The Thornthwaite Betrayal

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘You’ve been spying on me,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘I can’t blame you. I should have come clean about it from the beginning.’

  ‘Yes. Why didn’t you?’ asked Ovid.

  ‘I was worried you would have no interest in getting to know me if you didn’t think I had long to live.’

  ‘That’s an awful thing to think,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I know,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘I still have a great deal to learn.’ When he picked up the book from the bedside table, Lorelli recognised its blank cover.

  ‘It’s Alfred’s book,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I had it on me when I was brought here. It’s been all I’ve had to read.’ He opened it up onto a page with the heading:

  Lord Willard Thornthwaite

  1808–1838

  ‘I was interested in this one because I’ve been staying in his room at the manor.’

  ‘Wasn’t he the terrible poet?’ asked Ovid.

  ‘He was,’ replied Uncle Harry. ‘But he was also the ancestor who came closest to escaping his fate. According to this, his mother wanted him to marry one girl but he ran off and had a secret wedding with another. He gave up his birthright for love.’

  ‘Why are you telling us all this?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘I thought it was interesting. For generations there were only single sons born into your family. Willard came the closest to smashing the constraints of the Thornthwaite legacy.’

  ‘And what legacy would that be?’ asked Ovid.

  Uncle Harry turned to the title page. ‘A History of Murder,’ he read out. ‘Not something to be proud of. Willard wanted to break out and start afresh. You two have the chance to do the same. You have the chance to escape the expectations of your family name.’

  ‘Escape with you?’ said Ovid.

  Uncle Harry closed the book and handed it to Lorelli. ‘I won’t lie. That is my hope. I have limited time. I want to spend it wisely.’

  ‘Then you need to be honest with us from now on,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘About everything,’ said Ovid. ‘Including the reason why there is a leopard in the mine.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve found out about Jenny,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Yes, she’s mine.’

  ‘Jenny?’ said the twins as one.

  ‘I thought the mine would be a safe place to keep her. I had her delivered that day we visited the graveyard. Tom told me no one ever went down there.’

  ‘Tom? Did he know?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Not about the leopard.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Ovid.

  ‘It’s not really my place to say, but think about it. Tom knew I existed, didn’t he? They all did. All this time your servants knew about me and they never told you. I wonder why.’

  ‘I’m more interested to know why you hid a leopard in our grandfather’s mine,’ said Lorelli.

  Uncle Harry picked up a glass of water and took a sip. ‘It turns out that doing the right thing is harder than I imagined. Do you remember me saying about the zoo?’

  ‘The one you shut down for profit,’ said Ovid.

  ‘I did shut it down, but not for profit. It was the right thing to do. In those days there were fewer laws about zoo animal conditions. Your mother and I hated seeing those magnificent beasts locked up in those pokey cells. Martha used to cry about it at night. She was a sensitive soul, your mother.’

  ‘What has this to do with the leopard?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘I promised your mother that one day I would set them all free. I have now fulfilled that promise. I shut down that zoo and found good homes for all the animals, but there was a complication with Jenny. Her species is endangered so there are strict laws about where I’m allowed to release her. If she wasn’t here, she would have been released into the wild, but Jenny was bred in captivity. She’s never hunted. The wild would be as good as a death penalty. That’s why I had her brought here and hidden.’

  ‘In our mine?’ said Ovid.

  ‘I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. And I didn’t tell you because the authorities are looking for her. She’s a fugitive. I didn’t want you to have to lie for me.’

  Ovid looked at his sister and saw his own doubt reflected in her bottle-green eyes.

  ‘I know it sounds unlikely,’ said Uncle Harry, ‘but I swear it’s true.’

  ‘What do you plan to do with Jenny now?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘Honestly? I have no idea. This is a decision I made with my heart, not my head.’

  ‘Your incurably weak heart?’ said Ovid.

  ‘Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s true. I promise with my hand on my incurably weak heart, from now on, no more lies.’

  ‘Mr Hartwell gave me some wildebeest,’ said Ovid. ‘It’s for Jenny, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, poor girl must be famished,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Please could you ask Tom to take it down for her?’

  ‘No. We’ll do it,’ said Ovid.

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ protested Uncle Harry. ‘I must keep you safe.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about us,’ said Lorelli. ‘We’ll feed her.’

  Uncle Harry took their hands in his. ‘You’re good kids,’ he said. ‘Such good kids.’

  One’s True Self

  Nurse Griddle was in no doubt that the man standing in front of her was Artie Newly. His face had aged, his hair had thinned and he had grown a moustache, but there was no denying those eyes. The question of how a drowned man might return from the dead as a French chef had been neither answered, nor, as yet, asked.

  ‘I am truly sorry,’ said Beaufort. ‘I never thought for a moment you would still be ’ere, Eileen. I thought it would be safe to return.’

  It didn’t take long for Nurse Griddle’s shock and confusion to boil over into pure, unadulterated anger. ‘Do you know how ridiculous you sound?’ she cried.

  ‘What can I say? There comes a time when an affectation becomes one’s identity. Artie Newly died in that lake. This man who stands before you is Beaufort Nouveau.’

  ‘What utter claptrap,’ spat Nurse Griddle.

  Beaufort smiled. ‘You always did know how to put me in my place,’ he said. ‘Even now I am someone else.’

  ‘I am still awaiting an explanation.’

  ‘I was young. We were both young. I only asked you to marry me because you were pregnant. You said yes for the same reason. We were doing what people do. We were reacting to our situation. I could see my whole future mapped out before me. My life was to be one of survival. I felt trapped. I felt suffocated. I was already drowning before I jumped in that river.’

  ‘So you faked your death?’ said Nurse Griddle.

  ‘It was not my intention. When I made that reckless bet with Dickie, I suppose a part of me was looking for a way out. Part of me wanted to drown. I came close too. The water was so cold my joints seized up. When a man comes so close to death he sees things differently. The lake did not claim my life. It gave me a chance to claim it for myself. I knew I could not go through with the wedding. There was too much I wanted to achieve. I could not see a way of doing it as Artie Newly, so I made whatever sacrifices necessary to live the life I desired.’

  ‘I see,’ said Nurse Griddle, her arms crossed. ‘And so you ran off, acquired a French accent and became a chef. How thrilling for you.’

  ‘I made many sacrifices to become what I am, but yes, I went to France. I was always good with languages and susceptible to other people’s accents. I landed a dishwashing job in a restaurant, where I first learned what was possible with cooking. As I worked my way up from dishwasher to kitchen ’elp to sous chef to ’ead chef, I spoke only French. I became the man I wanted to be and gradually I forgot the man I ’ad been.’

  ‘And you forgot the people you left behind,’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘So why come back now?’

  ‘I ’ad no idea you were ’ere.’

  ‘You must have known.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘All this time, we’ve been un
der the same roof. You must have heard my name.’

  ‘What can I say?’ said Beaufort. ‘My art is all I care about. It absorbs my every fibre.’

  ‘You are certainly coming across as self-absorbed,’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘Does Hazel know?’

  ‘’Azel … I … Of course. Yes, I …’ Beaufort’s French accent slipped a little as he struggled to find the words. ‘She is mine?’

  ‘She is most definitely not, but if you are asking if you are her father, then yes, you are.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Beaufort looked at the floor and shuffled awkwardly. ‘My obsession blinds me. My passion demands single-mindedness.’

  ‘The word is selfishness. You must go now and never return.’

  ‘’Azel is a good girl,’ said Beaufort.

  Nurse Griddle stepped forward and looked down her nose at Beaufort. ‘You will not speak her name. You will not hurt her. You will not take her away from me.’

  ‘Take ’er away?’ began Beaufort.

  ‘You have obviously won over the poor girl, but she has had enough disruption in her life. And you have caused quite enough upset. I will not have you cause any more.’

  ‘It was never my intention,’ said Beaufort.

  He turned and walked away. Nurse Griddle went back into the library. Neither saw Hazel sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to every word.

  A Kind of Father

  Hazel stopped outside the kitchen door. She could hear Beaufort sharpening the knives. She wondered why he would bother. They were not his knives. He had arrived with no implements and no ingredients and yet he had made miracles. She couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving and everything going back to normal. She opened the door. He looked up from the knife. She could see his reflection in its blade.

  ‘’Azel,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid something has come up. I must leave.’

  ‘I heard you,’ said Hazel. ‘I heard you both.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I have a question.’

  ‘Is it about the accent?’

  ‘No. I want to know if it was because of me.’

  ‘What?’ asked Beaufort.

  ‘Did you leave because of me?’ Saying the words out loud drew tears from Hazel’s eyes.

  ‘’Azel, no, I …’ Beaufort’s French accent wavered. ‘It was because of me. It had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘You told her you felt trapped.’

  ‘Yes, you are right,’ admitted Beaufort. ‘But I did not know who you were. You were just an idea then. If I had known …’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ said Hazel. ‘I should. I know I should, but I don’t blame you. I know what it’s like to feel suffocated. I understand the need to escape.’

  Beaufort stopped what he was doing. ‘’Azel, I have been trying to explain. I am no father.’

  ‘I don’t want a father,’ said Hazel. ‘Two mothers is enough for anyone. I want a mentor. Take me on as your apprentice.’

  Beaufort placed the knife down and stepped out from behind the kitchen counter. ‘I wish I could, but I ’ave promised.’

  ‘I don’t care about her.’

  ‘I am not a good man. I ’ave never desired to be a good man. I only strive to be a good artist. I have sacrificed everything for my art. Even you.’

  Father and daughter stood in uncertain silence. A cold breeze blew through the kitchen. The hanging pots rattled and the dishcloth flapped. Hazel and Beaufort turned to see Mrs Bagshaw standing in the doorway.

  ‘Oh hello, Hazel, my love, be a dear and pop the kettle on, would you? I don’t know what kind of tea they serve in that place but it is not the good kind. I could murder a proper cup of tea.’

  Mrs Bagshaw stepped into the kitchen as though she had never been away. Seeing her mother, Hazel ran into her arms.

  ‘Mum,’ she wept. ‘Mum.’

  ‘There, there,’ whispered Mrs Bagshaw. ‘I’m back now. They let me out. Everything is going to be all right.’

  By the time Hazel remembered about Beaufort, he was gone.

  ACT III

  Bleeding Hearts

  Ovid stared out of the back window as Tom navigated the country lanes at a painfully slow pace. The package of wildebeest meat on the seat next to him was a cold, stinking reminder of the morning’s events. Lorelli was up front, clutching Alfred Crutcher’s book.

  ‘You see all these trees lining this road?’ said Tom, slowing down for a corner so much that the car behind had to slam on its brakes to avoid a crash.

  Neither twin responded. They weren’t in the mood for one of Tom’s horticultural musings.

  ‘They’re all the same age as me. How do you suppose I know that?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Ovid, ‘but I daresay you’ll tell us.’

  ‘Because they were planted on the same day I was born. My father told me that. Maybe that’s the reason I’ve always felt better disposed to these trees than to most. I expect you two feel that way about each other. There’s something special about sharing a birthday, isn’t there?’

  Lorelli caught Ovid’s gaze in the wing mirror. She had seen the same spark in his eyes before. It usually appeared just before he executed one of his deadly attempts on her life. Or just before she did. Ovid was plotting something or he was working out a plot against someone.

  ‘Could you drop us off at the mine, please, Tom?’ said Ovid.

  ‘You’ll steer clear of that mine if you’ve got any sense,’ said Tom. ‘It’s not safe.’

  ‘If you’re referring to the leopard then we already know,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Ah. Is that what it is?’ said Old Tom.

  ‘You knew?’ said Ovid.

  ‘I knew there was something down there. I did not know it was a leopard.’

  ‘You didn’t think to tell us?’

  ‘I assumed you knew.’

  ‘What else do you assume we know?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Lots of things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I assume you know that Silas’s mine is far too dangerous to be messing about in, leopard or no leopard.’

  ‘It’s fine. I used to go down there loads,’ said Ovid.

  ‘I know, and I warned you against it back then too. I’ve lived to see two Thornthwaites meet their ends in that mine. I’d rather not see any more go that way.’

  ‘You mean Lord Silas and his first wife?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘That’s right.’ Tom kept his eyes firmly on the road.

  ‘I saw a film called Hotel Nowhere this week,’ said Ovid.

  ‘Hotel Nowhere? Now that takes me back,’ said Old Tom with a wistful sigh. ‘Yes, I remember them coming to make it. Can’t say I ever saw it.’

  ‘There was a man in it who looked like Dragos,’ said Ovid.

  ‘Really?’ repeated Lorelli. It was the first time her brother had mentioned this.

  ‘The film was made sixty years ago,’ said Tom. ‘That’s quite a bit older than Dragos.’

  ‘Sixty years?’ said Ovid. ‘But I saw a boy in the window. I assumed it was our father.’

  ‘Your father would have been forty-seven this coming July if he had lived,’ said Tom. ‘No, back then the only young lad living on the estate was me, so I guess it must have been me you saw. Now, about this leopard. It would be better if I were to feed it.’

  ‘We promised Uncle Harry we’d do it,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘It’s a funny sort of uncle who would put his nephew and niece in danger.’

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I don’t especially know him,’ said Tom.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us about him?’ asked Lorelli. ‘You knew about him. You must have met him before, when he came to our parents’ wedding.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say met, but, yes, I knew of him.’

  ‘But you never told us about him. Did you assume we knew about him too?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘No.’ Tom pointed to some pink flowers along the side of the road under a tree,
with drooping heads. ‘You see those beauties?’ he said. ‘They’re called Bleeding Hearts. Lovely little delicate things with their curved stems and heads always bowed. I always think of you two when I see them.’

  ‘Why? Because they look sad?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘They don’t look sad to me. They look thoughtful,’ said Tom. ‘But, no, it’s not that. It’s just that they grow in the shade. Too much light and they wither and die.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Ovid.

  ‘It means some things grow when they’re kept in the shadows.’

  Peril in the Mine

  Lorelli could pinpoint the first moment she understood that her life was different to other people’s. A man from the gas board had come to read the meter and only narrowly avoided being pelted by tarantulas. Lorelli could still remember his cries as he ran from the house.

  ‘What’s wrong with you people? You’re deranged. You’re not normal!’

  His words came back to her now as she and Ovid traipsed through the damp undergrowth, carrying the bag of raw wildebeest meat to feed the fugitive leopard in the mine. It was not normal, and yet, for Lorelli, the growing feeling of disquiet and distrust felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  She wanted so badly to trust Ovid, but how could she trust anyone? Tom and Uncle Harry were not the only ones with secrets. Sometimes she felt as though the only person she could trust was Adam Farthing, and he was currently seeing a specialist about his habitual lying.

  ‘I hate it,’ said Lorelli as they reached the lift shaft. ‘How did it get like this again?’

  ‘It’s our first leopard, isn’t it?’ said Ovid casually. ‘We had the bear and a few snakes … and wasn’t there a crocodile in the hothouse once?’

  ‘I’m not talking about a specific species of animal. I’m talking about all this dishonesty. Why are none of us capable of telling the truth?’

  ‘All right.’ Ovid stepped into the life. ‘Let’s be honest. You’ve been scared of the dark ever since that thing with the cupboard and the snake, haven’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can barely remember that,’ said Lorelli firmly.