4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [74]
“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 stuff. I told that nurse I wanted a beef steak.”
“Dr. Quimper thinks you ought not to have beef steak 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