4:50 From Paddington (Miss Marple 8)

Dr. Morris frowned. “It seems as though I remember something about it,” he said, “but it’s a long time ago.”

“Quite early on in the war, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Ah, well, I dare say he’d have lived to regret it if he had married a foreign wife.”

“There’s some reason to believe that he did do just that,” said Craddock.

In a few brief sentences he gave an account of recent happenings.

“I remember seeing something in the papers about a woman found in a sarcophagus. So it was at Rutherford Hall.”

“And there’s reason to believe that the woman was Edmund Crackenthorpe’s widow.”

“Well, well, that seems extraordinary. More like a novel than real life. But who’d want to kill the poor thing—I mean, how does it tie up with arsenical poisoning in the Crackenthorpe family?”

“In one of two ways,” said Craddock; “but they are both very farfetched. Somebody perhaps is greedy and wants the whole of Josiah Crackenthorpe’s fortune.”

“Damn fool if he does,” said Dr. Morris. “He’ll only have to pay the most stupendous taxes on the income from it.”

Twenty-one

“Nasty things, mushrooms,” said Mrs. Kidder.

Mrs. Kidder had made the same remark about ten times in the last few days. Lucy did not reply.

“Never touch ’em myself,” said Mrs. Kidder, “much too dangerous. It’s a merciful Providence as there’s only been one death. The whole lot might have gone, and you, too, miss. A wonderful escape, you’ve had.”

“It wasn’t the mushrooms,” said Lucy. “They were perfectly all right.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said Mrs. Kidder. “Dangerous they are, mushrooms. One toadstool in among the lot and you’ve had it.”

“Funny,” went on Mrs. Kidder, among the rattle of plates and dishes in the sink, “how things seem to come all together, as it were. My sister’s eldest had measles and our Ernie fell down and broke ’is arm, and my ’usband came out all over with boils. All in the same week! You’d hardly believe it, would you? It’s been the same thing here,” went on Mrs. Kidder, “first that nasty murder and now Mr. Alfred dead with mushroom-poisoning. Who’ll be the next, I’d like to know?”

Lucy felt rather uncomfortably that she would like to know too.

“My husband, he doesn’t like me coming here now,” said Mrs. Kidder, “thinks it’s unlucky, but what I say is I’ve known Miss Crackenthorpe a long time now and she’s a nice lady and she depends on me. And I couldn’t leave poor Miss Eyelesbarrow, I said, not to do everything herself in the house. Pretty hard it is on you, miss, all these trays.”

Lucy was forced to agree that life did seem to consist very largely of trays at the moment. She was at the moment arranging trays to take to the various invalids.

“As for them nurses, they never do a hand’s turn,” said Mrs. Kidder. “All they want is pots and pots of tea made strong. And meals prepared. Wore out, that’s what I am.” She spoke in a tone of great satisfaction, though actually she had done very little more than her normal morning’s work.

Lucy said solemnly, “You never spare yourself, Mrs. Kidder.”

Mrs. Kidder looked pleased. Lucy picked up the first of the trays and started off up the stairs.

“What’s this?” said Mr. Crackenthorpe disapprovingly.

“Beef tea and baked custard,” said Lucy.

“Take it away,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “I won’t touch that stuff. I told that nurse I wanted a beef steak.”

“Dr. Quimper thinks you ought not to have beef steak just yet,” said Lucy.

Mr. Crackenthorpe snorted. “I’m practically well again. I’m getting up tomorrow. How are the others?”

“Mr. Harold’s much better,” said Lucy. “He’s going back to London tomorrow.”

“Good riddance,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “What about Cedric—any hope that he’s going back to his island tomorrow?”

“He won’t be going just yet.”

“Pity. What’s Emma doing? Why doesn’t she come and see me?”

“She’s still in bed, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”

“Women always coddle themselves,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “But you’re a good strong girl,” he added approvingly. “Run about all day, don’t you?”

“I get plenty of exercise,” said Lucy.

Old Mr. Crackenthorpe nodded his head approvingly. “You’re a good strong girl,” he said, “and don’t think I’ve forgotten what I talked to you about before. One of these days you’ll see what you’ll see. Emma isn’t always going to have things her own way. And don’t listen to the others when they tell you I’m a mean old man. I’m careful of my money. I’ve got a nice little packet put by and I know who I’m going to spend it on when the time comes.” He leered at her affectionately.

Lucy went rather quickly out of the room, avoiding his clutching hand.

The next tray was taken in to Emma.

“Oh, thank you, Lucy. I’m really feeling quite myself again by now. I’m hungry, and that’s a good sign, isn’t it? My dear,” went on Emma as Lucy settled the tray on her knees, “I’m really feeling very upset about your aunt. You haven’t had any time to go and see her, I suppose?”

“No, I haven’t, as a matter of fact.”

“I’m afraid she must be missing you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Crackenthorpe. She understands what a terrible time we’ve been through.”

“Have you rung her up?”

“No, I haven’t just lately.”

“Well, do. Ring her up every day. It makes such a difference to old people to get news.”

“You’re very kind,” said Lucy. Her conscience smote her a little as she went down to fetch the next tray. The complications of illness in a house had kept her thoroughly absorbed and she had had no time to think of anything else. She decided that she would ring Miss Marple up as soon as she had

taken Cedric his meal.

There was only one nurse in the house now and she passed Lucy on the landing, exchanging greetings.

Cedric, looking incredibly tidied up and neat, was sitting up in bed writing busily on sheets of paper.

“Hallo, Lucy,” he said, “what hell brew have you got for me today? I wish you’d get rid of that god-awful nurse, she’s simply too arch for words. Calls me ‘we’ for some reason. ‘And how are we this morning? Have we slept well? Oh, dear, we’re very naughty, throwing off the bedclothes like that.’” He imitated the refined accents of the nurse in a high falsetto voice.

“You seem very cheerful,” said Lucy. “What are you busy with?”

“Plans,” said Cedric. “Plans for what to do with this place when the old man pops off. It’s a jolly good bit of land here, you know. I can’t make up my mind whether I’d like to develop some of it myself, or whether I’ll sell it in lots all in one go. Very valuable for industrial purposes. The house will do for a nursing home or a school. I’m not sure I shan’t sell half the land and use the money to do something rather outrageous with the other half. What do you think?”

“You haven’t got it yet,” said Lucy, dryly.

“I shall have it, though,” said Cedric. “It’s not divided up like the other stuff. I get it outright. And if I sell it for a good fat price the money will be capital, not income, so I shan’t have to pay taxes on it. Money to burn. Think of it.”

“I always understood you rather despised money,” said Lucy.

“Of course I despise money when I haven’t got any,” said Cedric. “It’s the only dignified thing to do. What a lovely girl you are, Lucy, or do I just think so because I haven’t seen any good-looking women for such a long time?”

“I expect that’s it,” said Lucy.

“Still busy tidying everyone and everything up?”

“Somebody seems to have been tidying you up,” said Lucy, looking at him.

“That’s that damned nurse,” said Cedric with feeling. “Have you had the inquest on Alfred yet? What happened?”

“It was adjourned,” said Lucy.