The Thornthwaite Inheritance

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘I’m going to swim around the side and get out over by that tree in case they go for me again,’ said Adam. ‘You should get away too.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there,’ replied Lorelli, watching Adam swim away. But instead of mounting Pride she reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a rusty old tin in which Tom stored sugar to feed to the horses as treats. She prised it open. There was one sugar cube inside, which she gave to Pride. She edged nearer to the bees, feeling nervous. Adam was right. Bees didn’t usually act like this.

  She bent down and held the tin wide open. It didn’t take long for one of the bees to become interested in the sugary tin. Thankfully the rest remained occupied with the underside of the saddle. Lorelli waited until the bee landed inside before slamming it shut. As she moved away, she noticed that the bees who were now leaving the saddle had thick globules of yellow substance over their legs.

  She climbed on to Pride’s back and rode round to where a very wet Adam was crawling up the muddy shore. ‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘Why did those bees go for that saddle?’

  ‘Because the underside was covered in pollen,’ replied Lorelli. ‘That’s why you sneezed when you first got on.’

  Adam took a moment to consider this.

  ‘But it was Tom who saddled the horses.’ He clicked his fingers and added, ‘And he keeps bees.’

  ‘I’ve known Tom all my life. He wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Well, he knew I was riding Joy and he knew which direction we were heading.’

  ‘He’d never do anything to hurt one of the horses.’

  ‘Well, it seems to me that he’s trying to do more than that. For some reason Tom Paine is out to get me,’ said Adam.

  .

  THE GARDENER

  Alfred Crutcher may have been the late Lord Thornthwaite’s most trusted servant, but Tom Paine, the gardener, was the longest serving. Old Tom was the only employee at Thornthwaite Manor old enough to have worked for three generations of the family.

  When his parents died and his family home was destroyed in a gas explosion, the young Tom Paine was left alone in the world. He would have been taken into care by the local authorities had Lord Silas Thornthwaite, the twins’ grandfather, not taken him under his wing. This act of benevolence was so uncharacteristic that there had been a great deal of speculation among the staff at the time that there was some connection between them. Some suggested that Tom knew a secret about Silas. Others claimed that Tom was Silas’s son. But as time passed, so did the rumours and Tom settled into his job as gardener, living in a small cottage in the grounds.

  Tom served Silas until his death, then continued to work under the twins’ father, Mycroft Thornthwaite, until he and his wife also died.

  Being an orphan himself, he was the best equipped to understand how the deaths of the late Lord and Lady Thornthwaite had affected the twins and yet he never once spoke to them about their grief.

  As well as managing the vast grounds and looking after the horses, he somehow still found time to keep bees. The highlight of his year was putting his honey into the local village fête. No one could remember a year when his honey hadn’t won first prize.

  Tom was very protective of the horses, so he felt a huge sense of relief when, not long after Adam had ridden out on Joy she came galloping back to the stables, albeit without her saddle or her rider.

  Tom fed Joy a sugar cube and climbed on to her, bareback. He rode her until he found Adam and Lorelli walking across a field, leading Pride behind them.

  ‘Jumped in the water again, did you?’ said Tom, looking at Adam’s wet clothes.

  ‘No, I fell,’ replied Adam. ‘What were you playing at putting pollen under the saddle? Is that your idea of some sort of joke?’

  ‘Pollen?’ said Tom. ‘You’ll have to excuse me but I don’t know anything about any pollen.’

  Lorelli explained what had happened, to which Tom said, ‘No wonder Joy looked so frightened, poor love.’ He patted the horse’s side affectionately.

  ‘Never mind her,’ said Adam. ‘I could have died.’

  ‘If you think I’d do anything to hurt my Joy, you’d better think again, Master Farthing,’ replied Tom.

  ‘But they’re your bees, aren’t they?’

  ‘That I can’t tell you. Not until I’ve seen one.’

  Lorelli handed Tom the tin. ‘There’s one in there.’

  Tom took it and pulled it open. Adam stood back. Inside, the bee was still crawling around the sugar. Before it noticed that it had an opportunity to escape Tom slammed the tin shut again.

  ‘Well, I never,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘That’s not one of mine. If I’m not mistaken that’s an Africanised bee.’

  ‘A what?’ said Adam.

  ‘Africanised bees are hybrids of African honey bees and European honey bees,’ Tom explained. ‘They were originally bred in South America but I’ve never heard of any on this side of the Atlantic. They’re more aggressive than our honey bees and they tend to swarm. Some people call them killer bees.’

  ‘Killer bees?’ said Adam.

  ‘Apparently they’ve been known to sting people to death. Of course, like all bees, they’ll still only sting you if they feel threatened.’

  ‘What are they doing here?’ said Adam.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve got me there,’ said Tom.

  Lorelli could tell by the look on Adam’s face that he didn’t believe Tom, but she could no more suspect Tom than she could suspect herself. The whole thing led to one conclusion. Ovid was back to his usual tricks.

  .

  THE HOTHOUSE

  Back at the manor Adam went to ask Nurse Griddle for a cup of her warming remedy before changing into dry clothes. Lorelli headed up the spiral staircase to her bedroom to change out of her jodhpurs, then went to find her brother. She found him in the hothouse, tending to his tropical plants.

  Although it was cold outside, the sunlight through the glass walls made the overgrown room hot and sticky. Lorelli felt sweat beads instantly appear on her forehead. She wiped them away as Ovid looked up.

  ‘Hello Lorelli. S’warm, isn’t it,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘It’s warm,’ said Ovid, tenderly holding each large leaf of one of his favourite plants and spraying it with water.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lorelli suspiciously. ‘Would you mind telling me where you went after breakfast this morning?’

  ‘Not at all. I practised a piano piece in the key of B minor. After that I came here.’

  ‘I see,’ said his sister doubtfully. ‘You’re saying you haven’t left the house all morning.’

  ‘Not that I recall.’

  ‘You haven’t been near the stables for example?’

  ‘The stables? No.’ Ovid shrugged. ‘You see this plant. Do you know what it’s called?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Honey gold,’ he said, continuing to spray its leaves. ‘Nice name, isn’t it?’

  ‘What are you up to, Ovid Thornthwaite?’ Lorelli demanded.

  ‘I’m just looking after my plants.’

  ‘You realise that an attempt on Adam’s life would be as good as breaking the truce?’

  ‘An attempt on Adam’s life?’ snorted Ovid. ‘You think that boy would still be bounding about like a brainless goat had I made an attempt on his life? Why don’t you just come out and say what you’ve got to say or buzz off?’

  ‘That’s it.’ His sister stamped her feet. ‘Now I know you know more than you’re letting on.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Swarm, honey, buzz, the key of B minor,’ cried Lorelli. ‘You know what happened this morning, don’t you?
You know because you were involved.’

  Ovid put his spray down. ‘Involved? Involved in what?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘The swarm of killer bees that went after Adam.’

  Ovid laughed. ‘OK, so maybe Hazel bumped into Adam just now then told me what happened. That doesn’t mean I had anything to do with it. Besides, I’m more interested in what his father is up to than that silly boy.’

  ‘His father is here because we called him here,’ stated Lorelli.

  ‘Yesterday I caught him crying in front of our parents’ portrait. Isn’t that a bit odd?’

  ‘Well, he knew them too, didn’t he?’

  ‘I know, but he was crying.’

  ‘Honestly, Ovid, can’t you understand that not everyone is like us? You’ve spent so long being mistrustful and deceitful you can’t see that some people are just as they seem.’

  ‘And you’ve spent so much time in the company of that goody-two shoes, Adam Farthing, that you’re blind to what’s really going on.’

  ‘Admit that you set the bees on Adam.’

  ‘I’ll admit to no such thing,’ Ovid snorted.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Ovid Thornthwaite, but I’ll find out,’ said Lorelli, storming out of the hothouse.

  .

  THE BOXING ROOM

  Lord Royston Thornthwaite, the twins’ great-grandfather, had been a brutish bully of a man who enjoyed inflicting pain on other people so much that he had built a boxing ring in one of the rooms, where he would coax local men from the village to come and fight against him, with the promise of a cash prize if they defeated him. No man ever won the money and many lost a lot more than the match. It was not uncommon for men to leave with one less ear, nose or finger than they arrived with.

  Since Lord Royston had passed away in 1934, the room had barely been used, but the boxing ring remained intact. The twins themselves never used it, preferring their acts of intended violence to be more subtle, clever and carefully crafted than the ancient art of grown men hitting each other, but the morning after the argument in the library Ovid followed Mr Farthing down the corridor and watched him slip into the boxing room.

  Ovid ran up a nearby staircase and found a door that led to an upper gallery, which surrounded the ring, where, in his great-grandfather’s time, ladies could watch the fight without fear of getting blood on their dresses. Looking down, Ovid could see Adam Farthing, wearing a T-shirt, a pair of shorts and a set of old boxing gloves on his hands, dancing around the ring.

  ‘Look, Father, I found these gloves hanging here. They should be in a museum, they’re so old,’ he said. There was a large red punchbag in the middle of the boxing ring, hanging from a heavy chain attached to the ceiling. ‘Would you hold the bag for me?’

  Mr Farthing climbed awkwardly through the ropes, tripping over and tumbling into the ring.

  ‘Come on, Dad,’ said Adam.

  Mr Farthing stood up and put his arms uncertainly around the punchbag.

  ‘See how hard I can hit.’ Adam laid into the bag with his fists.

  ‘Oof,’ grunted Mr Farthing, looking winded by the force of his son’s punch. He got his breath back and said, ‘Now, son, listen to me. I wanted to say this to you somewhere private.’ He looked around to check no one was listening. ‘I don’t want you taking any more risks. Do you understand?’

  ‘What risks?’ asked Adam cheerfully.

  ‘The incident with the bread was too close. Please don’t eat anything unless it has been prepared by one of us.’

  ‘But that was just that stupid girl’s mistake.’ Adam landed more punches into the bag.

  ‘And I heard something about an incident with some bees yesterday.’

  ‘Oh that was nothing.’

  ‘Thornthwaite Manor is a more dangerous place than you imagine.’

  Adam stopped dancing around and looked at his father. ‘What do you mean?’

  Mr Farthing lowered his voice. ‘I mean that those Thornthwaite twins have violent tendencies. Violent, Adam. You can’t trust them.’

  Adam smiled and placed an outstretched arm on his father’s shoulder. ‘Father, I think you underestimate the power of my charm. Lorelli likes me a great deal.’

  ‘It’s not the girl I’m worried about,’ said Mr Farthing. ‘It’s the boy.’

  ‘Hah! I can handle that pipsqueak, Ovid. Lorelli likes me. All I have to do is to stay on her good side and in a few years’ time I’ll ask her to marry me and she’ll say yes because she never leaves this place, so she’ll never meet anyone else. Then I’ll be rich.’

  ‘Oh, Adam, money isn’t everything.’ Mr Farthing shook his head. ‘We have everything we need.’

  ‘I want more than I need.’

  ‘You’re too much like your mother. Why can’t you be content with what you have?’

  ‘What do I have? Nothing. I want more.’ Adam raised his gloved hands in the air. ‘All this land and money is wasted on the Thornthwaite twins.’

  In the gallery above, Ovid remained hidden and silent.

  ‘Now, son, you’re too bold. I knew I shouldn’t have let you come with me. You must be careful. I’ve already lost a wife. I will not lose a son too.’ Mr Farthing spoke sternly. ‘The Thornthwaite twins are as deadly as poison.’

  Ovid allowed himself a small smile at this description, but Adam seemed less impressed.

  ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘I can handle them.’ He took a couple of steps back and hit the punchbag so hard that it swung across the ring and, before his father could move out of the way, whacked into his large back, knocking him clean off his feet. The sound of Mr Farthing’s face slamming into the stretched canvas echoed around the high-ceilinged room.

  Ovid expected Adam to show concern and dive to his father’s side, so he was surprised when, instead, Mr Farthing’s son threw his head back and laughed.

  .

  THE SEVEN DANCES OF FRANCISKA TOTH

  Lorelli had lost count of how many times she had read her favourite book, The Seven Dances of Franciska Toth. She knew there were lots of other books in the world that were probably more worthy of her attention, but there was something about Imelda Gaunt’s novel which always drew her back.

  It was a simple enough story, recounting the life of a girl called Franciska Toth, who was born into a peasant family in nineteenth-century Hungary. For as long as she could remember, Franciska had wanted to be a dancer. Her mother and father were dismissive of her ambition, saying that dancing was not an appropriate pursuit for a girl from her humble background. They wanted her to find a good husband with some land and become a farmer’s wife, like generations of her family before her.

  Throughout the book, Franciska fearlessly battled all obstacles and, with each dance she performed, drew closer to escaping the drudgery of farm life and achieving her goal of winning a place in the Hungarian State Ballet.

  Lorelli loved Franciska’s positive outlook on life.

  However, although Lorelli adored the first hundred and seventy-four pages, she detested the last five. As the book reached its conclusion, Franciska finally got the chance to take part in an audition for the ballet but, days before it, while practising, she twisted her ankle. Compared to all the other problems she had encountered a twisted ankle was nothing and, the first time she read it, Lorelli fully expected her to overcome this problem. To her utter dismay, the last few pages of the book told of how Franciska never made the audition, and how her ankle never fully recovered. The author summed up the rest of Franciska Toth’s life in the final couple of paragraphs, saying how she never danced again, not even at her own wedding, where she married a kind-hearted pig farmer with four acres of land and thirty-six pigs.

  After finishing the book for the first time Lorelli threw it across the library in frustration. A few da
ys later she returned to pick it up and found herself opening it and looking at the first sentence.

  Her whole life, Franciska Toth only danced seven dances in public.

  There it was, an indication of how the story would end in the opening sentence. Lorelli reread the book to look for other clues and found that she loved it just as much as before, in spite of the disappointment that awaited her in the final pages.

  Each time she reread it, she vowed to stop before the end and yet, each time, she was unable to stop herself. She even tried writing a happier ending in which Franciska danced the audition and joined the ballet company. However, Lorelli discovered that writing a story is very different to reading one, and could never create a happy ending that worked.

  .

  THE OLD OAK TREE

  Lorelli took her well-worn copy of The Seven Dances of Franciska Toth to one of her favourite spots beneath the old oak tree in the south-west corner of the grounds and sat down to read.

  The old oak tree had stood there for hundreds of years. Had it been able to talk it would have had some terrible stories to tell, but none was worse than the death of Lord Elroy Thornthwaite, the twins’ great-great-grandfather.

  Lord Elroy was a rare thing among the twins’ ancestors in that he had been genuinely popular in his time. His picture in the portrait room showed a well-rounded man, with kind green eyes and reddened cheeks. He had fallen in love with and married a local village girl by the name of Eliza Tripsake. For their wedding, Lord Elroy threw a huge party at the manor for all the local villagers, with music and entertainment and plentiful food and drink.

  After a couple of years, Eliza produced a baby boy, whom they named Royston. On his son’s sixteenth birthday Lord Elroy decided to sell the villagers their land for a discounted price. The villagers were overjoyed because they would no longer have to spend all their hard-earned money on rent to the Thornthwaites. However, days before Lord Elroy was to sign the papers, tragedy struck. He was discovered hanging from one of the thick branches of the old oak tree. For reasons that would never be known it appeared he had taken his own life. His wife died a month later. The coroner proclaimed that Lady Thornthwaite had died from a broken heart.