Another mix of humor and suspense by Anthony Berkeley. This is an early novel, first published with the title Cicely Disappears (a perfectly accurate title) and published under the pseudonym A. Monmouth Platts (the 4th pseudonym he used that I know of). My understanding was that Berkeley didn't think much of his writing--or murder mysteries as a form of literature--which is why he used pseudonyms. I'm not sure what sort of life he was hoping for, but if I could be this good at something I hated to do, I would be pretty pleased with myself. This novel was originally serialized in The Daily Mirror and it shows: each chapter is short (10 or so pages) and ends with a heart stopping cliff hanger. It's not as good as his later books, by which time he had mastered not only the "twist ending" (a term Agatha Christie used to describe his endings) but the "DOUBLE twist ending" (a term Julian Symons used to describe the endings in his very best books). But this book is absolutely charming, engaging, and doesn't feature the sort of icky nastiness that his later books tend to have. This is the perfect example of "only loathsome people die and all the wonderful people end up financially set and married to their perfect life partner" type of book. And what more can anyone ask for than that?
Ok, our story starts out with a 20s something Stephen Munro eating the perfect breakfast served by the perfect "man," Bridger. Stephen and Bridger served in the military together, each saving the others' bacon more than once (trenches are briefly mentioned, enough to get the point across that they are serious, capable, and loyal people with properly functioning moral compasses). After their service obligations ended, Stephen fell into a bit of "dosh" and Bridger did not, so they decided that he would be the gentleman and Bridger would be his "man." Not many years later, Stephen used up the money--a brief reference is made to the financial disasters that hit England after WWI which resulted in formerly secure funds and investments evaporating like puddles in the Sahara. So, left with no savings, no income and no cash, Stephen has to tell Bridger the news: he's pulled out of his lease, sold ALL his furniture (which is being picked up later that day) and all all his personal items and--gasp!!--he's taken up a job as a FOOTMAN in a stately home! Bridger, like all Gentleman's Gentlemen in the 1920s, knows everything and has accepted a position as a gardener in the same stately home so he can continue to (surreptitiously) care for Stephen. Stephen is so moved by Bridger's devotion he ALMOST gets misty-eyed. He tells Bridger he is an "absolute BRICK!" Bridger knows that already. Well, they divvy up Stephen's remaining clothes and head out with just a cardboard suitcase each. The last thing Stephen does is toss a glam photograph of "Pauline" (no, we don't know who she is at this point) onto the fireplace embers. As the bits of the photo turn to ash, Stephen walks to the door, telling himself, "There's no place for a Pauline in the life of a footman....".
Next we know we are at the stately home of Lady Susan, the requisite elderly lady who is sassy, speaks her mind, and has zero patience for fools. She's also got the requisite "weak heart" which means the young people hanging around her house divide into two camps: those that want her alive and so needlessly shield her from bad news (and thereby prolong the mystery) and those that want her dead (for her money, property and/or jewels) and so engage in all sorts of antics to try to literally scare her to death.
Again we have a closed circle mystery and again the circle is JUST A TAD TOO BIG to be manageable until about half way through the book, but I shall try:
Martin: An absolutely LOATHSOME butler (therefore a good murder victim) who is described as having yellow flesh, tiny eyes and an leering, malicious grin. He knows all the secret passages in the house and so is constantly sneaking around, eavesdropping on everyone and leaping out when least expected. Lady Susan hates him but she can't bring herself to get rid of him because he is, after all, a really good butler.
Millicent: Niece of Lady Susan. Ostensibly she works for Lady Susan, managing her daily affairs and the household, but she is singularly inept and Lady Susan points this out at every chance. The reader would feel sorry for Millicent except that she really IS inept--she's the "fainter" that every 1920s and 30s mystery novel needs, and she passes out every time something dramatic happens, which is often. It gets to the point that the other characters roll their eyes and sigh, "There she goes again. Come on, help me get her to the couch..."
Freddie: The only nephew of Lady Susan. He's the Bertie Wooster type, hopeless with money but always good for a laugh. It turns out that he knows Stephen from a past life and he is constantly blurting out, "I say, why are you dressed up in that silly costume, Munro? Be a good chap and put on some decent clothes and sit at the table with us" to the mortification of all involved--except Freddie, of course.
Cicely: Another niece of Lady Susan, I think Freddie's sister, but I'm not sure. She's sassy and independent, smart and a lot of fun. I imagine her wearing flapper dresses with a cloche hat.
Sir Julius Hammerstein: An older, very rich (or is he??) financier who doesn't talk much, scowls disapproval and blows cigar smoke all about the place. He's extremely unpleasant and wouldn't even be there if he wasn't engaged to....
Pauline: Yes, THE Pauline! Why the hell is she engaged to an loathsome old tick like Sir Julius? Well, because her father also suffered terrible financial losses as a result of various economic crashes and immediately marrying into wealth is the only path out of the mess her family is in, as far as she can see...She's going to regret her decision, though, as Sir Julius has a terrible temper and (criminal!) secrets that he'll do anything to keep hidden...
Henry Kentibeare: A "languid" 20 something who has never done a lick of work and spends all his days sponging off wealthy people at various stately homes.
Colonel Uffculme: Here is the classic ex-military type who says things like, "I say!" and "Now see here!" He sits in the corner not saying much unless someone asks him a question, and then he bores them to tears with tales of his adventures in Bengal.
John Starcross: Here's a dark horse. He's almost 30 and has a very secret past--Martin rumormongers tales of a stretch in prison but Starcross has recently spent his time in Central America accomplishing dangerous and newsworthy feats.
Annette Agnew: Here is another flapper. She's a "distant cousin" of someone and so has a right to be in the house whenever big gatherings are taking place. She's a good egg and has no tolerance for nonsense--and there's going to be a LOT of nonsense before the weekend is over.
Miss "Baby" Cullumpton: A social climber who likes to talk in baby talk (hence the nickname). Her real passion is acquiring valuables: jewels, money, property, a title, the whole shebang. And she isn't going to stop until she's got it all.
Stephen shows up to work early in the morning and is instructed to help the guests when they arrive--get their luggage and such, direct them to their rooms, unpack their clothes, lay out the dinner wear (I assume this is for the men only, as it would be a bit much to expect a young man to handle a woman's "smalls", right?), get them drinks and do whatever else anyone wants. By dinner time he's run ragged, but that's when his real work begins: he has to take food in to the diners, get drinks, take plates away, get coffee, tea and after dinner drinks...so what the hell does the butler do? I have no idea. In this story, all Martin seems to do is to criticize Stephen and insinuate that he's going to do his damnedest to get Stephen fired before another 24 hours are up.
After the dinner is over, Stephen has settled down in the butler's pantry with a heap of spoons that need polishing and everyone else is gathered in the drawing room to have a seance. This is Freddie's idea, one that "Baby" thinks is "spiffy" but that Annette thinks is "utter rot." The idea is that Freddie is going to do a "Witches Thing" (Freddie doesn't work hard to choose words) so that someone is going to "disappear out of the universe" and then "reappear". Refusing to let Stephen "play at" being a footman, he insists that Stephen read out the incantation that will cause the magic to happen. Pauline, horribly embarrassed to be seen by Stephen shackled to an oaf--even if he is rich, refuses to make eye contact with Stephen, which he interprets as her expressing her hostility caused by seeing him sunk so low. (The classic misunderstandings that must take place in every rom-com-murder mystery-seance scene.) Freddie douses the lights (the ladies squeal excitedly--except for Lady Susan, who commands, "Well, get on with it!") and Stephen reads out the words by a candlelight. Then everything happens all at once: banging, yelling, screaming, smells of chloroform, shrieks, crashes, bumps and more banging...then Freddie brings up the lights and...Cicely is GONE!
Of course everyone--including Freddie--thinks Cicely is playing a joke (it's exactly the sort of thing she would do) but no one can figure out how she pulled it off: the room has only two doors--one out to the hallway and the other to a balcony, and both were blocked by someone for the sole purpose of preventing pranks. Freddie tells everyone that the only thing to do is to recite the "return" incantation to get her back. So lights out and more "witch" words. Lights go back on and...no Cicely. Hmmm...now this is looking very weird. So, the old people decide enough is enough and retire to bed. The young people, determined to not be fooled by Cicely, get flashlights and candles and search the house, the grounds, and then the house again and then the grounds again. Still no Cicely. Well, now it's almost 3 am and it isn't looking so funny. They decide it's late and they ought to go to bed so they can do a proper search in the morning.
But no one goes to bed. In fact, the rest of the novel seems to involve everyone spending all their time sneaking around, indoors and out, up and down secret passages, and in and out of the woods, bumping into each other, smacking each other with candlesticks and flashlights, shoving each other down stairs or pulling each other from behind couches...When does anyone get any sleep?
On top of all those shenanigans, Martin makes good his promise and, flat out lying to Lady Susan about Stephen's work as a footman, gets him fired! But Lady Susan (genuinely worried about Cicely and having been persuaded by Freddie that Stephen is "one of them") insists he stay as her guest so he can continue to investigate the mystery. Once he's out of the silly costume (that included short pants and leggings) he can get really serious about poking around at night in the dark. Then a ransom note appears: they must place £500 in an envelope in the woods attached to an old oak tree or Cicely will be no more. Is this part of the joke? Is this Cicely trying to extort funds out of her beloved aunt Lady Susan? Has someone really kidnapped her? And if so, how? And where is she? And just when things couldn't get any weirder, Martin is found, crushed, underneath the ransom-note-oak-tree branch in the woods. But why was he there--was he the ransomer? And if the branch really just fell, why were there saw marks halfway along the end of the branch, just where it broke off from the trunk? And what has Bridger been up to this whole time? Well, pretending to be a gardener while actually solving the mystery of the missing Cicely, of course!
Even with the Cicely situation sorted, Stephen still has to break up Pauline's engagement and fall into a vast sum of money so he can be worthy of asking her to marry him--and he has 12 hours to do it...
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