The Sittaford Mystery - Agatha Christie [65]
‘There’s a young man with her,’ said Mr Rycroft.
‘The young men of the present day make me sick,’ said Captain Wyatt. ‘What’s the good of them?’
This being a difficult query to answer suitably, Mr Rycroft did not attempt it, he took his departure.
The bull terrier bitch accompanied him to the gate and caused him acute alarm.
In No. 4 The Cottages, Miss Percehouse was speaking to her nephew, Ronald.
‘If you like to moon about after a girl who doesn’t want you, that is your affair, Ronald,’ she was saying. ‘Better stick to the Willett girl. You may have a chance there, though I think it is extremely unlikely.’
‘Oh, I say,’ protested Ronnie.
‘The other thing I have to say is, that if there was a police officer in Sittaford I should have been informed of it. Who knows, I might have been able to give him valuable information.’
‘I didn’t know about it myself till after he had gone.’
‘That is so like you, Ronnie. Absolutely typical.’
‘Sorry, Aunt Caroline.’
‘And when you are painting the garden furniture, there is no need to paint your face as well. It doesn’t improve it and it wastes the paint.’
‘Sorry, Aunt Caroline.’
‘And now,’ said Miss Percehouse closing her eyes, ‘don’t argue with me any more. I’m tired.’
Ronnie shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable.
‘Well?’ said Miss Percehouse sharply.
‘Oh! nothing—only—’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I was wondering if you’d mind if I blew in to Exeter tomorrow.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I want to meet a fellow there.’
‘What kind of a fellow?’
‘Oh! just a fellow.’
‘If a young man wishes to tell lies, he should do so well,’ said Miss Percehouse.
‘Oh! I say—but—’
‘Don’t apologize.’
‘It’s all right then? I can go?’
‘I don’t know what you mean by saying, “I can go?” as though you were a small child. You are over twenty-one.’
‘Yes, but what I mean is, I don’t want—’
Miss Percehouse closed her eyes again.
‘I have asked you once before not to argue. I am tired and wish to rest. If the “fellow” you are meeting in Exeter wears skirts and is called Emily Trefusis, more fool you—that is all I have to say.’
‘But look here—’
‘I am tired, Ronald. That’s enough.’
Chapter 22
Nocturnal Adventures
of Charles
Charles was not looking forward with any relish to the prospect of his night’s vigil. He privately considered that it was likely to be a wild goose chase. Emily, he considered, was possessed of a too vivid imagination.
He was convinced that she had read into the few words she had overheard a meaning that had its origin in her own brain. Probably sheer weariness had induced Mrs Willett to yearn for night to come.
Charles looked out of his window and shivered. It was a piercingly cold night, raw and foggy—the last night one would wish to spend in the open hanging about and waiting for something, very nebulous in nature, to happen.
Still he dared not yield to his intense desire to remain comfortably indoors. He recalled the liquid melodiousness of Emily’s voice as she said, ‘It’s wonderful to have someone you can really rely on.’
She relied on him, Charles, and she should not rely in vain. What? Fail that beautiful, helpless girl? Never.
Besides, he reflected as he donned all the spare underclothes he possessed before encasing himself in two pullovers and his overcoat, things were likely to be deucedly unpleasant if Emily on her return found out that he had not carried out his promise.
She would probably say the most unpleasant things. No, he couldn’t risk it. But as for anything happening—
And anyway, when and how was it going to happen? He couldn’t be everywhere at once. Probably whatever was going to happen would happen inside Sittaford House and he would never know a thing about it.
‘Just like a girl,’ he grumbled to himself, ‘waltzing off to Exeter and leaving me to do the dirty work.’
And then he remembered once more the liquid tones of Emily’s voice as she expressed her reliance on him, and he felt ashamed of his outburst.
He completed his toilet, rather after the model of Tweedledee,