Thorn by Sarah Rayne

had inherited shares in Ingram’s from grandfathers or uncles, and all of them enjoyed a modest affluence as a result. Dilys and Rosa were part of several very pleasant little social circles in Battersea, which would not have been possible without their twice-yearly dividends. Elspeth was married to George who was thought to make a reasonably good living out of exporting porcelain, but it was unlikely that he could have run to the very expensive country club in Maidenhead or the delightful cottage in Stratford without his wife’s income. The frivolous cousin, whose name was Juliette, dashed around London in an open-top BMW and had a flat near Kensington High Street, both of which were certainly beyond her salary. And even Flora, with the pensions of two dead husbands and the alimony of a third live one, found herself hesitating and remembering such things as season tickets for Glyndebourne and the Royal Ballet, and first-class travel.
    She said, rather sharply, ‘But even if we agreed, how could we do it? It would mean deceiving undertakers, coroners . . . The – well, the actual wounds would have to be disguised as well. Could we really do all that?’
    There was a thoughtful silence. After a moment Thalia said, as if still considering the matter, ‘It might be possible. We would have to trust one another absolutely, of course. If we went ahead, there’d have to be no attacks of conscience afterwards.’
    â€˜If anyone wants to bow out, they’d better do so now,’ said Rosa. ‘Just get up and go. No one will think any the worse.’
    Juliette murmured, ‘Leave now or for ever hold your peace,’ and Aunt Dilys said very firmly that they were only
considering
the idea.
    Cousin Elspeth’s husband, who was as anxious as anyone to avoid a scandal, said, ‘But what about all the – well, the practical things? Could they be coped with? It would mean – well, for one thing, it would mean cleaning up the room before the undertakers were let in.’
    â€˜They could be taken to another bedroom. Royston and Eloise. And, well, laid out tidily.’
    â€˜Could we do that?’
    â€˜Well, George, we’d have to.’
    â€˜So long as nobody expects me to do it.’
    As if a signal had been given, everyone stopped talking and stared at one another.
    Flora said, in a voice of horror, ‘We’re talking ourselves into it, aren’t we? Listen to us. We aren’t asking
if
we’re going to do it, we’re asking
how
.’
    From his slightly removed seat by the window, John Shilling was aware of a remnant of medical integrity nudging him into speech. He said, ‘If we do agree to this, and if we can work out a foolproof plan, what about Imogen herself? What would happen to her?’
    â€˜She can’t be left at large,’ said Rosa at once. ‘I couldn’t agree to that. I hope nobody thought I meant that.’
    â€˜I certainly wouldn’t agree to it,’ said John.
    Several people said they could not agree to it either.
    â€˜Well, has anyone any suggestions? Flora?’
    Flora said, thoughtfully, ‘The idea of some kind of private nursing home presents itself. Somewhere discreet and comfortable, but secure.’
    â€˜Strict but kind.’ This was Aunt Dilys.
    â€˜And a longish stay until we are sure – until we have evidence one way or the other as to her state of mind.’ Flora looked at them all. ‘If necessary, an indefinite stay. I would far rather put her somewhere like that than let the state put her in gaol or Broadmoor.’
    â€˜Or somewhere like Thornacre,’ whispered Aunt Dilys.
    Thornacre.
The word dropped into the sudden silence like a deadweight dropping into a black, fathomless pool. Thornacre had never really belonged to the Ingrams but all of them knew its history, both the past and the more immediate. They all knew how the house had been built for Sybilla by the rich