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THE BLUE GERANIUM
“When I was down here last year —” said Sir Henry Clithering, and
stopped.
The Ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard was staying with old friends of
Mrs. Bantry, pen in hand, had just asked his advice as to who should be
invited to make a sixth guest at dinner that evening.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Bantry encouragingly. “When you were here last year?”
“Tell me,” said Sir Henry, “do you know a Miss Marple?”
Mrs. Bantry was surprised. It was the last thing she had expected.
“Know Miss Marple? Who doesn’t! The typical old maid of fiction. Quite
a dear, but hopelessly behind the times. Do you mean you would like me
to ask her to dinner?”
“You are surprised?”
“A little, I must confess. I should hardly have thought you—but perhaps
there’s an explanation?”
“The explanation is simple enough. When I was down here last year we
got into the habit of discussing unsolved mysteries—there were five or six
of us—Raymond West, the novelist, started it. We each supplied a story to
which we knew the answer, but nobody else did. It was supposed to be an
truth.”
“Well?”
“Like in the old story—we hardly realized that Miss Marple was playing;
but we were very polite about it—didn’t want to hurt the old dear’s feel-
ings. And now comes the cream of the jest. The old lady outdid us every
time!”
“What?”
“I assure you—straight to the truth like a homing pigeon.”
“But how extraordinary! Why, dear old Miss Marple has hardly ever
been out of St. Mary Mead.”
observing human nature—under the microscope as it were.”
“I suppose there’s something in that,” conceded Mrs. Bantry. “One
would at least know the petty side of people. But I don’t think we have any
really exciting criminals in our midst. I think we must try her with Ar-
thur’s ghost story after dinner. I’d be thankful if she’d find a solution to
that.”
“I didn’t know that Arthur believed in ghosts?”
“Oh! he doesn’t. That’s what worries him so. And it happened to a friend
for poor George. Either this extraordinary story is true—or else—”
“Or else what?”
Mrs. Bantry did not answer. After a minute or two she said irrelevantly7:
“You know, I like George—everyone does. One can’t believe that he—but
people do do such extraordinary things.”
Sir Henry nodded. He knew, better than Mrs. Bantry, the extraordinary
things that people did.
So it came about that that evening Mrs. Bantry looked round her dinner
table (shivering a little as she did so, because the dining room, like most
upright old lady sitting on her husband’s right. Miss Marple wore black
to the elderly doctor, Dr. Lloyd, about the Workhouse and the suspected
shortcomings of the District Nurse.
had been making an elaborate joke—but there seemed no point in that. In-
Her glance went on and rested affectionately on her red-faced broad-
shouldered husband as he sat talking horses to Jane Helier, the beautiful
and popular actress. Jane, more beautiful (if that were possible) off the
tervals: “Really?” “Oh fancy!” “How extraordinary!” She knew nothing
whatever about horses and cared less.
“Arthur,” said Mrs. Bantry, “you’re boring poor Jane to distraction15.
Leave horses alone and tell her your ghost story instead. You know . . .
George Pritchard.”
“Eh, Dolly? Oh! but I don’t know—”
“Sir Henry wants to hear it too. I was telling him something about it this
morning. It would be interesting to hear what everyone has to say about
it.”
“Oh do!” said Jane. “I love ghost stories.”
“Well—” Colonel Bantry hesitated. “I’ve never believed much in the su-
pernatural. But this—
“I don’t think any of you know George Pritchard. He’s one of the best.
His wife—well, she’s dead now, poor woman. I’ll just say this much: she
didn’t give George any too easy a time when she was alive. She was one of
those semi-invalids—I believe she had really something wrong with her,
but whatever it was she played it for all it was worth. She was capricious,
was expected to wait on her hand and foot, and every thing he did was al-
so?”
“She was a dreadful woman,” said Mrs. Bantry with conviction. “If
George Pritchard had brained her with a hatchet, and there had been any
“I don’t quite know how this business started. George was rather vague
about it. I gather Mrs. Pritchard had always had a weakness for fortune-
If she found amusement in it well and good. But he refused to go into
“A succession of hospital nurses was always passing through the house,
Mrs. Pritchard usually becoming dissatisfied with them after a few weeks.
a time Mrs. Pritchard had been very fond of her. Then she suddenly fell
out with her and insisted on her going. She had back another nurse who
had been with her previously—an older woman, experienced and tactful
was a very good sort—a sensible woman to talk to. She put up with Mrs.
Pritchard’s tantrums and nerve storms with complete indifference29.
“Mrs. Pritchard always lunched upstairs, and it was usual at lunchtime
for George and the nurse to come to some arrangement for the afternoon.
phrase goes, she would sometimes take her time off after tea if George
wanted to be free for the afternoon. On this occasion, she mentioned that
she was going to see a sister at Golders Green and might be a little late re-
turning. George’s face fell, for he had arranged to play a round of golf.
“‘We’ll neither of us be missed, Mr. Pritchard.’ A twinkle came into her
eye. ‘Mrs. Pritchard’s going to have more exciting company than ours.’
“‘Who’s that?’
“‘Wait a minute,’ Nurse Copling’s eyes twinkled more than ever. ‘Let me
“‘Quite new. I believe my predecessor34, Nurse Carstairs, sent her along.
Mrs. Pritchard hasn’t seen her yet. She made me write, fixing an appoint-
ment for this afternoon.’
“‘Well, at any rate, I shall get my golf,’ said George, and he went off with
the kindliest feelings towards Zarida, the Reader of the Future.
“On his return to the house, he found Mrs. Pritchard in a state of great
“‘George,’ she exclaimed. ‘What did I tell you about this house? The mo-
ment I came into it, I felt there was something wrong! Didn’t I tell you so at
the time?’
“Repressing his desire to reply, ‘You always do,’ George said, ‘No, I can’t
say I remember it.’
“‘You never do remember anything that has to do with me. Men are all
extraordinarily41 callous—but I really believe that you are even more in-
sensitive than most.’
“‘Oh, come now, Mary dear, that’s not fair.’
“‘Well, as I was telling you, this woman knew at once! She—she actually
blenched—if you know what I mean—as she came in at the door, and she
said: ‘There is evil here—evil and danger. I feel it’”
“Very unwisely George laughed.
“‘Well, you have had your money’s worth this afternoon.’
“George protested and after a minute or two she went on.
“‘You may laugh, but I shall tell you the whole thing. This house is defin-
itely dangerous to me—the woman said so.’
if the caprice got hold of her.
“‘What else did she say?’ he asked.
“‘She couldn’t tell me very much. She was so upset. One thing she did
“‘Take those away. No blue flowers — never have blue flowers. Blue
flowers are fatal to you—remember that’”
“‘And you know,’ added Mrs. Pritchard, ‘I always have told you that blue
as a colour is repellent to me. I feel a natural instinctive46 sort of warning
against.’
“George was much too wise to remark that he had never heard her say
so before. Instead he asked what the mysterious Zarida was like. Mrs.
Pritchard entered with gusto upon a description.
“‘Black hair in coiled knobs over her ears—her eyes were half closed—
cent—Spanish, I think—’
“‘In fact all the usual stock-in-trade,’ said George cheerfully.
“His wife immediately closed her eyes.
“‘I feel extremely ill,’ she said. ‘Ring for nurse. Unkindness upsets me, as
you know only too well.’
“It was two days later that Nurse Copling came to George with a grave
face.
“‘Will you come to Mrs. Pritchard, please. She has had a letter which up-
sets her greatly.’
“He found his wife with the letter in her hand. She held it out to him.
“‘Read it,’ she said.
and black.
“I have seen the future. Be warned before it is too late. Beware of the Full
the Blue Geranium means Death. . . .
“Just about to burst out laughing, George caught Nurse Copling’s eye.
She made a quick warning gesture. He said rather awkwardly, ‘The wo-
man’s probably trying to frighten you, Mary. Anyway there aren’t such
“But Mrs. Pritchard began to cry and say her days were numbered.
Nurse Copling came out with George upon the landing.
“‘Of all the silly tomfoolery,’ he burst out.
“‘I suppose it is.’
“Something in the nurse’s tone struck him, and he stared at her in
“‘Surely, nurse, you don’t believe—’
“No, no, Mr. Pritchard. I don’t believe in reading the future—that’s non-
sense. What puzzles me is the meaning of this. Fortunetellers are usually
out for what they can get. But this woman seems to be frightening Mrs.
Pritchard with no advantage to herself. I can’t see the point. There’s an-
other thing—’
“‘Yes?’
“‘Mrs. Pritchard says that something about Zarida was faintly familiar to
her.’
“‘Well?’
“‘Well, I don’t like it, Mr. Pritchard, that’s all.’
“‘I didn’t know you were so superstitious53, nurse.’
“It was about four days after this that the first incident happened. To ex-
plain it to you, I shall have to describe Mrs. Pritchard’s room—”
“You’d better let me do that,” interrupted Mrs. Bantry. “It was papered
make a kind of herbaceous border. The effect is almost like being in a
garden—though, of course, the flowers are all wrong. I mean they simply
couldn’t be in bloom all at the same time—”
“Don’t let a passion for horticultural accuracy run away with you,
Dolly,” said her husband. “We all know you’re an enthusiastic gardener.”
fodils and lupins and hollyhocks and Michaelmas daisies all grouped to-
gether.”
“Most unscientific,” said Sir Henry. “But to proceed with the story.”
“Well, among these massed flowers were primroses, clumps of yellow
and pink primroses and—oh go on, Arthur, this is your story—”
Colonel Bantry took up the tale.
“Mrs. Pritchard rang her bell violently one morning. The household
came running—thought she was in extremis; not at all. She was violently
excited and pointing at the wallpaper; and there sure enough was one blue
primrose in the midst of the others. . . .”
“Oh!” said Miss Helier, “how creepy!”
“The question was: Hadn’t the blue primrose always been there? That
was George’s suggestion and the nurse’s. But Mrs. Pritchard wouldn’t have
it at any price. She had never noticed it till that very morning and the
night before had been full moon. She was very upset about it.”
“I met George Pritchard that same day and he told me about it,” said
whole thing; but without success. I came away really concerned, and I re-
member I met Jean Instow and told her about it. Jean is a queer girl. She
said, ‘So she’s really upset about it?’ I told her that I thought the woman
was perfectly capable of dying of fright—she was really abnormally super-
stitious.
“I remember Jean rather startled me with what she said next. She said,
‘Well, that might be all for the best, mightn’t it?’ And she said it so coolly,
in so matter-of-fact a tone that I was really—well, shocked. Of course I
used to it. Jean smiled at me rather oddly and said, ‘You don’t like my say-
ing that—but it’s true. What use is Mrs. Pritchard’s life to her? None at all;
and it’s hell for George Pritchard. To have his wife frightened out of exist-
ence would be the best thing that could happen to him.’ I said, ‘George is
nurse thought so—the pretty one—what was her name? Carstairs. That
was the cause of the row between her and Mrs. P.’
“Now I didn’t like hearing Jean say that. Of course one had wondered—”
Mrs. Bantry paused significantly.
a pretty girl? I suppose she plays golf?”
“Yes. She’s good at all games. And she’s nice-looking, attractive-looking,
very fair with a healthy skin, and nice steady blue eyes. Of course we al-
ways have felt that she and George Pritchard—I mean if things had been
different—they are so well suited to one another.”
“And they were friends?” asked Miss Marple.
“Oh yes. Great friends.”
“Do you think, Dolly,” said Colonel Bantry plaintively63, “that I might be
allowed to go on with my story?”
“Arthur,” said Mrs. Bantry resignedly, “wants to get back to his ghosts.”
“I had the rest of the story from George himself,” went on the Colonel.
“There’s no doubt that Mrs. Pritchard got the wind up badly towards the
end of the next month. She marked off on a calendar the day when the
moon would be full, and on that night she had both the nurse and then
George into her room and made them study the wallpaper carefully.
There were pink hollyhocks and red ones, but there were no blue amongst
them. Then when George left the room she locked the door—”
“And in the morning there was a large blue hollyhock,” said Miss Helier
“Quite right,” said Colonel Bantry. “Or at any rate, nearly right. One
flower of a hollyhock just above her head had turned blue. It staggered
George; and of course the more it staggered him the more he refused to
take the thing seriously. He insisted that the whole thing was some kind of
practical joke. He ignored the evidence of the locked door and the fact that
Mrs. Pritchard discovered the change before anyone—even Nurse Copling
—was admitted.
“It staggered George; and it made him unreasonable. His wife wanted to
leave the house, and he wouldn’t let her. He was inclined to believe in the
supernatural for the first time, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He usually
gave in to his wife, but this time he wouldn’t. Mary was not to make a fool
of herself, he said. The whole thing was the most infernal nonsense.
“And so the next month sped away. Mrs. Pritchard made less protest
than one would have imagined. I think she was superstitious enough to
believe that she couldn’t escape her fate. She repeated again and again:
‘The blue primrose — warning. The blue hollyhock — danger. The blue
geraniums nearest her bed.
“The whole business was pretty nervy. Even the nurse caught the infec-
tion. She came to George two days before full moon and begged him to
take Mrs. Pritchard away. George was angry.
“‘If all the flowers on that damned wall turned into blue devils it
couldn’t kill anyone!’ he shouted.
“‘It might. Shock has killed people before now.’
“‘Nonsense,’ said George.
“George has always been a shade pigheaded. You can’t drive him. I be-
lieve he had a secret idea that his wife worked the change herself and that
“Well, the fatal night came. Mrs. Pritchard locked the door as usual. She
but Mrs. Pritchard refused. In a way, I believe, she was enjoying herself.
George said she was.”
“I think that’s quite possible,” said Mrs. Bantry. “There must have been a
“There was no violent ringing of a bell the next morning. Mrs. Pritchard
usually woke about eight. When, at eight thirty, there was no sign from
her, nurse rapped loudly on the door. Getting no reply, she fetched
George, and insisted on the door being broken open. They did so with the
“One look at the still figure on the bed was enough for Nurse Copling.
She sent George to telephone for the doctor, but it was too late. Mrs.
Pritchard, he said, must have been dead at least eight hours. Her smelling
salts lay by her hand on the bed, and on the wall beside her one of the pinky-
red geraniums was a bright deep blue.”
“Horrible,” said Miss Helier with a shiver.
Sir Henry was frowning.
“No additional details?”
Colonel Bantry shook his head, but Mrs. Bantry spoke quickly.
“The gas.”
“What about the gas?” asked Sir Henry.
“When the doctor arrived there was a slight smell of gas, and sure
enough he found the gas ring in the fireplace very slightly turned on; but
so little it couldn’t have mattered.”
“Did Mr. Pritchard and the nurse not notice it when they first went in?”
“The nurse said she did notice a slight smell. George said he didn’t no-
tice gas, but something made him feel very queer and overcome; but he
put that down to shock—and probably it was. At any rate there was no
question of gas poisoning. The smell was scarcely noticeable.”
“And that’s the end of the story?”
“No, it isn’t. One way and another, there was a lot of talk. The servants,
you see, had overheard things—had heard, for instance, Mrs. Pritchard
telling her husband that he hated her and would jeer if she were dying.
ing to leave the house: ‘Very well, when I am dead, I hope everyone will
realize that you have killed me.’ And as ill luck would have it, he had been
younger servants had seen him and had afterwards seen him taking up a
glass of hot milk for his wife.
“The talk spread and grew. The doctor had given a certificate—I don’t
know exactly in what terms—shock, syncope, heart failure, probably some
medical terms meaning nothing much. However the poor lady had not
and granted.”
gravely. “A case, for once, of smoke without fire.”
“The whole thing is really very curious,” said Mrs. Bantry. “That for-
to be, no one had ever heard of any such person!”
“She appeared once—out of the blue,” said her husband, “and then ut-
terly vanished. Out of the blue—that’s rather good!”
“And what is more,” continued Mrs. Bantry, “little Nurse Carstairs, who
was supposed to have recommended her, had never even heard of her.”
They looked at each other.
“It’s a mysterious story,” said Dr. Lloyd. “One can make guesses; but to
guess—”
He shook his head.
“Has Mr. Pritchard married Miss Instow?” asked Miss Marple in her
gentle voice.
“Now why do you ask that?” inquired Sir Henry.
Miss Marple opened gentle blue eyes.
“It seems to me so important,” she said. “Have they married?”
Colonel Bantry shook his head.
“We — well, we expected something of the kind — but it’s eighteen
months now. I don’t believe they even see much of each other.”
“That is important,” said Miss Marple. “Very important.”
“Then you think the same as I do,” said Mrs. Bantry. “You think—”
“Now, Dolly,” said her husband. “It’s unjustifiable—what you’re going to
say. You can’t go about accusing people without a shadow of proof.”
Anyway, this is all between ourselves. It’s just a wild fantastic idea of mine
that possibly—only possibly—Jean Instow disguised herself as a fortune-
teller. Mind you, she may have done it for a joke. I don’t for a minute think
that she meant any harm; but if she did do it, and if Mrs. Pritchard was
foolish enough to die of fright — well, that’s what Miss Marple meant,
wasn’t it?”
“No, dear, not quite,” said Miss Marple. “You see, if I were going to kill
anyone—which, of course, I wouldn’t dream of doing for a minute, be-
cause it would be very wicked, and besides I don’t like killing—not even
manely as possible. Let me see, what was I saying?”
“If you wished to kill anyone,” prompted Sir Henry.
“Oh yes. Well, if I did, I shouldn’t be at all satisfied to trust to fright. I
know one reads of people dying of it, but it seems a very uncertain sort of
thing, and the most nervous people are far more brave than one really
thinks they are. I should like something definite and certain, and make a
thoroughly80 good plan about it.”
“Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry, “you frighten me. I hope you will never
wish to remove me. Your plans would be too good.”
Miss Marple looked at him reproachfully.
“I thought I had made it clear that I would never contemplate81 such
wickedness,” she said. “No, I was trying to put myself in the place of—er—
a certain person.”
“Do you mean George Pritchard?” asked Colonel Bantry. “I’ll never be-
lieve it of George—though—mind you, even the nurse believes it. I went
and saw her about a month afterwards, at the time of the exhumation. She
didn’t know how it was done—in fact, she wouldn’t say anything at all—
but it was clear enough that she believed George to be in some way re-
sponsible for his wife’s death. She was convinced of it.”
“Well,” said Dr. Lloyd, “perhaps she wasn’t so far wrong. And mind you,
a nurse often knows. She can’t say—she’s got no proof—but she knows.”
Sir Henry leant forward.
“Come now, Miss Marple,” he said persuasively82. “You’re lost in a day-
dream. Won’t you tell us all about it?”
Miss Marple started and turned pink.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I was just thinking about our District
Nurse. A most difficult problem.”
“More difficult than the problem of the blue geranium?”
“It really depends on the primroses,” said Miss Marple. “I mean, Mrs.
Bantry said they were yellow and pink. If it was a pink primrose that
turned blue, of course, that fits in perfectly. But if it happened to be a yel-
low one—”
“It was a pink one,” said Mrs. Bantry.
She stared. They all stared at Miss Marple.
“Then that seems to settle it,” said Miss Marple. She shook her head re-
Henry.
“Not tragedies,” said Miss Marple. ‘And certainly nothing criminal. But it
does remind me a little of the trouble we are having with the District
Nurse. After all, nurses are human beings, and what with having to be so
correct in their behaviour and wearing those uncomfortable collars and
being so thrown with the family—well, can you wonder that things some-
times happen?”
“You mean Nurse Carstairs?”
“Oh no. Not Nurse Carstairs. Nurse Copling. You see, she had been there
before, and very much thrown with Mr. Pritchard, who you say is an at-
tractive man. I dare say she thought, poor thing—well, we needn’t go into
that. I don’t suppose she knew about Miss Instow, and of course after-
all the harm she could. Of course the letter really gave her away, didn’t
it?”
“What letter?”
“Well, she wrote to the fortune-teller at Mrs. Pritchard’s request, and the
fortune-teller came, apparently85 in answer to the letter. But later it was dis-
covered that there never had been such a person at that address. So that
shows that Nurse Copling was in it. She only pretended to write—so what
could be more likely than that she was the fortune-teller herself?”
“I never saw the point about the letter,” said Sir Henry. “That’s a most
important point, of course.”
“Rather a bold step to take,” said Miss Marple, “because Mrs. Pritchard
might have recognized her in spite of the disguise—though of course if she
had, the nurse could have pretended it was a joke.”
“What did you mean,” said Sir Henry, “when you said that if you were a
certain person you would not have trusted to fright?”
“One couldn’t be sure that way,” said Miss Marple. “No, I think that the
warnings and the blue flowers were, if I may use a military term,” she
laughed self-consciously—“just camouflage86.”
“And the real thing?”
“I know,” said Miss Marple apologetically, “that I’ve got wasps on the
brain. Poor things, destroyed in their thousands—and usually on such a
beautiful summer’s day. But I remember thinking, when I saw the
gardener shaking up the cyanide of potassium in a bottle with water, how
like smelling salts it looked. And if it were put in a smelling salt bottle and
substituted for the real one—well, the poor lady was in the habit of using
her smelling salts. Indeed you said they were found by her hand. Then, of
course, while Mr. Pritchard went to telephone to the doctor, the nurse
would change it for the real bottle, and she’d just turn on the gas a little bit
to mask any smell of almonds and in case anyone felt queer, and I always
have heard that cyanide leaves no trace if you wait long enough. But, of
in the bottle; but that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Miss Marple paused, a little out of breath.
Jane Helier leant forward and said, “But the blue geranium, and the
other flowers?”
“Nurses always have litmus paper, don’t they?” said Miss Marple, “for—
well, for testing. Not a very pleasant subject. We won’t dwell on it. I have
done a little nursing myself.” She grew delicately pink. “Blue turns red
with acids, and red turns blue with alkalis. So easy to paste some red lit-
mus over a red flower—near the bed, of course. And then, when the poor
blue. Really most ingenious. Of course, the geranium wasn’t blue when
they first broke into the room—nobody noticed it till afterwards. When
nurse changed the bottles, she held the Sal Ammoniac against the wallpa-
per for a minute, I expect.”
“You might have been there, Miss Marple,” said Sir Henry.
“What worries me,” said Miss Marple, “is poor Mr. Pritchard and that
nice girl, Miss Instow. Probably both suspecting each other and keeping
apart—and life so very short.”
She shook her head.
“You needn’t worry,” said Sir Henry. “As a matter of fact I have some-
thing up my sleeve. A nurse has been arrested on a charge of murdering
potassium substituted for smelling salts. Nurse Copling trying the same
trick again. Miss Instow and Mr. Pritchard need have no doubts as to the
truth.”
“Now isn’t that nice?” cried Miss Marple. “I don’t mean about the new
murder, of course. That’s very sad, and shows how much wickedness
there is in the world, and that if once you give way—which reminds me I
must finish my little conversation with Dr. Lloyd about the village nurse.”
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