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‘Mrs Price Ridley, Miss Wetherby, Miss Hartnell, and that terrible Miss Marple.’
‘I rather like Miss Marple,’ I said. ‘She has, at least, a sense of humour.’
‘She’s the worst cat in the village,’ said Griselda. ‘And she always knows every single thing that happens—and draws the worst inferences from it.’
Griselda, as I have said, is much younger than I am. At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.
‘Well, don’t expect me in for tea, Griselda,’ said Dennis.
‘Beast!’ said Griselda.
‘Yes, but look here, the Protheroes really did ask me for tennis today.’
‘Beast!’ said Griselda again.
Dennis beat a prudent retreat and Griselda and I went together into my study.
‘I wonder what we shall have for tea,’ said Griselda, seating herself on my writing-table. ‘Dr Stone and Miss Cram, I suppose, and perhaps Mrs Lestrange. By the way, I called on her yesterday, but she was out. Yes, I’m sure we shall have Mrs Lestrange for tea. It’s so mysterious, isn’t it, her arriving like this and taking a house down here, and hardly ever going outside it? Makes one think of detective stories. You know—“Who was she, the mysterious woman with the pale, beautiful face? What was her past history? Nobody knew. There was something faintly sinister about her.” I believe Dr Haydock knows something about her.’
‘You read too many detective stories, Griselda,’ I observed mildly.
‘What about you?’ she retorted. ‘I was looking everywhere for The Stain on the Stairs the other day when you were in here writing a sermon. And at last I came in to ask you if you’d seen it anywhere, and what did I find?’
I had the grace to blush.
‘I picked it up at random. A chance sentence caught my eye and …’
‘I know those chance sentences,’ said Griselda. She quoted impressively, “And then a very curious thing happened—Griselda rose, crossed the room and kissed her elderly husband affectionately.”’
She suited the action to the word.
‘Is that a very curious thing?’ I inquired.
‘Of course it is,’ said Griselda. ‘Do you realize, Len, that I might have married a Cabinet Minister, a Baronet, a rich Company Promoter, three subalterns and a ne’er-do-weel with attractive manners, and that instead I chose you? Didn’t it astonish you very much?’
‘At the time it did,’ I replied. ‘I have often wondered why you did it.’
Griselda laughed.
‘It made me feel so powerful,’ she murmured. ‘The others thought me simply wonderful and of course it would have been very nice for them to have me. But I’m everything you most dislike and disapprove of, and yet you couldn’t withstand me! My vanity couldn’t hold out against that. It’s so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in their cap. I make you frightfully uncomfortable and stir you up the wrong way the whole time, and yet you adore me madly. You adore me madly, don’t you?’
‘Naturally I am very fond of you, my dear.’
‘Oh! Len, you adore me. Do you remember that day when I stayed up in town and sent you a wire you never got because the postmistress’s sister was having twins and she forgot to send it round? The state you got into and you telephoned Scotland Yard and made the most frightful fuss.’
There are things one hates being reminded of. I had really been strangely foolish on the occasion in question. I said:
‘If you don’t mind, dear, I want to get on with the C.E.M.S.’
Griselda gave a sigh of intense irritation, ruffled my hair up on end, smoothed it down again, said:
‘You don’t deserve me. You really don’t. I’ll have an affair with the artist. I will—really and truly. And then think of the scandal in the parish.’
‘There’s a good deal already,’ I said mildly.
Griselda laughed, blew me a kiss, and departed through the window.
CHAPTER 2 (#ub74565be-56c8-5526-85af-bbd97bf9b6a1)
Griselda is a very irritating woman. On leaving the luncheon table, I had felt myself to be in a good mood for preparing a really forceful address for the Church of England Men’s Society. Now I felt restless and disturbed.
Just when I was really settling down to it, Lettice Protheroe drifted in.
I use the word drifted advisedly. I have read novels in which young people are described as bursting with energy—joie de vivre, the magnificent vitality of youth … Personally, all the young people I come across have the air of amiable wraiths.
Lettice was particularly wraith-like this afternoon. She is a pretty girl, very tall and fair and completely vague. She drifted through the French window, absently pulled off the yellow beret she was wearing and murmured vaguely with a kind of far-away surprise: ‘Oh! it’s you.’
There is a path from Old Hall through the woods which comes out by our garden gate, so that most people coming from there come in at that gate and up to the study window instead of going a long way round by the road and coming to the front door. I was not surprised at Lettice coming in this way, but I did a little resent her attitude.
If you come to a Vicarage, you ought to be prepared to find a Vicar.
She came in and collapsed in a crumpled heap in one of my big armchairs. She plucked aimlessly at her hair, staring at the ceiling.
‘Is Dennis anywhere about?’
‘I haven’t seen him since lunch. I understood he was going to play tennis at your place.’
‘Oh!’ said Lettice. ‘I hope he isn’t. He won’t find anybody there.’
‘He said you asked him.’
‘I believe I did. Only that was Friday. And today’s Tuesday.’
‘It’s Wednesday,’ I said.
‘Oh, how dreadful!’ said Lettice. ‘That means that I’ve forgotten to go to lunch with some people for the third time.’
Fortunately it didn’t seem to worry her much.
‘Is Griselda anywhere about?’
‘I expect you’ll find her in the studio in the garden—sitting to Lawrence Redding.’
‘There’s been quite a shemozzle about him,’ said Lettice. ‘With father, you know. Father’s dreadful.’
‘What was the she—whatever it was about?’ I inquired.
‘About his painting me. Father found out about it. Why shouldn’t I be painted in my bathing dress? If I go on a beach in it, why shouldn’t I be painted in it?’
Lettice paused and then went on.
‘It’s really absurd—father forbidding a young man the house. Of course, Lawrence and I simply shriek about it. I shall come and be done here in your studio.’
‘No, my dear,’ I said. ‘Not if your father forbids it.’
‘Oh! dear,’ said Lettice, sighing. ‘How tiresome everyone is. I feel shattered. Definitely. If only I had some money I’d go away, but without it I can’t. If only father would be decent and die, I should be all right.’
‘You must not say things like that, Lettice.’
‘Well, if he doesn’t want me to want him to die, he shouldn’t be so horrible over money. I don’t wonder mother left him. Do you know, for years I believed she was dead. What sort of a young man did she run away with? Was he nice?’
‘It was before your father came to live here.’
‘I wonder what’s become of her. I expect Anne will have an affair with someone soon. Anne hates me—she’s quite decent to me, but she hates me. She’s getting old and she doesn’t like it. That’s the age you break out, you know.’
I wondered if Lettice was going to spend the entire afternoon in my study.
‘You haven’t seen my gramophone records, have you?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘How tiresome. I know I’ve left them somewhere. And I’ve lost the dog. And my wrist watch is somewhere, only it doesn’t much matter because it won’t go. Oh! dear, I am so sleepy. I can’t think why, because I didn’t get up till eleven. But life’s very shattering, don’t you think? Oh! dear, I must go. I’m going to see Dr Stone’s barrow at three o’clock.’
I glanced at the clock and remarked that it was now five-and-twenty to four.
‘Oh! Is it? How dreadful. I wonder if they’ve waited or if they’ve gone without me. I suppose I’d better go down and do something about it.’
She got up and drifted out again, murmuring over her shoulder:
‘You’ll tell Dennis, won’t you?’
I said ‘Yes’ mechanically, only realizing too late that I had no idea what it was I was to tell Dennis. But I reflected that in all probability it did not matter. I fell to cogitating on the subject of Dr Stone, a well-known archaeologist who had recently come to stay at the Blue Boar, whilst he superintended the excavation of a barrow situated on Colonel Protheroe’s property. There had already been several disputes between him and the Colonel. I was amused at his appointment to take Lettice to see the operations.
It occurred to me that Lettice Protheroe was something of a minx. I wondered how she would get on with the archaeologist’s secretary, Miss Cram. Miss Cram is a healthy young woman of twenty-five, noisy in manner, with a high colour, fine animal spirits and a mouth that always seems to have more than its full share of teeth.
Village opinion is divided as to whether she is no better than she should be, or else a young woman of iron virtue who purposes to become Mrs Stone at an early opportunity. She is in every way a great contrast to Lettice.
I could imagine that the state of things at Old Hall might not be too happy. Colonel Protheroe had married again some five years previously. The second Mrs Protheroe was a remarkably handsome woman in a rather unusual style. I had always guessed that the relations between her and her stepdaughter were not too happy.
I had one more interruption. This time, it was my curate, Hawes. He wanted to know the details of my interview with Protheroe. I told him that the Colonel had deplored his ‘Romish tendencies’ but that the real purpose of his visit had been on quite another matter. At the same time, I entered a protest of my own, and told him plainly that he must conform to my ruling. On the whole, he took my remarks very well.
I felt rather remorseful when he had gone for not liking him better. These irrational likes and dislikes that one takes to people are, I am sure, very unChristian.
With a sigh, I realized that the hands of the clock on my writing-table pointed to a quarter to five, a sign that it was really half-past four, and I made my way to the drawing-room.
Four of my parishioners were assembled there with teacups. Griselda sat behind the tea table trying to look natural in her environment, but only succeeded in looking more out of place than usual.
I shook hands all round and sat down between Miss Marple and Miss Wetherby.
Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner—Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Of the two Miss Marple is much the more dangerous.
‘We were just talking,’ said Griselda in a honeysweet voice, ‘about Dr Stone and Miss Cram.’
A ribald rhyme concocted by Dennis shot through my head.
‘Miss Cram doesn’t give a damn.’
I had a sudden yearning to say it out loud and observe the effect, but fortunately I refrained.
Miss Wetherby said tersely:
‘No nice girl would do it,’ and shut her thin lips disapprovingly.
‘Do what?’ I inquired.
‘Be a secretary to an unmarried man,’ said Miss Wetherby in a horrified tone.
‘Oh! my dear,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I think married ones are the worst. Remember poor Mollie Carter.’
‘Married men living apart from their wives are, of course, notorious,’ said Miss Wetherby.
‘And even some of the ones living with their wives,’ murmured Miss Marple. ‘I remember …’
I interrupted these unsavoury reminiscences.
‘But surely,’ I said, ‘in these days a girl can take a post in just the same way as a man does.’
‘To come away to the country? And stay at the same hotel?’ said Mrs Price Ridley in a severe voice.
Miss Wetherby murmured to Miss Marple in a low voice:
‘And all the bedrooms on the same floor …’
They exchanged glances.
Miss Hartnell, who is weather-beaten and jolly and much dreaded by the poor, observed in a loud, hearty voice:
‘The poor man will be caught before he knows where he is. He’s as innocent as a babe unborn, you can see that.’
Curious what turns of phrase we employ. None of the ladies present would have dreamed of alluding to an actual baby till it was safely in the cradle, visible to all.
‘Disgusting, I call it,’ continued Miss Hartnell, with her usual tactlessness. ‘The man must be at least twenty-five years older than she is.’
Three female voices rose at once making disconnected remarks about the Choir Boys’ Outing, the regrettable incident at the last Mothers’ Meeting, and the draughts in the church. Miss Marple twinkled at Griselda.
‘Don’t you think,’ said my wife, ‘that Miss Cram may just like having an interesting job? And that she considers Dr Stone just as an employer?’
There was a silence. Evidently none of the four ladies agreed. Miss Marple broke the silence by patting Griselda on the arm.
