I had not seen a trace of Mrs. Basset or Mr. Finknottle. I had a sinking feeling that it would highly unlikely to find them, and that my best bet would be to run from the estate it order to evade a bullet in any part of me. I figured, however that during this heavy storm (which did cause me to shiver for a moment or two), that escape would be difficult. 10 minutes into the search of the dark abyss turned up nothing, and I felt as if my life was a string soon to be cut. Then, as I was exploring one in the brushes, I heard the most peculiar thing.
Here Reggie…
Come and plaaay…
Voices? I must have been going insane.
Is the little mousey scared of the dark?
Does he still cry out for “mommy”?
Laughter followed the taunting words.
I covered my ears, yet I couldn’t drain out the horrifying sound. “Whoever you are, show yourself!” I raised the gun up and shot into one of the trees. However, after I did so, a furry being with red streaks covering its muzzle fell out from one of the branches. It was a tabby, shot dead in the heart. I gritted my teeth, “Damnit! Who’s there?”
The laughter started up again.
We’re hurt!
Don’t you remember us?
We just want to plaaaay!
I raised my gun up again as the maniacal snickers surrounded me. “Who-”
Instead of firing the trigger, I lunged forward and fell to the ground, paralyzed. I lay on a liquid that was warm in contrast to the cold rain. I tried to reach my hand to the searing pain that was on my chest. I felt it right there, a dagger that pierced right through my upper body as if there was nothing there. I panicked as the searing pain made me cry out.
I coughed up blood as a shadowy figure stood over me. I felt its smile as it looked down pitifully at me. I was amazed that I was still able to maintain consciousness,
Oh look. It seems he lost yet again. And a bit earlier than we thought.
I felt more ashamed then anything. As if I was exposed, naked, to this…this thing. Why was this so familiar? This whole scenario, felt like something from the past. Think, will you Reginald, think!
But I couldn’t. In just a short moment I stiffened in the mud and died as I heard the figure shuffling away, laughing only to itself in this cold, rainy night.
A/N: Ok. So, great. He’s dead. Not to worry! The story will continue, but I must warn you. What lies ahead might be a bit, err, “magical” (and the chapters should be longer, as this segment of the story was more of an introduction than anything else).