The Thin Woman (36 page)

“Uncle Arthur admired your …” Ben struggled for the word, “fortitude?”

“Oh yes, he thought me absolutely sweet.” Aunt Sybil smoothed out the cement mixture with the back of her spade. “I do hope this doesn’t crack. Life is full of mixed blessings. If those workmen had come when promised to fix the iron gates, I wouldn’t have had this stuff on hand. I would have had to think of some other way of disposing of poor Merlin. And what a pity; this seems so à propos. Now what was I saying about Uncle Arthur? Ah, I remember, he doted on me and I suppose I was in love with him, too. I always hoped that poor Merlin would grow into a man like his father, but no spine and, fortunately, no imagination. Half a century I wasted trying to mould him, loving the man I wanted him to be. You see I had been given a glimpse of what I wanted. Dear Uncle Arthur, he loved the way I managed the house.”

“Later, didn’t you ever think of moving away, making
a new life for yourself?” Ben was inching forward. I was reminded of the childhood game of statues. Each time Aunt Sybil looked up, he froze.

“What, and leave Merlin?” Aunt Sybil looked positively shocked. “I loved him, or thought I did. Lately I have begun to wonder if my feelings were a prolonged infatuation. You didn’t understand the kind of love I had for him, did you? And that’s where you made your mistake. Animal passion isn’t rational, it changes. To hatred in this case. I felt the first stirrings when he and Jonas sat chuckling over their masquerade; I had been so happy when I realized that vulgar common man was dying. Merlin had fetched a London specialist to see him, and then they had to go and spoil it all. Jonas took the news that his number was up very well.… He’d always thought he had something the matter with him so he was bound to be pleased. In a joking way he said his only regret was that he couldn’t be at his own funeral. That gave them the idea. Merlin had me write and invite all the family down so he could choose his heirs. The treasure hunt and all the other hocus-pocus was an added inspiration. He took one of his peculiar fancies to you both. Thought you had spunk.”

“What did Uncle Merlin plan to do at the end of six months, rise from the dead?” My fear was evaporating. I felt slightly fuzzy. Why was I standing in a room full of tombs, communing with a mad woman while she cemented up the ex-love of her life. “Is he,” my voice quavered slightly, “still alive?”

“Oh yes.” She nodded cheerfully. “Only drugged. That’s half the fun. I’m hoping he will come round just before I cover up his face. You were asking about Merlin’s plans. He told me nothing about the treasure or those childish clues, but I think that originally he intended to let the dice fall where they might. If you accomplished the goals set for you, the house and money would be yours, exactly as the will said. But I told you he wasn’t a realist. He became fond of you. He said Ellie had restored the house to the way it was in his mothers day. As though I didn’t work
my fingers to the bone. He made a new life without me, he didn’t need me; now, if he had been dead I could have understood.… Well, enough of that. Whatever happened he didn’t want you to leave. If you were not eligible for the inheritance, he was going to face the legal consequences and return like Lazarus to establish your rights of property.”

“Aunt Sybil,” Ben said admiringly, “you really are an incredible woman, pulling the wool over our eyes as you did, disappearing so that instead of being suspicious of you we would worry about your safety. And all the time you were hiding out in your own cottage, weren’t you?”

Aunt Sybil nodded and giggled. “So much fun. But it wasn’t you I wanted to worry about me, it was him. I left those water wings on the ground near his bonfire so he would think I had drowned, but what did he care? And what could I expect after the way he spoke to me at your dinner party? Before that, I had done a couple of things to show I was not pleased with the new arrangement but after that night I definitely decided to kill him.”

“You always seemed so devoted to him,” I said.

“I was.” She dropped another load of cement on top of Uncle Merlin and patted it into shape. “Stupid, of course. These one-sided affairs are never meant to last. For years I used to dream about going to the South of France on my honeymoon.”

So that was the reason for the travel brochures in the secret drawer.

“I’ve had my days of being hurt, now it’s his turn.” The wicked eyes looked out of the bland face. “Does this look even? I want his knees to look right, knobby and disjointed.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Aunt Sybil looked relieved. “As you young people would say, I’m into total honesty now. Goodness knows I deluded myself for years. That miserable man wasted my life.” She hummed as she trimmed a rough edge. “My mother died before she could warn me about the selfishness of men. I didn’t mind going to the cottage, I dared to hope that it
would become our love nest; every time a knock sounded at the door I hoped it was him.”

“Those times when I stopped at the cottage I had the feeling you were disappointed—that you hoped I was someone else,” I said.

She continued smoothing cement. “I even flirted with that twerp the vicar at your party to make Merlin jealous, silly me. And very foolishly I imagined that if you and Mr. Hamlet gave up and left, life would return to the old pattern. Merlin never suspected I was the one who put those chocolates in your room, Ellie, and washed that really stupid book. If you had wanted lessons in pornography you should have come to the expert—me. Wasn’t it clever of me to invite Freddy to come and look things over at the house? Told him not to say anything, but that I was worried about you. Knew he’d panic, that his father, being so desperate for money, had been up to something. And I wanted you to suspect him. You see, I was worried that one of you might begin to wonder about me, but you foolish dopes”—she reached out and aimed a playful poke at us—“you were so easily duped it took the fun away.”

“Sorry.” We were now standing directly across the tomb from her. I dug my fingers through the wet cement and squeezed part of Uncle Merlin’s hand.

“I do wish I had a palette knife,” murmured Aunt Sybil. “Yes, my feelings for Merlin changed. You giddy young things don’t realize that a woman scorned is the same at any age. Until that night of your dinner party I forced myself to overlook his cavalier treatment of me, but when he insulted me in front of the vicar for calling his mother what she was, and referred to me as a dried-up spinster, I knew he had to die. In the heat of the moment I almost called him by his own name, but later I was calm; I planned it all, luring you from the house, so I could jimmy the dumb-waiter and if possible snare the cat. Dorcas, old stick-in-the-mud, was a problem, but I fixed her tea. I asked Lulu to telephone at a precise time and keep the woman in conversation for several minutes. She was too stupid to ask why.”

“Perhaps she guessed what you were up to, and approved your marvellous methodical scheme,” said Ben.

“Oh, I would like to think so,” sighed Aunt Sybil. “One does so like to be appreciated. I was rather proud of the dumb-waiter. I knew Merlin was still in the habit of using it.”

“Of course,” I said. “He did have that uncanny habit of popping up where least expected.” Aunt Sybil had worked her way up to Merlin’s chin.

“That was one of the things that bothered me.” Ben seemed determined to keep her talking. “The chance of Ellie or me stepping inside that contraption was so slim.”

“Yes, but she had to be such a busy little bee.” Aunt Sybil looked sullen and then brightened. “I took the cat as an extra treat. Merlin was meant to find it when he came out of the stables in the morning. But fate was unkind. This afternoon, too, how could I have foreseen when I crept up from behind and pushed that cart that Mr. Hamlyn had borrowed Merlin’s hat and coat. I was so sure I had finished him off at last, and if Ellie went too that was the icing on the cake. Oh well, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try, and try again! Don’t you think I’ve made a lovely job of him?”

“Superlative!” came our unanimous response.

Aunt Sybil stood back and admired her handiwork. “Is there anything else you two meddlers want cleared up? Any more questions? Good. I would like you to know that whilst I did resent your moving into my home, once I began to hate Merlin I scarcely gave you a thought. Petty jealousies seemed so insignificant. I do hope you understand.”

“Oh, we do.” Ben and I nodded in fervent agreement.

“Because,” Aunt Sybil cosily smiled, “I would not like your taking my having to kill you personally.” She came slashing towards us with the spade. Ben dived for her legs, but she was too quick; whamming down on his head she shrieked with gleeful laughter. “One down and one to go,” she chortled as he grunted and rolled over. “My, doesn’t time fly when one is having fun!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the granite figure of Uncle Merlin rise slowly upon his tombstone bed. “Run,
Ellie,” he crackled. Aunt Sybil turned ready to flatten the mummified Lazarus. For now she had abandoned me, and I was free to make a break to try and find some help, but I couldn’t let her drive that sheet of metal down on Uncle Merlin’s head. I was amazed at her strength as I leapt on her back. We wrestled frantically, both of us clinging to the handle of the spade. If only I had taken Jill’s judo lessons more seriously! Aunt Sybil was winning, dragging me backwards with her. We almost tripped over Ben’s inert body. I felt Merlin’s agonized gaze upon us, powerless to intervene. We were at the door locked in a hideous embrace. Despite her age and rotund build, she was as spry as a cat. I could not hold on much longer. My hands were slimy as cold cream on the wooden handle. It slipped from my grasp.

Something thumped into the back of my head. At first I thought it was the spade until I realized that the metal blade was still pointing towards the floor. “Don’t move,” ordered a familiar voice, and I realized the blow had been struck by the door opening inward. “Drop your weapon. I am fully armed. Don’t suppose I mentioned it, never one to boast, but our school represented England for archery. Didn’t take me a minute to make this bow from a curtain rail and some twine. Knitting needles make marvellous arrows.”

“Would you mind telling me,” I asked sharply, “which one of us you intend to shoot?”

“Neither of you, if you behave sensibly. Ellie, move away from Sybil.”

“More interference,” snapped Aunt Sybil, sounding genuinely peeved. “I was so certain you were tied up safe and sound in my cellar, and here you come butting your long nose into my business. Oh! And things were going so well.”

“To a Girl Guide leader,” said Dorcas austerely, “knots are child’s play once that drug you gave me wore off. Climbing out that tiny window was something else, but I managed in time. Now will you please drop that spade? That’s right. Ellie, you take it and see if you can dig out Uncle Merlin, he’s beginning to set.”

“How did you know he’s Merlin and not Jonas? And what about Ben? He’s an unwitting victim, not like that devious old man who brought much of this on himself.”

“If you really love Ben”—Dorcas ignored my first question—“you’ll let him sleep this one off.” Standing legs apart she pointed the arrow at Aunt Sybil’s chest. “He’s going to have a killing headache when he wakes up.”

“How you do remind me of your grandmother,” Aunt Sybil remarked nastily. She turned her head slightly towards me. “You do realize that she is a by-blow of that nefarious relationship between Abigail and the artist. I recognized the likeness at once, same long nose, scraggy build, and gingery hair. How did you like my little note on the refrigerator door? ‘Who is Dorcas? What is she?’ My own version of dear Willie Shakespeare’s lovely poem. That’s one way clever Dick here guessed. She remembered my passion for the Bard, and came hoppity-hop knocking on my parlour door, or rather she sneaked in with my spare key, and then you know what she noticed? That someone had been in the cottage. Those heads of Merlin weren’t on the mantelpiece as they had been on the day you came to the cottage and found my note. Of course not, I took them down a week ago and ground them up in my blender. What is old eagle-eye? She’s the granddaughter of a whoring slut and a baby-faced homewrecker.”

The bow quivered in Dorcas’s hand, but she steadied it. “Do not sully the memory of my dear grandparents with your unsavoury comments. Two finer people never lived.”

Aunt Sybil took her advantage. “Really?” she asked blandly. “And did your mother enjoy being a bastard?” Dorcas gasped, her arrow slipped long enough for Aunt Sybil to ram her into the wall and make good her escape through the door.

“After her,” bellowed Dorcas, clambering back on her feet.

“I’m ready,” shouted a cement-caked Uncle Merlin.

We must have made a weird trio as we pounded into the churchyard, one red-headed woman pointing a makeshift bow and arrow, a crumbling granite man, and a young
woman wielding a spade, all in pursuit of a stout elderly lady dodging among the tombstones. What would have happened if deliverance had not arrived in humble guise—Fready and Jill vaulting tombstones in perfect Olympic form—I will never know.

“Don’t hurt her,” cried Freddy to his teammate. “She probably can’t help it. This may have been coming on since she hit thirty.”

Jill said later that she subdued Aunt Sybil by the ultimate nonviolent weapon—hypnosis. True, she barely touched her. As Jill leapt, arms lifted and outstretched, eves blazing, hair spiking, she looked like an avenging angel from the land of fire and brimstone, and when she screamed, “Look into my eyes,” Aunt Sybil fainted.

EPILOGUE

I experienced a wave of sadness when Aunt Sybil was taken, babbling incoherently, to a small private hospital where it seemed likely she would spend her final years. A remorseful Uncle Merlin would make payment for past sins by visiting her every Sunday and taking her flowers from the garden. He could do this in safety because Aunt Sybil was a little girl again living with her beloved Uncle Arthur. For her, Merlin Grantham no longer existed. In a sense she was right.