Bennett. “He wasn’t as
pretty as the others, but he reminded me of my husband.”
Mr. Bennett harrumphed in the corner and muttered something
about playing the drums better than Ringo Starr. “Let the man get on with his
talk,” he said, grumpily.
“I don’t mind,” said Matt. “It all adds colour to the
proceedings, and helps us to get to know each other. Where was I? Oh yeah, The
Beatles. So that was the larger picture. We know bring you to the smaller
picture. A boarding school in Shropshire. Not one of the top seeded schools,
but still a good school, teaching the children of the nouveau riche. Before
Bedlington Hall was a school, it had been a military hospital during the war,
for officers recuperating from dreadful injuries. In between times it had been
owned by a Colonel Trefusis, who had died mysteriously.”
This was something that Philly had learned from Mrs.
Cunningham.
“My husband and I found his killer, you know,” the vicar’s
wife had said. “But it was a long time afterwards. It was how we met.”
“Many years before that, during Victorian times, it had been
owned by Lord and Lady Bedlington,” Matt continued. “Before passing into the
hands of the Sanderson family at the turn of the century. They could not afford
to live in the Hall, so went to live cheaply abroad whilst they leased the hall
to the hospital and then the school.” He went quiet for a moment to give people
time to digest what he had said. He caught Philly’s eye and mouthed ‘how am I
doing?’
She put her thumb up in appreciation. He was doing very
well. “And it is into this picture we introduce seventeen year old Dominique
DuPont.” At his words, the door flew open, causing everyone to jump. A plain
looking girl walked in. Meg had done her hair up in pigtails, covered her face
with freckles, and plumped out her tummy with cushions, looking nothing like
Philly’s normally pretty friend. ‘Dominique’ stood silently, illuminated by the
light from the hall, whilst Matt finished his monologue.
“Dominique, as you can see, was a plain girl, lacking in
social graces. She does not make friends easily, and guards her food parcels as
if her life depends on eating the entire contents. One teacher, Mrs.
Cunningham, feels sorry for her and tries to reach out to the girl, but
everyone else considers poor Dominique to be tiresome.” Matt’s voice lowered in
tone, adding more drama to his words. “One morning, Dominique disappeared.
Completely. And not just Dominique, but all her belongings. It was as if she
never existed. For years afterwards, girls at the school would say they had
seen her. Some believed they heard her moving about upstairs long after she had
gone.” Matt became more business-like for a moment. “Just to be clear, the
events of this weekend are entirely fictional. We do not know what happened to
the girl. Your task this weekend, ladies and gentleman, is to come up with a
solution for Dominique’s disappearance drawn entirely from your imaginations.
And now…” Matt gestured with his hand, “Let our story begin.”
The lights in the room became brighter. The guests looked at
each other, wondering who could have done it, not realising that Puck had a
remote control unit in his blazer pocket.
“Oh this is good,” said Mrs. Bennett.
“We’ll see,” said Mr. Bennett.
Dominique walked forward and stood in front of Matt.
“Monsieur Cassell, I weesh to speak wiz you.”
“Not now, Dominique. As you can see I have guests.”
Matt rubbed his cheek awkwardly, as if caught off guard.
“No, it eez important zat I speak wiz you now.”
Monsieur De Lacey chuckled and sipped his coffee. Philly
winced, guessing he was laughing at Meg’s dreadful French accent. She was sure
her friend had been practising. The effect was lessCatherine Deneuve,
and more Allo Allo .
“Eet will be bad for you, if you do not speak wiz me,” said
Dominique.
“Are you threatening me, Dominique?” asked
pretty as the others, but he reminded me of my husband.”
Mr. Bennett harrumphed in the corner and muttered something
about playing the drums better than Ringo Starr. “Let the man get on with his
talk,” he said, grumpily.
“I don’t mind,” said Matt. “It all adds colour to the
proceedings, and helps us to get to know each other. Where was I? Oh yeah, The
Beatles. So that was the larger picture. We know bring you to the smaller
picture. A boarding school in Shropshire. Not one of the top seeded schools,
but still a good school, teaching the children of the nouveau riche. Before
Bedlington Hall was a school, it had been a military hospital during the war,
for officers recuperating from dreadful injuries. In between times it had been
owned by a Colonel Trefusis, who had died mysteriously.”
This was something that Philly had learned from Mrs.
Cunningham.
“My husband and I found his killer, you know,” the vicar’s
wife had said. “But it was a long time afterwards. It was how we met.”
“Many years before that, during Victorian times, it had been
owned by Lord and Lady Bedlington,” Matt continued. “Before passing into the
hands of the Sanderson family at the turn of the century. They could not afford
to live in the Hall, so went to live cheaply abroad whilst they leased the hall
to the hospital and then the school.” He went quiet for a moment to give people
time to digest what he had said. He caught Philly’s eye and mouthed ‘how am I
doing?’
She put her thumb up in appreciation. He was doing very
well. “And it is into this picture we introduce seventeen year old Dominique
DuPont.” At his words, the door flew open, causing everyone to jump. A plain
looking girl walked in. Meg had done her hair up in pigtails, covered her face
with freckles, and plumped out her tummy with cushions, looking nothing like
Philly’s normally pretty friend. ‘Dominique’ stood silently, illuminated by the
light from the hall, whilst Matt finished his monologue.
“Dominique, as you can see, was a plain girl, lacking in
social graces. She does not make friends easily, and guards her food parcels as
if her life depends on eating the entire contents. One teacher, Mrs.
Cunningham, feels sorry for her and tries to reach out to the girl, but
everyone else considers poor Dominique to be tiresome.” Matt’s voice lowered in
tone, adding more drama to his words. “One morning, Dominique disappeared.
Completely. And not just Dominique, but all her belongings. It was as if she
never existed. For years afterwards, girls at the school would say they had
seen her. Some believed they heard her moving about upstairs long after she had
gone.” Matt became more business-like for a moment. “Just to be clear, the
events of this weekend are entirely fictional. We do not know what happened to
the girl. Your task this weekend, ladies and gentleman, is to come up with a
solution for Dominique’s disappearance drawn entirely from your imaginations.
And now…” Matt gestured with his hand, “Let our story begin.”
The lights in the room became brighter. The guests looked at
each other, wondering who could have done it, not realising that Puck had a
remote control unit in his blazer pocket.
“Oh this is good,” said Mrs. Bennett.
“We’ll see,” said Mr. Bennett.
Dominique walked forward and stood in front of Matt.
“Monsieur Cassell, I weesh to speak wiz you.”
“Not now, Dominique. As you can see I have guests.”
Matt rubbed his cheek awkwardly, as if caught off guard.
“No, it eez important zat I speak wiz you now.”
Monsieur De Lacey chuckled and sipped his coffee. Philly
winced, guessing he was laughing at Meg’s dreadful French accent. She was sure
her friend had been practising. The effect was lessCatherine Deneuve,
and more Allo Allo .
“Eet will be bad for you, if you do not speak wiz me,” said
Dominique.
“Are you threatening me, Dominique?” asked
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