寓所谜案21

Twenty

When I got back to the Vicarage I found that we were in the middle of adomestic crisis.

Griselda met me in the hall and with tears in her eyes dragged me intothe drawing room. “She’s going.”

“Who’s going?”

“Mary. She’s given notice.”

I really could not take the announcement in a tragic spirit.

“Well,” I said, “we’ll have to get another servant.”

It seemed to me a perfectly reasonable thing to say. When one servantgoes, you get another. I was at a loss to understand Griselda’s look of re-proach.

“Len—you are absolutely heartless. You don’t care.”

I didn’t. In fact, I felt almost lighthearted at the prospect of no moreburnt puddings and undercooked vegetables.

“I’ll have to look for a girl, and find one, and train her,” continuedGriselda in a voice of acute self-pity.

“Is Mary trained?” I said.

“Of course she is.”

“I suppose,” I said, “that someone has heard her address us as sir orma’am and has immediately wrested her from us as a paragon. All I cansay is, they’ll be disappointed.”

“It isn’t that,” said Griselda. “Nobody else wants her. I don’t see howthey could. It’s her feelings. They’re upset because Lettice Protheroe saidshe didn’t dust properly.”

Griselda often comes out with surprising statements, but this seemed tome so surprising that I questioned it. It seemed to me the most unlikelything in the world that Lettice Protheroe should go out of her way to inter-fere in our domestic affairs and reprove our maid for slovenly housework.

It was so completely unLettice-like, and I said so.

“I don’t see,” I said, “what our dust has to do with Lettice Protheroe.”

“Nothing at all,” said my wife. “That’s why it’s so unreasonable. I wishyou’d go and talk to Mary yourself. She’s in the kitchen.”

I had no wish to talk to Mary on the subject, but Griselda, who is veryenergetic and quick, fairly pushed me through the baize door into the kit-chen before I had time to rebel.

Mary was peeling potatoes at the sink.

“Er—good afternoon,” I said nervously.

Mary looked up and snorted, but made no other response.

“Mrs. Clement tells me that you wish to leave us,” I said.

Mary condescended to reply to this.

“There’s some things,” she said darkly, “as no girl can be asked to put upwith.”

“Will you tell me exactly what it is that has upset you?”

“Tell you that in two words, I can.” (Here, I may say, she vastly underes-timated.) “People coming snooping round here when my back’s turned.

Poking round. And what business of hers is it, how often the study is dus-ted or turned out? If you and the missus don’t complain, it’s nobody else’sbusiness. If I give satisfaction to you that’s all that matters, I say.”

Mary has never given satisfaction to me. I confess that I have a hanker-ing after a room thoroughly dusted and tidied every morning. Mary’spractice of flicking off the more obvious deposit on the surface of lowtables is to my thinking grossly inadequate. However, I realized that at themoment it was no good to go into side issues.

“Had to go to that inquest, didn’t I? Standing up before twelve men, a re-spectable girl like me! And who knows what questions you may be asked.

I’ll tell you this. I’ve never before been in a place where they had amurder in the house, and I never want to be again.”

“I hope you won’t,” I said. “On the law of averages, I should say it wasvery unlikely.”

“I don’t hold with the law. He was a magistrate. Many a poor fellow sentto jail for potting at a rabbit—and him with his pheasants and what not.

And then, before he’s so much as decently buried, that daughter of hiscomes round and says I don’t do my work properly.”

“Do you mean that Miss Protheroe has been here?”

“Found her here when I come back from the Blue Boar. In the study shewas. And ‘Oh!’ she says. ‘I’m looking for my little yellow berry—a little yel-low hat. I left it here the other day.’ ‘Well,’ I says, ‘I haven’t seen no hat. Itwasn’t here when I done the room on Thursday morning,’ I says. And ‘Oh!’

she says, ‘but I dare say you wouldn’t see it. You don’t spend much timedoing a room, do you?’ And with that she draws her finger along the man-telshelf and looks at it. As though I had time on a morning like this to takeoff all them ornaments and put them back, with the police only unlockingthe room the night before. ‘If the Vicar and his lady are satisfied that’s allthat matters, I think, miss,’ I said. And she laughs and goes out of the win-dows and says, ‘Oh! but are you sure they are?’”

“I see,” I said.

“And there it is! A girl has her feelings! I’m sure I’d work my fingers tothe bone for you and the missus. And if she wants a new-fangled dishtried, I’m always ready to try it.”

“I’m sure you are,” I said soothingly.

“But she must have heard something or she wouldn’t have said what shedid. And if I don’t give satisfaction I’d rather go. Not that I take any noticeof what Miss Protheroe says. She’s not loved up at the Hall, I can tell you.

Never a please or a thank you, and everything scattered right and left. Iwouldn’t set any store by Miss Lettice Protheroe myself for all that Mr.

Dennis is so set upon her. But she’s the kind that can always twist a younggentleman round her little finger.”

During all this, Mary had been extracting eyes from potatoes with suchenergy that they had been flying round the kitchen like hailstones. At thismoment one hit me in the eye and caused a momentary pause in the con-versation.

“Don’t you think,” I said, as I dabbed my eye with my handkerchief,“that you have been rather too inclined to take offence where none ismeant? You know, Mary, your mistress will be very sorry to lose you.”

“I’ve nothing against the mistress—or against you, sir, for that matter.”

“Well, then, don’t you think you’re being rather silly?”

Mary sniffed.

“I was a bit upset like—after the inquest and all. And a girl has her feel-ings. But I wouldn’t like to cause the mistress inconvenience.”

“Then that’s all right,” I said.

I left the kitchen to find Griselda and Dennis waiting for me in the hall.

“Well?” exclaimed Griselda.

“She’s staying,” I said, and sighed.

“Len,” said my wife, “you have been clever.”

I felt rather inclined to disagree with her. I did not think I had beenclever. It is my firm opinion that no servant could be a worse one thanMary. Any change, I consider, would have been a change for the better.

But I like to please Griselda. I detailed the heads of Mary’s grievance.

“How like Lettice,” said Dennis. “She couldn’t have left that yellow beretof hers here on Wednesday. She was wearing it for tennis on Thursday.”

“That seems to me highly probable,” I said.

“She never knows where she’s left anything,” said Dennis, with a kind ofaffectionate pride and admiration that I felt was entirely uncalled for.

“She loses about a dozen things every day.”

“A remarkably attractive trait,” I observed.

Any sarcasm missed Dennis.

“She is attractive,” he said, with a deep sigh. “People are always propos-ing to her—she told me so.”

“They must be illicit proposals if they’re made to her down here,” I re-marked. “We haven’t got a bachelor in the place.”

“There’s Dr. Stone,” said Griselda, her eyes dancing.

“He asked her to come and see the barrow the other day,” I admitted.

“Of course he did,” said Griselda. “She is attractive, Len. Even bald-headed archaeologists feel it.”

“Lots of S.A.,” said Dennis sapiently.

And yet Lawrence Redding is completely untouched by Lettice’s charm.

Griselda, however, explained that with the air of one who knew she wasright.

“Lawrence has got lots of S.A. himself. That kind always likes the—howshall I put it—the Quaker type. Very restrained and diffident. The kind ofwoman whom everybody calls cold. I think Anne is the only woman whocould ever hold Lawrence. I don’t think they’ll ever tire of each other. Allthe same, I think he’s been rather stupid in one way. He’s rather made useof Lettice, you know. I don’t think he ever dreamed she cared—he’s aw-fully modest in some ways—but I have a feeling she does.”

“She can’t bear him,” said Dennis positively. “She told me so.”

I have never seen anything like the pitying silence with which Griseldareceived this remark.

I went into my study. There was, to my fancy, still a rather eerie feelingin the room. I knew that I must get over this. Once give in to that feeling,and I should probably never use the study again. I walked thoughtfullyover to the writing table. Here Protheroe had sat, red-faced, hearty, self-righteous, and here, in a moment of time, he had been struck down. Here,where I was standing, an enemy had stood….

And so—no more Protheroe….

Here was the pen his fingers had held.

On the floor was a faint dark stain—the rug had been sent to the clean-ers, but the blood had soaked through.

I shivered.

“I can’t use this room,” I said aloud. “I can’t use it.”

Then my eye was caught by something—a mere speck of bright blue. Ibent down. Between the floor and the desk I saw a small object. I picked itup.

I was standing staring at it in the palm of my hand when Griselda camein.

“I forgot to tell you, Len. Miss Marple wants us to go over tonight afterdinner. To amuse the nephew. She’s afraid of his being dull. I said we’dgo.”

“Very well, my dear.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

I closed my hand, and looking at my wife, observed:

“If you don’t amuse Master Raymond West, my dear, he must be veryhard to please.”

My wife said: “Don’t be ridiculous, Len,” and turned pink.

She went out again, and I unclosed my hand.

In the palm of my hand was a blue lapis lazuli earring set in seed pearls.

It was rather an unusual jewel, and I knew very well where I had seen itlast.

 

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