Bunbury Steals A Scene

Being an actress is an arduous job, dear Reader, especially when someone murders one of your fellow players and the performance is canceled. Lady Bracknell was killed during our fourth rehearsal of The Importance of Being Earnest. Our sponsors were furious because all the advance ticket sales had to be refunded.

The Big Grove Theater, originally a train station along the track between Chicago and Carbondale, had been refurbished to equip us with the minimum trappings of our trade. In the ex-waiting room, a small wooden stage with doors at either end faced six rows of seats on risers. The former ticket office now boasted two tiny dressing rooms for the actors, and a storage closet had been converted to a women’s bathroom. Black painted walls and floor gave the illusion of a larger space.

The day of the murder, I perched in the back row of seats, teetering on a folding chair that threatened to drop off the narrow riser. The usual backstage odors of sweat and cigarette smoke assailed my nose, along with a whiff of ancient engine oil.

Act I of Oscar Wilde’s famous play unfolded in front of me against the backdrop of an elegant Victorian drawing room.

Algernon and Jack, both wealthy young gentlemen, make ridiculous statements about engagement and marriage while eating all the cucumber sandwiches and bread and butter laid out for tea with Lady Bracknell.

“Algernon. I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the fact.

Jack. I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so curiously constituted.”

Soon Lady Bracknell and her daughter Gwendolen enter, dressed in proper Victorian afternoon gowns and gloves. Lady Bracknell’s enormous hat with its drooping white feather dominates the scene. When she leaves the stage with Algernon, Jack seizes his opportunity to propose to Gwendolen.

After Lady Bracknell returns, Gwendolen informs her mother that she and Jack are engaged to be married. Lady Bracknell objects with this memorable speech (I know it by heart because I auditioned for that role):

“Lady Bracknell. Pardon me, you are not engaged to anyone. When you do become engaged to someone, I, or your father, should his health permit him, will inform you of the fact. An engagement should come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be. It is hardly a matter that she could be allowed to arrange for herself…And now I have a few questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing. While I am making these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the carriage.”

Are you confused yet, dear Reader? All you need to remember is the key relationships:  Lady Augusta Bracknell is Gwendolen’s mother and Algernon’s aunt, Jack is in love with Gwendolen, and Algernon is in love with Cecily.

I play Cecily, Jack Worthing’s wonderfully attractive (slender and dark-haired) ward who lives with him in the country. I find the country to be monotonous, so I keep a diary. I write every day “so I will always have something sensational to read.” That’s Gwendolen’s line, but the writer in me believes one should steal other people’s words at every opportunity.

Both Gwendolen (plump and blonde) and I are hell-bent on marrying someone whose first name is Ernest. Why? Because Ernest is such an elegant name, so indicative of superiority and dependability.

Lady Bracknell is a Holy Terror. She’s determined not to let Gwendolen marry anyone less than perfect in terms of Breeding and Wealth. She is blind to her own insufferable nature. She is also oblivious to her nephew Algernon’s maneuvering, particularly in the matter of Bunbury.

In case you are not familiar with Bunbury, dear Reader, Algernon explains:

“Algernon. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a
Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.

Jack. What on earth do you mean?

Algernon. You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose…”

I myself am no mean Bunburyist, as you shall see.

We rehearsed a couple more scenes, including the “muffin fight” of Act II in which Jack and Algernon argue about their now broken engagements and Algernon eats all the muffins provided by Jack’s servants. Then our director called a break. I looked for Gwendolen to share a smoke. She wasn’t outside in the alley, so I checked our dressing room.

The unlatched door creaked open. I found Lady Bracknell dead on the floor. Her mouth was stuffed with an enormous blueberry muffin and her eyes bulged. I backed out into the hall and yelled for help. Jack appeared first, closely followed by Algernon.

“Aunt Augusta!” cried Algernon. He knelt on the floor next to his relative.

“Oh, no!” said Jack. “Now I’ll never get permission to marry Gwendolen.”

“Why is that? Did you kill my aunt?”

“Certainly not.” Jack replied as he stepped over to the wall phone to inform the police.

“I’m sure you wanted to. I wanted to kill her at least once a day,” Algernon said.

From this exchange you will realize, dear Reader, that our actors strive to stay in character, even during coffee breaks and murders. I am the exception; I move fluidly between my fictional identities and my real ones.

“Shut up and let me examine her for wounds,” I said. Finding no marks or blood, I announced that her death was probably Suffocation by Muffin.

“How awful!” cried Algernon.

“How efficient,” said Jack. “I mean, making use of a stage prop that way.”

“Where’s Gwendolen?” I asked.

“Right here,” she said as she appeared in the doorway of the dressing room. “Mother! Oh, how dreadful!” Gwendolen clapped her gloved hands over her mouth and moaned.

Jack stepped closer and put an arm around his fiancée. Well, almost fiancée. Lady Bracknell refused her permission for them to marry because Jack’s background didn’t measure up to that worthy lady’s exacting standards—or mine. Really, being found in a handbag in a railway station! I’d never marry a man like that, but Jack’s wealth makes him an adequate guardian.

My mind raced. The police would be here soon enough. We had only six people in the theater today—the five major characters in the play plus our director, so the murderer had to be one of us.

Since Lady Bracknell had been type-cast, we all had reason to dislike her. She was large, opinionated, and Always Right. As an experienced actress in her late forties, she usually got the role of the bossy mother-in-law, the difficult boss, or the interfering neighbor. Lady Bracknell also had an inflated idea of her own acting abilities, a character flaw I particularly detest.

I didn’t know Gwendolen well, but her stiff manner toward Lady Bracknell offstage made me suspect a prior connection. Note to self: corner Gwendolen in private and Find Out.

Both male protagonists disliked Lady Bracknell and showed it by ignoring her during breaks. The director found her difficult to handle; I could tell because he smoked furiously after every scene in which Lady Bracknell drowned out the other characters with her loud, exaggerated English accent.

I decided ferret out information before the police took over. “Where was everyone this morning? Let’s reconstruct what happened.”

“I don’t see why you have to play detective,” said Algernon sulkily.

“Someone has to,” I retorted.

Jack was more cooperative. “Cecily’s right. We can’t count on the police to get it right. Let’s see, we did the beginning of the play and then the scene in which I propose to Gwendolen.”

“That comes right after Lady Bracknell exits stage left with me,” said Algernon.

“So that means that all three women were off-stage during the beginning of rehearsal,” I said. “Gwendolen, where did you spend the first part of the morning?”

“Smoking in the alley, of course. I had no desire to remain indoors on such a perfect fall day.”

“Don’t forget the fight scene between you and Gwendolen, Cecily,” Jack reminded me.

“I was coming to that.”

You will recall, dear Reader, that the “cat-fight” between me and Gwendolen occurs when we meet for the first time and mistakenly believe we are engaged to the same man. The scene is foreshadowed by this wonderful exchange:

 “Jack. Cecily and Gwendolen are perfectly certain to be extremely great friends. I’ll bet you anything you like that half an hour after they have met, they will be calling each other sister.

Algernon. Women only do that when they have called each other a lot of other things first.”

Perhaps that is true. I have never had a sister, but if I had had one, I would have made full use of her to Bunbury and go wherever I liked.

I exited the dressing room, which was decidedly crowded. The police would realize that each of the four lovers had an opportunity to murder Lady Bracknell since none of us was onstage during the entire rehearsal. Algernon or Jack could have done it during the catfight scene, and Gwendolen or I could have done it during the muffin fight.

Algernon collapsed onto a sofa and snuffled into his necktie. “I can’t believe my aunt is gone. Now who will interfere with my life and force me to attend social occasions that bore me?”

“Lady Bracknell bullied you every time you were together. Why, that’s a motive for murder right there! I bet you killed her.” Jack lounged against the fireplace and rested his elbow on the mantlepiece.

“Certainly not,” Algernon retorted. “I am deeply offended that you could ever think I’d do such a thing. Murder is vulgar, not to mention messy. Surely you have the best motive, since Aunt Augusta stood in the way of your marriage with Gwendolen.”

“And I am deeply offended that you think I could be so ungentlemanly as to stuff a muffin in a lady’s mouth just to shut her up. Why, the only mouth I would stuff with a muffin is my own,” said Jack indignantly.

Algernon rose from the sofa and crossed to stage right. “As you know, I am quite partial to muffins myself. I am willing to overlook your probable guilt in this matter if you agree immediately to let me marry your ward, Miss Cecily Cardew.”

Jack stuck his nose in the air. “I can’t possible allow my innocent young ward to marry a cad who is capable of such distrust.”

I decided enough was enough.

“Gwendolen, come and talk to me. Let’s go outside and have a smoke until the police arrive.”

She nodded, leading the way. Her face showed nothing but disgust for the recent exchange between our lovers, but I sensed a deeper disquiet.

I lit her cigarette and then my own. “You have a history with the actress who plays Lady Bracknell, don’t you?”

Gwendolen turned flinty blue eyes my way. “You’ve guessed my secret, or at least part of it. I recently discovered she’s my mother. She abandoned me when I was a baby, a cowardly act for which I shall never forgive her.” She leaned against a dumpster, wrinkling her nose at the odor of decaying fish.

Time to create a Bunbury. I gasped. “Your mother! But…but…I’m pretty sure she’s my mother, too! I was one of a pair of non-identical twins, separated at birth and put into foster care. I grew up in near poverty and had to work my way through college while Mother lived in luxury in Chicago. I could have killed her for that.”

Gwendolen sniffed. “I thought of killing her many times. I’m sure I suffered more than you did.  I had to babysit on weekends all the way through high school.”

“Oh, naturally you suffered terribly! You are much too selfish to have cared about a sister, even if we had grown up together.”

“Me, selfish?” cried Gwendolen. “You scarcely know me, and here you are jumping to conclusions about how I behaved long before we met. I wouldn’t claim you as Sister even if the proof were right in front of my eyes.”

We looked daggers at each other.

I took a deep breath. “When is your birthday?”

“September 13, 1982.”

“That’s my birthday as well!” I said.

“Where were you born?” she asked.

“Right here in Big Grove, in Burnham Hospital.”

“Me, too.” Gwendolen said. Tears filled her eyes. “Let me call you Sister!”

“Sister!” I clasped her arms and we hugged.

I pulled away. “So, Gwendolen, you had a very strong motive to kill Lady Bracknell.”

“I didn’t do it!” she protested. “I thought about it, but I couldn’t see how to get away with it. If I had done it, I’d have pinched her nose so she’d suffocate while choking on the muffin.”

Footsteps sounded behind me.

“Cousin Gwendolen did it! She pinched Lady Bracknell’s nose so she’d suffocate!” cried Algernon.

Clearly the boys had heard only the tail end of our conversation.

Algernon simpered at me. “My own sweet Cecily would never do such a thing.”

The police burst through the door into the alley just as Gwendolen drew herself up and shrieked at Algernon. “Only a cousin could be so cruel! I didn’t say I had suffocated her, I said if I had done it, I would have pinched her nose so she’d suffocate!”

I pointed to Gwendolen’s sleeve. “Look! A blueberry stain! She must have acquired it when she murdered Lady Bracknell with the muffin!”

We all stared at the ominous blue smudge on the ivory fabric.

After taking statements from the director, me, Algernon, and Jack, the police removed Gwendolen for further questioning.

“Stop, I didn’t do it! Ask Cecily, she’s my long-lost sister. She has as much a motive as I do. You have no right…” The sound of Gwendolen’s voice dwindled to a squeak as the police pushed her into a squad car.

Algernon gazed at me with a furrowed brow. “Are you really Gwendolen’s sister?”

I smiled. “No. I was doing a Bunbury—pretending to have a sister to make Gwendolen confess.”

He looked relieved. “Oh, good, so you had no motive to kill Lady Bracknell. I can marry you after all.”

Little did he know. I had a fine motive to kill that bitch. The actress playing Lady Bracknell had bullied and bribed her way into three leading roles that should have been mine. I couldn’t let her do it again, so I stuffed her mouth with muffin while Algernon and Jack performed the muffin fight. Some smashed blueberry ended up on my hand, and I had no chance to wash it off since someone was in the bathroom when I tried to reach our only sink. The director kept me on stage the rest of the time. When Gwendolen and I hugged, I transferred the stain to her sleeve.

I did it, dear Reader, but I am happy to let her take the blame.

After all, what are sisters for?

 

END

 

Sarah Wisseman is a retired archaeologist. Her experience working on excavations and in museums inspired two contemporary series, the Lisa Donahue Archaeological Mysteries and the Flora Garibaldi Art History Mysteries. Her settings are places where she has lived or traveled (Israel, Italy, Egypt, Massachusetts, and Illinois) and her favorite museum used to be housed in a creepy old attic at the University of Illinois. Her latest book is The Botticelli Caper. Visit her at sarahwisseman.com