The Sittaford Mystery - Agatha Christie [4]
An offer of twelve guineas a week clinched matters. Captain Trevelyan went into Exhampton, rented a small house on the outskirts at two guineas a week, and handed over Sittaford House to Mrs Willett, half the rent to be paid in advance.
‘A fool and her money are soon parted,’ he growled.
But Burnaby was thinking this afternoon as he scanned Mrs Willett covertly, that she did not look a fool. She was a tall woman with a rather silly manner—but her physiognomy was shrewd rather than foolish. She was inclined to overdress, had a distinct Colonial accent, and seemed perfectly content with the transaction. She was clearly very well off and that—as Burnaby had reflected more than once—really made the whole affair more odd. She was not the kind of woman one would credit with a passion for solitude.
As a neighbour she had proved almost embarrassingly friendly. Invitations to Sittaford House were rained on everybody. Captain Trevelyan was constantly urged to ‘Treat the house as though we hadn’t rented it.’ Trevelyan, however, was not fond of women. Report went that he had been jilted in his youth. He persistently refused all invitations.
Two months had passed since the installation of the Willetts and the first wonder at their arrival had passed away.
Burnaby, naturally a silent man, continued to study his hostess, oblivious to any need for small talk. Liked to make herself out a fool, but wasn’t really. So he summed up the situation. His glance shifted to Violet Willett. Pretty girl—scraggy, of course—they all were nowadays. What was the good of a woman if she didn’t look like a woman? Papers said curves were coming back. About time too.
He roused himself to the necessity of conversation.
‘We were afraid at first that you wouldn’t be able to come,’ said Mrs Willett. ‘You said so, you remember. We were so pleased when you said that after all you would.’
‘Friday,’ said Major Burnaby, with an air of being explicit.
Mrs Willett looked puzzled.
‘Friday?’
‘Every Friday go to Trevelyan’s. Tuesday he comes to me. Both of us done it for years.’
‘Oh! I see. Of course, living so near—’
‘Kind of habit.’
‘But do you still keep it up? I mean now that he is living in Exhampton—’
‘Pity to break a habit,’ said Major Burnaby. ‘We’d both of us miss those evenings.’
‘You go in for competitions, don’t you?’ asked Violet. ‘Acrostics and crosswords and all those things.’
Burnaby nodded.
‘I do crosswords. Trevelyan does acrostics. We each stick to our own line of country. I won three books last month in a crossword competition,’ he volunteered.
‘Oh! really. How nice. Were they interesting books?’
‘Don’t know. Haven’t read them. Looked pretty hopeless.’
‘It’s the winning them that matters, isn’t it?’ said Mrs Willett vaguely.
‘How do you get to Exhampton?’ asked Violet. ‘You haven’t got a car.’
‘Walk.’
‘What? Not really? Six miles.’
‘Good exercise. What’s twelve miles? Keeps a man fit. Great thing to be fit.’
‘Fancy! Twelve miles. But both you and Captain Trevelyan were great athletes, weren’t you?’
‘Used to go to Switzerland together. Winter sports in winter, climbing in summer. Wonderful man on ice, Trevelyan. Both too old for that sort of thing nowadays.’
‘You won the Army Racquets Championship, too, didn’t you?’ asked Violet.
The Major blushed like a girl.
‘Who told you that?’ he mumbled.
‘Captain Trevelyan.’
‘Joe should hold his tongue,’ said Burnaby. ‘He talks too much. What’s the weather like now?’
Respecting his embarrassment, Violet followed him to the window. They drew the curtain aside and looked out over the desolate scene.
‘More snow coming,’ said Burnaby. ‘A pretty heavy fall too, I should say.’
‘Oh! how thrilling,’ said Violet. ‘I do think snow is so romantic. I’ve never seen it before.’
‘It isn’t romantic when the pipes freeze, you foolish child,’ said her mother.
‘Have you lived all your life in South Africa, Miss Willett?’ asked Major Burnaby.