Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie [65]
‘Well,’ I said, ‘the funeral is tomorrow morning. After that, surely, the excitement will die down.’
I noticed a few reporters hanging about Old Hall when we arrived there. They accosted me with various queries to which I gave the invariable answer (we had found it the best), that, ‘I had nothing to say.’
We were shown by the butler into the drawing-room, the sole occupant of which turned out to be Miss Cram – apparently in a state of high enjoyment.
‘This is a surprise, isn’t it?’ she said, as she shook hands. ‘I never should have thought of such a thing, but Mrs Protheroe is kind, isn’t she? And, of course, it isn’t what you might call nice for a young girl to be staying alone at a place like the Blue Boar, reporters about and all. And, of course, it’s not as though I haven’t been able to make myself useful – you really need a secretary at a time like this, and Miss Protheroe doesn’t do anything to help, does she?’
I was amused to notice that the old animosity against Lettice persisted, but that the girl had apparently become a warm partisan of Anne’s. At the same time I wondered if the story of her coming here was strictly accurate. In her account the initiative had come from Anne, but I wondered if that were really so. The first mention of disliking to be at the Blue Boar alone might have easily come from the girl herself. Whilst keeping an open mind on the subject, I did not fancy that Miss Cram was strictly truthful.
At that moment Anne Protheroe entered the room.
She was dressed very quietly in black. She carried in her hand a Sunday paper which she held out to me with a rueful glance.
‘I’ve never had any experience of this sort of thing. It’s pretty ghastly, isn’t it? I saw a reporter at the inquest. I just said that I was terribly upset and had nothing to say, and then he asked me if I wasn’t very anxious to find my husband’s murderer, and I said “Yes.” And then whether I had any suspicions, and I said “No.” And whether I didn’t think the crime showed local knowledge, and I said it seemed to certainly. And that was all. And now look at this!’
In the middle of the page was a photograph, evidently taken at least ten years ago – Heaven knows where they had dug it out. There were large headlines:
‘WIDOW DECLARES SHE WILL NEVER REST TILL SHE HAS HUNTED DOWN HUSBAND’S MURDERER
‘Mrs Protheroe, the widow of the murdered man, is certain that the murderer must be looked for locally. She has suspicions, but no certainty. She declared herself prostrated with grief, but reiterated her determination to hunt down the murderer.’
‘It doesn’t sound like me, does it?’ said Anne.
‘I dare say it might have been worse,’ I said, handing back the paper.
‘Impudent, aren’t they?’ said Miss Cram. ‘I’d like to see one of those fellows trying to get something out of me.’
By the twinkle in Griselda’s eye, I was convinced that she regarded this statement as being more literally true than Miss Cram intended it to appear.
Luncheon was announced, and we went in. Lettice did not come in till half-way through the meal, when she drifted into the empty place with a smile for Griselda and a nod for me. I watched her with some attention, for reasons of my own, but she seemed much the same vague creature as usual. Extremely pretty – that in fairness I had to admit. She was still not wearing mourning, but was dressed in a shade of pale green that brought out all the delicacy of her fair colouring.
After we had had coffee, Anne said quietly:
‘I want to have a little talk with the Vicar. I will take him up to my sitting-room.’
At last I was to learn the reason of our summons. I rose and followed her up the stairs. She paused at the door of the room. As I was about to speak, she stretched out a hand to stop me. She remained