I do not own Cluedo/Clue or any of it's properties or merchandise. It all belongs to Hasbro...unfortunately.
Duforte Manor stood out in the gloomy, dark night. It's big, thick physical frame made it seem ever-so intimidating. The windows, old and dusty, were shaped like that of blocks of cheese scattered, almost randomly, amongst the black bricked walls. The gateway was dilapidated and unwelcoming in the least. The gates themselves swayed slightly in the breeze. Leaves rustled past. Crickets chirped. An owl clucked. All the usual clichéd things you expected to occur had occurred.
A few feet away, on a smooth tarmac road, a police car skittled down towards the manor. It looked quite fresh, modern in comparison to the scary house. The gates seemed to swing open automatically as the vehicle came closer and it entered a lush courtyard with a concrete parking area. The car turned into the nearest space, braked, and ultimately, stopped the car. The door next to the driver's seat swung open and a tall, gallant young man in a rookie law-enforcement outfit disembarked, his forehead creased with a wrinkle and his nose drew back. He slammed the door shut with a casual crash and made his way up the stone steps, a pair of gargoyles standing respectively on the posts glared at him with their eerie yellow eyes. He drew his hand out of his smart trouser pocket and rapped his fist against the grand oak front door. After no avail, he looked right to see a small bell. He pulled the cord and a dull cling-clang echoed on the inside. He waited a few more moments, his black shoes tapping against the floor, and the door opened, revealing an aged and tired old woman with a bent back.
"Hello?" she croaked, the wind rustling her curly grey hair. "Can I help you, officer?"
"Good evening, ma'am," he replied with an obvious tone of authority. "My name is Sergeant Charles Grey."
The old woman moved her small head up and down, surveying the man with a curious eye.
"Well, good evening, sergeant. What is it?"
"That's what I'd like to know myself. You see, last week I received a rather strange phone call from my house phone. It was the most disturbing voice. It told me to come to Duforte Manor on the 29th October and to be here at 8:30pm sharp, no later. So...here I am."
"Oh, my," she replied meekly.
The Sergeant's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"That is really weird, isn't it? I don't suppose you know Mr. Boddy at all? I haven't exactly seen you around here before."
"No, I do not know Mr. Boddy. Excuse me for being crude, but what on Earth is going on? Why do you want me here? And who rang me?"
The woman shook her head frantically. "I have no idea myself. And Mr. Boddy is being very vague and unusual. Would you like to come in and sort this all out?"
Grey replied with a swift nod and allowed himself inside. The hall he entered was very large and long. The wooden flooring beneath his feet and the various ornate decorations scattered against the wall-papered walls made him feel more uneasy than he already was.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you are...?"
"Oh," she blushed. "I'm Meryl. Mrs. White. Boddy's housekeeper." That would explain her casual attire in such a fancy place. She wore a plain white, long-sleeved shirt and a black dress that ended at her ankles. Her feet held boring pumps. An apron was hastily swung over her. She stared at the officer, her long, crooked nose pointing awkwardly towards him as she smiled, her cheeks wrinkling immensely. One of the doors on the side swung open and a middle-aged man in a smart black suit and tie strolled towards them.
"Ah! Sergeant! So glad you could come," he greeted with a smirk.
"Uh...yes, hello there." The Sergeant held out his hand and allowed the other man to shake it. "You must be Mr. Boddy, I presume?"
"You presume correctly, Sergeant. Oh, and please, no need for formalities. Everyone here calls me Xavier."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr--I mean, Xavier."
Mr. Boddy chuckled.
"So," continued Grey, "why did you invite me here? Were you the one who sent me that odd phone call?"
"Indeed I was."
"Oh. What do you want, then?"
"Protection," he answered simply.
"Hm? Protection from what?"
"I-I don't wanna say too much infront of Mrs. White, here. Why don't we go over into my study and discuss this a little more privately."
"Oh, alright."
"Excellent. Follow me," he said before casually walking down the hall, the confused officer of the law following naively behind.
Mrs. White shook her head before bringing out a duster and continuing to clean an antique portrait adjourned to the wall.
*
The billiard room was a room shaded in a neat combination of red and green. The viridian carpet was most unlike the hall's flooring, it was soft and comfortable. There were a couple of chairs, a small mini-bar with an assortment of alcoholic beverages, a collection of cabinets containing many trophy, medals and awards that glistened under the chandelier's bright light. A big billiard's table was centred in the middle of the room. A game was currently in place, balls scattered across the area of the table. Two men stood round it, both of them holding a wooden billiard cue in their hands.
Colonel Mustard, a middle-aged British gentleman in a goldenrod plaid suit leaned over the table, cue in hand, attempting to hit a ball, looking through his expensive monocle that covered his left eye. He hit the ball and watched it droop into one of the corner holes. He smirked and stroked his auburn moustache. "Jolly good," he commented.
"Don't get too cock-zure, Monsieur le colonel," said the thin man opposite him. He wore a long brown jacket that dangled to the point just below his bottom, where a pair of suave tan trousers and hazel shoes continued the trend of brown. He wore a tilted brown beret on his heat. This man was Monsieur Brunette.
"Getting jealous are we, Brunette?" asked Mustard.
"Non," he replied hotly. It was his turn. He leant over the table, tapped his cue against a ball. Unfortunately for him, it didn't go much further. "Oh, sacre bleu!"
The Colonel approached the Frenchman and patted him on the back. "Never mind, old chap. Come on, let's have a drink. We'll continue this game in a bit."
Monsieur Brunette complied and sat himself down in one of the chairs near the table. A few minutes later, the Colonel handed him a glass of whisky and he sat himself next to him in the closest chair, a glass of whisky also in hand.
"Merci," Brunette thanked.
"It's odd, isn't it?"
"What's that, Monsieur?"
"Boddy inviting us all over. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know he's done things like this before - little gatherings and what not, but, tonight he just seems so unlike himself. Almost a bit potty."
"Bon. I completely agree, Monsieur le colonel. He does seem the somewhat - how do you say - 'a bit like a cuckoo bird'."
The Colonel chuckled at the Frenchman's attempt at an English phrase. "I wonder what on Earth is going inside the man's head sometimes. He definately isn't all there - if you know what I mean."
Just then, the door to the room opened with a slight creak. A middle-aged, slightly elderly, woman walked into the room, closing the door behind her.
"Good evening, Colonel. Good evening, Monsieur," she greeted with a smile, showing her flashy white teeth.
"Good evening," the two men replied simultaneously.
The woman took herself a seat, sitting down swiftly and propping her blue handbag on her lap. She was Mrs. Peacock. A woman in a blue dress, wrapped in furs. Amidst her brunette, turning-grey hair was a tiny blue cap with a flamboyant peacock's tail feather sprouting out of it. It made her otherwise elegant, refined persona seem just a tad ridiculous.
"You two been playing, I assume?" she motioned her gloved hand towards the billiard table.
"Oh, yes. We're just taking a little break," Colonel Mustard replied with a polite smile.
"Good. Good. I've just come from the Lounge. Miss Scarlet and Miss Peach are in there, having a bit of a girly chat. I came out of the way. I tell you, they don't make me feel any younger."
Monsieur Brunette nodded his head sympathetically. "Ah, but alas, madame she is still magnifique et beautiful."
"Oh," she smiled her signature smile once more, "thank you, Monsieur Brunette. That is awfully kind of you."
"Then who else is here?" asked Colonel Mustard abruptly.
"Excuse me?" asked Mrs. Peacock with a vacant stare.
"There's you two, myself, Peach, Scarlet. Is that everyone? I thought there was more than that."
"Oh, dear Colonel, there is," answered Mrs. Peacock. "That strange Professor and Reverend Green are in the library doing who-knows-what - probably something extremely dull, I gather - and Madame Rose is in the ballroom."
"Madame Rose?!" exclaimed the Colonel, perhaps a little louder than he intended.
"Yes. I know what you mean. The woman is a complete crack-pot. More so than Mr. Boddy is being this evening."
"Madame Rose? Oh, then she is married," moaned Monsieur Brunette.
"Not exactly, Monsieur," Mrs. Peacock swiftly reassured. "Her husband disappeared a few years ago. Hmph, who could blame him?"
They all laughed. "Oh," Peacock said with a gasp. "I've forgotten to tell you that a police sergeant arrived about five minutes ago."
"What?" gasped Monsieur Brunette.
"A police sergeant?"
"Yes. What is that man up to?" she pondered.
*
As Mrs. Peacock had previous said, Miss Scarlet and Miss Peach were indeed sitting comfortably on the sofas in the lounge. The two women were both really beautiful in their own way. Both were young, single with high libido's even if the God-fearing Miss Peach didn't like to show.
The lounge was a simple, square room with many sofas and chairs, allowing guests to well...lounge. A big fireplace took up a quarter of the room. There were one or two bookcases and a coffee table. A small desk nearby housed an old-fashioned, dial-up telephone.
Miss Scarlet was Asian, her thick black locks of hair rolled against her perfect shoulders. Her dress choice was that of a lavish and appropriate scarlet cheongsam with glittery silver studs on it. A small feather boa of a dark red was wrapped around her tanned arms. She held a long, thin cigarette holder in her fingers, taking a drag from it every few moments.
Miss Peach was rather pale. She had thick locks of curly blond hair that travelled a bit more lower down than Scarlet's did. Her face was smothered in expensive make-up. She wore a light apricot, short-sleeved dress and heels. She was the only American in the house.
"My," Peach was saying a moment after Mrs. Peacock had dispersed. "She sure is a nice enough woman."
"Don't confide in her too much," Scarlet said in her usual sexy, sultry voice as she a blew out a cloud of tobacco smoke. "She will go and stab us in the back now. She is that kind of woman. A lousy gossip."
"Oh, dear," said Miss Peach, fidgeting in her seat. "Are you sure? She seems fine to me."
"Meh," the Asian woman said simply.
There was an awkward moment's silence, which Miss Peach broke soon enough. "Anyway, Mr. Boddy sure has the most beautiful mansion, huh?"
Sakura Scarlet rolled her eyes. Georgia Peach said that everytime she came to her wealthy uncle's private estate. "Yes," she said aloud, "it is definitely a pretty piece. He's done well for himself."
"Yeah, but with many thanks to you. After all, having such a tactful and experienced bridge partner as you has surely given him great potential. You are a marvel. Really, how do you do it?"
"That's," she replied, tapping some weak tobacco from her holder into an ashtray, "is my little secret."
"Oh," Miss Peach sounded disappointed. "I was hoping you could show me a few tricks. Or maybe at least a couple of pointers to to set me off with."
"No."
Peach sank in her chair. "I wonder why Uncle Boddy invited us all over on such short notice - not that I mind at all."
"He's probably got some big announcement to make."
"You think? Like what?"
"I don't know. But, it'll probably really great news for him and boring, uneventful news for us."
"I wonder what it could be..."Miss Peach pondered eagerly.
*
Professor Julian Plum and Reverend Sherman Green were conversing in a deep discussion in the compounds of the Duforte Manor's library. Tons of large, domineering bookcases spanned the walls. It was a vast tomb of knowledge. Plum and Green sat at an antique chessboard, having a round of the said game.
The Professor said, as he slowly moved a bishop, "So the lesson's all planned. Hopefully the kids will be able to 'get' The Tempest. It's really a simple piece if you get all your facts straight. Unfortunately, these kids just don't care. Meh, I guess I was the same at their age."
"Indeed," replied the Reverend with a gruesome glare. A pushed a pawn two spaces forward. "If only we could get a couple more of your students in for a Sunday service." He sighed. "Sometimes, I feel like there's no point anymore."
"Oh, Sherman," rolled Plum in a sympathetic tone. "Don't be like that. It'll be fine, I'm sure."
It was strange how a man of science and a man of God get along so well together. Everyone assumed it was their vast knowledge. They were easily the two smartest people in the whole household.
"I hope you're right," Green said. "Hopefully Boddy will be there to get me out of any ruddy trouble if necessary."
The Professor merely grinned as he shifted his queen.
*
The ballroom was a very large room. A small seating area, a big dancefloor and a beautiful grand piano bestowed the room with it's impeccable grace. A slightly overweight woman in light pink shawls and bangles sat on the hard flooring of the dancefloor, cross-legged, her fingers pinched together. A gracious crystal ball stood infront of her. There were no lights on. The long, gaunt curtains were draped shut. All was quiet.
Suddenly, the woman, Madame Rose, opened her blood-shocked eyes with a start and gasped. "Oh no!" she exclaimed in a thick, Russian accent.
TO BE CONTINUED...