and the coconut shy[35] cant be too near the housethe boys are so wild when they throw
And this, said Sir George, is Miss Brewiswho runs us all.
Miss Brewis was seated behind the large silver tea tray.
She was a spare efficient-looking woman of forty-odd, with a brisk pleasant manner.
How do you do, M. Poirot, she said. I do hope you didnt have too crowded a journey? The trains are sometimes too terrible this time of year. Let me give you some tea. Milk? Sugar?
Very little milk, mademoiselle[36], and four lumps of sugar. He added, as Miss Brewis dealt with his request, I see that you are all in a great state of activity.
Yes, indeed. There are always so many last-minute things to see to. And people let one down in the most extra ordinary way nowadays. Over marquees, and tents and chairs and catering equipment. One has to keep on at them. I was on the telephone half the morning.
What about these pegs, Amanda? said Sir George. And the extra putters for the clock golf?
Thats all arranged, Sir George. Mr Benson at the golf club was most kind.
She handed Poirot his cup.
A sandwich, M. Poirot? Those are tomato and these are paté[37]. But perhaps, said Miss Brewis, thinking of the four lumps of sugar, you would rather have a cream cake?
Poirot would rather have a cream cake, and helped himself to a particularly sweet and squelchy one.
Then, balancing it carefully on his saucer, he went and sat down by his hostess. She was still letting the light play over the jewel on her hand, and she looked up at him with a pleased childs smile.
Look, she said. Its pretty, isnt it?
He had been studying her carefully. She was wearing a big coolie-style hat of vivid magenta straw. Beneath it her face showed its pinky reflection on the dead-white surface of her skin. She was heavily made up in an exotic un-English style. Dead-white matt skin; vivid cyclamen lips, mascara applied lavishly to the eyes. Her hair showed beneath the hat, black and smooth, fitting like a velvet cap. There was a languorous un-English beauty about the face. She was a creature of the tropical sun, caught, as it were, by chance in an English drawing-room. But it was the eyes that startled Poirot. They had a childlike, almost vacant, stare.
She had asked her question in a confidential childish way, and it was as though to a child that Poirot answered.
It is a very lovely ring, he said.
She looked pleased.
George gave it to me yesterday, she said, dropping her voice as though she were sharing a secret with him. He gives me lots of things. Hes very kind.
Poirot looked down at the ring again and the hand outstretched on the side of the chair. The nails were very long and varnished a deep puce.
Into his mind a quotation came: They toil not, neither do they spin[38]
He certainly couldnt imagine Lady Stubbs toiling or spinning. And yet he would hardly have described her as a lily of the field. She was a far more artificial product.
This is a beautiful room you have here, Madame, he said, looking round appreciatively.
I suppose it is, said Lady Stubbs vaguely.
Her attention was still on her ring; her head on one side, she watched the green fire in its depths as her hand moved.
She said in a confidential whisper, Dyou see? Its winking at me.
She burst out laughing and Poirot had a sense of sudden shock. It was a loud uncontrolled laugh.
From across the room Sir George said: Hattie.
His voice was quite kind but held a faint admonition. Lady Stubbs stopped laughing.
Poirot said in a conventional manner:
Devonshire is a very lovely county. Do you not think so?
Its nice in the daytime, said Lady Stubbs. When it doesnt rain, she added mournfully. But there arent any nightclubs.
Ah, I see. You like nightclubs?
Oh, yes, said Lady Stubbs fervently.
And why do you like nightclubs so much?
There is music and you dance. And I wear my nicest clothes and bracelets and rings. And all the other women have nice clothes and jewels, but not as nice as mine.
She smiled with enormous satisfaction. Poirot felt a slight pang of pity[39].
And all that amuses you very much?
Yes. I like the casino, too. Why are there not any casinos in England?
I have often wondered, said Poirot, with a sigh. I do not think it would accord with the English character.
She looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then she bent slightly towards him.
I won sixty thousand francs at Monte Carlo once. I put it on number twenty-seven and it came up.
That must have been very exciting, Madame.
Oh, it was. George gives me money to play withbut usually I lose it.
She looked disconsolate.
That is sad.
Oh, it does not really matter. George is very rich. It is nice to be rich, dont you think so?
Very nice, said Poirot gently.
Perhaps, if I was not rich, I should look like Amanda. Her gaze went to Miss Brewis at the tea table and studied her dispassionately. She is very ugly, dont you think?
Miss Brewis looked up at that moment and across to where they were sitting. Lady Stubbs had not spoken loudly, but Poirot wondered whether Amanda Brewis had heard.
As he withdrew his gaze, his eyes met those of Captain Warburton. The Captains glance was ironic and amused.
Poirot endeavoured to change the subject.
Have you been very busy preparing for the fête? he asked.
Hattie Stubbs shook her head.
Oh, no, I think it is all very boringvery stupid. There are servants and gardeners. Why should not they make the preparations?
Oh, my dear. It was Mrs Folliat who spoke. She had come to sit on the sofa nearby. Those are the ideas you were brought up with on your island estates. But life isnt like that in England these days. I wish it were. She sighed. Nowadays one has to do nearly everything oneself.
Lady Stubbs shrugged her shoulders.
I think it is stupid. What is the good of being rich if one has to do everything oneself?
Some people find it fun, said Mrs Folliat, smiling at her. I do really. Not all things, but some. I like gardening myself and I like preparing for a festivity like this one tomorrow.
It will be like a party? asked Lady Stubbs hopefully.
Just like a partywith lots and lots of people.
Will it be like Ascot[40]? With big hats and everyone very chic?
Well, not quite like Ascot, said Mrs Folliat. She added gently, But you must try and enjoy country things, Hattie. You should have helped us this morning, instead of staying in bed and not getting up until teatime.
I had a headache, said Hattie sulkily. Then her mood changed and she smiled affectionately at Mrs Folliat.
But I will be good tomorrow. I will do everything you tell me.
Thats very sweet of you, dear.
Ive got a new dress to wear. It came this morning. Come upstairs with me and look at it.
Mrs Folliat hesitated. Lady Stubbs rose to her feet and said insistently:
You must come. Please. It is a lovely dress. Come now!
Oh, very well. Mrs Folliat gave a half-laugh and rose. As she went out of the room, her small figure following Hatties tall one, Poirot saw her face and was quite startled at the weariness on it which had replaced her smiling composure. It was as though, relaxed and off her guard for a moment, she no longer bothered to keep up the social mask. And yetit seemed more than that. Perhaps she was suffering from some disease about which, like many women, she never spoke. She was not a person, he thought, who would care to invite pity or sympathy.
Captain Warburton dropped down in the chair Hattie Stubbs had just vacated. He, too, looked at the door through which the two women had just passed, but it was not of the older woman that he spoke. Instead he drawled, with a slight grin:
Beautiful creature, isnt she? He observed with the tail of his eye Sir Georges exit through a French window with Mrs Masterton and Mrs Oliver in tow. Bowled over old George Stubbs all right. Nothings too good for her! Jewels, mink, all the rest of it. Whether he realizes shes a bit wanting in the top storey[41], Ive never discovered. Probably thinks it doesnt matter. After all, these financial johnnies dont ask for intellectual companionship.
What nationality is she? Poirot asked curiously.
Looks South American, I always think. But I believe she comes from the West Indies[42]. One of those islands with sugar and rum and all that. One of the old families therea creole[43], I dont mean a half-caste. All very intermarried, I believe, on these islands. Accounts for the mental deficiency.
Young Mrs Legge came over to join them.
Look here, Jim, she said, youve got to be on my side. That tents got to be where we all decidedon the far side of the lawn backing on the rhododendrons. Its the only possible place.
Ma Masterton[44] doesnt think so.
Well, youve got to talk her out of it.
He gave her his foxy smile.
Mrs Mastertons my boss.
Wilfred Mastertons your boss. Hes the M.P.[45]
I dare say, but she should be. Shes the one who wears the pants[46]and dont I know it.
Sir George re-entered the window.
Oh, there you are, Sally, he said. We need you. You wouldnt think everyone could get het up over who butters the buns and who raffles a cake, and why the garden produce stall is where the fancy woollens was promised it should be. Wheres Amy Folliat? She can deal with these peopleabout the only person who can.
She went upstairs with Hattie.
Oh, did she?
Sir George looked round in a vaguely helpless manner and Miss Brewis jumped up from where she was writing tickets, and said, Ill fetch her for you, Sir George.
Thank you, Amanda.
Miss Brewis went out of the room.
Must get hold of some more wire fencing, murmured Sir George.
For the fête?
No, no. To put up where we adjoin Hoodown Park in the woods. The old stuffs rotted away, and thats where they get through.
Who get through?
Trespassers! ejaculated Sir George.
Sally Legge said amusedly:
You sound like Betsy Trotwood[47] campaigning against donkeys.
Betsy Trotwood? Whos she? asked Sir George simply.
Dickens.
Oh, Dickens. I read the Pickwick Papers once. Not bad. Not bad at allsurprised me. But, seriously, trespassers are a menace since theyve started this Youth Hostel tomfoolery. They come out at you from everywhere wearing the most incredible shirtsboy this morning had one all covered with crawling turtles and thingsmade me think Id been hitting the bottle or something. Half of them cant speak Englishjust gibber at you He mimicked: Oh, pleesyes, haf youtell meiss way to ferry? I say no, it isnt, roar at them, and send them back where theyve come from, but half the time they just blink and stare and dont understand. And the girls giggle. All kinds of nationalities, Italian, Yugoslavian, Dutch, FinnishEskimos I shouldnt be surprised! Half of them communists, I shouldnt wonder, he ended darkly.
Come now, George, dont get started on communists, said Mrs Legge. Ill come and help you deal with the rabid women.
She led him out of the window and called over her shoulder: Come on, Jim. Come and be torn to pieces in a good cause.
All right, but I want to put M. Poirot in the picture about the Murder Hunt since hes going to present the prizes.
You can do that presently.
I will await you here, said Poirot agreeably.
In the ensuing silence, Alec Legge stretched himself out in his chair and sighed.
Women! he said. Like a swarm of bees.
He turned his head to look out of the window.
And whats it all about? Some silly garden fête that doesnt matter to anyone.
But obviously, Poirot pointed out, there are those to whom it does matter.
Why cant people have some sense? Why cant they think? Think of the mess the whole world has got itself into. Dont they realize that the inhabitants of the globe are busy committing suicide?
Poirot judged rightly that he was not intended to reply to this question. He merely shook his head doubtfully.
Unless we can do something before its too late Alec Legge broke off. An angry look swept over his face. Oh, yes, he said, I know what youre thinking. That Im nervy, neuroticall the rest of it. Like those damned doctors. Advising rest and change and sea air. All right, Sally and I came down here and took the Mill Cottage for three months, and Ive followed their prescription. Ive fished and bathed and taken long walks and sunbathed
I noticed that you had sunbathed, yes, said Poirot politely.
Oh, this? Alecs hand went to his sore face. Thats the result of a fine English summer for once in a way. But whats the good of it all? You cant get away from facing truth just by running away from it.
No, it is never any good running away.
And being in a rural atmosphere like this just makes you realize things more keenlythat and the incredible apathy of the people of this country. Even Sally, whos intelligent enough, is just the same. Why bother? Thats what she says. It makes me mad! Why bother?
As a matter of interest, why do you?
Good God, you too?
No, it is not advice. It is just that I would like to know your answer.
Dont you see, somebodys got to do something.
And that somebody is you?
No, no, not me personally. One cant be personal in times like these.
I do not see why not. Even in these times as you call it, one is still a person.
But one shouldnt be! In times of stress, when its a matter of life or death, one cant think of ones own insignificant ills or preoccupations[48].
I assure you, you are quite wrong. In the late war, during a severe air-raid, I was much less preoccupied by the thought of death than of the pain from a corn on my little toe. It surprised me at the time that it should be so. Think, I said to myself, at any moment now, death may come. But I was still conscious of my cornindeed, I felt injured that I should have that to suffer as well as the fear of death. It was because I might die that every small personal matter in my life acquired increased importance. I have seen a woman knocked down in a street accident, with a broken leg, and she has burst out crying because she sees that there is a ladder in her stocking.
Which just shows you what fools women are!
It shows you what people are. It is, perhaps, that absorption in ones personal life that has led the human race to survive.
Alec Legge gave a scornful laugh.
Sometimes, he said, I think its a pity they ever did.
It is, you know, Poirot persisted, a form of humility. And humility is valuable. There was a slogan that was written up in your underground railways here, I remember, during the war. It all depends on you. It was composed, I think, by some eminent divinebut in my opinion it was a dangerous and undesirable doctrine. For it is not true. Everything does not depend on, say, Mrs Blank of Little-Blank-in-the-Marsh[49]. And if she is led to think it does, it will not be good for her character. While she thinks of the part she can play in world affairs, the baby pulls over the kettle.
You are rather old-fashioned in your views, I think. Lets hear what your slogan would be.
I do not need to formulate one of my own. There is an older one in this country which contents me very well.
What is that?
Put your trust in God, and keep your powder dry.[50]
Well, well Alec Legge seemed amused. Most unexpected coming from you. Do you know what I should like to see done in this country?
Something, no doubt, forceful and unpleasant, said Poirot, smiling.
Alec Legge remained serious.
I should like to see every feebleminded person put outright out! Dont let them breed. If, for one generation, only the intelligent were allowed to breed, think what the result would be.
A very large increase of patients in the psychiatric wards, perhaps, said Poirot dryly. One needs roots as well as flowers on a plant, Mr Legge. However large and beautiful the flowers, if the earthy roots are destroyed there will be no more flowers. He added in a conversational tone: Would you consider Lady Stubbs a candidate for the lethal chamber[51]?