The Thornthwaite Betrayal

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘I was not here then. I was taken on later as the twins’ nanny.’

  ‘Then you are to be congratulated. They have grown into a pair of fine young people.’

  ‘And what have you grown into? From what I understand, your sister was the one who threw you out.’

  Uncle Harry lowered his head in shame. ‘It was a long time ago, but Ovid and Lorelli are still my family.’

  ‘What do you want?’ demanded Nurse Griddle. ‘Don’t tell me Heartless Harry has grown a heart.’

  ‘Ah, so you read those kinds of newspapers, do you? Heartless Harry is a cruel nickname that owes more to pleasing alliteration than to the truth.’

  ‘It refers to your business practices, does it not?’

  ‘It does, and I will not deny that there are times when I have deserved it, but I am trying to be a better person. It’s all any of us can do.’

  ‘So you are here on some kind of journey of self-discovery. Is that it?’

  ‘Something like that. I have a question for you. You servants all knew about me. May I ask why none of you told Ovid and Lorelli about me?’

  ‘What should we have told them? That they have an incredibly wealthy uncle who has never once made any effort to see them?’

  ‘That is hardly fair.’

  ‘We are their guardians.’ Nurse Griddle packed her things into the large medical bag. ‘Tom and I will do anything to keep them from harm.’

  ‘I promise you, I mean them no harm.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why have you come now?’

  ‘I read about the fire.’

  ‘The fire that occurred a year ago.’

  Uncle Harry turned a plate of food around to admire Beaufort’s scene. The shards of glass glistened like stars in the night sky. ‘It took me time to build up the courage, but I owe it to Martha to reach out to them.’

  ‘And here you are reaching out, with a personal chef and a reputation for ruthless business deals. What was that recent story about the zoo you shut down? Didn’t you sell off those animals so that you could make money on the land?’

  ‘That’s not what happened,’ snapped Uncle Harry. ‘The conditions of that zoo were barbaric. I found good homes for every one of those animals. I saw to it myself, but that doesn’t fit the Heartless Harry label so the press left out all those details.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ said Nurse Griddle, ‘I will be keeping a very close eye on you, Mr Marshall.’

  ‘Then I will try to make your scrutiny worthwhile during my stay.’

  ‘Your stay?’

  ‘The twins have agreed to let me stay here for a few days.’

  ‘How generous of them. Please remember that our job is to keep them safe from external harm.’

  ‘What about internal harm?’ asked Uncle Harry.

  Nurse Griddle threw him a withering glance, then left.

  Mr and Mrs Crick

  Having been homeschooled all of their lives, Lorelli and Ovid had found Shelley Valley Secondary School a bewildering place. Ovid had immediately retreated into himself. Lorelli would have done the same had Felicia Crick not sat next to her on the first day and made Lorelli her friend. Lorelli was given no choice in the matter, but she was grateful. Having a friend she hadn’t chosen was better than having no friend at all. Besides, she liked Felicia’s world, in which everything was wonderful and gorgeous and unimaginably divine. It was a refreshing change and a sharp contrast to Lorelli’s experience of life.

  Felicia and Millicent followed Lorelli up to her bedroom at the top of the central spire of Thornthwaite Manor. Felicia kept making excited high-pitched noises about how elegant and magical and extraordinarily fabulous everything was. ‘You must feel like Rapunzel,’ she exclaimed as she entered the room.

  ‘Rapunzel was a prisoner who needed a haircut,’ said Millicent.

  ‘Don’t listen to old misery guts,’ said Felicia, running from window to window. ‘She’s just upset because she has to work all week in that smelly old butcher’s now her mum has run off.’

  ‘It’s not smelly, it’s not a butcher’s and she didn’t run off. She just left.’

  ‘That’s the same thing, and if it’s not smelly what is that smell on your hair?’ said Felicia.

  Seeing the hurt expression on Millicent’s face, Lorelli turned to her and asked, ‘Have you heard from your mother since she left?’

  ‘No,’ she responded timidly. ‘She’s dead to us now. That’s what Dad says.’

  ‘People can say upsetting things when they’re feeling upset themselves,’ said Lorelli kindly. She placed the statue on the south-facing windowsill, but Felicia picked it up and moved it to the one looking eastwards.

  ‘This way,’ said Felicia, ‘it will catch the morning sun and fill your room with such splendid colours. It will be like waking up in a rainbow.’

  Millicent adjusted the statue. ‘We said it would be from both of us.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Felicia, ‘Millicent helped design it, but it was my parents who made it so it’s a bit more from me.’

  Lorelli noticed a car parked on the driveway. ‘Is that your parents, Felicia?’

  ‘Yes, I think they wanted to have a nose. I’m not surprised. What a place. Oh, it’s like living on top of the world up here.’ Felicia picked up a fountain pen from Lorelli’s desk.

  Lorelli took it off her and put it back. ‘You probably shouldn’t leave them waiting too long,’ she said, wishing Felicia would stop messing with her stuff.

  ‘She wants us to go,’ said Millicent.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Lorelli unconvincingly.

  ‘What a lovely Lori-chicken you are,’ said Felicia. ‘But Millicent is right, we probably should be going.’

  Lorelli led them back down to the car, where Mr and Mrs Crick were waiting. She had met them before when they had picked up Felicia from school and she had always been struck by how nice they seemed. They were always together and usually giggling about some private joke. Lorelli liked them a lot. She sometimes wondered if her own parents had been like that. She doubted it. The Cricks had a lightness of spirit that was absent from the Thornthwaites.

  ‘Hello, Lorelli,’ said Mrs Crick.

  Mr Crick leaned over his wife. ‘Did you like the statue?’

  Mrs Crick pretended to bat him away.

  ‘Very much, thank you,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Good, that was my best work,’ said Mr Crick.

  ‘A-hem,’ said Mrs Crick.

  ‘Our best work then. You should drop by the shop one day. See how the other half live.’

  ‘Honestly, Martin.’ Mrs Crick placed a hand over her husband’s mouth. He made Mm-mm noises as though trying to speak. ‘He’s right though,’ she said. ‘You should come. The workshop is lovely and warm at this time of the year.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I’ve a better idea,’ said Felicia. ‘Why don’t Millicent and I come here for a sleepover one night this week? We could have ginger pop and gummy bears and stay up late.’

  Lorelli knew about sleepovers and ginger pop from a series of old-fashioned books about a boarding school, but they had made no mention of gummy bears. Lorelli wondered if they were as dangerous as grizzly bears. She suspected not.

  ‘My dad won’t let me stay overnight,’ said Millicent.

  ‘How is your father?’ asked Mrs Crick. ‘Coping okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Millicent. ‘He’s fine. We’re both fine. Dad says we’re better off for cutting her out of our lives.’

  ‘Give him our love,’ said Mrs Crick.

  Millicent didn’t respond to this but Felicia piped up: ‘A sleepover just the two of us then.’

  ‘Felicia, love. You’re being a little pushy,’ said Mrs Crick.

  ‘Felicia? Pushy? Surely not,’ said Mr Crick.

  ‘I’ll let you know when it’s a good day,’ said Lorelli.

  Mrs Crick started the engine. ‘Come on then, you two, get in.’

>   The car wheels crunched over the gravel driveway as it pulled away. Lorelli turned around to see Ovid standing at the patio doors of the games room. Seeing her, he moved away, pretending he hadn’t been watching.

  The Willard Room

  Uncle Harry found Tom in the garden, quietly muttering to the rose bush as he pruned it with a pair of secateurs that looked even older than him.

  ‘Ah, Tom,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand with my bags. The twins have kindly said that I could stay with them in the manor for a few days.’

  Tom lifted a white rose with his left hand, then very carefully clipped its stem with the ancient gardening tool.

  ‘I didn’t realise you were supposed to remove the actual roses,’ said Uncle Harry.

  ‘The thing about maintaining a healthy plant is that sometimes you must remove the older parts to allow the younger buds to blossom.’ Tom revealed a smaller bud behind the large white rose.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve never had much time for nature,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘So these cases …’

  Tom tucked his secateurs into his belt and wiped his hands on his trousers. He followed Uncle Harry up the lawn.

  ‘You’ve lived here a long time, Tom,’ said Uncle Harry.

  ‘It’s the only place I have ever called home,’ he replied.

  ‘Am I right in thinking that the twins are the third generation of Thornthwaites you’ve served?’

  ‘Aye. Their grandfather, Silas, was my first master. He gave me this pair of snippers.’ He tapped his secateurs. ‘They still work as well as the day he gave them to me.’

  They reached the car and Uncle Harry popped open the boot. Inside were two cases. One was extremely large, jet black and expensive-looking. The other was much smaller, faded green and worn at the edges. Tom reached to take the larger one.

  ‘No, please,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘I’ll carry my own luggage. I just need a hand with Beaufort’s. He is in the kitchen busy in the fires of genius.’

  ‘Your chef can stay in Mrs Bagshaw’s old quarters,’ said Tom. ‘They are nearest the kitchen. You can have the Willard Room on the other side of the building.’

  ‘Willard? Another distant relative?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Lord Willard lived in the early nineteenth century. The room has lovely views of Huxley Hill. The only downside is the poetry.’

  ‘The poetry?’

  ‘Willard believed himself to be a poet. His verses are carved into the walls of the room.’

  ‘How interesting.’

  Tom led the way to the stone steps in front of the house. ‘It’s not what you would call good poetry. I was all for papering over it but Dragos is keen to restore the house to its original state.’

  ‘What’s the poetry about?’

  ‘His early ones are all about a girl he met at a fair, but the story goes that his mother didn’t approve, so he was forced to marry another. Tragically, he never got over his first love. When he eventually died he was halfway through a poem about a man who murdered his wife …’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Uncle Harry interrupted. ‘The poem was never finished because Willard was murdered by his own wife. I’m familiar enough with Thornthwaite history to know the recurring themes of irony and tragedy.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Tom. ‘Willard did indeed murder his wife, but unlike the hero of his poem he was caught and imprisoned. Plotting was never one of Willard’s strong points.’

  Uncle Harry shook his head sadly. ‘With so much darkness in the twins’ past, is it any wonder they are as they are?’

  Tom paused at the top of the stairs. ‘You see those trees at the top of that hill.’ He indicated three leafless trees twisted and leaning the same way. ‘Why do you reckon they are as they are?’

  Uncle Harry looked up at the trees. ‘I don’t know. Some big storm? Or something to do with the prevailing wind or the position of the sun?’

  ‘All fine guesses,’ said Tom. ‘But I’ve lived here all my life and those trees have always been like that. They are as they are because that’s how they are.’

  The Ivory Chess Set

  Having grown up without modern technology, the Thornthwaite twins spent most evenings playing chess. Since the destruction of their previous metallic pieces, Ovid had found an ivory chess set in the attic. With Uncle Harry settling into his room, Ovid and Lorelli sat down in the games room to continue their match.

  ‘It’s my go, isn’t it?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘Yes, I moved my queen last.’

  Lorelli assessed the board. She had lost the previous game so was determined to win this one. Over the years, she had found distraction to be the best way to force her brother into making a mistake. ‘I think she likes you.’

  ‘My queen?’ replied Ovid.

  Lorelli gave him a withering look. ‘Millicent.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have no idea. You’re very annoying and you look like a discoloured goblin.’

  ‘I mean why do you think that?’

  ‘She looks at you for longer than most people can bear to.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ovid.

  ‘You’re welcome. Also, you are similarly melancholy.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ovid considered this. ‘Do you think she’s like that because of her mother leaving?’

  ‘I have no idea. Millicent doesn’t get much of a word in with Felicia around. So, are you going to ask her out?’

  ‘Felicia?’

  ‘Millicent.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Lorelli’s hand hovered over her rook before a small smile in the corner of Ovid’s mouth made her think better of it.

  ‘I suppose I could invite her round to see my samurai sword collection or what’s left of Aunt Gruoch’s poison museum. Or I could take her to Devil’s Leap.’

  ‘Or you could do something normal people do, like take her to the cinema and then for a milkshake.’ Lorelli moved her bishop forward, placing Ovid’s knight in trouble.

  ‘Predictable,’ said Ovid.

  ‘I think people like predictable things. They’re safe.’

  Ovid moved his pawn in between the bishop and the knight. ‘I meant your move was predictable. What cinema?’

  ‘They’re showing films at the Memorial Hall every morning this week.’

  They sat in silence for several minutes until Ovid said: ‘I’ve got a killer move if you go where I think you’re going to go.’

  Lorelli was well accustomed to Ovid’s tactic of talking over the game to force her into doing something silly. The obvious move was for her bishop to retreat, but Ovid knew that, so either he was trying to trick her into doing something else or he really did want her to go there and it was a double bluff. It was this kind of psychological game playing that made the average match last around six months.

  ‘So … are you going to go?’ said Lorelli at last.

  ‘It’s your turn.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about chess.’

  ‘Oh, that. I don’t know. How do you know if you like someone enough to go on a date with them?’

  ‘I think you go on a date to find out.’ Lorelli moved the bishop back to its original point on the board.

  ‘Ha. Back to square one.’ Ovid picked up his bishop and took one of Lorelli’s pawns. It was a bold move that opened up the floodgates to a cascade of carnage, which Lorelli already knew would wipe out half of the board and result in Ovid’s ultimate advantage.

  ‘I must say, you sound very knowledgeable on the subject of dates.’ Ovid watched his sister closely for a reaction.

  Lorelli stood up. ‘Let’s leave the game there for the night. I can’t face all that destruction right now.’

  Lorelli’s Letters

  Almost a year had passed since Lorelli had last seen Adam Farthing in the flesh. When he first arrived at Thornthwaite Manor he had drifted in like a warm summer’s breeze, but he had left under a dark cloud of shame after the twins learned that he had conspire
d against them. Since then, he had written many letters to Lorelli, although none referred directly to that day. Thinking back on it, Lorelli found it difficult to recall precisely who had said what. Not that it really mattered. She continued to write to Adam because she felt it important to forgive him for plotting against Ovid and lying to her. If Adam Farthing could change, maybe she could too. Lorelli kept her ongoing correspondence a secret from her brother. Ovid had disliked Adam ever since he accidentally blew up their piano.

  Adam’s early letters had involved long, unwieldy, sprawling pages of messy writing. A confusion of thoughts bumped into each other and crashed off the ends of lines. The letters were hard to understand and filled with dark imagery that unnerved Lorelli.

  Over time they had changed.

  They were sparser, less elaborate and more restrained. Gone were the explosive adjectives and the long sentences. In their place were short, clipped, carefully selected words. The handwriting was almost unrecognisably different. The letters now stood upright like soldiers. They were evenly spaced and regimented.

  Lorelli opened the envelope carefully and pulled out the latest letter.

  Dear Lorelli,

  I am glad you received my last letter. It makes me happy to know you read my words. I am trying hard to be truthful in all I do. Doctor Mingus says I am making good progress. Sometimes we meet as a group. These are called Honesty Sessions. We all have to sit around and only say things that are true. It is hard. Sometimes we sit for a long time in silence. My truth partner says it’s like listening to the cogs inside our heads as we try to work out what is true and what is not. I think that’s right. Even writing this letter is taking me a long time because I have to stop in after every sentence to consider what to write next. But it is getting better. I am getting better. I hope I will be able to visit soon and you can see how much I have changed.

  Yours,

  Adam Farthing

  Lorelli folded the letter and put it with the others in her top drawer. She wondered how she and Ovid would get on in an Honesty Session. The end of hostilities between them should have brought them closer together, but it felt like the opposite was true. Trying to kill each other had required each twin to show an interest in the other’s movements. Why should Ovid care how Lorelli was planning to spend an afternoon, if he wasn’t going to lay a complex trap to catch her.