The Murder of My Aunt

by Richard Hull

  ‘For you? I should have thought he’d have added your name.’

  ‘Not if he sent it, Edward dear.’ Her voice seemed to pity my ignorance and lack of decent feeling. ‘He’s a very honourable man, you know, and would never sign anyone else’s name.’

  ‘I’m not accusing him of forgery, my dear Aunt Mildred, but I couldn’t make it out. As a matter of fact, I think it was very inconsiderate of him. I feared that something had happened to you.’

  ‘Feared? And what exactly did you think had happened? Are you sure it was “feared”, Edward?’

  Her eyes seemed to bore into my brain. For a second the whole room whirled round me. Then the strange look, if it had ever been there, died out of my aunt’s eyes. Her red face ceased to peer into mine, and instead of seeming to be so close to mine that she could see into my very brain, I was able to see that it was the normal distance off and really rather expressionless.

  ‘Why, what I mean is, what should you be frightened of? I’m very well capable of taking care of myself, Edward.’

  I do not for a moment doubt it. In fact I have very good proof that she is capable of doing so. I might even go so far as to say that ever since I was born she has spent her time demonstrating her complete ability to look after herself – if not of me. But all the same I wish I was quite sure which of her two sentences she really did mean. ‘Are you sure it was “feared”, Edward? Why, what I mean is, what should you be frightened of?’ I think I have her words right, but it makes a great deal of difference whether her real thoughts came first, and the second half was a disguise; or whether the first half was an accidental slip, a stronger phrase than she intended, and the second really genuinely explanatory. I cannot decide which of the two views is the right one.

  But I am certain of one thing. I have been reading over these conversations and considering them word by word, and I now see clearly that my aunt’s conduct is highly suspicious. I must watch her movements very carefully.

  4 · In a Garden Growing

  I

  I am now quite sure I am right. My aunt is an extremely deceitful woman. She must, I suppose, for years past have been in the habit of concealing her feelings towards me. At any rate, it is quite certain that she suspects very much more than she says of what has been happening. I cannot think exactly what she bases her suspicions on; in fact, I do not even know quite what she thinks, but I am sure she has jumped to conclusions, and unfortunately to right conclusions. Of course she is practically incapable of carrying out a logical piece of thought, but she does guess unpleasantly well.

  I can well understand that the burning of that wardrobe must have seemed odd. In fact, the more I look back on that, the more I blush about it. It all comes of taking as accurate the half-baked ideas of a man like Jack Spencer. Just because he has a sort of a commission in an infantry battalion, he must needs think that he knows everything about work more properly done by the Engineers. Besides, all the Spencers are fools. And that job was one which, if it did not succeed, was bound to look curious. I ought to have made certain of it; that was my mistake, of course, but I cannot for the life of me see how I could have made sure, unless I had covered the room with petrol, and that would have been stupid because it would have smelt so.

  However, even if that business did look curious, I still think that a really nice-minded woman would have given the thing the benefit of the doubt, and assumed that it was what it appeared to be – an accident – and that is the exact word that my aunt used today, obviously satirically, about not only that, but apparently about her smash in her car; and whatever she may say, that was an accident in a sense; and why she should imagine that it wasn’t, I cannot think. All of which merely goes to show that my aunt has a very unpleasant mind. But let me jot down the incident.

  I am, of course, not going to admit defeat. I am already casting round in my mind for a way to ensure success, and with that end in view I was trying to get information this morning from the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Rather a tiresome work, I find it; it seems to be full of information, but almost never to have the exact answer to the question one is propounding. However, I was using it for want of anything better when I was startled by hearing my aunt’s unpleasant harsh voice just behind me.

  ‘The pursuit of knowledge and Edward Powell in conjunction. Gracious me, how unexpected. Surely that can teach you nothing, my dear Edward. It’s the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and surely nothing British is of interest to you, you’re far above that,’ and thereupon she started whistling, if you please, an infuriating tune from those tawdry men, Gilbert and Sullivan, about ‘the idiot who praises in a sentimental tone every century but this and every country but his own,’ or some such words. I don’t worry to know such trash. My aunt imagines it to be a certain method of annoying me – and, to be honest, she is not far wrong! So very foolish.

  I could not help an involuntary movement of my hands to my ears, but I took very good care to close the volume quickly.

  ‘Spare us, please, Aunt Mildred, so very out of tune, and whistling!’

  ‘I’m glad you know the tune, and the sentiment, dear.’

  ‘I managed to recognize it. You generally whistle it the same way, though I doubt if it’s the way the composer meant.’

  ‘Never mind what the composer meant, Edward dear. I don’t think you could ever understand either of them. But what are you so absorbed in in the Encyclopaedia?’

  Now I could not possibly tell her exactly what I had been looking up, and unfortunately I had no ready reply prepared in advance. The situation was really rather difficult. However, if my aunt must insinuate portions of the Mikado, why shouldn’t I? With what I trust was a peculiarly exasperating smile I hummed gently:

  Tit-willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow.

  The devil may quote Gilbert – my aunt’s second Bible almost – for his purpose! The quotation game seemed to amuse her.

  ‘This haughty youth

  He speaks the truth

  Whenever he finds it pays,’

  she retorted, and under the cover of that I managed to get the volume back into the shelf and change the subject. I hoped that I had heard the end of it, but unfortunately that flattering unction was laid to my soul too soon. When I said good-night to my aunt this evening, she raised the point once more.

  ‘I didn’t insist this morning in knowing exactly what you were looking up. I fancy, Edward, you would have found it difficult to answer. Now, I only want to say one thing, I shall not allow any more’ – there seemed to be a slight pause, and just sufficient emphasis to justify my use of the word ‘satirical’ – ‘any more accidents, Edward. If I find another happens, I shall have to take action. And when I say I am going to take action, Edward, you know very well that I do, and I don’t generally give previous notice about it. So, for the first and last time, Edward, no more accidents.’

  I wouldn’t allow her, of course, to get away with that unchecked.

  ‘Oh, Aunt, I’m so glad you’re going to take some driving lessons.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Edward.’ My aunt really did seem to be annoyed. I knew that was a soft spot of hers, for in her heart of hearts I think she knows she is a bad driver. ‘Do not be silly in any way, Edward.’

  I looked at her quite steadily.

  ‘No, Aunt, I shan’t – good-night.’ And I don’t intend to be silly. I mean to be completely successful. For I have no illusions; if my aunt says she will take action, she will, and it will be very unpleasant action, too. In fact I am amazed at the courage I show in staying here after what has happened. I really think that, if my plans were to miscarry again, there would be nothing left for me but flight. Only I don’t know where to fly to. If only I did!

  I am not sure, looking back on it, that I was quite wise to bring in the car. Supposing my aunt was putting me through a sort of third-degree method – the torture being merely mental – and had deliberately suddenly said ‘accident’ to see what my reaction was? It was perhaps a mistake to have fallen i
nto the trap by saying ‘car’, but she did say ‘accidents’, not ‘accident’. However, my next move is clear. If my aunt is going to be so stupid as to be suspicious, her suspicions must be lulled forever. So far, I have been handicapped by a foolish, sentimental desire to lull them painlessly, but if she threatens ‘action’, retaliation, it must be done at all costs, even if the method is painful. I can imagine her quoting her favourite author as to ‘something lingering with boiling oil’ – not that I intend to go so far as that. But she has taken the gloves off now. There will be no rules for the future.

  2

  I have escaped for the moment from Brynmawr.

  My real reason is that I wish to look up various books of reference in peace and quiet and without the risk of being disturbed by my aunt. I discovered her, by the way, diligently searching through the Encyclopaedia, despite her statement that she did not insist on knowing what I was looking up, a performance which I can barely call truthful. Of course, I had to make some excuse to get away from Cwm, but that was not difficult. I have always refused to employ a local dentist, and even my aunt cannot deny that one’s teeth must be seen to occasionally; in fact, she is generally pressing me to go. Like so many people, she has Spartan, and doubtless correct, views about the necessity of other people going to dentists at frequent and regular intervals, but also like other people, she never puts them into practice herself.

  I also added rather cleverly, as a further excuse, that I needed to replace the clothes burnt in my wardrobe. I could not admire the way my aunt raised her eyebrows at this.

  Accordingly, then, I am writing this seated in a rather old-fashioned, uncomfortable club I belong to. I can’t think why I do. It really is entirely foreign to my nature, but apparently it was a wish of my mother’s. She seemed to have an idea, so my aunt tells me, that the old fogeys who use this place will have a tendency to turn me into an old fogey of exactly the same deplorable pattern as themselves. How they will do it is as mysterious as the wish that they should do so. However, the wish was expressed, and my aunt has sternly fulfilled it – she would. She has paid my subscription every year and calls it, forsooth, a Christmas present – a mean way of getting out of it, to my mind, and so lacking in originality. However, it saves me from having to think much. I give her a French novel in return, pointing out that she will also improve her mind by my present to her. She seldom, however, reads it, and I seldom use the club. I have one advantage over her, though. I can read the novel, but she is prohibited from coming into the club.

  Nevertheless, besides the fact that it sounds well to belong to it, there are moments when its peace is useful, and this is one of them. To be honest, I have not quite made up my mind as to the method I am going to try, and I want to think it out. So far, however, I have only got the general idea that some form of poison seems to be best. The difficulty, of course, is to find a poison which leaves no very obvious trace behind. If I could only be certain that nobody but old Spencer would make an examination, I should be comparatively happy, since, if I avoided the most obvious things, he would be sure to fail to find anything out. Another thing I want to find out is how you obtain it. That, of course, is going to be difficult. The whole idea may be impossible; still, I intend to investigate it. I have been looking round the almost incredible club library – the classical and religious rubbish there is in it is unbelievable – and I cannot find a good medical work on poisons, so I had better start with the article in the Encyclopaedia I was glancing at when my aunt interrupted me.

  Here, then, is the volume, Plan to Raym. Plants, Plumbing, Poetry. Here we are, Poison. Now let’s see what we can find that’s useful. On the whole, I think a few notes would be a good plan.

  It starts with some talk about the law – a subject which I would prefer to leave out. ‘The sale of poisons to the public is carefully controlled by law, and the danger to human life from the indiscriminate sale of poisons by unqualified persons is thereby reduced.’ Now, how very surprising that is, and how very little it helps to know it!

  Next there is some talk about powdered glass and metallic filings. Those are two good ideas to have down and find out a little more about. On the whole, though, rather too well known, too much of a vieux jeu for my taste, or my safety. ‘Poisoning may be accidental, suicidal, or homicidal. By far the commonest type is that due to accidental causes.’ Exactly. I wish I could make old Spencer read that and learn it by heart! But it is curious how this word ‘accident’ keeps cropping up. I mustn’t, of course, forget that this is to be an accident.

  Now here’s something useful in the very next sentence.

  ‘In spite of the precautions taken by the State in the sale of poisons, much too little care is taken by the public in the safeguarding of poisons in their possession, and these are commonly taken in mistake for other substances of a harmless nature, or often an overdose is taken from pure carelessness. Thus oxalic acid crystals when purchased in a paper packet may be transferred to a bottle or jar which is unlabeled, and then taken in mistake for Epsom salts, which they closely resemble.’

  I wonder if that could be worked. Probably, as I gather it from the passage I have copied out, I shouldn’t be able to buy oxalic crystals, whatever they may be. However, I’ve made a note to see if one can buy them. Also to see if there is any simple way of making them. Probably not, and there is also the difficulty that my aunt does not, so far as I know, ever take Epsom salts – which I must admit is a drawback.

  However, to return to our Encyclopaedia. Corrosive sublimate taken as Blaud’s pills. Somehow, that doesn’t appeal to me, though I should think it would come into the category of ‘something lingering with boiling oil in it’. ‘Usually the quantity of poison taken bears a relation to the effects produced’ – well, so one would think. Oh, I see, if you take too much of some things you are sick before you are poisoned, and oxalic acid is one of them. Really, this man seems to have been considering the difficulties very intelligently. I wonder if he had an aunt?

  Habit, idiosyncrasy. I can’t pretend my aunt ever had any tendency to take drugs, and as for idiosyncrasy, well, my aunt is full of them, but I don’t know her idiosyncrasies as regards aceto-salicylic acid unfortunately, and I don’t quite see how I can find out. Age, state of health, none of this seems to apply. Condition and mode of administration. Now that’s exactly what I want to be instructed in. Blessings on the fellow. I hope his paragraph is useful. It’s all too short – and dash it, it’s of very little practical use.

  From it, however, there are a few useful points to note down. Poisons are more effective when swallowed as a liquid, more rapid when taken before meals, more powerful when administered subcutaneously or intravenously. That’s all very well, but I can hardly pretend to inoculate my aunt, puncturing her skin or her veins, which I suppose is what is meant. Unless I could arrange a poisoned rusty nail? That’s one to bear in mind. I’ll put that down in my list of possibles. It would be nearer to being possible if I knew what sort of poison one used.

  To continue, Diagnosis and Treatment. That’s Spencer’s business. Characteristics. This needs careful reading … Corrosive, Irritant, Systematic, Gaseous Poisons, Poisonous Foods. There may be some idea to be picked up from the last heading which includes mushrooms and shellfish. It would be poetic justice if mushrooms could be brought in, for both Spencer and my aunt dared to doubt my word as to the mushrooms I thought I saw in the meadow in front of Brynmawr just before poor So-so was so foully murdered.

  Corrosive poisons. These seem very unpleasant, even worse than I care to contemplate, and, moreover, apparently very easily detected, and even possibly curable. That won’t do. There must be no mistake this time; one of the remedies is so simple a thing as white of egg, and that could be got in any quantity at Brynmawr without difficulty. I must try to find something requiring a more obscure antidote.

  Ammonia seems to be a possibility. One could, I suppose, get hold of it fairly easily; but I see one has to get a specially strong solution, whi
ch might be difficult, even though one drachm has been sufficient to cause death, and so probably two would be enough. I wonder, by the way, exactly how much a drachm is? But anyhow, you can’t help noticing the smell. It isn’t as if I was going to have the opportunity of forcibly feeding my aunt. However, that can go down amongst the possibles.

  Here, I think, is another. ‘Carbolic acid is commonly used as a disinfectant for domestic purposes. Allied preparations such as creosote, creosol, have a similar poisonous effect.’ (I could easily get hold of creosol, and then there’s Jeyes, I wonder if that’s got carbolic acid in it?) ‘Carbolic acid is one of the poisons most frequently used by suicides,’ goes on my valuable if unconscious colleague. Now I wonder if I could make it look like suicide? On the whole I think not. That means inquiry; besides, my aunt has no reasons in the world to do such a thing, unless – ironic thought – you call me one! ‘And owing to its common use for domestic purposes accidental poisoning by it often occurs.’ Excellent! But how can anybody drink enough carbolic acid to poison themselves without noticing the taste? Surely you’d be bound to spot it, even in a cocktail, and I’ve had one of those so badly made that it tasted nearly as nasty.

  One of these drachm things, I see, has caused death in twelve hours. Too slow. Even old Spencer might effect a cure in that time, especially as, since it is a common poison, he might perhaps know something about curing it. I shan’t even put it down.

  And now for the Irritant poisons. ‘Oxalic acid is commonly used for cleaning straw hats, removing ink stains, cleaning brasses, etc. It is frequently the cause of accidental and suicidal poisoning.’ Then I presume that, after all, it cannot be so difficult to get. Yes, and my aunt was very sarcastic about my straw hat; straw boater, was her offensive phrase. Underline oxalic acid.