It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house…
I really didn’t want to do it. But you know how it is withhousekeepers– they see everything– like little pods of cardamom being dropped into the eggnog. If only she hadn’t been so observant, she would still be alive.
A carefully placed Christmas stocking, filled to the brim with kindling, a little too close to the flames and poof– up it goes. Mrs Harlow was a good egg. That’s why I gave her the sleeping pills, I certainly didn’t wish for her to suffer.
The kids thought we were mad, and they were right. This was the worst idea in the history of what not to do around a potential serial killer. But I could see straight through Randolf’s motive: the murderer could just as easily be one of the four of us. He wanted to put us in apressurecooker and see who burst first. Hell, perhaps he was punishing us all for not getting to spend Christmas with his wife.
As Jeannie greeted us at the door, the acrid smell of smoke issued from the open doorway, the odour clinging to every available space and surface. The damage caused by the fire was limited to Mrs Harlow’s bedroom and the hallway outside her room. Sadly for us, the kitchen and dining room were untouched. We would be having our Christmas dinner here after all.
Jeannie stood to attention, her eyes wary and glittering as she stepped aside for us to enter. Despite the fire, her silver hair had been blow-dried and she wore red lipstick and a red cashmere sweater with matching skirt that clung to her svelte frame.
‘I’m glad you made it,’ she said. She turned to Miles, her eyes conveying something I couldn’t quite read. ‘Let me take your coats.’ She smiled. Some of the lipstick had stained her teeth. Pausing in the entryway, she looked around for somewhere to put our coats, and I realised Mrs Harlow usually did such things. Aimlessly, she looked from left to right, waiting for a coat stand to materialise. When one didn’t, she threw them in a heap in the corner and dusted her hands off like it was a job well done.
If I wasn’t scared before, I was scared now. We made our way through to the dining room, which had been decorated to look like a set-piece straight from aDownton AbbeyChristmas special. A fire roared in the mantle, the garland surrounding it adorned with sprays of fresh eucalyptus and sprigs of holly from the garden. Tapered candles flickered around the room and the candelabras were wound with real ivy fixed with red bows. Last night’s events clearly hadn’t put her off making the whole room into a fire hazard.
Jeannie’s obsession with keeping up appearances was seemingly undampened by recent events– despite the fact there was no one left to witness this whole bloody charade. The table was set with cream linen and royal blue china, and in a centrepiece red roses were slightly drooping towards the tablecloth, as if they longed to sprout legs and run from the room.
A huge turkey lay with legs akimbo and skin glistening, as if it also wished to take flight. Bowls upon bowls of sprouts, red cabbage, peas, shallots, cranberry sauce and roast potatoes surrounded the bird, enough to feed?—
My eyes scanned the table. It had been set for sixteen people.
With a trickling sense of horror I read the names on the place cards.
Eugene
George
Tristan
Toots
Clementine
Mimi
Ceecee
Beebee
Quentin
Fergus
Mrs Harlow
At the end of the table, five cards indicated where the five living members of the family should sit.
It felt like walking into a dinner at Hannibal Lecter’s house– waiting to be served brains on toast. But what was more terrifying than knowing Jeannie was crazy? Knowing Randolf was even crazier for asking us to do this.
‘I thought about cancelling,’ Jeannie said, pouring a generous measure of red wine into her glass. ‘But Detective Randolf insisted.’ She lifted the decanter to fill Miles’s glass to the brim, then moved over to mine, her mouth twisting into a tight smile as she poured. ‘Bottoms up,’ she said.
A chill coursed through my veins. This was a trap. But then again, that’s also what made it so deliciously dangerous. Jeannie had well and truly lost her mind. And we were going to make sure she was locked behind bars.
‘Mrs Harlow—’ Jeannie took a sharp intake of breath, a sob issuing from her chest before she could stop it. ‘Mrs Harlow had already prepared the food. I just had to put it in the oven. One last thing to remember her by.’ Her eyes were glassy with emotion as she stared at me, as if all her rage was directed solely towards my existence.
‘Sit!’ she demanded. The children fumbled to take their seats, their fear making them clumsy. I was not scared of this jumped-up faux aristocrat. I stared straight back at her as I drew the chair back. Miles placed a reassuring hand between my shoulders as he took the chair next to mine.
Jeannie began filling our plates with food whilst we watched her. The silence amplified the sounds of the serving spoons clinking against the china as she served the potatoes, roasted parsnips and turkey until the plates before us were laden. Miles had the honour of pouring the gravy. It would have been a perfect Christmas dinner, if it hadn’t felt like the last feast at Dracula’s castle.
