“She has always been an idealist,” said Miss Marple.
“An idealist? Yes. Yes, that is so. And therefore it may be that she does not truly appreciate the evil that there is in the world.”
Miss Marple looked at him, surprised. His face was very stern.
“Tell me,” he said. “How is her health?”
Again Miss Marple felt surprised.
“She seems to me very well—apart from arthritis—or rheumatism.”
“Rheumatism? Yes. And her heart? Her heart is good?”
“As far as I know.” Miss Marple was still more surprised. “But until yesterday I had not seen her for many years. If you want to know the state of her health, you should ask somebody in the house here. Miss Bellever, for instance.”
“Miss Bellever—Yes, Miss Bellever. Or Mildred?”
“Or, as you say, Mildred.”
Miss Marple was faintly embarrassed.
Christian Gulbrandsen was staring at her very hard.
“There is not between the mother and daughter, a very great sympathy, would you say?”
“No, I don’t think there is.”
“I agree. It is a pity—her only child, but there it is. Now this Miss Bellever, you think, is really attached to her?”
“Very much so.”
“And Carrie Louise leans on this Miss Bellever?”
“I think so.”
Christian Gulbrandsen was frowning. He spoke as though more to himself than to Miss Marple.
“There is the little Gina—but she is so young. It is difficult—” He broke off. “Sometimes,” he said simply, “it is hard to know what is best to be done. I wish very much to act for the best. I am particularly anxious that no harm and no unhappiness should come to that dear lady. But it is not easy—not easy at all.”
Mrs. Strete came into the room at that moment.
“Oh there you are, Christian. We were wondering where you were. Dr. Maverick wants to know if you would like to go over anything with him.”
“That is the new young doctor here? No—no, I will wait until Lewis returns.”
“He’s waiting in Lewis’ study. Shall I tell him—”
“I will have a word with him myself.”
Gulbrandsen hurried out. Mildred Strete stared after him and then stared at Miss Marple.
“I wonder if anything is wrong. Christian is very unlike himself … Did he say anything—”
“He only asked me about your mother’s health.”
“Her health? Why should he ask you about that?”
Mildred spoke sharply, her large square face flushing unbecomingly.
“I really don’t know.”
“Mother’s health is perfectly good. Surprisingly so for a woman of her age. Much better than mine as far as that goes.” She paused a moment before saying, “I hope you told him so?”
“I don’t really know anything about it,” said Miss Marple. “He asked me about her heart.”
“Her heart?”
“Yes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Mother’s heart. Nothing at all!”
“I’m delighted to hear you say so, my dear.”
“What on earth put all these queer ideas into Christian’s head?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Miss Marple.
Seven
1
The next day passed uneventfully to all appearances, yet to Miss Marple it seemed that there were signs of an inner tension. Christian Gulbrandsen spent his morning with Dr. Maverick in going round the Institute and in discussing the general results of the Institute’s policy. In the early afternoon Gina took him for a drive and after that Miss Marple noticed that he induced Miss Bellever to show him something in the gardens. It seemed to her that it was a pretext for ensuring a tête-à-tête with that grim woman. And yet, if Christian Gulbrandsen’s unexpected visit had only to do with business matters, why this wish for Miss Bellever’s company, since the latter dealt only with the domestic side of matters?
But in all this, Miss Marple could tell herself that she was being fanciful. The only really disturbing incident of the day happened about four o’clock. She had rolled up her knitting and had gone out in the garden to take a little stroll before tea. Rounding a straggling rhododendron she came upon Edgar Lawson who was striding along muttering to himself and who nearly ran into her.
He said, “I beg your pardon,” hastily, but Miss Marple was startled by the queer staring expression of his eyes.
“Aren’t you feeling well, Mr. Lawson?”
“Well? How should I be feeling well? I’ve had a shock—a terrible shock.”
“What kind of a shock?”
The young man gave a swift glance past her, and then a sharp uneasy glance to either side. His doing so gave Miss Marple a nervous feeling.
“Shall I tell you?” He looked at her doubtfully. “I don’t know. I don’t really know. I’ve been so spied upon.”
Miss Marple made up her mind. She took him firmly by the arm.
“If we walk down this path … there, now, there are no trees or bushes near. Nobody can overhear.”
“No—no, you’re right.” He drew a deep breath, bent his head and almost whispered his next words. “I’ve made a discovery. A terrible discovery.”
“What kind of a discovery?”
Edgar Lawson began to shake all over. He was almost weeping.
“To have trusted someone! To have believed … and it was lies—all lies. Lies to keep me from finding out the truth. I can’t bear it. It’s too wicked. You see, he was the one person I trusted, and now to find out that all the time he’s been at the bottom of it all. It’s he who’s been my enemy! It’s he who has been having me followed about and spied upon. But he can’t get away with it anymore. I shall speak out. I shall tell him I know what he has been doing.”
“Who is ‘he’?” demanded Miss Marple.
Edgar Lawson drew himself up to his full height. He might have looked pathetic and dignified. But actually he only looked ridiculous.
“I’m speaking of my father.”
“Viscount Montgomery—or do you mean Winston Churchill?”
Edgar threw her a glance of scorn.
“They let me think that—just to keep me from guessing the truth. But I know now. I’ve got a friend—a real friend. A friend who tells me the truth and lets me know just how I’ve been deceived. Well, my father will have to reckon with me. I’ll throw his lies in his face! I’ll challenge him with the truth. We’ll see what he’s got to say to that.”
And suddenly breaking away, Edgar went off at a run and disappeared in the park.
Her face grave, Miss Marple went back to the house.
“We’re all a little mad, dear lady,” Dr. Maverick had said.
But it seemed to her that in Edgar’s case it went rather further than that.
2
Lewis Serrocold arrived back at six thirty. He stopped the car at the gates and walked to the house through the park. Looking out of her window, Miss Marple saw Christian Gulbrandsen go out to meet him and the two men, having greeted one another, turned and paced to and fro, up and down the terrace.
Miss Marple had been careful to bring her bird glasses with her. At this moment she brought them into action. Was there, or was there not, a flight of siskins by that far clump of trees?
She noted as the glasses swept down before rising that both men were looking seriously disturbed. Miss Marple leant out a little further. Scraps of conversation floated up to her now and then. If either of the men should look up, it would be quite clear that an enraptured bird-watcher had her attention fixed on a point far removed from their conversation.
“—how to spare Carrie Louise the knowledge—” Gulbrandsen was saying.
The next time they passed below, Lewis Serrocold was speaking.
“—if it can be kept from her. I agree that it is she who must be considered….”
Other faint snatches came to the listener.
“—Really serious—” “—not justified—” “too big a responsibility to take—” “we should, perhaps, take outside advice—”
Finally Miss Marple heard Christian Gulbrandsen say, “Ach, it grows cold. We must go inside.”
Miss Marple drew her head in through the window with a puzzled expression. What she had heard was too fragmentary to be easily pieced together—but it served to confirm that vague apprehension that had been gradually growing upon her and about which Ruth Van Rydock had been so positive.
Whatever was wrong at Stonygates, it definitely affected Carrie Louise.
3
Dinner that evening was a somewhat constrained meal. Both Gulbrandsen and Lewis were absentminded and absorbed in their own thoughts. Walter Hudd glowered even more than usual and, for once, Gina and Stephen seemed to have little to say either to each other or to the company at large. Conversation was mostly sustained by Dr. Maverick who had a lengthy, technical discussion with Mr. Baumgarten, the occupational therapist.
When they moved into the Hall after dinner, Christian Gulbrandsen excused himself almost at once. He said he had an important letter to write.
“So if you will forgive me, dear Carrie Louise, I will go now to my room.”
“You have all you want there? Jolly?”
“Yes, yes. Everything. A typewriter, I asked, and one has been put there. Miss Bellever has been most kind and attentive.”
He left the Great Hall by the door on the left which led past the foot of the main staircase and along a corridor, at the end of which was a suite of bedroom and bathroom.