Four

In the awesome¹ majesty² of Mrs. Bishop³’s black- clad presence Hercule Poirot sat humblyinsignificant.

The thawing⁴ of Mrs. Bishop was no easy matter. For Mrs. Bishop, a lady of Conservative habitsand views, strongly disapproved⁵ of foreigners. And a foreigner most indubitably Hercule Poirotwas. Her responses were frosty and she eyed him with disfavour and suspicion.

Dr. Lord’s introduction of him had done little to soften⁶ the situation.

“I am sure,” said Mrs. Bishop when Dr. Lord had gone, “Dr. Lord is a very clever doctor andmeans well. Dr. Ransome, his predecessor⁷, had been here many years!”

Dr. Ransome, that is to say, could be trusted to behave in a manner suitable to the county. Dr.

Lord, a mere⁸ irresponsible youngster, an upstart who had taken Dr. Ransome’s place, had only onerecommendation: “cleverness” in his profession.

Cleverness, the whole demeamour of Mrs. Bishop seemed to say, is not enough!

Hercule Poirot was persuasive⁹. He was adroit¹⁰. But charm he never so wisely, Mrs. Bishopremained aloof¹¹ and implacable.

The death of Mrs. Welman had been very sad. She had been much respected in theneighbourhood. The arrest of Miss Carlisle was “Disgraceful!” and believed to be the result of“these newfangled police methods.” The views of Mrs. Bishop upon the death of Mary Gerrardwere vague in the extreme. “I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” being the most she could be brought to say.

Hercule Poirot played his last card. He recounted with na?ve pride a recent visit of his toSandringham. He spoke¹² with admiration¹³ of the graciousness and delightful¹⁴ simplicity¹⁵ andkindness of Royalty¹⁶.

Mrs. Bishop, who followed daily in the court circular the exact movements of Royalty, wasoverborne. After all, if They had sent for Mr. Poirot… Well, naturally, that made All theDifference. Foreigner or no foreigner, who was she, Emma Bishop, to hold back where Royaltyhad led the way?

Presently she and M. Poirot were engaged in pleasant conversation on a really interesting theme—no less than the selection of a suitable future husband for Princess Elizabeth.

Having finally exhausted¹⁷ all possible candidates as Not Good Enough, the talk reverted¹⁸ to lessexalted circles.

Poirot observed sententiously:

“Marriage, alas¹⁹, is fraught²⁰ with dangers and pitfalls²¹!”

Mrs. Bishop said:

“Yes, indeed—with this nasty divorce,” rather as though she were speaking of a contagiousdisease such as chickenpox.

“I expect,” said Poirot, “that Mrs. Welman, before her death, must have been anxious to see herniece suitably settled in life?”

Mrs. Bishop bowed her head.

“Yes, indeed. The engagement between Miss Elinor and Mr. Roderick was a great relief to her.

It was a thing she had always hoped for.”

Poirot ventured:

“The engagement was perhaps entered into partly from a wish to please her?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Poirot. Miss Elinor has always been devoted²² to Mr. Roddy—always was, as a tiny tot—quite beautiful to see. Miss Elinor has a very loyal and devoted nature!”

Poirot murmured:

“And he?”

Mrs. Bishop said austerely²³:

“Mr. Roderick was devoted to Miss Elinor.”

Poirot said:

“Yet the engagement, I think, was broken off?”

The colour rose in Mrs. Bishop’s face. She said:

“Owing, Mr. Poirot, to the machinations of a snake in the grass.”

Poirot said, appearing suitably impressed:

“Indeed?”

Mrs. Bishop, her face becoming redder still, explained:

“In this country, Mr. Poirot, there is a certain Decency²⁴ to be observed when mentioning theDead. But that young woman, Mr. Poirot, was Underhand in her Dealings.”

Poirot looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

Then he said with an apparent lack of guile²⁵:

“You surprise me. I had been given the impression that she was a very simple and unassuminggirl.”

Mrs. Bishop’s chin trembled a little.

“She was Artful, Mr. Poirot. People were Taken In by her. That Nurse Hopkins, for instance!

Yes, and my poor dear mistress too!”

Poirot shook his head sympathetically and made a clacking noise with his tongue.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Bishop, stimulated²⁶ by these encouraging noises. “She was failing, poordear, and that young woman Wormed her way into her Confidence. She knew which side of herbread was buttered. Always hovering²⁷ about, reading to her, bringing her little nosegays of flowers.

It was Mary this and Mary that and ‘Where’s Mary?’ all the time! The money she spent on thegirl, too! Expensive schools and finishing places abroad—and the girl nothing but old Gerrard’sdaughter! He didn’t like it, I can tell you! Used to complain of her Fine Lady ways. AboveHerself, that’s what She was.”

This time Poirot shook his head and said commiseratingly:

“Dear, dear.”

“And then Making Up to Mr. Roddy the way she did! He was too simple to see through Her.

And Miss Elinor, a nice-minded young lady as she is, of course she wouldn’t realize what wasGoing On. But Men, they are all alike: easily caught by flattery and a pretty face!”

Poirot sighed.

“She had, I suppose, admirers of her own class?” he asked.

“Of course she had. There was Rufus Bigland’s son Ted—as nice a boy as you could find. Butoh, no, my fine lady was too good for him! I’d no patience with such airs and graces!”

Poirot said:

“Was he not angry about her treatment of him?”

“Yes, indeed. He accused her of carrying on with Mr. Roddy. I know that for a fact. I don’tblame the boy for feeling sore!”

“Nor I,” said Poirot. “You interest me extremely, Mrs. Bishop. Some people have the knack²⁸ ofpresenting a character clearly and vigorously in a few words. It is a great gift. I have at last a clearpicture of Mary Gerrard.”

“Mind you,” said Mrs. Bishop, “I’m not saying a word against the girl! I wouldn’t do such athing—and she in her grave. But there’s no doubt that she caused a lot of trouble!”

Poirot murmured:

“Where would it have ended, I wonder?”

“That’s what I say!” said Mrs. Bishop. “You can take it from me, Mr. Poirot, that if my dearmistress hadn’t died when she did—awful as the shock was at the time, I see now that it was aMercy in Disguise—I don’t know what might have been the end of it!”

Poirot said invitingly²⁹:

“You mean?”

Mrs. Bishop said solemnly:

“I’ve come across it time and again. My own sister was in service where it happened. Oncewhen old Colonel Randolph died and left every penny away from his poor wife to a hussy living atEastbourne—and once old Mrs. Dacres—left it to the organist of the church—one of those long-haired young men—and she with married sons and daughters.”

Poirot said:

“You mean, I take it, that Mrs. Welman might have left all her money to Mary Gerrard?”

“It wouldn’t have surprised me!” said Mrs. Bishop. “That’s what the young woman wasworking up to, I’ve no doubt. And if I ventured to say a word, Mrs. Welman was ready to bite myhead off, though I’d been with her nearly twenty years. It’s an ungrateful world, Mr. Poirot. Youtry to do your duty and it is not appreciated.”

“Alas,” sighed Poirot, “how true that is!”

“But Wickedness doesn’t always flourish,” said Mrs. Bishop.

Poirot said:

“True. Mary Gerrard is dead….”

Mrs. Bishop said comfortably:

“She’s gone to her reckoning, and we mustn’t judge her.”

Poirot mused³⁰:

“The circumstances of her death seem quite inexplicable³¹.”

“These police and their newfangled ideas,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Is it likely that a well-bred,nicely brought up young lady like Miss Elinor would go about poisoning anyone? Trying to dragme into it, too, saying I said her manner was peculiar³²!”

“But was it not peculiar?”

“And why shouldn’t it be?” Mrs. Bishop’s bust³³ heaved with a flash of jet. “Miss Elinor’s ayoung lady of feelings. She was going to turn out her aunt’s things—and that’s always a painfulbusiness.”

Poirot nodded sympathetically.

He said:

“It would have made it much easier for her if you had accompanied her.”

“I wanted to, Mr. Poirot, but she took me up quite sharp. Oh, well, Miss Elinor was always avery proud and reserved young lady. I wish, though, that I had gone with her.”

Poirot murmured:

“You did not think of following her up to the house?”

Mrs. Bishop reared her head majestically³⁴.

“I don’t go where I’m not wanted, Mr. Poirot.”

Poirot looked abashed³⁵. He murmured:

“Besides, you had doubtless matters of importance to attend to that morning?”

“It was a very warm day, I remember. Very sultry.” She sighed. “I walked to the cemetery³⁶ toplace a few flowers on Mrs. Welman’s grave, a token of respect, and I had to rest there quite along time. Quite overcome by the heat, I was. I got home late for lunch, and my sister was quiteupset when she saw the State of Heat I was in! Said I never should have done it on a day like that.”

Poirot looked at her with admiration.

He said:

“I envy you, Mrs. Bishop. It is pleasant indeed to have nothing with which to reproach oneselfafter a death. Mr. Roderick Welman, I fancy, must blame himself for not going in to see his auntthat night, though naturally he could not know she was going to pass away so soon.”

“Oh, but you’re quite wrong, Mr. Poirot. I can tell you that for a fact. Mr. Roddy did go into hisaunt’s room. I was just outside on the landing myself. I’d heard that nurse go off downstairs, and Ithought maybe I’d better make sure the mistress wasn’t needing anything, for you know whatnurses are: always staying downstairs to gossip with the maids, or else worrying them to death byasking them for things. Not that Nurse Hopkins was as bad as that red-haired Irish nurse. Alwayschattering and making trouble, she was! But, as I say, I thought I’d just see everything was allright, and it was then that I saw Mr. Roddy slip into his aunt’s room. I don’t know whether sheknew him or not; but anyway he hasn’t got anything to reproach himself with!”

Poirot said:

“I am glad. He is of a somewhat nervous disposition³⁷.”

“Just a trifle cranky. He always has been.”

Poirot said:

“Mrs. Bishop, you are evidently a woman of great understanding. I have formed a high regardfor your judgement. What do you think is the truth about the death of Mary Gerrard?”

Mrs. Bishop snorted.

“Clear enough, I should think! One of those nasty pots of paste of Abbott’s. Keeps them onthose shelves for months! My second cousin was took ill and nearly died once, with tinned crab³⁸!”

Poirot objected:

“But what about the morphine found in the body?”

Mrs. Bishop said grandly:

“I don’t know anything about morphine! I know what doctors are: Tell them to look forsomething, and they’ll find it! Tainted³⁹ fish paste isn’t good enough for them!”

Poirot said:

“You do not think it possible that she committed suicide?”

“She?” Mrs. Bishop snorted. “No indeed. Hadn’t she made up her mind to marry Mr. Roddy?

Catch her committing suicide!”

 

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