Peril at End House - Agatha Christie [56]
The letters spread over several dates, beginning last winter.
New Year’s Day.
‘Darling,—The New Year is in and I’m making good resolutions. It seems too wonderful to be true—that you should actually love me. You’ve made all the difference to my life. I believe we both knew—from the very first moment we met. Happy New Year, my lovely girl.
‘Yours for ever,
Michael.’
February 8th.
‘Dearest Love,—How I wish I could see you more often. This is pretty rotten, isn’t it? I hate all this beastly concealment, but I explained to you how things are. I know how much you hate lies and concealment. I do too. But honestly, it might upset the whole apple cart. Uncle Matthew has got an absolute bee in his bonnet about early marriages and the way they wreck a man’s career. As though you could wreck mine, you dear angel!
‘Cheer up, darling. Everything will come right.
‘Yours,
‘Michael.’
March 2nd.
‘I oughtn’t to write to you two days running, I know. But I must. When I was up yesterday I thought of you. I flew over Scarborough. Blessed, blessed, blessed Scarborough—the most wonderful place in the world. Darling, you don’t know how I love you!
‘Yours,
‘Michael.’
April 18th.
‘Dearest,—The whole thing is fixed up. Definitely. If I pull this off (and I shall pull it off) I shall be able to take a firm line with Uncle Matthew—and if he doesn’t like it—well, what do I care? It’s adorable of you to be so interested in my long technical descriptions of the Albatross . How I long to take you up in her. Some day! Don’t, for goodness’ sake, worry about me. The thing isn’t half so risky as it sounds. I simply couldn’t get killed now that I know you care for me. Everything will be all right, sweetheart. Trust your Michael.’
April 20th.
‘You Angel,—Every word you say is true and I shall treasure that letter always. I’m not half good enough for you. You are so different from everybody else. I adore you.
‘Your
‘Michael.’
The last was undated.
‘Dearest,—Well—I’m off tomorrow. Feeling tremendously keen and excited and absolutely certain of success. The old Albatross is all tuned up. She won’t let me down.
‘Cheer up, sweetheart, and don’t worry. There’s a risk, of course, but all life’s a risk really. By the way, somebody said I ought to make a will (tactful fellow—but he meant well), so I have—on a half sheet of notepaper—and sent it to old Whitfield. I’d no time to go round there. Somebody once told me that a man made a will of three words, “All to Mother”, and it was legal all right. My will was rather like that—I remembered your name was really Magdala, which was clever of me! A couple of the fellows witnessed it.
‘Don’t take all this solemn talk about wills to heart, will you? (I didn’t mean that pun. An accident.) I shall be as right as rain. I’ll send you telegrams from India and Australia and so on. And keep up heart. It’s going to be all right . See?
‘Good night and God bless you,
‘Michael.’
Poirot folded the letters together again.
‘You see, Hastings? I had to read them—to make sure. It is as I told you.’
‘Surely you could have found out some other way?’
‘No, mon cher, that is just what I could not do. It had to be this way. We have now some very valuable evidence.’
‘In what way?’
‘We now know that the fact of Michael’s having made a will in favour of Mademoiselle Nick is actually recorded in writing. Anyone who had read those letters would know the fact. And with letters carelessly hidden like that, anyone could read them.’
‘Ellen?’
‘Ellen, almost certainly, I should say. We will try a little experiment on her before passing out.’
‘There is no sign of the will.’
‘No, that is curious. But in all probability it is thrown on top of a bookcase, or inside a china jar. We must try to awaken Mademoiselle’s memory on that point. At any rate, there is nothing more to be found here.’
Ellen was dusting the hall as we descended.
Poirot