Star over Bethlehem - Agatha Christie [10]
“How many have you?”
“Two boys and a girl.”
“Edward is just the same age as our Johnnie,” said Mrs. Stewart. “I suppose he’ll be going to his public school next year. Johnnie’s going to Winchester.”
“Oh, Edward is much too much of a moron ever to pass common entrance, I’m sure,” sighed Mrs. Lamphrey. “He doesn’t care for anything but games. We’ll have to send him to a crammer’s. Isn’t it terrible, Mrs. Grierson, when one’s children turn out to be morons?”
Almost at once, she felt the chill. A quick change of subject—the forthcoming fête at Wellsly Park.
As the groups moved off in varying directions, Mrs. Stewart said to her friend:
“Darling, I ought to have warned you!”
“Did I say something wrong? I thought so—but what?”
“The Griersons. Their boy. They’ve only got one. And he’s subnormal. Mentally retarded.”
“Oh how awful—but I couldn’t know. Why does one always go and put one’s foot straight into things?”
“It’s just that Janet’s rather sensitive …”
As they walked along the field path, Rodney Grierson said gently,
“They didn’t mean anything. That woman didn’t know.”
“No. No, of course she didn’t.”
“Janet, can’t you try—”
“Try what?”
“Try not to mind so much. Can’t you accept—”
Her voice interrupted him, it was high and strained.
“No, I can’t accept—as you put it. There must be something that could be done! He’s physically so perfect. It must be just some gland—some perfectly simple thing. Doctors will find out some day. There must be something—injections—hypnotism.”
“You only torture yourself, Janet. All these doctors you drag him round to. It worries the boy.”
“I’m not like you, Rodney. I don’t give up. I prayed again in church just now.”
“You pray too much.”
“How can one pray ‘too much’? I believe in God, I tell you. I believe in him. I have faith—and faith can move mountains.”
“You can’t give God orders, Janet.”
“What an extraordinary thing to say!”
“Well—” Major Grierson shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t think you know what faith is.”
“It ought to be the same as trust.”
Janet Grierson was not listening.
“Today—in church, I had a terrible feeling. I felt that God wasn’t there. I didn’t feel that there was no God—just that He was somewhere else … But where?”
“Really, Janet!”
“Where could He be? Where could I find Him?”
She calmed herself with an effort as they turned in at the gate of their own house. A stocky middle-aged woman came out smiling to meet them.
“Have a nice service? Supper’s almost ready. Ten minutes?”
“Oh good. Thank you, Gertrude. Where’s Alan?”
“He’s out in the garden as usual. I’ll call him.”
She cupped her mouth with her hands.
“A—lan. A—lan.”
Suddenly, with a rush, a boy came running. He was fair and blue-eyed. He looked excited and happy.
“Daddy—Mummy—look what I’ve found.”
He parted his cupped hands carefully, showing the small creature they contained.
“Ugh, horrible.” Janet Grierson turned away with a shudder.
“Don’t you like him? Daddy!” He turned to his father. “See, he’s partly like a frog—but he isn’t a frog—he’s got feathers and a sort of wings. He’s quite new—not like any other animal.”
He came nearer, and dropped his voice.
“I’ve got a name for him. I call him Raphion. Do you think it’s a nice name?”
“Very nice, my boy,” said his father with a slight effort.
The boy put the strange creature down.
“Hop away, Raphion, or fly if you can. There he goes. He isn’t afraid of me.”
“Come and get ready for supper, Alan,” said his mother.
“Oh yes, I’m hungry.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Oh, I’ve been down at the end of the garden, talking to a friend. He helps me name the animals. We have such fun.”
“He’s happy, Janet,” said Grierson as the boy ran up the stairs.
“I know. But what’s going to become of him? And those horrible things he finds. They’re all about everywhere nowadays since the accident at the Research station.”
“They’ll die out, dear. Mutations usually do.”
“Queer heads—and extra legs!” She shuddered.
“Well, think of all the legs centipedes have. You don’t mind them?”
“They’re natural.”
“Perhaps everything has to have