??*A Midsummer Mystery!

??~??~?? Collector's item! A longer version of a story written over 30 years ago (with a few tweaks) - set in my fictional English village of Little Avalon, c. 1950:

My aim for this series in the?1980s newspaper?I did this for, was cosy, small-village-y, Agatha Christie-ish, but *small* crime (no murders), and a bit tongue-in-cheek and over the top...

??*??*?? MINI-MYSTERY FOR MIDSUMMER ? Winnie Czulinski

“...Give me your hands if we be friends...And Robin shall restore amends...”

The slightly-threadbare stage curtains fell on the last triumphant words of Puck (played by Freddie Plaice), to mighty applause, then swung open again to reveal the entire cast of?Wm. Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night’s Dream" (including the donkey-headed character known as Bottom).

The village liked its culture, and so ended an unrivaled Shakespearean performance by the Little Avalon Dramatic Society.

Nothing could have been finer or more appropriate for this later-June evening, and with the weather holding fair and firm. It made a difference, not having to fumble with dripping brollies and galoshes. And even five years after the war had ended in 1945, there was especial appreciation for a "good show."

There were flowers all round on stage, what looked like homey garden offerings, and some magnificent red roses for Titania, the fairy queen. Could they have come from the struggling Little Avalon florist?

The play of enthusiastic applause, curtain, applause, curtain, applause. continued. Finally, Miss Rudwell-Horace rose, and with Mr. Trotter the postman in tow, both smiling, moved towards the tea tables with the crowd.

The chatter was almost deafening. Amid the requests – some right in her ear – to pass pickled onions and fairy cakes, she listened to the remarks around her.

"Better than anything in Big Avalon, London, even," said Mrs. Bunn the baker. "Not that I get there often, even with the war ended now for some time. And I barely knew the story. Doesn't matter really – all full of magic and mayhem."

"Goodness," said the reticule-carrying Miss Treadwell with a quiver. "Rites and rituals...and that Bottom fellow. I can never look at Arthur Longhead again without seeing and hearing a donkey."

"Ohhh...he was wonderful," sighed Miss Ardley the teacher. "And that cheeky devil Freddie Plaice...who'd have thought it of him? Made for the stage, he is. Perhaps I should be giving the kiddies more Shakespeare in class. Goodness, but I’m hungry. Theatre does that. Did you do most of the cakes, Mrs. Bunn? Smashing."

“I did. And I must say Alf Maddox made quite a Theseus. Never knew it of him, behind all those bushes at the florist." A tsk-tsk. “But did you hear that he and Oberon had words before the show? Oh, my dear, going at it hammer and tongs."

"About Titania?" said Miss Ardley. "And didn't she say she wished she could've been a secret agent in the war? I don't doubt her looks'd turn a few heads, but..."

"Just her cup of tea, to have those fellas fighting over her," said Mrs. Bunn. "She loves dramatics, especially when they concern her. Wouldn't think she'd be up to carrying it off in wartime, though. There's some whose looks just aren't matched by...well, you know.

"And those roses...do you know, she has no idea who sent them? A mystery. Our village may soon be too small for the likes of Ginevra Webb. But she was so thin, don’t you think? I suppose a fairy queen has to be. Quite ethereal –“

"That's my niece," said a woman with gingery hair, pushing forward. "I'm Laburnum Webb, and I didn't come all the way from Big Avalon to hear her being pulled apart. She's a fine actress."

Miss Rudwell-Horace turned slightly, to see the woman with a warning frown on her face – and could see the resemblance between aunt and niece, especially in the hair, though suspected the latter had enhanced nature with art for stage purposes.

"Oh dear...Ever so sorry!" said Mrs. Bunn. "A wonderful performance! I was speaking of others, really, the way girls just don’t eat these days. Haggard, it makes them. Look at Minta Curd when she came out from behind Titania. Got herself down to half her size ages ago and she looks quite – well, poorly, I'd say. Like one who didn't get enough to eat during the war."

"Not like Hippolyta," cut in Miss Sharp the seamstress, who'd been well-occupied with the play. "A sturdy young woman, Beatrix is."

"And jealous of Titania-Ginevra, no doubt," said Mrs. Bunn in a lower voice. "It's to do with her man...Beatrix had set her sights on Alf Maddox, but he gets his head turned by Ginevra...and when she's all dressed up like a fairy queen, it's like she puts a spell on things."

"Indeed," said Miss Sharp, with a wry little twist of the lips. "Not the first time I've seen it in theatre. And yet, I'd thought Beatrix is much like the character she plays, Queen of the Amazons, and why she even went after the Hippolyta role. After all, it's a strong one, fair lording her superiority over men."

Mrs. Bunn shook her head. "Dear goodness, what a bit of drama does...Do you know, I believe all of my fairy-cakes have been eaten, unless there's a hoarder. It's like Miss Ardley says, theatre can make one – "

Suddenly a piercing scream shattered the amiable buzz of chatter. Mr. Trotter, with a biscuit just approaching his mouth, gasped and turned to his companion...

??????

...But Miss Rudwell-Horace was already gone, pushing her way back to the hallway, where she collided with Constable Bland, who had choked as he swallowed some sweetmeat, face flushed. He fought for control.

The fairy queen, Ginevra Webb, was standing just outside the community centre's storeroom, the door of which was ajar, and bright with the star she had affixed earlier.

Miss Rudwell-Horace quickly glanced in. It was apparent the storeroom was used for various maintenance and gardening fixtures, but Miss Webb saw it as a leading lady's dressing room.

“My beautiful?flowers!” shrieked Titania, her arms spread out in front of her, willowy form and determinedly pre-Raphaelite hair making a fine picture.

Bland, big and stolid, mopped his brow and muttered to Miss Rudwell-Horace. "Always knew old Will's stories and plays were full of murder and mayhem. But this – more your sort of case, what?”

Miss Rudwell-Horace stared down at what had been a beautiful bouquet of crimson roses, now a ludicrous vision of destruction, with heads and stems flung hither and thither. Though difficult to tell, they looked like the roses (minus their wrapping) Ginevra had been presented with onstage, having arrived from a mysterious admirer.

Miss Rudwell-Horace looked closer. They were thorned roses, with sturdy stems, and would have needed good shears to cut them like that so quickly.

The entire company stood frozen, with Ginevra's Aunt Laburnum standing foursquare in front of her glitter-gowned niece as though to do battle. The two young men who'd played Theseus and Oberon glared at each other, both breathing hard. "Twenty quid, those must have cost," said Theseus (Alf Maddox) sounding incredulous.

"You'd know, wouldn't you, you petal peddler!" said Oberon (Brian Tiggy) with a sneer.

The focus of the room seemed to come round to Alf. He took a step back and stumbled over a plant pot. "Wouldn't be likely to chop 'em up if I did give 'em to her, would I!" he yelled.

It was perhaps difficult to believe, thought Miss Rudwell-Horace, that amongst the youthful manhood of Little Avalon, some of these young men, towards the end of the war, had been in uniform, and fighting as well as they could. They'd come home with wounds, shell-shock, grim and bloody tales of embattled life far beyond the little English village they'd grown up in.

But they were still young men, still in their twenties, still liable to be turned by a pretty face and feminine wiles. And it was as if the very world of dramatics had ripped open their day-to-day demeanor to reveal pulsing, raging emotions that may never have been fully dealt with.

Did Ginevra/Titania understand any of this? Miss Rudwell-Horace doubted it, watching as the young woman recoiled from the angry male voices and gazed beseechingly round the circle of faces, blue eyes opened wide, rose-red-painted mouth in a small circle.

Then there was the spiteful voice of the character Hippolyta. "Bloody well had it coming to her," she muttered. She was indeed a sturdy young woman, with high colouring, and it was known she and Theseus had been "walking out"...but things hadn't been the same, she seemed to be implying, since Titania, Ginevra Webb, had got in the way.

Two of the fairy queen's attendants shook their heads dazedly. Miss Rudwell-Horace recognized them as Jilly Banting and Araminta Curd. As Jilly bit her thumb, Miss Rudwell-Horace noticed there was a scratch on the girl's hand. A thorn?

And at that moment, "Freddie P.,” said Mr. Trotter, puffing up beside Miss Rudwell-Horace. “It's like what you did to your mum's roses..."

“Oh, naff off, you old paper-pusher! Fifteen years ago!"

Mr. Trotter's face flushed. "It's all right, Fred. We'll sort this out." He retreated to a corner.

But Freddie Plaice, aka Puck, wasn't done with yet. Now Oberon glared at him. “But forsooth, you’ve been a royal pain at rehearsals lately, Fred.”

“And who says you didn’t slice up those roses, Tigs?” demanded Freddie. “Maybe 'cause Alfie-boy had them sent to his lady love? Methinks our Theseus doth lie.” He grinned wickedly.

Mr. Trotter, beside Miss Rudwell-Horace, murmured, "Don't they love using all that fancy language. At this rate it may take some time to sort it all out."

Oberon frowned at Titania. “About Alf – " He exchanged another scowl with Theseus.

“Oh, Brian, he is but a?friend!” cried Ginevra, stretching out her arms. “You must believe me!” A tremble seemed to run through her. She gave every impression of being a benighted fairy queen, whose slim beauty was her very Fate.

Ginevra Webb?was?enjoying herself – at least somewhat, Miss Rudwell-Horace realized. Such a girl, she supposed, might herself stage such an incident for sensation. And yet, she also seemed in shock. Miss Rudwell-Horace had an eye for what stage makeup couldn't cover, and Ginevra's trembling seemed genuine.

“Perhaps it was an accident,” someone piped up.

Several withering glances were sent the disembodied voice's way, and the chatter and accusations escalated, till a full-scale argument broke out. "Here now!" bellowed Constable Bland, managing to still the commotion a bit.

In the stillness, Miss Rudwell-Horace’s sharp eyes – busy roaming the room, saw varying looks on several faces, that might denote guilt, fear, malice. Brian, Freddie, and Alf, all sputtering. Hippolyta was glowering, her eyes contemptuously on Titania. Could this other Queen, whose character showed "sovereignty" over men, be angry enough as a young woman to have given Ginevra Webb an unmistakeable gesture of her anger?

And the play's other characters? And what of Ginevra's auburn-haired aunt, Laburnum Webb? Was she something other than she seemed to be?

Miss Rudwell-Horace's eyes took stock of all the faces...her eyes resting on one. Quietly she moved up beside Hippolyta, who scarcely favoured her with a glance. But her face was flushed.

"Have you seen our Bottom?" said the older woman. Not surprisingly, as Arthur Longhead periodically portrayed partly a donkey in the play, he'd been very visible, but now was nowhere to be found. "I know he can be shy offstage. Went home, did he?"

"I don't doubt it," said Hippolyta shortly. "Said he'd had enough of making an ass of himself for one night." Her lips twitched. "He might do well at comical performance.."

Miss Rudwell-Horace smiled, And then, “Pricked your hand, my dear?” she said in a sympathetic voice, moving over to the fairy queen's attendants, standing a little distance away.

Jilly Banting's freckled face flushed, and she shook her hair away from her face. “Sewing needle...” she said lamely. "Don't sew very well...my mum despairs of me."

"Oh...I see," said Miss Rudwell-Horace encouragingly.

"I split my dress and had to mend it. I – I suppose I’m putting on – “

“A touch of weight?” said Miss Rudwell-Horace. "I'm sorry." Her eyes softened.

Then she turned to Araminta Curd, and they moved back a little. “But my dear, not something you have to worry about. You’ve got so thin.”

“I really don’t know why,” murmured the girl. A flush spread over her cheeks, just like Jilly's, but there was something different about it.

“In my experience,” said Miss Rudwell-Horace gently, “Young women often diet drastically for a strong reason, whether to look like a magazine cover, or for a young man...or?for a role."

Minta Curd drew in her breath sharply, her mouth trembling. “I don’t know what you mean, Miss...Miss...”

“I think you do. With so many in the village noticing, you dieted down to nothing months ago hoping for the fairy queen role. Your dream. And the fairy queen had to be slender. Ethereal.

"And then... Ginevra Webb was chosen. You nursed your grudge all along – and as Titania's attendant, had access to her change room, the storeroom. I think, my dear, you knew the shears were there."

"I – I – "

"They were roses for a leading lady," said Miss Rudwell-Horace, her voice gentler. "It was difficult for you to bear, because you felt they should have been for you."

Constable Bland, who for all his stolidness, had a policeman's sixth sense, had moved up beside them. Miss Rudwell-Horace patted the offending girl's hand.

She knew she need say no more. In her heart, Miss Rudwell-Horace, who had once belonged to an amateur dramatics society, felt a touch of pity for the girl. And now, perhaps, and after Constable Bland's duty, it could mean counselling for Minta. Perhaps further afield, in Big Avalon, or even up in London...

After all, it was still a rash, somewhat violent act to be perpetrated in a small village, and on the triumphant opening night, too.

??????

Eventually, Miss Rudwell-Horace collected her hat, handbag and Mr. Trotter, and stepped out into the warm midsummer night. Behind her, she could hear what still sounded like disharmony.

Miss Rudwell-Horace sighed. "So all things pointed to the truth at the beginning. The rest of it, an untidy drama in itself, as real life so very often is "

"What a pickle," said Mr. Trotter, shaking his head. "So much for 'amends.' Do you know – I could have done with more to eat...though it was unfortunate, what happened."

“So much for human nature,” said Miss Rudwell-Horace. "Yes, a bit of a blight on this night..." She chuckled. "Now I do it! But village life soon returns to normal, and the next little upset. Fancy some cheese and crackers, and a bit of lemon tart? And a drop of my currant wine."

"Rather that than tea! Really admire how you turn so much of our 'home-garden' locally-grown' into 'good for the soul.'" The little postman flushed and chuckled. "Listen to me; now I'm on the stage. It's their influence."

"Perhaps you will be joining the dramatics society," said Miss Rudwell-Horace with a smile.

"And you, dear lady. You know you ought to have been 'Britannia' in our winter pageant." Mr. Trotter mentioned this at least once a month. And then, "But where did the roses come from? Who sent them?"

"Not any of those young men, or any mystery men. Ginevra herself, of course."

"What?" said Mr. Trotter. "But Alf Maddox might have found out. At the florist and all."

"She went to the florist in Big Avalon," said Miss Rudwell-Horace. "Apart from the fact our own florist is struggling a little, Ginevra needed some distance to accomplish what she wanted. Perhaps cooked it up there with her aunt, who seems a doting sort. So the stage was set.

"And as the play says, 'The course of true love never did run smooth' – that, she could deal with, and in fact thrived on. A bit like a flowering plant that grows on chaos in its soil. She just didn't expect what happened to the flowers – but adapted to this new role, or scene, quite well. A bonus performance."

"But...roses with thorns? Ouch."

"Removing thorns is like wounding a rose," said Miss-Rudwell-Horace. "Roses with thorns last longer. At least, they do if they are not cut up. Ginevra wanted her mystery roses to be in evidence for some time. And they were quite magnificent."

Mr. Trotter shook his head. His admiration for his companion was complete, his sideways glance said, as they walked along. Miss Rudwell-Horace knew it, and very nearly blushed.

***