Nemesis - Agatha Christie [39]
Miss Marple sat down in an uncomfortable pew and wondered about things.
Was she on the right track now? Things were connecting up — but the connections were far from clear.
A girl had been murdered — (actually several girls had been murdered) — suspected young men (or ‘youths’ as they were usually called nowadays) had been rounded up by the police, to ‘assist them in their enquiries.’ A common pattern, but this was all old history, dating back ten or twelve years. There was nothing to find out — now, no problems to solve. A tragedy labelled Finis.
What could be done by her? What could Mr Rafiel possibly want her to do?
Elizabeth Temple…She must get Elizabeth Temple to tell her more. Elizabeth had spoken of a girl who had been engaged to be married to Michael Rafiel. But was that really so? That did not seem to be known to those in The Old Manor House.
A more familiar version came into Miss Marple’s mind — the kind of story that had been reasonably frequent in her own village. Starting as always, ‘Boy meets girl’. Developing in the usual way —
‘And then the girl finds she is pregnant,’ said Miss Marple to herself, ‘and she tells the boy and she wants him to marry her. But he, perhaps, doesn’t want to marry her — he has never had any idea of marrying her. But things may be made difficult for him in this case. His father, perhaps, won’t hear of such a thing. Her relations will insist that he “does the right thing”. And by now he is tired of the girl — he’s got another girl perhaps. And so he takes a quick brutal way out — strangles her, beats her head to a pulp to avoid identification. It fits with his record — a brutal sordid crime — but forgotten and done with.’
She looked round the church in which she was sitting. It looked so peaceful. The reality of Evil was hard to believe in. A flair for Evil — that was what Mr Rafiel had attributed to her. She rose and walked out of the church and stood looking round the churchyard again. Here, amongst the gravestones and their worn inscriptions, no sense of Evil moved in her.
Was it Evil she had sensed yesterday at The Old Manor House? That deep depression of despair, that dark desperate grief. Anthea Bradbury-Scott, her eyes gazing fearfully back over one shoulder, as though fearing some presence that stood there — always stood there — behind her.
They knew something, those Three Sisters, but what was it that they knew?
Elizabeth Temple, she thought again. She pictured Elizabeth Temple with the rest of the coach party, striding across the downs at this moment, climbing up a steep path and gazing over the cliffs out to sea.
Tomorrow, when she rejoined the tour, she would get Elizabeth Temple to tell her more.
III
Miss Marple retraced her steps to The Old Manor House, walking rather slowly because she was by now tired. She could not really feel that her morning had been productive in any way. So far The Old Manor House had given her no distinctive ideas of any kind, a tale of a past tragedy told by Janet, but there were always past tragedies treasured in the memories of domestic workers and which were remembered quite as clearly as all the happy events such as spectacular weddings, big entertainments and successful operations or accidents from which people had recovered in a miraculous manner.
As she drew near the gate she saw two female figures standing there. One of them detached itself and came to meet her. It was Mrs Glynne.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said. ‘We wondered, you know. I thought you must have gone out for a walk somewhere and I did so hope you wouldn’t over-tire yourself. If I had known you had come downstairs and gone out, I would have come with you to show anything there is to show. Not that there is very much.’
‘Oh, I just wandered around,’ said Miss Marple. ‘The churchyard, you know, and the church. I’m always very interested in churches. Sometimes there are very curious epitaphs. Things like that. I make quite a collection of them. I suppose the church here was restored in Victorian times?’
‘Yes, they did put