帷幕9

II

After some hesitations I decided that I ought to sound Judith on the subjectof Allerton. I felt that I must know what her reactions were. She was, Iknew, a level-headed girl, well able to take care of herself, and I did notthink that she would really be taken in by the cheap attraction of a manlike Allerton. I suppose, actually, that I tackled her on the subject because Iwanted to be reassured on that point.

Unfortunately, I did not get what I wanted … I went about it clumsily, Idare say. There is nothing that young people resent so much as advicefrom their elders. I tried to make my words quite careless and debonair. Isuppose that I failed.

Judith bristled at once.

‘What’s this?’ she said. ‘A paternal warning against the big bad wolf ?’

‘No, no, Judith, of course not.’

‘I gather you don’t like Major Allerton?’

‘Frankly, I don’t. Actually, I don’t suppose you do either.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well – er – he isn’t your type, is he?’

‘What do you consider is my type, Father?’

Judith can always flurry me. I boggled rather badly. She stood looking atme, her mouth curving upwards in a slightly scornful smile.

‘Of course you don’t like him,’ she said. ‘I do. I think he’s very amusing.’

‘Oh, amusing – perhaps.’ I endeavoured to pass it off.

Judith said deliberately: ‘He’s very attractive. Any woman would thinkso. Men, of course, wouldn’t see it.’

‘They certainly wouldn’t.’ I went on, rather clumsily: ‘You were out withhim very late the other night –’

I was not allowed to finish. The storm broke.

‘Really, Father, you’re being too idiotic. Don’t you realize that at my ageI’m capable of managing my own affairs? You’ve no earthly right to con-trol what I do or whom I choose to make a friend of. It’s this senseless in-terfering in their children’s lives that is so infuriating about fathers andmothers. I’m very fond of you – but I’m an adult woman and my life is myown. Don’t start making a Mr Barrett of yourself.’

I was so hurt by this extremely unkind remark that I was quite incap-able of replying, and Judith went quickly away.

I was left with the dismayed feeling that I had done more harm thangood.

I was standing lost in my thoughts when I was roused by the voice ofMrs Franklin’s nurse exclaiming archly: ‘A penny for your thoughts, Cap-tain Hastings!’

I turned gladly to welcome the interruption.

Nurse Craven was really a very good-looking young woman. Her man-ner was, perhaps, a little on the arch and sprightly side, but she was pleas-ant and intelligent.

She had just come from establishing her patient in a sunny spot not farfrom the improvised laboratory.

‘Is Mrs Franklin interested in her husband’s work?’ I asked.

Nurse Craven tossed her head contemptuously. ‘Oh, it’s a good deal tootechnical for her. She’s not at all a clever woman, you know, Captain Hast-ings.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Dr Franklin’s work, of course, can only be appreciated by someone whoknows something about medicine. He’s a very clever man indeed, youknow. Brilliant. Poor man, I feel so sorry for him.’

‘Sorry for him?’

‘Yes. I’ve seen it happen so often. Marrying the wrong type of woman, Imean.’

‘You think she’s the wrong type for him?’

‘Well, don’t you? They’ve nothing at all in common.’

‘He seems very fond of her,’ I said. ‘Very attentive to her wishes and allthat.’

Nurse Craven laughed rather disagreeably. ‘She sees to that all right!’

‘You think she trades on her – on her ill health?’ I asked doubtfully.

Nurse Craven laughed. ‘There isn’t much you could teach her about get-ting her own way. Whatever her ladyship wants happens. Some womenare like that – clever as a barrelful of monkeys. If anyone opposes themthey just lie back and shut their eyes and look ill and pathetic, or else theyhave a nerve storm – but Mrs Franklin’s the pathetic type. Doesn’t sleep allnight and is all white and exhausted in the morning.’

‘But she is really an invalid, isn’t she?’ I asked, rather startled.

Nurse Craven gave me a rather peculiar glance. She said drily: ‘Oh, ofcourse,’ and then turned the subject rather abruptly.

She asked me if it was true that I had been here long ago, in the firstwar.

‘Yes, that’s quite true.’

She lowered her voice. ‘There was a murder here, wasn’t there? So oneof the maids was telling me. An old lady?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you were here at the time?’

‘I was.’

She gave a slight shiver. She said: ‘That explains it, doesn’t it?’

‘Explains what?’

She gave me a quick sideways glance. ‘The – the atmosphere of theplace. Don’t you feel it? I do. Something wrong, if you know what I mean?’

I was silent a moment considering. Was it true what she had just said?

Did the fact that death by violence – by malice aforethought – had takenplace in a certain spot leave its impression on that spot so strongly that itwas perceptible after many years? Psychic people said so. Did Styles defin-itely bear traces of that event that had occurred so long ago? Here, withinthese walls, in these gardens, thoughts of murder had lingered and grownstronger and had at last come to fruition in the final act. Did they still taintthe air?

Nurse Craven broke in on my thoughts by saying abruptly: ‘I was in ahouse where there was a murder case once. I’ve never forgotten it. Onedoesn’t, you know. One of my patients. I had to give evidence andeverything. Made me feel quite queer. It’s a nasty experience for a girl.’

‘It must be. I know myself –’

I broke off as Boyd Carrington came striding round the corner of thehouse.

As usual, his big, buoyant personality seemed to sweep away shadowsand intangible worries. He was so large, so sane, so out-of-doors – one ofthose lovable, forceful personalities that radiate cheerfulness and com-mon sense.

‘Morning, Hastings, morning, Nurse. Where’s Mrs Franklin?’

‘Good morning, Sir William. Mrs Franklin’s down at the bottom of thegarden under the beech tree near the laboratory.’

‘And Franklin, I suppose, is inside the laboratory?’

‘Yes, Sir William – with Miss Hastings.’

‘Wretched girl. Fancy being cooped up doing stinks on a morning likethis! You ought to protest, Hastings.’

Nurse Craven said quickly: ‘Oh, Miss Hastings is quite happy. She likes it,you know, and the doctor couldn’t do without her, I’m sure.’

‘Miserable fellow,’ said Boyd Carrington. ‘If I had a pretty girl like yourJudith as a secretary, I’d be looking at her instead of at guinea pigs, eh,what?’

It was the kind of joke that Judith would particularly have disliked but itwent down quite well with Nurse Craven who laughed a good deal.

‘Oh, Sir William,’ she exclaimed. ‘You really mustn’t say things like that.

I’m sure we all know what you’d be like! But poor Dr Franklin is so serious– quite wrapped up in his work.’

Boyd Carrington said cheerfully: ‘Well, his wife seems to have taken upher position where she can keep her eye on her husband. I believe she’sjealous.’

‘You know far too much, Sir William!’

Nurse Craven seemed delighted with this badinage. She said reluctantly:

‘Well, I suppose I ought to be going to see about Mrs Franklin’s maltedmilk.’

She moved away slowly and Boyd Carrington stood looking after her.

‘Good-looking girl,’ he remarked. ‘Lovely hair and teeth. Fine specimenof womanhood. Must be a dull life on the whole always looking after sickpeople. A girl like that deserves a better fate.’

‘Oh, well,’ I said. ‘I suppose she’ll marry one day.’

‘I expect so.’

He sighed – and it occurred to me that he was thinking of his dead wife.

Then he said: ‘Like to come over with me to Knatton and see the place?’

‘Rather. I’d like to. I’ll just see first if Poirot needs me.’

I found Poirot sitting on the veranda, well muffled up. He encouragedme to go.

‘But certainly go, Hastings, go. It is, I believe, a most handsome property.

You should certainly see it.’

‘I’d like to. But I didn’t want to desert you.’

‘My faithful friend! No, no, go with Sir William. A charming man, is henot?’

‘First class,’ I said with enthusiasm.

Poirot smiled. ‘Ah yes. I thought he was your type.’

 

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