Caribbean Mystery - Agatha Christie [51]
“Mon père,” said a small shrill voice. It was one of the French children who had been playing at the water’s edge. She had come up unnoticed, and was standing by Canon Prescott’s chair.
“Mon père,” she fluted.
“Eh? Yes, my dear? Oui, qu’est-ce qu’il y a, ma petite?”
The child explained. There had been a dispute about who should have the water-wings next and also other matters of seaside etiquette. Canon Prescott was extremely fond of children, especially small girls. He was always delighted to be summoned to act as arbiter in their disputes. He rose willingly now and accompanied the child to the water’s edge. Miss Marple and Miss Prescott breathed deep sighs and turned avidly towards each other.
II
“Jeremy, of course rightly, is very against ill-natured gossip,” said Miss Prescott, “but one cannot really ignore what people are saying. And there was, as I say, a great deal of talk at the time.”
“Yes?” Miss Marple’s tone urged her forward.
“This young woman, you see, Miss Greatorex I think her name was then, I can’t remember now, was a kind of cousin and she looked after Mrs. Dyson. Gave her all her medicines and things like that.” There was a short, meaningless pause. “And of course there had, I understand”—Miss Prescott’s voice was lowered—“been goings-on between Mr. Dyson and Miss Greatorex. A lot of people had noticed them. I mean things like that are quickly observed in a place like this. Then there was some curious story about some stuff that Edward Hillingdon got for her at a chemist.”
“Oh, Edward Hillingdon came into it?”
“Oh yes, he was very much attracted. People noticed it. And Lucky—Miss Greatorex—played them off against each other. Gregory Dyson and Edward Hillingdon. One has to face it, she has always been an attractive woman.”
“Though not as young as she was,” Miss Marple replied.
“Exactly. But she was always very well turned out and made up. Of course not so flamboyant when she was just the poor relation. She always seemed very devoted to the invalid. But, well, you see how it was.”
“What was this story about the chemist—how did that get known?”
“Well, it wasn’t in Jamestown, I think it was when they were in Martinique. The French, I believe, are more lax than we are in the matter of drugs—This chemist talked to someone, and the story got around—Well, you know how these things happen.”
Miss Marple did. None better.
“He said something about Colonel Hillingdon asking for something and not seeming to know what it was he was asking for. Consulting a piece of paper, you know, on which it was written down. Anyway, as I say, there was talk.”
“But I don’t see quite why Colonel Hillingdon—” Miss Marple frowned in perplexity.
“I suppose he was just being used as a cat’s-paw. Anyway, Gregory Dyson married again in an almost indecently short time. Barely a month later, I understand.”
They looked at each other.
“But there was no real suspicion?” Miss Marple asked.
“Oh no, it was just—well, talk. Of course there may have been absolutely nothing in it.”
“Major Palgrave thought there was.”
“Did he say so to you?”
“I wasn’t really listening very closely,” confessed Miss Marple. “I just wondered if—er—well, if he’d said the same thing to you?”
“He did point her out to me one day,” said Miss Prescott.
“Really? He actually pointed her out?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I thought at first it was Mrs. Hillingdon he was pointing out. He wheezed and chuckled a bit and said, ‘Look at that woman over there. In my opinion that’s a woman who’s done murder and got away with it.’ I was very shocked, of course. I said, ‘Surely you’re joking, Major Palgrave,’ and he said, ‘Yes, yes, dear lady, let’s call it joking.’ The Dysons and the Hillingdons were sitting at a table quite near to us, and I was afraid they’d overhear. He chuckled and said ‘Wouldn’t care to go to a drinks party and have a certain person mix me a cocktail. Too much like supper with the Borgias.’”
“How very interesting,