Hear Me Roar
Once again Marilla was knitting, Matthew out in the fields. Anne had called the night before, sharing news of good results and her busy social life. Marilla was listening to the radio with half an ear, Ridge had left Geraldine once he had learnt about her infidelity; and thinking about her darling girl. So engrossed was she that she was stunned to find Rachel shaking her by the shoulder. She hadn't heard the familiar rattle of Rachel's engine because for once Rachel had driven Thomas' truck. "Marilla, MariLLA," her tone rising. "Oh Marilla, I've gone and done it now."
"Sit down and catch your breath, Rachel. What have you done?"
Rachel panted and collapsed into the armchair, the cushions giving under her weight. She panted, catching her breath, "I've only gone and killed him."
Marilla's heart leapt, "killed who?"
Rachel looked up at her, unable to say the name out loud instead moving her lips but not forcing any air through them, "Thomas."
Marilla's eyes widened and her mouth gaped open as her hand patted her chest, "you killed Thomas? Is that what you are saying?"
Rachel nodded slowly, definitely, cautiously then said, "dead as a doornail. I hit him with a leg of lamb." Marilla sat there stunned for a half a beat before she leapt to her feet knitting flying off in a cloud of wool and needles, the ball of yarn rolling away under the couch.
Rachel gave her a lift back to Lynde Hollow, Marilla admired Thomas's new Chevy, "nice car." Rachel just glanced at her with raised eyebrows.
Thomas was lying motionless on the floor surrounded by shattered glass, his neck at an unnatural angle "Have you checked him?" Marilla asked Rachel, unable to tear her eyes away from the man in case he sprang back to life again.
Rachel turned to her, "checked? You don't think he could still be …?" her blood ran cold, there could be no worse outcome than he might still be alive. To her relief, Marilla crouched down and bent over the body to check his artery with her fingers, making sure to leave her thumb out of it. She looked back up at Rachel in relief, "nothing." 'Rachel let go of a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
"Right I'll leave, you ring the police. You'll need an alibi say you came up to visit me looking for something."
"Dripping. I needed some for the roast." Rachel turned and regarded the meat on the floor. "Good gracious, the lamb," she picked it up.
"Yes, that's perfect. And when you came home you found Thomas sprawled out on the floor and called the police. The beauty of it is you have the perfect alibi." Marilla took the leg out of Rachel's hands, ran it under the tap to get the dirt off and popped it back in the pan surrounding it with the potatoes. Turning the oven on she shoved the dish in as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Dusting her hands off she looked at her friend. "Think you can do it?"
Rachel nodded hesitantly at first, then more confidently, "yes," she swallowed hard. "I can do it."
"Remember you are a grieving widow, lamenting your darling husband."
"Darling husband?" scoffed Rachel. Marilla merely raised her eyebrow, Rachel looked up at her and replied with more force, "yes, my darling husband."
Marilla grabbed her by the shoulders, "you must do it!" Rachel sighed as she nodded.
Rachel waited until Marilla had walked out of sight then turned to the telephone on the kitchen wall. Shaking she fumbled as she dialled the numbers 911. Then with a quavering voice she informed the operator that she had found her husband dead on the living room floor; yes, she was pretty sure he was dead, and could they come quickly." She made her way up to Lucy's bedroom, moving a stray hair off her daughter's forehead and softly kissing her she gently told Lucy her father was dead. Lucy asked what she should do. Rachel didn't want to upset her, so she told her to stay upstairs for a while.
What seemed like ages later, but which in fact was not long at all; two men knocked on her door. One dressed in a policeman's uniform, the other plain clothed. Constable Vigo and Detective Rafferty, they said their names were, but Rachel hardly heard them. She led them through the house to the kitchenette and pointed at Thomas's body laid out on the floor, his blood mixed with the shattered glass tabletop.
The policemen got to work; minding the glass the detective crouched down to check for a pulse. He glanced up at the constable shaking his head, "dead."
"Oh," Rachel felt now would be a good time to sink to the floor in tears. The thought that he might still be alive was enough to bring tears to her eyes and she used that to good effect, breaking down in somewhat hysterical cries. Rafferty looked up at Vigo and nodded. Vigo took Rachel by the arm and led her into the sitting room away from the body. Rachel kept up her act, wailing and incoherently berating herself while the constable placated her. Rafferty called the local doctor, quickly apprising him of the situation and asking him to come and lend a hand. They needed someone to look after the bereaved and to sign the death warrant.
The roast was smelling delicious by the time the doctor arrived, he commented on it when he entered, reminding Rachel that she wanted it eaten. "Gentlemen, I do feel sorry for you working so late. You'll miss your dinner."
Rafferty looked at his watch, "mm, oh well it happens often enough. My wife will keep my supper warm." A distinct rumble emanated from his stomach.
"Look it's silly. I have this delicious roast here and I must admit I couldn't eat a thing, but I hate to see it go to waste."
"Oh no I couldn't Mrs Lynde."
"Don't be silly, I'll have to throw it out otherwise."
"Well…" He was wavering, he knew it and Rachel knew it.
"Then it's settled," she was relentless and after all she did hate to see it go uneaten but there was no way she was eating it. It was easy enough to feign a lack of hunger, though in fact she was starving, but there was something about killing your husband that put your off your tea.
"Another slice, Detective?"
"Mm, Mrs Lynde, are you sure you can spare it? It's delicious, so tender and juicy. I wish my wife cooked so well. Your husband is," his gaze flickered down to the floor where the body lay under the sheet and corrected himself, "was - a lucky man."
"That's fine, we have plenty. Thomas had such a hearty appetite," Rachel wiped a pretend tear from her eye with the corner of her apron. "More potatoes too?"
"Mrs Lynde, let's go through it again, you say you were out visiting?"
The first time she had made the statement Detective Rafferty had looked up at his colleague Vigo with a raised eyebrow. Vigo set off up the lane to check her alibi. Sure, enough Marilla agreed that Rachel had visited that afternoon and she had lent her a cup of dripping for the roast. When he had finished the interview, Marilla asked when she would be allowed to pop down. She was sure Rachel would be in shock and Lucy too of course. In a couple of hours Rafferty replied, adding that they just had to get Rachel's statement sorted and of course the forensic team had to examine the crime scene.
"Who was that?" Matthew asked as he saw the stranger stride away, his coat flapping in the wind.
"Something terrible has happened," Marilla explained. "Apparently Thomas Lynde died. That was Constable Vigo from the Bright River police." Matthew looked at the cream trench coat disappearing down the lane and then back at his sister. "He died?" Matthew spat, creating a small dark red smudge on the ground, "well good riddance."
Over at Lynde Hollow, Rachel was describing her day to Detective Rafferty again. He sat on the sofa, alternating between scribbling things down and chewing the end of his pen. The object looked quite abused, Rachel thought absentmindedly. She knew how it felt. Vigo handed Rachel a cup of tea then went to have a quiet word with Dr Hegwig.
Rachel turned at the gentle knock on the door, "now Mrs Lynde, I think you should have a little lie down," ordered Dr Hegwig gently.
"There's no need, I'm fine," Rachel's words belied her pallor which was distinctly washed out and in fact if she stopped to think she was exhausted. She let herself be led to her bed. Dr Hedwig pulled back the covers and helped her lie down, removing her shoes. "I'm just going to give you a little something to help you sleep Mrs Lynde, and I'll give a dose to Lucy as well." Rachel murmured a protest, but truth to tell she was rather wound up, despite her exhaustion. The doctor slipped a needle into her vein and Rachel felt the lassitude creep over her as the drug did its work. The doctor watched as her body went slack and after tucking the blankets around her, walked out.
"How does she seem, Doc?" Vigo enquired.
"She's in shock, not surprisingly. You don't get much sense out of them at this stage. Does she have an alibi?"
"Yes, she was out visiting, she'd run out of dripping for the roast." Vigo patted his stomach and burped slightly. "Mm that lamb was delicious. Better than I could expect at home. The missus will be jealous."
"How much longer will you be here?"
"A few hours I expect. What about you Doc?"
"I'll keep an eye on them both. I never like to sedate anyone and just leave them." He looked at his watch. "When are you taking the body?"
"It'll be a while; the forensic guys are on their way from Charlottetown."
"Any leads?"
"Not yet. I mean it was probably something with a handle to it, to give it momentum on the swing." He burped again, "pardon me. Anyway, must get on, I'll leave you to it." He nodded at the doctor and made his way back to the living room.
"Um, now Mr Lynde did your parents enjoy a happy marriage?" Rafferty balanced a cup of coffee on one knee and his writing pad on another, but after a moment moved the cup to the conveniently placed side table.
"I think on the whole they did, yes. I mean Mum can be a bit silly sometimes and Dad had to correct her," John replied.
"What do you mean silly?"
"Oh, just forgetting how he liked his bacon, he was very particular about his breakfasts."
"And how would he react if his, um, bacon was cooked incorrectly?" Detective Rafferty couldn't believe he was asking this as if it were a perfectly rational question; still if he'd learnt anything in the police force it was that folks were odd.
"Oh, he'd just tell her to cook it more, I guess." John knew it sounded lame as soon as he said it, but he could remember countless mornings where the tone of the day was set by the limpness of his father's bacon.
"Any other examples?"
"Nothing springs to mind, but she was a bit unpredictable in public you know, I suppose women are just like that."
"Mm," Detective Rafferty privately agreed with him there. He flicked through his notebook, "and issues with children? I mean ten is a lot of kids in this day and age."
John shuffled around in his chair he didn't like to think of his folks doing that, even now. "Mum just loved babies. She's a bit puerile herself you know, really relates to toddlers. She's a wonderful hands-on grandmother now."
Rafferty scribbled down some more notes his pencil nearly worn down to the stub. Later he and Vigo compared notes. "The kids say they were happy enough, Mrs Lynde is a rather simple creature by their account, just a home maker," Rafferty added dismissively. "Certainly not the type to murder her husband."
Lucy Lynde didn't know what to think. She half suspected that her mother had killed her father, though when she tentatively questioned her one night a few days later, Rachel had vehemently denied it, reminding her that it was a terrible sin. Lucy had been sitting on the floor idly spinning the TV knob, looking for a show when she asked her mother the question, finding it easier to broach the subject facing away from her.
Her mother's reaction had almost been too fast as though she had been expecting the question and had a ready, well-rehearsed answer. Still Lucy never liked her father all that much, she disagreed with the way he bullied her mother. Somehow her siblings just accepted it, believing that their mother was a bit hopeless. As far as Lucy could see her mother did the best she could. She never had enough house-keeping money, had too many children, and no support at home. Anyway, if her mother had killed her father, though Lucy couldn't work out how, she fully supported her. She didn't like the way Daddy had looked at her recently and preferred not to be in the same room as him, alone. His last week his unsettling behaviour had intensified and that last day she had had to run to her room and lock the door. Just as well because he had banged on the door ordering her to let him in. Lucy had curled up in her bed, hoping that the lock would hold. She believed it was only the sound of Rachel's truck with its usual rattle coming up the drive that eventually sent him away.
There had been a pause then, Daddy disappeared and eventually her mother came to check on her. Lucy was upset crying and after she told her mother that her father had scared her, her mother disappeared too. Lucy figured she'd fallen asleep, for when she came to a while later the sun had set.
The memorial service was a sombre affair. The weather had been fine for a few days, but dark thunderous clouds threatened on the horizon and a chill wind blew. Mourners' cars spilled out of the small car park, so that the mood was one of frustration rather than reverence. Still they tried to settle their nerves on the walk up to the church to hide their frustration from the grieving Lynde family.
Rachel stood flanked by her children looking small between their broad shoulders. As her neighbours and friends whispered their condolences, she schooled her face to hide her consummate delight that she had finally got rid of him. John put one arm around her comfortingly he thought; possessively to her mind. She did not wish to exchange one bully for another, and John had already voiced some disquieting comments about her future.
When they stood to sing the hymn, Rachel was pleased to hear Marilla's voice right behind her, Anne's sweeter tone beside her mother. She longed to reach out to hold her by the hand, but now was not the time. "My Dad, Thomas Rupert Lynde was the best of men." John stood at the lectern, legs firmly planted, hands gripping the top as if afraid he might fall. "A proud man, a proud father, He was born…" Rachel's attention drifted away. If all John was going to do was wax lyrical about his father, Rachel had better things to think about. In truth this service was a hypocritical torture to be endured to keep up appearances. Rachel was anything but the mourning wife, but no one apart from Marilla knew, no one apart from Marilla could know.
"Together he and our mother Rachel, created a loving, ahem…" John paused to clear his throat, "loving." He flourished a large white handkerchief and blew his noise before regaining his composure, not noticing the congregation's glances. "Um, loving family, built on trust and respect." Rachel had to look down at that, he really was going too far now. Around her she could feel people shuffling, shifting their position. The village may not have known that Thomas was violent towards her, but they knew that he wasn't exactly an exemplary family man.
The shockwave down her arms when the lamb connected with his chin, Thomas' last word - whaa and that slight click as he broke his neck were playing on her mind; spooling like a film over and over. If Rachel seemed distant to anyone this was the reason why; rather than abject grief. Yes, she was relieved, but she was also in shock. At least no one expected much from her at this time. Grieving widows were allowed to let their children take over if they could. If Rachel had to get up and talk, she was deathly afraid that role would be too difficult to maintain; she was constantly on her toes, praying laughter might not spill out.
It had not been easy to keep up the act to the police. Luckily, they regarded the giggle which bubbled out unconsciously when they asked her if they had enjoyed a happy marriage, as a hysterical reaction, rather than something more sinister.
"How do you think Mother seems?" John and Andrew Lynde had met in a pub in Charlottetown one evening a few weeks later to discuss family matters. As the two oldest sons they felt a new familial responsibility after their father's brutal murder. The place was busy, but they found a small high table to rest their beers on, the carpet sticky under their feet.
"Well she's a bit hysterical like always isn't she. I mean she's never been completely reliable, but I think she's going a bit off the rails now."
"I wish she wouldn't spend so much time with old Marilla up the road. She can't be a good influence."
"Hm, do you think she should move in with one of us? Maybe she needs a bit of stability, especially now that Lucy is leaving home."
"And thank goodness, I've been a bit worried about poor Lucy, stuck up there her on her own." The brothers drank their beers and smiled at each other, pleased to be on the same page. "Another?" John asked. Andrew checked his watch, "yep, got plenty of time. Martha will be home feeding the kids," he laughed jovially. "Know where I'd rather be." John nodded, he felt exactly the same way. "So, Mother?" he said when he returned with the beers.
"Well I don't want to stir the pot shall we see how she fares on her own. Might just be a matter of time. Surely between the lot of us, we can keep an eye on her." Andrew was one of those men who recognised a problem but preferred to leave the solving of it up others, in the hopes that it would just go away on its own without putting him out.
"Mm, I guess so…" John paused.
"Thinking about Dad?" Andrew asked.
"Yup, poor old Dad. I just don't understand it. It was such a terrible way for him to go, defending the house like that. Typical though, huh. He would've never let an intruder in. I told Mother to lock the doors from now on. I wonder if she's doing it yet."
"Yeah, I told her too. It's not safe, especially with two defenceless women at home on their own, can't be too careful. Times are a'changing, don't they say and not for the better."
"Any word from the police? Have they worked out what the murder weapon could be?"
"Nope, they're mystified. Got no bloody clue. They keep saying if only they knew, they'd have a better hope of finding the bastard."
"Mother, we've been talking."
"Who's we"
"Oh just a few of us," said Eliza. "We think you're not coping, Mother. The plan is that we sell the old place and you can move in with us."
"Us?" Rachel asked suspiciously.
"We'll each take a turn so no one has too much work to do."
Rachel was almost too angry to speak, she stood by the kitchen wall gripping the telephone receiver so tight her knuckles were white.
"They're going to sell the house," she spat at Marilla later that afternoon and I'm to be shunted around from house to house, nowhere to call my own. So, no one has too much work to do looking after me."
Marilla's eyes opened wide, "oh."
"Yes, they've organised for a realtor to come by to appraise the property. Say they need the money."
"Well they won't get much will they, split ten ways."
"No, they won't, that's a pity," Rachel winked, and Marilla spluttered with laughter.
"How about you sell the house and keep the proceeds? How would that be?"
"Oh, I couldn't. I mean I couldn't, could I? I mean." Rachel stopped, thinking it through. She looked up at Marilla who was leaning back in her chair legs crossed.
"Could I? I could couldn't I. I mean they'd be angry with me but…"
"What's stopping you? Find your own realtor. Jump the gun on them."
"Marilla Cuthbert you will not be popular."
Marilla winked and stubbed her cigarette out in the conveniently placed ashtray Matthew had purchased recently. The thing was high on a pedestal at just the right height, so Marilla no longer had to lean down to the coffee table to butt out, "you may be surprised to know Rachel, that keeping in your greedy children's good books is not high on my agenda."
A/N Yes, it's a bit of a trope isn't it? But it's a story I've always loved and what a perfect crime. The original was Roald Dahl's Lamb to the Slaughter 1953, you can even find really dated version of it on YouTube.
The title is a line from an Australian feminist anthem by Helen Reddy, I Am Woman released in 1971.