Thirteen

Poirot knocked at the door of Nurse Hopkins’ cottage. She opened it to him with her mouth full ofBath bun.

She said sharply:

“Well, Mr. Poirot, what do you want now?”

“I may enter?”

Somewhat grudgingly¹ Nurse Hopkins drew back and Poirot was permitted to cross thethreshold. Nurse Hopkins was hospitable² with the teapot, and a minute later Poirot was regardingwith some dismay a cup of inky beverage³.

“Just made-nice and strong!” said Nurse Hopkins.

Poirot stirred his tea cautiously and took one heroic sip⁴.

He said:

“Have you any idea why I have come here?”

“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, until you tell me. I don’t profess⁵ to be a mind reader.”

“I have come to ask you for the truth.”

Nurse Hopkins uprose in wrath⁶.

“And what’s the meaning of that, I should like to know? A truthful⁷ woman I’ve always been.

Not one to shield myself in any way. I spoke⁸ up about that missing tube of morphine at the inquestwhen many a one in my place would have sat tight and said nothing. For well enough did I knowthat I should get censured⁹ for carelessness in leaving my case about; and, after all, it’s a thingmight happen to anybody! I was blamed for that-and it won’t do me any good in my profession, Ican tell you. But that didn’t make any difference to me! I knew something that had a bearing onthe case, and so I spoke out. And I’ll thank you, Mr. Poirot, to keep any nasty insinuations toyourself! There’s not a thing about Mary Gerrard’s death that I haven’t been open and aboveboardas daylight about, and if you think differently, I’d be obliged if you’d give chapter and verse for it!

I’ve concealed¹⁰ nothing-nothing at all! And I’m prepared to take the oath and stand up in courtand say so.”

Poirot did not attempt to interrupt. He knew only too well the technique of dealing¹¹ with anangry woman. He allowed Nurse Hopkins to flare¹² up and simmer down. Then he spoke-quietlyand mildly.

He said:

“I did not suggest that there is anything about the crime which you have not told.”

“Then what did you suggest, I’d like to know?”

“I asked you to tell the truth-not about the death, but about the life of Mary Gerrard.”

“Oh!” Nurse Hopkins seemed momentarily taken aback. She said, “So that’s what you’regetting at? But it’s got nothing to do with the murder.”

“I did not say that it had, I said that you were withholding¹³ knowledge concerning her.”

“Why shouldn’t I-if it’s nothing to do with the crime?”

Poirot shrugged¹⁴ his shoulders.

“Why should you?”

Nurse Hopkins, very red in the face, said:

“Because it’s common decency¹⁵! They’re all dead now - everyone concerned. And it’s nobusiness of anyone else’s!”

“If it is only surmise-perhaps not. But if you have actual knowledge, that is different.”

Nurse Hopkins said slowly:

“I don’t know exactly what you mean….”

Poirot said:

“I will help you. I have had hints from Nurse O’Brien and I have had a long conversation withMrs. Slattery, who has a very good memory for events that happened over twenty years ago. I willtell you exactly what I have learned. Well, over twenty years ago there was a love affair betweentwo people. One of them was Mrs. Welman, who had been a widow for some years and who was awoman capable of a deep and passionate¹⁶ love. The other party was Sir Lewis Rycroft, who had thegreat misfortune to have a wife who was hopelessly insane. The law in those days gave no promiseof relief by divorce, and Lady Rycroft, whose physical health was excellent, might live to beninety. The liaison¹⁷ between those two people was, I think, guessed at, but they were both discreetand careful to keep up appearances. Then Sir Lewis Rycroft was killed in action.”

“Well?” said Nurse Hopkins.

“I suggest,” said Poirot, “that there was a child born after his death, and that that child wasMary Gerrard.”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“You seem to know all about it!”

Poirot said:

“That is what I think. But it is possible that you have got definite proof that that is so.”

Nurse Hopkins sat silent a minute or two, frowning, then abruptly¹⁸ she rose, went across theroom, opened a drawer and took out an envelope. She brought it across to Poirot.

She said:

“I’ll tell you how this came into my hands. Mind, I’d had my suspicions. The way Mrs. Welmanlooked at the girl, for one thing, and then hearing the gossip on top of it. And old Gerrard told mewhen he was ill that Mary wasn’t his daughter.

“Well, after Mary died I finished clearing up the Lodge¹⁹, and in a drawer amongst some of theold man’s things I came across this letter. You see what’s written on it.”

Poirot read the superscription written in faded ink:

“For Mary-to be sent to her after my death.”

Poirot said:

“This writing is not recent?”

“It wasn’t Gerrard who wrote that,” explained Nurse Hopkins. “It was Mary’s mother, who diedfourteen years ago. She meant this for the girl, but the old man kept it among his things and so shenever saw it-and I’m thankful she didn’t! She was able to hold up her head to the end, and she’dno cause to feel ashamed.”

She paused and then said:

“Well, it was sealed up, but when I found it I’ll admit to you that I opened it and read it then andthere, which I dare say I should not have done. But Mary was dead, and I guessed more or less atwhat was inside it and I didn’t see that it was any concern of anyone else’s. All the same, I haven’tliked to destroy it, because I didn’t feel somehow it would be right to do that. But, there, you’dbetter read it yourself.”

Poirot drew out the sheet of paper covered in small angular writing:

This is the truth I’ve written down here in case it should ever be needed. I waslady’s maid to Mrs. Welman at Hunterbury, and very kind to me she was. I gotinto trouble, and she stood by me and took me back into her service when it wasall over; but the baby died. My mistress and Sir Lewis Rycroft were fond of eachother, but they couldn’t marry, because he had a wife already and she was in amadhouse, poor lady. He was a fine gentleman and devoted²⁰ to Mrs. Welman. Hewas killed, and she told me soon after that she was going to have a child. Afterthat she went up to Scotland and took me with her. The child was born there-atArdlochrie. Bob Gerrard, who had washed his hands of me and flung me off whenI had my trouble, had been writing to me again. The arrangement was that weshould marry and live at the Lodge and he should think that the baby was mine. Ifwe lived on the place it would seem natural that Mrs. Welman should beinterested in the child and she’d see to educating her and giving her a place inthe world. She thought it would be better for Mary never to know the truth. Mrs.

Welman gave us both a handsome sum of money; but I would have helped herwithout that. I’ve been quite happy with Bob, but he never took to Mary. I’ve heldmy tongue and never said anything to anybody, but I think it’s right in case I diethat I should put this down in black and white.

Eliza Gerrard (born Eliza Riley)

Hercule Poirot drew a deep breath and folded up the letter again.

Nurse Hopkins said anxiously:

“What are you going to do about it? They’re all dead now! It’s no good raking up these things.

Everyone looked up to Mrs. Welman in these parts; there’s never been anything said against her.

All this old scandal-it would be cruel. The same with Mary. She was a sweet girl. Why shouldanyone have to know she was a bastard²¹? Let the dead rest in peace in their graves, that’s what Isay.”

Poirot said:

“One has to consider the living.”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“But this has got nothing to do with the murder.”

Hercule Poirot said gravely:

“It may have a great deal to do with it.”

He went out of the cottage, leaving Nurse Hopkins with her mouth open, staring after him.

He had walked some way when he became aware of hesitating footsteps just behind him. Hestopped and turned round.

It was Horlick, the young gardener from Hunterbury. He was looking the picture ofembarrassment and twisting his cap round and round in his hands.

“Excuse me, sir. Could I have a word with you?”

Horlick spoke with a kind of gulp²³.

“Certainly. What is it?”

Horlick twisted the cap even more fiercely. He said, averting²⁴ his eyes and looking the picture ofmisery and embarrassment²²:

“It’s about that car.”

“The car that was outside the back gate that morning?”

“Yes, sir. Dr. Lord said this morning that it wasn’t his car-but it was, sir.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Yes, sir. Because of the number, sir. It was MSS 2022. I noticed it particular-MSS 2022. Yousee, we know it in the village, and always call it Miss Tou-Tou! I’m quite sure of it, sir.”

Poirot said with a faint smile:

“But Dr. Lord says he was over at Withenbury that morning.”

Horlick said miserably²⁵:

“Yes, sir. I heard him. But it was his car, sir… I’ll take my oath on that.”

Poirot said gently:

“Thank you, Horlick, that’s just exactly what you may have to do….”

 

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