Lottie sat down. “Please do.”
“Well, there are seventeen parts all told but I daresay some of them will have next to nothing to say. The main characters seem to be a hairstylist and his wife who are both in their forties or fifties, a detective inspector of a similar age, a police sergeant around thirtyish and the hairstylist’s daughter in her twenties. Then there are friends staying for the weekend of a similar age to the protagonists and a journalist who calls to interview the hairstylist for an article in a glamour magazine and the hairstylist’s mother-in-law who’s in her sixties or seventies.”
“Ah, so you could be the mother-in-law.”
“Well, yes, but I’m thinking more along the lines of the hairstylist’s wife. I know she’s in her forties or fifties but the audience wouldn’t be close enough to see any wrinkles would they? And I don’t really have that many anyway so I’m sure I could get away with it.”
“Hmm possibly. So who are the rest?”
“Well, there’s also a housemaid but she’s in her teens. Then there’s a cook in her sixties and a gardener and a housekeeper both in their forties or fifties and finally there are four SOCO people with no age reference but then I suppose they could be any age as they’ll be covered from head to toe in those big white suits they wear.”
“SOCOs,” repeated Lottie, “what on earth are SOCOs?”
Hetty tutted loudly. “Oh, come on, Lottie. SOCO means Scenes of Crime Officers. You get them in all television crime drama; they’re the clever Dicks.”
“Yes, of course.” Lottie placed her empty coffee mug on the floor and picked up her knitting. “So, who gets murdered?”
“Now that I have yet to establish. I’ll read it through and tell you when I know. Reading it will also help me decide who I’d like to be.”
An hour later Hetty laid down the sheets of paper and sat tapping her fingers against her chin.
“What’s up, Het? Don’t you like the idea of playing the wife of a hairstylist?”
Hetty wrinkled her nose. “Yes and no. I mean, she sounds alright but rather snooty and a bit boring. I think I might go for the cook instead.”
“Much better idea,” agreed Lottie, “at least you’re the right age if she’s in her sixties.”
“Which of course, she is. The part appeals though because it’s the cook who gets murdered.” Hetty chuckled and wrung her hands.
“Really. So does the murder take place on stage or is it just referred to?”
“It takes place on stage. The hairstylist is away for the night at a conference and his wife has gone to stay with friends and both are due back the following day. The cook is the only person in the house because neither the maid nor the housekeeper live in. In the middle of the night, a burglar comes onto the stage and places explosives on the safe door. The muffled noise of the small explosion brings in the cook to investigate. She sees the burglar emptying the safe and screams. The burglar turns, grabs a candlestick and whacks her over the head with it and she falls to the floor. The burglar does a runner with the valuables and the gardener who lives in a cottage in the grounds having heard the scream runs onto the stage where he finds the poor cook in a heap on the floor.”
Lottie laughed. “I see, so for part of the play you’d be a corpse.”
“Yes, which suits me fine. I mean, I’d be on stage and the centre of attention but wouldn’t have to say anything.”
“So which of the characters is the burglar?”
“The hairstylist’s wife. The friends she is staying with live in a big bungalow so when they’ve gone to bed she creeps out of their home in the middle of the night and returns to Mulberry Hall where she breaks into her own house and blows open the safe. Of course it’s easy for her to slip out of the bungalow because the rooms are all at ground level and no-one suspects her because she has the perfect alibi.”
“So why does she break into her own safe?” Lottie was confused.
“Because her husband’s business isn’t really making enough money to pay for the lifestyle they lead so it’s done in order to claim on the insurance.”
“I see, so he’s in on it too?”
“Yes, and being at the conference he also has an alibi.”
“So the cook is murdered by a woman?”
“Correct.”
“I wonder who’ll get that part.”
“Time will tell but it won’t matter anyway if I don’t get to play the cook.”
“So does the cook have much to say prior to her death?”
“Not a great deal which is ideal because my memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”
Over the next few days Hetty repeatedly practised lines spoken by Mrs Appleby the cook in varying accents so that she would be ready for the auditions on Monday and she asked Lottie for her opinion.
“I think,” said Lottie, much amused, “that it might be best if you stuck to normal English. Your Yorkshire accent is quite good but if I’m honest, the Scottish, Cornish, Cockney and Irish are all terrible.”
“What about the Welsh?”
Lottie laughed. “I didn’t even realise you’d attempted Welsh.”
Chapter Four
On Monday morning, Chloe, who ran Tuzzy-Muzzy, a guest house next door to Primrose Cottage, walked along the main street of the village beneath her umbrella on the way back from the hairdressers. As she passed Sea View Cottage, she saw Brett Baker outside taking items from the boot of his car and with him was his girlfriend, Alina, who rumour had it was an actress. Chloe hurried home keen to relay the news to fellow members of the drama group on social media; she arrived home in Blackberry Way just as Hetty was leaving Primrose Cottage with Albert on his lead.
“It looks like Brett’s back in the village,” said Chloe, taking down her umbrella for the rain had eased a little, “I’ve just seen him with his girlfriend. At least I assume she’s his girlfriend.”
“I’ve heard she’s tall and slim with long blonde hair.”
“Yes, that sounds like her.”
Hetty groaned. “Oh dear, that’s not good then because it means they might be at tonight’s meeting.”
“That’s what I’m thinking and I’m quite nervous enough about auditioning without Brett being there with his actress girlfriend.”
“Me too,” Hetty felt her heart thumping, “and I suppose it’s just as well to be forewarned because we can only do our best.”
“You’re right, and for that reason I intend to warn everyone I know who is after a part in case they’ve not heard.”
“So what part are you going after, Chloe?”
“The housekeeper. I don’t want a big part because as the season moves on I’ll be busy with the guest house. Besides, I’m not very gifted when it comes to acting but I love being involved. How about you, Het?”
“I’ve given it quite a bit of thought and have decided I’ll be most suited to play Mrs Appleby, the cook, so I shall try for that.”
“Good choice, I hope you get it.”
“Thanks, Chloe. Hope you get the part you want too.”
“Thanks, anyway, see you later.”
“Yes, ‘bye.”
When Hetty and Albert arrived back from their walk, Hetty sowed some tomato seeds and placed them by the radiator to germinate. Lottie picked up the seed packet which was empty.
“Have you sowed them all?”
“Yes, and I know there were quite a few in there but I expect most will fail as they’re old seeds which I brought with me from Northants.”
“I think you might be in for a surprise.” Lottie crossed over to the window and peeped outside. “I see the rain’s stopped so I think I’ll drive down to Penzance to get some more wool. Do you want to come?”
“Not really, I got a bit damp while out walking so don’t really want to venture out again.”
“Okay, I won’t be long anyway because I know just what I want.”
“Why do you need more wool? I thought you bought some the other day.”
�
�I did for Bill’s sweater but somehow I managed not to buy enough and I must get it finished by the time they arrive for Easter.”
“Not like you, you’re usually pretty good at stuff like that.”
“Yes, I think I must have read it wrong. Probably because I wasn’t wearing my reading glasses at the time.”
Hetty tutted. “Okay, off you go then and drive carefully.”
“I will. Bye, Het.”
As the car pulled out of the driveway Hetty sat down by the fire with Albert at her feet and read Murder at Mulberry Hall yet again. When she finished she laid the script down on the hearth rug and leaned back in the armchair. “Oh Albert, I’d really love to be Mrs Appleby, she sounds like fun. Please wish me well for tonight because I think I’ll need all the luck in the world.”
As Albert looked up having heard mention of his name, they heard a timid knock on the front door.
“I wonder who that is,” Hetty muttered, rising to her feet.
On opening the door she was surprised to see an elderly lady with grey hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail. She was a little over five feet tall and wore a long black coat with a thick knitted shawl draped over her shoulders. Hanging from her arm was a wicker basket. From it she took a sprig of dried flowers. “Want to buy some lucky heather, dear?” she asked.
“Lucky,” Hetty repeated.
“Yes, very lucky.” The elderly lady’s smile revealed a row of gleaming teeth.
Hetty looked at the sprig of white heather gripped between the fingers of the old lady’s woollen gloves. “Well, yes, actually I might. How much?”
“One pound, dear.”
“Well, you just wait here while I get my purse.” Hetty ran indoors and grabbed her purse from her handbag. “Here you are.” She placed a one pound coin in the woman’s outstretched hand who in return gave her the sprig of heather.
“Thank you, my dear. May good luck be yours always.” She dropped the coin into her pocket and turned to walk away.
“Just a minute,” called Hetty, feeling sorry for the elderly lady, “It’s cold out there: would you like a cup of tea? I was just going to make one.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you, dear.”
Hetty led the woman into the sitting room and offered her a chair by the fire. “I won’t be a minute. I’ll just put the kettle on.”
As she went out to the kitchen she heard a car pull up outside. Lottie was back.
“Tea,” called Hetty, as she heard the front door open and then close.
“Yes, thanks.” As Lottie took off her jacket and hung it on a peg in the hallway she glimpsed sight of the visitor through the open sitting room door. “Who on earth is that?” she whispered as she walked into the kitchen and dropped her bag of wool on the work surface.
“Er, well I don’t actually know her name but she’s selling lucky heather so I bought a sprig because I could do with some luck to help me with tonight’s auditions.”
“But…but.” Lottie was speechless.
“If you’re worried she might be dishonest go and keep an eye on her. I thought she looked cold so I’m making her a cup of tea and it’s nearly ready now.”
Lottie went into the sitting room and took a seat opposite the elderly lady who sat beside the fire. She half smiled. “Hello, my name’s Lottie. What’s yours?”
“Lucy. Would you like to buy a sprig of lucky heather, dear?” Lucy looked hopeful as she pointed to her basket.
Lottie took in a deep breath. “No thank you. I’m not superstitious.”
Hetty entered the room carrying a tray; from it she took three mugs and placed them on the coffee table along with the barrel of biscuits. “Sugar?” she asked.
Lucy shook her head. “No, thank you, dear.”
Hetty handed her a mug of tea. “Please help yourself to biscuits.”
“That’s very kind. Thank you.”
Hetty took a biscuit and sat down on the settee.
“Break it in half,” ordered Lucy, before Hetty took a bite.
“What? Why?”
“Break it and lay the two halves on the plate and then I will tell your fortune.”
The shock caused Lottie to slurp her tea.
Hetty broke the biscuit and passed the plate to Lucy who sucked her teeth noisily. “Hmm, I can see by the shape where the biscuit is broken that there will be much drama in your life over the coming months and I don’t just mean with the play.”
Hetty gasped. “How do you know about the play?”
Lottie nodded to the script lying on the floor.
“So what’s going to happen?” Hetty was intrigued.
“I see yellow tulips in a shaft of sunlight. I see a lady cooking and she will get hurt. Other people will get hurt. Some will be deceitful. Things will go missing. Nothing will make sense.” She smiled, “But you, dear lady shall be unhurt for the lucky heather will protect you and your family.”
“And you can tell all that from the edges of broken biscuits,” smirked Lottie. She wanted to laugh out loud but thought it wise to be cautious just in case Lucy did have a smidgen of mystic powers.
Lucy passed the plate back to Hetty. “Now you must eat the biscuit, dear.”
Hetty did as she was asked.
“Would you like me to do a biscuit reading for you now, dear?” Lucy asked Lottie.
“Err, no thank you, I’m not hungry.”
The three ladies then drank their tea in silence.
“Well, you do pick ‘em,” said Lottie, as they stood on the doorstep and waved goodbye to their unusual guest, “I mean, broken biscuits. How ridiculous. Whatever happened to reading good old fashioned tealeaves?”
“Teabags,” Hetty closed the door. “But you must admit, Lottie, that what she said is quite unnerving. I mean, how does she know that Mrs Appleby the cook in the play gets murdered?”
Lottie laughed. “She didn’t say murdered, Het, she said hurt. Anyway, I expect while you were making the tea she took a quick peek at your script and saw the cook got a knock on the head. Had she had the time to look further she’d have found out the blow was fatal and then said murdered instead of hurt.”
Hetty picked up her sprig of heather. “Well whatever, I’m not going to leave the house without this in future.”
Lottie decided not to comment but instead said, “I wonder where she lives. I’ve not seen her before.”
“Me neither, but I shall ask around at tonight’s auditions to see if she paid anyone else a visit.”
“Good idea. If anyone knows, Tess will.”
As feared by Hetty and Chloe, Brett and Alina were both at the meeting on Monday evening. There were a lot of nervous faces.
“I wasn’t expecting him to be here tonight,” groaned Marlene, a school dinner lady. “I mean, I wanted him to be at some of the meetings but not this one. I’m bound to make a lash-up now even though I’ve been practising all week.”
“Don’t be daft,” hissed Bernie the Boatman, glancing towards the corner where Brett stood talking to Robert. “He’s a nice bloke so there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“Are you after a part then, Bernie?” Marlene asked, “You don’t usually.”
“Yep, I thought I’d give it a go this year and try for the gardener. After all I’m used to all this theatrical stuff having played Father Christmas at the Wonderland these past two years.”
Marlene giggled. “Not quite the same though, is it? I mean, all you have to remember to say as Father Christmas is ho ho ho, the rest is adlibbed.”
“True but then the gardener doesn’t have much to say so I can handle that.”
After the meeting several group members went to the Crown and Anchor, some to quench their thirst, others to steady their nerves. The auditions had gone well and Robert had promised to phone those who were to be offered parts the following morning.
There was a lot of excited chatter in the pub; several expressed their hopes and others their anguish over the fact that their auditions hadn’t quite
gone to plan.
Seeing Alina the actress standing alone, looking lost, while Brett and Robert sat in the corner discussing the auditions, Tess crossed over to speak to her.
“You look lonely.”
Alina smiled. “Do I? Yes, I suppose I must do. I don’t know anyone you see apart from Brett and Robert and they’ve both deserted me.”
“Come on, let’s sit down. I’m Tess by the way, Tess Dobson, and I’d like to hear a bit about you. You’re an actress, I believe.”
“Yes, but not a well-known one although I do have a fairly good part coming up and we start filming soon. It’s a drama series but I can’t tell you anything about it as we’re sworn to secrecy.”
“Fair enough.”
“Have you lived in Pentrillick long, Tess?”
“Yes, all my life and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”
“I can understand that, it’s beautiful. The reason I ask is because when Brett bought the cottage the name of the village rang a bell. Wasn’t there a robbery here a few years back? I vaguely remember reading about it. The name Pentrillick stuck in my mind you see because I thought it charming.”
“Well remembered. Yes, there was and it made the television news too. It’s Pentrillick House that was broken into and it happened while the owners, the Liddicott-Treens, were on holiday. Several items of value were stolen and sadly never retrieved.”
“Pentrillick House, yes that was the name. I imagined it to be a gorgeous country estate,” She giggled, “a bit like Mulberry Hall.”
“I suppose it is. You must go and see it sometime. Get Brett to take you, it’s well worth a visit.”
“You mean it’s open to the public?”
“Yes, all the year round.”
“Wow! I’ll do that then.” Alina glanced across the bar and caught Brett’s eye. To her delight he beckoned her over.
She smiled broadly. “I must go. Thanks for chatting to me, Tess. I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.”
When Hetty spotted Tess was momentarily on her own she dragged Lottie from her seat. “Quick, we need to speak to Tess.”
Tea and Broken Biscuits Page 3
