By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [33]
‘But he–’
‘Yes, poor fellow,’ said the vicar. ‘Not completely compos mentis–but no harm in him.’
‘They were very nice. They asked me in for a cup of tea,’ said Tuppence. ‘But what I wanted to know was the name of the house. I forgot to ask them. They’re only living in half of it, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, yes. In what used to be the old kitchen quarters. They call it “Waterside”, I think, though I believe the ancient name for it was “Watermead”. A pleasanter name, I think.’
‘Who does the other part of the house belong to?’
‘Well, the whole house used to belong originally to the Bradleys. That was a good many years ago. Yes, thirty or forty at least, I should think. And then it was sold, and then sold again and then it remained empty for a long time. When I came here it was just being used as a kind of weekend place. By some actress–Miss Margrave, I believe. She was not here very much. Just used to come down from time to time. I never knew her. She never came to church. I saw her in the distance sometimes. A beautiful creature. A very beautiful creature.’
‘Who does it actually belong to now?’ Tuppence persisted.
‘I’ve no idea. Possibly it still belongs to her. The part the Perrys live in is only rented to them.’
‘I recognized it, you know,’ said Tuppence, ‘as soon as I saw it, because I’ve got a picture of it.’
‘Oh really? That must have been one of Boscombe’s, or was his name Boscobel–I can’t remember now. Some name like that. He was a Cornishman, fairly well-known artist, I believe. I rather imagine he’s dead now. Yes, he used to come down here fairly often. He used to sketch all round this part of the world. He did some oils here, too. Very attractive landscapes, some of them.’
‘This particular picture,’ said Tuppence, ‘was given to an old aunt of mine who died about a month ago. It was given to her by a Mrs Lancaster. That’s why I asked if you knew the name.’
But the vicar shook his head once more.
‘Lancaster? Lancaster. No, I don’t seem to remember the name. Ah! but here’s the person you must ask. Our dear Miss Bligh. Very active, Miss Bligh is. She knows all about the parish. She runs everything. The Women’s Institute, the Boy Scouts and the Guides–everything. You ask her. She’s very active, very active indeed.’
The vicar sighed. The activity of Miss Bligh seemed to worry him. ‘Nellie Bligh, they call her in the village. The boys sing it after her sometimes. Nellie Bligh, Nellie Bligh. It’s not her proper name. That’s something more like Gertrude or Geraldine.’
Miss Bligh, who was the tweed-clad woman Tuppence had seen in the church, was approaching them at a rapid trot, still holding a small watering can. She eyed Tuppence with deep curiosity as she approached, increasing her pace and starting a conversation before she reached them.
‘Finished my job,’ she exclaimed merrily. ‘Had a bit of a rush today. Oh yes, had a bit of a rush. Of course, as you know, Vicar, I usually do the church in the morning. But today we had the emergency meeting in the parish rooms and really you wouldn’t believe the time it took! So much argument, you know. I really think sometimes people object to things just for the fun of doing so. Mrs Partington was particularly irritating. Wanting everything fully discussed, you know, and wondering whether we’d got enough different prices from different firms. I mean, the whole thing is such a small cost anyway, that really a few shillings here or there can’t make much difference. And Burkenheads have always been most reliable. I don’t think really, Vicar, you know, that you ought to sit on that tombstone.’
‘Irreverent, perhaps?’ suggested the vicar.
‘Oh no, no, of course I didn’t mean that at all, Vicar. I meant the stone, you know, the damp does come through and with your rheumatism–’ Her eyes slid sideways to Tuppence questioningly.
‘Let me introduce you to Miss Bligh,’ said the vicar. ‘This is–this is–’ he hesitated.
‘Mrs Beresford,’ said Tuppence.
‘Ah yes,’ said Miss Bligh. ‘I saw you in the church, didn’t I, just now, looking round