The Moving Finger - Agatha Christie [27]
“Nasty?” I inquired sympathetically, as a fellow sufferer.
“Naturally. These things always are. The ravings of a lunatic. I read a few words of it, realized what it was and chucked it straight into the wastepaper basket.”
“You didn’t think of taking it to the police?”
“Not then. Least said soonest mended—that’s what I felt.”
An urge came over me to say solemnly: “No smoke without fire!” but I restrained myself. To avoid temptation I reverted to Megan.
“Have you any idea of Megan’s financial position?” I asked. “It’s not idle curiosity on my part. I wondered if it would actually be necessary for her to earn her living.”
“I don’t think it’s strictly necessary. Her grandmother, her father’s mother, left her a small income, I believe. And in any case Dick Symmington would always give her a home and provide for her, even if her mother hasn’t left her anything outright. No, it’s the principle of the thing.”
“What principle?”
“Work, Mr. Burton. There’s nothing like work, for men and women. The one unforgivable sin is idleness.”
“Sir Edward Grey,” I said, “afterwards our foreign minister, was sent down from Oxford for incorrigible idleness. The Duke of Wellington, I have heard, was both dull and inattentive at his books. And has it ever occurred to you, Miss Griffith, that you would probably not be able to take a good express train to London if little Georgie Stephenson had been out with his youth movement instead of lolling about, bored, in his mother’s kitchen until the curious behaviour of the kettle lid attracted the attention of his idle mind?”
Aimée merely snorted.
“It is a theory of mine,” I said, warming to my theme, “that we owe most of our great inventions and most of the achievements of genius to idleness—either enforced or voluntary. The human mind prefers to be spoon-fed with the thoughts of others, but deprived of such nourishment it will, reluctantly, begin to think for itself—and such thinking, remember, is original thinking and may have valuable results.
“Besides,” I went on, before Aimée could get in another sniff, “there is the artistic side.”
I got up and took from my desk where it always accompanied me a photograph of my favourite Chinese picture. It represents an old man sitting beneath a tree playing cat’s cradle with a piece of string on his fingers and toes.
“It was in the Chinese exhibition,” I said. “It fascinated me. Allow me to introduce you. It is called ‘Old Man enjoying the Pleasure of Idleness.’”
Aimée Griffith was unimpressed by my lovely picture. She said: “Oh well, we all know what the Chinese are like!”
“It doesn’t appeal to you?” I asked.
“Frankly, no. I’m not very interested in art, I’m afraid. Your attitude, Mr. Burton, is typical of that of most men. You dislike the idea of women working—of their competing—”
I was taken aback, I had come up against the Feminist. Aimée was well away, her cheeks flushed.
“It is incredible to you that women should want a career. It was incredible to my parents. I was anxious to study for a doctor. They would not hear of paying the fees. But they paid them readily for Owen. Yet I should have made a better doctor than my brother.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “It was tough on you. If one wants to do a thing—”
She went on quickly:
“Oh, I’ve got over it now. I’ve plenty of willpower. My life is busy and active. I’m one of the happiest people in Lymstock. Plenty to do. But I do go up in arms against the silly old-fashioned prejudice that women’s place is always the home.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said. “And that wasn’t really my point. I don’t see Megan in a domestic role at all.”
“No, poor child. She’ll be a misfit anywhere, I’m afraid.” Aimée had calmed down. She was speaking quite normally again. “Her father, you know—”
She paused and I said bluntly: “I don’t know. Everyone says ‘her father’ and drops their voice, and that is that. What did the man do? Is he alive still?”
“I really don’t know. And I’m rather vague myself, I’m afraid. But he was definitely a bad lot. Prison, I believe. And a streak of very strong abnormality.