4.50 From Paddington (21 page)
Read 4.50 From Paddington Online
Authors: Agatha Christie
“Nasty things, mushrooms,” said Mrs. Kidder.
Mrs. Kidder had made the same remark about ten times in the last few days.
Lucy did not reply.
“Never touch 'em myself,” said Mrs. Kidder, “much too dangerous. It's a merciful Providence as there's only been one death. The whole lot might have gone, and you, too, miss. A wonderful escape, you've had.”
“It wasn't the mushrooms,” said Lucy. “They were perfectly all right.”
“Don't you believe it,” said Mrs. Kidder. "Dangerous they are, mushrooms. One toadstool in among the lot and you've had it.
“Funny,” went on Mrs. Kidder, among the rattle of plates and dishes in the sink, “how things seem to come all together, as it were. My sister's eldest had measles and our Ernie fell down and broke 'is arm, and my 'usband came out all over with boils. All in the same week! You'd hardly believe it, would you? It's been the same thing here,” went on Mrs. Kidder, “first that nasty murder and now Mr. Alfred dead with mushroom-poisoning. Who'll be the next, I'd like to know?”
Lucy felt rather uncomfortably that she would like to know too.
“My husband, he doesn't like me coming here now,” said Mrs. Kidder, “thinks it's unlucky, but what I say is I've known Miss Crackenthorpe a long time now and she's a nice lady and she depends on me. And I couldn't leave poor Miss Eyelesbarrow, I said, not to do everything herself in the house. Pretty hard it is on you, miss, all these trays.”
Lucy was forced to agree that life did seem to consist very largely of trays at the moment. She was at the moment arranging trays to take to the various invalids.
“As for them nurses, they never do a hand's turn,” said Mrs. Kidder. “All they want is pots and pots of tea made strong. And meals prepared. Wore out, that's what I am.” She spoke in a tone of great satisfaction, though actually she had done very little more than her normal morning's work.
Lucy said solemnly, “You never spare yourself, Mrs. Kidder.”
Mrs. Kidder looked pleased. Lucy picked up the first of the trays and started off up the stairs.
“What's this?” said Mr. Crackenthorpe disapprovingly.
“Beef tea and baked custard,” said Lucy.
“Take it away,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe.
“I won't touch that sort of stuff. I told that nurse I wanted a beefsteak.”
“Dr. Quimper thinks you ought not to have beefsteak just yet,” said Lucy.
Mr. Crackenthorpe snorted. “I'm practically well again. I'm getting up tomorrow. How are the others?”
“Mr. Harold's much better,” said Lucy. “He's going back to London tomorrow.”
“Good riddance,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “What about Cedric - any hope that he's going back to his island tomorrow?”
“He won't be going just yet.”
“Pity. What's Emma doing? Why doesn't she come and see me?”
“She's still in bed, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Women always coddle themselves,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “But you're a good strong girl,” he added approvingly. “Run about all day, don't you?”
“I get plenty of exercise,” said Lucy.
Old Mr. Crackenthorpe nodded his head approvingly. “You're a good strong girl,” he said, “and don't think I've forgotten what I talked to you about before. One of these days you'll see what you'll see. Emma isn't always going to have things her own way. And don't listen to the others when they tell you I'm a mean old man. I'm careful of my money. I've got a nice little packet put by and I know who I'm going to spend it on when the time comes.” He leered at her affectionately.
Lucy went rather quickly out of the room, avoiding his clutching hand.
The next tray was taken in to Emma.
“Oh, thank you, Lucy. I'm really feeling quite myself again by now. I'm hungry, and that's a good sign, isn't it? My dear,” went on Emma as Lucy settled the tray on her knees, “I'm really feeling very upset about your aunt. You haven't had any time to go and see her, I suppose?”
“No, I haven't, as a matter of fact.”
“I'm afraid she must be missing you.”
“Oh, don't worry, Miss Crackenthorpe. She understands what a terrible time we've been through.”
“Have you rung her up?”
“No, I haven't just lately.”
“Well, do. Ring her up every day. It makes such a difference to old people to get news.”
“You're very kind,” said Lucy. Her conscience smote her a little as she went down to fetch the next tray. The complications of illness in a house had kept her thoroughly absorbed and she had had no time to think of anything else. She decided that she would ring Miss Marple up as soon as she had taken Cedric his meal.
There was only one nurse in the house now and she passed Lucy on the landing, exchanging greetings.
Cedric, looking incredibly tidied up and neat, was sitting up in bed writing busily on sheets of paper.
“Hallo, Lucy,” he said, “what hell brew have you got for me today? I wish you'd get rid of that god-awful nurse, she's simply too arch for words. Calls me 'we' for some reason. 'And how are we this morning? Have we slept well? Oh, dear, we're very naughty, throwing off the bedclothes like that.'” He imitated the refined accents of the nurse in a high falsetto voice.
“You seem very cheerful,” said Lucy.
“What are you busy with?”
“Plans,” said Cedric. “Plans for what to do with this place when the old man pops off. It's a jolly good bit of land here, you know. I can't make up my mind whether I'd like to develop some of it myself, or whether I'll sell it in lots all in one go. Very valuable for industrial purposes. The house will do for a nursing home or a school. I'm not sure I shan't sell half the land and use the money to do something rather outrageous with the other half. What do you think?”
“You haven't got it yet,” said Lucy, dryly.
“I shall have it, though,” said Cedric.
“It's not divided up like the other stuff. I get it outright. And if I sell it for a good fat price the money will be capital, not income, so I shan't have to pay taxes on it. Money to burn. Think of it.”
“I always understood you rather despised money,” said Lucy.
“Of course I despise money when I haven't got any,” said Cedric. “It's the only dignified thing to do. What a lovely girl you are, Lucy, or do I just think so because I haven't seen any good-looking women for a long time?”
“I expect that's it,” said Lucy.
“Still busy tidying everyone and everything up?”
“Somebody seems to have been tidying you up,” said Lucy, looking at him.
“That's that damned nurse,” said Cedric with feeling. “Have they had the inquest on Alfred yet? What happened?”
“It was adjourned,” said Lucy.
“Police being cagey. This mass poisoning does give one a bit of a turn, doesn't it? Mentally, I mean. I'm not referring to more obvious aspects.” He added: “Better look after yourself, my girl.”
“I do,” said Lucy.
“Has young Alexander gone back to school yet?”
“I think he's still with the Stoddart-Wests. I think it's the day after tomorrow that school begins.”
Before getting her own lunch Lucy went to the telephone and rang up Miss Marple.
“I'm so terribly sorry I haven't been able to come over, but I've really been very busy.”
“Of course, my dear, of course. Besides, there's nothing that can be done just now. We just have to wait.”
“Yes, but what are we waiting for?”
“Elspeth McGillicuddy ought to be home very soon now,” said Miss Marple. “I wrote to her to fly home at once. I said it was her duty. So don't worry too much, my dear.” Her voice was kindly and reassuring.
“You don't think...” Lucy began, but stopped.
“That there will be any more deaths? Oh, I hope not, my dear. But one never knows, does one? When anyone is really wicked, I mean. And I think there is great wickedness here.”
“Or madness,” said Lucy.
“Of course I know that is the modern way of looking at things. I don't agree myself.”
Lucy rang off, went into the kitchen and picked up her tray of lunch. Mrs. Kidder had divested herself of her apron and was about to leave.
“You'll be all right, miss, I hope?” she asked solicitously.
“Of course I shall be all right,” snapped Lucy.
She took her tray not into the big, gloomy dining-room but into the small study. She was just finishing the meal when the door opened and Bryan Eastley came in.
“Hallo,” said Lucy, “this is very unexpected.”
“I suppose it is,” said Bryan “How is everybody?”
“Oh, much better. Harold's going back to London tomorrow.”
“What do you think about it all? Was it really arsenic?”
“It was arsenic all right,” said Lucy.
“It hasn't been in the papers yet.”
“No, I think the police are keeping it up their sleeves for the moment.”
“Somebody must have a pretty good down on the family,” said Bryan. “Who's likely to have sneaked in and tampered with the food?”
“I suppose I'm the most likely person really,” said Lucy.
Bryan looked at her anxiously. “But you didn't, did you?” he asked. He sounded slightly shocked.
“No. I didn't,” said Lucy.
Nobody could have tampered with the curry. She had made it - alone in the kitchen, and brought it to table, and the only person who could have tampered with it was one of the five people who sat down to the meal.
“I mean - why should you?” said Bryan. “They're nothing to you, are they? I say,” he added, “I hope you don't mind my coming back here like this?”
“No, no, of course I don't. Have you come to stay?”
“Well, I'd like to, if it wouldn't be an awful bore to you.”
“No. No, we can manage.”
“You see, I'm out of a job at the moment and I - well, I get rather fed up. Are you really sure you don't mind?”
“Oh, I'm not the person to mind, anyway. It's Emma.”
“Oh, Emma's all right,” said Bryan. “Emma's always been very nice to me. In her own way, you know. She keeps things to herself a lot, in fact, she's rather a dark horse, old Emma. This living here and looking after the old man would get most people down. Pity she never married. Too late now, I suppose.”
“I don't think it's too late at all,” said Lucy.
“Well...” Bryan considered. “A clergyman perhaps,” he said hopefully. “She'd be useful in the parish and tactful with the Mothers' Union. I do mean the Mothers' Union, don't I? Not that I know what it really is, but you come across it sometimes in books. And she'd wear a hat in church on Sundays,” he added.
“Doesn't sound much of a prospect to me,” said Lucy, rising and picking up the tray.
“I'll do that,” said Bryan, taking the tray from her. They went into the kitchen together.
“Shall I help you wash up? I do like this kitchen,” he added. “In fact, I know it isn't the sort of thing that people do like nowadays, but I like this whole house. Shocking taste, I suppose, but there it is. You could land a plane quite easily in the park,” he added with enthusiasm.
He picked up a glass-cloth and began to wipe the spoons and forks.
“Seems a waste, it's coming to Cedric,” he remarked. “First thing he'll do is to sell the whole thing and go beaking off abroad again. Can't see, myself, why England isn't good enough for anybody. Harold wouldn't want this house either, and of course it's much too big for Emma. Now, if only it came to Alexander, he and I would be as happy together here as a couple of sand boys. Of course it would be nice to have a woman about the house.” He looked thoughtfully at Lucy. “Oh, well, what's the good of talking? If Alexander were to get this place it would mean the whole lot of them would have to die first, and that's not really likely, is it? Though from what I've seen of the old boy he might easily live to be a hundred, just to annoy them all. I don't suppose he was much cut up by Alfred's death, was he?”
Lucy said shortly, “No, he wasn't.”
“Cantankerous old devil,” said Bryan Eastley cheerfull.
“Dreadful, the things people go about saying,” said Mrs. Kidder.
“I don't listen, mind you, more than I can help. But you'd hardly believe it.” She waited hopefully.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Lucy. “About that body that was found in the Long Barn,” went on Mrs. Kidder, moving crablike backwards on her hands and knees, as she scrubbed the kitchen floor, “saying as how she'd been Mr. Edmund's fancy piece during the war, and how she come over here and a jealous husband followed her, and did her in. It is a likely thing as a foreigner would do, but it wouldn't be likely after all these years, would it?”
“It sounds most unlikely to me.”
“But there's worse things than that, they say,” said Mrs. Kidder. “Say anything, people will. You'd be surprised. There's those that say Mr. Harold married somewhere abroad and that she come over and found out he'd committed bigamy with that Lady Alice, and that she was going to bring 'im to court and that he met her down here and did her in, and hid her body in the sarcoffus. Did you ever!”
“Shocking,” said Lucy vaguely, her mind elsewhere.
“Of course I don't listen,” said Mrs. Kidder virtuously, “I wouldn't put no stock in such tales myself. It beats me how people think up such things, let alone say them. All I hope is none of it gets to Miss Emma's ears. It might upset her and I shouldn't like that. She's a very nice lady, Miss Emma is, and I've not heard a word against her, not a word. And of course Mr. Alfred being dead nobody says anything against him now. Not even that it's a judgement, which they might well do. But it's awful, miss, isn't it, the wicked talk there is.”
Mrs. Kidder spoke with immense enjoyment.
“It must be quite painful for you to listen to it,” said Lucy.
“Oh, it is,” said Mrs. Kidder. “It is indeed. I says to my husband, I says, however can they?”
The bell rang.
“There's the doctor, miss. Will you let 'im in, or shall I?”
“I'll go,” said Lucy.
But it was not the doctor. On the doorstep stood a tall, elegant woman in a mink coat. Drawn up to the gravel sweep was a purring Rolls with a chauffeur at the wheel.
