4:50 From Paddington (Miss Marple 8)

“We certainly were,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, “no laxness in our young days.”

“So that’s quite all right,” said Miss Marple, “and that’s the taxi now,” she added, as a faint hoot was heard outside the house.

Mrs. McGillicuddy donned her heavy pepper-and-salt coat and Miss Marple wrapped herself up with a good many shawls and scarves. Then the two ladies got into the taxi and were driven to Rutherford Hall.

II

“Who can this be driving up?” Emma asked, looking out of the window, as the taxi swept past it. “I do believe it’s Lucy’s old aunt.”

“What a bore,” said Cedric.

He was lying back in a long chair looking at Country Life with his feet reposing on the side of the mantelpiece.

“Tell her you’re not at home.”

“When you say tell her I’m not at home, do you mean that I should go out and say so? Or that I should tell Lucy to tell her aunt so?”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Cedric. “I suppose I was thinking of our butler and footman days, if we ever had them. I seem to remember a footman before the war. He had an affair with the kitchen maid and there was a terrific rumpus about it. Isn’t there one of those old hags about the place cleaning?”

But at that moment the door was opened by Mrs. Hart, whose afternoon it was for cleaning the brasses, and Miss Marple came in, very fluttery, in a whirl of shawls and scarves, with an uncompromising figure behind her.

“I do hope,” said Miss Marple, taking Emma’s hand, “that we are not intruding. But you see, I’m going home the day after tomorrow, and I couldn’t bear not to come over and see you and say good-bye, and thank you again for your goodness to Lucy. Oh, I forgot. May I introduce my friend, Mrs. McGillicuddy, who is staying with me?”

“How d’you do,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, looking at Emma with complete attention and then shifting her gaze to Cedric, who had now risen to his feet. Lucy entered the room at this moment.

“Aunt Jane, I had no idea….”

“I had to come and say good-bye to Miss Crackenthorpe,” said Miss Marple, turning to her, “who has been so very, very kind to you, Lucy.”

“It’s Lucy who’s been very kind to us,” said Emma.

“Yes, indeed,” said Cedric. “We’ve worked her like a galley slave. Waiting on the sick room, running up and down the stairs, cooking little invalid messes….”

Miss Marple broke in. “I was so very, very sorry to hear of your illness. I do hope you’re quite recovered now, Miss Crackenthorpe?”

“Oh, we’re quite well again now,” said Emma.

“Lucy told me you were all very ill. So dangerous, isn’t it, food poisoning? Mushrooms, I understand.”

“The cause remains rather mysterious,” said Emma.

“Don’t you believe it,” said Cedric. “I bet you’ve heard the rumours that are flying round, Miss—er—”

“Marple,” said Miss Marple.

“Well, as I say, I bet you’ve heard the rumours that are flying round. Nothing like arsenic for raising a little flutter in the neighbourhood.”

“Cedric,” said Emma, “I wish you wouldn’t. You know Inspector Craddock said….”

“Bah,” said Cedric, “everybody knows. Even you’ve heard something, haven’t you?” he turned to Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy.

“I myself,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy, “have only just returned from abroad—the day before yesterday,” she added.

“Ah, well, you’re not up on our local scandal then,” said Cedric. “Arsenic in the curry, that’s what it was. Lucy’s aunt knows all about it, I bet.”

“Well,” said Miss Marple, “I did just hear—I mean, it was just a hint, but of course I didn’t want to embarrass you in any way, Miss Crackenthorpe.”

“You must pay no attention to my brother,” said Emma. “He just likes making people uncomfortable.” She gave him an affectionate smile as she spoke.

The door opened and Mr. Crackenthorpe came in, tapping angrily with his stick.

“Where’s tea?” he said, “why isn’t tea ready? You! Girl!” he addressed Lucy, “why haven’t you brought tea in?”

“It’s just ready, Mr. Crackenthorpe. I’m bringing it in now. I was just setting the table ready.”

Lucy went out of the room again and Mr. Crackenthorpe was introduced to Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy.

“Like my meals on time,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “Punctuality and economy. Those are my watchwords.”

“Very necessary, I’m sure,” said Miss Marple, “especially in these times with taxation and everything.”

Mr. Crackenthorpe snorted. “Taxation! Don’t talk to me of those robbers. A miserable pauper—that’s what I am. And it’s going to get worse, not better. You wait, my boy,” he addressed Cedric, “when you get this place ten to one the Socialists will have it off you and turn it into a Welfare Centre or something. And take all your income to keep it up with!”

Lucy reappeared with a tea tray, Bryan Eastley followed her carrying a tray of sandwiches, bread and butter and cake.

“What’s this? What’s this?” Mr. Crackenthorpe inspected the tray. “Frosted cake? We having a party today? Nobody told me about it.”

A faint flush came into Emma’s face.

“Dr. Quimper’s coming to tea, Father. It’s his birthday today and—”

“Birthday?” snorted the old man. “What’s he doing with a birthday? Birthdays are only for children. I never count my birthdays and I won’t let anyone else celebrate them either.”

“Much cheaper,” agreed Cedric. “You save the price of candles on your cake.”

“That’s enough from you, boy,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe.

Miss Marple was shaking hands with Bryan Eastley. “I’ve heard about you, of course,” she said, “from Lucy. Dear me, you remind me so of someone I used to know at St. Mary Mead. That’s the village where I’ve lived for so many years, you know. Ronnie Wells, the solicitor’s son. C

ouldn’t seem to settle somehow when he went into his father’s business. He went out to East Africa and started a series of cargo boats on the lake out there. Victoria Nyanza, or is it Albert, I mean? Anyway, I’m sorry to say that it wasn’t a success, and he lost all his capital. Most unfortunate! Not any relation of yours, I suppose? The likeness is so great.”

“No,” said Bryan, “I don’t think I’ve any relations called Wells.”

“He was engaged to a very nice girl,” said Miss Marple. “Very sensible. She tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen to her. He was wrong of course. Women have a lot of sense, you know, when it comes to money matters. Not high finance, of course. No woman can hope to understand that, my dear father said. But everyday L.s.d.—that sort of thing. What a delightful view you have from this window,” she added, making her way across and looking out.

Emma joined her.

“Such an expanse of parkland! How picturesque the cattle look against the trees. One would never dream that one was in the middle of a town.”

“We’re rather an anachronism, I think,” said Emma. “If the windows were open now you’d hear far off the noise of the traffic.”

“Oh, of course,” said Miss Marple, “there’s noise everywhere, isn’t there? Even in St. Mary Mead. We’re now quite close to an airfield, you know, and really the way those jet planes fly over! Most frightening. Two panes in my little greenhouse broken the other day. Going through the sound barrier, or so I understand, though what it means I never have known.”

“It’s quite simple, really,” said Bryan, approaching amiably. “You see, it’s like this.”