Send murder_at_christmas mailing list submissions to
murder_at_christmas@...

To subscribe or unsubscribe via the World Wide Web, visit
http://gamera.cc/mailman/listinfo/murder_at_christmas_gamera.cc
or, via email, send a message with subject or body 'help' to
murder_at_christmas-request@...

You can reach the person managing the list at
murder_at_christmas-owner@...

When replying, please edit your Subject line so it is more specific
than "Re: Contents of murder_at_christmas digest..."


Today's Topics:

1. And so it begins ... Oswald and Lucinda Skeffington-Nottle
(Mel Mason)
2. And So it Begins ... Marion (Margaret Dean)
3. Re: And so it begins ... Hodges (Mrfury28@...)
4. And So it Begins ... Philip (Brian Schoner)
5. And So it Begins ... Majorie (Heather Mace)
6. And so it begins... Warren (Allen Veazey)
7. At the Fitzroys: Hodges and Braham (Mel Mason)
8. And So it Begins ... Nicola (Jonathan Katalenic)


----------------------------------------------------------------------

Message: 1
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 17:59:09 -0000
From: "Mel Mason" <goldfired@...>
Subject: [MaC] And so it begins ... Oswald and Lucinda
Skeffington-Nottle


"Here you are!" said Lucinda Skeffington-Nottle, relieved. "I thought you
were never coming!"

She bestowed a kiss on Oswald, her husband, and then turned around in her
dark rose and cream striped satin dress.

"Very nice," said Oswald admiringly. "Is it new?"

Lucinda laughed. "In a way," she said. "Mummy made it for me - from the
old library curtains. So ... no coupons needed! I brought it up last time
I went to see Timmy and Joan." Her face fell briefly.

"I know, old bean," said Oswald. It's hard to be away from the kits at
Christmas. But all being well, we should be driving down to Hampshire on
Boxing Day, and we can have fun and frolics till the New Year then."

Lucinda nodded, although her amiable husband noticed that her lower lip
still trembled.

"Tell you what," he said, "How about opening your Christmas present early?
It's under the tree. Go on ... I'll wrap you an egg cup or something for
the morning."

Lucinda gave a little chuckle. "Oswald," she said, "you are an ass."

"That's me," he agreed cheerfully, although he was shrewd to enough to
realise that he was being successful in diverting her thoughts from her
evacuated children. He watched as she went to the tree - decorated even
though the children were absent - and stooped to the unusually small pile of
presents beneath. "No, not that one," he added quickly. "The long narrow
one beneath."

Shop wrapping paper had failed this year, but Oswald and Lucinda had cut up
some old pre-war magazines. The black and white illustrations made the
wrpping rather more interesting, they agreed, than plain paper would have
done, although now Lucinda did not bother to examine the illustrations. The
wrapping was removed and folded, even as her eyes were widening at the sight
of the jeweller's box.

"Oh ... Oswald!"

"I hope you like it, old thing," said Oswald, as she oped the lid.

The way her eyes lit up told him that she did.

"Oh ... Oswald! It's beautiful." Carefully she lifted the delicate silver
chain with its setting of small diamonds. "Will you fasten it for me?"

He was more than happy to oblige.

"Do you think I need to change?" he murmured into the back of her neck as he
did up the clasp.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I imagine several people will be in
uniform - and you don't really have time to change."

"Good," said Oswald, relieved. "One of the advantages of being in khaki is
not having to wear a penguin suit for things like this."

Ten minutes later the Skeffington Nottles were ready, and leaving their
flat.

"Let's take the lift, " said Oswald.

The lift was a handsome piece of iron engineering - an open cage, with a
plain grilled on the inside, and more elaborate mouldings on the outside.
(OOC - see images on the wikki at
http://www.amberpbem.net/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/~MurderAtChristmas/Main/TheLift).
As Lucinda and Oswald waited there, they heard it clank into life, rising
from the lower floors.


(OOC - anyone else wish to emerge on their floor, or share the lift to the
top with them?)



------------------------------

Message: 2
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 13:23:32 -0500
From: Margaret Dean <margdean@...>
Subject: [MaC] And So it Begins ... Marion

The dark red cocktail dress was several years old, but it fit
well, and flattered her figure and coloring, and besides, Marion
Mauberly was a professional woman, not a fashion plate. And this
evening was strictly business, the journalist told herself as she
peered into the mirror and carefully applied lipstick. It wasn't
as if she liked Marty Fitzroy, or particularly wanted to
socialize with him. But he and his clients were News, and it
didn't do to alienate them.

So she'd go to his Christmas Eve party, and be bright and
sociable and chat everyone up while they were well mellowed with
Marty's drinks, and gather what she could. But very soon now --
oh, she hoped it would be soon! -- there would be a day of
reckoning for Marty Fitzroy and everyone like him.

Marion finished her lipstick and studied herself in the mirror,
dark eyes looking back at her from under arched brows,
well-marked features framed by thick, black hair. She carefully
affixed her earrings -- stars, for Christmas -- and then daubed a
few careful touches of scent under her ears. Her expression
softened just a trifle at the smell of sandalwood. Well, perhaps
not =strictly= business...

She emerged from her flat a few minutes later, carefully locked
her door, then walked toward the lift. She'd promised to stop
for Vangie on her way up...


--Margaret Dean
<margdean@...>



------------------------------

Message: 3
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 14:16:18 EST
From: Mrfury28@...
Subject: Re: [MaC] And so it begins ... Hodges


Graydon Hodges hastily scrubbed the axle grease off his hands. The lift had
been acting up again, but all it had needed was lubrication. Performing his
daily chores in addition to the maintenance of the lift had caused the older
man
to become delayed as he was expected to serve at the Fitzroys. He had
served
his country years before, and now he was reduced to serving the nouveaux
rich. But with the pensioners cut back due to the War, one had to make due.

Hodges surveyed his hands, noting the dark under his cuticles. It would
have
to be good enough. At least he had the time to don clean pants, starched
shirt and jacket. He straightened his tie in the oval mirror above the
dresser
before heading to the Fitzroys. Hearing the groan of the lift, Hodges
winced.
If guests were arriving already, he was late. An Englishman was nothing if
not punctual.

The gentleman climbed the stairs. Given the current condition of the lift,
no doubt he would reach the Fitzroys apartment first. When he did, he
firmly
knocked on the door and announced himself. "Its Hodges, sir. Sorry about
the
time."


------------------------------

Message: 4
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 14:38:36 -0500
From: "Brian Schoner" <brianschoner@...>
Subject: [MaC] And So it Begins ... Philip


Philip swallowed a curse as the buttons of his dress-uniform jacket evaded
his clumsy attempt to button them left-handed. He grimaced down at his right
hand -- such as it was -- hating it, hating the uselessness of it, the
uselessness it made him feel. [It was that or die,] he told himself, for the
umpteenth time. [A hell of a choice, but that's war. And considering what's
happening on the Continent, you got off lightly...]

He let that thought go, as it never made him feel any better, despite the
truth of it. Gross movements of his shoulder and elbow maneuvered the
burned, clawlike hand into a position where it could clutch weakly at the
fabric. Through an effort, he managed to press the cloth between fingers and
thumb -- enough to hold it in place while his left hand, still unfamiliar
with the motions, made another attempt at the buttons. The effort caused him
some pain, but the pain now was mild compared to what it had been, and he
had better get used to it; the doctors said it would likely never get any
better than it was now.

His right hand held grimly onto the jacket's lapel, as though desperate to
prove that it could contribute *something* to the task it had once managed
effortlessly. He was frustrated enough now to forego the entire party, to
sit here in his borrowed room with a bottle of whisky and the book of Saki
stories that a squadmate had sent him. But it wasn't as though Great-Aunt
Evangeline would let him avoid her social obligations, and the damned cat
would doubtless conspire to ruin his evening despite his best efforts to
shut it out of his room. Besides, there was someone at the party he simply
had to see...if it wasn't already too late.

The button sprang loose again, just as he thought he had it fixed in place.
He did curse this time, biting off the end of the expletive in hopes that
Evangeline wouldn't hear. While grabbing futilely at the cloth with his left
hand, he knocked his right away, the fabric sliding smoothly out from
between his rigid, scabbed fingers. He willed them to close, to catch on the
jacket, but they merely twitched apologetically in the air.





------------------------------

Message: 5
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 12:02:34 -0800
From: Heather Mace <hmace@...>
Subject: [MaC] And So it Begins ... Majorie


Marjorie hurried into the building and up the first flight of
stairs, her uniform and shoes covered with dust. ~What a
day!~ she thought wearily. Pauline was out with a twisted
ankle, so she had to spot her route as well as her own.

And now she had to get ready for the party upstairs, too.

She opened up her flat, #3, and hurried in. At least these
rooms had a private bath with running water. Much nicer that
Scarlet's flat over by the underground entrance. She had
to share with everyone on the floor. Rotten, that. Now if
she could get some nice shampoo...

Marjorie pulled off her helmet and shook out her short brown
curls. Bother wearing this hot thing. It did nothing for
her hair she fretted as she grabbed her hairbrush and tried
to brush some life back into her hair. Bother... Marjorie
frowned at the mirror. Nope... no hope for it she thought
sadly. She was going to have to go to the party with her
hair like this. Unless...

She opened her satchel, pulled out a faded cream dress and
a few boxes. One of the things about working for the post
was sometimes they found flats who's occupants were no
longer with them anymore. Most stuff went to the churches
and charities. But occasionally the post workers got a
few things from such places. Marjorie squelched a bit of
guilt. No... she didn't -rob- anyone she told herself. It
wasn't like there was next of kin, they checked. It's just..
it was hard to get things in times like these. She lifted
one of the small boxes, opened it up, and pulled out a
handful of hair pins. Yes! Problem solved.

Marjorie quickly washed her hands and face and neck, put
on the cream satin dress. A little tight in the front,
but that was ok Marjorie thought as she adjusted it.
Made her look more like a movie star. She quickly pinned
her hair up and back. Much, much better. A little
lipstick, a little powder. Why.. she hadn't looked this
good since before the war! Marjorie smiled at the mirror.

She heard the door above her flat open and close. Oswald
and Lucinda must be on their way up to the party already!
Get a move on, Marjorie!

She pulled her only good pair of stockings on and slipped
into her shoes, ignoring the protests of her tired feet.
After all, it was a party!

Flat key in her pocket. Anything else? Nope. With a
bounce in her step she left the flat. Bother... the lift
was just going up! She could wait the minutes it would
take for it to come back, or... she sighed, looked at the
stairs. Right. Marjorie started up the stairs. All the
way up to the fifth floor. She paused for a moment at the
top landing to give herself a moment to catch her breath,
ignoring the twinge in her side.


<tag anyone else arriving on the fifth floor>



------------------------------

Message: 6
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 14:11:15 -0600
From: Allen Veazey <veazeyae@...>
Subject: [MaC] And so it begins... Warren


Warren Worthington
Flat #8

Warren slipped on his dress uniform jacket, noting as
he started to work the buttons that it had grown
tighter over the last few weeks.

Small wonder. He hadn't been wearing uniforms at
all; mostly pajamas and loose-fitting clothes. Lying
around, eating and taking medicine while his knee
throbbed.

He looked down at his leg. Well, it could be worse.
Most of the bandages had come off just today, and
the doctor had encouraged him to undertake "light
exercise." Right. His uncle's empty flat was a godsend,
but he almost needed rope and pitons to make it
down to the street.

Hodges was a godsend there, too. The man had taken
one look at Warren's damaged knee and offered him
occasional use of the service lift. A fine fellow, that.
Salt of the earth.

There. Buttons done, everything on straight... had to
check everything twice, he thought, in this haze. That
little bottle certainly took the pain away, but thinking
was as much a chore as climbing. Almost, he thought
about missing the party, but... no. He'd been by himself
much too long. Uncle Albert was gone, might be gone
until Warren went back on duty. He might never see
him.

It doesn't matter, Warren thought, grabbing his cane.
I'm going back. Can't rest on my laurels, not when our
chaps were just barely holding the line. And this new
tactic, stepping up the blitz... how monstrous could a
people become?

He turned. Enough ruminating. For one night, at least,
I'll put my own problems out of my head. The last chance
for some fun, last chance for quite a while. Maybe if
I hurried, I could find Hodges.

Warren almost whistled as he opened his door and
began his usual limp towards the lifts.



------------------------------

Message: 7
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 20:14:29 -0000
From: "Mel Mason" <goldfired@...>
Subject: [MaC] At the Fitzroys: Hodges and Braham


Hodges surveyed his hands, noting the dark under his cuticles. It would
have to be good enough. At least he had the time to don clean pants,
starched shirt and jacket. He straightened his tie in the oval mirror above
the dresser before heading to the Fitzroys. Hearing the groan of the lift,
Hodges winced. If guests were arriving already, he was late. An Englishman
was nothing if not punctual.

The gentleman climbed the stairs. Given the current condition of the lift,
no doubt he would reach the Fitzroys apartment first. When he did, he
firmly knocked on the door and announced himself. "Its Hodges, sir Sorry
about the time."

Marty Fitroy himself came out into the hall and directed a glower at him
that put Hodges in mind of a swelling toad.

"So, you're 'ere at last, are?" he said. "Well, you'd better 'op to it -
the guests will be arriving any minute." As if in confirmation of his
words, the doorbell rang. Frowning, he turned to attend to it himself,
waving Hodges towards the stairs that led to the upper level of the
penthouse, where the lounge was located (OOC - see
http://www.amberpbem.net/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/~MurderAtChristmas/Main/PenthouseUppe\
rLevel).

There in the larger room, the picture windows hung with heavy blackout
curtains, Hodges found a long table set with bottles of gin, tonic, bitters,
vermouth, scotch, lime juice and a few liqueurs - as well as Malvern water
for the faint of heart. Also present was Esme Fitzroy who looked at Hodges
nervously, before standing and walking towards him, hand extended.

"So good of you to help out," she said colourlessly. "You can mix
cocktails, can't you?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Braham picked up a notebook, thought for a moment and set it promptly back
down again. No, it was best to not take notes at the party. Some people
might find the behavior distinctly odd. He knew he would if he had
witnessed someone doing the same just a few years ago. Whatever happened,
he would simply have to mark it in his memory and record it later. That
would be the easiest way. With that decided he headed for the door without
further hesitation.

Once free of the confines of his flat, he bounded towards the staircase. He
nearly flew up them, taking the steps two at a time. The exertion did not
steal his breath but it was still enough to get his blood flowing. Feeling
much more like his normally easy going self, he knocked gently on the
Fitzroy's door. I am probably first to arrive, he thought to himself.
Mother would be horrified. An impish grin met his lips as he awaited an
answer.


The door was opened by the larger than life figure of Marty Fitzroy,
resplendent in his black tie. For a fleeting second, Braham had the
impression that Fitzroy was disappointed - perhaps because he had been
expecting someone else. But then he beamed and took Braham's extended hand
in his own meaty clasp, almost jerking the slighter American into the
penthouse flat bodily.

"Welcome!" he said heartily. "Welcome! Come and have a Christmas drink!"

Braham again noticed that Fitzroy looked over his shoulder, as though
checking to see if anyone else was coming before he turned and ushered him
towards the steps that led to the upper level.

"I'll stay here," his host told him. "Let our guests in, you know. Just go
up and say your 'ow do's to Esme. Just turn left at the top. It's a bit
dark, and when you come to the wall you've gone too far."

He laughed, expecting his guest to see the joke.

In fact, it proved fairly logical for Braham to find his way to the lounge,
and when he arrived, the woman in grey mauve crepe de chine greeted him.

"Good evening, Mr ... ?"




------------------------------

Message: 8
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 12:14:27 -0800 (PST)
From: Jonathan Katalenic <jjkatalenic@...>
Subject: [MaC] And So it Begins ... Nicola


Nicola Douglas was a vision- if she did say so
herself. Her elegant black velvet evening gown fit as
though it had been tailored exclusively for her and
not bought in a last-minute frenzy of shopping earlier
that morning. Her mother had always told her that a
true lady would never be caught dead wearing the same
dress to more than one party; this was advice that
Nicola took very seriously. She had been lucky enough
to find the dress in one of the few upscale shops left
open during the Blitz. She had spent many more coupons
than she could afford on it, but it had all been worth
it- and besides, it wasn't like she would be in London
much longer anyhow.

A bolero jacket acquired as a gift from a fashion
designer in New York adorned her otherwise bare
shoulders and arms. In matching black, it served to
allow everyone in the room to know that she was
up-to-date with the very latest fashions. Her hair was
done up and held in place by several expensive jade
combs. The glittering green on her red hair looked
most festive, she thought with a grin.

Nola would be wearing green, she recalled. Poor, sweet
Nola. She was a darling girl, really, but somewhat
odd. No, scratch that: very odd, and getting odder by
the day... Nicola liked her anyway- had liked her
since the mix-up in the mail resulted in their meeting
and exchanging letters. Nola Diamond, Nicola Douglas-
the names were similar enough to excuse the mistake,
but not so similar as to result in it not being
irritating.

So she was certain, then, to be the loveliest in the
room. All the better to engage that handsome Lord
Richard in conversation. "Lovely to see you this
evening, Lord Richard," she said in a practiced drawl.
Good- losing her voice had been a temporary
malfunction after hitting middle C near the end of
"Stuff Like That There" earlier that day. Thankfully
it had been the last number of her set, and a few
hours gargling with a salt rinse had brought her voice
back to its melodic self.

In fact, there were few people Nicola was not looking
forward to seeing. She was looking forward to chatting
with young Lady Pamela over the latter's WAAF works.
She wished for a conversation with Miss Mauberly, the
journalist. Really, the only one she wasn't looking
forward to seeing was Mrs. Evans, owner of the
beast-cat from Hell. The fourth floor had entered an
uneasy peace following several confrontations between
that... thing... and Nicola's own darling terrier, Mr.
Bob.

Nicola slipped on a pair of white gloves and checked
her makeup one last time before leaving her flat.
Tonight was to be a night of fun and revelry, she
reminded herself. She had no reason to worry. No
reason at all.

But still, she planned to keep her eyes open and to
remember any suspicious behavior. She didn't know who
he was, but he certainly knew who she was, of that
much, she was certain. She walked into the hall just
in time to hear the creeeeak-rattle-rattle of the lift
heading past her floor.

"Damn," she whispered to herself. She glanced at the
stairs with a scowl and began to walk up them. Even
one flight in her highly fashionable and impractical
shoes caused her feet to plead for mercy. She emerged
onto the fifth floor just in time to see Marjorie
Higgins heading down the hall. She must have arrived
on the floor just before Nicola herself. Nicola took a
moment to adjust her hair and walked over, arms wide.

"Marjorie, darling!" she said with a friendly smile.
"How lovely to see you. You look absolutely smashing
tonight. How are you, darling?"

<tag Marjorie>



__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! Mail - now with 250MB free storage. Learn more.
http://info.mail.yahoo.com/mail_250



------------------------------

_______________________________________________
murder_at_christmas mailing list
murder_at_christmas@...
http://gamera.cc/mailman/listinfo/murder_at_christmas_gamera.cc


End of murder_at_christmas Digest, Vol 1, Issue 2
*************************************************