Body in the Library - Agatha Christie [60]
She said clearly and with malicious pleasure:
“Miss Dinah Lee.”
Miss Marple looked at her steadily.
She said:
“This is Mr. Basil Blake’s cottage, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and I’m Miss Dinah Lee!”
Her voice rang out challengingly, her head went back, her blue eyes flashed.
Very steadily Miss Marple looked at her. She said:
“Will you allow me to give you some advice, even though you may consider it impertinent?”
“I shall consider it impertinent. You had better say nothing.”
“Nevertheless,” said Miss Marple, “I am going to speak. I want to advise you, very strongly, not to continue using your maiden name in the village.”
Dinah stared at her. She said:
“What—what do you mean?”
Miss Marple said earnestly:
“In a very short time you may need all the sympathy and goodwill you can find. It will be important to your husband, too, that he shall be thought well of. There is a prejudice in old-fashioned country districts against people living together who are not married. It has amused you both, I dare say, to pretend that that is what you are doing. It kept people away, so that you weren’t bothered with what I expect you would call ‘old frumps.’ Nevertheless, old frumps have their uses.”
Dinah demanded:
“How did you know we are married?”
Miss Marple smiled a deprecating smile.
“Oh, my dear,” she said.
Dinah persisted.
“No, but how did you know? You didn’t—you didn’t go to Somerset House?”
A momentary flicker showed in Miss Marple’s eyes.
“Somerset House? Oh, no. But it was quite easy to guess. Everything, you know, gets round in a village. The—er—the kind of quarrels you have—typical of early days of marriage. Quite—quite unlike an illicit relationship. It has been said, you know (and, I think, quite truly), that you can only really get under anybody’s skin if you are married to them. When there is no—no legal bond, people are much more careful, they have to keep assuring themselves how happy and halcyon everything is. They have, you see, to justify themselves. They dare not quarrel! Married people, I have noticed, quite enjoy their battles and the—er—appropriate reconciliations.”
She paused, twinkling benignly.
“Well, I—” Dinah stopped and laughed. She sat down and lit a cigarette. “You’re absolutely marvellous!” she said.
Then she went on:
“But why do you want us to own up and admit to respectability?”
Miss Marple’s face was grave. She said:
“Because, any minute now, your husband may be arrested for murder.”
III
For several moments Dinah stared at her. Then she said incredulously:
“Basil? Murder? Are you joking?”
“No, indeed. Haven’t you seen the papers?”
Dinah caught her breath.
“You mean—that girl at the Majestic Hotel. Do you mean they suspect Basil of killing her?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s nonsense!”
There was the whir of a car outside, the bang of a gate. Basil Blake flung open the door and came in, carrying some bottles. He said:
“Got the gin and the vermouth. Did you—?”
He stopped and turned incredulous eyes on the prim, erect visitor.
Dinah burst out breathlessly:
“Is she mad? She says you’re going to be arrested for the murder of that girl Ruby Keene.”
“Oh, God!” said Basil Blake. The bottles dropped from his arms on to the sofa. He reeled to a chair and dropped down in it and buried his face in his hands. He repeated: “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
Dinah darted over to him. She caught his shoulders.
“Basil, look at me! It isn’t true! I know it isn’t true! I don’t believe it for a moment!”
His hand went up and gripped hers.
“Bless you, darling.”
“But why should they think—You didn’t even know her, did you?”
“Oh, yes, he knew her,” said Miss Marple.
Basil said fiercely:
“Be quiet, you old hag. Listen, Dinah darling, I hardly knew her at all. Just ran across her once or twice at the Majestic. That’s all, I swear that’s all.”
Dinah said, bewildered:
“I don’t understand. Why should anyone suspect you, then?”
Basil groaned. He put his hands over his eyes and rocked to and fro.
Miss Marple said:
“What did you do with the hearthrug?