The Mystery of the Blue Train - Agatha Christie [16]
“Clothes? What’s wrong with her clothes? She always looks very nice.”
Mrs. Harrison gave an exasperated sigh, and the doctor rose preparatory to starting on his rounds.
“You might look in on her, Polly,” he suggested.
“I’m going to,” said Mrs. Harrison, promptly.
She made her call about three o’clock.
“My dear, I’m so glad,” she said warmly, as she squeezed Katherine’s hand. “And everyone in the village will be glad too.”
“It’s very nice of you to come and tell me,” said Katherine. “I hoped you would come in because I wanted to ask about Johnnie.”
“Oh! Johnnie. Well—”
Johnnie was Mrs. Harrison’s youngest son. In another minute she was off, retailing a long history in which Johnnie’s adenoids and tonsils bulked largely. Katherine listened sympathetically. Habits die hard. Listening had been her portion for ten years now. “My dear, I wonder if I ever told you about the naval ball at Portsmouth? When Lord Charles admired my gown?” And composedly, kindly, Katherine would reply: “I rather think you have, Mrs. Harfield, but I’ve forgotten about it. Won’t you tell it me again?” And then the old lady would start off full swing, with numerous corrections, and stops, and remembered details. And half of Katherine’s mind would be listening, saying the right things mechanically when the old lady paused. . . .
Now, with the same curious feeling of duality to which she was accustomed, she listened to Mrs. Harrison.
At the end of half an hour, the latter recalled herself suddenly.
“I’ve been talking about myself all this time,” she exclaimed. “And I came here to talk about you and your plans.”
“I don’t know that I’ve got any yet.”
“My dear—you’re not going to stay on here.”
Katherine smiled at the horror in the other’s tone.
“No; I think I want to travel. I’ve never seen much of the world, you know.”
“I should think not. It must have been an awful life for you cooped up here all these years.”
“I don’t know,” said Katherine. “It gave me a lot of freedom.”
She caught the other’s gasp, and reddened a little.
“It must sound foolish—saying that. Of course, I hadn’t much freedom in the downright physical sense—”
“I should think not,” breathed Mrs. Harrison, remembering that Katherine had seldom had that useful thing, a “day off.”
“But in a way, being tied physically gives you lots of scope mentally. You’re always free to think. I’ve had a lovely feeling always of mental freedom.”
Mrs. Harrison shook her head.
“I can’t understand that.”
“Oh! you would if you’d been in my place. But, all the same, I feel I want a change. I want—well, I want things to happen. Oh! not to me—I don’t mean that. But to be in the midst of things—exciting things—even if I’m only the looker-on. You know, things don’t happen in St. Mary Mead.”
“They don’t indeed,” said Mrs. Harrison, with fervour.
“I shall go to London first,” said Katherine. “I have to see the solicitors, anyway. After that, I shall go abroad, I think.”
“Very nice.”
“But of course, first of all—”
“Yes?”
“I must get some clothes.”
“Exactly what I said to Arthur this morning,” cried the doctor’s wife. “You know, Katherine, you could look possibly positively beautiful if you tried.”
Miss Grey laughed unaffectedly.
“Oh! I don’t think you could ever make a beauty out of me,” she said sincerely. “But I shall enjoy having some really good clothes. I’m afraid I’m talking about myself an awful lot.”
Mrs. Harrison looked at her shrewdly.
“It must be quite a novel experience for you,” she said drily.
Katherine went to say good-bye to old Miss Viner before leaving the village. Miss Viner was two years older than Mrs. Harfield, and her mind was mainly taken up with her own success in out-living her dead friend.
“You wouldn’t have thought I’d have outlasted Jane Harfield, would you?” she demanded triumphantly of Katherine. “We were at school together, she and I. And here we are, she taken, and I left. Who would have thought it?”
“You’ve always eaten brown bread for supper, haven’t you?