The Murder of My Aunt

by Richard Hull

  My aunt, though, was evidently taking trouble in the matter. I heard her start another call as I went, and, to my horror, I recognized the number of the local garage, a very indifferent and badly run business, but the only one in Llwll. I hurried out to La Joyeuse, my car. Fortunately my aunt’s knowledge of car engines is small. She would be unlikely to break La Joyeuse up with a hammer or any crude means of that sort, and as for more delicate work, well, she simply wasn’t capable. It was, however, with considerable relief that I saw it there, and apparently intact. I would go straight down to Llwll in it before whatever scheme my aunt had in mind had been matured. It was just then that I remembered that I had been anxious to make some minor adjustments to the engine, and with that end in view, for safety’s sake, I had let the petrol tank get practically empty, and had even gone to the trouble of siphoning out the little that remained. My aunt must have known this and have decided in her innocence that this simple fact would prevent me from using La Joyeuse.

  Simple, yes. But how simple to defeat. First I tried the doors of my aunt’s car. I was not surprised to find them locked. However, my aunt, I knew, kept some reserve cans of petrol for emergencies, on which I had been relying for refilling my tank. I could use them. I went to where they were kept, but, to my surprise, the shed was empty. My aunt must have hidden them. This was infuriating, but if my aunt thought I was defeated so easily as that, she would soon find she was mistaken. It was a pity I had wasted time after lunch and so given her the necessary minutes to act. I saw now I should have gone at once. However, I, too, could telephone to the Wynneland Garage.

  I reached the telephone just as my aunt was leaving it. There was an unpleasant glitter in her eye, but I was glad to see that there was also a certain amount of alarm on her face. As far as I could see, she was pleased with her stratagem, but her manner seemed to imply that she had overlooked some detail which was giving her cause for alarm. I should make it my business to see that the alarm materialized, so to speak.

  I am no great friend of Herbertson, the proprietor of the Wynneland Garage. He does not really know his job, and unfortunately when it has come to repairing my car, I have been compelled to show him up and take my custom elsewhere. However, for simple matters one had to deal with him, and one such thing was petrol. I would not of course give my aunt away to a tradesman, so I merely said that my aunt and I had both unfortunately run out of petrol at the same time. Would he send a man up with some?

  To my surprise, he said he was sorry it couldn’t be done. Here was an unexpected difficulty, the genuineness of which I found hard to believe. With an effort I swallowed my pride and represented to him how helpless both my aunt and I were in the circumstances. I even went so far as to ask his assistance as a favour for both of us. On the whole I thought it best to include my aunt, for whom Herbertson has a great respect, while he does not entirely appreciate me, of which on the whole I am glad.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Edward,’ came Herbertson’s unpleasant voice – I wish everyone round here would not use my Christian name – ‘I haven’t got anyone I can possibly spare. I would always do everything I could to help Miss Powell, but she was explaining the situation to me just now, and I gathered from her it wasn’t urgent – and anyhow I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid it’s impossible’ – and with that he had the impertinence to ring off!

  ‘I’ll never spend a penny at his beastly place again, if I can help it,’ I thought, though for that matter that has been my attitude for a long time, and occasionally it is necessary to make use of his garage.

  I sat for a moment in thought. Of course it was overwhelmingly clear that he was lying at my aunt’s instructions. Very well then. My aunt had thought of my using that method to extricate myself and had defeated it. It was up to me to find another, for by now it had become a matter of pride that I should have those books and should not walk.

  I could not then get petrol from the Wynneland Garage. Very well, I would get petrol from one of the garages in Abercwm! It would be expensive, but, to defeat my aunt, although I have not a great income, I was quite prepared to spend any amount. My aunt, too, would have the pleasure of paying for the telephone call to Abercwm!

  But here a most unexpected hitch occurred. The line to Abercwm was out of order, and the operator had no idea when it would be right. Still, however, I refused to admit defeat. I would go on ringing up garages as far away as Shrewsbury, if necessary, but get petrol I would. I put out my hand for the telephone directory. It was not there. My aunt had hidden that too.

  It seemed to me that my aunt had been pretty thorough. By now I expected that she had even got at the telephone operator. She has many local activities in Llwll, and knows everyone there, high and low, and probably is well aware who the girl is. For the moment I seemed to be defeated, but then I remembered the look on my aunt’s face. There was something she had forgotten. For several minutes I sat and thought before at last it occurred to me. The doors of her car might be locked, but glass can be broken. There was petrol in her old Morris. The tank had been filled that morning. She must have been hurrying to take her car away as she should have done at first. I positively ran – and I never run if I can help it – to the garage. I might yet be just in time. Apparently I was; my aunt’s car was still there.

  But suddenly I became aware of a terribly strong smell of petrol. Now, my aunt’s car, as I have mentioned, is an old Morris of positively prehistoric design. It is typical of my aunt that she scorns all modern inventions and continues to use this dilapidated old bus. I must admit that it still goes, and goes quite efficiently, but how she can bear to be so out of date, I cannot understand. Amongst the obsolete survivals of this car is its petrol supply. To empty the tank of my Wolsey Hornet completely, you have to siphon it out; to empty my aunt’s, all you have to do is to remove the top of the float chamber. The result is that the petrol is not stopped in its flow and so just pours itself on the ground. And this is what my aunt had done, with the result that the last drain was rapidly trickling out. It was surprising that my aunt had known so much about her old Morris; she must have found it out accidentally sometime last winter when she had had her float chamber cleaned after getting some water in.

  But I had no time for speculation then. It was time to act. Grabbing the dog’s drinking-bowl and throwing away the water in it, I managed to save a little, a very little of the temporarily precious fluid. It would, I hoped, be enough.

  It was, however, very little. It certainly would not get me to Llwll and back, but I could buy some in Llwll – damn Herbertson – and that would be enough to give me victory, I looked at the drop of petrol again. It was doubtful if it would take me even to Llwll, but if it once got me over the dingle, I could run down the hill with the engine off.

  It was indeed La Joyeuse in which I started. I was glad now I had not broken the windows of my aunt’s car when I found it locked. I might have cut myself.

  3

  But it was not La Joyeuse in which I finished.

  I got down to the bottom of the dingle, of course, and I nearly, oh how nearly, got up the other side, but alas! I did not get to the top. The drop of petrol ran out some fifty yards too soon.

  Now here really was a predicament. Obviously I could not leave La Joyeuse where it was. Equally obviously, I could not push her up the hill in front of me. It might have been possible to have pushed her back to Brynmawr, but it would have been extremely fatiguing, and besides, when I had done it, I was no farther on. For several minutes I stood looking at the car helplessly while an irritating bird made an idiotic noise in a bush nearby and a stupid rabbit ambled across the grass at the bottom of the dingle. I stooped down and picked up a stone. It wasn’t a bad shot and may well have hit the bird. Anyhow, it stopped its row, and the rabbit disappeared. I lit a cigarette to help my thoughts, and took a vow that my aunt should not have the pleasure of saying that she had forced me to walk into Llwll.

  The form of the words gave me an idea. Somehow or other I had got to get ou
t of the mess I was in. I could not let matters slide, for if my aunt found La Joyeuse where it was, her mirth would be intolerable. But if I walked the rest of the way to Llwll, bought some petrol, and came back to where I was, I could truthfully say that I had started in my car and returned in my car, and my aunt would never know she had succeeded in her spiteful object. I should of course have to walk most of the way there and back, but I should avoid the worst part of it all, namely, walking there because my aunt told me to.

  The first thing was to hide La Joyeuse lest my aunt should come that way. I put her behind the nearest bush, an idea put into my head by the singing of that blackbird, which only goes to show that there is some use even in blackbirds. It was rather an energetic performance, and I was unpleasantly warm by the time I reached the crest. However, I loitered slowly down the road. It would never do to be seen hot and draggled in Llwll! As I went I thought out the way I could put it to Herbertson. In no circumstances would I let him know exactly what had happened. He would be certain to pass it on to that inveterate gossip, my aunt, a lady I might say who I have found from past experience is quite incapable of minding her own business or respecting anyone’s privacy.

  ‘Good afternoon, Herbertson.’ I assumed a pleasant air. If I had shown my feelings, he would have thought that his unobliging performance had put me out, and that would have pleased him as well as started a train of thought in his mind that I did not want. I wanted him to believe that it was all quite easy. ‘Glad you’re so busy these days.’ Just to show how little deceived I was, I glanced round at his lounging assistants – ‘I found I had just a few drops of petrol after all. Just enough to get me within easy walking distance of you, so if you’ll let me have a can of Shell I’ll take it to the car and then I can go back easily.’

  ‘Within easy walking distance, Mr Edward? I’ll send a man to fill it up for you.’ His manner appeared more jovial than usual, but there seemed a curious twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I know you’re too busy to spare a man, and it’s no distance. I’ll take it along myself. You need not worry about the can, I’ll bring it back.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mr Edward. I know I could always charge you up for it if you didn’t’ (the commercial side of the man!), ‘but if it’s no distance, I’ll come along myself. I can spare a few minutes for an old customer,’ and with that the fat, red-faced fellow actually started to go on to the road as if he would walk with me to La Joyeuse! Not even in Llwll can I be seen walking along the road with a man in blue overalls. One has one’s limits. Besides, La Joyeuse was not ‘just round the corner’.

  ‘Certainly not, Herbertson,’ I retorted with firmness, and, myself picking up a can of petrol – an inferior brand as it happened, but it was the only one within reach – I stalked out of the garage with all the dignity I could command in the circumstances. There must have been something in my manner which prevented them from following me. As I turned the corner I glanced back, and, to my surprise, saw the whole garage staff standing idly in the roadway, apparently watching me. I hope that they were observing what is the correct shade in egg-shell blue for shirts and collars, but even if they do, they will spoil it with something unsuitable, for the ideas of colour of the people of Llwll are of course crude in the extreme. As they disappeared from my view, I could have sworn I heard a laugh. Something crude I had no doubt. I put Herbertson and all his menials out of my mind.

  For some time past I had been toying with an idea. I. should be going very near the post office. It would be inartistic to appear in Llwll twice – besides, so much time would be wasted that my aunt’s suspicions would be aroused. Yes, my mind was made up. Slipping the precious petrol can into the hedge, I made my way to the post office. I might as well get my books while I was about it.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Edward.’ Old Hughes, the postmaster, seemed unusually genial and pleased to see me. He, of course, left a small child to whom he was selling peppermints, for he combines shopkeeper with postmaster, and, wiping his sticky hands on a rather grubby apron, he limped to the other end of his shop. ‘You’ve come for this parcel of books of yours, I suppose, sir? Fortunate thing, sir, we know something of your habits, or we’d have sent them back to the senders, and from what Miss Powell says, that would have upset you fairly.’

  I quite refuse to believe that it is ever a fortunate thing that other people should know something of one’s habits, so I contented myself with a smile, rather a sickly one I am afraid.

  Hughes took up a parcel – rather a larger one than I had expected – with a cheerful smile. It was rather surprising that both Hughes and Herbertson, whose manner to me was generally distinctly surly, should apparently be pleased to see me. ‘Nice day for a walk, Mr Edward,’ went on the postmaster. ‘I’m afraid you will find these a bit heavy to walk back with to Brynmawr. Of course Davies could bring them tomorrow morning, if you wished, now that you have told me they are for you, and I’m afraid, by the way, I’ll have to get you to sign some sort of receipt for them, but I’m told you specially want them this afternoon, though I’m sure, sir, that now you’ve seen how nice a day it is for walking, you won’t want to spend your time with books.’

  I let him rattle on, but this second reference to ‘walking’ must be checked. ‘Oh, I’m not walking,’ I said, ‘it very rarely amuses me.’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Edward,’ said Hughes, pushing his spectacles up on to his sweaty forehead. ‘I understood you were, and I didn’t hear your car pull up.’

  ‘No, it’s just round the corner, up the turning to Brynmawr,’ I answered, and with that I left him quickly, having let him have as my final sentence the exact idea I wished him to keep firmly in his mind. There is no denying it, brains will tell.

  It was with quite a singing heart I took the turning to Brynmawr and retrieved my petrol can. I gave a glance up at the back of the post office. It was a good thing that Hughes was busy in his shop, and was besides too rheumatic to go up and down stairs easily, or he might have seen me from his windows. I looked up at them, and, to my horror, saw a distinct flicker of the hideous window curtain. This would never do. I must not be seen. With the instinctive celerity of panic, I shot behind a tree from where I could watch, in all probability, without being seen. There was no further movement of the curtain. After a few minutes I resumed my dreary uphill walk.

  But the incident had disturbed me. Herbertson’s desire to go out of his way to take the petrol to the car, his and Hughes’ geniality, Hughes’ remark – what was it? – ‘I understood you were walking’ – were all very suspicious. Now, why had he understood anything of the sort? Oh, yes, I remembered my aunt had telephoned to him about the books, and I believe had had the effrontery to say that I was going to walk down for them. Well, so I had, but I was not going to admit it to her or to old Hughes. If I had been prepared to do so, I should have fallen in with his suggestion that Davies should bring the books up the next morning, and, having just given him his receipt, have left it at that. By the way, I had given him no receipt. Incredibly careless. Now couldn’t I work something up about that? I must think.

  But not just now. All these little incidents in Llwll, insignificant though they were, were nevertheless all a little odd. Supposing – a horrid thought – supposing my aunt had envisaged all this as likely, and was waiting on the road for my return! It was so possible, that, heavily encumbered as I was with the petrol in one hand and the heavy parcel of books in the other, without a second’s delay I battered down a badly repaired gap in the hedge and got off the road into a field. There were some cattle there which pursued me a bit, but I got over the stile at the end of the pasture without having actually had to run.

  Upon the happenings of the next hour I prefer not to dwell. I had to make my way by a circuitous route so as to enter the dingle a little way away from the road. I am not well acquainted – naturally – with the inside of the wood through which I had to go, and I must have lost my way slightly. Several times I climbed qui
te steep hills, and in the irritating manner of this countryside, was immediately obliged to descend them. Eventually, however, I safely reached La Joyeuse. With what pleasure I drove her up to the house, making as much noise as possible that my aunt should hear my triumphant return. I had of course to change, but I carefully put on a shirt of the same shade so that my aunt should not observe the fact. I had, however, some trouble in concealing a rather painful scratch from a bramble on my face. As a result I was a trifle late for tea.

  ‘Well,’ said my aunt, barely troubling to finish a mouthful of cake, ‘enjoyed your walk?’

  ‘My walk?’ I flatter myself that I managed my eyebrows well.

  ‘Yes, I see you’ve got another of those wretched novels.’

  ‘Yes.’ I refused to be drawn into a discussion on the relative merits of French and English literature, especially as my aunt really knows little of either.

  ‘Then you walked down for them?’ My aunt leant forward slightly in her rather upright chair, and stared at me intently, almost offensively.

  I looked her straight in the face. ‘I left by car. I returned by car. Owing to the curious lack of petrol everywhere, I walked a few yards in Llwll. It delayed me slightly.’

  ‘Just a few yards, Edward?’

  ‘Just a few yards, Aunt Mildred.’

  A silence fell. My aunt’s face looked grim. She was taking her defeat in our little contest really rather to heart. I could almost find it possible to tell her that she had made me walk some way. It might comfort the old thing. But no, she might realize then that she had really won, and that would be intolerable.

  ‘Very well, then, dear,’ suddenly said my aunt brightly, ‘you won’t be too tired to help Evans and me put the wire-netting over the cherries. The birds will be at them soon, but we could leave it till tomorrow if you don’t feel up to it.’