Spider Light(41)
And really, she must be more disturbed by the atmosphere than she had thought, because she could still hear the hoarse creaking voice of the mill all around her.
Does it matter if he’s dead or not, Thomasina? You know what you’re going to do next, so it really doesn’t matter if he’s dead or alive. You don’t need to care.
‘I don’t care,’ said Thomasina angrily to the voices, and standing up she brushed the dust from her skirt. Simon was dead–of course he was, and a very good riddance to him–and she must get on with the next part of the plan.
If she had been able to drag Simon’s body as far as the reservoir, or out to the Amber River, she would have tipped his body into the water and trusted to luck that he would not be found. But she did not think she could manage it. Simon was too heavy for her, and there was also the risk of someone seeing them. She was taking no chances about this; Simon’s death must look like an accident.
She relit her candle and the one Simon had been carrying which had rolled into a corner and snuffed itself out, and positioned them both on the ground at intervals along the tunnels.
Beacon lamps to light the way to a man’s tomb, Thomasina?
No, just to show me where I’m going.
Hooking her hands under Simon’s arms, she dragged him towards the kiln room. It took longer than she anticipated, because she had to keep stopping and moving the candles along with her to see her way, but eventually she got him to the steel doors, thankfully released her grip, and straightened up.
The kiln-room doors were shut, of course: when Twygrist was empty they always were shut to contain any fire that might break out from a spark kindling in the brick grate. But they were also kept shut to prevent people wandering into the kiln room and being trapped if the doors closed. George Lincoln had explained this to Thomasina and Simon, and had impressed on them that they must never go down there by themselves. Dangerous, he said solemnly. The doors were constructed so they would swing inwards at the lightest touch, and if that should happen, Thomasina and Simon might be imprisoned and might not be found for a very long time.
Thomasina grasped the handle on the left-hand door and pulled hard. At first the door refused to budge–it was solid steel and there seemed to be some kind of track that sloped down into the room itself, so that opening the door was almost like pulling it uphill. But eventually there was a screech of protesting hinges and she was able to force it all the way back and wedge it against the wall with the iron bar she had used on Simon. Only when she was satisfied that it could not swing shut and trap her, did she drag Simon inside.
Even though it was years since fires had burned down here, the air felt dry and raw and Thomasina found herself disliking the place very much. After a moment’s thought she arranged Simon’s body just inside the door, half-propped against the right-hand side. When he was eventually found–which might be quite a long time–it would appear that he had accidentally shut himself in and been trying to get out.
And the blows to the head? What if they’re noticed, Thomasina?
What if people wonder what Simon was doing inside Twygrist?
It would be easy enough to say that she and Simon had discussed the possibility of reviving Twygrist and the family business, and that Simon had mentioned taking a look at the mill while he was here.
As for the blows to the head, they would probably be thought the result of his falling down while trying to get out, but it did not really matter what conclusion was reached about that, no one was going to suspect Simon’s own cousin of killing him.
Thomasina took a final look round, shining the candle into all the corners. There was nothing to indicate she had been down here, and as soon as she got back to Quire she would get rid of the rust-stained gown she was wearing, and wash the smell and the taste of Twygrist away. Her mind dwelt pleasantly for a moment on a lavishly hot bath, scented soap and fluffy towels.
Finally, she bent down to remove the iron bar that had wedged the door. She would not risk leaving it down here. She would throw it into the reservoir on her way back to Quire.
For a moment she thought the door was not going to swing back into place, but then the hinges gave another banshee-shriek, and began to move. Thomasina watched it, gnawing at the knuckles of one hand with nervous anticipation. Supposing she had knocked the tracks out of true when she forced it open, or supposing the door itself had warped with age and would not close? But it was all right. The door scraped grittily over the ground, and then with a muffled clang, locked into place alongside its fellow.
Twygrist’s kiln room, with Simon inside it, was sealed.
It was already growing dark outside–Thomasina saw she must have been inside Twygrist for a long time. All to the good, however; it meant she was unlikely to be seen walking back to Quire House.
She threw the iron bar into the reservoir, waited to be sure it sank, and then set off along the lanes. Her mind was already moving ahead, working out what she would say to people–it might be as well to say Simon had left Quire without any word, not even taking his luggage. She could appear puzzled and slightly concerned which would be natural and innocent behaviour.
Her original plan for Maud and Simon would obviously need to be altered. Thomasina considered telling people that Maud and Simon had actually been married, but decided against it. Simon’s body would eventually be found, and if Maud was believed to be his widow all kinds of complications might arise.