Vaulting Ambition
The moon shone brightly in the dark, star-speckled sky that loomed over the rural village of Cisnie.
Only the sprawling country house in the centre of the village seemed to show signs of life, with a warm glow seeping through the windows into the cold outside.
Inside the house, candles illuminated the grand oak-panelled entrance, which was hosting a group in an interesting array of fancy dress costumes.
All chatter ground to a halt when a glamorous blond woman appeared on the landing and graciously eased down the stairs, her glittery emerald dress sparkling in the flickering flames.
“Welcome, everyone, to our humble home of Cisnie House,” Sally Darcy, Lady Cisnie, said as she raised her arms.
“Isn’t it called Cisnie Hall?” Chris Johnson, a local Administrator for Cygninia District, said, leaning close to his wife, Sophie.
“The precise nomenclature of building is irrelevant, darling,” Sophie said, beaming at Chris. “Just focus on the spectacle, rather than frivolous details.”
Chris blinked, and gawped at his hosts.
Lady Cisie wrapped an arm around her husband, William Darcy, Lord Cisnie, who was silently standing to attention to the side of the steps.
“My spouse plus myself do hope you enjoy yourselves tonight within our event,” Sally said, smiling at her guests.
“Is she alright?” Chris said. “She seems to be speaking oddly.”
“Sally and William have been meticulously planning this for months, Chris,” Sophie said, lightly hugging his waist. “Everything is happening for a reason.”
“It’s great to see so many of you here tonight,” William said, bowing to his guests. “Including you, your grace.”
The Reverend Elias Blackwood, dressed as an Archbishop, coughed and nodded. He used his crosier as a backscratcher in a subtle way.
“Before we do anything else,” William said. “It is now time for refreshments, please help yourselves to wine if you wish.”
Paul Harrold, Lord and Lady Cisnie’s actual butler, paraded into the hall, clutching a silver tray of red wine.
A flood of elegant household staff strolled after him, weaving around the guests with similar alcoholic drinks.
General Gordon Ainsworth, Chief Administrator for Cygninia, dressed as a 1930s colonel, chortled as he rubbed his hands.
“Lord and Lady Cisnie have really pulled out all the stops tonight, haven’t they? I daresay I could organise such exuberance.”
The various guests delicately picked up a glass of red wine from the silver trays, and Paul led his team of waiters back into the safety of the kitchens, where extra glasses of red wine awaited them.
Lord and Lady Cisnie raised their glass, and lead their guests in drinking them.
One of the guests, hidden in the back of the room, glanced at the small index card in his breast pocket.
It read ‘you are the victim, collapse on the floor after you’ve drunk the wine, act as if you’ve been poisoned.”
The man nodded at the card, slipped it back into his pocket, and gulped down the wine.
He then grabbed his throat and began to wheeze and choke.
Various dinner guests pivoted around and gasped as a man grabbed his neck and dramatically fell to the ground.
Sally clutched her chest and watched the man agape.
The people around the man backed away from him, forming a wide circle.
Sally glanced at William and guided him towards the corpse.
She crouched down towards the cadaver, and check his pulse.
Lady Cisnie slowly rose up, observing her guests with a sullen face.
“Unfortunately, this person is no longer with us,” Sally began, to a sea of gasps. “Most likely by being murdered, by someone in this room.”
The dinner guests glanced at each other, some through narrow eyes.
“Your challenge tonight, if you wish to accept it,” William said, striding towards his wife, “is to suss out who the culprit is before the night is out.”
Sally smiled wryly. “Let the hunt commence.”
The other people in the room began to laugh and applaud their hosts.
The Murder Mystery Party had officially begun.
It was raining so hard outside that the visitors to Lord and Lady Cisnie’s Murder Mystery Party had to be really attentive listeners to understand what the other was saying.
“Did the victim read your novel and write a bad review?” Chris asked Dr Dante Lopez, in real life a philosophy lecturer at Oxenaforda University and a childhood friend of Chris’s wife and Lady Cisnie’s, but who had been assigned the character of a noted author for the party.
“I indeed gave him a copy of my latest novel, which he read, but the feedback he gave me was mostly positive,” Dante said, utilising all of his amateur dramatics training.
Chris scribbled something down on his notepad and glanced at his wife.
“The deceased was your cousin, surely,” Sophie said, gazing at Dante over the bridge of her nose, “and therefore the inheriter of a large fortune that you desired for yourself?”
“Mr Carlson and I were simply friends,” Dante said, bowing and shaking his head. “But certainly I could do with more-“
Just then, another man lunged at Dante, wielding a cheap plastic knife.
Dante turned round and espied the knifeman. His eyes bulged, and he screamed.
Sophie and Chris watched on as the would-be attacker chased Dante around the room.
“Sal and Will really thought this out, didn’t they?” Chris said, cracking a slight smile.
“Yes, they certainly have,” Sophie said. “I’d expect nothing less from Sally.”
Jasmine Lopez, Dante’s wife, glided towards the Johnsons.
She had black eyes, which made her appearance rather disconcerting.
“What is your connection to the fallen?” Jasmine asked, burrowing her eyes deep into the souls of her friends.
Chris gulped and quickly glanced at his index card.
“We were close friends at school,” Chris said. “I had a strong desire to take our friendship further, but he had other ideas.”
Sophie furrowed her brows and grimaced at Chris, wondering why Sally had assigned him a character she thought was more appropriate for her colleague Dave, who was actually gay.
“I see,” Jasmine said, tilting her head and smiling. “Did you feel so strongly about this unrequited love that you turned to murder?”
Chris laughed and shook his head. “No, I loved him too dearly to harm him.”
As Jasmine continued her interrogation, Chris glanced at the various people in the room around him.
In the far corner of the drawing room, Sally was conversing with a burly bald man who towered over her.
Chris narrowed his eyes at the strange black shape seemingly inked onto the man’s neck, close in style to a Celtic cross.
His eyes gravitated down the man’s body, until they fell and fixated on the very real knife in his hand.
Chris’s eyes bulged, and he refocused on Jasmine.
“Sorry, I need to go and do something else,” Chris said, pointing to his left.
Jasmine smiled at him.
“Very well,” she said, curtsying and moving somewhere else in the crowd.
Chris grabbed Sophie’s arm and escorted her closer towards Sally.
“What is the reason for your sudden deviation?” Sophie said, gawping at her husband.
“Sal’s about to be stabbed; we have to save her,” Chris said.
Sophie giggled. “I’m sure it’s been merticulously thought out beforehand.”
“No, something’s not quite right,” Chris said, letting go of Sophie and crouching down.
He moved closer to the man, like a Lioness stalking his prey.
The man slowly raised the knife, and without thinking, Chris ran over to him and pushed him over.
Sally gasped as she clung to the table behind her.
Chris yowled in pain as the man grappled with him.
Sally watched the fight, her chest heaving with every heavy breath.
“My apologies, Lady Cisnie,” Sophie said, gliding over to her childhood best friend. “Chris has become very excitable all of a sudden.”
The knife slid across the room, landing at William’s feet.
Lord Cisnie bent down and picked up the knife.
He examined it and took a few steps back.
Sally froze on the spot, her bulging eyes locked on the knife. “Was I about to become an actual murder victim?”
“It seems so, darling,” William said. “Chris might have just saved your life.”
“And now I must save his,” Sophie said, rolling up her sleeves and marching towards the man with his hands tightly gripped on her husband’s neck. “I might even become Cygninia’s Person of the Year, which is a long time coming if you ask me.”
Chris’ face was bright crimson, and all he could manage was a few grunts.
Sophie pushed the man with all her strength, but it was like pushing a large boulder.
“Move, you cretin!” She said as she applied her weight to him.
William glared at the man and arched his back. “Leave this to me.”
He screamed as he charged at the man and pushed him off Chris.
Sophie dragged her husband out of harm’s way as he gasped for breath.
By now, other people in the room had noticed the impromptu bare-knuckle boxing match happening next to them.
“I’ll get a damp towel from the bathroom,” Sally said, lightly touching Chris’s back. “It’ll help you feel better.”
Bruised and battered, but still strong, William restrained the man.
“Get the handcuffs from our room,” William said to Sophie. “I always keep them handy in case I need to make a house arrest.”
Sophie ran off to retrieve them, leaving Chris to recuperate with the large tumbler of water on the table.
Sally returned with the damp towel, and Chris began to dab himself with it.
Eventually, Sophie galloped towards William with the handcuffs, who then valiantly attached them to his wife’s would-be assassin.
Completely distracted from the murder mystery storyline, the Darcys’ guests watched the man’s arrest in awe.
They began to clap as William pulled the handcuffed man from the ground.
“Please continue as before,” William said. “I’ll be back in about an hour once I’ve placed this fiend in the dungeon.”
Sophie smiled at the adoring crowd and curtsied.
“It was nothing,” she said. “I only did what was asked of me.”
“Chris was the one who disarmed the man,” Sally said, raising Chris’ tired arms in the air.
Once all the excitement had died down, the guests returned to being suspicious of each other.
Once William had returned to Cisnie Hall, soaked through from the rain outside, he took some time out from the Murder Mystery Party to process what had just happened.
“Why would an assailant come here to murder you, darling?” He said, sipping some red wine. “Did you recognise the man by any chance?”
Sally gawped and shook her head. “No. I just thought he was one of the guests. It was only when Chris removed the knife from his hand that I knew something was up.”
Chris shrugged. “He may have just been really enjoying himself”
“I’m not sure,” William said. “The man came here to cause harm and nothing more. But if his tattoo has anything to do with it, his grievance should be with me, not my wife.”
“You saw it, then?” Chris said.
“Yes. I had a look at it whilst I chained him to the dungeon floor,” William said. “It’s a Celtic cross, similar to the one inscribed in the graveyard of the Protestant church outside.”
“What has that got to do with anything?” Sophie asked.
“Everything. It’s the grave of a distant relative,” William said, marching over to the window. “Which is in view of this window.”
William struggled as he opened the stiff latch and pulled the window open, getting splattered by the rain blowing through.
“That window can be opened?” Sally said. “But we’ve never opened it.”
“No. But now there’s a reason to do it,” William said, shining a torch through the window. “Come over here.”
Sally and the Johnsons cosied around Lord Cisnie and gazed out of the window.
The light from William’s torch fell on a single grave.
“He’s a Scottish soldier struck down by an ancestor of mine during the battle of Stirling Bridge,” William said. “My wife’s aspiring murderer might be a possible descendant.”
“But why would he want to kill either of us?” Sally said. “What have we got to do with this grave?”
“At the moment I’m not sure,” William said. “Possibly revenge for a historic injustice on my family’s part.”
“Hopefully you’ll be able to get it out of him when we go back to work,” Chris said.
“Yes,” William said, fixating on the grave for a moment. “Which reminds me, I need to report the incident to Sir Gordon so he isn’t too surprised when he gets into work on Monday morning.”
“I daresay there’s any need for that,” Sophie said. “He watched the whole fracas, I saw him.”
“Yes, I suppose he was,” William said, before pivoting towards the entrance hall and marching towards the door. “Right. I think it’s time to reveal the killer and wrap this whole thing up before we retire to bed.”
Sophie and Sally followed his lead, but Chris somehow couldn’t manage it.
“Wait,” Chris said. I can’t move.”
Sally and Sophie turned back towards Chris.
“My legs won’t budge,” Chris said. “I’m paralysed.”
“You must be exhausted after your near-death experience,” Sally said, running over to him with Sophie. “We’ll help you to the entrance hall.”
The two women took one of Chris’ arms each and carried him towards William.
William glanced into the entrance hall, smiling at the other guests singing around someone else playing the piano.
“Right,” William said to his friends. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
With that, William took a deep breath, and the Fab Four stepped into the entrance hall and returned to the festivities.
Lord and Lady Cisie stood at the bottom of the stairs, smiling at their guests.
“First off, I would like to recognise your fortitude whilst we controlled the unexpected turn of events,” Sally said, returning to her character’s signature trait of never using the letter a.
The crowd laughed and nodded.
William stepped forward and clasped his hands. “We hope you’ve enjoyed the night regardless. But now it is time to reveal who poisoned Mr Carlson’s wine.”
“Hopefully it wasn’t the guy who tried to stab Sally,” Chris said.
”I highly doubt it,” Sophie said, gazing at Chris over the rim of her wineglass. “I saw Mr Carlson get up and retreat to a back room.”
”No, I mean because his being in Gaol would ruin the reveal,” Chris said, finishing the dregs of his wine.
”Before we do, however,” Sally said, “we’d like to know who you suspect the culprit is.”
One by one, the guests accused each other of poisoning Mr Jefferson’s wine, prompting indignation from everyone else.
Chris and Sophie watched the drama unfold around them, laughing together as they quaffed their drinks.
Once Lord and Lady Cisnie had got a picture of who the majority of people suspected of being the killer, they called everyone to order.
”Would the true killer please make themselves known?” William asked the crowd.
An unassuming bald man with glasses, wearing a tight-fitting black turtle neck, stepped in front of the crowd.
”I’m afraid it was me,” the man said. “My condolences to Mr Carlson’s family.”
The people around him gazed at him with raised eyebrows and grimaces.
”Who’s he?” Chris said. “He looks familiar, and yet also a stranger.”
William smiled at the crowd. “He’s afraid to admit his true identity, but has decided that tonight would be a good opportunity to do so.”
A tsunami of gasps filled the room, prompting a wry smile to appear on the man’s face.
Sally turned to the bald man. “Would you mind telling everyone your true identity, sir?”
The man bowed his head. “Of course,” he said, turning towards the spectators. “My name is Steven Grange, I am an actor, and you will best know me as the man who appears on your television every evening.”
The various eyes, fixated on him, began to bulge, then glanced at each other, mouths open.
Steven whipped off his glasses, placed a garish, glittery blue wig on his head, and laughed maniacally.
”It’s me, Augustus Templeton!” Steven said, giggling.
Steven Grange was a Chameleon. Most people wouldn’t bat an eyelid if they passed him in the street, and yet he was one of the most famous people in Cygninia, presenting a beloved chat show every night on Cygninia TV.
He achieved this effect by presenting the chat show as a larger-than-life persona called Augustus Templeton, who wore copious amounts of fake tan, glittery suits, and unnaturally coloured wigs.
Steven deliberately kept his real identity secret, allowing his audience to believe that Augustus Templeton was a real person. Still, he thought that Lord and Lady Cisnie’s Murder Mystery Party would be a great place to tell the truth, and they agreed.
The other guests hooted and cheered, applauding Steven.
”Augustus Templeton is just a character,” Chris said, staring at Steven with wide eyes. “I just assumed he was like that.”
“Of course, he was a fabrication created by one of the most gifted actors of our generation,” Sophie said. “You couldn’t possibly believe that someone that outlandish could actually insist.”
”I dunno,” Chris said. “I’ve met a lot of colourful types.”
”Forgive me for spoiling the fun,” Sir Gordon Ainsworth said, forcing the hubbub to die down. “But I, for one, would love to know how you did the deed, as it were.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Sally said, leaning towards Steven. “Tell the guests your means plus your motive.”
”It was quite ingenious, if I may say so,” Steven said, flicking a shiny cloth and making a bottle of poison appear in his hands. “I sneakily poured a few drops of poison into his drink, without anyone watching.”
Steven brushed the cloth over the bottle, making it disappear.
“Why did I do it?” Steven said. “Well, we needed a bit of spectacle tonight, didn’t we? Isn’t that right?!”
Steven laughed and encouraged the crowds to applaud him, then he composed himself.
”But I also had a longing, a longing for Mr Carlson to sponsor me as a magician,” Steven said, frowning as he solemnly pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
Gordon guffawed at Augustus’ story. “Mr Carlson did not sponsor you, and so you decided to do the villain in by spiking his drink!”
”Pretty much, yes,” Steven said, stepping over to William and placing his hands out. “But now, folks, it is time for me to hand myself in to the authorities.”
William took out some plastic cable ties from his pocket and prepared to arrest Steven. But Steven backed away and turned to the crowd.
”That’s if you believe I should go to prison, of course,” Steven said, ogling the crowd. “Well, do you think I should go to prison?”
The crowd mumbled something incoherently.
“I said, Do you think I should go to prison? Do you?!”
The crowd shouted ‘no,’ with Augustus cackling and goading his audience.
Chris clocked Sally and William, grimacing at Steven.
”Something tells me this wasn’t part of the plan,” Chris said. “Like Steven’s getting too into the Augustus character.”
Sophie scowled at Steven and clenched her fists. “Indeed. I believe this attention should go to someone more deserving, like me.”
Steven smiled at his hosts, who were now not best pleased.
”The folks have made their decision, see ya!”
Augustus waved animatedly at Sally, William, and the crowd before jogging towards the exit.
He slipped out of the door before putting his head back in.
“I’ll see you on TV tomorrow night for another exciting show! Until then, goodnight!”
The crowd cheered as Augustus chortled once more and slammed the door.
After the excitement had disappeared, the hosts regained control of the situation.
”We hope you have enjoyed the party tonight,” Sally said, smiling at her guests with gritted teeth. “But sadly, the evening is over.”
A wave of groans filled the room, with some people stooping over.
Paul Harrold reappeared from the kitchen and opened the front door.
”Could those who are not close friends or family leave in an orderly fashion?†William said. “As for the rest of you, the meal will be ready in a few moments.”
One by one, the vast majority of the party guests flooded out of the doors and into the night.
Only a group of about ten were left, and the atmosphere was now quiet enough for them to hear the ticking of a nearby Grandfather clock.
Paul marched over to a gong and banged it. “Dinner is served,” he said.
With that, Sally and William led their closest friends and family members into the dining room, until the previously bustling entrance hall was left deathly silent and empty.
All that could be heard in the dining room was the clattering of cutlery and the chewing of food.
“Why did Steven need to improvise so dramatically?” Sally said as she placed a bit of burger into her mouth.
“I don’t know,” William said, sipping a glass of water, “but he did warn me that Augustus has a mind of his own, and often runs away with him.”
Sally’s eyes almost burst out of their sockets, and her mouth almost touched the floor. “You mean, Augustus Templeton is the Mr Hyde to Steven Grange’s Dr Jekyll.”
William frowned and stared at his meal. “Possibly, I don’t know for sure.”
At another part of the table, Chris gawped at his phone.
During the night’s frivolities, he’d received a missed call from his mother-in-law, Amanda Anderson.
He quickly glanced around at the guests at the table, including Amanda’s daughter, and called her when he was sure the coast was clear.
“Chris!” Amanda shouted on the other end of the phone, making him wince. “You’re alright.”
“Yeah, ‘course I am, Am,” Chris said. “Why did you call me?”
“I’ve just seen it on the news, someone strangled you,” Amanda said, her breath audible from Chris’ end. “But you’re alright now.”
Chris leaned back in his seat and stared ahead of him; how did his mother-in-law catch wind of the foiled assassination 166 miles away?
Then a light bulb illuminated in his head, somewhere in the crowd were Chris Viner and Lucy Richardson, the two most important staff members of the Cygninia Tittle Tattle, the town’s local newspaper.
Chris sighed and relaxed in his seat. Clearly, Lucy must have been very quick on the ball, publishing a quick write-up whilst the event was taking place, then selling the story to other news outlets.
“So what happened?” Amanda said. “Apparently, someone was trying to kill Sally, the poor thing.”
“Yeah, and I saved her,” Chris said, laughing slightly. “Soph and Will then saved me.”
“Oh, that’s lovely to hear,” Amanda said. “Sophie’s alright, is she? No flashbacks of her father’s own brutal murder, were there?”
Chris glanced at his wife, who was contentedly chomping on her meal.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” Chris said, downing some of his drink. “All’s good, Am.”
“Why would someone want to murder Sally?” Amanda said. “She seems like such a nice girl.”
“The guy was related to somebody buried in the graveyard, possibly,” Chris said. “He may have been avenging a historic injustice on the Darcys’ part.”
“Ah, so perhaps he was his greatest enemy,” Amanda said.
“Yeah, maybe,” Chris said, gazing at his sumptuous feast. Hopefully, we’ll find out more on Monday.”
Chris chatted to Amanda a bit more until he ended the call and dug into his meal.
Sally leaned towards her father-in-law, George Darcy, 9th Marquess of Cygninia, and cleared her throat.
“George. Do you have any knowledge of any misdeeds done by distant relatives of the family?”
George gawped at Sally. “Not that I know of. I suppose old Gabriel Darcy did fight alongside William Wallace in the Battle of Stirling Bridge. He’s certainly what I’d call a traitor.”
Sally and William nodded at each other.
“So he may have murdered the ancestor of the man who tried to stab me on the battlefield,” Sally said.
George shrugged. “Possibly, I can’t possibly say for sure.”
“What does your intuition say, darling?” Anne Darcy, 9th Marchioness of Cygninia, said.
George gawped at his wife. “It’s more than likely. But you’ll need to interrogate the man to know for sure.”
William nodded before his attention was grabbed by a door swinging open.
Paul Harrold marched through the doorway. “Ladies and gentlemen, your dessert.”
He stepped aside, allowing the household staff to glide into the room with silver platters of various sweet treats.
The people around the dinner table ogled the sugary delights placed before them.
Paul bowed, and he left his employers in peace.
“Well, everyone, bon appetite,” William said, before digging into some jelly.
“So, William,” George said. “What’s the agenda for tomorrow?”
“I’m going to discuss placing a labyrinth in the garden with the groundsman,” William said.
“Ah, excellent,” George said, munching on some fruit salad.
And so the last remaining invitees to Lord and Lady Cisnie’s Murder Mystery Party joyfully finished their meal, and nothing more was said about the more harrowing parts of the night’s events.
Well, until Cygninias Administrators returned to work on Monday morning and checked in on the Gaol’s sole resident, that is.
The Robinsonverse 