Miss Marple's final cases - Agatha Christie [28]
‘And it’s my opinion,’ said the outspoken Miss Hartnell, ‘that she’s very wise not to send for him. Dear Doctor Haydock, in that breezy manner of his, would tell her that there was nothing the matter with her and to get up and not make a fuss! Do her a lot of good!’
Failing such arbitrary treatment, however, Miss Emily continued to lie on sofas, to surround herself with strange little pill boxes, and to reject nearly everything that had been cooked for her and ask for something else—usually something difficult and inconvenient to get.
III
The door was opened to Miss Marple by ‘Gladdie’, looking more depressed than Miss Marple had ever thought possible. In the sitting-room (a quarter of the late drawing-room, which had been partitioned into a dining-room, drawing-room, bathroom, and housemaid’s cupboard), Miss Lavinia rose to greet Miss Marple.
Lavinia Skinner was a tall, gaunt, bony female of fifty. She had a gruff voice and an abrupt manner.
‘Nice to see you,’ she said. ‘Emily’s lying down—feeling low today, poor dear. Hope she’ll see you, it would cheer her up, but there are times when she doesn’t feel up to seeing anybody. Poor dear, she’s wonderfully patient.’
Miss Marple responded politely. Servants were the main topic of conversation in St Mary Mead, so it was not difficult to lead the conversation in that direction. Miss Marple said she had heard that that nice girl, Gladys Holmes, was leaving.
Miss Lavinia nodded. ‘Wednesday week. Broke things, you know. Can’t have that.’
Miss Marple sighed and said we all had to put up with things nowadays. It was so difficult to get girls to come to the country. Did Miss Skinner really think it was wise to part with Gladys?
‘Know it’s difficult to get servants,’ admitted Miss Lavinia. ‘The Devereuxs haven’t got anybody—but then, I don’t wonder—always quarrelling, jazz on all night—meals any time—that girl knows nothing of housekeeping. I pity her husband! Then the Larkins have just lost their maid. Of course, what with the judge’s Indian temper and his wanting chota hazri, as he calls it, at six in the morning and Mrs Larkin always fussing, I don’t wonder at that, either. Mrs Carmichael’s Janet is a fixture of course—though in my opinion she’s the most disagreeable woman, and absolutely bullies the old lady.’
‘Then don’t you think you might reconsider your decision about Gladys? She really is a nice girl. I know all her family; very honest and superior.’
Miss Lavinia shook her head.
‘I’ve got my reasons,’ she said importantly.
Miss Marple murmured, ‘You missed a brooch, I understand—’
‘Now, who has been talking? I suppose the girl has. Quite frankly, I’m almost certain she took it. And then got frightened and put it back—but, of course, one can’t say anything unless one is sure.’ She changed the subject. ‘Do come and see Emily, Miss Marple. I’m sure it would do her good.’
Miss Marple followed meekly to where Miss Lavinia knocked on a door, was bidden enter, and ushered her guest into the best room in the flat, most of the light of which was excluded by half-drawn blinds. Miss Emily was lying in bed, apparently enjoying the half-gloom and her own indefinite sufferings.
The dim light showed her to be a thin, indecisive-looking creature, with a good deal of greyish-yellow hair untidily wound around her head and erupting into curls, the whole thing looking like a bird’s nest of which no self-respecting bird could be proud. There was a smell in the room of Eau de Cologne, stale biscuits, and camphor.
With half-closed eyes and a thin, weak voice, Emily Skinner explained that this was ‘one