I’m absolutely up for another murder mystery. I’ll see you in the billiards room with a candlestick
As a devoted watcher of The Traitors you might assume I’d leap at the chance to attend a murder mystery. Former theatre kid, deeply susceptible to drama, the whole thing feels uncomfortably on brand.
And yet I’ve always strangely resisted. It falls into the category of what I would call organised fun which I distrust on a frankly cellular level.
I prefer a day that happily meanders along rather than one with a comprehensive schedule or any forced fun activities. Group sing-alongs, hen dos with themes and a financially ruinous ‘kitty’, karaoke in any form. All best avoided. The phrase “ice-breaker” has me scanning for exits and locating the nearest pub.
So when I was invited to a murder mystery evening at the swish Ty Penbryn in Carmarthenshire I was a little hesitant. But as I live to serve the readers I thought it best to get my big girl pants on (£3 on Vinted) and go and investigate, both as a journalist and as a pretend detective for the evening.
My knowledge of murder mysteries is largely second-hand. Childhood games of Cluedo mostly. Google helpfully confirmed they come in various formats. Some are dinner shows, usually held in hotels or restaurants, where professional actors perform while you eat and pepper them with questions to find out whodunnit.
Others involve at-home kits where you and your friends take on all the roles, which sounds like a fast track to at least one drunken row.
There are also virtual versions conducted over platforms like Zoom which feels like a particularly bleak way to accuse someone of fictional murder.
A typical murder mystery night is an interactive, social role-playing event where you and other guests work together (or compete) to solve a fictional crime. It is essentially a live-action version of Cluedo.
For this excursion I recruited my friend Lottie, a former police officer now working in a key role in financial services. Her exact job remains unclear. A transponster, perhaps. Together we set off for a countryside weekend, ready to live out our Sherlock fantasies with a boot full of snacks and vino.
The evening was held in a grade II listed Georgian mansion near Carmarthen, once home to Welsh poet Sir Lewis Morris. It is exactly the sort of house where a dramatic murder feels not only plausible but almost expected. There was a distinct Saltburn energy, only hopefully with fewer gross-out scenes.
Upon arrival I was struck by the sheer scale of the property. The house can sleep up to 24 guests across nine bedrooms (all with en suite bathrooms) in the main house and a further two bedrooms in an adapted ground floor annex.
The Georgian wing offers king and super king beds, while the Victorian side provides a mix of twins and doubles, catering to every possible sleeping arrangement and potential disagreement.
The ground floor annex has a double and a single, a bathroom with grab handles and a built-in seat, and a separate living area and small kitchen.
The living spaces are extensive. In the main house there is a large kitchen, fully equipped for all your needs, as well as a smaller kitchen with ample cookware and appliances for large groups.
The separate dining room seats up to 24. There’s a games room, music room and billiards room, and the entrance hall has a jukebox, karaoke and a disco ball.
Upstairs is a cinema room with a 100-inch television and a separate office in case you feel compelled to answer emails mid-murder. The leisure wing includes an indoor pool, sauna, steam room, jacuzzi and heated loungers, which feel unnecessarily luxurious when you are meant to be solving a crime.
Outside you’ll find 1.8 acres of beautifully landscaped gardens. There’s a multi-use games area, for activities like pickleball and football, and a pirate ship play area for younger guests.
With fizz in hand we wandered the grounds to watch an epic sunset while we waited for murder most foul to begin.
The organisers kept the details of the evening under wraps so I was left pondering if we would be assigned characters. Should I have dressed up? Was this a feather boa situation? Who exactly was I meant to be during the event? A countess felt achievable. A scullery maid? Also within range. I like to be prepared.
The format was only revealed once we were seated and halfway through an exceptionally tender beef dinner served by the Strawberry Carmarthenshire company, Shortcake catering.
Our event, it seemed, was to be a murder-mystery dinner show, provided by the Welsh company Dying To Meet You Murder Mystery Company.
No running around the house accusing people in the library, rather the action would unfold in front of us. It wasn’t what I expected at all but I was willing to go along with it.
Founded by Rebecca Tredeger, the company began after she found traditional boxed games unsuitable for larger groups. She wrote her own scripts and brought in actors, allowing guests to sit back while still feeling involved. It has been running since 2015 and has even won awards.
While I do enjoy a show I was surprised we wouldn’t be assigned characters and made to hunt for clues, as the house clearly lends itself to a Miss Scarlett in the drawing room set-up, but I suppose at least the other guests would be spared from my theatrics.
The format involved a small cast performing the story while we ate and drank, with breaks for interrogation. Our role was to observe, question, and attempt to determine the culprit while wine flowed.
Without giving too much away, the cast of one woman and three men made a dramatic entrance and quickly established a 1920s Carmarthenshire murder by poisoning. A lead detective outlined the crime and each suspect presented their version of events, all entirely innocent of course.
Our role, as such, was to ask questions to try to figure out whodunnit, while not gulping down too much merlot and blowing the investigation.
This quickly became the most entertaining part of the evening. Give a group of British adults booze and a vague sense of authority and they will begin interrogating with surprising intensity and very little restraint.
It’s incredible how quickly you can get swept up in the drama, with some taking it way more seriously than others and taking extensive notes.
Questions ranged from the reasonable to the deeply unhelpful. Who had not had an affair with whom? Comfort levels around poison.
The location of a mysterious Lady GoGo. Who is in a situationship? At some point it became clear that several people had forgotten this was not a real murder and they were not, in fact, Hercule Poirot.
It is remarkably easy to get swept up in it. While watching The Traitors I often wondered why contestants become so consumed by the game.
It appears the faithful exist in a near-constant state of paranoia, scanning for lies in every conversation, while the traitors are forced into a round-the-clock performance.
Sustained deception at that level is exhausting and often ends in a minor breakdown. Criminal barrister-turned-crime-writer Harriet Tyce from last season springs to mind. Now that was an epic meltdown.
Having now experienced even a diluted, wine-assisted version of events, it makes far more sense. It is very easy to get swept along, particularly when there is something at stake. No cash in our case, but pride, perhaps.
Add in a few well-observed quirks of human behaviour and things unravel quickly. Groupthink settles in without much resistance and herd mentality takes over.
Once a theory gathers momentum, disagreeing with it becomes socially inconvenient. It is far easier to nod along and feel safe than to point out the obvious flaw. Before long the entire group is confidently wrong together.
Our table remained civilised, which felt like a small victory, but there were still moments where certain participants leaned into the role with surprising intensity, attempting to trip up the actors and interrogate them in a style not entirely unlike The Sweeney.
Credit to the cast who stayed in character while fielding increasingly absurd, wine-fuelled questions, several of which were from me. Sorry about that.
Answering rapid-fire questions from a room full of enthusiastic adults while adapting your responses in real time is no small feat.
Rebecca and the team handled it with impressive composure, never breaking, even when the line of questioning drifted into the completely absurd.
After several rounds it became clear we were no closer to solving anything. At one point I wondered whether there was a specific phrase we were meant to say, or a hidden mechanism that would unlock the truth if we simply asked the right question in the right tone.
As it turns out the pacing is entirely in the hands of the cast who decide when to bring things to a close. I imagine once empty bottles of wine outnumber the full ones.
That was perhaps the only slight drawback. It would have been satisfying to feel that we had genuinely solved the case ourselves, rather than having the solution handed to us. That said, given the direction our far-reaching theories were heading, this was probably for the best.
Even so, it was an excellent performance and it was easy to see how it could elevate a birthday, anniversary, or corporate event into something far more memorable and full of camaraderie.
What I particularly loved was that it felt like a finale to a beloved series. Once our show had ended it was time for the fan theories and debates to begin. We gathered to swap theories and debate what clues we should have looked for and how we could have been better detectives.
The location lends itself very well to a post-murder-mystery debriefing session, with a music room, plush sitting rooms, a fabulous pool, and moonlit gardens featuring a pizza oven.
I can fully see the appeal of booking a property like this and gathering family and friends for a murder mystery night in a wildly fitting setting where you can live your best traitor’s life.
I’m absolutely up for another murder mystery. I’ll see you in the billiards room with a candlestick.
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