The Hound of Death - Agatha Christie [27]
‘And then,’ continued Dickie, ‘we got engaged.’
‘At once?’
‘Well, after about a week. It took her about a fortnight after that to find out that she didn’t care after all…’ He gave a short bitter laugh.
‘It was the last evening before I went back to the old ship. I was coming back from the village through the woods–and then I saw her–Mrs Haworth, I mean. She had on a red tam-o’-shanter, and–just for a minute, you know–it made me jump! I’ve told you about my dream, so you’ll understand…Then we walked along a bit. Not that there was a word Esther couldn’t have heard, you know…’
‘No?’ Macfarlane looked at his friend curiously. Strange how people told you things of which they themselves were unconscious!
‘And then, when I was turning to go back to the house, she stopped me. She said: “You’ll be home soon enough. I shouldn’t go back too soon if I were you…” And then I knew–that there was something beastly waiting for me…and…as soon as I got back Esther met me, and told me–that she’d found out she didn’t really care…’
Macfarlane grunted sympathetically. ‘And Mrs Haworth?’ he asked.
‘I never saw her again–until tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes. At the doctor johnny’s nursing home. They had a look at my leg, the one that got messed up in that torpedo business. It’s worried me a bit lately. The old chap advised an operation–it’ll be quite a simple thing. Then as I left the place, I ran into a girl in a red jumper over her nurse’s things, and she said: “I wouldn’t have that operation, if I were you…” Then I saw it was Mrs Haworth. She passed on so quickly I couldn’t stop her. I met another nurse, and asked about her. But she said there wasn’t anyone of that name in the home…Queer…’
‘Sure it was her?’
‘Oh! yes, you see–she’s very beautiful…’ He paused, and then added: ‘I shall have the old op, of course–but–but in case my number should be up–’
‘Rot!’
‘Of course it’s not. But all the same I’m glad I told you about this gipsy business…You know, there’s more of it if only I could remember…’
II
Macfarlane walked up the steep moorland road. He turned in at the gate of the house near the crest of the hill. Setting his jaw squarely, he pulled the bell.
‘Is Mrs Haworth in?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.’ The maid left him in a low long room, with windows that gave on the wildness of the moorland. He frowned a little. Was he making a colossal ass of himself?
Then he started. A low voice was singing overhead:
‘The gipsy woman
Lives on the moor–’
The voice broke off. Macfarlane’s heart beat a shade faster. The door opened.
The bewildering, almost Scandinavian fairness of her came as a shock. In spite of Dickie’s description, he had imagined her gipsy dark…And he suddenly remembered Dickie’s words, and the peculiar tone of them. ‘You see, she’s very beautiful…’ Perfect unquestionable beauty is rare, and perfect unquestionable beauty was what Alistair Haworth possessed.
He caught himself up, and advanced towards her. ‘I’m afraid you don’t know me from Adam. I got your address from the Lawes. But–I’m a friend of Dickie Carpenter’s.’
She looked at him closely for a minute or two. Then she said: ‘I was going out. Up on the moor. Will you come too?’
She pushed open the window, and stepped out on the hillside. He followed her. A heavy, rather foolish-looking man was sitting in a basket-chair smoking.
‘My husband! We’re going out on the moor, Maurice. And then Mr Macfarlane will come back to lunch with us. You will, won’t you?’
‘Thanks very much.’ He followed her easy stride up the hill, and thought to himself: ‘Why? Why, on God’s earth, marry that?’
Alistair made her way to some rocks. ‘We’ll sit here. And you shall tell me–what you came to tell me.’
‘You knew?’
‘I always know when bad things are coming. It is bad, isn’t it? About Dickie?’
‘He underwent a slight operation–quite successfully. But his heart must have been weak. He died under the anaesthetic.’
What he expected to see on her face, he scarcely knew