The Thornthwaite Betrayal

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘Forbidden love and all that,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Exactly,’ Millicent whispered. ‘But instead, you ran straight off into Felicia’s arms.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ protested Ovid. ‘I thought I was meeting you.’

  Another flying knife missed his head by a millimetre and lodged itself in the wall behind.

  Millicent drew another. ‘We could have been such a good team. With your sister gone we would have been happy,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry? Gone?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Oh, come on. I loosened the chandelier. I positioned the statue,’ said Millicent. ‘It took me ages to work out the exact place to catch the first sunlight. Cutting off the electricity at the glassworks would have been messier but still as effective.’

  ‘It was you? You’ve been trying to kill us?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Just you.’ Millicent spat on the floor and brought a blade down again, cutting off a tuft of Felicia’s hair. She lifted it up and sniffed it. ‘Oh my, it smells of strawberries and cream and wonderful things. I wonder whether the rest of her will smell so nice when I chop her up.’

  ‘Millicent, you don’t need to do this,’ said Ovid. ‘I don’t even like Felicia. I like you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So prove it and help me kill her, then we’ll dispose of your sister and your mousy maid.’

  Ovid took a step towards her. ‘You want me to kill Felicia, Lorelli and Hazel?’

  Millicent waved the knife at him. ‘You’re Ovid Thornthwaite, aren’t you? Killing is in your blood. It’ll be easy. Today’s wounded are tomorrow’s steak.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Ovid. ‘I’ll help. Give me a knife.’ He took another step, but Millicent swiped the blade to keep him back.

  ‘You think I would trust you after what you did?’ said Millicent. ‘I’ll never trust you.’

  Living in Denial

  Hazel lay on the floor, bleeding. Pain muddied her thoughts. She saw Ovid and Lorelli enter. She saw the blades fly. She heard Ovid ask her a question. She responded automatically but she couldn’t hold onto what was said. The effort of talking made her dizzy and sick. Her mind drifted as she felt the cold comfort of the kitchen tiles. Millicent was standing over Felicia. The twins were too far away to stop her.

  ‘So all that stuff you told me about Felicia wanting our money, that was you all along?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘It’s not about money,’ said Millicent. ‘I want it all.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Lorelli. ‘The estate? The manor?’

  ‘The name,’ said Millicent. ‘I want to be a Thornthwaite.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Lorelli. ‘You know what we are.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Millicent. ‘You aren’t afraid. You’ll stop at nothing. I don’t want to take your lives. I want to have your lives. Thornthwaites don’t think twice about killing. I can be like that too.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Ovid. ‘We’ve never killed anyone. I mean, we’ve tried, but neither of us has ever succeeded.’

  ‘I know. You’re both weak. You haven’t the guts to finish the job. I would have been a better Thornthwaite than either of you,’ said Millicent.

  ‘What are you talking about? You’re not a Thornthwaite,’ said Ovid.

  She looked at him pityingly. ‘I could have been,’ she said. ‘I should have been.’

  ‘Millicent, this is crazy,’ said Lorelli. ‘I mean, actually properly crazy.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Ovid.

  Millicent dropped her knife and tapped her head. ‘Don’t call me that,’ she snarled. ‘I’m not crazy. I’m not. I have ideas. I make up stories, like everyone does. Don’t call me crazy. Doctor Mingus says it’s my trigger word.’

  ‘Doctor Mingus.’ Lorelli recognised the name at once. ‘But … that’s Adam’s doctor. How do you …? You see the same specialist as Adam?’ Lorelli recalled his letters. She remembered the girl he sometimes mentioned. ‘You’re the truth partner, the one he talks about from group. That’s you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not going to those sessions any more. Dad thought I was confused about the difference between truth and lies, but it’s him who is confused about everything. He’s living in denial.’

  ‘Millicent, did you tell Father Whelan that your father killed your mother?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘He must have.’ Millicent wiped her brow with a sleeve, then picked up the knife again. ‘She would never have left me.’

  ‘You’re not well,’ said Lorelli. ‘You need help.’

  Every word Millicent spoke brought the strength back to Hazel’s limbs and pushed the pain further into the background. She had to stop her. Adrenaline rushed through her body. She saw things clearly. The hysterical girl with the knife. The twins unable to get near enough to stop her. The large halibut lying on the floor with one dead eye staring at her. Hazel hated those fish eyes. They goaded her.

  She had always been a good servant, as useful and unremarkable as a familiar piece of furniture. Invisible. A minor character in someone else’s story. Now, she saw clearly that she could make a difference. She reached for the halibut. It was slippery but she got a firm grip. Millicent didn’t notice.

  In one sudden, painful move, Hazel jumped up and brought the fish onto the side of Millicent’s head. The knives clattered to the ground and Millicent’s head caught the edge of the kitchen counter. Hazel watched her crumple to the ground. She had a moment to enjoy her triumph before joining her on the floor.

  A Slight Gesture

  Hazel awoke to the rare vision of daylight around the edges of the curtains. Her first thought was that she had overslept, but slowly the memory of the horror in the kitchen came back to her.

  ‘What’s happening?’ She sat upright suddenly.

  ‘Relax, you’re safe now. The danger has gone.’ Nurse Griddle was sitting beside her bed, providing Hazel with an alarming up-nostril view of her over-sized nose.

  ‘But Ovid, Lorelli … and Felicia. They’re …’

  ‘They are all well.’

  ‘Where’s Millicent?’

  ‘Somewhere she will be looked after. I gather that she is a very disturbed young lady.’

  ‘And Felicia?’

  ‘Back with her parents.’

  ‘So everything is back to normal?’

  Nurse Griddle drew the curtains and picked up a vase of flowers from the bedside table. ‘Not entirely. The twins are leaving Thornthwaite Manor. They are going to sell the estate.’

  ‘Sell the estate?’

  ‘Yes. They are quite adamant. Nothing Tom or I have said can dissuade them, and Mr Marshall has a team of lawyers that can get around our guardianship.’

  ‘What will happen to us?’

  ‘We will be looked after. We’re all being offered generous pensions – Tom, Mrs Bagshaw and me. You will not want for anything. Dragos is upset of course, but he respects the twins’ reasons and they have allowed him to continue working on the house until it is sold.’

  ‘Why do they want to sell?’

  ‘They want to move on with their lives.’

  Hazel looked up at the ceiling. Thornthwaite Manor had been all she had ever known. She could not imagine anything else. ‘Where will we live?’

  ‘I was thinking we could move to the village. Just the two of us. Then, when you’re old enough, you could go to catering college. Or whatever you want. Hazel, I want to do right by you.’

  Nurse Griddle squeezed Hazel’s hand. It was the kind of slight gesture most people would have done unthinkingly, but this was Nurse Griddle. Hazel understood the significance of that hand squeeze. It was the equivalent to one of Mrs Bagshaw’s biggest hugs. It was a slight gesture that meant so much. She could tell Nurse Griddle was embarrassed, but she left her hand there anyway.

  ‘What a week it has been,’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘Explosions, floods, fires, psychopathic butchers’ daughters and …’

 
‘And my father coming back from the dead,’ said Hazel.

  ‘Yes, precisely.’

  ‘I miss him already,’ Hazel said. ‘And Mrs Bagshaw.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘I ask only this: please do not do what I have done and allow his disappearance to define you. You cannot live your life waiting for something to happen. You have to make it happen.’

  ‘I want to become a chef.’

  Nurse Griddle squeezed her hand even tighter. ‘Then I know you shall. You are a capable girl, Hazel Bagshaw. You owe it to yourself to make the most of your life.’

  Packing Up Books

  It had been a month since the incident with Millicent Hartwell, and things had changed at Thornthwaite Manor. Old Tom and Nurse Griddle did nothing to dissuade the twins from selling. Uncle Harry stayed on to oversee the sale. While Hazel was recovering, the twins helped out with the household chores, and they continued to do so even once she was better.

  Millicent and Felicia no longer visited. Adam had not returned either, but Lorelli had written to ask him about Millicent. When the reply came, she read the letter in private before sharing the relevant details with her brother. Millicent, it turned out, was a very good liar. Doctor Mingus thought she was making good progress but when Mrs Hartwell walked out on her husband and daughter, Millicent couldn’t deal with the rejection. She retreated into a world in which the lines between reality and fantasy were increasingly blurred. No one knew where the Hartwells went following the incident, but the butcher’s had been empty ever since.

  The Cricks remained, although Felicia no longer spoke to Lorelli or Ovid. She avoided eye contact with them at school and on the bus home. Still, when Lorelli announced she was getting off at the stop at Little Fledgling, Ovid assumed it had something to do with Felicia.

  ‘You haven’t made up with her, have you?’ he asked anxiously.

  Felicia was sitting a couple of seats in front of them.

  Lorelli lowered her voice. ‘No, Felicia made it clear that we are no longer friends and I’m rather relieved about that.’

  ‘Then where are you going?’

  ‘To the library.’

  ‘You mean to work on your novel?’ asked Ovid.

  Lorelli pressed the button to stop the bus. ‘I didn’t know you knew.’

  Ovid smirked. ‘You know our secrets never stay hidden for long.’

  ‘I’m scared it won’t be any good,’ replied Lorelli.

  ‘So what if it’s not?’ said Ovid. ‘If it’s no good, just write something else.’

  The bus pulled up outside the sign that still read Hartwell’s Rare Meat Emporium.

  ‘Don’t be late,’ said Ovid. ‘I’m cooking tonight. Hazel’s teaching me one of Mrs Bagshaw’s recipes. Six-nut nutloaf.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ replied Lorelli.

  The bus doors opened and Felicia got off. Lorelli followed her off but kept her distance. She was expecting Felicia to ignore her as usual, so she was surprised when she turned around and asked, ‘Is it true? Are you selling the manor?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Lorelli.

  ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘Uncle Harry says the sale should go through very soon.’

  ‘Won’t you be sorry to go?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Lorelli said the words firmly but, if she was honest with herself, over the past few weeks her certainty about leaving the manor had ebbed away. When she told Uncle Harry of her doubts he said it was only natural to worry about making such a brave decision. Lorelli sensed that Ovid was having doubts too, but whenever she asked him he denied it.

  ‘My parents say you’re thinking of moving in there.’ Felicia pointed to the empty butcher’s shop.

  ‘We might do,’ said Lorelli. ‘But I’m not sure Ovid is keen on that idea.’

  Felicia’s eyes misted over with sadness. ‘Does he …? Does he ask about me?’

  Lorelli felt a rare moment of pity for Felicia. ‘Yes. In fact, he was talking about you on the bus, just then.’

  ‘I hope he isn’t too upset about me breaking up with him,’ said Felicia.

  ‘He understands,’ said Lorelli, hiding her smile.

  ‘Goodnight then, Lori-chick— Lorelli. I’m sorry we’re not friends any more.’

  ‘I’m not sure we ever really were,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘No, you’re probably right.’

  Felicia left and Lorelli continued towards the library. On the walk over the bridge she noticed pink and white blossom on the trees. New buds had sprung up on the grassy verges of the road. For a moment she felt an unusual wave of optimism and hope about the future.

  She pushed open the library door, eager to tell Miss Wilde her latest story idea. It was all about a World War One soldier trying to write a letter to his fiancée after learning that he was to be leading the attack into no man’s land. She was ready to burst straight into it when she found Miss Wilde inside, packing books into boxes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ said Miss Wilde.

  ‘But why? Uncle Harry said he wouldn’t shut the library.’

  ‘And that was very kind of Uncle Harry,’ said Miss Wilde. ‘I very much hope he can honour his word, but you can’t have a library without staff. I was a council employee. My job no longer exists.’

  ‘But … but I can pay you …’ began Lorelli.

  Miss Wilde found a chair and sat. ‘My dear Lorelli, as wonderful and generous as that is, I am beginning to feel like a charity case.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ said Lorelli. ‘As long as we keep the library open, what does it matter?’

  ‘It matters to me. A library shouldn’t be a charitable institution that requires generous benefactors to subsidise it. It should be something everyone owns and everyone pays for. Libraries enrich our lives because they open up the world to those who most need it opened up.’

  ‘Yes, I see that, but the council shut it down and we can keep it going. What else matters?’ said Lorelli.

  Miss Wilde threw another book into the box. ‘Lorelli,’ she said, ‘I believe you will find a way to achieve everything you desire and I hope you do keep this library open, but my fate is not yours. You were right when you said I should take this as an opportunity. I’m leaving Little Fledgling.’

  ‘But how will I write my story without you?’

  ‘You don’t need me,’ said Miss Wilde. ‘You don’t need anyone. I told you, writing is like life; it is not something that can be taught. It is something you have to learn yourself. I believe this takes work and the ability to learn from your mistakes, but perhaps you are right and when you find your story it will flow out of you in one perfect stream. I doubt it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I genuinely don’t think anything is impossible for you.’

  Killing the Past

  After a surprisingly edible nutloaf that evening, the twins went to the games room. Lorelli had conceded the previous game, which meant it was Ovid’s turn to be white. They set up the board and he was considering his first move when Uncle Harry stepped into the room and announced, ‘Do you want the good news or the good news?’

  ‘The good news,’ said Ovid.

  ‘I have found somewhere for Jenny to live. I’m in the process of acquiring a piece of land big enough that it will both satisfy the authorities, but also ensure her safety. Isn’t that terrific?’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Lorelli. ‘What is the other good news?’

  ‘This.’ He placed a piece of paper on the chessboard. ‘It’s the completion document for the sale of the estate. It just requires your signatures.’

  Ovid lifted it up to examine it. It was simply worded and included the large amount of money for the sale but made no mention of the buyer’s name.

  ‘And the buyer definitely won’t build on the land?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Don’t worry about a thing,’ replied Uncle Harry. ‘It’s all going to be exactly as I promi
sed. So, what do you think? Are you ready to sign and move on with your lives?’

  Ovid handed the document to Lorelli. He hadn’t wanted to admit that the whole idea of selling left him rigid with fear. Thornthwaite Manor had been in their family for generations. The twins were the last surviving members of their bloodline. Selling felt like a betrayal of their ancestors. More than that, Thornthwaite Manor was his home.

  Uncle Harry said, ‘I don’t want to rush you, but the way I look at it, if you’re going to make a fresh start, why delay? Why wait?’

  Lorelli picked up the pen. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what I want. A fresh start.’

  She signed it, then twisted it around and handed Ovid the pen. He looked at the document with his sister’s name at the bottom. A few years ago, Lorelli had gone through a phase of practising her signature on any scrap of paper she could find. The end result was a carefully crafted piece of art with the L and the T towering over the lower case letters, creating two sides of a sloping roof that housed the rest of the name. Ovid scribbled his own name underneath.

  ‘Well done,’ said Uncle Harry. He picked up the piece of paper and folded it twice. He dropped it into his inside jacket pocket, from which he pulled out a second piece of paper. ‘I also thought you might like to see this.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ovid, leaning over to read it.

  ‘It’s an application for adoption.’

  ‘Adoption?’ repeated Lorelli.

  ‘Yes, with your permission it would be my great honour to adopt you. I want to spend whatever time I have making things right. You’re already in my will. Now, I would love for you to become Marshalls. The Thornthwaite name has plagued you too long.’

  ‘Plagued?’ repeated Ovid quietly.

  Uncle Harry walked to the patio doors. The sun was low in the sky, giving the light a deep yellowish intensity. ‘Martha fell in love with all this,’ he said. ‘The house, its history …’

  ‘And our father,’ added Lorelli.

  ‘Yes, of course, your father. But none of it was real. People don’t live like this any more. And yet the Thornthwaites have refused to let it go. That’s what makes today such a momentous occasion. Finally, you’ve done what your forefathers were too afraid to do. You’re saying goodbye to all this. I’ve been dreaming of this day since your parents’ wedding.’