IM iss Jane Marple was sitting by her window. The window looked over her garden, once a source of pride to her.
That was no longer so. Nowadays she looked out of the window and winced1. Active gardening had been forbidden herfor some time now. No stooping, no digging, no planting—at most a little light pruning2. Old Laycock who came threetimes a week, did his best, no doubt. But his best, such as it was (which was not much) was only the best according tohis lights, and not according to those of his employer. Miss Marple knew exactly what she wanted done, and when shewanted it done, and instructed him duly. Old Laycock then displayed his particular genius which was that ofenthusiastic agreement and subsequent lack of performance.
“That’s right, missus. We’ll have them mecosoapies there and the Canterburys along the wall and as you say itought to be got on with first thing next week.”
Laycock’s excuses were always reasonable, and strongly resembled those of Captain George’s in Three Men in aBoat for avoiding going to sea. In the captain’s case the wind was always wrong, either blowing off shore or in shore,or coming from the unreliable west, or the even more treacherous3 east. Laycock’s was the weather. Too dry—too wet—waterlogged—a nip of frost in the air. Or else something of great importance had to come first (usually to do withcabbages or brussels sprouts4 of which he liked to grow inordinate5 quantities). Laycock’s own principles of gardeningwere simple and no employer, however knowledgeable6, could wean him from them.
They consisted of a great many cups of tea, sweet and strong, as an encouragement to effort, a good deal ofsweeping up of leaves in the autumn, and a certain amount of bedding out of his own favourite plants, mainly astersand salvias—to “make a nice show,” as he put it, in summer. He was all in favour of syringeing roses for green-fly, butwas slow to get around to it, and a demand for deep trenching for sweet peas was usually countered by the remark thatyou ought to see his own sweet peas! A proper treat last year, and no fancy stuff done beforehand.
To be fair, he was attached to his employers, humoured their fancies in horticulture (so far as no actual hard workwas involved) but vegetables he knew to be the real stuff of life; a nice Savoy, or a bit of curly kale; flowers werefancy stuff such as ladies liked to go in for, having nothing better to do with their time. He showed his affection byproducing presents of the aforementioned asters, salvias, lobelia edging, and summer chrysanthemums7.
“Been doing some work at them new houses over at the Development. Want their gardens laid out nice, they do.
More plants than they needed so I brought along a few, and I’ve put ’em in where them old-fashioned roses ain’tlooking so well.”
Thinking of these things, Miss Marple averted8 her eyes from the garden, and picked up her knitting.
One had to face the fact: St. Mary Mead9 was not the place it had been. In a sense, of course, nothing was what ithad been. You could blame the war (both the wars) or the younger generation, or women going out to work, or theatom bomb, or just the Government—but what one really meant was the simple fact that one was growing old. MissMarple, who was a very sensible lady, knew that quite well. It was just that, in a queer way, she felt it more in St.
Mary Mead, because it had been her home for so long.
St. Mary Mead, the old world core of it, was still there. The Blue Boar was there, and the church and the vicarageand the little nest of Queen Anne and Georgian houses, of which hers was one. Miss Hartnell’s house was still there,and also Miss Hartnell, fighting progress to the last gasp10. Miss Wetherby had passed on and her house was nowinhabited by the bank manager and his family, having been given a face-lift by the painting of doors and windows abright royal blue. There were new people in most of the other old houses, but the houses themselves were littlechanged in appearances since the people who had bought them had done so because they liked what the house agentcalled “old world charm.” They just added another bathroom, and spent a good deal of money on plumbing11, electriccookers, and dishwashers.
But though the houses looked much as before, the same could hardly be said of the village street. When shopschanged hands there, it was with a view to immediate12 and intemperate13 modernization14. The fishmonger wasunrecognizable with new super windows behind which the refrigerated fish gleamed. The butcher had remainedconservative—good meat is good meat, if you have the money to pay for it. If not, you take the cheaper cuts and thetough joints15 and like it! Barnes, the grocer, was still there, unchanged, for which Miss Hartnell and Miss Marple andothers daily thanked Heaven. So obliging, comfortable chairs to sit in by the counter, and cosy16 discussions as to cutsof bacon, and varieties of cheese. At the end of the street, however, where Mr. Toms had once had his basket shopstood a glittering new supermarket—anathema to the elderly ladies of St. Mary Mead.
“Packets of things one’s never even heard of,” exclaimed Miss Hartnell. “All these great packets of breakfastcereal instead of cooking a child a proper breakfast of bacon and eggs. And you’re expected to take a basket yourselfand go round looking for things—it takes a quarter of an hour sometimes to find all one wants—and usually made upin inconvenient17 sizes, too much or too little. And then a long queue waiting to pay as you go out. Most tiring. Ofcourse it’s all very well for the people from the Development—”
At this point she stopped.
Because, as was now usual, the sentence came to an end there. The Development, Period, as they would say inmodern terms. It had an entity18 of its own, and a capital letter.
II
Miss Marple uttered a sharp exclamation19 of annoyance20. She’d dropped a stitch again. Not only that, she must havedropped it some time ago. Not until now, when she had to decrease for the neck and count the stitches, had sherealized the fact. She took up a spare pin, held the knitting sideways to the light and peered anxiously. Even her newspectacles didn’t seem to do any good. And that, she reflected, was because obviously there came a time whenoculists, in spite of their luxurious21 waiting rooms, the up-to-date instruments, the bright lights they flashed into youreyes, and the very high fees they charged, couldn’t do anything much more for you. Miss Marple reflected with somenostalgia on how good her eyesight had been a few (well, not perhaps a few) years ago. From the vantage point of hergarden, so admirably placed to see all that was going on in St. Mary Mead, how little had escaped her noticing eye!
And with the help of her bird glasses—(an interest in birds was so useful!)—she had been able to see—She broke offthere and let her thoughts run back over the past. Ann Protheroe in her summer frock going along to the Vicaragegarden. And Colonel Protheroe—poor man—a very tiresome22 and unpleasant man, to be sure—but to be murdered likethat—She shook her head and went on to thoughts of Griselda, the vicar’s pretty young wife. Dear Griselda—such afaithful friend—a Christmas card every year. That attractive baby of hers was a strapping23 young man now, and with avery good job. Engineering, was it? He always had enjoyed taking his mechanical trains to pieces. Beyond theVicarage, there had been the stile and the field path with Farmer Giles’s cattle beyond in the meadows where now—now….
The Development.
And why not? Miss Marple asked herself sternly. These things had to be. The houses were necessary, and theywere very well built, or so she had been told. “Planning,” or whatever they called it. Though why everything had to becalled a Close she couldn’t imagine. Aubrey Close and Longwood Close, and Grandison Close and all the rest ofthem. Not really Closes at all. Miss Marple knew what a Close was perfectly24. Her uncle had been a Canon ofChichester Cathedral. As a child she had gone to stay with him in the Close.
It was like Cherry Baker25 who always called Miss Marple’s oldworld overcrowded drawing room the “lounge.”
Miss Marple corrected her gently, “It’s the drawing room, Cherry.” And Cherry, because she was young and kind,endeavoured to remember, though it was obvious to her “drawing room” was a very funny word to use—and “lounge”
came slipping out. She had of late, however, compromised on “living-room.” Miss Marple liked Cherry very much.
Her name was Mrs. Baker and she came from the Development. She was one of the detachment of young wives whoshopped at the supermarket and wheeled prams26 about the quiet streets of St. Mary Mead. They were all smart and wellturned out. Their hair was crisp and curled. They laughed and talked and called to one another. They were like a happyflock of birds. Owing to the insidious27 snares28 of Hire Purchase, they were always in need of ready money, though theirhusbands all earned good wages; and so they came and did housework or cooking. Cherry was a quick and efficientcook, she was an intelligent girl, took telephone calls correctly and was quick to spot inaccuracies in the tradesmen’sbooks. She was not much given to turning mattresses29, and as far as washing up went Miss Marple always now passedthe pantry door with her head turned away so as not to observe Cherry’s method which was that of thrustingeverything into the sink together and letting loose a snowstorm of detergent30 on it. Miss Marple had quietly removedher old Worcester tea set from daily circulation and put it in the corner cabinet whence it only emerged on specialoccasions. Instead she had purchased a modern service with a pattern of pale grey on white and no gilt31 on itwhatsoever to be washed away in the sink.
How different it had been in the past… Faithful Florence, for instance, that grenadier of a parlourmaid—and therehad been Amy and Clara and Alice, those “nice little maids”—arriving from St. Faith’s Orphanage32, to be “trained,”
and then going on to betterpaid jobs elsewhere. Rather simple, some of them had been, and frequently adenoidal, andAmy distinctly moronic33. They had gossiped and chattered34 with the other maids in the village and walked out with thefishmonger’s assistant, or the undergardener at the Hall, or one of Mr. Barnes the grocer’s numerous assistants. MissMarple’s mind went back over them affectionately thinking of all the little woolly coats she had knitted for theirsubsequent offspring. They had not been very good with the telephone, and no good at all at arithmetic. On the otherhand, they knew how to wash up, and how to make a bed. They had had skills, rather than education. It was odd thatnowadays it should be the educated girls who went in for all the domestic chores. Students from abroad, girls au pair,university students in the vacation, young married women like Cherry Baker, who lived in spurious Closes on newbuilding developments.
There were still, of course, people like Miss Knight35. This last thought came suddenly as Miss Knight’s treadoverhead made the lustres on the mantelpiece tinkle36 warningly. Miss Knight had obviously had her afternoon rest andwould now go out for her afternoon walk. In a moment she would come to ask Miss Marple if she could get heranything in the town. The thought of Miss Knight brought the usual reaction to Miss Marple’s mind. Of course, it wasvery generous of dear Raymond (her nephew) and nobody could be kinder than Miss Knight, and of course that attackof bronchitis had left her very weak, and Dr. Haydock had said very firmly that she must not go on sleeping alone inthe house with only someone coming in daily, but—She stopped there. Because it was no use going on with thethought which was “If only it could have been someone other than Miss Knight.” But there wasn’t much choice forelderly ladies nowadays. Devoted37 maidservants had gone out of fashion. In real illness you could have a properhospital nurse, at vast expense and procured38 with difficulty, or you could go to hospital. But after the critical phase ofillness had passed, you were down to the Miss Knights39.
There wasn’t, Miss Marple reflected, anything wrong about the Miss Knights other than the fact that they weremadly irritating. They were full of kindness, ready to feel affection towards their charges, to humour them, to be brightand cheerful with them and in general to treat them as slightly mentally afflicted40 children.
“But I,” said Miss Marple to herself, “although I may be old, am not a mentally retarded41 child.”
At this moment, breathing rather heavily, as was her custom, Miss Knight bounced brightly into the room. She wasa big, rather flabby woman of fifty-six with yellowing grey hair very elaborately arranged, glasses, a long thin nose,and below it a good-natured mouth and a weak chin.
“Here we are!” she exclaimed with a kind of beaming boisterousness42, meant to cheer and enliven the sad twilightof the aged43. “I hope we’ve had our little snooze?”
“I have been knitting,” Miss Marple replied, putting some emphasis on the pronoun, “and,” she went on,confessing her weakness with distaste and shame, “I’ve dropped a stitch.”
“Oh dear, dear,” said Miss Knight. “Well, we’ll soon put that right, won’t we?”
“You will,” said Miss Marple. “I, alas44, am unable to do so.”
The slight acerbity45 of her tone passed quite unnoticed. Miss Knight, as always, was eager to help.
“There,” she said after a few moments. “There you are, dear. Quite all right now.”
Though Miss Marple was perfectly agreeable to be called “dear” (and even “ducks”) by the woman at thegreengrocer or the girl at the paper shop, it annoyed her intensely to be called “dear” by Miss Knight. Another of thosethings that elderly ladies have to bear. She thanked Miss Knight politely.
“And now I’m just going out for my wee toddle,” said Miss Knight humorously. “Shan’t be long.”
“Please don’t dream of hurrying back,” said Miss Marple politely and sincerely.
“Well, I don’t like to leave you too long on your own, dear, in case you get moped.”
“I assure you I am quite happy,” said Miss Marple. “I probably shall have” (she closed her eyes) “a little nap.”
“That’s right, dear. Anything I can get you?”
Miss Marple opened her eyes and considered.
“You might go into Longdon’s and see if the curtains are ready. And perhaps another skein of the blue wool fromMrs. Wisley. And a box of black currant lozenges at the chemist’s. And change my book at the library—but don’t letthem give you anything that isn’t on my list. This last one was too terrible. I couldn’t read it.” She held out The SpringAwakens.
“Oh dear dear! Didn’t you like it? I thought you’d love it. Such a pretty story.”
“And if it isn’t too far for you, perhaps you wouldn’t mind going as far as Halletts and see if they have one of thoseup-and-down egg whisks—not the turn-the-handle kind.”
(She knew very well they had nothing of the kind, but Halletts was the farthest shop possible.)“If all this isn’t too much—” she murmured.
But Miss Knight replied with obvious sincerity46.
“Not at all. I shall be delighted.”
Miss Knight loved shopping. It was the breath of life to her. One met acquaintances, and had the chance of a chat,one gossiped with the assistants, and had the opportunity of examining various articles in the various shops. And onecould spend quite a long time engaged in these pleasant occupations without any guilty feeling that it was one’s dutyto hurry back.
So Miss Knight started off happily, after a last glance at the frail47 old lady resting so peacefully by the window.
After waiting a few minutes in case Miss Knight should return for a shopping bag, or her purse, or a handkerchief(she was a great forgetter and returner), and also to recover from the slight mental fatigue48 induced by thinking of somany unwanted things to ask Miss Knight to get, Miss Marple rose briskly to her feet, cast aside her knitting andstrode purposefully across the room and into the hall. She took down her summer coat from its peg49, a stick from thehall stand and exchanged her bedroom slippers50 for a pair of stout51 walking shoes. Then she left the house by the sidedoor.
“It will take her at least an hour and a half,” Miss Marple estimated to herself. “Quite that—with all the peoplefrom the Development doing their shopping.”
Miss Marple visualized52 Miss Knight at Longdon’s making abortive53 inquiries54 re curtains. Her surmises55 wereremarkably accurate. At this moment Miss Knight was exclaiming, “Of course, I felt quite sure in my own mind theywouldn’t be ready yet. But of course I said I’d come along and see when the old lady spoke56 about it. Poor old dears,they’ve got so little to look forward to. One must humour them. And she’s a sweet old lady. Failing a little now, it’sonly to be expected—their faculties57 get dimmed. Now that’s a pretty material you’ve got there. Do you have it in anyother colours?”
A pleasant twenty minutes passed. When Miss Knight had finally departed, the senior assistant remarked with asniff, “Failing, is she? I’ll believe that when I see it for myself. Old Miss Marple has always been as sharp as a needle,and I’d say she still is.” She then gave her attention to a young woman in tight trousers and a sailcloth jersey58 whowanted plastic material with crabs59 on it for bathroom curtains.
“Emily Waters, that’s who she reminds me of,” Miss Marple was saying to herself, with the satisfaction it alwaysgave her to match up a human personality with one known in the past. “Just the same bird brain. Let me see, whathappened to Emily?”
Nothing much, was her conclusion. She had once nearly got engaged to a curate, but after an understanding ofseveral years the affair had fizzled out. Miss Marple dismissed her nurse attendant from her mind and gave herattention to her surroundings. She had traversed the garden rapidly only observing as it were from the corner of hereye that Laycock had cut down the old-fashioned roses in a way more suitable to hybrid60 teas, but she did not allow thisto distress61 her, or distract her from the delicious pleasure of having escaped for an outing entirely62 on her own. She hada happy feeling of adventure. She turned to the right, entered the Vicarage gate, took the path through the Vicaragegarden and came out on the right of way. Where the stile had been there was now an iron swing gate giving on to atarred asphalt path. This led to a neat little bridge over the stream and on the other side of the stream where once therehad been meadows with cows, there was the Development.
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1
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pruning
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| n.修枝，剪枝，修剪v.修剪（树木等）( prune的现在分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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sprouts
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| n.新芽，嫩枝( sprout的名词复数 )v.发芽( sprout的第三人称单数 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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knowledgeable
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| adj.知识渊博的；有见识的 | |
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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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plumbing
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| n.水管装置；水暖工的工作；管道工程v.用铅锤测量（plumb的现在分词）；探究 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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modernization
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| n.现代化，现代化的事物 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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prams
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| n.（手推的）婴儿车( pram的名词复数 ) | |
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insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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detergent
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| n.洗涤剂；adj.有洗净力的 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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orphanage
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| n.孤儿院 | |
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moronic
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| a.低能的 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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boisterousness
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| n.喧闹；欢跃；（风暴）狂烈 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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acerbity
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| n.涩，酸，刻薄 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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50
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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52
visualized
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| 直观的，直视的 | |
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53
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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56
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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57
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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58
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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59
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60
hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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61
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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