寓所谜案3

Two

Griselda is a very irritating woman. On leaving the luncheon table, I hadfelt myself to be in a good mood for preparing a really forceful address forthe Church of England Men’s Society. Now I felt restless and disturbed.

Just when I was really settling down to it, Lettice Protheroe drifted in.

I use the word drifted advisedly. I have read novels in which youngpeople are described as bursting with energy—joie de vivre, the magnifi-cent vitality of youth … Personally, all the young people I come acrosshave the air of animal wraiths.

Lettice was particularly wraithlike this afternoon. She is a pretty girl,very tall and fair and completely vague. She drifted through the Frenchwindow, absently pulled off the yellow beret she was wearing and mur-mured vaguely with a kind of faraway surprise: “Oh! it’s you.”

There is a path from Old Hall through the woods which comes out byour garden gate, so that most people coming from there come in at thatgate and up to the study window instead of going a long way round by theroad and coming to the front door. I was not surprised at Lettice coming inthis way, but I did a little resent her attitude.

If you come to a Vicarage, you ought to be prepared to find a Vicar.

She came in and collapsed in a crumpled heap in one of my big arm-chairs. She plucked aimlessly at her hair, staring at the ceiling.

“Is Dennis anywhere about?”

“I haven’t seen him since lunch. I understood he was going to play ten-nis at your place.”

“Oh!” said Lettice. “I hope he isn’t. He won’t find anybody there.”

“He said you asked him.”

“I believe I did. Only that was Friday. And today’s Tuesday.”

“It’s Wednesday,” I said.

“Oh, how dreadful!” said Lettice. “That means that I’ve forgotten to go tolunch with some people for the third time.”

Fortunately it didn’t seem to worry her much.

“Is Griselda anywhere about?”

“I expect you’ll find her in the studio in the garden—sitting to LawrenceRedding.”

“There’s been quite a shemozzle about him,” said Lettice. “With father,you know. Father’s dreadful.”

“What was the she—whatever it was about?” I inquired.

“About his painting me. Father found out about it. Why shouldn’t I bepainted in my bathing dress? If I go on a beach in it, why shouldn’t I bepainted in it?”

Lettice paused and then went on.

“It’s really absurd—father forbidding a young man the house. Of course,Lawrence and I simply shriek about it. I shall come and be done here inyour studio.”

“No, my dear,” I said. “Not if your father forbids it.”

“Oh! dear,” said Lettice, sighing. “How tiresome everyone is. I feelshattered. Definitely. If only I had some money I’d go away, but without itI can’t. If only father would be decent and die, I should be all right.”

“You must not say things like that, Lettice.”

“Well, if he doesn’t want me to want him to die, he shouldn’t be so hor-rible over money. I don’t wonder mother left him. Do you know, for yearsI believed she was dead. What sort of a young man did she run awaywith? Was he nice?”

“It was before your father came to live here.”

“I wonder what’s become of her. I expect Anne will have an affair withsomeone soon. Anne hates me—she’s quite decent to me, but she hatesme. She’s getting old and she doesn’t like it. That’s the age you break out,you know.”

I wondered if Lettice was going to spend the entire afternoon in mystudy.

“You haven’t seen my gramophone records, have you?” she asked.

“No.”

“How tiresome. I know I’ve left them somewhere. And I’ve lost the dog.

And my wristwatch is somewhere, only it doesn’t much matter because itwon’t go. Oh! dear, I am so sleepy. I can’t think why, because I didn’t getup till eleven. But life’s very shattering, don’t you think? Oh! dear, I mustgo. I’m going to see Dr. Stone’s barrow at three o’clock.”

I glanced at the clock and remarked that it was now five-and-twenty tofour.

“Oh! Is it? How dreadful. I wonder if they’ve waited or if they’ve gonewithout me. I suppose I’d better go down and do something about it.”

She got up and drifted out again, murmuring over her shoulder:

“You’ll tell Dennis, won’t you?”

I said “Yes” mechanically, only realizing too late that I had no idea whatit was I was to tell Dennis. But I reflected that in all probability it did notmatter. I fell to cogitating on the subject of Dr. Stone, a well-known ar-chaeologist who had recently come to stay at the Blue Boar, whilst he su-perintended the excavation of a barrow situated on Colonel Protheroe’sproperty. There had already been several disputes between him and theColonel. I was amused at his appointment to take Lettice to see the opera-tions.

It occurred to me that Lettice Protheroe was something of a minx. Iwondered how she would get on with the archaeologist’s secretary, MissCram. Miss Cram is a healthy young woman of twenty-five, noisy in man-ner, with a high colour, fine animal spirits and a mouth that always seemsto have more than its full share of teeth.

Village opinion is divided as to whether she is no better than she shouldbe, or else a young woman of iron virtue who purposes to become Mrs.

Stone at an early opportunity. She is in every way a great contrast to Let-tice.

I could imagine that the state of things at Old Hall might not be toohappy. Colonel Protheroe had married again some five years previously.

The second Mrs. Protheroe was a remarkably handsome woman in arather unusual style. I had always guessed that the relations between herand her stepdaughter were not too happy.

I had one more interruption. This time, it was my curate, Hawes. Hewanted to know the details of my interview with Protheroe. I told him thatthe Colonel had deplored his “Romish tendencies” but that the real pur-pose of his visit had been on quite another matter. At the same time, Ientered a protest of my own, and told him plainly that he must conform tomy ruling. On the whole, he took my remarks very well.

I felt rather remorseful when he had gone for not liking him better.

These irrational likes and dislikes that one takes to people are, I am sure,very unChristian.

With a sigh, I realized that the hands of the clock on my writing tablepointed to a quarter to five, a sign that it was really half past four, and Imade my way to the drawing room.

Four of my parishioners were assembled there with teacups. Griseldasat behind the tea table trying to look natural in her environment, butonly succeeded in looking more out of place than usual.

I shook hands all round and sat down between Miss Marple and MissWetherby.

Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner—Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Of the two Miss Marpleis much the more dangerous.

“We were just talking,” said Griselda in a honeysweet voice, “about Dr.

Stone and Miss Cram.”

A ribald rhyme concocted by Dennis shot through my head.

“Miss Cram doesn’t give a damn.”

I had a sudden yearning to say it out loud and observe the effect, butfortunately I refrained. Miss Wetherby said tersely:

“No nice girl would do it,” and shut her thin lips disapprovingly.

“Do what?” I inquired.

“Be a secretary to an unmarried man,” said Miss Wetherby in a horri-fied tone.

“Oh! my dear,” said Miss Marple. “I think married ones are the worst.

Remember poor Mollie Carter.”

“Married men living apart from their wives are, of course, notorious,”

said Miss Wetherby.

“And even some of the ones living with their wives,” murmured MissMarple. “I remember….”

I interrupted these unsavoury reminiscences.

“But surely,” I said, “in these days a girl can take a post in just the sameway as a man does.”

“To come away to the country? And stay at the same hotel?” said Mrs.

Price Ridley in a severe voice.

Miss Wetherby murmured to Miss Marple in a low voice:

“And all the bedrooms on the same floor….”

Miss Hartnell, who is weather-beaten and jolly and much dreaded bythe poor, observed in a loud, hearty voice:

“The poor man will be caught before he knows where he is. He’s as in-nocent as a babe unborn, you can see that.”

Curious what turns of phrase we employ. None of the ladies presentwould have dreamed of alluding to an actual baby till it was safely in thecradle, visible to all.

“Disgusting, I call it,” continued Miss Hartnell, with her usual tactless-ness. “The man must be at least twenty-five years older than she is.”

Three female voices rose at once making disconnected remarks aboutthe Choir Boys’ Outing, the regrettable incident at the last Mother’s Meet-ing, and the draughts in the church. Miss Marple twinkled at Griselda.

“Don’t you think,” said my wife, “that Miss Cram may just like having aninteresting job? And that she considers Dr. Stone just as an employer?”

There was a silence. Evidently none of the four ladies agreed. MissMarple broke the silence by patting Griselda on the arm.

“My dear,” she said, “you are very young. The young have such innocentminds.”

Griselda said indignantly that she hadn’t got at all an innocent mind.

“Naturally,” said Miss Marple, unheeding of the protest, “you think thebest of everyone.”

“Do you really think she wants to marry that baldheaded dull man?”

“I understand he is quite well off,” said Miss Marple. “Rather a violenttemper, I’m afraid. He had quite a serious quarrel with Colonel Protheroethe other day.”

Everyone leaned forward interestingly.

“Colonel Protheroe accused him of being an ignoramus.”

“How like Colonel Protheroe, and how absurd,” said Mrs. Price Ridley.

“Very like Colonel Protheroe, but I don’t know about it being absurd,”

said Miss Marple. “You remember the woman who came down here andsaid she represented Welfare, and after taking subscriptions she wasnever heard of again and proved to having nothing whatever to do withWelfare. One is so inclined to be trusting and take people at their ownvaluation.”

I should never have dreamed of describing Miss Marple as trusting.

“There’s been some fuss about that young artist, Mr. Redding, hasn’tthere?” asked Miss Wetherby.

Miss Marple nodded.

“Colonel Protheroe turned him out of the house. It appears he was paint-ing Lettice in her bathing dress.”

“I always thought there was something between them,” said Mrs. PriceRidley. “That young fellow is always mouching off up there. Pity the girlhasn’t got a mother. A stepmother is never the same thing.”

“I dare say Mrs. Protheroe does her best,” said Miss Hartnell.

“Girls are so sly,” deplored Mrs. Price Ridley.

“Quite a romance, isn’t it?” said the softerhearted Miss Wetherby. “He’sa very good-looking young fellow.”

“But loose,” said Miss Hartnell. “Bound to be. An artist! Paris! Models!

The Altogether!”

“Painting her in her bathing dress,” said Mrs. Price Ridley. “Not quitenice.”

“He’s painting me too,” said Griselda.

“But not in your bathing dress, dear,” said Miss Marple.

“It might be worse,” said Griselda solemnly.

“Naughty girl,” said Miss Hartnell, taking the joke broad- mindedly.

Everybody else looked slightly shocked.

“Did dear Lettice tell you of the trouble?” asked Miss Marple of me.

“Tell me?”

“Yes. I saw her pass through the garden and go round to the study win-dow.”

Miss Marple always sees everything. Gardening is as good as a smokescreen, and the habit of observing birds through powerful glasses can al-ways be turned to account.

“She mentioned it, yes,” I admitted.

“Mr. Hawes looked worried,” said Miss Marple. “I hope he hasn’t beenworking too hard.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Wetherby excitedly. “I quite forgot. I knew I had somenews for you. I saw Dr. Haydock coming out of Mrs. Lestrange’s cottage.”

Everyone looked at each other.

“Perhaps she’s ill,” suggested Mrs. Price Ridley.

“It must have been very sudden, if so,” said Miss Hartnell. “For I saw herwalking round her garden at three o’clock this afternoon, and she seemedin perfect health.”

“She and Dr. Haydock must be old acquaintances,” said Mrs. Price Rid-ley. “He’s been very quiet about it.”

“It’s curious,” said Miss Wetherby, “that he’s never mentioned it.”

“As a matter of fact—” said Griselda in a low, mysterious voice, andstopped. Everyone leaned forward excitedly.

“I happen to know,” said Griselda impressively. “Her husband was a mis-sionary. Terrible story. He was eaten, you know. Actually eaten. And shewas forced to become the chief’s head wife. Dr. Haydock was with an ex-pedition and rescued her.”

For a moment excitement was rife, then Miss Marple said reproachfully,but with a smile: “Naughty girl!”

She tapped Griselda reprovingly on the arm.

“Very unwise thing to do, my dear. If you make up these things, peopleare quite likely to believe them. And sometimes that leads to complica-tions.”

A distinct frost had come over the assembly. Two of the ladies rose totake their departure.

“I wonder if there is anything between young Lawrence Redding andLettice Protheroe,” said Miss Wetherby. “It certainly looks like it. What doyou think, Miss Marple?”

Miss Marple seemed thoughtful.

“I shouldn’t have said so myself. Not Lettice. Quite another person Ishould have said.”

“But Colonel Protheroe must have thought….”

“He has always struck me as rather a stupid man,” said Miss Marple.

“The kind of man who gets the wrong idea into his head and is obstinateabout it. Do you remember Joe Bucknell who used to keep the Blue Boar?

Such a to-do about his daughter carrying on with young Bailey. And all thetime it was that minx of a wife of his.”

She was looking full at Griselda as she spoke, and I suddenly felt a wildsurge of anger.

“Don’t you think, Miss Marple,” I said, “that we’re all inclined to let ourtongues run away with us too much. Charity thinketh no evil, you know.

Inestimable harm may be done by foolish wagging of tongues in ill-natured gossip.”

“Dear Vicar,” said Miss Marple, “You are so unworldly. I’m afraid thatobserving human nature for as long as I have done, one gets not to expectvery much from it. I dare say the idle tittle-tattle is very wrong and un-kind, but it is so often true, isn’t it?”

That last Parthian shot went home.

 

分享到：