Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [55]
Lord Whitfield shook his head.
“He’ll come to a bad end, that fellow.”
He threw back his shoulders.
“Come up to the house, Honoria, and have a glass of sherry.”
“Thank you, Lord Whitfield, but I must go to Mrs. Humbleby with these books. Good night, Mr. Fitzwilliam. You’ll be quite all right now.”
She gave him a smiling nod and walked briskly away. It was so much the attitude of a nurse who delivers a child at a party that Luke caught his breath as a sudden idea struck him. Was it possible that Miss Waynflete had accompanied him solely in order to protect him? The idea seemed ludicrous, but—
Lord Whitfield’s voice interrupted his meditations.
“Very capable woman, Honoria Waynflete.”
“Very, I should think.”
Lord Whitfield began to walk towards the house. He moved rather stiffly and his hand went to his posterior and rubbed it gingerly.
Suddenly he chuckled.
“I was engaged to Honoria once—years ago. She was a nice-looking girl—not so skinny as she is today. Seems funny to think of now. Her people were the nobs of this place.”
“Yes?”
Lord Whitfield ruminated:
“Old Colonel Waynflete bossed the show. One had to come out and touch one’s cap pretty sharp. One of the old school he was, and proud as Lucifer.”
He chuckled again.
“The fat was in the fire all right when Honoria announced she was going to marry me! Called herself a Radical, she did. Very earnest. Was all for abolishing class distinctions. She was a serious kind of girl.”
“So her family broke up the romance?”
Lord Whitfield rubbed his nose.
“Well—not exactly. Matter of fact we had a bit of a row over something. Blinking bird she had—one of those beastly twittering canaries—always hated them—bad business—wrung its neck. Well—no good dwelling on all that now. Let’s forget it.”
He shook his shoulders like a man who throws off an unpleasant memory.
Then he said, rather jerkily:
“Don’t think she’s ever forgiven me. Well, perhaps it’s only natural….”
“I think she’s forgiven you all right,” said Luke.
Lord Whitfield brightened up.
“Do you? Glad of that. You know I respect Honoria. Capable woman and a lady! That still counts even in these days. She runs that library business very well.”
He looked up and his voice changed.
“Hallo,” he said. “Here comes Bridget.”
Sixteen
THE PINEAPPLE
Luke felt a tightening of his muscles as Bridget approached.
He had had no word alone with her since the day of the tennis party. By mutual consent they had avoided each other. He stole a glance at her now.
She looked provokingly calm, cool and indifferent.
She said lightly:
“I was beginning to wonder what on earth had become of you, Gordon?”
Lord Whitfield grunted:
“Had a bit of a dust up! That fellow Rivers had the impertinence to take the Rolls out this afternoon.”
“Lèse-majesté,” said Bridget.
“It’s no good making a joke out of it, Bridget. The thing’s serious. He took a girl out.”
“I don’t suppose it would have given him any pleasure to go solemnly for a drive by himself!”
Lord Whitfield drew himself up.
“On my estate I’ll have decent moral behaviour.”
“It isn’t actually immoral to take a girl joyriding.”
“It is when it’s my car.”
“That, of course, is worse than immorality! It practically amounts to blasphemy. But you can’t cut out the sex stuff altogether, Gordon. The moon is at the full and it’s actually Midsummer Eve.”
“Is it, by Jove?” said Luke.
Bridget threw him a glance.
“That seems to interest you?”
“It does.”
Bridget turned back to Lord Whitfield.
“Three extraordinary people have arrived at the Bells and Motley. Item one, a man with shorts, spectacles and a lovely plum-coloured silk shirt! Item two, a female with no eyebrows, dressed in a peplum, a pound of assorted sham Egyptian beads and sandals. Item three, a fat man in a lavender suit and co-respondent shoes. I suspect them of being friends of our Mr. Ellsworthy! Says the gossip writer: ‘Someone has whispered that there will be gay doings in the Witches’ Meadow tonight.’”
Lord Whitfield turned purple and said:
“I won’t have it!”
“You can’t help