Three

Hercule Poirot sat in Nurse Hopkins’ cottage.

Dr. Lord had brought him there, had introducd him and had then, at a glance from Poirot, lefthim to a tête-à-tête.

Having, to begin with, eyed his foreign appearance somewhat askance, Nurse Hopkins was nowthawing rapidly.

She said with a faintly gloomy relish¹:

“Yes, it’s a terrible thing. One of the most terrible things I’ve ever known. Mary was one of themost beautiful girls you’ve ever seen. Might have gone on the films any time! And a nice steadygirl, too, and not stuck-up, as she might have been with all the notice taken of her.”

Poirot, inserting a question adroitly², said:

“You mean the notice taken of her by Mrs. Welman?”

“That’s what I mean. The old lady had taken a tremendous fancy to her—really, a tremendousfancy.”

Hercule Poirot murmured:

“Surprising, perhaps?”

“That depends. It might be quite natural, really. I mean…” Nurse Hopkins bit her lip and lookedconfused. “What I mean is, Mary had a very pretty way with her: nice soft voice and pleasantmanners. And it’s my opinion it does an elderly person good to have a young face about.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“Miss Carlisle came down occasionally, I suppose, to see her aunt?”

Nurse Hopkins said sharply:

“Miss Carlisle came down when it suited her.”

Poirot murmured:

“You do not like Miss Carlisle.”

Nurse Hopkins cried out:

“I should hope not, indeed! A poisoner! A cold-blooded poisoner!”

“Ah,” said Hercule Poirot, “I see you have made up your mind.”

Nurse Hopkins said suspiciously:

“What do you mean? Made up my mind?”

“You are quite sure that it was she who administered morphine to Mary Gerrard?”

“Who else could have done it, I should like to know? You’re not suggesting that I did?”

“Not for a moment. But her guilt⁴ has not yet been proved, remember.”

Nurse Hopkins said with calm assurance:

“She did it all right. Apart from anything else, you could see it in her face. Queer she was, allthe time. And taking me away upstairs and keeping me there—delaying as long as possible. Andthen when I turned on her, after finding Mary like that, it was there in her face as plain asanything. She knew I knew!”

Hercule Poirot said thoughtfully:

“It is certainly difficult to see who else could have done it. Unless of course, she did it herself.”

“What do you mean, did it herself? Do you mean that Mary committed suicide? I never heardsuch nonsense!”

Hercule Poirot said:

“One can never tell. The heart of a young girl, it is very sensitive, very tender.” He paused. “Itwould have been possible, I suppose? She could have slipped something into her tea without yournoticing her?”

“Slipped it into her cup, you mean?”

“Yes. You weren’t watching her all the time.”

“I wasn’t watching her—no. Yes, I suppose she could have done that… But it’s all nonsense!

What would she want to do a thing like that for?”

Hercule Poirot shook his head with a resumption of his former manner.

“A young girl’s heart…as I say, so sensitive. An unhappy love affair, perhaps—”

Nurse Hopkins gave a snort.

“Girls don’t kill themselves for love affairs—not unless they’re in the family way—and Marywasn’t that, let me tell you!” She glared at him belligerently⁵.

“And she was not in love?”

“Not she. Quite fancy free. Keen on her job and enjoying her life.”

“But she must have had admirers, since she was such an attractive girl.”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“She wasn’t one of these girls who are all S.A. and IT. She was a quiet girl!”

“But there were young men, no doubt, in the village who admired her.”

“There was Ted³ Bigland, of course,” said Nurse Hopkins.

Poirot extracted various details as to Ted Bigland.

“Very gone on Mary, he was,” said Nurse Hopkins. “But, as I told her, she was a cut abovehim.”

Poirot said:

“He must have been angry when she would not have anything to do with him?”

“He was sore about it, yes,” admitted Nurse Hopkins. “Blamed me for it, too.”

“He thought it was your fault?”

“That’s what he said. I’d a perfect right to advise the girl. After all, I know something of theworld. I didn’t want the girl to throw herself away.”

Poirot said gently:

“What made you take so much interest in the girl?”

“Well, I don’t know…” Nurse Hopkins hesitated. She looked shy and a little ashamed ofherself. “There was something—well—romantic about Mary.”

Poirot murmured:

“About her, perhaps, but not about her circumstances. She was the lodge⁶ keeper’s daughter,wasn’t she?”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“Yes—yes, of course. At least—”

She hesitated, looked at Poirot, who was gazing at her in the most sympathetic manner.

“As a matter of fact,” said Nurse Hopkins, in a burst of confidence, “she wasn’t old Gerrard’sdaughter at all. He told me so. Her father was a gentleman.”

Poirot murmured:

“I see… And her mother?”

Nurse Hopkins hesitated, bit her lip, and then went on:

“Her mother had been a lady’s maid to old Mrs. Welman. She married Gerrard after Mary wasborn.”

“As you say, quite a romance—a mystery romance.”

Nurse Hopkins’ face lit up.

“Wasn’t it? One can’t help taking an interest in people when one knows something that nobodyelse does about them. Just by chance I happened to find out a good deal. As a matter of fact, it wasNurse O’Brien who set me on the track; but that’s another story. But, as you say, it’s interestingknowing past history. There’s many a tragedy that goes unguessed at. It’s a sad world.”

Poirot sighed and shook his head.

Nurse Hopkins said with sudden alarm:

“But I oughtn’t to have gone talking like this. I wouldn’t have a word of this get out foranything! After all, it’s nothing to do with the case. As far as the world is concerned, Mary wasGerrard’s daughter, and there mustn’t be a hint of anything else. Damaging her in the eyes of theworld after she’s dead! He married her mother, and that’s enough.”

Poirot murmured:

“But you know, perhaps, who her real father was?”

Nurse Hopkins said reluctantly:

“Well, perhaps I do; but, then again, perhaps I don’t. That is, I don’t know anything. I couldtake a guess. Old sins have long shadows, as they say! But I’m not one to talk, and I shan’t sayanother word.”

Poirot tactfully retired⁷ from the fray⁸ and attacked another subject.

“There is something else—a delicate matter. But I am sure I can rely on your discretion⁹.”

Nurse Hopkins bridled¹⁰. A broad smile appeared on her homely¹¹ face.

Poirot continued:

“I speak of Mr. Roderick Welman. He was, so I hear, attracted by Mary Gerrard.”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“Bowled over by her!”

“Although at the time he was engaged to Miss Carlisle?”

“If you ask me,” said Nurse Hopkins, “he was never really sweet on Miss Carlisle. Not what I’dcall sweet on her.”

Poirot asked, using an old-fashioned term:

“Did Mary Gerrard—er—encourage his advances?”

Nurse Hopkins said sharply:

“She behaved very well. Nobody could say she led him on!”

Poirot said:

“Was she in love with him?”

Nurse Hopkins said sharply:

“No, she wasn’t.”

“But she liked him?”

“Oh, yes, she liked him well enough.”

“And I suppose, in time, something might have come of it?”

Nurse Hopkins admitted that.

“That may be. But Mary wouldn’t have done anything in a hurry. She told him down here hehad no business to speak like that to her when he was engaged to Miss Elinor. And when he cameto see her in London she said the same.”

Poirot asked with an air of engaging candour:

“What do you think yourself of Mr. Roderick Welman?”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“He’s a nice enough young fellow. Nervy, though. Looks as though he might be dyspeptic lateron. Those nervy ones often are.”

“Was he very fond of his aunt?”

“I believe so.”

“Did he sit with her much when she was so ill?”

“You mean when she had that second stroke? The night before she died when they came down?

I don’t believe he even went into her room!”

“Really.”

Nurse Hopkins said quickly:

“She didn’t ask for him. And, of course, we’d no idea the end was so near. There are a lot ofmen like that, you know: fight shy of a sickroom. They can’t help it. And it’s not heartlessness.

They just don’t want to be upset in their feelings.”

Poirot nodded comprehendingly.

He said:

“Are you sure Mr. Welman did not go into his aunt’s room before she died?”

“Well not while I was on duty! Nurse O’Brien relieved me at 3 a.m., and she may have fetchedhim before the end; but, if so, she didn’t mention it to me.”

Poirot suggested:

“He may have gone into her room when you were absent?”

Nurse Hopkins snapped:

“I don’t leave my patients unattended, Mr. Poirot.”

“A thousand apologies. I did not mean that. I thought perhaps you might have had to boil water,or to run downstairs for some necessary stimulant¹².”

Mollified, Nurse Hopkins said:

“I did go down to change the bottles and get them refilled. I knew there’d be a kettle on the boildown in the kitchen.”

“You were away long?”

“Five minutes, perhaps.”

“Ah, yes, then Mr. Welman may have just looked in on her then?”

“He must have been very quick about it if he did.”

Poirot sighed. He said:

“As you say, men fight shy of illness. It is the women who are the ministering angels. Whatshould we do without them? Especially women of your profession—a truly noble calling.”

Nurse Hopkins, slightly red in the face, said:

“It’s very kind of you to say that. I’ve never thought of it that way myself. Too much hard workin nursing to think about the noble side of it.”

Poirot said:

“And there is nothing else you can tell me about Mary Gerrard?”

There was an appreciable¹³ pause before Nurse Hopkins answered:

“I don’t know of anything.”

“Are you quite sure?”

Nurse Hopkins said rather incoherently:

“You don’t understand. I was fond of Mary.”

“And there is nothing more you can tell me?”

“No, there is not! And that’s flat.”

 

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