4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [77]
“Shocking,” said Lucy vaguely, her mind elsewhere.
“Of course I didn’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 wouldn’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 judgment, which they well might 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.
“Can I see Miss Emma Crackenthorpe, please?”
It was an attractive voice, the R’s slightly blurred. The woman was attractive too. About thirty-five, with dark hair and expensively and beautifully made up.
“I’m sorry,” said Lucy, “Miss Crackenthorpe is ill in bed and can’t see anyone.”
“I know she has been ill, yes; but it is very important that I should see her.”
“I’m afraid,” Lucy began.
The visitor interrupted her. “I think you are Miss Eyelesbarrow, are you not?” She smiled, an attractive smile. “My son has spoken of you, so I know. I am Lady Stoddart-West and Alexander is staying with me now.”
“Oh, I see,” said Lucy.
“And it is really important that I should see Miss Crackenthorpe,” continued the other. “I know all about her illness and I assure you this is not just a social call. It is because of something that the boys have said to me—that my son has said to me. It is, I think, a matter of grave importance and I would like to speak to Miss Crackenthorpe about it. Please, will you ask her?”
“Come in.” Lucy ushered her visitor into the hall and into the drawing room. Then she said, “I’ll go up and ask Miss Crackenthorpe.”
She went upstairs, knocked on Emma’s door and entered.
“Lady Stoddart-West is here,” she said. “She wants to see you very particularly.”
“Lady Stoddart-West?” Emma looked surprised. A look of alarm came into her face. “There’s nothing wrong, is there, with the boys—with Alexander?”
“No, no,” Lucy reassured her. “I’m sure the boys are all right. It seemed to be something the boys have told her or said to her.”
“Oh. Well…” Emma hesitated. “Perhaps I ought to see her. Do I look all right, Lucy?”
“You look very nice,” said Lucy.
Emma was sitting up in bed, a soft pink shawl was round her shoulders and brought out the faint rose-pink of her cheeks. Her dark hair had been neatly brushed and combed by Nurse. Lucy had placed a bowl of autumn leaves on the dressing table the day before. Her room looked attractive and quite unlike a sick room.
“I’m really quite well enough to get up,” said Emma. “Dr. Quimper said I could tomorrow.”
“You look really quite like yourself again,” said Lucy. “Shall I bring Lady Stoddart-West up?”
“Yes, do.”
Lucy went downstairs again. “Will you come up to Miss Crackenthorpe’s room?”
She escorted the visitor upstairs, opened the door for her to pass in and then shut it. Lady Stoddart-West approached the bed with outstretched hand.
“Miss Crackenthorpe? I really do apologize for breaking in on you like this. I have seen you, I think, at the sports at the school.”
“Yes,” said Emma, “I remember you quite well. Do sit down.”
In the chair conveniently placed by the bed Lady Stoddart-West sat down. She said in a quiet low voice:
“You must think it very strange of me coming here like this, but I have reason. I think it is an important reason. You see, the boys have been telling me things. You can understand that they were very excited about the murder that happened here. I confess I did not like it at