Sad cypress - Agatha Christie [40]
‘No, there is not! And that’s flat.’
Chapter 4
In the awesome majesty of Mrs Bishop’s black-clad presence Hercule Poirot sat humbly insignificant.
The thawing of Mrs Bishop was no easy matter. For Mrs Bishop, a lady of Conservative habits and views, strongly disapproved of foreigners. And a foreigner most indubitably Hercule Poirot was. Her responses were frosty and she eyed him with disfavour and suspicion.
Dr Lord’s introduction of him had done little to soften the situation.
‘I am sure,’ said Mrs Bishop when Dr Lord had gone, ‘Dr Lord is a very clever doctor and means well. Dr Ransome, his predecessor, had been here many years!’
Dr Ransome, that is to say, could be trusted to behave in a manner suitable to the county. Dr Lord, a mere irresponsible youngster, an upstart who had taken Dr Ransome’s place, had only one recommendation: ‘cleverness’ in his profession.
Cleverness, the whole demeamour of Mrs Bishop seemed to say, is not enough!
Hercule Poirot was persuasive. He was adroit. But charm he never so wisely, Mrs Bishop remained aloof and implacable.
The death of Mrs Welman had been very sad. She had been much respected in the neighbourhood. The arrest of Miss Carlisle was ‘Disgraceful!’ and believed to be the result of ‘these new-fangled police methods’. The views of Mrs Bishop upon the death of Mary Gerrard were vague in the extreme. ‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure,’ being the most she could be brought to say.
Hercule Poirot played his last card. He recounted with naïve pride a recent visit of his to Sandringham. He spoke with admiration of the graciousness and delightful simplicity and kindness of Royalty.
Mrs Bishop, who followed daily in the court circular the exact movements of Royalty, was overborne. After all, if They had sent for Mr Poirot…Well, naturally, that made All the Difference. Foreigner or no foreigner, who was she, Emma Bishop, to hold back where Royalty had led the way?
Presently she and M. Poirot were engaged in pleasant conversation on a really interesting theme – no less than the selection of a suitable future husband for Princess Elizabeth.
Having finally exhausted all possible candidates as Not Good Enough, the talk reverted to less exalted circles.
Poirot observed sententiously:
‘Marriage, alas, is fraught with dangers and pitfalls!’
Mrs Bishop said:
‘Yes, indeed – with this nasty divorce,’ rather as though she were speaking of a contagious disease such as chickenpox.
‘I expect,’ said Poirot, ‘that Mrs Welman, before her death, must have been anxious to see her niece suitably settled in life?’
Mrs Bishop bowed her head.
‘Yes, indeed. The engagement between Miss Elinor and Mr Roderick was a great relief to her. It was a thing she had always hoped for.’
Poirot ventured:
‘The engagement was perhaps entered into partly from a wish to please her?’
‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that, Mr Poirot. Miss Elinor has always been devoted to Mr Roddy – always was, as a tiny tot – quite beautiful to see. Miss Elinor has a very loyal and devoted nature!’
Poirot murmured:
‘And he?’
Mrs Bishop said austerely:
‘Mr Roderick was devoted to Miss Elinor.’
Poirot said:
‘Yet the engagement, I think, was broken off?’
The colour rose in Mrs Bishop’s face. She said:
‘Owing, Mr Poirot, to the machinations of a snake in the grass.’
Poirot said, appearing suitably impressed:
‘Indeed?’
Mrs Bishop, her face becoming redder still, explained:
‘In this country, Mr Poirot, there is a certain Decency to be observed when mentioning the Dead. But that young woman, Mr Poirot, was Underhand in her Dealings.’
Poirot looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.
Then he said with an apparent lack of guile:
‘You surprise me. I had been given the impression that she was a very simple and unassuming girl.’
Mrs Bishop’s chin trembled a little.
‘She was Artful, Mr Poirot. People were Taken In by her. That Nurse Hopkins, for instance! Yes, and my poor dear mistress too!’
Poirot shook his head sympathetically and made a clacking noise with his tongue.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said