Three Act Tragedy - Agatha Christie [43]
Very gently, with a small handkerchief, Lady Mary wiped her eyes.
‘It wasn’t what I was brought up to believe,’ she said apologetically. ‘I was taught that everyone knew the difference between right and wrong. But somehow—I don’t always think that is so.’
‘The human mind is a great mystery,’ said Mr Satterthwaite gently. ‘As yet, we are going groping our way to understanding. Without acute mania it may nevertheless occur that certain natures lack what I should describe as braking power. If you or I were to say, “I hate someone—I wish he were dead,” the idea would pass from our minds as soon as the words were uttered. The brakes would work automatically. But, in some people the idea, or obsession, holds. They see nothing but the immediate gratification of the idea formed.’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Lady Mary, ‘that that’s rather too clever for me.’
‘I apologize. I was talking rather bookishly.’
‘Did you mean that young people have too little restraint nowadays? It sometimes worries me.’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean that at all. Less restraint is, I think, a good thing—wholesome. I suppose you are thinking of Miss—er—Egg.’
‘I think you’d better call her Egg,’ said Lady Mary, smiling.
‘Thank you. Miss Egg does sound rather ridiculous.’
‘Egg’s very impulsive, and once she has set her mind on a thing nothing will stop her. As I said before, I hate her mixing herself up in all this, but she won’t listen to me.’
Mr Satterthwaite smiled at the distress in Lady Mary’s tone. He thought to himself:
‘I wonder if she realizes for one minute that Egg’s absorption in crime is neither more nor less than a new variant of that old, old game—the pursuit of the male by the female? No, she’d be horrified at the thought.’
‘Egg says that Mr Babbington was poisoned also. Do you think that is true, Mr Satterthwaite? Or do you think it is just one of Egg’s sweeping statements?’
‘We shall know for certain after the exhumation.’
‘There is to be an exhumation, then?’ Lady Mary shivered. ‘How terrible for poor Mrs Babbington. I can imagine nothing more awful for any woman.’
‘You knew the Babbingtons fairly intimately, I suppose, Lady Mary?’
‘Yes, indeed. They are—were—very dear friends of ours.’
‘Do you know of anyone who could possibly have had a grudge against the vicar?’
‘No, indeed.’
‘He never spoke of such a person?’
‘No.’
‘And they got on well together?’
‘They were perfectly mated—happy in each other and in their children. They were badly off, of course, and Mr Babbington suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. Those were their only troubles.’
‘How did Oliver Manders get on with the vicar?’
‘Well—’ Lady Mary hesitated, ‘they didn’t hit it off very well. The Babbingtons were sorry for Oliver, and he used to go to the vicarage a good deal in the holidays to play with the Babbington boys—though I don’t think he got on very well with them. Oliver wasn’t exactly a popular boy. He boasted too much of the money he had and the tuck he took back to school, and all the fun he had in London. Boys are rather merciless about that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, but later—since he’s been grown up?’
‘I don’t think he and the vicarage people have seen much of each other. As a matter of fact Oliver was rather rude to Mr Babbington one day here, in my house. It was about two years ago.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oliver made a rather ill-bred attack on Christianity. Mr Babbington was very patient and courteous with him. That only seemed to make Oliver worse. He said, “All you religious people look down your noses because my father and mother weren’t married. I suppose you’d call me the child of sin. Well, I admire people who have the courage of their convictions and don’t care what a lot of hypocrites and parsons think.” Mr Babbington didn’t answer, but Oliver went on: “You won’t answer that. It’s ecclesiasticism