After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [63]
He went on:
“And you might look in that bookcase over there for a green— What’s the matter now? What are you rushing off for?”
“It’s the front door, Mr. Abernethie.”
“I didn’t hear anything. You’ve got that woman downstairs, haven’t you? Let her go and answer it.”
“Yes, Mr. Abernethie. What was the book you wanted me to find?”
The invalid closed his eyes.
“I can’t remember now. You’ve put it out of my head. You’d better go.”
Miss Gilchrist seized the tray and hurriedly departed. Putting the tray on the pantry table she hurried into the front hall, passing Mrs. Abernethie who was still at the telephone.
She returned in a moment to ask in a muted voice:
“I’m so sorry to interrupt. It’s a nun. Collecting. The Heart of Mary Fund, I think she said. She has a book. Half a crown or five shillings most people seem to have given.”
Maude Abernethie said:
“Just a moment, Helen,” into the telephone, and to Miss Gilchrist, “I don’t subscribe to Roman Catholics. We have our own Church charities.”
Miss Gilchrist hurried away again.
Maude terminated her conversation after a few minutes with the phrase, “I’ll talk to Timothy about it.”
She replaced the receiver and came into the front hall. Miss Gilchrist was standing quite still by the drawing room door. She was frowning in a puzzled way and jumped when Maude Abernethie spoke to her.
“There’s nothing the matter, is there, Miss Gilchrist?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Abernethie, I’m afraid I was just woolgathering. So stupid of me when there’s so much to be done.”
Miss Gilchrist resumed her imitation of a busy ant and Maude Abernethie climbed the stairs slowly and painfully to her husband’s room.
“That was Helen on the telephone. It seems that the place is definitely sold—some Institution for Foreign Refugees—”
She paused whilst Timothy expressed himself forcibly on the subject of Foreign Refugees, with side issues as to the house in which he had been born and brought up. “No decent standards left in this country. My old home! I can hardly bear to think of it.”
Maude went on:
“Helen quite appreciates what you—we—will feel about it. She suggests that we might like to come there for a visit before it goes. She was very distressed about your health and the way the painting is affecting it. She thought you might prefer coming to Enderby to going to an hotel. The servants are there still, so you could be looked after comfortably.”
Timothy, whose mouth had been open in outraged protests halfway through this, had closed it again. His eyes had become suddenly shrewd. He now nodded his head approvingly.
“Thoughtful of Helen,” he said. “Very thoughtful. I don’t know, I’m sure, I’ll have to think it over… There’s no doubt that this paint is poisoning me—there’s arsenic in paint, I believe. I seem to have heard something of the kind. On the other hand the exertion of moving might be too much for me. It’s difficult to know what would be the best.”
“Perhaps you’d prefer an hotel, dear,” said Maude. “A good hotel is very expensive, but where your health is concerned—”
Timothy interrupted.
“I wish I could make you understand, Maude, that we are not millionaires. Why go to an hotel when Helen has very kindly suggested that we should go to Enderby? Not that it’s really for her to suggest! The house isn’t hers. I don’t understand legal subtleties, but I presume it belongs to us equally until it’s sold and the proceeds divided. Foreign Refugees! It would have made old Cornelius turn in his grave. Yes,” he sighed, “I should like to see the old place again before I die.”
Maude played her last card adroitly.
“I understand that Mr. Entwhistle has suggested that the members of the family might like to choose certain pieces of furniture or china or something—before the contents are put up for auction.”
Timothy heaved himself briskly upright.
“We must certainly go. There must be a very exact valuation of what is chosen