Postern of Fate. Agatha Christie
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Название: Postern of Fate
Автор: Agatha Christie
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: Tommy & Tuppence
isbn: 9780007422739
isbn:
‘Well, I had to put Hannibal on the lead. There was something that looked like a verger who kept coming out of the church and I thought he wouldn’t like Hannibal because—well, you never know, Hannibal mightn’t like him and I didn’t want to prejudice people against us the moment we’d arrived.’
‘What did you want to look in the cemetery for?’
‘Oh, to see what sort of people were buried there. Lots of people, I mean it’s very, very full up. It goes back a long way. It goes back well in the eighteen-hundreds and I think one or two older than that, only the stone’s so rubbed away you can’t really see.’
‘I still don’t see why you wanted to go to the cemetery.’
‘I was making my investigations,’ said Tuppence.
‘Investigations about what?’
‘I wanted to see if there were any Jordans buried there.’
‘Good gracious,’ said Tommy. ‘Are you still on that? Were you looking for—’
‘Well, Mary Jordan died. We know she died. We know because we had a book that said she didn’t die a natural death, but she’d still have to be buried somewhere, wouldn’t she?’
‘Undeniably,’ said Tommy, ‘unless she was buried in this garden.’
‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ said Tuppence, ‘because I think that it was only this boy or girl—it must have been a boy, I think—of course it was a boy, his name was Alexander—and he obviously thought he’d been rather clever in knowing that she’d not died a natural death. But if he was the only person who’d made up his mind about that or who’d discovered it—well, I mean, nobody else had, I suppose. I mean, she just died and was buried and nobody said…’
‘Nobody said there had been foul play,’ suggested Tommy.
‘That sort of thing, yes. Poisoned or knocked on the head or pushed off a cliff or run over by a car or—oh, lots of ways I can think of.’
‘I’m sure you can,’ said Tommy. ‘Only good thing about you, Tuppence, is that at least you have a kindly heart. You wouldn’t put them into execution just for fun.’
‘But there wasn’t any Mary Jordan in the cemetery. There weren’t any Jordans.’
‘Disappointing for you,’ said Tommy. ‘Is that thing you’re cooking ready yet, because I’m pretty hungry. It smells rather good.’
‘It’s absolutely done à point,’ said Tuppence. ‘So, as soon as you’ve washed, we eat.’
‘Lots of Parkinsons,’ said Tuppence as they ate. ‘A long way back but an amazing lot of them. Old ones, young ones and married ones. Bursting with Parkinsons. And Capes, and Griffins and Underwoods and Overwoods. Curious to have both of them, isn’t it?’
‘I had a friend called George Underwood,’ said Tommy.
‘Yes, I’ve known Underwoods, too. But not Overwoods.’
‘Male or female?’ said Thomas, with slight interest.
‘A girl, I think it was. Rose Overwood.’
‘Rose Overwood,’ said Tommy, listening to the sound of it. ‘I don’t think somehow it goes awfully well together.’ He added, ‘I must ring up those electricians after lunch. Be very careful, Tuppence, or you’ll put your foot through the landing upstairs.’
‘Then I shall be a natural death, or an unnatural death, one of the two.’
‘A curiosity death,’ said Tommy. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’
‘Aren’t you at all curious?’ asked Tuppence.
‘I can’t see any earthly reason for being curious. What have we got for pudding?’
‘Treacle tart.’
‘Well, I must say, Tuppence, it was a delicious meal.’
‘I’m very glad you liked it,’ said Tuppence.
‘What is that parcel outside the back door? Is it that wine we ordered?’
‘No,’ said Tuppence, ‘it’s bulbs.’
‘Oh,’ said Tommy, ‘bulbs.’
‘Tulips,’ said Tuppence. ‘I’ll go and talk to old Isaac about them.’
‘Where are you going to put them?’
‘I think along the centre path in the garden.’
‘Poor old fellow, he looks as if he might drop dead any minute,’ said Tommy.
‘Not at all,’ said Tuppence. ‘He’s enormously tough, is Isaac. I’ve discovered, you know, that gardeners are like that. If they’re very good gardeners they seem to come to their prime when they’re over eighty, but if you get a strong, hefty-looking young man about thirty-five who says, “I’ve always wanted to work in a garden,” you may be quite sure that he’s probably no good at all. They’re just prepared to brush up a few leaves now and again and anything you want them to do they always say it’s the wrong time of year, and as one never knows oneself when the right time of year is, at least I don’t, well then, you see, they always get the better of you. But Isaac’s wonderful. He knows about everything.’ Tuppence added, ‘There ought to be some crocuses as well. I wonder if they’re in the parcel, too. Well, I’ll go out and see. It’s his day for coming and he’ll tell me all about it.’
‘All right,’ said Tommy, ‘I’ll come out and join you presently.’
Tuppence and Isaac had a pleasant reunion. The bulbs were unpacked, discussions were held as to where things would show to best advantage. First the early tulips, which were expected to rejoice the heart at the end of February, then a consideration of the handsome fringed parrot tulips, and some tulips called, as far as Tuppence could make out, viridiflora, which would be exceptionally beautiful with long stems in the month of May and early June. As these were of an interesting green pastel colour, they agreed to plant them as a collection in a quiet part of the garden where they could be picked and arranged in interesting floral arrangements in the drawing-room, or by the short approach to the house through the front gate where they would arouse envy and jealousy among callers. They must even rejoice the artistic feelings of tradesmen delivering joints of meat and crates of grocery.
At four o’clock Tuppence produced a brown teapot full of good strong tea in the kitchen, placed a sugar basin full of lumps of sugar and a milk jug by it, and called Isaac in to refresh himself before departing. She went in search of Tommy.
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