Bloody Orange

“So, what were the rules again?”

The children were sitting knee to knee on the floor of the drawing room whilst the adults gathered in the room next door to talk of more ‘important’ things.

Sandy repeated her question, nudging at her young cousins to answer her.

“We all close our eyes, one of us has to be chosen as the killer.”

“Killer?” Whined Charles. At eight, he was the youngest of the lot and in turn, the most likely to be ignored.

“And then,” James continued with little regard to his younger brother. “We all walk around the room and when we bump into someone, we whisper, “orange” unless you are the killer, then you say, “bloody orange” and the other person has to scream which means they’re dead and have to leave the game. The last orange wins.” James finished with a nod.

“How do we choose the killer?” Emmie chimed in.

“We draw cards.” James decided.

The game was arranged in haste. All six cousins spread about the room with the excited thrill and tension that came with the promise of murder.

The house was a large one, structured in such a way that could convince one they were alone whilst in a house full of people. A feature Edward Carmingham was grateful for on the Eve of his 80th birthday. Why his wife insisted that the children come along (and with their children none the less), he did not know. He would have to punish her for it afterwards.

The little rascals seemed occupied enough in the drawing room doing whatever it was small creatures did. He only had children himself because an heir was required. He didn’t expect it would take three daughters to get there.

It was all Ethel’s fault. She was made to breed women. Well, except young Joseph.

In his favourite armchair Edward sat, looking to his wife and children as one might look at acquaintances they would prefer not to be in the company of right that minute. Or any, as far as Edward was concerned.

Ethel herself could not be more overjoyed at the presence of her four children. Her heart and soul. She was getting on in life, that she knew. And soon they would be the only thing left of her on this earth.

She observed her first-born, Rosie, although now, as a middle-aged woman, she preferred to be called Rose. Her spidery fingers grasped her mug of steaming tea. Her elegance and height gave one the impression of respectability that she portrayed from a young girl.

Magdala stumbled into the room, barely saving the teacups from spilling their content on the tray she was holding; proving herself to be quite the contrast from her older sister.

“We have servants for that.” Rose said frankly, clearly unimpressed with her sister’s lack of decorum.

“I know, but why ask poor old Fredrick to do it, when I have two perfectly functioning hands myself.”

“Hmm… perfectly functioning?” Joseph, the youngest sibling and only brother, decided to pipe up in amusement.

“Don’t be so rude, Joseph. Here, let me help, sister.” Grace stood, taking the tray from her older sibling.

Ethel chuckled softly to herself, admiring the ever-present youth in her not-so-youthful children.

She enjoyed their company most ardently but hardly ever could, due to her brute of a husband. She allowed her eyes to wonder in his direction. Careful not to make eye contact. Do not anger the beast. She chuckled again.

Ah yes, a marriage of convenience that had only ever proved inconvenient, but then, as a dying woman, she understood just how much the marriage had given her. She once again watched her children.

It was hard to believe they were all parents, stepping into the shoes she had so long worn. Her grandchildren were absolute darlings. So lively and spirited. She wondered what they were doing at that moment.

As the conversation moved to more official topics, more specifically, Ethel’s will, the blood-curdling scream of a young girl rang out from the next room.

Magdala was the first to perk up. “Emmie!”

The adults were on their feet in seconds, ready to rescue their relation. All but Edward.

“Go, go, all of you. Children are such a nuisance. Go see what all the fuss is about.” He declared as he made himself comfortable in his leather armchair.

As they all trudged to the next room, another, less enthusiastic, scream rang out.

“Charles!” Joseph announced. All the parents seemed to recognise their children’s cries.

Upon entering the room, they all met the sight of their children walking around with eyes closed. Both Emmie and Charles on the floor.

“What on earth is going on here!” Joseph took on his father voice. No trace of his humour from earlier was left.

“Hello father.” James opened his eyes and waved excitedly at the parents. “We’re playing a game. Would you like to join us?”

“No, we would not like…”

Joseph was cut off once more as his son spoke again.

“Emmie, what are you doing on the floor? You’re supposed to move out of the way, do you want us all to trip?” James sounded very much like his father.

“Well, I wouldn’t make a very good dead person walking to the side of the room now, would I?” Emmie pointed out.

James rolled his eyes turning his attention to his little brother, also on the floor.

“And you?”

“Emmie was doing it, so I did it.” Charles shrugged as though there were no explanation more just.

“Why are any of you playing dead? And why are you all screaming?” Rose spoke. Her voice much more severe than that of her brothers.

The children explained the game, the animation clear in their voices.

“Ah,” Ethel spoke up as they finish their explanation. “So, ‘bloody orange’ is the mark of the murderer. Well, I think I shall like to play.”

“Mother?” Rose was very disapproving.

Just as Joseph was about to voice his opinion, another scream was heard from the room they were previously in.

“Now what?” Grace groaned.

“This is truly a mad house.” Rose held her head.

The return to the room was much less prompt than their departure but unlike the screams of their children, this one was justified.

There in his favourite armchair, the head of the Carmingham family lay dead.

Grace was the first to react.

“Daddy!” She called, hurrying to her father’s side.

Ethel fell to the floor in shock and the others tended to her as the maid who discovered the body wept.

The next few hours were blurred; a doctor was called, although the family knew there was nothing to be done. Acute gastritis, they were told, due to his excessive intake of alcohol. And a death certificate was given without question. But the family wasn’t so easily convinced.

Hours turned into days which turned to weeks as the family tried to ignore the fact that the dead man had been as healthy as one his age could be and hadn’t, by any sense of the word, been a ‘drinker’.

Rose contemplated the implications of it all. She, like everybody else, was doubtful that the death was accidental. Her father was an unpleasant man with many enemies and all of the people in the house benefitted from his death. As a chemist, she was greatly aware of the symptoms of arsenic poisoning and recognised them almost immediately upon seeing her father’s body. The fact that the doctor hadn’t made any further investigation boggled her.

Eventually, the incident was barely thought of. But the consequences of such a death were hardly sad. More visits were made to the family home, the children were encouraged to play, and their grandmother was allowed to play with them.

Ethel’s health was declining, however, and it wasn’t long before these visits moved to her bedroom for all she could do was lay there, awaiting death.

Rose was called to her mother's room exactly two months after Edward’s passing.

“Hello Mother, how are you feeling?”

“As well as you’d expect my dear, but I’m afraid I won’t live much longer, I feel it. But I’d like you to know, dear, how much it means to me to have my family here with me at the home I love. It wouldn’t have happened with your father around. I can guarantee you that.”

It was the most hostility she’d ever seen her mother show toward her father.

“I’m quite thirsty dear, could you fetch some tea for me please? You can ask the maid, I just called on her to bring my medicine up.”

“Of course, mother,” Rose stood and walked to the door.

“Oh, and one more thing, dear, I feel I should really get off my chest…”

Rose feared the worst and rightly so. For the next words her mother spoke shone clarity not only on the past two months but her entire life before that.

Ethel smiled.

“Bloody Orange."