He suddenly broke off, and the dynamo was switched onto the guest.
“Why, Miss Marple, I’m so delighted you’ve come to stay with us for a while. It will make such a great difference to Caroline to have a friend of old days with whom she can exchange memories. She has, in many ways, a grim time here—so much sadness in the stories of these poor children. We do hope you’ll stay with us a very long time.”
Miss Marple felt the magnetism and realised how attractive it would have been to her friend. That Lewis Serrocold was a man who would always put causes before people she did not doubt for a moment. It might have irritated some women, but not Carrie Louise.
Lewis Serrocold sorted out another letter.
“At any rate we’ve some good news. This is from the Wiltshire and Somerset Bank. Young Morris is doing extremely well. They’re thoroughly satisfied with him and, in fact, are promoting him next month. I always knew that all he needed was responsibility—that, and a thorough grasp of the handling of money and what it means.”
He turned to Miss Marple.
“Half these boys don’t know what money is. It represents to them going to the pictures or to the dogs, or buying cigarettes—and they’re clever with figures and find it exciting to juggle them round. Well, I believe in—what shall I say?—rubbing their noses in the stuff—train them in accountancy, in figures—show them the whole inner romance of money, so to speak. Give them skill and then responsibility—let them handle it officially. Our greatest successes have been that way—only two out of thirty-eight have let us down. One’s head cashier in a firm of druggists—a really responsible position—”
He broke off to say: “Tea’s in, dearest,” to his wife.
“I thought we were having it here. I told Jolly.”
“No, it’s in the Hall. The others are there.”
“I thought they were all going to be out.”
Carrie Louise linked her arm through Miss Marple’s and they went into the Great Hall. Tea seemed a rather incongruous meal in its surroundings. The tea things were piled haphazard on a tray—while utility cups mixed with the remnants of what had been Rockingham and Spode tea services. There was a loaf of bread, two pots of jam, and some cheap and unwholesome-looking cakes.
A plump middle-aged woman with grey hair sat behind the tea table and Mrs. Serrocold said:
“This is Mildred, Jane. My daughter Mildred. You haven’t seen her since she was a tiny girl.”
Mildred Strete was the person most in tune with the house that Miss Marple had so far seen. She looked prosperous and dignified. She had married late in her thirties a Canon of the Church of England and was now a widow. She looked exactly like a Canon’s widow, respectable and slightly dull. She was a plain woman with a large unexpressive face and dull eyes. She had been, Miss Marple reflected, a very plain little girl.
“And this is Wally Hudd—Gina’s husband.”
Wally was a big young man, with hair brushed up on his head and a sulky expression. He nodded awkwardly and went on cramming cake into his mouth.
Presently Gina came in with Stephen Restarick. They were both very animated.
“Gina’s got a wonderful idea for that backcloth,” said Stephen. “You know, Gina, you’ve got a very definite flair for theatrical designing.”
Gina laughed and looked pleased. Edgar Lawson came in and sat down by Lewis Serrocold. When Gina spoke to him, he made a pretence of not answering.
Miss Marple found it all a little bewildering and was glad to go to her room and lie down after tea.
There were more people still at dinner, a young Doctor Maverick who was either a psychiatrist or a psychologist—Miss Marple was rather hazy about the difference—and whose conversation, dealing almost entirely with the jargon of his trade, was practically unintelligible to her. There were also two spectacled young men who held posts on the teaching side and a Mr. Baumgarten who was an occupational therapist and three intensely bashful youths who were doing their “house guest” week. One of them, a fair-haired lad with very blue eyes was, Gina informed her in a whisper, the expert with the “cosh.”
The meal was not a particularly appetizing one. It was indifferently cooked and indifferently served. A variety of costumes was worn. Miss Bellever wore a high black dress, Mildred Strete wore an evening dress and a woollen cardigan over it. Carrie Louise had on a short dress of grey wool—Gina was resplendent in a kind of peasant getup. Wally had not changed, nor had Stephen Restarick, Edgar Lawson had on a neat, dark blue suit. Lewis Serrocold wore the conventional dinner jacket. He ate very little and hardly seemed to notice what was on his plate.
After dinner Lewis Serrocold and Dr. Maverick went away to the latter’s office. The occupational therapist and the schoolmasters went away to some lair of their own. The three “cases” went back to the college. Gina and Stephen went to the theatre to discuss Gina’s idea for a set. Mildred knitted an indeterminate garment and Miss Bellever darned socks. Wally sat in a chair gently tilted backwards and stared into space. Carrie Louise and Miss Marple talked about old days. The conversation seemed strangely unreal.
Edgar Lawson alone seemed unable to find a niche. He sat down and then got up restlessly.
“I wonder if I ought to go to Mr. Serrocold,” he said rather loudly. “He may need me.”
Carrie Louise said gently, “Oh, I don’t think so. He was going to talk over one or two points with Dr. Maverick this evening.”
“Then I certainly won’t butt in! I shouldn’t dream of going where I wasn’t wanted. I’ve already wasted time today going down to the station when Mrs. Hudd meant to go herself.”
“She ought to have told you,” said Carrie Louise. “But I think she just decided at the last moment.”
“You do realise, Mrs. Serrocold, that she made me look a complete fool! A complete fool!”
“No, no,” said Carrie Louise, smiling. “You mustn’t have these ideas.”
“I know I’m not needed or wanted … I’m perfectly aware of that. If things had been different—if I’d had my proper place in life it would be very different. Very different indeed. It’s no fault of mine that I haven’t got my proper place in life.”
“Now, Edgar,” said Carrie Louise. “Don’t work yourself up about nothing. Jane thinks it was very kind of you to meet her. Gina always has these sudden impulses—she didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh yes, she did. It was done on purpose—to humiliate me—”
; “Oh Edgar—”
“You don’t know half of what’s going on, Mrs. Serrocold. Well, I won’t say anymore now except good night.”
Edgar went out shutting the door with a slam behind him.
Miss Bellever snorted:
“Atrocious manners.”
“He’s so sensitive,” said Carrie Louise vaguely.
Mildred Strete clicked her needles and said sharply:
“He really is a most odious young man. You shouldn’t put up with such behavior, Mother.”
“Lewis says he can’t help it.”
Mildred said sharply:
“Everyone can help behaving rudely. Of course I blame Gina very much. She’s so completely scatterbrained in everything she undertakes. She does nothing but make trouble. One day she encourages the young man and the next day she snubs him. What can you expect?”
Wally Hudd spoke for the first time that evening.
He said:
“That guy’s crackers. That’s all there is to it! Crackers!”
2
In her bedroom that night, Miss Marple tried to review the pattern of Stonygates, but it was as yet too confused. There were currents and crosscurrents here—but whether they could account for Ruth Van Rydock’s uneasiness it was impossible to tell. It did not seem to Miss Marple that Carrie Louise was affected in any way by what was going on round her. Stephen was in love with Gina. Gina might or might not be in love with Stephen. Walter Hudd was clearly not enjoying himself. These were incidents that might and did occur in all places and at most times. There was, unfortunately, nothing exceptional about them. They ended in the divorce court and everybody hopefully started again—when fresh tangles were created. Mildred Strete was clearly jealous of Gina and disliked her. That, Miss Marple thought, was very natural.
She thought over what Ruth Van Rydock had told her. Carrie Louise’s disappointment at not having a child—the adoption of little Pippa—and then the discovery that, after all, a child was on the way.
“Often happens like that,” Miss Marple’s doctor had told her. “Relief of tension, maybe, and then Nature can do its work.”