By the Pricking of My Thumbs - Agatha Christie [95]
‘Your husband’s down below, waiting in the car. I said I’d bring you down to him–if that’s the way you want it?’
‘That’s the way I want it,’ said Tuppence.
‘I thought you would.’ She looked towards the door into the bedroom. ‘Is she–in there?’
‘Yes,’ said Philip Starke.
Mrs Perry went to the bedroom. She came out again–
‘I see–’ She looked at him inquiringly.
‘She offered Mrs Beresford a glass of milk–Mrs Beresford didn’t want it.’
‘And so, I suppose, she drank it herself?’
He hesitated.
‘Yes.’
‘Dr Mortimer will be along later,’ said Mrs Perry.
She came to help Tuppence to her feet, but Tuppence rose unaided.
‘I’m not hurt,’ she said. ‘It was just shock–I’m quite all right now.’
She stood facing Philip Starke–neither of them seemed to have anything to say. Mrs Perry stood by the door in the wall.
Tuppence spoke at last.
‘There is nothing I can do, is there?’ she said, but it was hardly a question.
‘Only one thing–It was Nellie Bligh who struck you down in the churchyard that day.’
Tuppence nodded.
‘I’ve realized it must have been.’
‘She lost her head. She thought you were on the track of her, of our, secret. She–I’m bitterly remorseful for the terrible strain I’ve subjected her to all these long years. It’s been more than any woman ought to be asked to bear–’
‘She loved you very much, I suppose,’ said Tuppence. ‘But I don’t think we’ll go on looking for any Mrs Johnson, if that is what you want to ask us not to do.’
‘Thank you–I’m very grateful.’
There was another silence. Mrs Perry waited patiently. Tuppence looked round her. She went to the broken window and looked at the peaceful canal down below.
‘I don’t suppose I shall ever see this house again. I’m looking at it very hard, so that I shall be able to remember it.’
‘Do you want to remember it?’
‘Yes, I do. Someone said to me that it was a house that had been put to the wrong use. I know what they meant now.’
He looked at her questioningly, but did not speak.
‘Who sent you here to find me?’ asked Tuppence.
‘Emma Boscowan.’
‘I thought so.’
She joined the friendly witch and they went through the secret door and on down.
A house for lovers, Emma Boscowan had said to Tuppence. Well, that was how she was leaving it–in the possession of two lovers–one dead and one who suffered and lived–
She went out through the door to where Tommy and the car were waiting.
She said goodbye to the friendly witch. She got into the car.
‘Tuppence,’ said Tommy.
‘I know,’ said Tuppence.
‘Don’t do it again,’ said Tommy. ‘Don’t ever do it again.’
‘I won’t.’
‘That’s what you say now, but you will.’
‘No, I shan’t. I’m too old.’
Tommy pressed the starter. They drove off.
‘Poor Nellie Bligh,’ said Tuppence.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘So terribly in love with Philip Starke. Doing all those things for him all those years–such a lot of wasted doglike devotion.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Tommy. ‘I expect she’s enjoyed every minute of it. Some women do.’
‘Heartless brute,’ said Tuppence.
‘Where do you want to go–The Lamb and Flag at Market Basing?’
‘No,’ said Tuppence. ‘I want to go home. HOME, Thomas. And stay there.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Mr Beresford. ‘And if Albert welcomes us with a charred chicken, I’ll kill him!’
About the Author
Agatha Christie is known throughout the world as the Queen of Crime. Her books have sold over a billion copies in English with another billion in 100 foreign countries. She is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. She is the author of 80 crime novels and short story collections, 19 plays, and six novels written under the name of Mary Westmacott.
Agatha Christie’s first novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, was written towards the end of the First World War, in which she served as a VAD. In it she created Hercule Poirot, the little Belgian detective who was destined to become the most popular detective in crime fiction since Sherlock Holmes. It was eventually published by The Bodley Head in 1920.
In 1926, after averaging a book a year, Agatha Christie wrote