Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [12]
“She hadn’t got the spirit to stand up to him?”
“She had. It was the young man who ratted. A question of money yet again, I fancy. Elaine is not particularly attractive, poor dear.”
“And the other son?”
“I’ve never seen him. He’s attractive, by all accounts, and a thoroughly bad lot. Some little matter of a forged cheque in the past. He lives in East Africa.”
“And was estranged from his father.”
“Yes, Mr. Fortescue couldn’t cut him off with a shilling because he’d already made him a junior partner in the firm, but he held no communication with him for years, and in fact if Lance was ever mentioned, he used to say: ‘Don’t talk to me of that rascal. He’s no son of mine.’ All the same—”
“Yes, Miss Dove?”
Mary said slowly: “All the same, I shouldn’t be surprised if old Fortescue hadn’t been planning to get him back here.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because, about a month ago, old Fortescue had a terrific row with Percival—he found out something that Percival had been doing behind his back—I don’t know what it was—and he was absolutely furious. Percival suddenly stopped being the white-headed boy. He’s been quite different lately, too.”
“Mr. Fortescue was quite different?”
“No. I meant Percival. He’s gone about looking worried to death.”
“Now what about servants? You’ve already described the Crumps. Who else is there?”
“Gladys Martin is the parlourmaid or waitress, as they like to call themselves nowadays. She does the downstairs rooms, lays the table, clears away and helps Crump wait at table. Quite a decent sort of girl but very nearly half-witted. The adenoidal type.”
Neele nodded.
“The housemaid is Ellen Curtis. Elderly, very crabbed, and very cross, but has been in good service and is a first-class housemaid. The rest is outside help—odd women who come in.”
“And those are the only people living here?”
“There’s old Miss Ramsbottom.”
“Who is she?”
“Mr. Fortescue’s sister-in-law—his first wife’s sister. His wife was a good deal older than he was and her sister again was a good deal older than her—which makes her well over seventy. She has a room of her own on the second floor—does her own cooking and all that, with just a woman coming in to clean. She’s rather eccentric and she never liked her brother-in-law, but she came here while her sister was alive and stayed on when she died. Mr. Fortescue never bothered about her much. She’s quite a character, though, is Aunt Effie.”
“And that is all.”
“That’s all.”
“So we come to you, Miss Dove.”
“You want particulars? I’m an orphan. I took a secretarial course at the St. Alfred’s Secretarial College. I took a job as shorthand typist, left it and took another, decided I was in the wrong racket, and started on my present career. I have been with three different employers. After about a year or eighteen months I get tired of a particular place and move on. I have been at Yewtree Lodge just over a year. I will type out the names and addresses of my various employers and give them, with a copy of my references to Sergeant—Hay, is it? Will that be satisfactory?”
“Perfectly, Miss Dove.” Neele was silent for a moment, enjoying a mental image of Miss Dove tampering with Mr. Fortescue’s breakfast. His mind went back farther, and he saw her methodically gathering yew berries in a little basket. With a sigh he returned to the present and reality. “Now, I would like to see the girl—er Gladys—and then the housemaid, Ellen.” He added as he rose: “By the way, Miss Dove, can you give me any idea why Mr. Fortescue would be carrying loose grain in his pocket?”
“Grain?” she stared at him with what appeared to be genuine surprise.
“Yes—grain. Does that suggest something to you, Miss Dove?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Who looked after his clothes?”
“Crump.”
“I see. Did Mr. Fortescue and Mrs. Fortescue occupy the same bedroom?”
“Yes. He had a dressing room and bath, of course, and so did she . . .” Mary glanced down at her wristwatch. “I really think that she ought to be back very soon now.”
The inspector had risen. He said in a pleasant