Bonnet

Bonnet

Copyright oggbashan March 2022

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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Two weeks ago, Cecily, walking her dog through a local small wood, came across a body. She thought it was female, dressed in a Victorian' maid's costume with a large bonnet reversed on the head.

She pulled her dog away to the edge of the wood and rang the police who arrived with an ambulance in ten minutes.

The ambulance paramedic confirmed that the person had been dead possibly for some hours, Cecily was interviewed but couldn't tell the police much except that she had found the body where it was, and she hadn't touched it. She had been too busy trying to keep her dog away.

It was reported in the local paper with few details except that the body was male, not female, and had been restrained before death.

But the village gossip machine was in full flow. They said that the body was Alex Smithers, a local widower in his seventies. The maid's uniform had been, or was similar to, one that had been used in last year's production of Don Pasquale by the amateur operatic group. Their wardrobe mistress had been interviewed at length and yes, they had had about twenty maid's costumes for that production but only had three now. The others had been placed in the local clothes recycling bin about nine months ago. The three they had kept were still in the store.

The bonnet? Cecily described it. It was a poke bonnet covered in black possibly silk, The body's face had been deep in the bonnet that covered the whole head. There had been a thick black veil over the back of the head and the bonnet had been tightly tied on the head with long black satin ribbons. If we had been in Victorian times, it would probably been a mourning bonnet, but it looked new, not an antique.

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It was during the significant Covid restrictions when we should all have been self-isolating. That made the Police's enquiries difficult. They leafletted the village with several questions:

1, Had anyone seen Alex Smithers during the previous week?

2. The body had been transported to where it was found in a wheelbarrow -- make given. But the local ironmonger had sold twenty in the previous six months at a low price, a stock he had bought when another shop went bust.

3. The person pushing the wheelbarrow had been wearing galoshes, or rubber overshoes, size ten. Again, the ironmonger had sold many of them from the same source -- all size ten.

4. Alex's hair had been roughly cut. During lockdown no barber or hairdresser could work. It was unlikely that Alex had done it himself because he had arthritis in his hands. Had anyone cut Alex's hair?

5. The leaflet had a picture of the bonnet. Had anyone seen such a bonnet before? It had been made with modern materials over a wickerwork shape that had been made recently.

The village gossip machine complied all the answers from those who were willing to share.

Question 1. No one, except the postman, had seen Alex for six days before his body was found. The postman had delivered a parcel four days before Alex's death, had put it on the ground and rung the doorbell. Alex had come to collect it.

Question 2 Wheelbarrow. Everyone who had similar wheelbarrows still had them and none showed signs of having been used on a muddy path.

Question 3. Every pair of galoshes were accounted for.

Question 4. Haircut? No one admitted to cutting Alex's hair. He had been a loner before Covid and there was no one close enough to him to cut his hair.

Question 5. Bonnet. No one had seen it before, but we all thought it had been well made with skills that few of us could emulate. The cloth covering it? Yes. Several were skilled seamstresses. But the wicker frame? We knew no one who could produce such a complicated wicker construction. Our grandmothers might have been able to, and the materials were at hand by the river, but wickerwork had become obsolete.

The coroner's inquest began the following week and adjourned very quickly. All we knew was that Alex had been murdered by person of persons unknown and had bene dead for some time before he was moved to the wood. The police were obviously withholding some details.

That was it. The gossip machine started producing some unlikely conspiracy theories. What was the motive? Money? Alex had little except that he owned his house. His nephew in Australia would inherit but that nephew had been in Sydney continuously during the month before Alex's death. Jealousy? Unlikely. Alex had no women friends or even any real friends. He had acquaintances and neighbours. He was polite but distant. Rage? We couldn't see anyone getting worked up about Alex. He was just too colourless to arouse any strong feelings.

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Personally, I was more worried than most of the others. For them it was an interesting topic of discussion, but they didn't feel threatened that a murderer was among them. But I felt my similarity to Alex. Like him, I am a widower, living alone. Unlike him, I have women friends, some willing to offer benefits. I have more friends but during Covid I felt very lonely.

Out of the blue, Rebecca rang me.

"James? How do you feel about Alex's death?" she asked.

"Worried," I replied. "I can't see any reason to kill Alex and I see too many similarities between him and me."

"You're not a loner like Alex."

"Since Covid? I'm not so sure. I see so few people."

"I know things I shouldn't, and I won't share with the village, but if you feel that way perhaps you ought to know, James."

"How do you know?"

"My daughter works in the coroner's office. She shouldn't have, but she told me."

"Told you what?"

"More unreleased details about Alex's death."

"OK. So, what are they?"

James? 1. Alex was given some drug, as yet unidentified, before his death. They think it was a veterinary muscle relaxant. He would have been temporarily paralysed. 2. Under the maid's costume his legs were strapped with leather belts above his knees and around his ankles. 3. Inside the maid's dress he was wearing a waist apron. The streamers were tightly tied around his wrists. There is bruising, evidence that he struggled against those ties. 4. He was blindfolded by the bonnet. There were traces of his saliva on the lining in the depths of the hood. But he was also gagged under the bonnet presumably later since his saliva was in the bonnet's lining. Again, there is some indication that he shook his head violently, distorting the wickerwork but he should still have been able to breathe through the silk. And 5. He was wearing a condom and had ejaculated. There is a woman's DNA on the outside of the condom. The police will be taking DNA samples from every village woman next week."

"Is that all, Rebecca? How did he die?"

"That is the interesting bit. Sometime the bonnet was removed, he was gagged with cotton panties held in with a scarf and a plastic bag pulled down over his head and fixed tightly around his neck with duct tape. He suffocated before the bonnet was replaced after he was dead."

"That sounds as if someone went to a lot of trouble and preparation beforehand. It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment act."

"No. the dress had to have been pinched from the recycling bin months ago and the bonnet made. Even the wicker frame would have taken days."

"Rebecca? Any idea whom I should avoid?"

"Because of Covid, you and I are avoiding everyone. Beware of women carrying bonnets."

"Except in a few of the operatic society's productions, I have never seen a bonnet in the village. Have you?"

"No. The operatic societies only bonneted production was of The Pirates of Penzance three years ago. The bonnets were much smaller and worn at the back of the head. There is nothing in their costume store anything like the bonnet used on Alex."

"OK. But because of Covid, I'm not going out until I have to. I take my exercise in my back garden and go to the village shop about once a week. Everything else I order online."

"Can I come over to see you?"

"Rebecca! We're not supposed to meet indoors."

"I know but it is a fine day. We could sit in your front garden. You have two benches."

"OK, I suppose."

"And could you watch me from my front door to your garden? I'll tell you why when I arrive."

"Yes. When are you coming?"

"Now. As soon as I put the phone down."

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I was standing in my front garden, and I saw Rebecca, wearing a face mask, come out of her front door. She lives on the opposite side of the main street about fifty yards away. She met Andrea, a pharmacist's assistant who was furloughed, who lives in the village centre and obviously mentioned me. Rebecca pointed to me at my front gate. They parted and Rebecca was with me. We sat down in the garden. I had made a pot of tea earlier, so I had brought two cups out.

We had to remove the face masks to drink tea. We were sitting about twelve feet apart and the wind was blowing between us. Any Covid particles would be whipped away.

"Well, Rebecca? What is so important?"

"Have you seen Joan recently?"

"Not that I can remember. She has no reason to walk past my house. She doesn't have a dog to walk, and the village shop is the other way. Why?"

Joan is a widow, living alone, about five doors down from me closer to the village centre.

"Or Mavis?"

I shook my head. Mavis lives the other side of the village shop.

"Gail?"

I shook my head again.

"Robert?"

"No.

Robert's wife is stuck in Lincolnshire looking after her elderly parents. Alice, Robert's wife, was visiting when the shutdown started. The intention was to consider whether they should move into residential care, and if so, where. The parents hadn't been averse. They knew they were reaching the limit of their own independent lives. The only question was whether it should be in Lincolnshire or near to Alice. But the shutdown had made them nervous of going into any home until Covid was past.

"Andrew?"

"No."

I knew that Andrew was suffering during the lockdown. He was a regular at the currently shut public house, a fixture every evening from eight pm until closing. He wasn't a drunk, just a social drinker but it was the company he was missing.

"Stuart?"

"No. Why all these names, Rebecca?"

"Apart from Andrea, you and me, they are all the village people living alone at present, and..."

"And?" I prompted.

"None of them are at home and no one knows where they have gone. They have all vanished and no one can remember seeing any of them since four days ago when Andrew took a grocery delivery."

"You're sure?"

"Not me, but the police. They had been trying to get a DNA sample from every woman in the village, but they couldn't find Joan, then Mavis and Gail. Their cars, those that had cars, are still parked. Then when they started asking, they found the three men missing too. There appears to be no indication of a struggle or that they intended to go away. For example, Robert's wallet was on the hall table with his cash and cards. He should have rung Alice at 6 pm on Monday. He didn't and has not been in contact with her since Sunday."

"Which leaves just three -- you, me, and Andrea."

"Andrea says she has an axe handle just inside her front door. She has locked and bolted every window and door, so the front door is the only access. But I don't think that will help."

"Why not?"

"There has been no sign of forced entry to any of the properties where the owners are missing. There is no evidence of a struggle or fight. Robert, for example is younger and fitter than any of them, perhaps as fit as you. If he had been attacked there should have been evidence of that in his house. He must have left the house intending to return shortly but didn't."

"Any ideas?"

"The police have. We are all villagers who know each other. All of us, even the loner Alex, if asked by anyone to help, would have done so unquestionably especially during the lockdown. We are all here for each other. We trust each other..."

"And shouldn't?"

"With so many missing, no, we shouldn't."

"I can't trust you, Rebecca?"

She laughed.

"We're more than friends, James. We're lovers. If I can't trust you and you can't trust me, we're fucked."

"What do you think we should do?"

"Despite Covid I think we should be together at all times until the disappearances are solved. We've both been triple-jabbed. The Covid risk is minimal if we become a household."

"That sounds sensible if technically illegal."

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And Rebecca moved in with me. Both of us went to her house to bring things. She rang the Police inspector in charge of the case and told him of her change of address. He wasn't wholly happy but understood that it was sensible.

For me it was more than sensible. It was bliss. We could cook together for two better than for one. We had companionship all day, punctuated with kisses, and shared a bed all night doing as much as our aged bodies could manage, and probably more than I we should. I was well-fed, well-loved, and well-fucked every night. The next week was fantastic, By the end of it I had decided that soon I would propose soon. I wanted this shared existence to continue.

On the Saturday morning both of us were in the front garden doing some simple tidying up. I saw Andrea approaching and stood up. Andrea hadn't seen Rebecca on her knees behind a hedge.

"Hello, James. Can you help me? I've got a blocked sink. It should be easy to fix. There is a trap in the U-bend, but no plumber will come out because of Covid, and I can't get down to it."

I wasn't surprised that Andrea would have difficulty. She is large heavily built woman. I might say she was obese, but I wouldn't be that impolite. The village suspected her of being a bull dyke but without evidence. Until a few years ago some that thought she might be a transgendered male. Once she had been seen in the town's swimming people that was dismissed. She had large sagging breasts. Anyone undergoing surgery for a gender transformation would have been ashamed of them.

"Of course, Andrea. I'll just wash my hands."

Rebecca stood up.

"I'm coming with my man," she said.

Andrea seemed surprised but soon recovered.

"Why not? Your man?"

"Yes. I have claimed James. He's mine."

Rebecca's hand took mine before we went into the house to clean up. A few minutes later we were in Andrea's kitchen. The old washing machine and spin dryer were running, making conversation difficult.

Andrea had made cups of tea for us. I looked at the sink. Yes, it was blocked. I poked around experimentally. Nothing changed. I sat beside Rebecca and drank my tea. Rebecca made a face as she sipped hers. She likes Darjeeling tea, and this was strong builders' tea. When Andrea's back was to us Rebecca poured her tea into my cup. I finished the refilled cup and got down on my hands and knees to empty the cupboard under the sink. I put a bucket under the U-bend and unscrewed the trap.

There was a trickle. I had to use a wire to pull out the accumulated hair. Once that had moved the sink began to empty itself into the bucket. I was feeling lightheaded, odd. I was just about to extricate myself from under the sink when I felt a prick in my backside through my trousers. I sat backwards to see Andrea with a syringe. Rebecca saw it too and ran for the front door. I heard it slam behind her before Andrea reached it. Andrea's size slows her own.

"That's a shame. Both of us will have to disappear, James. The tea should have made it impossible for Rebecca to run."

I might have said that Rebecca hadn't drunk the tea. I couldn't speak, nor move. My muscles weren't working. Andrea dragged me across the floor and lifted a mat to reveal a trapdoor which she opened. I didn't know her house had a cellar. As far as I knew, no village houses had cellars because of a high water table, but apparently Andrea's house had.

She attached a rope around my chest and slid me down a plank on the ladder. I landed in a heap at the bottom. I couldn't move my eyes, but I could see a couple of people roped to heavy chairs and wearing bonnets back to front. They were making faint sounds. Those sounds could not have been heard beyond the cellar when the trap door was closed and even when open, the noise of the washing machine and spin dryer would have made them inaudible.

Andrea dragged me across the floor towards a large bed against the far wall. My head swung around as I moved. I saw that six people were tied to the chairs. All were wearing the maids' dresses with backwards hoods. I thought I could tell the men from the women by the size of their feet, all wearing thick grey ribbed tights or stockings.

On the bed was Helen, Andrea's adopted disabled sister. We had seen her being pushed in her wheelchair around the village before Covid, but we had thought she was still in a residential home or with her parents in Oxfordshire. Andrea pulled me onto a bedside hoist and left me while she shut the trap door. When she had lifted it, I had seen that the kitchen carpet had been attached to it. Once shut there would be no sign of the trap door.

She came back and operated the hoist. She rolled me beside Helen, face down. Helen reached over and she was surprisingly strong. She rolled me face up and started stripping me. Andrea helped and soon I was wearing a maid's dress, my ankles and knees tightly strapped together, and my wrists tied with the apron. Helen stuffed panties in my unresisting mouth, wrapped a scarf around my head and knotted it, heaving it cruelly tight. Andrea brought a black bonnet before hooding me with it. Like the others it was backward. Once the ribbons were tied there was no way I could shake it off.

Andrea spoke to me.

"It's a shame, James, that Rebecca got away but we will have time before the police find us -- if they do. Helen wants you. When her home was closed, she came to me, but she has a strong sex drive. At the home she had a range of willing partners. Here? I've had to capture them for her, and women for me. You're next as soon as the drugs wear off. You can't be erect with paralysed muscles. You should be ready in about a quarter of an hour. I'll just help Helen get in position and then I'm going to enjoy myself too, even if it might be the last time."

Andrea hauled up the skirt of the maid's dress, fitted a condom with difficulty since I was flaccid, and then rolled Helen on me. I could begin to feel Helen's pussy rubbing against me as the sensation returned. I tried to wriggle my wrists free, but I was too tightly secured. I heard Andrea dragging someone to a bed at the other end of the cellar and then moans as she reached a series of orgasms.

I was helpless as Helen's victim. Her hands helped me to become aroused. I groaned into my gag as she fed my erection inside her. Soon she was pounding up and down on me. Her useless legs were just lying on me. Her weight was pushing me into the mattress. Her hands went behind my backside and pulled me deep.

Despite being trussed up, gagged, and blindfolded I couldn't stop myself reacting to Helen's grasping lower lips. Perhaps because I was annoyed at being captured so easily it took some time before I was close to the end. Helen was screaming like a wild animal as she reached her own orgasms. I hoped her noise would be enough to alert the police but with the washing machine in the kitchen I doubted that even her loud screams would penetrate.

My hearing was all I had except the reaction to being inside Helen which became more and more insistent. Finally, I had to let go. Helen slumped across me. I could still hear Andrea moaning at the other end of the cellar. There were also faint noises from the other hooded prisoners.