An imposing seventeenth-century manor house in the howling wilderness. Outside, the wind was as wild as ever. Inside, an enrapt audience sat bolt upright, in the hands of malignant fate.
Lord Derby, the tycoon for whom money was no object; Lady Caroline Lamb, the domineering matriarch; Master James Williams, the sophisticated metropolitan; Mrs. Sally Jones, the acclaimed artist and accomplished pianist; Mr. Robert Smith, the house servant. A very crowded room.
They were sitting around the hearth, their faces blanched with fear. In the shadow where the balcony overhangs, a man was leaning against the wall. Detective Sergeant Fox. A man of precise military bearing. A man of dignity and unbending principle. A man who had known better times. His face glowed in the dull lamplight. Through the steady thrum of rain on the windows, his soft Scottish burr:
“Lord Derby, where were you on the night when the murder took place?”
He cast his mind back to the fatal evening.
“I was aboard the St. Roch, shortly before she sailed for the Northwest Passage.”
“When did you get home?”
“It was actually about an hour after moonrise.” The fire suddenly crackled and spat sparks.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Whatever do you mean? Where is this argument leading? Why are you taxing me with these preposterous allegations?”
The sergeant lifted an admonitory finger. “The body of evidence is too substantial to disregard.”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation.”
“Aye, you’re right about that.”
“You think I perhaps killed Westbourne, yes?” His voice was rough with barely suppressed fury. Everybody was listening intently.
“In the prime of life. The poor bastard.” The thunder crashed, and wind whistled through the cracks in the windows.
“You’re asking for trouble, you filthy beast.”
“You miserable old creep.” Attraction and antagonism were crackling between them.
“Go to hell!” he spat.
“Go and drown yourself!”
“I love you!”
“I love you!”
The two embraced, holding each other tightly.
Sources: New Oxford American Dictionary, Macquarie Dictionary, The American Heritage Dictionary, The Home Book of Proverbs, Maxims and Familiar Phrases
I was in love once. He was a pleasant boy, if a poor timekeeper. Of noble birth, between you and me. Shockingly bad manners. He wasn’t handsome in the accepted sense—he wasn’t exactly ugly, but he wasn’t an oil painting either. I’d known him for many years, since I was seventeen. He was awkward and nervous around girls—a being from outer space, with his hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
We had a good time. We were fresh out of art school. We took the night train to Scotland, two suitcases flung anyhow. We lived together off and on. Everything mattered intensely to William, and he made it plain what he wanted from me. He profoundly altered the whole course of my life. Then he just vanished into thin air.
He had started messing with drugs, but none of it meant anything to him. He seemed more content, less bitter. I never saw any signs, but then again, maybe I wasn’t looking.
Now do you understand why I want to leave the past behind me? For Chrissake, listen to me! You are living in a fantasy land! I swear by all I hold dear that I had nothing to do with it!
Can we move on to the next question?
Sources: New Oxford American Dictionary, Collins English Dictionary