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Today's Topics:

1. At the Fitzroys: More guests arrive (Mel Mason)
2. And so it begins....Evangeline (Ree Moorhead Pruehs)
3. And so it begins - Cyril (Brenda McCartney)
4. And so it begins...James Drake (Jvstin(Mindspring))
5. Even more guests arrive (Mel Mason)
6. Re: ] And so it begins ... Arabella & Pamela (Knave of Amber)
7. Re: ] And so it begins ... Arabella & Pamela (Nowsounds)
8. Re: At the Fitzroys: More guests arrive (Jonathan Katalenic)


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

Message: 1
Date: Tue, 21 Dec 2004 00:12:17 -0000
From: "Mel Mason" <goldfired@...>
Subject: [MaC] At the Fitzroys: More guests arrive


>>"Davis. Braham Davis," he said quickly. "And you must be Mrs. Fitzroy." He
>>took her hand gently and gave a slight bow. "Thank you for the invitation.
>>It is a pleasure to finally meet you." From his accent he was most
>>certainly American; a handsome, young, charismatic American. How he had
>>been managing to blend into the shadows was a bit of a mystery.
>>
>>Esme smailed at him vaguely. "So lovely to see you," she said in a voice
>>devoid of emotion.
>>
>>"Mr. Davis, would you care for a cocktail?" Hodges had assumed a position
>>behind the long table as Mr. Davis introduced himself to the hostess.
>
> Braham turned his full attention to Hodges, "Ah, yes. That would be
> wonderful." He ponder the choices for a moment, "Something simple I
> think. Perhaps a gin and tonic?" A bit of alcohol to take the edge off of
> any raw emotions would certainly help to make this evening go smoother.
>
> He waited patiently for the drinks to be made. Once it was in hand, he
> resisted to urge to down the entire thing in one gulp. Certainly that
> would not help him remember the details of the evening later on. As much
> as he wanted to dull the pain, he needed to stay sharp. So he took a
> careful sip. "Excellent," he proclaimed for both Hodge's and Esme's sake.
> "Thank you."

At this point, the host of the party, Marty Fitzroy himself entered, with
Nicola Diamond on his arm. They were closely followed by Anton Barowenski
with Marjorie Higgins.

"More drinks, 'Odges!" ordered Fitzroy. "What will you 'ave, my dear?" he
said, turning with an oleaginous smile to Nicola. The sound of the
doorbell ringing brought a frown to his face. "You get that, Esme," he
ordered abruptly.

"Au contraire," said Anton, with a little bow. Mrs. Fitzroy, if you will
permit ... and Miss Higgins, if you will excuse me ... "

Another bow and he was gone down the stairs.

"Well," said Esme faintly, sinking back in her chair.

Marty Fitzroy was scowling - clearly his client's intervention had not
pleased him. Then he gave a short laugh. "Foreigners!" he said
contemptuously, before turning again to Nicola. "Now, Miss Diamond, what 's
your poison?" The last was said almost with a leer.






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

Message: 2
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 20:03:11 -0500
From: Ree Moorhead Pruehs <rmpruehs@...>
Subject: [MaC] And so it begins....Evangeline


The Wally dress -- an unashamed copy of the one worn by the Duchess of
Windsor at her wedding, only in lavender velvet -- had been Vangie's
favorite for some time. The simple floor-length dress and matching jacket
were neither plain nor prudish, but they were entirely flattering to an
aging figure.

Sweetie lay drowsing on the bed as Vangie finished her toilette -- a dash
of lipstick, a touch of powder. She smiled fondly at the sight of him,
reflected in her mirror. How innocent he looked, that special kitten she'd
chosen herself from all the others, Mama's good boy.

She reached for her jewelry box. Her fingers -- knuckles grown
protrurberant with age, hands showing liver spots, but the nails short and
well-kept as ever -- drifted over its contents, lingering here and there.
Memories...so many memories...this brooch, that bracelet, this ring or
that...the giver, and the circumstances of the giving.

Memories.

Ghosts, those were.

Gone forever.

Eventually Vangie selected a plain strand of pearls and matching earrings
and donned them before stepping into her plain, low-heeled, sensible dress
shoes. It was, she thought, the one good thing about getting old. One need
no longer completely enslave oneself to fashion as opposed to allow aging
legs and feet the comfort they deserved.

She heard Philip thumping around in his bedroom, but did not tap on the
door. She had noticed he didn't like being fussed over. And she had never
been particularly maternal by nature anyway.

"I'll see you upstairs, then," she called loud enough for him to hear.
Picking up her clutch purse -- the evening's compromise between her more
typical large and overfilled bag and going completely naked -- she stepped
out into the hallway.

<tag Marion>





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

Message: 3
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 17:16:06 -0800 (PST)
From: Brenda McCartney <windeaglebjm@...>
Subject: [MaC] And so it begins - Cyril


The door slammed as Cyril bustled into the penthouse flat and hung his
hat on the rack near the door.

"Is that you, dear," Florence called from the lounge above.

"Yes, finally," he called back up the stairs. "I didn't think I was
going to make it."

Florence met him at the bottom of the stairs, her face white with
worry. "Why?" she asked, alarmed. "What happened?" Since the bombing
had started months ago, she fretted when he did not come home on time.

Cyril smiled at his wife reassuringly. "Nothing, love," he said as he
kissed her cheek quickly, then hurried into the bedroom. She followed
him, noting that his work clothes were grimier than usual. "We just
had a big shipment to get out, and with the lads gone it was up to us
old men to load the lorry. We're nowhere near as fast as they are."
He stripped off his shoes, jacket and tie, then hustled past Florence
into the bathroom to wash up for the party.

"Well, at least you still have business," Florence said optimistically,
following him back in that direction.

"We do," Cyril smiled ruefully, "but it's unfortunate that we have to
get so much of it this way." Florence knew what he meant without any
further words. The bombings, the destruction. People needed hardware
to rebuild, only to be bombed out again. To Cyril, it meant something
else as well. There was no profit margin in these kinds of sales.

After cleaning up, Cyril rushed back to the bedroom and dug his tuxedo
out of the back of the closet. Florence was already dressed in a
lovely sky blue gown, Cyril's favorite. The style was a bit dated, but
the color brought out the radiant blue of Florence's eyes. Cyril
paused in his preparations to look at her and beam. Even after 28
years of marriage and two grown children, sometimes when he looked at
her, he felt twenty again. He took his hands in both of his. "It'll
be good to gussy up and go out again for a change."

Florence giggled at her husband standing in his skivvies. "You'll not
be going anywhere until you get dressed, darling. We're late."

Even though he was running late, Cyril savored the feeling of dressing
formally once again. There was a time when it was commonplace. Back
when times were good. The Depression and then the war had made it
tough to run a business. Parker & Beaman, Ltd. had managed to hold on
so far, but only just. It wasn't just the war that caused the lack of
help, though Florence didn't know that. Cyril had had to sack all but
a skeleton crew to save money. Nowadays, he was getting his hands
dirtier than he had since his Navy days in the Great War.

When he was finally ready, Cyril grandly offered his arm to Florence
and they breezed off to the Fitzroy party - which was right next door.
Florence rang the bell.







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

Message: 4
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 19:18:40 -0600
From: "Jvstin(Mindspring)" <jvstin@...>
Subject: [MaC] And so it begins...James Drake


James Drake looked in the mirror.

It was far more natural and comfortable to wear the dark suit than a
military uniform. Doubtless, though, that some of the people at the
Fitzroy's party would be in military uniform.

He straightened out the dark bow tie and looked himself over once more.
Immaculate, neat, perfect, from combed hair through black suit and
white shirt and bow tie, to dark pants and black shoes.

James walked away from the mirror and to the door. Opening it, he
looked to each side of the apartment, as was always his wont. Looking
in the direction of the lift, he smiled and gave a nod to Oswald and
Lucinda as he approached.

"Mrs and Mrs Skeffington-Nottle, a pleasure to see you this evening." he
said as he reached them.

"Shall we, take the lift together?" he offered, his voice just above the
clanking of the rising lift.

{Tag Oswald and Lucinda}



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

Message: 5
Date: Tue, 21 Dec 2004 01:47:59 -0000
From: "Mel Mason" <goldfired@...>
Subject: [MaC] Even more guests arrive


James walked away from the mirror and to the door. Opening it, he
looked to each side of the apartment, as was always his wont. Looking
in the direction of the lift, he smiled and gave a nod to Oswald and
Lucinda as he approached.

"Mrs and Mrs Skeffington-Nottle, a pleasure to see you this evening." he
said as he reached them.

"Shall we, take the lift together?" he offered, his voice just above the
clanking of the rising lift.


"Let's," agreed Lucinda with her friendly smile. "Isn't it kind of the
Fitzroys to ask everyone to a party? Just the thing we need to cheer us up
.. it does seem horried to have Christmas in the middle of a war!"

"Lou's missing our youngsters," added Oswald. "They're down in Hampshire
with her folks."

He slid the iron grille door across and pressed the button for the fifth
floor. "We should have some decent drink tonight too," he added.
"Theatrical types, you know. Although I must say old Fotzroy has never
struck me as a particularly sensitive soul. Still, can't be all bad if he's
having us all round for drinks."

The lift slowly began to ascend ...


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


> Even though he was running late, Cyril savored the feeling of dressing
> formally once again. There was a time when it was commonplace. Back
> when times were good. The Depression and then the war had made it
> tough to run a business. Parker & Beaman, Ltd. had managed to hold on
> so far, but only just. It wasn't just the war that caused the lack of
> help, though Florence didn't know that. Cyril had had to sack all but
> a skeleton crew to save money. Nowadays, he was getting his hands
> dirtier than he had since his Navy days in the Great War.
>
> When he was finally ready, Cyril grandly offered his arm to Florence
> and they breezed off to the Fitzroy party - which was right next door.
> Florence rang the bell.
>

There was a pause, and then the door was opened by their neighbour, Anton
Barowenski. He bowed slightly.

"Our host is otherwise engaged," he said with a slight smile. "I am
performing the duties of footman. In wartime we must all take what we can
get, it seems ... "

He paused as the clanking sounds from the lift indicated that it was getting
closer. Presently it emerged into view, and even before the iron grille
slid open they could all see that it contained James Drake and the
Skeffington-Nottles.

"Allow me to escort you upstairs," said Anton Barowenski with a little bow,
even as the lift began to clank its way down to pick up the next group of
guests.

"Thanks," said Oswald. "I'm looking forward to this! Will you be playing,
Mr Barowenski?"

The Polish concert pianist bowed slightly. "I have been requested to," he
responded, and there was no mistaking the faint irony in his tone on the
word 'request' - the implication being that it had been more of a command
than a request.

He indicated the stairs to the upper floor. "The party is in the lounge,"
he said. "I shall await the remaining guests." He smiled faintly. "If one
of you gentlemen has a cigarette to spare? I seem to be quite out ... "


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

When this group arrived, they found Hodges, the flats' maintenance man,
solemnly mixing drinks for Nicola Diamond and Majorie Higgins, the post
woman who lived on the ground floor, while Marty Fitzroy gazed avariciously
at Miss Diamond. Also present was the dark young American from Flat 11,
Braham Davis and - as usual in the background - Mrs Esme Fitzroy.






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

Message: 6
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 22:11:06 -0500
From: Knave of Amber <kris.kunkel@...>
Subject: Re: [MaC] ] And so it begins ... Arabella & Pamela


> > "Come in..." Arabella's voice, crisp and clear as always, rang out
> > without being raised in the slightest. As the door opened she looked up
> > from the bedtable, where she kept the few jewels she had brought with
> > her. "Rubies, do you think, dear?"
>
> "Did you bring *those*, Mum? Goodness, if they're -- oh, you
> *didn't*
> bring the heirloom ones. Good on you; Edmund would fall down in fits if
> those were lost or stolen. Yes, those will do quite nicely, I should
> think."
>
> > Flash got up from his comfortable pose near his mistress and went over
> > to sniff at Pamela's hem. Something in the greyhound's attitude caused
> > Arabella to smile at her daughter and say, "He approves. And really,
> > dear, you look quite lovely." She meant it. Pamela was not a glittering
> > beauty, but she had a natural dignity and warmth, as well as good bones,
> > and Arabella thought her the equal of any young lady in London.
>
> "Thank you, Mum, and so do you. Ready to go, then?"
>
> Pamela kept up a stream of inoffensive chatter as they left Flash
> in
> the kitchen, locked the flat (Alice had been given the night off), and
> waited for the lift. "I wonder if Mrs. Evans will bring me her sock, so
> I can set the heel for her. Strange thing to bring to a cocktail party,
> but I suppose stranger things have happened around Mrs. Evans..."

[...]

His uniform was pressed and the creases were as sharp as the edge of a
knife. Perhaps he was starting to grey at the temples, but the lines
about his eyes were from sun and laughter, not age. Michael adjusted
his eyepatch in the small mirror in the hall. He had taken to not
wearing it around the apartment, but for the other tenants' sake he
donned it as if it were part of his uniform.

He made sure his key was in his pocket and made for the door only to
stop at the last moment and return to the kitchen. There on the
counter was the small box with the horrible bow and the large box with
the glorious ribbon. Sure, he could fly planes and take them apart and
reassemble them blindfolded, even if it was a smaller blindfold than
before, but he couldn't tie a bow to save his live. Not one on a
package, at least. The larger one had been done by one of the
secretaries at the base. The small box slipped into a pocket and the
larger went under his arm.

A quick check to ensure that he had turned the radio off in the spare
room and he was back in the hall, this time checking his hair before
stepping out. He hoped that *she* would be there. In fact she had told
him as much, but he still wasn't sure. He opened the door and all
concern was hidden as a smile took its place as he noticed the women
across the hall at the lift.

"Good evening, ladies. Happy Christmas," Michael greeted as he joined
them in waiting for the lift. He looked up and said, "Seems some of
the others are on their way already."



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

Message: 7
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 22:16:56 -0500
From: "Nowsounds" <nowsounds@...>
Subject: Re: [MaC] ] And so it begins ... Arabella & Pamela


>>
>> Pamela kept up a stream of inoffensive chatter as they left Flash
>> in
>> the kitchen, locked the flat (Alice had been given the night off), and
>> waited for the lift. "I wonder if Mrs. Evans will bring me her sock, so
>> I can set the heel for her. Strange thing to bring to a cocktail party,
>> but I suppose stranger things have happened around Mrs. Evans..."

"Indeed they have," Arabella said. "She's a good-natured woman, and I can't
help liking her, in spite of her being a magnet for odd occurrances. Or
perhaps because of it."


> His uniform was pressed and the creases were as sharp as the edge of a
> knife. Perhaps he was starting to grey at the temples, but the lines
> about his eyes were from sun and laughter, not age. Michael adjusted
> his eyepatch in the small mirror in the hall. He had taken to not
> wearing it around the apartment, but for the other tenants' sake he
> donned it as if it were part of his uniform.
>
> He made sure his key was in his pocket and made for the door only to
> stop at the last moment and return to the kitchen. There on the
> counter was the small box with the horrible bow and the large box with
> the glorious ribbon. Sure, he could fly planes and take them apart and
> reassemble them blindfolded, even if it was a smaller blindfold than
> before, but he couldn't tie a bow to save his live. Not one on a
> package, at least. The larger one had been done by one of the
> secretaries at the base. The small box slipped into a pocket and the
> larger went under his arm.
>
> A quick check to ensure that he had turned the radio off in the spare
> room and he was back in the hall, this time checking his hair before
> stepping out. He hoped that *she* would be there. In fact she had told
> him as much, but he still wasn't sure. He opened the door and all
> concern was hidden as a smile took its place as he noticed the women
> across the hall at the lift.
>
> "Good evening, ladies. Happy Christmas," Michael greeted as he joined
> them in waiting for the lift. He looked up and said, "Seems some of
> the others are on their way already."

"And a Happy Christmas to you, Group Captain," Arabella said with a smile.
"It does look as if there will be a good turnout... As far as that goes, I
think this party may be a very good thing. We all know we're at war, but
fellowship and celebration are things worth fighting for, don't you think?"





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

Message: 8
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 19:20:40 -0800 (PST)
From: Jonathan Katalenic <jjkatalenic@...>
Subject: Re: [MaC] At the Fitzroys: More guests arrive


At this point, the host of the party, Marty Fitzroy
himself entered, with Nicola Diamond on his arm. They
were closely followed by Anton Barowenski with
Marjorie Higgins.

"More drinks, 'Odges!" ordered Fitzroy. "What will
you 'ave, my dear?" he said, turning with an
oleaginous smile to Nicola. The sound of the
doorbell ringing brought a frown to his face. "You
get that, Esme," he ordered abruptly.

"Au contraire," said Anton, with a little bow. Mrs.
Fitzroy, if you will permit ... and Miss Higgins, if
you will excuse me ... "

Another bow and he was gone down the stairs.

"Well," said Esme faintly, sinking back in her chair.

Marty Fitzroy was scowling - clearly his client's
intervention had not pleased him. Then he gave a
short laugh. "Foreigners!" he said contemptuously,
before turning again to Nicola. "Now, Miss Diamond,
what 's your poison?" The last was said almost with a
leer.

'It's Douglas, you boorish ass of a man. You'd think
you'd remember that Diamond is the one you're carrying
on with and Douglas is the one you WISH to carry on
with,' Nicola said, but only in her head. Remember,
her mother had told her, a lady never corrects her
host unless it is a matter of life or death. She bit
her tongue and obeyed her mother's sage words.

"Oh, I never know what to order," she demurred,
batting her heavily-mascared eyelashes. To Hodges, she
said politely, "Anything with gin in it will do me
just fine, Mr. Hodges."

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

When this group arrived, they found Hodges, the flats'
maintenance man, solemnly mixing drinks for Nicola
Diamond and Majorie Higgins, the post woman who lived
on the ground floor, while Marty Fitzroy gazed
avariciously at Miss Diamond. Also present was the
dark young American from Flat 11, Braham Davis and -
as usual in the background - Mrs Esme Fitzroy.

Nicola brightened at the sight of new guests and,
drink in hand, headed over to greet the new arrivals.
'Thank God. One more minute with that awful Fitzroy
and I would have screamed,' she thought.

"Mr. and Mrs. Skeffington-Nottle!" she said warmly.
"How delightful to see you. Come, have a drink!"

<tag Oswald, Lucinda and Anton>

[ooc: please correct me if I've done something wrong
here- I think it's okay, but I'm not sure if I've made
a mistake in answering two different threads at the
same time.]



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End of murder_at_christmas Digest, Vol 1, Issue 4
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