Taken at the Flood - Agatha Christie [74]
‘What about?’
‘Some incredible muddle she had got into over some accounts.’
‘Did she speak from her own house?’
‘Why no, actually her telephone was out of order. She had to go out to a call-box.’
‘At ten minutes past ten?’
‘Thereabouts. Our clocks never keep particularly good time.’
‘Thereabouts,’ said Poirot thoughtfully. He went on delicately:
‘That was not the only telephone call you had that evening?’
‘No.’ Lynn spoke shortly.
‘David Hunter rang you up from London?’
‘Yes.’ She flared out suddenly, ‘I suppose you want to know what he said?’
‘Oh, indeed I should not presume — ’
‘You’re welcome to know! He said he was going away — clearing out of my life. He said he was no good to me and that he never would run straight — not even for my sake.’
‘And since that was probably true you did not like it,’ said Poirot.
‘I hope he will go away — that is, if he gets acquitted all right…I hope they’ll both go away to America or somewhere. Then, perhaps, we shall be able to stop thinking about them — we’ll learn to stand on our own feet. We’ll stop feeling ill will.’
‘Ill will?’
‘Yes. I felt it first one night at Aunt Kathie’s. She gave a sort of party. Perhaps it was because I was just back from abroad and rather on edge — but I seemed to feel it in the air eddying all round us. Ill will to her — to Rosaleen. Don’t you see, we were wishing her dead — all of us! Wishing her dead…And that’s awful, to wish that someone who’s never done you any harm — may die — ’
‘Her death, of course, is the only thing that can do you any practical good.’ Poirot spoke in a brisk and practical tone.
‘You mean do us good financially? Her mere being here has done us harm in all the ways that matter! Envying a person, resenting them, cadging off them — it isn’t good for one. Now, there she is, at Furrowbank, all alone. She looks like a ghost — she looks scared to death — she looks — oh! she looks as though she’s going off her head. And she won’t let us help! Not one of us. We’ve all tried. Mums asked her to come and stay with us, Aunt Frances asked her there. Even Aunt Kathie went along and offered to be with her at Furrowbank. But she won’t have anything to do with us now and I don’t blame her. She wouldn’t even see Brigadier Conroy. I think she’s ill, ill with worry and fright and misery. And we’re doing nothing about it because she won’t let us.’
‘Have you tried? You, yourself?’
‘Yes,’ said Lynn. ‘I went up there yesterday. I said, was there anything I could do? She looked at me — ’ Suddenly she broke off and shivered. ‘I think she hates me. She said, “You, least of all.” David told her, I think, to stop on at Furrowbank, and she always does what David tells her. Rowley took her up eggs and butter from Long Willows. I think he’s the only one of us she likes. She thanked him and said he’d always been kind. Rowley, of course, is kind.’
‘There are people,’ said Poirot, ‘for whom one has great sympathy — great pity, people who have too heavy a burden to bear. For Rosaleen Cloade I have great pity. If I could, I would help her. Even now, if she would listen — ’
With sudden resolution he got to his feet.
‘Come, Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘let us go up to Furrowbank.’
‘You want me to come with you?’
‘If you are prepared to be generous and understanding — ’
Lynn cried:
‘I am — indeed I am — ’
Chapter 13
It took them only about five minutes to reach Furrowbank. The drive wound up an incline through carefully massed banks of rhododendrons. No trouble or expense had been spared by Gordon Cloade to make Furrowbank a show-place.
The parlourmaid who answered the front door looked surprised to see them and a little doubtful as to whether they could see Mrs Cloade. Madam, she said, wasn’t up yet. However, she ushered them into the drawing-room and went upstairs with Poirot’s message.
Poirot looked round him. He was contrasting this room with Frances Cloade’s drawing-room — the latter such an intimate room, so characteristic of its mistress. The drawing-room at Furrowbank was strictly impersonal — speaking