Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [28]
“It doesn’t please me, I can tell you! I always hoped that when my time came, it would come quickly—that I should meet Death face to face—not feel him creeping along behind me, always at my shoulder—gradually forcing me to sink to one indignity after another of illness. Increased helplessness—increasing dependence on other people!”
“But very devoted people, I am sure. You have a faithful maid?”
“Barrett? The one who brought you up. The comfort of my life! A grim old battleaxe, absolutely devoted. She’s been with me for years.”
“And you are lucky, I should say, in having Miss Aldin.”
“You are right. I am lucky in having Mary.”
“She is a relation?”
“A distant cousin. One of those selfless creatures whose lives are continually being sacrificed to those of other people. She looked after her father—a clever man—but terribly exacting. When he died I begged her to make her home with me, and I have blessed the day she came to me. You’ve no idea what horrors most companions are. Futile boring creatures. Driving one mad with their inanity. They are companions because they are fit for nothing better. To have Mary, who is a well-read intelligent woman, is marvellous. She has really a first-class brain—a man’s brain. She has read widely and deeply and there is nothing she cannot discuss. And she is as clever domestically as she is intellectually. She runs the house perfectly and keeps the servants happy—she eliminates all quarrels and jealousies—I don’t know how she does it—just tact, I suppose.”
“She has been with you long?”
“Twelve years—no, more than that. Thirteen—fourteen—something like that. She has been a great comfort.”
Mr. Treves nodded.
Lady Tressilian, watching him through half-closed lids, said suddenly:
“What’s the matter? You’re worried about something?”
“A trifle,” said Mr. Treves. “A mere trifle. Your eyes are sharp.”
“I like studying people,” said Lady Tressilian. “I always knew at once if there was anything on Matthew’s mind.” She sighed and leaned back on her pillows. “I must say goodnight to you now”—it was a Queen’s dismissal, nothing discourteous about it—“I am very tired. But it has been a great, great pleasure. Come and see me again soon.”
“You may depend upon my taking advantage of those kind words. I only hope I have not talked too long.”
“Oh no. I always tire very suddenly. Ring my bell for me, will you, before you go.”
Mr. Treves pulled gingerly at a large old-fashioned bellpull that ended in a huge tassel.
“Quite a survival,” he remarked.
“My bell? Yes. No newfangled electric bells for me. Half the time they’re out of order and you go on pressing away! This thing never fails. It rings in Barrett’s room upstairs—the bell hangs over her bed. So there’s never any delay in answering it. If there is I pull it again pretty quickly.”
As Mr. Treves went out of the room he heard the bell pulled a second time and heard the tinkle of it somewhere above his head. He looked up and noticed the wires that ran along the ceiling. Barrett came hurriedly down a flight of stairs and passed him, going to her mistress.
Mr. Treves went slowly downstairs, not troubling with the little lift on the downward journey. His face was drawn into a frown of uncertainty.
He found the whole party assembled in the drawing room, and Mary Aldin at once suggested bridge, but Mr. Treves refused politely on the plea that he must very shortly be starting home.
“My hotel,” he said, “is old-fashioned. They do not expect anyone to be out after midnight.”
“It’s a long time from that—only half past ten,” said Nevile. “They don’t lock you out, I hope?”
“Oh no. In fact I doubt if the door is locked at all at night. It is shut at nine o’clock but one has only to turn the handle and walk in. People seem very haphazard down here, but I suppose they are justified in trusting to the honesty of the local