‘Or we could send her somewhere,’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘You know, to one of those societies who are always writing and asking for something – for a sale or a bazaar. I think that’s the best idea.’

‘I don’t know . . .’ said Sybil. ‘I’d be almost afraid to do that.’

‘Afraid?’

‘Well, I think she’d come back,’ said Sybil. ‘You mean, she’d come back here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like a homing pigeon?’

‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’

‘I suppose we’re not going off our heads, are we?’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘Perhaps I’ve really gone gaga and perhaps you’re just humouring me, is that it?’

‘No,’ said Sybil. ‘But I’ve got a nasty frightening feeling – a horrid feeling that she’s too strong for us.’

‘What? That mess of rags?’

‘Yes, that horrible limp mess of rags. Because, you see, she’s so determined.’

‘Determined?’

‘To have her own way! I mean, this is her room now!’

‘Yes,’ said Alicia Coombe, looking round, ‘it is, isn’t it? Of course, it always was, when you come to think of it – the colours and everything . . . I thought she fitted in here, but it’s the room that fits her. I must say,’ added the dressmaker, with a touch of briskness in her voice, ‘it’s rather absurd when a doll comes and takes possession of things like this. You know, Mrs Groves won’t come in here any longer and clean.’

‘Does she say she’s frightened of the doll?’

‘No. She just makes excuses of some kind or other.’ Then Alicia added with a hint of panic, ‘What are we going to do, Sybil? It’s getting me down, you know. I haven’t been able to design anything for weeks.’

‘I can’t keep my mind on cutting out properly,’ Sybil confessed. ‘I make all sorts of silly mistakes. Perhaps,’ she said uncertainly, your idea of writing to the psychical research people might do some good.’

‘Just make us look like a couple of fools,’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘I didn’t seriously mean it. No, I suppose we’ll just have to go on until –’

‘Until what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Alicia, and she laughed uncertainly.

On the following day Sybil, when she arrived, found the door of the fitting-room locked.

‘Miss Coombe, have you got the key? Did you lock this last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Alicia Coombe, ‘I locked it and it’s going to stay locked.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just mean I’ve given up the room. The doll can have it. We don’t need two rooms. We can fit in here.’

‘But it’s your own private sitting-room.’

‘Well, I don’t want it any more. I’ve got a very nice bedroom. I can make a bed-sitting room out of that, can’t I?’

‘Do you mean you’re really not going into that fitting-room ever again?’ said Sybil incredulously.

‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

‘But – what about cleaning? It’ll get in a terrible state.’

‘Let it!’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘If this place is suffering from some kind of possession by a doll, all right – let her keep possession. And clean the room herself.’ And she added, ‘She hates us, you know.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Sybil. ‘The doll hates us?’

‘Yes,’ said Alicia. ‘Didn’t you know? You must have known. You must have seen it when you looked at her.’

‘Yes,’ said Sybil thoughtfully, ‘I suppose I did. I suppose I felt that all along – that she hated us and wanted to get us out of there.’

‘She’s a malicious little thing,’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘Anyway, she ought to be satisfied now.’

Things went on rather more peacefully after that. Alicia Coombe announced to her staff that she was giving up the use of the fitting-room for the present – it made too many rooms to dust and clean, she explained.

But it hardly helped her to overhear one of the work girls saying to another on the evening of the same day, ‘She really is batty, Miss Coombe is now. I always thought she was a bit queer – the way she lost things and forgot things. But it’s really beyond anything now, isn’t it? She’s got a sort of thing about that doll downstairs.’

‘Ooo, you don’t think she’ll go really bats, do you?’ said the other girl. ‘That she might knife us or something?’

They passed, chattering, and Alicia sat up indignantly in her chair. Going bats indeed! Then she added ruefully, to herself, ‘I suppose, if it wasn’t for Sybil, I should think myself that I was going bats. But with me and Sybil and Mrs Groves too, well, it does look as though there was something in it. But what I don’t see is, how is it going to end?’

Three weeks later, Sybil said to Alicia Coombe, ‘We’ve got to go into that room sometimes.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I mean, it must be in a filthy state. Moths will be getting into things, and all that. We ought just to dust and sweep it and then lock it up again.’

‘I’d much rather keep it shut up and not go back in there,’ said Alicia Coombe.

Sybil said, ‘Really, you know, you’re even more superstitious than I am.’

‘I suppose I am,’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘I was much more ready to believe in all this than you were, but to begin with, you know – I – well, I found it exciting in an odd sort of way. I don’t know. I’m just scared, and I’d rather not go into that room again.’

‘Well, I want to,’ said Sybil, ‘and I’m going to.’

‘You know what’s the matter with you?’ said Alicia Coombe. ‘You’re simply curious, that’s all.’

‘All right, then I’m curious. I want to see what the doll’s done.’

‘I still think it’s much better to leave her alone,’ said Alicia. ‘Now we’ve got out of that room, she’s satisfied. You’d better leave her satisfied.’ She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘What nonsense we are talking!’

‘Yes. I know we’re talking nonsense, but if you tell me of any way of not talking nonsense – come on, now, give me the key.’

‘All right, al

l right.’

‘I believe you’re afraid I’ll let her out or something. I should think she was the kind that could pass through doors or windows.’

Sybil unlocked the door and went in. ‘How terribly odd,’ she said. ‘What’s odd?’ said Alicia Coombe, peering over her shoulder. ‘The room hardly seems dusty at all, does it? You’d think, after being shut up all this time –’

‘Yes, it is odd.’

‘There she is,’ said Sybil.

The doll was on the sofa. She was not lying in her usual limp position. She was sitting upright, a cushion behind her back. She had the air of the mistress of the house, waiting to receive people.

‘Well,’ said Alicia Coombe, ‘she seems at home all right, doesn’t she? I almost feel I ought to apologize for coming in.’

‘Let’s go,’ said Sybil.

She backed out; pulling the door to, and locked it again.

The two women gazed at each other. ‘I wish I knew,’ said Alicia Coombe, ‘why it scares us so much . . .’

‘My goodness, who wouldn’t be scared?’

‘Well, I mean, what happens, after all? It’s nothing really – just a kind of puppet that gets moved around the room. I expect it isn’t the puppet itself – it’s a poltergeist.’

‘Now that is a good idea.’

‘Yes, but I don’t really believe it. I think it’s – it’s that doll.’

‘Are you sure you don’t know where she really came from?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said Alicia. ‘And the more I think of it the more I’m perfectly certain that I didn’t buy her, and that nobody gave her to me. I think she – well, she just came.’

‘Do you think she’ll – ever go?’

‘Really,’ said Alicia, ‘I don’t see why she should . . . She’s got all she wants.’

But it seemed that the doll had not got all she wanted. The next day, when Sybil went into the showroom, she drew in her breath with a sudden gasp. Then she called up the stairs.

‘Miss Coombe, Miss Coombe, come down here.’

Tags: Agatha Christie Miss Marple Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net