Читать книгу The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side - Agatha Christie, Georgette Heyer, Mary Westmacott - Страница 8

With the feeling of Columbus setting out to discover a new world, Miss Marple passed over the bridge, continued on to the path and within four minutes was actually in Aubrey Close.

Of course Miss Marple had seen the Development from the Market Basing Road, that is, had seen from afar its Closes and rows of neat well-built houses, with their television masts and their blue and pink and yellow and green painted doors and windows. But until now it had only had the reality of a map, as it were. She had not been in it and of it. But now she was here, observing the brave new world that was springing up, the world that by all accounts was foreign to all she had known. It was like a neat model built with child’s bricks. It hardly seemed real to Miss Marple.

The people, too, looked unreal. The trousered young women, the rather sinister-looking young men and boys, the exuberant bosoms of the fifteen-year-old girls. Miss Marple couldn’t help thinking that it all looked terribly depraved. Nobody noticed her much as she trudged along. She turned out of Aubrey Close and was presently in Darlington Close. She went slowly and as she went she listened avidly to the snippets of conversation between mothers wheeling prams, to the girls addressing young men, to the sinister-looking Teds (she supposed they were Teds) exchanging dark remarks with each other. Mothers came out on doorsteps calling to their children who, as usual, were busy doing all the things they had been told not to do. Children, Miss Marple reflected gratefully, never changed. And presently she began to smile, and noted down in her mind her usual series of recognitions.

That woman is just like Carry Edwards—and the dark one is just like that Hooper girl—she’ll make a mess of her marriage just like Mary Hooper did. Those boys—the dark one is just like Edward Leeke, a lot of wild talk but no harm in him—a nice boy really—the fair one is Mrs Bedwell’s Josh all over again. Nice boys, both of them. The one like Gregory Binns won’t do very well, I’m afraid. I expect he’s got the same sort of mother …

She turned a corner into Walsingham Close and her spirits rose every moment.

The new world was the same as the old. The houses were different, the streets were called Closes, the clothes were different, the voices were different, but the human beings were the same as they always had been. And though using slightly different phraseology, the subjects of conversation were the same.

By dint of turning corners in her exploration, Miss Marple had rather lost her sense of direction and had arrived at the edge of the housing estate again. She was now in Carrisbrook Close, half of which was still ‘under construction’. At the first-floor window of a nearly finished house a young couple were standing. Their voices floated down as they discussed the amenities.

‘You must admit it’s a nice position, Harry.’

‘Other one was just as good.’

‘This one’s got two more rooms.’

‘And you’ve got to pay for them.’

‘Well, I like this one.’

‘You would!’

‘Ow, don’t be such a spoil-sport. You know what Mum said.’

‘Your Mum never stops saying.’

‘Don’t you say nothing against Mum. Where’d I have been without her? And she might have cut up nastier than she did. She could have taken you to court.’

‘Oh, come off it, Lily.’

‘It’s a good view of the hills. You can almost see—’ She leaned far out, twisting her body to the left. ‘You can almost see the reservoir—’

She leant farther still, not realizing that she was resting her weight on loose boards that had been laid across the sill. They slipped under the pressure of her body, sliding outwards, carrying her with them. She screamed, trying to regain her balance.

‘Harry—’

The young man stood motionless—a foot or two behind her. He took one step backwards—

Desperately, clawing at the wall, the girl righted herself. ‘Oo!’ She let out a frightened breath. ‘I near as nothing fell out. Why didn’t you get hold of me?’

‘It was all so quick. Anyway you’re all right.’

‘That’s all you know about it. I nearly went, I tell you. And look at the front of my jumper, it’s all mussed.’

Miss Marple went on a little way, then on impulse, she turned back.

Lily was outside in the road waiting for the young man to lock up the house.

Miss Marple went up to her and spoke rapidly in a low voice.

‘If I were you, my dear, I shouldn’t marry that young man. You want someone whom you can rely upon if you’re in danger. You must excuse me for saying this to you—but I feel you ought to be warned.’

She turned away and Lily stared after her.

‘Well, of all the—’

Her young man approached.

‘What was she saying to you, Lil?’

Lily opened her mouth—then shut it again.

‘Giving me the gipsy’s warning, if you want to know.’

She eyed him in a thoughtful manner.

Miss Marple in her anxiety to get away quickly, turned a corner, stumbled over some loose stones and fell.

A woman came running out of one of the houses.

‘Oh dear, what a nasty spill! I hope you haven’t hurt yourself?’

With almost excessive goodwill she put her arms round Miss Marple and tugged her to her feet.

‘No bones broken, I hope? There we are. I expect you feel rather shaken.’

Her voice was loud and friendly. She was a plump squarely built woman of about forty, brown hair just turning grey, blue eyes, and a big generous mouth that seemed to Miss Marple’s rather shaken gaze to be far too full of white shining teeth.

‘You’d better come inside and sit down and rest a bit. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

Miss Marple thanked her. She allowed herself to be led through the blue-painted door and into a small room full of bright cretonne-covered chairs and sofas.

‘There you are,’ said her rescuer, establishing her on a cushioned arm-chair. ‘You sit quiet and I’ll put the kettle on.’

She hurried out of the room which seemed rather restfully quiet after her departure. Miss Marple took a deep breath. She was not really hurt, but the fall had shaken her. Falls at her age were not to be encouraged. With luck, however, she thought guiltily, Miss Knight need never know. She moved her arms and legs gingerly. Nothing broken. If she could only get home all right. Perhaps, after a cup of tea—

The cup of tea arrived almost as the thought came to her. Brought on a tray with four sweet biscuits on a little plate.

‘There you are.’ It was placed on a small table in front of her. ‘Shall I pour it out for you? Better have plenty of sugar.’

‘No sugar, thank you.’

‘You must have sugar. Shock, you know. I was abroad with ambulances during the war. Sugar’s wonderful for shock.’ She put four lumps in the cup and stirred vigorously. ‘Now you get that down, and you’ll feel as right as rain.’

Miss Marple accepted the dictum.

‘A kind woman,’ she thought. ‘She reminds me of someone—now who is it?’

‘You’ve been very kind to me,’ she said, smiling.

‘Oh, that’s nothing. The little ministering angel, that’s me. I love helping people.’ She looked out of the window as the latch of the outer gate clicked. ‘Here’s my husband home. Arthur—we’ve got a visitor.’

She went out into the hall and returned with Arthur who looked rather bewildered. He was a thin pale man, rather slow in speech.

‘This lady fell down—right outside our gate, so of course I brought her in.’

‘Your wife is very kind, Mr—’

‘Badcock’s the name.’

‘Mr Badcock, I’m afraid I’ve given her a lot of trouble.’

‘Oh, no trouble to Heather. Heather enjoys doing things for people.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Were you on your way anywhere in particular?’

‘No, I was just taking a walk. I live in St Mary Mead, the house beyond the Vicarage. My name is Marple.’

‘Well, I never!’ exclaimed Heather. ‘So you’re Miss Marple. I’ve heard about you. You’re the one who does all the murders.’

‘Heather! What do you—’

‘Oh, you know what I mean. Not actually do murders—find out about them. That’s right, isn’t it?’

Miss Marple murmured modestly that she had been mixed up in murders once or twice.

‘I heard there have been murders here, in this village. They were talking about it the other night at the Bingo Club. There was one at Gossington Hall. I wouldn’t buy a place where there’d been a murder. I’d be sure it was haunted.’

‘The murder wasn’t committed in Gossington Hall. A dead body was brought there.’

‘Found in the library on the hearthrug, that’s what they said?’

Miss Marple nodded.

‘Did you ever? Perhaps they’re going to make a film of it. Perhaps that’s why Marina Gregg has bought Gossington Hall.’

‘Marina Gregg?’

‘Yes. She and her husband. I forget his name—he’s a producer, I think, or a director—Jason something. But Marina Gregg, she’s lovely, isn’t she? Of course she hasn’t been in so many pictures of late years—she was ill for a long time. But I still think there’s never anybody like her. Did you see her in Carmanella? And The Price of Love, and Mary of Scotland? She’s not so young any more, but she’ll always be a wonderful actress. I’ve always been a terrific fan of hers. When I was a teenager I used to dream about her. The big thrill of my life was when there was a big show in aid of the St John Ambulance in Bermuda, and Marina Gregg came to open it. I was mad with excitement, and then on the very day I went down with a temperature and the doctor said I couldn’t go. But I wasn’t going to be beaten. I didn’t actually feel too bad. So I got up and put a lot of make-up on my face and went along. I was introduced to her and she talked to me for quite three minutes and gave me her autograph. It was wonderful. I’ve never forgotten that day.’

Miss Marple stared at her.

‘I hope there were no—unfortunate after-effects?’ she said anxiously.

Heather Badcock laughed.

‘None at all. Never felt better. What I say is, if you want a thing you’ve got to take risks. I always do.’

She laughed again, a happy strident laugh.

Arthur Badcock said admiringly, ‘There’s never any holding Heather. She always gets away with things.’

‘Alison Wilde,’ murmured Miss Marple, with a nod of satisfaction.

‘Pardon?’ said Mr Badcock.

‘Nothing. Just someone I used to know.’

Heather looked at her inquiringly.

‘You reminded me of her, that is all.’

‘Did I? I hope she was nice.’

‘She was very nice indeed,’ said Miss Marple slowly. ‘Kind, healthy, full of life.’

‘But she had her faults, I suppose?’ laughed Heather. ‘I have.’

‘Well, Alison always saw her own point of view so clearly that she didn’t always see how things might appear to, or affect, other people.’

‘Like the time you took in that evacuated family from a condemned cottage and they went off with all our teaspoons,’ Arthur said.

‘But Arthur!—I couldn’t have turned them away. It wouldn’t have been kind.’

‘They were family spoons,’ said Mr Badcock sadly. ‘Georgian. Belonged to my mother’s grandmother.’

‘Oh, do forget those old spoons, Arthur. You do harp so.’

‘I’m not very good at forgetting, I’m afraid.’

Miss Marple looked at him thoughtfully.

‘What’s your friend doing now?’ asked Heather of Miss Marple with kindly interest.

Miss Marple paused a moment before answering.

‘Alison Wilde? Oh—she died.’