Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

Her laughter broke new paths out of her body, rolled forth like thunder, wrapped itself around her dumbfounded visitor, and flickered through the room. It was a mighty echo of laughters of long ago, a great song about her past, her youth, her love, and, at long last, a fitting requiem. How surprisingly easy it had been to hit Karl and watch him fall down with his eyes wide open, not understanding anything. Now, after so many years, she had found the key to close the door on all those humiliations, fights, lost chances, and lies. A belly laugh.

The Perfect Knight by Peggy Weed

Once lived a tall and gallant knight;
Yclept he was Sir Battledore.
He rescued maidens from their plight
As knights need must in times of yore.

His ebon locks to shoulders fall;
They match the color of his eyes.
Whene’er he storms a castle wall
His foe must always yield, and dies.

A maiden fair he loved and wooed;
He pledged to her his life and heart.
But Lady Madge rebuffed his suit,
Declared that he should quick depart.

The reason for her cruel slight?
He was a dark and stormy knight.

The Butler Couldn’t Quite Do It by William Bankier

A light-hearted tale this time from veteran short-story writer William Bankier. Shifting locales mid story, as he often — effectively — does, the Canadian-turned-Californian treats readers to a bizarre night at the Academy Awards. The range of subjects Mr. Bankier’s short fiction covers is wide, but he often weaves in material relating to two of his special interests, jazz music and movies.

* * *

“Come and work for me, Kincaid,” Margo Fletcher said. Margo found it irksome that this slim, handsome man was in the employ of her best friend, Lucy Jellicoe.

He bent towards her now, offering a tray of anchovies on quartered toast, and said, furtively, “You tempt me, Mrs. Fletcher. And not for the first time.”

Margo and Charles Kincaid remembered each other from their years together as members of the Hartfield Players, the leading amateur dramatic society in southwest London. Charles had played so many butlers in various productions on stage that his transition to the real-life occupation of servant seemed natural. Margo Fletcher, meanwhile, had opened a shop on Wimbledon High Street where intimate items of ladies’ lingerie were offered for sale. Her partner in this enterprise was none other than Lucy Jellicoe, her school chum at Roedean in the green years long ago.

And now, here she was attempting to hijack Lucy’s butler while enjoying a sunny afternoon on the Jellicoe patio. The cocktail party was in honor of Margo’s recently announced trip to Los Angeles, California. She and her late husband’s friend Desmond Wicklow would be traveling there to attend the Academy Awards ceremonies at which Wicklow’s novel, So Much for the Few, had been nominated for an Oscar. More accurately, the motion picture based on the novel had been so nominated.

Wicklow had written the book after retired squadron leader Calvin “Corky” Fletcher flew his privately owned Spitfire aircraft into one of the white cliffs of Dover. This happened during the filming of a BBC documentary about The Battle of Britain, and it left a nasty black smudge on one of the white cliffs.

Wicklow’s thesis in the book had to do with the sad plight of Britain’s war heroes who found themselves required to fly for wages to make a decent living. The premise was flawed in that Corky Fletcher would have flown his racy, camouflaged fighter plane anywhere at anytime for any reason at all. But Wicklow’s book was a good read and it made a fine movie.

“If I speak to Lucy,” Margo suggested, “and am able to persuade her to let you go, will you come with me?”

“Have I ever been able to refuse you?”

“I can recall late one evening following the cast party for Present Laughter.”

“We were great in Present Laughter.” The recollection of six curtain calls brought a wistful smile to the butler’s handsome face.

“We could have been just as great in my car on the drive home.”