The Cinderella Murders

by David Cargill

  ‘What if they cannot get a theatre that’s prepared to allow time for rehearsals? That could really snooker you and delay your nuptial arrangements.’

  ‘I’ve never known you to be so pessimistic, Freddie. What the hell’s got into you? This play is based on a fairy tale… Cinderella – a romantic fairy tale with a happy ending. I think we should give it the benefit of the doubt. What could possibly go wrong?’

  ‘You may be right, Giles. A romantic fairy story? The Cinderella Murders?

  Believe me there’s nothing romantic about murder!’

  A few days after Freddie had left to get back to his family in the Cotswold countryside Giles harked back to what his friend had pronounced. Nothing romantic about murder he’d said. How astute! With his tour of lectures so gratifyingly well attended now being at an end Giles could devote leisure hours to thinking about such meetings with Freddie. The tète-a-tètes never failed to strengthen the depth of their friendship. Long may they last, thought Giles, one evening when he was packing things to return to Scotland then realised he was actually mouthing the words. An odd habit of his – speaking to himself. With a slight wag of the head he grinned reproachfully at the old habit he had never been able to cure.

  The return journey by train to Scotland always seemed much shorter than the journey south. And especially, as he approached the Scottish Borders, the Southern Uplands of the Dumfries countryside seemed to welcome him back home. But despite the captivating scenery as the train left the town of Carlisle, Giles was unable to take his mind off the play he was about to be involved with. The co-playwright of The Cinderella Murders came from Carlisle and although he’d not yet been introduced to him Giles wondered if the gentleman in question, Walter Bradley, was in any way similar to Mark Armstrong or was enlightened about his coauthor’s predicament. A predicament that might bedevil this fairy tale and those involved in it.

  As the train slowed approaching the station at Lockerbie Giles could not banish a sense of foreboding. Freddie’s voice rang in his head. ‘Nothing romantic about Murder!’

  Chapter 5

  THE ARTIST’S DREAM

  The railway station at Lockerbie was fairly quiet when Giles left the train. The platform was empty except for the girl who wheeled round to greet him. Giles smiled with the same heart-stopping abandon he’d felt when he had stepped on to this platform almost two years before when summoned by this young woman to help solve the uncanny death of her father in what was chronicled The Statue of Three Lies. She was the girl he was going to marry. Laura; this strikingly beautiful girl, her hazel eyes sparkling with obvious delight, rushed forward and threw her arms around him. For upwards of ten seconds her head was nestled against his chest as he buried his face in the soft depths of her auburn hair. He was home again and all problematical thoughts of being involved in a project that might be riddled with danger left him as easily as snow off a hot tin roof.

  ‘Nice to have you back home, my dear Giles,’ she turned her face up and kissed him gently. ‘You must be exhausted after your journey.’ Laura’s voice was soft, almost a caress. As autumn was settling in Giles could readily anticipate the warmth of a log fire and a sumptuous meal prepared by Doreen plus the wine to compliment the meal.

  ‘I suppose just sitting in a railway carriage for several hours is not the most convenient way to exercise the body or, for that matter, the mind.’ The cautionary tone of Giles’ last few words prompted disquiet in Laura. She had taken his arm and was leading him out to where her car was parked but she stopped in her tracks and turned to face Giles grabbing both his arms as he dropped the bag he’d held with his other hand.

  ‘What on earth is wrong now?’ she questioned. ‘Have you spent the entire journey worrying about matters over which you’ve no control, or are you deliberately trying to work me into a state of distress? The kind of distress that, in one fell swoop, alleviates you of any concern that you might be having, you rascal?’

  Before picking up his bag Giles gave Laura a tender peck on the cheek. ‘Nothing to worry about my dear. At least I hope not. I’ll explain everything when we’re home.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about? I should hope not. You need to be at your very best when you design the illusions for this play. By the way Walter Bradley gave me a call this morning.’

  As they reached the car outside the puzzled expression on Giles features signified total ignorance of what Laura had said. ‘Who did you say called?’

  ‘Walter Bradley.’

  ‘I’ve somehow heard that name before but can’t place him. Who is Walter Bradley and what could he be calling you for?’

  Laura bundled Giles’ bag into the boot then quickly opened the passenger door of the car. ‘Get in sleepyhead,’ she said, shaking her head in exasperation. ‘I’ll do the explaining while I drive you home.’

  Laura gunned the car into action and once they were climbing above the sleepy town she glanced across at her passenger and shook her head dispassionately. Fondly she looked at her fiancé, fast asleep and purring gently. She smiled as she glanced at her Giles, a man who would close his eyes in deep concentration, shutting out the world around him, then would awaken with the glint of someone closing in on the truth.

  When the car turned into the drive leading up to the big house Giles was instantly awake. ‘I know who Walter Bradley is,’ he said feigning a yawn. ‘He’s the other playwright. The one whose play we’re going to add some magic to.’

  ‘Not we, Giles. You’re the one with the magic touch. It’s you who’ll assist Mr Bradley and Mr Armstrong. You alone, my dear! I’ll just prop you up when the need arises.’

  ‘And the reason Walter called?’ asked Giles when the car stopped.

  ‘They want to have a reading of the play tomorrow and, as you were coming home today, I said that would be perfect.’

  The remainder of that day was spent with Giles making notes of potential illusions he could bring to a play based on the fairytale Cinderella while Laura made certain that the housekeeper could be ready to produce an endless supply of tea, coffee and sandwiches for what might be a long day for the cast and others concerned with The Cinderella Murders.

  It was a fairly early start when three cars pulled up at the front of Maskelyne Hall where Laura met everyone and brought them to the library where she made them comfortable and introduced them to Giles. Doreen had been alerted and was already bringing in pots of hot coffee.

  Mark Armstrong came over to Giles accompanied by a little cocky pleasant-faced man of about sixty; his suit, shirt and tie making a symphony of grey, smartly brushed hair going a little thin on top. He drew at what seemed a tasteless cigarette. ‘Let me introduce my fellow playwright, Giles. Walter Bradley.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Professor Dawson. I believe we can expect your collaboration in our little enterprise.’

  ‘I’d like to think so but I can make no definite plans until I hear the reading of the play.’

  ‘Well that’s what we’re here for.’ Walter said brusquely, thrusting his hands casually into his pockets. ‘Once everyone is seated I’ll introduce you to each member of the cast and the part they’re playing. That ought to give you an idea of the characterisation which may help you to suggest what stage presentation you can bring to our scheme of things.’

  It was difficult for Giles not to think of this bumptious little man as someone who’d eventually get on your nerves and he immediately wondered if the problem Mark Armstrong suffered from was, in some way, due to the cocksure and conceited attitude of his co-writer.

  As the hot coffee was being distributed Mark and Walter introduced Giles to each member of the cast.

  ‘This is Grant Mitchell,’ Walter Bradley said of the mild-mannered man who carefully removed his glasses before shaking Giles’ hand. ‘He will play the neglectful father in our murder mystery,’ Mark said, a reassured grin lighting up his face.

  Next to be introduced to Giles was a woman wearing a turban-style head-dress; her pink glitter ear-ri
ngs and Gogo–style patent boots completing her ensemble. She raised a languid hand bedecked with sparkling jewellery, careless of the ash dripping from her tortoiseshell cigarette holder.

  ‘I’d like you to meet Eleanor, Giles. As you can see she is a rather flamboyant lady. She will play the step-mother. Eleanor Mansfield, allow me to present Giles Dawson, the professor of magic who is to help us with his illusions.’

  ‘I’m confident you’ll give a polished performance, Miss Mansfield.’ Giles said, his words delivered in his most affable manner as he gently took her hand in his and instantly thought she was definitely typecast.

  Malcolm and Russell Kelly were next to meet a rather flabbergasted Giles. He was staggered to find that he couldn’t tell them apart. ‘Your reaction, professor is the norm when we introduce them,’ Walter said, unnecessarily glancing at his fellow playwright. ‘They’re the identical twins of Mark’s sister who tragically died giving birth. They’re playing the two sons of the step-mother but they’ll be dressed differently when they play their roles.’

  Giles was unable to constrain himself. ‘They’re absolutely spot on,’ he stated briefly but with a keen look and incisive voice. ‘In one ideal piece of casting you’ve given me the perfect double act I can use for one of the illusions.’

  ‘Delighted!’ said Mark. ‘My devoted nephews will love working with you.’

  Moving on to a slim brunette both Mark and Walter were eager to present their leading lady. A girl in her early twenties with little or no makeup on a face that was surprisingly serious yet innocent and vulnerable.

  ‘This is our Marlene, Giles. Miss Marlene Finsbury who will play our kind but persecuted heroine, Cindy.’

  Giles clasped the proffered hand noting the long tapered fingers with the carefully manicured nails. ‘The role of Cindy I assume is the equivalent of Cinderella in the fairy tale?’

  ‘That’s true, professor,’ she replied in her dulcet tones.

  At this point Walter Bradley intervened. ‘Marlene will be the perfect Cinderella,’ he said with steady authority. ‘Or Cindy as we’d prefer to know her in this role. But,’ he continued after a pause charged with peril. ‘There will be no Prince Charming searching for a girl to wear a glass slipper…!’

  It was an unusually buoyant Mark Armstrong who willingly chipped in with the coup de grâce. ‘What Walter was explaining may come as a shock,’ he said with self-satisfaction. ‘When we have the reading of the play you’ll discover that our kind and persecuted heroine reaches a point where she can no longer accept persecution and takes revenge by pulling a gun and shooting the culprit.’

  The stunned expression on Giles’ face changed to one of enlightenment. ‘Of course,’ he said instinctively. ‘The Cinderella Murders!’

  ‘You can be of immense help in achieving the shooting, Giles. Apart from the illusions one of the most important things I require you to do for us as a magician will be to show our leading lady how to conceal a small weapon and how to produce it when the moment arises. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes I can. It will be my pleasure.’

  ‘Will that take long?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. It will all depend on how adept Miss Finsbury is. She’s got youth on her side and practice makes perfect. Let me have an hour with her and I’ll be able to let you know what skill she has.’ Giles smiled blandly. ‘She can soon reach the necessary standard by continuing to practise in her own time.’

  The two playwrights gave their leading lady a few nods and satisfying winks before leading Giles to the last of their cast. She was a lady in her early fifties with the distinguished look of superiority.

  ‘Last but not least, let me introduce Jane,’ said Walter with dramatic effect. Miss Jane Ferris who has played many thespian roles and will now play the deceased mother of Cindy.’

  Playing his part Giles bowed in reverence before kissing her outstretched hand. ‘Will you have a speaking part?’ he asked tentatively, ‘or are you to appear as a ghost?’

  The sharp intake of breath prompted Giles to glance across at Mark whose colour had drained from his cheeks. Giles smiled apologetically at Mark, annoyed with himself for making such a faux pas. Ihe curse was still in the foremost of his mind. Walter, quick to see his friend’s distress, said affably, ‘Let me explain, Mark. In the play, although Jane plays the dead mother of our heroine we really want her to be a kind of Fairy Godmother giving wise counsel to her daughter. We have anticipated a sort of dream sequence where the mother appears and speaks to her sleeping girl but if you can produce an illusion that can create a similar effect we’d be thrilled.’

  ‘I think I have the perfect answer,’ he said heartily. His normally impassive face lit up excitedly. ‘Many years ago, when I saw my first magic show in a Glasgow theatre, The Great Lyle’s Cavalcade of Mystery presented an illusion called The Artist’s Dream where the portrait of a lady on a canvas frame came out of the frame and danced before the sleeping artist. You could have Jane’s photograph in a picture frame on the stage and I could create an illusion bringing that picture to life and your godmother can then deliver her lines to her sleeping daughter.’ Giles looked briefly at the two playwrights for a reaction. Two men in their sixties hugging each other were all Giles required. Both men turned and with one accord mouthed ‘Brilliant! The Artist’s Dream.’

  Chapter 6

  A STAB IN THE DARK

  The chatter in the library became a little muted when all the empty dishes had been cleared away and each member of the cast was given a copy of the play.

  Laura had left the room to collect her mother and Giles, who had also been given a copy of the play, was seated, pencil and notebook at hand to take notes.

  When Laura entered with Isabella Ramsden clinging to her arm Mark signified, with a gentle nod, that he was ready to begin.

  ‘Before we start,’ he said pleasantly, ‘Walter and I wish to thank Mrs Ramsden and her daughter Laura for kindly allowing us to have the first reading of our play in their house of magic. We are extremely hopeful the magic will spill over and bring success to what you are about to study.’ There was an unhesitating burst of applause from the cast and the two playwrights crossed to shake hands with Laura and her mother.

  When both men turned back to face the players Mark held up his hands and waited until the clapping had ceased. ‘I mentioned the word magic,’ he said, stressing the word magic, ‘and I am very confident that Professor Giles Dawson, an authority of stage magic whom you’ve all had the chance to meet, will design illusions which will turn our mystery thriller into an epic production.’ He hesitated and Giles felt that Mark was inspecting each word before he spoke. ‘Once the reading is over you will go home and start learning your lines. Meanwhile Walter and I will endeavour to contact a theatre that’s prepared to let us have the use of their stage for our rehearsals. That won’t be easy as we must have a week at the very least but we’ll do our utmost. If successful, we may, by that time, have a good idea of the illusions our magician professor can offer us.’

  The unmistakeable delight of the cast was demonstrated by their spontaneous applause and Walter took over as soon as that died down. ‘I ask every one of you to give Giles your absolute co-operation. Marlene, as you are playing Cindy, you’ll be given the necessary tuition on how to conceal and produce a small firearm. You must know how to use a gun as in the final scene you have to shoot one of the step-sons.’

  There was animated commotion in the room at this announcement. Walter consulted his wristwatch before continuing. ‘I thought that news might cause a stir but you must all remember that our play is called The Cinderella Murders.’ He paused letting his utterance sink in. ‘And that means more than one death.’ He hesitated once more. ‘I must admit that Mark and I have been a little dubious about the title of our play. We thought The Cinderella Murders, as a title, might give the show away. It could prematurely convey to the audience that the person committing the crimes is Cindy, the character who is much the same as
Cinderella in the original fairy tale and we don’t want the truth to be known until as late as possible. That’s the prerequisite of a good detective story or as we all know essential in a splendid mystery play such as The Mousetrap which is drawing such a lot of attention in London. We did therefore consider a title change.’

  It was Mark’s turn to take over the discourse. ‘As the play is set in a well-to-do house near Mayfair in London we thought of Mayfair Lady as a possible title, thus eliminating the fact of our leading lady being the murderess until the dénouement in the final Act. As the title Mayfair Lady is a play on words similar to My Fair Lady it could possibly be an eye catcher,’ he said jocularly. ‘We haven’t made up our minds yet although the odds are still in favour of The Cinderella Murders.

  Grant Mitchell who was to play the neglectful father raised a hand.

  ‘Yes Grant? What can we help you with?’

  ‘I suppose you both know what you’re doing and what’s likely to be the most appropriate title of your play, but I feel there is nothing in the title The Cinderella Murders to let the cat out of the bag about the identity of the murderer.’

  ‘Point taken Grant! We did consider that point of view and we‘re adamant that whatever decision is made about the title of the play the identity of the murderer must remain a secret until all is revealed at the end of the final Act.’ He smiled knowingly as if he was reluctant to disclose something that had just occurred to him. ‘After all there could be more than one murderer and the audience must be kept in the dark for as long as possible.’

  ‘Can we now begin?’ said Mark consulting his watch. ‘We have a lot to get through and time is short.’

  The rustle, as each member of the cast opened their copy of the play, died down. Laura crossed over to Mark and whispered in his ear causing Mark to have a quick word with Walter before letting everyone know that they would stop for a bite of lunch when they had gone over Act One. Soup, sandwiches, tea and coffee would be supplied and the cast would then have the chance to ask questions.