The Hollow - Agatha Christie [44]
‘Oh, Gudgeon,’ said Lady Angkatell, ‘about those eggs. I meant to write the date in pencil on them as usual. Will you ask Mrs Medway to see to it?’
‘I think you will find, my lady, that everything has been attended to quite satisfactorily.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have seen to things myself.’
‘Oh, thank you, Gudgeon.’
As Gudgeon went out she murmured: ‘Really, Gudgeon is wonderful. The servants are all being marvellous. And one does so sympathize with them having the police here–it must be dreadful for them. By the way, are there any left?’
‘Police, do you mean?’ asked Midge.
‘Yes. Don’t they usually leave one standing in the hall? Or perhaps he’s watching the front door from the shrubbery outside.’
‘Why should he watch the front door?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sure. They do in books. And then somebody else is murdered in the night.’
‘Oh, Lucy, don’t,’ said Midge.
Lady Angkatell looked at her curiously.
‘Darling, I am so sorry. Stupid of me. And of course nobody else could be murdered. Gerda’s gone home–I mean–Oh, Henrietta dear, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.’
But Henrietta did not answer. She was standing by the round table staring down at the bridge score she had kept last night.
She said, rousing herself, ‘Sorry, Lucy, what did you say?’
‘I wondered if there were any police left over.’
‘Like remnants in a sale? I don’t think so. They’ve all gone back to the police station, to write out what we said in proper police language.’
‘What are you looking at, Henrietta?’
‘Nothing.’
Henrietta moved across to the mantelpiece.
‘What do you think Veronica Cray is doing tonight?’ she asked.
A look of dismay crossed Lady Angkatell’s face.
‘My dear! You don’t think she might come over here again? She must have heard by now.’
‘Yes,’ said Henrietta thoughtfully. ‘I suppose she’s heard.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Lady Angkatell. ‘I really must telephone to the Careys. We can’t have them coming to lunch tomorrow just as though nothing had happened.’
She left the room.
David, hating his relations, murmured that he wanted to look up something in the Encyclopædia Britannica. The library, he thought, would be a peaceful place.
Henrietta went to the french windows, opened them, and passed through. After a moment’s hesitation Edward followed her.
He found her standing outside looking up at the sky. She said:
‘Not so warm as last night, is it?’
In his pleasant voice, Edward said: ‘No, distinctly chilly.’
She was standing looking up at the house. Her eyes were running along the windows. Then she turned and looked towards the woods. He had no clue to what was in her mind.
He made a movement towards the open window.
‘Better come in. It’s cold.’
She shook her head.
‘I’m going for a stroll. To the swimming pool.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ He took a quick step towards her. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, thank you, Edward.’ Her voice cut sharply through the chill of the air. ‘I want to be alone with my dead.’
‘Henrietta! My dear–I haven’t said anything. But you do know how–how sorry I am.’
‘Sorry? That John Christow is dead?’
There was still the brittle sharpness in her tone.
‘I meant–sorry for you, Henrietta. I know it must have been a–a great shock.’
‘Shock? Oh, but I’m very tough, Edward. I can stand shocks. Was it a shock to you? What did you feel when you saw him lying there? Glad, I suppose. You didn’t like John Christow.’
Edward murmured: ‘He and I–hadn’t much in common.’
‘How nicely you put things! In such a restrained way. But as a matter of fact you did have one thing in common. Me! You were both fond of me, weren’t you? Only that didn’t make a bond between you–quite the opposite.’
The moon came fitfully through a cloud and he was startled as he suddenly saw her face looking at him. Unconsciously he always saw Henrietta as a projection of the Henrietta he had known at Ainswick. She was always to him a laughing girl, with dancing eyes full of eager expectation. The woman he saw now seemed to him a stranger, with eyes