Spider Light(113)
He had not missed Twygrist, although he had missed the companionship of the farmers, and all the daily bustle of the place, but he had become involved in one or two little charitable works, and there were always things to do at St Michael’s Church.
And in the end, life had gone along much as before, except that there had not been that darkened bedroom in Toft House, with Louisa’s mournful figure in it.
Miss Thomasina kept saying she would do something about Twygrist–although what she would do, she was not quite sure, and neither was anyone else.
And what lay at its heart, shut inside the disused ovens, rotted quietly away, without anyone knowing it was there.
These were not good memories to have on any night, but sitting by himself in Toft House with Maud inside Latchkill (entirely for her own safety, George said to himself firmly), they were bleak thoughts indeed. But at least the discovery of Thomasina and Simon’s bodies had not necessitated opening up the kiln. George had had some very bad moments indeed worrying about that, but it had not happened.
At a quarter to eleven he made his usual rounds of the house, checking locks and windows, and at eleven o’clock he was in bed. He was just sliding down into sleep, when something jerked him awake, and he half sat up. A sound downstairs, had it been? There ought not to have been any sound in the house at all: Mrs Plumtree was long since in bed, and the only other servant was a girl who came in twice a week for the cleaning.
It came again, and this time George identified it. A creak on the landing outside his room. And then another. Someone was walking stealthily across the landing. Towards this room? He had no idea what to do. There was no lock on the bedroom door, and there was no other door in or out of the room. The bathroom was on the other side of the landing on this floor, and it might, of course, be Mrs Plumtree, coming to use it. George did not, naturally, concern himself with Mrs Plumtree’s bathroom routines, but she had never, so far as he knew, made use of the bathroom at this hour. Perhaps she was ill.
He lay down again. It had been Mrs Plumtree after all, because he could hear the creak of the second set of stairs. She must be going back up to her room. George listened, and caught a muffled thud, and then the sound of bedsprings creaking a bit. It seemed that all was well. He rearranged himself for sleep, and this time it was a proper deep sleep. It was so deep that he did not hear the creaking of the stairs again, or the soft footfall outside his room. Nor did he wake when his bedroom door was pushed slowly open, and a figure peered round the door.
Maud had waited until the hour when her father would be in bed, then gone quietly in using the back-door key George had given her before she went to stay with Thomasina. The key had been in her bag which they had not taken away from her in Latchkill, although they had searched it and she thought the hateful Higgins had taken some money.
The familiar scents of Toft House closed round her as she went in through the scullery. She waited long enough to be sure no one was about, then went softly up the main stairs. There was a moment when the floorboards outside her father’s room creaked loudly–she had forgotten those particular creaking boards–and she froze, her heart pounding. There was a faint sound from his bedroom, but nothing happened and she went up the second flight of stairs.
Mrs Plumtree’s bedroom was at the back of the house; Maud slipped inside, carrying the pillow she had taken from the airing cupboard, and stole across to the bed. She was quite sad about having to kill Mrs Plumtree, but it was a necessary part of the plan and it had better be done as quickly as possible. She pushed the pillow down onto Mrs Plumtree’s face; the woman gave a muffled gasp and struggled. Maud had to use quite a bit of force to keep the pillow in place. It was not really difficult, although the struggles went on for longer than she had expected. She watched the little clock on the bedside cabinet ticking the minutes away, because it would be helpful to know the length of time it took to smother someone. After ten minutes it seemed to be over, and Maud removed the pillow. Yes, it was all right. Goodbye, Mabel Plumtree. Now for the next part.
She had no qualms about killing her father, who was the one person who might spoil her escape and ruin her plan. He had betrayed her by taking her to Latchkill, and Maud was not going to feel in the least conscience-stricken about this. But it was important his death remained undiscovered for as long as possible, which was why Mrs Plumtree had had to die as well–she would certainly have raised the alarm if she had found her employer dead in the morning. With both of them dead it would be at least two days–maybe three or four–before anyone realized what had happened, and by then Maud would be miles away. Safe. Free.
Her father slept in the big front bedroom on the first floor. Maud, the pillow held firmly in her hands, eased the door slowly open. Careful now, he mustn’t wake up. But it was all right: she could hear him snoring. It was a horrid ugly noise. He was sound asleep, lying on his back with his mouth open. Maud was grateful to him for sleeping on his back because it would make her task much easier. She crept over to the bed, every muscle tensed in case he woke up.
He did not wake; he went on snoring. When Maud put the pillow over his face, he spluttered and gurgled, and fought the air with his hands, trying to beat her off. But Maud was ready for that–she had known he would fight harder than Plumtree–and she knelt on the bed and brought all her weight down on the pillow. The clock said fifteen minutes to midnight, and she watched the hands tick round. Three minutes–five. He was still struggling, but not quite so frenziedly. Seven minutes. Surely he was almost dead. It had only taken Plumtree ten. But he was still twitching a bit, and his limbs were still jerking and really, you would have thought he would be dead by this time. Twelve minutes–thirteen…Ah, he had stopped struggling. Better not to take any chances, though. Maud remained kneeling on the bed, her hands pressed flat down on the pillow. Two more minutes? Yes, better be sure.