The Thornthwaite Betrayal

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘The wedding where you got thrown out?’ said Ovid.

  ‘To my shame, yes, that’s true. I may have overdone the wine and said some things that upset your mother.’

  ‘What things?’ asked Lorelli.

  Uncle Harry took a deep breath and turned to face them. ‘I told her I thought she was a fool to marry into this family. I told her I was scared for her life.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ve read the book. You know the history. Not one of your ancestors lived to a decent age. Not one.’

  ‘What was the promise you made?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I promised to look after you,’ replied Uncle Harry, avoiding her gaze.

  ‘At the wedding?’ said Ovid. ‘Before we were born? You promised to look after children who didn’t even exist yet?’

  Uncle Harry pushed open the doors. A light breeze moved the curtains.

  ‘No more lies,’ said Lorelli.

  Uncle Harry stepped out onto the lawn. ‘I told you, I was scared for my sister. Murder is like a genetic illness in this family. It is passed down from generation to generation. I was angry with her for her arrogance in thinking she could escape it. I was angry with your father for taking her away from me.’

  ‘What did you promise?’ Ovid followed him out.

  An aeroplane shadow passed over Uncle Harry as he turned around and answered. ‘I promised your father that if any harm came to Martha, I would tear down every brick of Thornthwaite Manor myself. I promised that if she died, the Thornthwaite line would die with her.’

  ‘We’re the Thornthwaite line,’ said Lorelli, stepping over the threshold into the last of the evening’s light.

  ‘Yes, but if you allow me to adopt you, you needn’t be,’ said Uncle Harry.

  ‘You want to kill our family?’ said Ovid.

  ‘Kill your family? No. I could never harm my sister’s kids.’

  ‘And what about tearing down every brick of Thornthwaite Manor?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘You’ve sold it. What do you care what happens to it?’ asked Uncle Harry.

  ‘We sold it on the basis that the estate would go unspoilt,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘So it will. I promise, nothing will be built. Well, maybe a shelter for Jenny.’

  ‘For Jenny?’ said Ovid.

  ‘You’re the buyer,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Yes,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Don’t worry, I paid the going rate. This isn’t about money. This was never about money. This is about fulfilling my promise.’

  Uncle Harry slowly reached into his pocket. In the dusky low light it was difficult to tell what he was taking out. Both twins imagined a gun, but it was not a gun. It was a small black box with a stubby aerial in the top.

  ‘It’s time to move on,’ said Uncle Harry.

  ‘What is that?’ asked Ovid.

  ‘It’s a detonator. I’m bringing it down,’ announced Uncle Harry. ‘This is the only way to set you free.’

  No Loose Ends

  The Thornthwaite twins had never felt a telepathic connection, but as they listened to their uncle explain why he was going to blow up their house, Lorelli knew exactly what Ovid was thinking. Uncle Harry was crazy. He was willing to blow up Thornthwaite Manor to honour a promise made to someone who had died a long time ago.

  ‘Where are the explosives?’ asked Ovid.

  ‘I placed them at the bottom of the southwest tower,’ replied Uncle Harry. ‘It’s a structural key point. My experts tell me that when it comes down, it will bring the rest of the building with it. I’m not convinced, but if it doesn’t, we have more explosives.’

  ‘You can’t blow up our house,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘It’s my house now, and of course I can,’ said Uncle Harry.

  ‘Give us back the document,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Yes. We no longer want to sell,’ said Ovid.

  Lorelli stepped forward, but Uncle Harry held the detonator out and placed his thumb on the large red button. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘This is for your own good. All of this is for your own good.’

  ‘You tricked us for our own good?’ said Ovid.

  ‘How did I trick you? It was your idea to sell,’ protested Uncle Harry. ‘What does it matter what happens to it now?’

  ‘You’ve been manipulating us since you arrived,’ said Lorelli.

  Uncle Harry laughed in disbelief. ‘What have I manipulated?’

  ‘Since gaining our confidence you have been turning us against this place, making us feel as though the manor was responsible for the horror of our family history.’

  ‘Now, Lorelli …’ Uncle Harry protested.

  ‘That’s right,’ Ovid interrupted. ‘You made us think of our home as evil, but it’s just a building.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he snapped. ‘Thornthwaite Manor is the villain. Murder and death are built into the walls of this place,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘You didn’t need me to tell you that.’

  ‘You’ve lied to us and deceived us since the start,’ said Lorelli. ‘Is the weak heart even true?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘That’s the whole point. My time is limited. I have no future. But you do. That’s why I have put you in my will. The only way to make your future bright is to extinguish the past.’

  ‘The servants are all in there,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve worked the whole thing out. It will look like an accident. I’ll explain that I demolished my own property, as I have a right to do, but that I was unaware your servants had refused to leave. We’ll tell the authorities that we thought the house was clear for demolition. It’s not like there are any other witnesses. It’s just us.’

  ‘Put the detonator down,’ said Lorelli. ‘We’ll agree to anything you want if you let the others live.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, and don’t think about warning them either,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘If you take one step inside that house, I swear I’ll bring it down.’

  ‘On us?’ said Ovid.

  ‘I’m not worried about you. You two are born survivors. You’ll get out when you need to.’

  ‘But why? Why would you want to kill them?’

  ‘It needs to be clean. No loose ends.’

  ‘They aren’t loose ends,’ said Lorelli. ‘They’re people.’

  ‘Yes, but one uncle is enough. Now, I’m tired of this. It’s time.’

  Uncle Harry pressed the button.

  The explosion was instant. The ground shook and flocks of birds took to the air. A flash of light filled the sky, followed by clouds of black smoke.

  ‘We have to get the others out!’ Lorelli turned to run into the house but Ovid held her back. ‘What are you doing?’ she fought him off. ‘Everyone is in there –’

  ‘Look at the smoke,’ he said.

  Lorelli looked again and understood what he meant. It wasn’t coming from the building. The southwest tower stood untouched. The twins turned to Uncle Harry, but he looked just as confused.

  ‘It’s coming from something around the side,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘What’s on that side of the manor?’ asked Ovid.

  Uncle Harry turned white. ‘My car.’

  All three of them ran around the side of the house, where they saw the source of the smoke. Uncle Harry’s car was on fire. The roof had been torn to shreds. There were car parts strewn all over the grass. The windscreen had shattered and there was a strong smell of burning rubber. One of the doors had flown off and landed on a rose bush.

  ‘My car … my beautiful car … How? How has this happened?’

  Dragos, Tom, Nurse Griddle and Hazel appeared out of a side door and gathered to watch. Tom and Dragos both carried fire extinguishers.

  Uncle Harry turned to face them. ‘What have you done?’ he snarled.

  ‘I find explosives at base of southwest tower,’ said Dragos. ‘This is very dangerous. That is why I put them somewhere safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘I’
m not sure this counts as safe.’ She motioned towards the burning car.

  ‘It’s my roses I’m worried about,’ said Old Tom.

  ‘Roses?’ cried Uncle Harry. ‘Who cares about roses? That car was a classic. It’s irreplaceable.’

  ‘Only people are irreplaceable,’ said Lorelli.

  Dragos approached. ‘Please, into the house,’ he said. ‘We must make this safe.’

  ‘You,’ growled Uncle Harry.

  ‘Yes, me.’

  ‘You did this.’ Uncle Harry squared up to him. ‘Do you have any idea how much that car was worth?’

  ‘No, I have no interest in cars. Please step aside,’ said Dragos.

  ‘No!’ yelled Uncle Harry. ‘I own this manor. I own this estate. All of you are trespassing!’

  ‘Safety comes first,’ said Dragos. ‘I will put out fire first. It could spread. Please step aside.’

  ‘I will not.’ Uncle Harry blocked his way.

  ‘Very well.’ Dragos aimed the nozzle at Uncle Harry and squeezed the trigger. A jet of white foam flew out and knocked Uncle Harry spluttering and tumbling to the ground.

  ‘Good shot, Dragos,’ said Ovid.

  ‘You oafish barbarian!’ cried Uncle Harry. ‘I’ll have my lawyers on you.’ Bits of foam flew from his mouth as he shouted, but Dragos wasn’t listening. He and Tom were busily trying to get the fire under control.

  ‘Get off my property!’ shouted Uncle Harry.

  The twins stepped up close to him.

  ‘It’s not your property.’ Lorelli plucked the document out of Uncle Harry’s pocket. He tried to stop her but Ovid held his wrists.

  ‘It’s ours,’ added Ovid.

  Lorelli tore the document in half, then handed both pieces of paper to Ovid. He tore it again and passed it back. It went back and forth several times until all that was left were bits of paper, which they scattered over Uncle Harry.

  He stood up and pushed them out of his way. ‘You ungrateful little … I only wanted to help you,’ he said. ‘I only wanted to put things right.’

  ‘By destroying our home and murdering our servants?’ said Ovid.

  ‘By removing our family name from history?’ said Lorelli.

  Uncle Harry wiped the foam from his face. ‘Yes, but I only did it for you. You’re still my sister’s kids.’

  ‘Our mother was a Marshall,’ said Ovid, ‘but our father was a Thornthwaite.’

  ‘And so are we,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘You’ve made that patently clear,’ snarled Uncle Harry. ‘I tried to save you from yourselves, but you two are beyond saving. There’s something wrong with you. You’re not normal.’

  ‘I think I can live with that,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Yes, me too,’ added Ovid.

  Good Riddance to Bad Uncle

  By the time Tom and Dragos had put out the fire Uncle Harry had gone. The twins had heard him call a taxi as he walked away. When the taxi-coordinator asked where he was going he replied, ‘Anywhere but here. Just make it quick. I’ll pay double, triple. Just get me away from this place.’

  With the fire extinguished, the others could all see the extent of the damage. The elegant piece of classic engineering was barely recognisble as a car.

  ‘At the risk of sounding like Mrs Bagshaw, I think we all need a strong cup of tea after all this excitement,’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘Shall we, Hazel?’

  ‘Yes, mother. I made some biscuits this morning.’

  ‘One of Mrs Bagshaw’s recipes?’

  ‘No. One of my own.’

  Hazel and Nurse Griddle went in, while the twins remained with Dragos and Old Tom by the car.

  ‘This is good riddance to bad uncle,’ said Dragos.

  ‘He said something about one uncle being enough,’ said Lorelli. ‘What did he mean?’

  ‘Don’t ask us,’ said Old Tom quickly.

  Dragos placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Tom, no more lies.’ he said. ‘They deserve honesty now. They should know.’

  ‘Know what?’ asked the twins.

  Tom pulled out his pair of old secateurs. ‘Did I ever tell you about these old clippers?’

  ‘Enough about plants,’ interrupted Lorelli. ‘Just tell us what he meant.’

  ‘Your uncle knew the truth about me,’ said Dragos.

  ‘About your father?’ said Ovid.

  ‘About my mother.’

  ‘What?’ said the twins in unison.

  ‘My father was a prospector who never found gold,’ said Dragos. ‘My mother was better gold digger. She was different kind of gold digger. Her name was Alexandreira. She was beautiful and greedy. She hoped my father would make her rich with all his talk of gold. But talk is all it was. When he did not live up to expectations she turned to your grandfather. As I said, she was beautiful and ambitious. The only thing that stood in her way was his wife.’

  ‘You’re talking about Silas’s first wife, Mabel?’ said Ovid. ‘The one who died in the gas explosion down the mine?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dragos. ‘My mother tricked my father and Lady Mabel Thornthwaite into going down that mine. My mother made the explosion.’

  ‘She murdered Lady Thornthwaite and your father?’ said Lorelli, struggling to keep up.

  ‘She killed her ladyship, yes, but my father escaped. Except he now knew his wife was trying to kill him. He took their son …’ Dragos removed his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a black sooty mark across his face. ‘He took me to Romania. With him and Lady Thornthwaite gone, my mother was free to marry Lord Thornthwaite.’

  ‘So your mother was our grandmother,’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meaning you’re our uncle?’ said Ovid.

  ‘Half-uncle,’ said Dragos. ‘If there is such a thing.’

  ‘Is that why you came back?’ asked Ovid. ‘To claim your part of the inheritance?’

  ‘If I was going to do this I would already have done so. No. That is not why I am here. I have no interest in your money. I came to help preserve this magnificent building you call home. I came to save the old lady.’

  ‘So Uncle Harry was talking about you?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Not just about me.’ Dragos looked at Tom.

  ‘So these old clippers …’ he began.

  ‘Tom!’ said Lorelli. ‘Just tell us the truth.’

  Tom nodded, then spoke slowly. ‘I don’t want this to make any difference to how you treat me. It’s all just stuff and history.’

  ‘What is?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Silas had already had a child with his first wife, Lady Mabel,’ said Tom, ‘but Lady Agnes wanted her son to be the one who inherited. If she’d had her way, she’d have had your father adopted or … worse. As luck would have it, Silas was not totally without sentiment. Both boys were his sons, after all. Still, he wanted to please his new wife, so he compromised. He had the lad’s name changed, then had him adopted by one of the servants and kept on at the manor.’

  ‘And the son’s name?’ Ovid already knew the answer.

  ‘Thomas Paine, young master.’

  ‘So you’re our uncle too?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Half-uncle, like Dragos,’ said Old Tom. ‘Your grandfather was my old man.’

  ‘Then the estate belongs to you as much as it belongs to us,’ said Ovid.

  Tom smiled and gazed out across the lawn towards Avernus Lake and beyond. ‘What you’ve never really understood is that the estate don’t much care who owns it. You try telling one of them great oaks you’ve got in Huxley Woods that it’s yours. You try telling Avernus Lake that you’re in charge. No, this estate don’t belong to anyone. The way I see it, I grew up here the same as my roses.’

  ‘But why did you never tell us?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Because you’d have treated me differently, and I like things as they are. So I take it you’re no longer leaving the old place.’

  There was no need to confer. ‘We’re staying. We won’t sell,’ said Lorelli.

>   ‘Never,’ said Ovid.

  ‘Good. Now, these old clippers,’ said Tom, ‘they were given to me by my old man as a birthday present. The only present he ever gave me, unless you count that row of trees he had planted down on the main road the day I was born.’ Tom snipped the secateurs together and grinned.

  ‘You never got another birthday present?’ said Ovid.

  ‘Not one,’ said Tom. ‘I asked him why once. D’you know what he said? He told me that he had already given me everything he had to give. What do you make of that?’

  ‘It was his way of giving you the estate?’ said Ovid.

  ‘No,’ said Lorelli, ‘it meant that the estate would provide you with food and shelter, but that the secateurs would help you tend to its needs. It’s a metaphor.’

  ‘No. This is not it,’ said Dragos. ‘He was giving you job. He was saying, son, go be a gardener.’

  ‘Could be any of those things,’ said Old Tom. ‘Or none of them. Most likely it was just Silas being mean. But he’s gone now, the trees are still there and these clippers still work like they’re brand new.’ He snipped off two white roses, both badly burnt by the fire, and handed one to Lorelli and the other to Ovid.

  ‘I’m sorry about your roses,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘There’s no need to worry,’ said Old Tom. ‘The roses may be done for, but the roots are still strong and that’s the most important thing.’ He placed a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. ‘Good day, young masters.’

  ‘Good day, Tom,’ replied Lorelli and Ovid.

  A New Story

  The previous year, the great fire had reduced much of the twins’ home to a shell. So many rooms had been laid to waste. So many priceless artefacts had gone up in smoke. Irreplaceable pictures were turned to ash. But as is the way with shells, life had emerged from within the crisp remains.

  When Lorelli thought back on why she had decided to leave Thornthwaite Manor, she was unsure how much she could pin on Uncle Harry. He had certainly done his best to influence her, always describing it in terms of a prison, a cage or a death trap. He had talked about the possibilities of escape and making a fresh start. He had instructed Beaufort to make a meal that left them with a feeling of unease about the house, but, in the end, it had been Lorelli’s own decision.