Lady Bretby lead a charmed life. She lived in a large house in the heart of rural England, had hired help to cook and attend her domestic duties, drive her anywhere on a whim. Indeed, Lady Bretby had a most pampered and luxurious life. But it was also most indubitably and frightfully dull.
Days were filled with the 'pleasures' of a being lady at leisure; charity fundraisers, having her hair coiffured at city salons and shopping at the select boutiques in town. Her main pastime was arranging the most extravagant and reputed dinner parties in the county. Roasted hog feasts, historical banquets, delicacies from every corner of the upper-class world. However, even the most capricious and decadent activities can become mundane when done repeatedly. Lady Bretby suffered an immense lack of excitement.
It was whilst in the garden, cutting roses for her heirloom vases, she first stumbled on an idea. She spied in the shade of the box hedge a small plant with unmistakable purple spotted stems, umbrella's of delicate white flowers. Her next dinner party was only days away, to be attended by the usual array of local dignitaries, the mayor, fat obnoxious and corrupt with a downtrodden wife and the local vicar whom clearly took a carnal delight in the younger members of his congregation.
Perhaps the evening could be made more interesting were it to be a murder mystery? A crime staged and investigated by the guests themselves. The very idea thrilled her as she tugged the poisonous hemlock from it's rooted spot with her gloved hands and put it in the basket, returning to the house with a revitalised energy.
~~~
Dressed in her finest brocade silk dress Lady Bretby fussed over the final adjustments to the table settings, giving out instruction to staff on minor alterations. It would be the perfect macabre soiree. Taking a silver tray of hors d'oeuvres from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, she placed it on the antique walnut sideboard and carefully sprinkled a smoked salmon blinis with the contents of a pewter vial produced from her cashmere cardigan pocket. Biting her lip so not to giggle with anticipation, her heart pounded harder than it had in years.
Taking the platter to the gathering of suited and gowned guests in the lounge, she offered the nibbles out with a gusto that even made her husband look twice. Speaking animatedly about this and that whilst watching her guests closely to see which might fall, if any, Lady Bretby absently mindedly popped an entree into her own mouth, swallowing the delicious fish pancake almost whole.
~~~
'Is she really dead?' Asked the mayor to his wife.
'She looks rather blue,' She replied her heart beating faster than it had in years.
A murder! Oh, she would feed upon this drama for months, finally finding the excitement she craved in her otherwise routine life.
'I've called the police' flapped Lady Bretby's ashen faced husband. 'They've asked us all to remain here and not touch a thing until they arrive'.
'You think he'd be glad the old misery guts was dead!' Whispered the mayor to the vicar.
Lady Bretby lay stiffening on the floor, her body growing cold, dead on the outside as it was for years inside.
Word Count 550.
rating: 13
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