Agatha Christie
"A Mysterious Affair at Styles"
To my mother
CHAPTER 1. I Go to Styles
The intense interest aroused in the public by what was known at the time as The Styles Case has now somewhat subsided. Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attended it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family themselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, we trust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours which still persist.
I will therefore briefly set down the circumstances which led to my being connected with the affair.
I had been invalided home from the Front[1]; and, after spending some months in a rather depressing Convalescent Home, was given a months sick leave[2]. Having no near relations or friends, I was trying to make up my mind what to do, when I ran across John Cavendish. I had seen very little of him for some years. Indeed, I had never known him particularly well. He was a good fifteen years my senior, for one thing, though he hardly looked his forty-five years. As a boy, though, I had often stayed at Styles, his mothers place in Essex.
We had a good yarn about old times, and it ended in his inviting me down to Styles to spend my leave there.
The mater will be delighted to see you againafter all those years, he added.
Your mother keeps well? I asked.
Oh, yes. I suppose you know that she has married again?
I am afraid I showed my surprise rather plainly. Mrs Cavendish, who had married Johns father when he was a widower with two sons, had been a handsome woman of middle-age as I remembered her. She certainly could not be a day less than seventy now. I recalled her as an energetic, autocratic personality, somewhat inclined to charitable and social notoriety, with a fondness for opening bazaars and playing the Lady Bountiful[3]. She was a most generous woman, and possessed a considerable fortune of her own.
Their country-place[4], Styles Court, had been purchased by Mr Cavendish early in their married life. He had been completely under his wifes ascendancy[5], so much so that, on dying, he left the place to her for her lifetime, as well as the larger part of his income; an arrangement that was distinctly unfair to his two sons. Their stepmother, however, had always been most generous to them; indeed, they were so young at the time of their fathers remarriage that they always thought of her as their own mother.
Lawrence, the younger, had been a delicate youth. He had qualified as a doctor but early relinquished the profession of medicine, and lived at home while pursuing literary ambitions; though his verses never had any marked success.
John practised for some time as a barrister, but had finally settled down to the more congenial life of a country squire. He had married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live at Styles, though I entertained a shrewd suspicion that he would have preferred his mother to increase his allowance, which would have enabled him to have a home of his own. Mrs Cavendish, however, was a lady who liked to make her own plans, and expected other people to fall in with them, and in this case she certainly had the whip hand, namely: the purse strings[6].
John noticed my surprise at the news of his mothers remarriage and smiled rather ruefully.
Rotten little bounder[7] too! he said savagely. I can tell you, Hastings, its making life jolly difficult for us. As for Evieyou remember Evie?
No.
Oh, I suppose she was after your time. Shes the maters factotum, companion, Jack of all trades[8]! A great sportold Evie! Not precisely young and beautiful, but as game as they make them.
You were going to say?
Oh, this fellow! He turned up from nowhere, on the pretext of being a second cousin or something of Evies, though she didnt seem particularly keen to acknowledge the relationship. The fellow is an absolute outsider, anyone can see that. Hes got a great black beard, and wears patent leather boots in all weathers! But the mater cottoned to him at once, took him on as secretaryyou know how shes always running a hundred societies?
I nodded.
Well, of course the war has turned the hundreds into thousands. No doubt the fellow was very useful to her. But you could have knocked us all down with a feather when, three months ago, she suddenly announced that she and Alfred were engaged! The fellow must be at least twenty years younger than she is! Its simply bare-faced fortune hunting; but there you areshe is her own mistress, and shes married him.
It must be a difficult situation for you all.
Difficult! Its damnable!
Thus it came about that, three days later, I descended from the train at Styles St Mary, an absurd little station, with no apparent reason for existence, perched up in the midst of green fields and country lanes. John Cavendish was waiting on the platform, and piloted me out to the car.
Got a drop or two of petrol still, you see, he remarked. Mainly owing to the maters activities.
The village of Styles St Mary was situated about two miles from the little station, and Styles Court lay a mile the other side of it. It was a still, warm day in early July. As one looked out over the flat Essex country, lying so green and peaceful under the afternoon sun, it seemed almost impossible to believe that, not so very far away, a great war was running its appointed course. I felt I had suddenly strayed into another world. As we turned in at the lodge gates, John said:
Im afraid youll find it very quiet down here, Hastings.
My dear fellow, thats just what I want.
Oh, its pleasant enough if you want to lead the idle life. I drill with the volunteers twice a week, and lend a hand at the farms. My wife works regularly on the land. She is up at five every morning to milk, and keeps at it steadily until lunchtime. Its a jolly good life taking it all roundif it werent for that fellow Alfred Inglethorp! He checked the car suddenly, and glanced at his watch. I wonder if weve time to pick up Cynthia. No, shell have started from the hospital by now.
Cynthia! Thats not your wife?
No, Cynthia is a protégée[9] of my mothers, the daughter of an old schoolfellow of hers, who married a rascally solicitor. He came a cropper[10], and the girl was left an orphan and penniless. My mother came to the rescue, and Cynthia has been with us nearly two years now. She works in the Red Cross Hospital at Tadminster, seven miles away.
As he spoke the last words, we drew up in front of the fine old house. A lady in a stout tweed skirt, who was bending over a flower bed, straightened herself at our approach.
Hullo, Evie, heres our wounded hero! Mr Hastings Miss Howard.
Miss Howard shook hands with a hearty, almost painful, grip. I had an impression of very blue eyes in a sunburnt face. She was a pleasant-looking woman of about forty, with a deep voice, almost manly in its stentorian tones, and had a large sensible square body, with feet to matchthese last encased in good thick boots. Her conversation, I soon found, was couched in the telegraphic style[11].
Weeds grow like house afire. Cant keep even with em. Shall press you in. Better be careful!
Im sure I shall be only too delighted to make myself useful, I responded.
Dont say it. Never does. Wish you hadnt later.
Youre a cynic, Evie, said John, laughing. Wheres tea todayinside or out?
Out. Too fine a day to be cooped up in the house.
Come on then, youve done enough gardening for today. The labourer is worthy of his hire[12], you know. Come and be refreshed.
Well, said Miss Howard, drawing off her gardening gloves, Im inclined to agree with you.
She led the way round the house to where tea was spread under the shade of a large sycamore.
A figure rose from one of the basket chairs, and came a few steps to meet us.
My wife, Hastings, said John.
I shall never forget my first sight of Mary Cavendish. Her tall, slender form, outlined against the bright light; the vivid sense of slumbering fire[13] that seemed to find expression only in those wonderful tawny eyes of hers, remarkable eyes, different from any other womans that I have ever known; the intense power of stillness she possessed, which nevertheless conveyed the impression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilized bodyall these things are burnt into my memory. I shall never forget them.
She greeted me with a few words of pleasant welcome in a low clear voice, and I sank into a basket chair feeling distinctly glad that I had accepted Johns invitation. Mrs Cavendish gave me some tea, and her few quiet remarks heightened my first impression of her as a thoroughly fascinating woman. An appreciative listener is always stimulating, and I described, in a humorous manner, certain incidents of my Convalescent Home, in a way which, I flatter myself, greatly amused my hostess. John, of course, good fellow though he is, could hardly be called a brilliant conversationalist.
At that moment a well-remembered voice floated through the open French window near at hand:
Then youll write to the Princess after tea, Alfred? Ill write to Lady Tadminster for the second day, myself. Or shall we wait until we hear from the Princess? In case of a refusal, Lady Tadminster might open it the first day, and Mrs Crosbie the second. Then theres the Duchessabout the school fête[14].
There was the murmur of a mans voice, and then Mrs Inglethorps rose in reply:
Yes, certainly. After tea will do quite well. You are so thoughtful, Alfred dear.
The French window swung open a little wider, and a handsome white-haired old lady, with a somewhat masterful cast of features, stepped out of it on to the lawn. A man followed her, a suggestion of deference in his manner.
Mrs Inglethorp greeted me with effusion.
Why, if it isnt too delightful to see you again, Mr Hastings, after all these years. Alfred, darling, Mr Hastings my husband.
I looked with some curiosity at Alfred darling. He certainly struck a rather alien note[15]. I did not wonder at John objecting to his beard. It was one of the longest and blackest I have ever seen. He wore gold-rimmed pince-nez[16], and had a curious impassivity of feature. It struck me that he might look natural on a stage, but was strangely out of place in real life. His voice was rather deep and unctuous. He placed a wooden hand in mine and said:
This is a pleasure, Mr Hastings. Then, turning to his wife: Emily dearest, I think that cushion is a little damp.
She beamed fondly at him, as he substituted another with every demonstration of the tenderest care. Strange infatuation of an otherwise sensible woman!
With the presence of Mr Inglethorp, a sense of constraint and veiled hostility seemed to settle down upon the company. Miss Howard, in particular, took no pains to conceal her feelings. Mrs Inglethorp, however, seemed to notice nothing unusual. Her volubility, which I remembered of old, had lost nothing in the intervening years, and she poured out a steady flood of conversation, mainly on the subject of the forthcoming bazaar which she was organizing and which was to take place shortly. Occasionally she referred to her husband over a question of days or dates. His watchful and attentive manner never varied. From the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and I flatter myself that my first judgements are usually fairly shrewd.
Presently Mrs Inglethorp turned to give some instructions about letters to Evelyn Howard, and her husband addressed me in his painstaking voice:
Is soldiering your regular profession, Mr Hastings?
No, before the war I was in Lloyds.
And you will return there after it is over?
Perhaps. Either that or a fresh start altogether.
Mary Cavendish leant forward.
What would you really choose as a profession, if you could just consult your inclination?
Well, that depends.
No secret hobby? she asked. Tell meyoure drawn to something? Everyone isusually something absurd.
Youll laugh at me.
She smiled.
Perhaps.
Well, Ive always had a secret hankering to be a detective!
The real thingScotland Yard? Or Sherlock Holmes?
Oh, Sherlock Holmes by all means. But really, seriously, I am awfully drawn to it. I came across a man in Belgium once, a very famous detective, and he quite inflamed me. He was a marvellous little fellow. He used to say that all good detective work was a mere matter of method. My system is based on histhough of course I have progressed rather further. He was a funny little man, a great dandy, but wonderfully clever.
Like a good detective story myself, remarked Miss Howard. Lots of nonsense written, though. Criminal discovered in last chapter. Every one dumbfounded. Real crimeyoud know at once.
There have been a great number of undiscovered crimes, I argued.
Dont mean the police, but the people that are right in it. The family. You couldnt really hoodwink them. Theyd know.
Then, I said, much amused, you think that if you were mixed up in a crime, say a murder, youd be able to spot the murderer right off ?
Of course I should. Mightnt be able to prove it to a pack of lawyers. But Im certain Id know. Id feel it in my fingertips if he came near me.
It might be a she, I suggested.
Might. But murders a violent crime. Associate it more with a man.
Not in a case of poisoning. Mrs Cavendishs clear voice startled me. Dr Bauerstein was saying yesterday that, owing to the general ignorance of the more uncommon poisons among the medical profession, there were probably countless cases of poisoning quite unsuspected.
Why, Mary, what a gruesome conversation! cried Mrs Inglethorp. It makes me feel as if a goose were walking over my grave. Oh, theres Cynthia!
A young girl in VAD[17] uniform ran lightly across the lawn.
Why, Cynthia, you are late today. This is Mr Hastings Miss Murdoch.
Cynthia Murdoch was a fresh-looking young creature, full of life and vigour. She tossed off her little VAD cap, and I admired the great loose waves of her auburn hair, and the smallness and whiteness of the hand she held out to claim her tea. With dark eyes and eyelashes she would have been a beauty.
She flung herself down on the ground beside John, and as I handed her a plate of sandwiches she smiled up at me.
Sit down here on the grass, do. Its ever so much nicer.
I dropped down obediently.
You work at Tadminster, dont you, Miss Murdoch?
She nodded.
For my sins[18].
Do they bully you, then? I asked, smiling.
I should like to see them! cried Cynthia with dignity.
I have got a cousin who is nursing, I remarked. And she is terrified of Sisters.
I dont wonder. Sisters are, you know, Mr Hastings. They simply are! Youve no idea! But Im not a nurse, thank heaven, I work in the dispensary.
How many people do you poison? I asked, smiling.
Cynthia smiled too.
Oh, hundreds! she said.
Cynthia, called Mrs Inglethorp, do you think you could write a few notes for me?
Certainly, Aunt Emily.
She jumped up promptly, and something in her manner reminded me that her position was a dependent one, and that Mrs Inglethorp, kind as she might be in the main, did not allow her to forget it.
My hostess turned to me.
John will show you your room. Supper is at half past seven. We have given up late dinner for some time now. Lady Tadminster, our Members wifeshe was the late Lord Abbotsburys daughterdoes the same. She agrees with me that one must set an example of economy. We are quite a war household; nothing is wasted hereevery scrap of waste paper, even, is saved and sent away in sacks.