By the Pricking of My Thumbs. Агата Кристи

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ came running down the stairs.

      ‘It’s Mrs Lockett again, Miss Packard. She says she’s dying and she wants the doctor called at once.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Miss Packard, unimpressed, ‘what’s she dying from this time?’

      ‘She says there was mushroom in the stew yesterday and that there must have been fungi in it and that she’s poisoned.’

      ‘That’s a new one,’ said Miss Packard. ‘I’d better come up and talk to her. So sorry to leave you, Mrs Beresford. You’ll find magazines and papers in that room.’

      ‘Oh, I’ll be quite all right,’ said Tuppence.

      She went into the room that had been indicated to her. It was a pleasant room overlooking the garden with french windows that opened on it. There were easy chairs, bowls of flowers on the tables. One wall had a bookshelf containing a mixture of modern novels and travel books, and also what might be described as old favourites, which possibly many of the inmates might be glad to meet again. There were magazines on a table.

      At the moment there was only one occupant in the room. An old lady with white hair combed back off her face who was sitting in a chair, holding a glass of milk in her hand, and looking at it. She had a pretty pink and white face, and she smiled at Tuppence in a friendly manner.

      ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Are you coming to live here or are you visiting?’

      ‘I’m visiting,’ said Tuppence. ‘I have an aunt here. My husband’s with her now. We thought perhaps two people at once was rather too much.’

      ‘That was very thoughtful of you,’ said the old lady. She took a sip of milk appreciatively. ‘I wonder—no, I think it’s quite all right. Wouldn’t you like something? Some tea or some coffee perhaps? Let me ring the bell. They’re very obliging here.’

      ‘No thank you,’ said Tuppence, ‘really.’

      ‘Or a glass of milk perhaps. It’s not poisoned today.’

      ‘No, no, not even that. We shan’t be stopping very much longer.’

      ‘Well, if you’re quite sure—but it wouldn’t be any trouble, you know. Nobody ever thinks anything is any trouble here. Unless, I mean, you ask for something quite impossible.’

      ‘I daresay the aunt we’re visiting sometimes asks for quite impossible things,’ said Tuppence. ‘She’s a Miss Fanshawe,’ she added.

      ‘Oh, Miss Fanshawe,’ said the old lady. ‘Oh yes.’

      Something seemed to be restraining her but Tuppence said cheerfully,

      ‘She’s rather a tartar, I should imagine. She always has been.’

      ‘Oh, yes indeed she is. I used to have an aunt myself, you know, who was very like that, especially as she grew older. But we’re all quite fond of Miss Fanshawe. She can be very, very amusing if she likes. About people, you know.’

      ‘Yes, I daresay she could be,’ said Tuppence. She reflected a moment or two, considering Aunt Ada in this new light.

      ‘Very acid,’ said the old lady. ‘My name is Lancaster, by the way, Mrs Lancaster.’

      ‘My name’s Beresford,’ said Tuppence.

      ‘I’m afraid, you know, one does enjoy a bit of malice now and then. Her descriptions of some of the other guests here, and the things she says about them. Well, you know, one oughtn’t, of course, to find it funny but one does.’

      ‘Have you been living here long?’

      ‘A good while now. Yes, let me see, seven years—eight years. Yes, yes it must be more than eight years.’ She sighed. ‘One loses touch with things. And people too. Any relations I have left live abroad.’

      ‘That must be rather sad.’

      ‘No, not really. I didn’t care for them very much. Indeed, I didn’t even know them well. I had a bad illness—a very bad illness—and I was alone in the world, so they thought it was better for me to live in a place like this. I think I’m very lucky to have come here. They are so kind and thoughtful. And the gardens are really beautiful. I know myself that I shouldn’t like to be living on my own because I do get very confused sometimes, you know. Very confused.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘I get confused here. I mix things up. I don’t always remember properly the things that have happened.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Tuppence. ‘I suppose one always has to have something, doesn’t one?’

      ‘Some illnesses are very painful. We have two poor women living here with very bad rheumatoid arthritis. They suffer terribly. So I think perhaps it doesn’t matter so much if one gets, well, just a little confused about what happened and where, and who it was, and all that sort of thing, you know. At any rate it’s not painful physically.’

      ‘No. I think perhaps you’re quite right,’ said Tuppence.

      The door opened and a girl in a white overall came in with a little tray with a coffee pot on it and a plate with two biscuits, which she set down at Tuppence’s side.

      ‘Miss Packard thought you might care for a cup of coffee,’ she said.

      ‘Oh. Thank you,’ said Tuppence.

      The girl went out again and Mrs Lancaster said,

      ‘There, you see. Very thoughtful, aren’t they?’

      ‘Yes indeed.’

      Tuppence poured out her coffee and began to drink it. The two women sat in silence for some time. Tuppence offered the plate of biscuits but the old lady shook her head.

      ‘No thank you, dear. I just like my milk plain.’

      She put down the empty glass and leaned back in her chair, her eyes half closed. Tuppence thought that perhaps this was the moment in the morning when she took a little nap, so she remained silent. Suddenly however, Mrs Lancaster seemed to jerk herself awake again. Her eyes opened, she looked at Tuppence and said,

      ‘I see you’re looking at the fireplace.’

      ‘Oh. Was I?’ said Tuppence, slightly startled.

      ‘Yes. I wondered—’ she leant forward and lowered her voice. ‘—Excuse me, was it your poor child?’

      Tuppence slightly taken aback, hesitated.

      ‘I—no, I don’t think so,’ she said.

      ‘I wondered. I thought perhaps you’d come for that reason. Someone ought to come some time. Perhaps they will. And looking at the fireplace, the way you did. That’s where it is, you know. Behind the fireplace.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Tuppence. ‘Oh. Is it?’

      ‘Always the same time,’ said Mrs Lancaster, in a low voice. ‘Always the same time of day.’ She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Tuppence looked up also. ‘Ten past eleven,’ said the old lady. СКАЧАТЬ