Appointment With Death - Agatha Christie [54]
‘That might be dangerous sometimes,’ said Poirot.
Dr Gerard went on: ‘He persisted in regarding what I may describe as “the Boynton situation” as a case of mistaken devotion. Of the underlying hate, rebellion, slavery and misery he had only the faintest notion.’
‘It is stupid, that,’ Poirot commented.
‘All the same,’ went on Dr Gerard, ‘even the most willfully obtuse of sentimental optimists cannot be quite blind. I think, on the journey to Petra, Mr Jefferson Cope’s eyes were being opened.’
And he described the conversation he had had with the American on the morning of Mrs Boynton’s death.
‘That is an interesting story, that story of a servant girl,’ said Poirot thoughtfully. ‘It throws light on the old woman’s methods.’
Gerard said: ‘It was altogether an odd strange morning, that! You have not been to Petra, M. Poirot. If you go you must certainly climb to the Place of Sacrifice. It has an—how shall I say?—an atmosphere!’ He described the scene in detail, adding: ‘Mademoiselle here sat like a young judge, speaking of the sacrifice of one to save many. You remember, Miss King?’
Sarah shivered. ‘Don’t! Don’t let’s talk of that day.’
‘No, no,’ said Poirot. ‘Let us talk of events further back in the past. I am interested, Dr Gerard, in your sketch of Mrs Boynton’s mentality. What I do not quite understand is this, having brought her family into absolute subjection, why did she then arrange this trip abroad where surely there was danger of outside contacts and of her authority being weakened?’
Dr Gerard leaned forward excitedly.
‘But, mon vieux, that is just it! Old ladies are the same all the world over. They get bored! If their specialty is playing patience, they sicken of the patience they know too well. They want to learn a new patience. And it is just the same with an old lady whose recreation (incredible as it may sound) is the dominating and tormenting of human creatures! Mrs Boynton—to speak of her as une dompteuse—had tamed her tigers. There was perhaps some excitement as they passed through the stage of adolescence. Lennox’s marriage to Nadine was an adventure. But then, suddenly, all was stale. Lennox is so sunk in melancholy that it is practically impossible to wound or distress him. Raymond and Carol show no signs of rebellion. Ginevra—ah! la pauvre Ginevra—she, from her mother’s point of view, gives the poorest sport of all. For Ginevra has found a way of escape! She escapes from reality into fantasy. The more her mother goads her, the more easily she gets a secret thrill out of being a persecuted heroine! From Mrs Boynton’s point of view it is all deadly dull. She seeks, like Alexander, new worlds to conquer. And so she plans the voyage abroad. There will be the danger of her tamed beasts rebelling, there will be opportunities for inflicting fresh pain! It sounds absurd, does it not, but it was so! She wanted a new thrill.’
Poirot took a deep breath. ‘It is perfect, that. Yes, I see exactly what you mean. It was so. It all fits in. She chose to live dangerously, la maman Boynton—and she paid the penalty!’
Sarah leaned forward, her pale, intelligent face very serious. ‘You mean,’ she said, ‘that she drove her victims too far and—and they turned on her—or—or one of them did?’
Poirot bowed his head.
Sarah said, and her voice was a little breathless:
‘Which of them?’
Poirot looked at her, at her hands clenched fiercely on the wild flowers, at the pale rigidity of her face.
He did not answer—was indeed saved from answering, for at that moment Gerard touched his shoulder and said: ‘Look.’
A girl was wandering along the side of the hill. She moved with a strange rhythmic grace that somehow gave the impression that she was not quite real. The gold red of her hair shone in the sunlight, a strange secretive smile lifted the beautiful corners of her mouth. Poirot drew in his breath.
He said: ‘How beautiful…How