The Thornthwaite Betrayal

by Gareth P. Jones

‘Alfred’s Crutcher’s history of our family?’ said Lorelli. ‘There’s a copy in the library.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to take a look,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Now, may I propose a toast?’

  Ovid, Lorelli and Felicia raised their glasses of dark berry juice. Uncle Harry lifted his glass of red wine. ‘To true fortune,’ he said. ‘The fortune of family.’

  ‘The fortune of family,’ repeated the others.

  Flush of Death

  After dinner, Uncle Harry announced he was taking a late walk. Ovid went to his room while Lorelli took Felicia to the Gruoch Suite. Lorelli was learning that one of the most difficult aspects of friendship was being expected to fill the air with endless conversation. She struggled to find things to talk about, but Felicia was never short of something to say. When Felicia went to brush her teeth and wash her face, Lorelli sat on a bed. She was enjoying the silence until it dawned on her that Felicia had been a long time in the bathroom. She went out to investigate.

  The door to the Gruoch Suite was solid oak and completely soundproof, so it wasn’t until Lorelli opened it that she heard the yelling.

  ‘Lori-chicken! Help! Someone …! Anyone …!’

  Lorelli tried the bathroom door handle. It was locked on the inside. She heard the hiss of rushing water and Felicia’s fists against the wood as she pounded the door.

  ‘Felicia, what’s wrong?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘The door won’t open. Help … Lori-chicken! I’m too young and pretty to die!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I turned on the taps. I have to exfoliate otherwise my skin gets all blotchy. But they won’t turn off again. The tap came off in my hand, then the door handle did the same. It’s filling up with water. I’m going to drown!’

  ‘Try not to panic,’ said Lorelli. ‘There will be overflow drainage.’

  ‘It’s blocked. Everything is blocked. The water is up to my waist and it’s rising fast …’

  ‘Ovid,’ muttered Lorelli. She had no idea what he was up to, how he’d set up the trap or why, but she could spot his handiwork a mile off.

  ‘Hold on.’ Lorelli picked up a large porcelain pot with a blue printed design around the side. It was probably very old and very expensive but she had no choice. She tipped out the plant and yelled, ‘Stand back!’ She threw the plant pot at the door. It smashed into pieces but the door remained unbroken.

  ‘You realise that was one of a pair.’ Ovid was standing behind her holding a wrench, with a rope tied around his waist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘Rescuing your friend.’ He leaned the wrench against the door, then tied the loose end of rope to the top of the banister. ‘Now, my darling sister, if you value your life I suggest you step back into the bedroom.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘Because when I make a hole in that bathroom door several gallons of water are going to gush out, dragging everything on this landing down the stairs unless it is tied securely.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘What do you think this is for?’ He tugged the rope around his waist.

  ‘What’s happening?’ yelled Felicia from the bathroom, frantic with fear.

  ‘Felicia, this is Ovid. Listen very carefully. Get back and grab onto something.’ Ovid turned to Lorelli. ‘Obviously you are welcome to stay and get your neck broken as you are thrown down the stairs.’ Ovid raised the wrench above his head.

  Lorelli ducked back into the suite and closed the door, so she was unable to hear Ovid repeat his command to Felicia or the noise of the wrench smacking against the door three times. She could not hear the door break or the water gush out. When Lorelli stepped out, the wave had passed. Ovid was clinging onto the top banister, while Felicia was lying down on the cold, wet bathroom tiles.

  ‘I … I thought I was going to die,’ she said. ‘I saw my whole life flash in front of my eyes.’

  ‘That must have been simply wonderful,’ said Ovid. He stepped into the bathroom and used the wrench on the tap to stop the flowing water. He offered Felicia his hand. ‘You’d better get up.’

  Felicia’s hair was flattened against her face. She looked up at Ovid and wiped the drips from her face, smudging her make-up. ‘You … You saved my life,’ she sighed.

  ACT II

  Two Stories

  Tom Paine found Dragos standing on the croquet lawn looking up at Thornthwaite Manor. The builder’s rough palms were pressed together as though in silent prayer. Old Tom carried a gardening spade. Neither man looked concerned about the rain, the cold or the early hour.

  ‘Morning, Dragos,’ said Tom.

  ‘Mister Tom. See how the old lady weeps?’ Dragos indicated where the rain water gushed from one of the corners of the tower.

  ‘Looks like the guttering needs clearing to me,’ said Tom.

  ‘We see different things.’

  Old Tom nodded. ‘What are your plans today?’

  ‘Today I work on the southwest tower.’

  ‘The bathroom by the Gruoch Suite needs looking at. Nurse Griddle tells me there was a problem with it.’

  ‘The tower is the crutch that keeps the old lady on her feet.’

  ‘Someone almost died in the bathroom.’

  ‘Died?’ Dragos turned to face the old gardener. ‘Then I will take a look at it. Safety comes first.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Tom, ‘and yet this old house has a long history of things not being safe. We’re all hoping that’s done with now.’

  ‘It is my hope too,’ said Dragos.

  Old Tom poked a molehill down with his spade. ‘I once knew a chap who used to talk to his marrows,’ he said.

  ‘What is this, marrow?’

  ‘A big courgette.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Me and this fellow used to compete in the village fête. When it came to the biggest vegetable competition, no one else had a look-in.’

  ‘You English have strange competitions.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Only I could never beat his marrows. Every single time, he won. When I asked how, he claimed it was because he talked to them.’

  Dragos smiled at the idea. ‘This is a funny story.’

  ‘That’s not the end. You see, I believed him and I really wanted to win, so I started talking to mine.’

  Dragos raised an eyebrow. ‘Did it help?’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’

  ‘Maybe you were not saying the right things,’ suggested Dragos.

  ‘Actually, as it turned out, this fellow was using illegal fertiliser. He bragged about it down the pub one night. That was why his marrows grew bigger. He lost his trophies and got a lifelong ban from vegetable competitions.’

  Dragos laughed. ‘I like this story. The meaning of it is that cheats do not prosper, yes?’

  ‘I suppose, but also, mind who you tell your secrets to,’ said Tom.

  ‘I have a story as well. Mine is about my father. When I was a child, after my mother had gone, we lived in a small … what is the word?’ Dragos mimed a roof over his head.

  ‘A house?’ suggested Tom.

  ‘Like a house but less nice.’

  ‘A hovel?’

  ‘Yes, a hovel. We lived in this small hovel full of holes and filth and rats. Every night the wind would rattle through those holes. This was where I learned that buildings have feelings. If you listen carefully, you can hear what is wrong with them. My father was not a well man. He would sit in his old chair, a blanket over his twig legs, calling out, Dragos, Dragos, I’m cold! I wanted to help, so I found what I could to block the holes. First, I used newspaper. But the next night again he called, Dragos, Dragos, I am still cold! So I found some wood from the forest and blocked it with that, but the wind still rattled and the cold still came. Dragos, Dragos, this cold will be the death of me. This time I found a building site where men worked. I saw how they laid bricks and used mortar to hold them in place. When they stopped for lunch I went onto site and took some bric
ks and mortar. I carried them back and bricked up the holes. There were no more draughts.’

  ‘Your father must have been pleased.’

  ‘No. My father had died of hypothermia. I was too late. I could not save him, but I could save the building. By the time I had finished, that hovel was not a hovel. It was a house. It is a shame my father never lived to see it.’

  ‘And the meaning of your story?’ asked Tom.

  Dragos shrugged. ‘Dead men don’t need houses.’

  ‘Stories are all very well,’ said Tom wistfully, ‘so long as you don’t go telling the wrong people the wrong kind of stories.’

  ‘I am not here to rock boats.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Tom. ‘Remember, I vouched for you.’

  ‘I am grateful.’

  ‘So, the bathroom?’ said Tom.

  ‘I will take a look. Above all, we must protect this old lady.’

  ‘And her children,’ said Tom.

  ‘And her children,’ agreed Dragos.

  A Splendid Breakfast

  Lorelli had never seen a breakfast spread like it. There were plates of eggs, bacon, sausages, French toast, a selection of bread rolls and freshly squeezed orange juice. Lorelli stared at it all while Felicia made excitable chirruping noises and fragmented exclamations such as ‘Gosh I …’, ‘What a …’ and ‘How very …’

  Lorelli was surprised by Felicia’s buoyant mood. She expected her to be plagued by nightmares reliving her near-death experience, but Felicia had stirred only once in her sleep. She had moaned something that sounded worryingly like Ovid’s name before sighing and rolling over. Lorelli had barely slept a wink as she ran over the events in her head. The more she mulled it over, the more she knew Ovid had something to do with the bathroom death trap. It wasn’t just the immaculate simplicity of the design. There was also a certain neatness about death by drowning following the fire in her room. Water and fire. But if Ovid was really back to his old ways, why did he save Felicia? What game was he playing?

  ‘Oh, what a marvellous spread, Lori-chicken.’ Felicia helped herself to a plateful of food.

  ‘We don’t usually eat like this,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Now, Lori-chicken, I know you worry that people will think of you as spoilt and privileged, but remember, I’m your friend,’ said Felicia. ‘I like it.’

  Hazel entered and placed a plate of light pastries on the table.

  ‘Thank you, Hazel,’ said Lorelli. ‘But please do tell Beaufort that this is enough. I don’t even think Ovid will be joining us.’

  ‘Really? That is a shame,’ said Felicia. ‘I did so want to thank him for his brave rescue.’

  ‘Rescue, miss?’ said Hazel.

  ‘It was just a stiff door and a plumbing problem in one of the bathrooms in the west wing,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I could have died,’ said Felicia. ‘Lori-chicken tried to break down the door but she was too weak. Thankfully, Ovid arrived and saved my life.’

  ‘I see, miss.’ Hazel picked up a jug and topped up Felicia’s glass with orange juice, but it was fuller than she expected and she slurped a little over the side, staining the tablecloth.

  ‘You clumsy girl,’ said Felicia.

  ‘Felicia,’ said Lorelli. ‘Please don’t speak to Hazel like that.’

  ‘No, it was my fault,’ said Hazel. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She wiped up the stain and ran out in such a hurry that she didn’t notice she was still holding the jug or that Uncle Harry was coming the other way. Orange juice splashed onto his pale suit and blue shirt.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Hazel.

  ‘It’s fine,’ replied Uncle Harry calmly. ‘It’s only a suit.’ He let her pass and poured himself a coffee. ‘This all looks rather nice. We had better pass on our compliments to the chef. He gets very annoyed when we don’t.’

  He filled his plate and sat down at the table. ‘I hear there was some excitement in the bathroom last night.’

  ‘It was just a silly accident,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Of course.’ He stirred in a teaspoon of sugar and tasted the coffee. ‘But it concerns me. First the chandelier, then the fire, now this. There are so many dangers in this old place. Having finally found you, I’d hate to lose you again.’

  ‘Thornthwaite Manor is our home,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Such a beautiful home,’ said Felicia.

  Uncle Harry picked up a plate and loaded on a selection of food. ‘I know, but you have options.’

  ‘What options?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘You and Ovid could move in with me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got houses all over. I could buy another one around here if you wanted to keep on at the same school.’

  ‘What do you mean, another one?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I completed on the purchase of a property for Beaufort’s restaurant in Little Fledgling this morning.’

  ‘Oh, a restaurant in the village!’ squealed Felicia. ‘How wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, it was quite a bargain too,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘I often find you can get a good price out of councils selling off unwanted property.’

  ‘What property?’ asked Lorelli suspiciously.

  ‘It was the library,’ said Uncle Harry.

  ‘You’re responsible for the library shutting?’ said Lorelli. ‘You can’t. It’s not right. You’re putting Miss Wilde out of a job. Taking a library out of a village you might as well rip out its heart. It’s …’ She tried to remember all the things Miss Wilde had said about the importance of libraries but she was too angry. ‘It’s important and you’re killing it,’ she said.

  ‘Now steady on,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘It’s the council that is selling it. They’re the ones who have removed the funding. I’m just buying a property that is for sale.’

  ‘If you really want to be an uncle to us, then you will keep it open.’

  ‘Keep it open? Lorelli, I’m a businessman. There is no monetary value in libraries.’

  ‘I don’t care about monetary value,’ said Lorelli.

  Uncle Harry glowered at her. Lorelli did not flinch. She had felt helpless when Miss Wilde told her about the library closing down, but if Uncle Harry was buying it then she could make a difference after all. She could save the library. She was prepared to argue all day if necessary. She would never give up. Perhaps Uncle Harry could see that, because he nodded and said, ‘Oh, all right.’

  ‘All right what?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘All right, I’ll keep it open as a library.’

  ‘You will?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Yes.’ Uncle Harry took her hand. ‘For you.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘You don’t need to say anything,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Properties, profit, money … These things have no value to me any more. Family is my priority now.’

  Ovid’s Bicycle

  Prior to his cycle ride to Little Fledgling, Ovid ran the usual checks on his bike. Previous experience made it essential to test the brakes, ensure the inner tubes were clear and the saddle was secure. Looking for all possible signs of sabotage was an old habit that was difficult to break. He had just finished running a Geiger counter over the handlebars when Dragos stepped into the workshop.

  ‘This is nice bicycle,’ he said. ‘Tom tells me you repaired it yourself.’

  ‘Yes. It was little more than a frame when I found it,’ replied Ovid.

  Dragos inspected the bicycle. ‘You have many skills,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ovid placed the Geiger counter on the table and picked up a handheld gas detector.

  ‘Tom asked me to look at the bathroom.’

  Ovid switched on the device and checked it for any unusually high readings. ‘Which bathroom?’

  ‘The one in the west wing.’

  ‘Oh, that one. So is it all fixed now?’

  ‘It was fixed before,’ said Dragos seriously. ‘Now it is safe.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘This bathroo
m trap was no accident. It was designed to do this by someone with many skills.’

  Ovid switched off the gas detector and stood up to address Dragos. ‘Have you told my sister this yet?’

  ‘No. I came to see you first.’

  ‘Then please do not tell her.’

  ‘You would have me lie?’

  ‘If you tell her it was a trap she will only worry,’ said Ovid casually.

  ‘Worry is no bad thing if it keeps people from danger.’

  ‘My sister and I used to play tricks on each other—’

  ‘Dangerous tricks,’ interrupted Dragos.

  ‘Yes, but that is over. I promise you.’

  ‘So this bathroom was not one of your tricks?’

  ‘Dragos, this really is none of your business. You have been employed to restore the house. You’re a builder. That is all.’

  ‘Yes, and now I must restore this bathroom. I do not want to find any more booby traps.’

  ‘You are an employee,’ stated Ovid. ‘You are not a member of our family.’

  Dragos nodded, unable or unwilling to meet Ovid’s gaze before responding. ‘I work for the old lady. She knows that family should be kind to family.’

  Ovid replied quietly but firmly. ‘Unless you want this situation to get worse, you must not tell Lorelli about it. If you tell her I did this, then she will start getting suspicious of me and then I’ll get suspicious of her and, before we know it, we’ll be back to how we used to be.’

  ‘When you used to play dangerous tricks on each other.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You must promise, no more of this.’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘Hope not to die is better,’ said Dragos.

  ‘It’s an expression. It means … it just means I promise.’

  ‘I will trust you, but be warned, you have made promise. To break it would be a betrayal of my trust.’ Dragos thumped his chest with his fist.

  Riding Pride

  Tom Paine led the horses from the stables, saddled and ready to ride, but Lorelli still made a point of checking the buckles and reins for signs of tampering. Things were feeling too much like they used to feel. Lorelli had even found herself thinking about all those plots of her own that she had never got round to executing. She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind. The last thing she wanted was to scare off Felicia. Normal people did not plot to kill each other.