The Midsummer Maulings (WW5)

[Mithalwen]

*cue Danse Macabre by Camille Saint Saens*

It had been a wild night for mid summer in the small but absurdly picturesque village of Midsomer Mawlin. Flash floods had cut the village off from the outside world, but even before the hamlet had seemed isolated in time and space. Each of it's tiny population lived alone in their exquisite dwellings and most were a bit vague about their earlier lives. They were an odd assortment among whom, Mithalwen might have seemed one of the most normal.

An elderly lady, habitually dressed in grey, she had retired to the village for a quieter life. She was loath to go into details but when questioned she would mention that she had an unfortunate knack of being around when unfortunate events occured. It weas rumoured that her last village, St Mary Mead, had a death rate which made an abbatoir seem bloodless and even when the old lady went on holiday, Death would be her travelling companion. "Really it was mot unfortunate," she had said, "so I decided to get right away".

So she had lived quietly but observantly in Midsomer Mawlin until last night. There had been a full moon - not that there had been much chance to see it through the rain clouds - and some of the villagers woke to find they had changed.

But Mithalwen did not wake at all.

As the afternoon wore on the villagers realised that the lace curtains of Nemesia Cottage had not twitched all day. Neither had the old lady been seen tending her garden (which like all the others in teh garden had survived the ravages of the storm remarkably well..), nor had she been met walking in the village always speaking with perfect politeness but her meat cleaver mind not missing a detail of what was going on.

Gradually the villagers decided that they should "check on the old girl" and tentatively made their way up the path. The door swung open and the villagers trooped in, packing in to the tiny dwelling behind the leaders who had stopped dead on reaching the parlour.

The body of Mithalwen was seated at the desk. A noose was about her neck, a knife was protruding from her back and a cup of tea had been knocked over.


"Ooo she's dead" said someone, "Maybe she drowned in the flood" said someone at the back. Everyone at the front turned round and stared at that Unfortunate.

"Holy Mackerel" said Gil-Galad who lived in Wayne Manor at the edge of the village. He was fantastically rich and therefor his strange garb was tolerated. Only the very wealthy could wear their underpants outside their trousers and not be bled for the simples.....

"Eeeeeet eeeees my opinion that Meeeeeeeeess Mithalwen has been meurdered" said Durelin who was more conventionally dressed in a raincoat and homburg hat.

Holbytlass also wore a raincoat, but it was shabby and she only muttered about something that had happened to her niece's brother in law.

Firefoot, a glamorous blonde dressed in scarlet said she hadn't a clue who could have wanted to kill the old lady. While Feanor of the Peredhil eyes darted around the room assessing the situation. The woman had penetrating eyes and refined carriage --- that polished air of resilient nobility. She seemed to carry her blessings with a grace and humility.


" Mithalwen's been Murthered" went up the cry, all the villagers being temporarily afflicted by a speech impediment.

"Stabbed" said some, " Hanged" said others. "Both" said a few, hedging their bets ..
"I think you will find " said mormegil, a girl with bushy brown hair and slightly prominent front teeth, who despite her youth was renowned for her fierce intelligence and not suffering fools gladly.. "that she has been poisoned" she sniffed the contents of the teacup. There is no blood coming from the wound and no marks on her neck....- I studied potions - I mean chemistry at school "she added when she realised that maybe this was not the moment to show off knowledge.

" That seems like overkill" said the same person who had suggested drowning.

They got stared at again.

"It does seem rather excessive" Said Orominuialwen, an aristocratic figure, all nerves and nose, who was examining the documents on Mithalwen's desk through her monocle. A slightly foppish air belied a great deal of learning. But this does not seem to be an ordinary crime."

The Guy who would be Short had padded off to investigate the kitchen - a tall, hirsute figure he was perpetually hungry and he reasoned that Mithalwen would no longer need the contents of her larder. He returned in time to hear that the old lady had been poisoned and hunger fought with a quite justified suspicion of any foodstuffs in the house.

All the villagers crowded around the desk. The documents concerned astronomy and the history of lycanthropy. It was clear from her notes that Mithalwen had anticipated the strange events to which she had become a victim. there were werewolves among them and it was certain they would strike again.

Everyone started to eye each other suspiciously.

The population had been reduced to thirteen. A singularly inauspicious number.

Other villagers

Kitanna, a straight talking former bounty hunter and hot-dog saleswoman from overseas.

Kath

Oddwen

Sophia the Thunder Mistress

Nilpaurion Felagund


Day ends at 7.15 pm BST tomorrow unless seven of you agree before then. Once seven agree the decision is made and no vote may be retracted. If there is a tie a villager will be selected to die at random.