Читать книгу The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side - Agatha Christie, Georgette Heyer, Mary Westmacott - Страница 11

The throwing open of the grounds of Gossington Hall for the benefit of the St John Ambulance Association was attended by a quite unprecedented number of people. Shilling admission fees mounted up in a highly satisfactory fashion. For one thing, the weather was good, a clear sunny day. But the preponderant attraction was undoubtedly the enormous local curiosity to know exactly what these ‘film people’ had done to Gossington Hall. The most extravagant assumptions were entertained. The swimming pool in particular caused immense satisfaction. Most people’s ideas of Hollywood stars were of sun-bathing by a pool in exotic surroundings and in exotic company. That the climate of Hollywood might be more suited to swimming pools than that of St Mary Mead failed to be considered. After all, England always has one fine hot week in the summer and there is always one day that the Sunday papers publish articles on How to Keep Cool, How to Have Cool Suppers and How to Make Cool Drinks. The pool was almost exactly what everyone had imagined it might be. It was large, its waters were blue, it had a kind of exotic pavilion for changing and was surrounded with a highly artificial plantation of hedges and shrubs. The reactions of the multitude were exactly as might have been expected and hovered over a wide range of remarks.

‘O-oh, isn’t it lovely!’

‘Two penn’orth of splash here, all right!’

‘Reminds me of that holiday camp I went to.’

‘Wicked luxury I call it. It oughtn’t to be allowed.’

‘Look at all that fancy marble. It must have cost the earth!’

‘Don’t see why these people think they can come over here and spend all the money they like.’

‘Perhaps this’ll be on the telly sometime. That’ll be fun.’

Even Mr Sampson, the oldest man in St Mary Mead, boasting proudly of being ninety-six though his relations insisted firmly that he was only eighty-six, had staggered along supporting his rheumatic legs with a stick, to see this excitement. He gave it his highest praise: ‘Wicked, this!’ He smacked his lips hopefully. ‘Ah, there’ll be a lot of wickedness here, I don’t doubt. Naked men and women drinking and smoking what they call in the papers them reefers. There’ll be all that, I expect. Ah yes,’ said Mr Sampson with enormous pleasure, ‘there’ll be a lot of wickedness.’

It was felt that the final seal of approval had been set on the afternoon’s entertainment. For an extra shilling people were allowed to go into the house, and study the new music room, the drawing-room, the completely unrecognizable dining-room, now done in dark oak and Spanish leather, and a few other joys.

‘Never think this was Gossington Hall, would you, now?’ said Mr Sampson’s daughter-in-law.

Mrs Bantry strolled up fairly late and observed with pleasure that the money was coming in well and that the attendance was phenomenal.

The large marquee in which tea was being served was jammed with people. Mrs Bantry hoped the buns were going to go round. There seemed some very competent women, however, in charge. She herself made a bee-line for the herbaceous border and regarded it with a jealous eye. No expense had been spared on the herbaceous border, she was glad to note, and it was a proper herbaceous border, well planned and arranged and expensively stocked. No personal labours had gone into it, she was sure of that. Some good gardening firm had been given the contract, no doubt. But aided by carte blanche and the weather, they had turned out a very good job.

Looking round her, she felt there was a faint flavour of a Buckingham Palace garden party about the scene. Everybody was craning to see all they could see, and from time to time a chosen few were led into one of the more secret recesses of the house. She herself was presently approached by a willowy young man with long wavy hair.

‘Mrs Bantry? You are Mrs Bantry?’

‘I’m Mrs Bantry, yes.’

‘Hailey Preston.’ He shook hands with her. ‘I work for Mr Rudd. Will you come up to the second floor? Mr and Mrs Rudd are asking a few special friends up there.’

Duly honoured Mrs Bantry followed him. They went in through what had been called in her time the garden door. A red cord cordoned off the bottom of the main stairs. Hailey Preston unhooked it and she passed through. Just in front of her Mrs Bantry observed Councillor and Mrs Allcock. The latter who was stout was breathing heavily.

‘Wonderful what they’ve done, isn’t it, Mrs Bantry?’ panted Mrs Allcock. ‘I’d like to have a look at the bathrooms, I must say, but I suppose I shan’t get the chance.’ Her voice was wistful.

At the top of the stairs Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd were receiving this specially chosen élite. What had once been a spare bedroom had been thrown into the landing so as to make a wide lounge-like effect. Giuseppe the butler was officiating with drinks.

A stout man in livery was announcing guests.

‘Councillor and Mrs Allcock,’ he boomed.

Marina Gregg was being, as Mrs Bantry had described her to Miss Marple, completely natural and charming. She could already hear Mrs Allcock saying later: ‘—and so unspoiled, you know, in spite of being so famous.’

How very nice of Mrs Allcock to come, and the Councillor, and she did hope they’d enjoy their afternoon. ‘Jason, please look after Mrs Allcock.’

Councillor and Mrs Allcock were passed on to Jason and drinks.

‘Oh, Mrs Bantry, it is nice of you to come.’

‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ said Mrs Bantry and moved on purposefully towards the Martinis.

The young man called Hailey Preston ministered to her in a tender manner and then made off, consulting a little list in his hand, to fetch, no doubt, more of the Chosen to the Presence. It was all being managed very well, Mrs Bantry thought, turning, Martini in hand, to watch the next arrivals. The vicar, a lean, ascetic man, was looking vague and slightly bewildered. He said earnestly to Marina Gregg:

‘Very nice of you to ask me. I’m afraid, you know, I haven’t got a television set myself, but of course I—er—I—well, of course my young people keep me up to the mark.’

Nobody knew what he meant. Miss Zielinsky, who was also on duty, administered a lemonade to him with a kindly smile. Mr and Mrs Badcock were next up the stairs. Heather Badcock, flushed and triumphant, came a little ahead of her husband.

‘Mr and Mrs Badcock,’ boomed the man in livery.

‘Mrs Badcock,’ said the vicar, turning back, lemonade in his hand, ‘the indefatigable secretary of the association. She’s one of our hardest workers. In fact I don’t know what the St John would do without her.’

‘I’m sure you’ve been wonderful,’ said Marina.

‘You don’t remember me?’ said Heather, in an arch manner. ‘How should you, with all the hundreds of people you meet. And anyway, it was years ago. In Bermuda of all places in the world. I was there with one of our ambulance units. Oh, it’s a long time ago now.’

‘Of course,’ said Marina Gregg, once more all charm and smiles.

‘I remember it all so well,’ said Mrs Badcock. ‘I was thrilled, you know, absolutely thrilled. I was only a girl at the time. To think there was a chance of seeing Marina Gregg in the flesh—oh! I was a mad fan of yours always.’

‘It’s too kind of you, really too kind of you,’ said Marina sweetly, her eyes beginning to hover faintly over Heather’s shoulder towards the next arrivals.

‘I’m not going to detain you,’ said Heather—‘but I must—’

‘Poor Marina Gregg,’ said Mrs Bantry to herself. ‘I suppose this kind of thing is always happening to her! The patience they need!’

Heather was continuing in a determined manner with her story.

Mrs Allcock breathed heavily at Mrs Bantry’s shoulder.

‘The changes they’ve made here! You wouldn’t believe till you saw for yourself. What it must have cost …’

‘I—didn’t feel really ill—and I thought I just must—’

‘This is vodka,’ Mrs Allcock regarded her glass suspiciously. ‘Mr Rudd asked if I’d like to try it. Sounds very Russian. I don’t think I like it very much …’

‘—I said to myself: I won’t be beaten! I put a lot of make-up on my face—’

‘I suppose it would be rude if I just put it down somewhere.’ Mrs Allcock sounded desperate.

Mrs Bantry reassured her gently.

‘Not at all. Vodka ought really to be thrown straight down the throat’—Mrs Allcock looked startled—‘but that needs practice. Put it down on the table and get yourself a Martini from that tray the butler’s carrying.’

She turned back to hear Heather Badcock’s triumphant peroration.

‘I’ve never forgotten how wonderful you were that day. It was a hundred times worth it.’

Marina’s response was this time not so automatic. Her eyes which had wavered over Heather Badcock’s shoulder, now seemed to be fixed on the wall midway up the stairs. She was staring and there was something so ghastly in her expression that Mrs Bantry half took a step forward. Was the woman going to faint? What on earth could she be seeing that gave her that basilisk look? But before she could reach Marina’s side the latter had recovered herself. Her eyes, vague and unfocussed, returned to Heather and the charm of manner was turned on once more, albeit a shade mechanically.

‘What a nice little story. Now, what will you have to drink? Jason! A cocktail?’

‘Well, really I usually have lemonade or orange juice.’

‘You must have something better than that,’ said Marina. ‘This is a feast day, remember.’

‘Let me persuade you to an American daiquiri,’ said Jason, appearing with a couple in his hand. ‘They’re Marina’s favourites, too.’

He handed one to his wife.

‘I shouldn’t drink any more,’ said Marina, ‘I’ve had three already.’ But she accepted the glass.

Heather took her drink from Jason. Marina turned away to meet the next person who was arriving.

Mrs Bantry said to Mrs Allcock, ‘Let’s go and see the bathrooms.’

‘Oh, do you think we can? Wouldn’t it look rather rude?’

‘I’m sure it wouldn’t,’ said Mrs Bantry. She spoke to Jason Rudd. ‘We want to explore your wonderful new bathrooms, Mr Rudd. May we satisfy this purely domestic curiosity?’

‘Sure,’ said Jason, grinning. ‘Go and enjoy yourselves, girls. Draw yourselves baths if you like.’

Mrs Allcock followed Mrs Bantry along the passage.

‘That was ever so kind of you, Mrs Bantry. I must say I wouldn’t have dared myself.’

‘One has to dare if one wants to get anywhere,’ said Mrs Bantry.

They went along the passage, opening various doors. Presently ‘Ahs’ and ‘Ohs’ began to escape Mrs Allcock and two other women who had joined the party.

‘I do like the pink one,’ said Mrs Allcock. ‘Oh, I like the pink one a lot.’

‘I like the one with the dolphin tiles,’ said one of the other women.

Mrs Bantry acted the part of hostess with complete enjoyment. For a moment she had really forgotten that the house no longer belonged to her.

‘All those showers!’ said Mrs Allcock with awe. ‘Not that I really like showers. I never know how you keep your head dry.’

‘It’d be nice to have a peep into the bedrooms,’ said one of the other women, wistfully, ‘but I suppose it’d be a bit too nosy. What do you think?’

‘Oh, I don’t think we could do that,’ said Mrs Allcock. They both looked hopefully at Mrs Bantry.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Bantry, ‘no, I suppose we oughtn’t to—’ then she took pity on them, ‘but—I don’t think anyone would know if we have one peep.’ She put her hand on a door-handle.

But that had been attended to. The bedrooms were locked. Everyone was very disappointed.

‘I suppose they’ve got to have some privacy,’ said Mrs Bantry kindly.

They retraced their steps along the corridors. Mrs Bantry looked out of one of the landing windows. She noted below her Mrs Meavy (from the Development) looking incredibly smart in a ruffled organdie dress. With Mrs Meavy, she noticed, was Miss Marple’s Cherry, whose last name for the moment Mrs Bantry could not remember. They seemed to be enjoying themselves and were laughing and talking.

Suddenly the house felt to Mrs Bantry old, worn-out and highly artificial. In spite of its new gleaming paint, its alterations, it was in essence a tired old Victorian mansion. ‘I was wise to go,’ thought Mrs Bantry. ‘Houses are like everything else. There comes a time when they’ve just had their day. This has had its day. It’s been given a face lift, but I don’t really think it’s done it any good.’

Suddenly a slight rise in the hum of voices reached her. The two women with her started forward.

‘What’s happening?’ said one. ‘It sounds as though something’s happening.’

They stepped back along the corridor towards the stairs. Ella Zielinksy came rapidly along and passed them. She tried a bedroom door and said quickly, ‘Oh, damn. Of course they’ve locked them all.’

‘Is anything the matter?’ asked Mrs Bantry.

‘Someone’s taken ill,’ said Miss Zielinsky shortly.

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. Can I do anything?’

‘I suppose there’s a doctor here somewhere?’

‘I haven’t seen any of our local doctors,’ said Mrs Bantry, ‘but there’s almost sure to be one here.’

‘Jason’s telephoning,’ said Ella Zielinsky, ‘but she seems pretty bad.’

‘Who is it?’ asked Mrs Bantry.

‘A Mrs Badcock, I think.’

‘Heather Badcock? But she looked so well just now.’

Ella Zielinksy said impatiently, ‘She’s had a seizure, or a fit, or something. Do you know if there’s anything wrong with her heart or anything like that?’

‘I don’t really know anything about her,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘She’s new since my day. She comes from the Development.’

‘The Development? Oh, you mean that housing estate. I don’t even know where her husband is or what he looks like.’

‘Middle-aged, fair, unobtrusive,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘He came with her so he must be about somewhere.’

Ella Zielinsky went into a bathroom. ‘I don’t know really what to give her,’ she said. ‘Sal volatile, do you think, something like that?’

‘Is she faint?’ said Mrs Bantry.

‘It’s more than that,’ said Ella Zielinsky.

‘I’ll see if there’s anything I can do,’ said Mrs Bantry. She turned away and walked rapidly back towards the head of the stairs. Turning a corner she cannoned into Jason Rudd.

‘Have you seen Ella?’ he said. ‘Ella Zielinsky?’

‘She went along there into one of the bathrooms. She was looking for something. Sal volatile—something like that.’

‘She needn’t bother,’ said Jason Rudd.

Something in his tone struck Mrs Bantry. She looked up sharply. ‘Is it bad?’ she said, ‘really bad?’

‘You could call it that,’ said Jason Rudd. ‘The poor woman’s dead.’

‘Dead!’ Mrs Bantry was really shocked. She said, as she had said before, ‘But she looked so well just now.’

‘I know. I know,’ said Jason. He stood there, scowling. ‘What a thing to happen!’