Detail from True Mystery Detective, in the site ‘My Prisoner.’

Laura watched the flickering red dot as though mesmerised. It was already late. Who could be visiting Alison at this time of the evening? She dragged her eyes from the light and looked across at the Director, but the older woman’s attention was entirely bent on tying Alison into a sort of rope mummy. With every turn, she tugged firmly on each coil, and Alison’s bonds now seemed very tight indeed.

Alison’s head was down. She was trying not to show panic, wanting to hide her tears. Laura guessed that she was sobering up very quickly. Poor Ally. She enjoyed it when she was tying me up, but now that it’s her turn she’s going to pieces. Surely those ropes can’t be much tighter than the way she had me tied.

When Laura looked again at the installations, the door chime light had stopped its winking. Whoever it was must have gone away.

The Director finished binding Alison at the knees and lashing her ankles to one of the legs of the chair. She then turned her attention to Laura. The young woman jerked her head - it was a movement that only vaguely indicated the now inactive led light - and tried to speak urgently, but all that came out was a series of muffled grunts.

‘You don’t have to start acting yet, Dear,’ the Director exclaimed chattily, ‘But you sure can’t make much sound can you? Don’t tire yourself. You’ll have to deliver new lines later, and learn them, although that shan’t be difficult. But, in the meantime, I’ll take more photos - they’ll be priceless and they’ll look good in the playhouse foyer - then I’ll run through the lines with my, aha-ha, captive audience!’

Oh dear, though Laura through a sigh, she’s even beginning to sound like Gertrude the villain.

*

ACT THREE, SCENE 1 ... Continued.

... THE MAN: (Speaking in a muffled voice). A not so innocent bystander, M’lady. I couldn’t help overhearing your most interesting conversation. This old house is, as you say, full of surprises. I did not expect to find anyone here. And your presence forces me to change my plans. I’m afraid that I cannot allow either of you to go free. You will only blab to the police. It is very unfortunate, for you.

GERTRUDE: You - So it was you who killed the old lady.

THE MAN: What do you think? (He waves the revolver towards the shadows upper left centre stage). There is a chair. Kindly bring it and place it beside your, ah, friend. (GERTRUDE obeys reluctantly while THE MAN watches intently). Sit! (GERTRUDE sits. There is a look of thwarted cunning on her face).

GERTRUDE: You know, I think we can help each other. I have a bargain.

THE MAN: (Ironically). Tell me more. (He picks up the piece of rope lying on the floor and begins to tie GERTRUDE’S arms behind the back of the chair).

GERTRUDE: Split the proceeds. If we find the Will hidden by young Dolores here, I’ll destroy it and share the inheritance with you.

THE MAN: Tempting. But I was listening to your conversation when it began. I know as well as you where Mam’selle Dolores has secreted the Will. (He proceeds to unfasten some of the rope holding Dolores to her chair).

GERTRUDE: Yes, but you’re not me! It’s impossible for you to lay hands on the fortune. It has to be through me.

THE MAN: (Speaking as he begins to tie GERTRUDE’S ankles together and fix them to the chair’s leg with the piece of rope). That’s as may be. However, I can’t afford to wait for the slow wheels of legal argument to grind through all the processes. You’ve presented me with a problem. That is, what to do with you both?

GERTRUDE: (A hint of desperation in her voice). You can go into hiding while I negotiate with the Trustees. It will take a little time, I admit, but think of the advantage to you. I can hardly go to the police.

THE MAN: I’ll give your offer some thought. In the meantime, both of you shall remain incommunicado. I wonder what our clever inspector will make of two, let us say, suspects going missing? (He takes a long silk scarf from his pocket, a man’s opera scarf, and winds it twice between GERTRUDE’S jaws, tying it off at the back of her neck). That will hold you temporarily. (He turns and looks searchingly at DOLORES and tests her remaining bonds). Hmm. I have plans for you. You should not have told me - us, perhaps - that you had a personal fortune. Already, serious crimes can be laid against me. What does a little thing more, like a kidnapping for ransom, mean? Eh? Eh? (DOLORES’ eyes open wide and she emits a shrill but faint cry through her gag).

*

But Gertrude was bound only hand and foot to the chair, though Laura. Why has the Director tied Ally so intricately? And now she’s doing the same to me!

It did not take long for Laura to be secured to her chair as helplessly as Alison was to hers. The ropes from her waist to her shoulders felt as though they were welded to her, embedded in her flesh. Some of the loops held their prisoner by the waist against the low back, others simply trussed her arms to her body. They felt even more effective. The fluffy sweater with its thin weave did little to protect her.

The Director surveyed her charges with satisfaction, then walked to the kitchen area and poured a deep glass of red wine. She took what appeared to be experimental dance steps as she walked back to Laura and Alison. One foot angled forward, a light half turn, followed by a sliding movement with the other foot, her narrow pink skirt floating momentarily away from her knees to reveal dark stockings through the slit. Laura remembered something Alison said a week before, that the Director had secret ambitions to break into the song and dance circuit. She was said to be absolutely great in karaoke.

‘You know,’ said the Director in a soft dreamy voice, ‘a little deshabille shan’t go amiss. I think we could even get away with it on the night.’ She gently pinched the soft angora sweater Laura was wearing, sliding thumb and fingers across its texture. ‘Perhaps a little more dressy rehearsal later, to allow for some decolletage? Such a pity you’re both wearing jeans and pullovers.’

A small digital camera was now produced from the Director’s shoulder bag. For the next ten minutes in between sips of wine the older woman walked around her two prisoners, posing them. She took long shots and close-ups, individual studies of their gagged faces, even the rope work at their wrists and ankles. In this way, she used up two floppy discs.

While this was going on, Laura looked up at the older woman with admiration. She’s so cool and businesslike, the young woman thought. She glanced across at Alison. Yes, Alison was showing every sign of being suddenly very sober. But she also appeared a little more relaxed. Why had she been so frightened?

Laura tested her own bonds. They were incredibly tight. She could scarcely move. And the thick cloth gag between her jaws was held there with surprising security by the scarf tied over it. She was unable to move or speak intelligibly, and she knew that what was left of her voice would not carry very far.

But Laura was not frightened, just uncomfortable, and she hammed it up a little for the camera by rolling her eyes and making muffled whimpering through her gag. The Director chuckled and posed her protegee, gently turning Laura’s head from one side to the other, while muttering about getting the best profile shot.

She surely can’t expect us to appear on stage so thoroughly trussed up! For one thing, there wouldn’t be enough time during the scene - or even between scenes - for such a comprehensive mess of ropes. The thought came to her that publicity stills in filmmaking did not always reflect accurately the scene in the finished product, just as feet from some long scenes were often left on the cutting room floor. But for live theatre ...? Maybe in the intermission ... Laura imagined the prop boy who operated the curtains doing a passably good job on her. She had noticed him looking at her intently from time to time. She did not mind. Poor fellow, he had a crush on her ...

Laura brought herself back to the present. I’m daydreaming. No, Ally must be one of those people who find that being tied up is daunting. And she couldn’t really have known until she tried it herself. It doesn’t bother me, well not much, aside from the discomfort. Even with all its last-minute changes, I’m too strongly committed to this play to want to back out now.

*

The Director took another long sip of wine and absently stroked Laura’s hair. The camera had been put to one side.

‘That was an interesting experiment,’ she said, gently cupping Laura’s chin in her fingers. ‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to tie up some aspiring actress, and two in one evening is something of a coup. But we need to get down to business and discuss the new lines, and the other changes the writer wants to introduce. They’re not written up yet, she tells me. She’s asking for our advice ... Well, in fact I had some suggestions but she turned them down flatly. We don’t quate see eye to eye on some things.’

The last thought seemed to trouble her, and in an abstracted manner the Director began to unfasten Laura’s body ropes. ‘There is one more thing I want to try out, however ... No, two more things. There!’

When Alison and Laura were free, the Director looked down at her two captives speculatively as they rubbed their wrists and arms ruefully.

‘Now girls, for my first request, be dahlings and do a change of costume for one more photo shoot. Blouse and skirt, please. Be quick and we’ll soon have it over with,’ she added on seeing rebellious frowns begin to appear on their faces.

Laura would have argued that she had been tied up long enough for one day, and she guessed that Alison would back her up, but the firm tone of the Director had her walking to her suitcase before she knew what she was doing. Alison disappeared upstairs and, by the time she had returned, Laura was already being tied back into her chair. Only this time she was wearing a silk blouse of light blue with short sleeves and a deep V-neckline, and a brown skirt with buttons all the way from hem to waist. Alison wore a dark skirt and jacket with a white blouse. The Director clucked her tongue happily.

‘So good of you my dears. Now, Ally, this chair please.’

Under the Director’s firm management, Alison took her place and was soon tied neatly into her chair and gagged securely. The Director, with more rope in her hands, then turned to Laura. The young woman looked up at her mock captor with pleading eyes.

‘You won’t keep us tied for too long, will you?’

‘Had enough, mmm? All right. And I shan’t tie you quate so tight.’

But when the Director had completed her work with the ropes Laura felt that she was bound and gagged tight enough.

The second photo shoot commenced to a background of mixed comments and instructions, as the Director suited actions to words: ‘A little cleavage really does improve things, doesn't it, Dahlings. And we really can take advantage of the structure of this skirt.’

After one more floppy disc had been used up and a new one installed, the Director again considered Laura. She grimaced faintly while running a slender manicured finger critically along the narrow lapel of the young woman’s blouse.

‘Hmm, there’s already nice cleavage, Ducky. But perhaps a touch more ... And black lace suits you. You don’t mind I trust? All in the name of art.’

When it was put to Laura that way, she could only nod in agreement.

Ignoring the young woman’s blushes, Madame le Directeur turned to Laura’s skirt. ‘I think we can do something here too.’

Laura had fastened only the three top buttons, so already much of her nylon-encased thighs were clearly visible. The Director loosened another button and the skirt fell wider apart to reveal the strip where rosy flesh and the tops of her dark stockings met. The clip of a suspender belt peeped from one of the skirt’s folds.

Alison received similar attention. Her jacket was opened and her shirt unfastened to the fourth button, revealing a hint of flesh-coloured bra with a faint lacy design. Alison’s business skirt was too narrow to be opened wide like that of Laura, so the Director contented herself with folding it up several times above the knees to further reveal the young woman’s light tan stockings.

Once more the camera did its work, close-ups, long shots, and some unusual angles, until two more discs were full. As the work continued, the Director became more amiable and chatty by the minute.

‘Of course, you’ll be wearing period costumes, Edwardian at least, long skirts and such. But the bodices can be a little more revealing, and the skirts should be amenable to being split to mid-thigh. I’ll talk to Costume about it. She’ll check for historical accuracy. If it becomes feasible it will have the men in the audience on the edge of their seats ... Well, Dears, that’s the end of the shoot. Thank you for your cooperation, though you really had no choice,’ she added with a broad smile, ‘Or at least only limited choice, bound and gagged like that’

Laura heaved a deep sigh of relief as the Director bent over her and began to fumble with the ties holding her to the chair. With the release of the key knots, her ropes fell away into her lap and around the base of the chair. Laura took in a deep breath through her nose and shook her shoulders experimentally.

The Director turned to Alison and did the same. Alison began panting hard as soon as the cords dropped from her torso. Her eyes were wide and frightened, but there was now an added look of utter gratefulness in them.

‘Don’t wait for me, Laura. You can take your gag off while I free Alison.’

Laura looked at the Director as though she was mad. But my hands are still tied, she thought. In the excitement, or perhaps in her haste to untie Alison, the Director had forgotten that she was not finished with Laura.

Alison rose unsteadily from her chair and plumped into the sofa. She pulled down the scarf that was bandaged about her jaws, spat out the wad in her mouth and buried her face in her hands. The Director watched with a bemused expression on her face. She still held a length of cord in her hands.

Now she’ll get round to untying me, thought Laura. But Laura was wrong.

‘Come on Alison ... Ally! Pull yourself together. I thought it was ripe time the tables were turned on you. After all, you’ve been having glorious fun, it seems, tying up poor Laura here for days.’

‘I- I’m sorry, Ms Mordaza ...’

Oh dear, thought Laura, she knows the Director, Eloise Mordaza, hates being addressed by her proper name.

‘Ah, I mean Madame le Directeur,’ said Alison, quickly correcting herself. ‘I guess I let myself get frightened.’

‘You did indeed. But I have a surprise for you, Dearie. This is my second idea. Come here.’

Alison rose and walked to the Director with her head bowed. Like a reluctant schoolgirl facing a stern headmistress, thought Laura. And the Director is all of that! But there was an impish smile lighting the older woman’s near perfect features.

‘M- Madame le Directeur ...’ began Alison humbly.

‘Oh, cut it out, Dear. That’s enough apologizing for one day. Here ...’

She held the cord out to Alison, presenting it in both hands as though it was a gift, which in a way it was. Alison took the rope in total bafflement and turned it over in her hands. The Director sat in the chair recently vacated by Alison and arranged her skirt about her knees.

‘Well, come on! Don’t stand there with your mouth hanging open. Tie me up!’

Alison approached cautiously, as though Eloise Mordaza was a dangerous lioness, another fitting description that passed through Laura’s mind.

‘What’s good for the goose, and so on,’ said Eloise with a chuckle. ‘As Director of this little play, I have to get a feel for all the scenes. And I mean all of them! Especially if I’m to talk sense to that silly playwright who keeps changing things at the last minute.’

Alison moved around the Director, who presented her hands behind her and crossed her wrists.

‘Your chance for a little sweet revenge,’ she added. ‘But do it as it should be done on the night, hand and foot, and some rope around my body and the chair. You did tell me that you had the timing right?’

‘Y- Yes, Madame ...’

Laura watched in fascination as Alison bound the Director’s hands behind her around the chair. The older woman stiffened and Laura caught the sound of her in-drawn breath as the cords were pulled tight and knotted. But Eloise Mordaza did not complain. Soon her ankles were bound as well and secured to one leg of the chair. Several coils of rope were then passed around her waist and body in a continuous loop and fastened behind her somewhere high up between her shoulder blades.

‘Good. Good ...’ exclaimed the Director. ‘I was taking the count and you do have it nicely within the requirements of the stage.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Last touch, Dear. Then read the villain’s lines.’

‘Last ...?’

‘My gag, silly! Use one of those white cloths. It will be clean and soft.’

Alison fetched a strip of bed sheet, folded it into a broad bandage, and also took up one of the pieces of silk.

‘Okay?’

‘Yes. You can stuff that in my mouth, as I see you intend to do. Then tie the gag nice and tight.’

‘I know. It would look silly if it slipped during the scene,’ said Alison, repeating one of Laura’s remarks from their earlier rehearsals.

‘You’re learning, Dear. You two have come a long way in just a couple of days. But next you’ll have to ... ggggl.’

Eloise Mordaza became silent as Alison neatly stuffed a small wad of silk into her mouth. The linen strip had become unfolded and the Director watched patiently while Alison nervously creased it back into a wide band as before. Laura saw the Director work her lips and jaw to hold the gag more comfortably to the front of her mouth until no part of the material could be seen between her teeth.

With obvious glee, Alison brought the cloth over Madame le Directeur’s head and tied it smoothly across her mouth, knotting it tight over her hair at the back of her neck. The long ends hung straight down, mingling with the dark and glossy silken strands.

‘There,’ said Alison, ‘Try to get out of that, Madame.’

From where she was sitting, Laura could just see the Director’s hands as she tested the ropes. Eloise began by relaxing and wriggling, trying to create a small gap between her wrists and the cord through which one hand might be slipped. When this proved impossible, the older woman changed her strategy and began searching for a knot with her slender fingers. But her long fingernails found nothing. Alison had tied the knot well out of reach against the Director’s forearm. Laura tried to do the same thing and found that the Director had tied her wrists just as efficiently. She looked across at Alison who was now sitting happily on the sofa with her legs crossed and a full wineglass in her hand.

‘Try to call for help,’ said Alison, ‘Cheers!’

Ms Mordaza lifted her head and made a very good attempt, Laura thought. She was trying to cry out, ‘Help me,’ but the words were incomprehensible, and the sound as they came out was muted. Laura had already discovered this for herself, but she went along with it and tried to call for help too, in unison with the Director, and with the same result.

Alison chuckled. She put down her glass and picked up the typescript. ‘Le’s see ... "That will hold you temporarilily ..." And now Dol- D’lores...’ She turned the page and looked towards Laura, ‘ "Hmm. I have plans for you ..." You know,’ she leaned forward and took another long sip of wine, ‘That’s quig- quite a good plot twisting, ah, twist. I’d like to meet the writer.’

The Director said something unintelligible through her gag. She had stopped struggling and now, with head lowered, she was self-consciously studying the way the ropes went round her legs and body. I wonder what she’s thinking? thought Laura.

Alison had finished her glass. She stood and walked carefully into the kitchen area, took up the bottle, and prepared to pour herself another drink. The bottle was nearly empty.

‘Corkscrew, corkscrew,’ Alison muttered and, unable to find one in the kitchen where it should have been, she started up the steps.

Laura followed her with her eyes and wished that the gag did not do its job quite so well. Come on, Ally, these ropes are getting uncomfortable again. But the thought she tried to project did not reach Alison’s befuddled brain.

Alison turned and waved cheerily to her two captives. ‘Don’ worry. I’ll be back.’

Laura watched glumly as her friend reached for the door handle. Then her eyes widened and her throat contracted, cutting off the scream that was impossible anyway because of the gag. Before Alison’s hand reached its goal, the door opened. She staggered back and almost fell. Then the door closed again. But now there was someone else in the room. Alison backed away down the steps as the figure of a man emerged out of the gloom.

From Memories of Midnight with Jane Seymour, Panty Didcaps now moribund.