‘I thought that was obvious.’ Felicia took a baby step. ‘I think we’ve always been mean to each other because deep down we like each other. That’s quite common. It’s always happening in books. But then, when you burst through that bathroom door and saved my life, I saw the real you. You are my hero.’ She placed her hand flat on his chest so she could feel his heart beating. She closed her eyes and leaned in. Ovid realised to his horror that she was not about to push him into the water. She wasn’t going to kill him. It was worse than that. She was going to kiss him. With equal bewilderment and disgust, he discovered he was going to let her.
A Two-way Kiss
Lorelli had kept her bicycle a secret from Ovid, so it was easy enough to follow him to Little Fledgling. She watched him park, then found a spot where she could observe but not hear his encounter with Felicia. When it came to the kiss, Lorelli found it embarrassing to watch. She turned to leave, only to find Millicent standing silently behind her.
‘I hate her,’ she said, staring at Felicia and Ovid. ‘She knew I liked him. I hate them both.’
‘Come on.’ Lorelli placed an arm over her shoulder and led her away. ‘He’s just confused.’
‘He didn’t look confused.’
They took a bridge over the river. Millicent stopped halfway and kicked a stone into the water. She looked down at the ripple.
‘It was only a kiss,’ said Lorelli.
‘You saw it. It wasn’t just her kissing him. He kissed her.’
‘He’s an idiot,’ admitted Lorelli. ‘He had to read a bunch of books to work out what to do on his date with you. He wrote up his findings like it was a science project.’
Millicent showed no sign of amusement.
‘Do you think he likes her?’
‘No. He can’t stand her.’
Millicent snorted. ‘I know how he feels.’
‘Millicent, as much as it pains me to say it, my brother isn’t a bad person. Not really.’
‘Isn’t he?’ demanded Millicent. ‘He’s spent his life trying to kill you.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Lorelli, stunned. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Oh come on. Everyone knows. You’re the Thornthwaite twins. It’s what you do.’
‘Everyone?’ Millicent’s words rang in Lorelli’s ears like a tolling bell. All this time, she had been under the impression that their murderous past was a secret. Could it be true that the world knew? ‘But … if you knew, why did you want to be my friend?’
‘I didn’t. Felicia made me. It was part of her stupid plan.’ They stopped on a corner and waited for an elderly couple to pass.
‘What plan?’ asked Lorelli. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘She wanted to befriend you so she could get her hands on your inheritance. I was supposed to win over Ovid while she took care of you.’
‘Took care of me?’
‘Took care of you,’ echoed Millicent darkly. ‘She was using me to get to Ovid because she couldn’t bear the thought of being near him herself.’ Millicent snorted. ‘She seems to have changed her mind about that.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Lorelli.
‘That night with the chandelier, we were in the house too. She disappeared to go to the toilet just before it happened. And the glass statue, that was all her idea. It was all part of the plan.’
‘And you went along with all this?’ said Lorelli.
‘No. I didn’t know how crazy she was.’ Millicent tapped her head to indicate that Felicia was mad. ‘It was just a game. As soon as I understood she was serious, I told her I would have nothing to do with it. That’s when she turned on me. She got Dad to scare Ovid away, then she took him for herself.’
‘Felicia? I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s an act. All of it. I’d watch your back if I were you.’
‘What do you mean?’
Millicent put on a baby voice to imitate Felicia. ‘Ovvy-wovvy, wouldn’t it be cosier with just the two of us? Wouldn’t it be nicer if Lori-chicken’s goose was cooked?’
Back to Normal
Ovid and Lorelli were not alone in feeling that life at Thornthwaite Manor had returned to normal. Hazel stood in the kitchen, slowly stirring a pan of Mrs Bagshaw’s winter vegetable soup. It did not smell good. She missed Beaufort. She felt terrible for admitting this even to herself, but it wasn’t the same without him. Mrs Bagshaw’s bland food had been bearable before Hazel understood the full possibilities of a kitchen. Her taste buds had been awakened. Her eyes had been opened.
Mrs Bagshaw hummed to herself as she diced carrots, oblivious to Hazel’s guilt and despair. Nurse Griddle stepped into the kitchen and wrinkled her large, cavernous nose.
‘Mrs Bagshaw,’ she said, ‘what a relief it is to have you back at the manor.’
‘Why thank you, Nurse Griddle,’ responded Mrs Bagshaw. ‘It’s a pleasure to be back.’
‘Hazel has missed you terribly.’
It was true. Hazel had missed her mum. Mrs Bagshaw had always been there for her. Her relentless cheerfulness in the face of so much darkness had been as constant and reassuring as the sun in the sky.
‘Oh, Eileen,’ said Mrs Bagshaw. ‘I am very grateful to you for looking after her during my stay away.’
‘I have done very little,’ said Nurse Griddle honestly. ‘But tell me of your release. Tom said it was your turnips that sealed the deal.’
‘That’s right,’ replied Mrs Bagshaw. ‘I made one of my special soups, and it went down so well that the prison governor immediately allowed me out. Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘It’s certainly remarkable,’ said Nurse Griddle.
Mrs Bagshaw leaned over Hazel’s shoulder, grabbed her hand and made her stir faster. ‘That’s it, my girl. Keep it moving. We don’t want lumps for the young masters.’ She turned to Nurse Griddle. ‘How are they? They seemed a little subdued to me. Hazel has been telling me about their uncle putting them in his will.’
‘Yes,’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘Obviously Tom and I have our concerns about his motives, but the young masters must be allowed to make their own decisions.’
‘What if they choose to go and live with their uncle?’ said Hazel.
Both her mothers turned to look at her.
‘Why on earth would they decide to do such a thing?’ asked Nurse Griddle.
‘Perhaps they fear waking up one day and discovering that they have wasted their lives in this place,’ said Hazel pointedly.
Nurse Griddle’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are we really talking about them?’
Hazel released the spoon. It spun round, then disappeared beneath the surface of the liquid. ‘Why did you make him go away?’ she said.
‘Make who go away?’ said Mrs Bagshaw.
‘You deserve better than him,’ said Nurse Griddle, ignoring her.
‘Than who?’ asked Mrs Bagshaw.
‘There’s no one better than him,’ said Hazel. ‘I want to be like him.’
‘You want to run away from your responsibilities like he did?’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘You want to be as selfish as he has been. Is that it?’
‘You were the one who said I had to make something of my life!’ Hazel was screaming now. ‘I don’t want you. I want to go with my father.’
‘Father?’ said Mrs Bagshaw. ‘What father?’
‘Artie Newly,’ said Nurse Griddle.
‘His name is Beaufort Nouveau,’ said Hazel. ‘I want to go with him. I want to become a chef like him.’
Nurse Griddle took a step closer and said in a voice that sizzled with quiet anger, ‘That man is not your father. He lost that chance when he left you.’
‘So did you!’ shouted Hazel, running from the kitchen to find somewhere quiet to weep.
Glassworks Death Trap
Lorelli stood outside Cricks’ Glassworks, staring at her reflection in an ornately framed circular mirror. She thought about what Millicent had said. She wondered if it could possibly be true about Felicia. No
, she couldn’t believe it. Felicia was too vain to be scheming. She was too silly. Too Felicia. Millicent had either misunderstood or she was jealous. But that didn’t change the fact that everyone knew the truth about the Thornthwaite twins.
All this time, Lorelli had tried so hard to keep her past hidden, but everyone knew; the postman on his bicycle, the window cleaner, the young family walking past. Across the road, she saw a curtain twitch, and Lorelli suddenly felt very conspicuous. She stepped into the shop to hide.
‘Hello, Lorelli,’ said Mrs Crick. ‘If you’re after Felicia, I’m afraid she’s out. You’re welcome to sit and wait for her. I’m sure she won’t be long. As you can see, we’re hardly rushed off our feet.’
The shop was empty, apart from the shelves of glassworks. To Lorelli, they looked more like rows of deadly weapons. She tried to shake the thought from her head.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Mrs Crick.
‘Yes, sorry, I’m just a bit cold,’ she said quietly.
‘You’re welcome to come through to the workshop to warm up.’
‘Thank you.’ Lorelli followed her inside. The warmth of the burning furnaces made her feel light-headed.
‘Are you making anything at the moment?’ she asked.
‘No. The cooling kiln is full. I’ve got some errands to run and my husband is upstairs in the flat. Actually, would you mind keeping an eye on the shop for five minutes while I pop out? That way he won’t have to inflict his pyjamas on an unsuspecting world.’
‘Of course. That’s fine.’
Mrs Crick plucked her coat from a hook. ‘Thank you, Lorelli. You’re a lovely girl, and, may I say, I think you’re doing Felicia the world of good.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Mrs Crick bit her lip. ‘Just that it’s good to see her so content. So happy.’
‘Isn’t she always like that?’
‘It doesn’t seem like it to us, but then we’re parents. It’s our job to worry.’
‘What do you worry about?’
Mrs Crick pulled a pair of tatty gloves from her pocket and placed them by the till. ‘Martin and I have never put much value on money. We wouldn’t have gone into this business if we had. But Felicia is different. I don’t know why. Martin thinks it’s all those books she reads about silly rich kids having jolly adventures. But I don’t know if that’s true. I think it’s because rebelling is what children do. Show them one way, they’ll find another.’
‘You’re saying she only cares about money?’ said Lorelli, thinking about what Millicent had said about Felicia.
‘Yes, but being friends with you, she’s getting to see what it’s really like being that rich.’ Mrs Crick picked up a set of keys from a bowl. ‘She can see that money doesn’t buy you happiness.’
‘You don’t think I’m happy?’ The heat making Lorelli feel giddy. She steadied herself on a chair.
‘I think you’re real. And real is much more complicated. So, I’ll be back in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.’
Lorelli sat down and stared into the burning furnaces. She imagined half-formed faces and dancing figures in the flames. She remembered the last time she had stared with such intensity into a fire. A year ago, when she had watched her family home go up in flames. The fire brigade had arrived and Thornthwaite Manor had endured, but she still remembered that feeling of liberation as she had watched it burn.
When the shop bell rang it made Lorelli jump. She tried the connecting door, but it was locked from the other side. She wiggled the handle.
‘Hello?’ she called.
There was no response.
‘Felicia? Mrs Crick?’
Nothing.
The bulb overhead went off, meaning the only light was that of the soft orange glow from the fire. CLICK. The cooling kiln door popped open. Lorelli could see the newly made glassworks inside. The sound of a crack brought to mind Mr Crick’s words – that if the glass cooled too quickly it would explode. There were so many, the explosion would fill the room with broken glass. She rattled the connecting door but it would not open.
‘Help!’ she shouted. ‘Is anyone there?’
It was no use. Lorelli looked around the room. There was no other way out. There was nowhere to hide. Lorelli pulled a hairclip from her hair and fiddled with the lock. She tried to focus on the job, ignoring thoughts of her impending death.
She knew from experience that it took time to pick a lock with a hairclip, so she was surprised and relieved when the door swung open. Mr Crick took her hand and pulled her out of the workshop. He slammed the door behind them as the glass in the workshop exploded, causing the whole building to shake. The glass ornaments that filled the shop tinkled and clinked as they wobbled precariously on the shelves. A tall vase on a shelf above Lorelli toppled. She caught it and handed it to Mr Crick.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Lorelli. ‘I think it was the power.’ Mr Crick tried a light switch. ‘The power cut must have triggered the oven door to open. I’m so sorry. There’s supposed to be a back-up generator.’
‘The door was locked.’
‘The latch must have come off. Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Lorelli. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘You shouldn’t go anywhere. You’re in shock. I’m sure Felicia will be back in a minute.’
Lorelli had known enough death traps to understand that she was on the wrong end of one. There was no doubt about it. Someone was trying to kill her and, given the circumstances, it seemed pretty clear who that someone was. Felicia Crick.
‘I have to go,’ she said, and she was out of the door before Mr Crick could stop her.
A Fugitive
Ovid’s research into the world of dating had taught him that his first kiss should leave him feeling, as one rather wordy author had put it, ‘as light as a feather fluttering on a gentle summer’s breeze’. This had proved inaccurate. Ovid did not feel light. He felt heavy. Anxiety gripped him. Ovid’s first kiss had been with Felicia Crick. The girl he thought he liked had rejected him. The girl he thought he hated had kissed him. It was confusing and deeply troubling.
On top of this, there was a good chance that someone was trying to kill him and his sister. The timing of the chandelier incident had coincided with Uncle Harry’s arrival, but Ovid couldn’t work out what he would stand to gain. The estate would go to Old Tom and Nurse Griddle if the twins were killed. Besides, Uncle Harry was rich enough as it was. But if life at Thornthwaite Manor had taught him anything, it was that no one was above suspicion: Old Tom, Nurse Griddle, Mrs Bagshaw, the Farthings, Uncle Harry, Hazel. Ovid couldn’t even trust his own sister, but Lorelli was not his current prime suspect. Dragos Vaduva had the skillset to create the traps, he had the access and, if he believed there was gold in that old mine, he had the motive.
Then again, perhaps the whole thing was in his mind. Had he spent so long under a cloak of paranoia that he saw conspiracies and plots where there were none?
As Ovid freewheeled down the gravel driveway towards Thornthwaite Manor, he spotted Dragos walking up the hill in the direction of the old mine. He wore his hard hat and was carrying a bag over his shoulder. He was about to follow when Lorelli stepped out of the stables.
‘Jolly fun morning?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ he replied cautiously.
‘I’ll ask Hazel to bring some ginger pop and gummy bears and you can tell me all about it.’ Lorelli smiled.
‘Tell you about what?’
Lorelli sighed. ‘Why can’t we trust each other?’
‘Force of habit, I suppose.’
‘It’s Felicia,’ said Lorelli.
‘What is?’ Ovid tried to hide his embarrassment.
‘She’s the one trying to kill me. She cut the chandelier and gave me the statue and this morning she locked me in her
parents’ studio and cut the power so that the glass would explode.’
‘The chandelier, the statue and the exploding vases,’ said Ovid. ‘All glass. If she is trying to kill you, she’s certainly got style.’
‘This isn’t a joke.’
‘Of course it’s a joke. Felicia? A murderer? She’s harmless. Anyway, she can’t have tried to kill you this morning.’
‘Oh, this was after your little encounter with her by the old mill.’
‘You’ve been spying on me,’ said Ovid.
Lorelli looked pityingly at her brother. ‘We need to look out for each other,’ she said. ‘We need to be honest with each other.’
‘I don’t think that’s possible for us,’ said Ovid. ‘But I don’t think you’re right about Felicia. It was Dragos who lied to us and I just saw him walking up towards the mine.’
‘Dragos has been nothing but good to us since his arrival,’ said Lorelli.
‘So you trust him, do you?’ replied Ovid.
‘What are you saying? That he was behind the attacks? For what reason?’
‘Maybe there is something about Old Silas’s mine.’
The twins’ conversation was interrupted by the sound of an approaching motor. Ovid turned around to see a police car pulling up outside. ‘Don’t say you called the police,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Lorelli.
The car stopped and Sergeant Putnam squeezed himself out of the driver’s seat.
‘Afternoon, young Thornthwaites.’ The large police officer took out his notepad and flicked it open. ‘Now, I think you probably know why I’m here.’
‘Actually no,’ said Ovid.
Sergeant Putnam coughed. ‘A rather serious matter of a fugitive you are harbouring on your estate.’
Lorelli and Ovid looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Jenny. Uncle Harry had warned them the authorities would come looking for her.
‘We have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Lorelli.
‘Now, now,’ Sergeant Putnam shook his head. ‘Lying to an officer of the law is not a good idea. I have reliable witnesses that she was seen coming here. Let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be.’
The Thornthwaite Betrayal Page 14
