Chapter 1

A Murder Is Announced

“People that trust themselves a dozen miles from the city, in strange houses, with servants they don’t know, needn’t be surprised if they wake up some morning and find their throats cut.”
– Mary Roberts Rinehart, The Circular Staircase

The lights are on at 8 Broad Way. The steps have been swept and the brass door-knocker has been polished. For this is an occasion. Walk up the steps and tap lightly upon the door. They are expecting you.

The night has long since drawn in, and there is a biting November wind, of the sort that turns the tip of your nose a deep raspberry pink. Your breath mists beneath the portico lamp. Stamp your feet and rub your hands together while you wait.

It’s not really cold, but the Georgian townhouse and the dark London street are reminiscent of a Dickens novel. Be David Copperfield. Hope for the best and make the most of every situation.

Footsteps on a tiled floor. Someone is coming. Get out your invitation. This is it. Good luck.

Walk up the stairs to the drawing room. It is full of guests. Watch as conversation sputters into silence as you enter, and then, with a polite hiccup, smoothly resumes.

You are invited to a Murder Mystery Party!

A murder will take place at: Here
On: Now

It is 1974. The world is changing. The Summer of Love is over, and a new world order is emerging, brasher, louder, and angrier than before.

Gone is the old deference to Class and Money. Harold MacMillan’s assertion that the country had never had it so good is long forgotten, and Harold Wilson’s Winter of Discontent is coming.

The working classes are on the march.

For the upper classes, things are no longer rosy. In the rarefied atmosphere of the Berkeley Club, gentlemen may cling to the old traditions, as a shipwrecked mariner to a life raft, and in the Georgian town houses of Belgravia, ladies may polish the escutcheons on their family silver, and, in muttered tones, invoke the spirit of Enoch Powell as the saviour of the Established Order, but the end is coming, and the Dukes and Earls and Baronets all know it.

Even in the aristocratic sanctuary of 8 Broad Way, change is coming. And for one inhabitant at least, change will be deadly.

RSVP

• Please try to dress in appropriate costume

• Please arrive promptly

• Bring booze

Champagne? Perhaps not.

Look around the room. The faded velvet curtains are drawn against the night and look magnificent, though perhaps a year or two past their best. The furniture, too, is old, very old, but it commands the room, as though it has grown into the house, as though it were bought from new a century ago and never since moved from its appointed spot.

A chandelier glitters and lamps are lit around the room, casting their warm yellow glow over the guests, dripping them in gold.

The Host Speaks

Greet the host. He is a little odd, to be sure, but they say that that which in the commoner is merely odd, in the aristocrat becomes an interesting eccentricity.

“Welcome.”
– Welcome, welcome.

“My brother and I are so glad you agreed to attend this little party of ours.”
– Our little murder mystery.

“I may say it is less a party and more of an experience, so to speak. I see you chose not to indulge in fancy dress for this occasion, and I congratulate you on your perspicacity. Most people, in the circumstances, would have dressed in bell-bottomed jeans and hippie beads. I can assure you that no one in this affair would ever have attired themselves in such a manner.

My father’s only concession to the age was a rather unfortunate moustache, but in his dress, he remained, thankfully, remarkably conservative. As, of course, did my mother.”

Watch as your host claps his hands to ensure he has the full attention of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we will be examining a real case, one involving our own family – the Verreman Affair, as it is usually referred to in the press. We will shortly review the real evidence and consider the solution as it was presented by the prosecution in a court of law. You have each been assigned a part, and we hope that you will play them with gusto. Tonight, over-acting is positively encouraged.

A man has been accused and, as you will see, has been, in some manner, convicted. However, this case is one of the most singular cases in legal history, and the court of law he was convicted in was not a criminal one. More on that later.

I have my own theory about what occurred.”
– Me too! I have a theory. Oh yes, I do.

“I’m sure we all have theories. But we will not tell you our theories yet! My brother and I will listen to the evidence presented here tonight and contribute what information we can from our own first-hand knowledge of the case, and of the persons involved. In your turn, we hope that you will all regale us with your stories, and whoever plays the Great Detective will reach a definitive conclusion so that we can finally lay this matter to rest.”
– Finally.

“Some of you, we have met before. Others are new acquaintances. All are friends here.”

Raise your glass in acknowledgement of the toast.

“For those of you who haven’t yet worked it out, I am David Verreman, and, of course . . .”
– I’m Daniel. The other brother.

Applaud lightly.

“Thank you. And, of course, the convicted man I spoke of was my father. Tonight, the task of our Great Detective will be to discover not so much whodunnit but whether our father dunnit.”
– I’m the brother no one talks about.

“Ah! The dinner gong.”
– The dirty little secret.

“If you’re all ready, shall we go down to dinner?”
– The one no one talks about . . . Contracts!

The Contract

“And, er, yes, I almost forgot. Ladies and gentlemen, you should have received a contract with your invitation. Can I just check you have all signed and dated your contracts, and sent them back? If you have not received a contract, can you raise your hand?”

Did you miss something? Was there something written on the back of that invitation? Better raise your hand.

“Ah. Anyone else? No? Good. There you go. Do take your time reading it. I can always tell dinner to wait.”
– I’m hungry.

Skim through the contract quickly, then sign it.

“Excellent. OK then, if that is all of them, let’s go down, shall we? I’m starving.”