Postern of Fate (Tommy and Tuppence Series) - Agatha Christie [51]
‘What have you been doing with yourself lately?’ enquired Mrs Griffin. ‘I gather you’ve got the electricians out of the house now. So Dorothy told me. Mrs Rogers, you know. She used to be my housemaid once and she comes now and cleans twice a week.’
‘Yes, thank goodness,’ said Tuppence. ‘I was always falling into the holes they made. I really came,’ said Tuppence, ‘and it may sound rather silly but it’s something I just wondered about–I expect you’ll think it’s rather silly too. I’ve been turning out things, you know, a lot of old bookshelves and things like that. We bought some books with the house, mostly children’s books years and years old but I found some old favourites among them.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Mrs Griffin, ‘I quite understand that you must very much have enjoyed the prospect of being able to read certain old favourites again. The Prisoner of Zenda, perhaps. My grandmother used to read The Prisoner of Zenda, I believe. I read it once myself. Really very enjoyable. Romantic, you know. The first romantic book, I imagine, one is allowed to read. You know, novel reading was not encouraged. My mother and my grandmother never approved of reading anything like a novel in the mornings. A story book as it was called. You know, you could read history or something serious, but novels were only pleasurable and so to be read in the afternoon.’
‘I know,’ said Tuppence. ‘Well, I found a good many books that I liked reading again. Mrs Molesworth.’
‘The Tapestry Room?’ said Mrs Griffin with immediate comprehension.
‘Yes. The Tapestry Room was one of my favourites.’
‘Well, I always liked Four Winds Farm best,’ said Mrs Griffin.
‘Yes, that was there too. And several others. Many different kinds of authors. Anyway, I got down to the last shelf and I think there must have been an accident there. You know, someone had banged it about a good deal. When they were moving furniture, I expect. There was a sort of hole and I scooped up a lot of old things out of that. Mostly torn books and among it there was this.’
She produced her parcel wrapped loosely in brown paper.
‘It’s a birthday book,’ she said. ‘An old-fashioned birthday book. And it had your name in it. Your name–I remember you told me–was Winifred Morrison, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, my dear. Quite right.’
‘And it was written in the birthday book. And so I wondered whether it would amuse you if I brought it along for you to see. It might have a lot of other old friends of yours in it and different things or names which would amuse you.’
‘Well, that was very nice of you, my dear, and I should like to see it very much. You know, these things from the past, one does find very amusing to read in one’s old age. A very kind thought of yours.’
‘It’s rather faded and torn and knocked about, said Tuppence, producing her offering.
‘Well, well,’ said Mrs Griffin, ‘yes. You know, everyone had a birthday book. Not so much after my time as a girl. I expect this may be one of the last ones. All the girls at the school I went to had a birthday book. You know, you wrote your name in your friend’s birthday book and they wrote their name in yours and so on.’
She took the book from Tuppence, opened it and began reading down the pages.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she murmured, ‘how it takes me back. Yes. Yes indeed. Helen Gilbert–yes, yes of course. And Daisy Sherfield. Sherfield, yes. Oh yes, I remember her. She had to have one of those tooth things in her mouth. A brace, I think they called it. And she was always taking it out. She said she couldn’t stand it. And Edie Crone, Margaret Dickson. Ah yes. Good handwriting most of them had. Better than girls have nowadays. As for my nephew’s letters, I really can’t read them. Their handwriting is like hieroglyphics of some kind. One has