Название: Postern of Fate
Автор: Agatha Christie
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: Tommy & Tuppence
isbn: 9780007422739
isbn:
‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘that’s very interesting. Poor little boy.’
‘Oh, he wasn’t very young. He was at school somewhere, I think. Must have been about thirteen or fourteen.’
‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘it’s all very sad.’ She paused, then said, ‘Oh dear, I’m very late now. I must hurry off.’
‘I dare say Mrs Griffin could tell you a few things. I don’t mean things as she’d remember herself, but she was brought up here as a child and she heard a lot of things, and she tells people a lot sometimes about the families that were here before. Some of the things are real scandalous, too. You know, goings-on and all that. That was, of course, in what they call Edwardian times or Victorian times. I don’t know which. You know. I should think it was Victorian because she was still alive, the old Queen. So that’s Victorian, really. They talk about it as Edwardian and something called “the Marlborough House set”. Sort of high society, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Tuppence, ‘yes. High society.’
‘And goings-on,’ said Beatrice, with some fervour.
‘A good many goings-on,’ said Tuppence.
‘Young girls doing what they shouldn’t do,’ said Beatrice, loath to part with her mistress just when something interesting might be said.
‘No,’ said Tuppence, ‘I believe the girls led very—well, pure and austere lives and they married young, though often into the peerage.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Beatrice, ‘how nice for them. Lots of fine clothes, I suppose, race meetings and going to dances and ballrooms.’
‘Yes,’ said Tuppence, ‘lots of ballrooms.’
‘Well, I knew someone once, and her grandmother had been a housemaid in one of those smart houses, you know, as they all came to, and the Prince of Wales—the Prince of Wales as was then, you know, he was Edward VII afterwards, that one, the early one—well he was there and he was ever so nice. Ever so nice to all the servants and everything else. And when she left she took away the cake of soap that he’d used for his hands, and she kept it always. She used to show it to some of us children once.’
‘Very thrilling for you,’ said Tuppence. ‘It must have been very exciting times. Perhaps he stayed here in The Laurels.’
‘No, I don’t think as I ever heard that, and I would have heard it. No, it was only Parkinsons here. No countesses and marchionesses and lords and ladies. The Parkinsons, I think, were mostly in trade. Very rich, you know, and all that, but still there’s nothing exciting in trade, is there?’
‘It depends,’ said Tuppence. She added, ‘I think I ought—’
‘Yes, you’d best be going along, ma’am.’
‘Yes. Well, thank you very much, I don’t think I’d better put on a hat. I’ve got my hair awfully mussed now.’
‘Well, you put your head in that corner where the cobwebs is. I’ll dust it off in case you do it again.’
Tuppence ran down the stairs.
‘Alexander ran down there,’ she said. ‘Many times, I expect. And he knew it was “one of them”. I wonder. I wonder more than ever now.’
‘I am so very pleased that you and your husband have come here to live, Mrs Beresford,’ said Mrs Griffin, as she poured out tea. ‘Sugar? Milk?’
She pressed forward a dish of sandwiches, and Tuppence helped herself.
‘It makes so much difference, you know, in the country where one has nice neighbours with whom one has something in common. Did you know this part of the world before?’
‘No,’ said Tuppence, ‘not at all. We had, you know, a good many different houses to go and view—particulars of them were sent to us by the estate agents. Of course, most of them were very often quite frightful. One was called Full of Old World Charm.’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Griffin, ‘I know exactly. Old world charm usually means that you have to put a new roof on and that the damp is very bad. And “thoroughly modernized”—well, one knows what that means. Lots of gadgets one doesn’t want and usually a very bad view from the windows of really hideous houses. But The Laurels is a charming house. I expect, though, you have had a good deal to do to it. Everyone has in turn.’
‘I suppose a lot of different people have lived there,’ said Tuppence.
‘Oh yes. Nobody seems to stay very long anywhere nowadays, do they? The Cuthbertsons were here and the Redlands, and before that the Seymours. And after them the Joneses.’
‘We wondered a little why it was called The Laurels,’ said Tuppence.
‘Oh well, that was the kind of name people liked to give a house. Of course, if you go back far enough, probably to the time of the Parkinsons, I think there were laurels. Probably a drive, you know, curling round and a lot of laurels, including those speckled ones. I never liked speckled laurels.’
‘No,’ said Tuppence, ‘I do agree with you. I don’t like them either. There seem to have been a lot of Parkinsons here,’ she added.
‘Oh yes. I think they occupied it longer than anyone else.’
‘Nobody seems able to tell one much about them.’
‘Well, it was a long time ago, you see, dear. And after the—well, I think after the—the trouble you know, and there was some feeling about it and of course one doesn’t wonder they sold the place.’
‘It had a bad reputation, did it?’ said Tuppence, taking a chance. ‘Do you mean the house was supposed to be insanitary, or something?’
‘Oh no, not the house. No, really, the people you see. Well of course, there was the—the disgrace, in a way—it was during the first war. Nobody could believe it. My grandmother used to talk about it and say that it was something to do with naval secrets—about a new submarine. There was a girl living with the Parkinsons who was said to have been mixed up with it all.’
‘Was that Mary Jordan?’ said Tuppence.
‘Yes. Yes, you’re quite right. Afterwards they suspected that it wasn’t her real name. I think somebody had suspected her for some time. The boy had, Alexander. Nice boy. Quite sharp too.’