MISS MARPLE HAS IDEAS
H aving had lunch in the dining room, Miss Marple went out on the terrace to drink her coffee. She was just sippingher second cup when a tall, thin figure came striding up the steps, and approached her, speaking rather breathlessly.
She saw that it was Anthea Bradbury-Scott.
“Oh, Miss Marple, we’ve only just heard, you know, that you didn’t go with the coach, after all. We thought youwere going on with the tour. We had no idea you were staying on here. Both Clotilde and Lavinia sent me here to saywe do so hope you will come back to The Old Manor1 House and stay with us. I’m sure it will be nicer for you to bethere. There are so many people coming and going here always, especially over a weekend and things like that. Sowe’d be very, very glad—we really would—if you would come back to us.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” said Miss Marple. “Really very kind, but I’m sure—I mean, you know it was just atwo-day visit. I meant originally to go off with the coach. I mean, after the two days. If it hadn’t been for this very,very tragic3 accident but—well, I really felt I couldn’t go on any longer. I thought I must have at least, well at least onenight’s rest.”
“But I mean it would be so much better if you came to us. We’d try and make you comfortable.”
“Oh, there’s no question of that,” said Miss Marple. “I was extremely comfortable staying with you. Oh yes, I didenjoy it very much. Such a beautiful house. And all your things are so nice. You know, your china and glass andfurniture. It’s such a pleasure to be in a home and not a hotel.”
“Then you must come with me now. Yes, you really must. I could go and pack your things for you.”
“Oh—well, that’s very kind of you. I can do that myself.”
“Well, shall I come and help you?”
“That would be very kind,” said Miss Marple.
They repaired to her bedroom where Anthea, in a somewhat slapdash manner, packed Miss Marple’s belongingstogether. Miss Marple, who had her own ways of folding things, had to bite her lip to keep an air of complacency onher face. Really, she thought, she can’t fold anything properly.
Anthea got hold of a porter from the hotel and he carried the suitcase round the corner and down the street to TheOld Manor House. Miss Marple tipped him adequately and, still uttering fussy5 little speeches of thanks and pleasure,rejoined the sisters.
“The Three Sisters!” she was thinking, “here we are again.” She sat down in the drawing room, and closed her eyesfor a minute, breathing rather fast. She appeared to be somewhat out of breath. It was only natural, she felt at her age,and after all Anthea and the hotel porter had set a fast pace. But really she was trying to acquire through her closedeyes what the feeling was she had on coming into this house again. Was something in it sinister6? No, not so muchsinister as unhappy. Deep unhappiness. So much so it was almost frightening.
She opened her eyes again and looked at the two other occupants of the room. Mrs. Glynne had just come in fromthe kitchen, bearing an afternoon tea tray. She looked as she had looked all along. Comfortable, no particular emotionsor feelings. Perhaps almost too devoid7 of them, Miss Marple thought. Had she accustomed herself, through perhaps alife of some stress and difficulty, to show nothing to the outer world, to keep a reserve and let no one know what herinner feelings were?
She looked from her to Clotilde. She had a Clytemnestra look, as she had thought before. She had certainly notmurdered her husband for she had never had a husband to murder and it seemed unlikely that she had murdered thegirl to whom she was said to have been extremely attached. That, Miss Marple was quite sure, was true. She had seenbefore how the tears had welled from Clotilde’s eyes when the death of Verity8 had been mentioned.
And what about Anthea? Anthea had taken that cardboard box to the post office. Anthea had come to fetch her.
Anthea—she was very doubtful about Anthea. Scatty? Too scatty for her age. Eyes that wandered and came back toyou. Eyes that seemed to see things that other people might not see, over your shoulder. She’s frightened, thoughtMiss Marple. Frightened of something. What was she frightened of? Was she perhaps a mental case of some kind?
Frightened perhaps of going back to some institution or establishment where she might have spent part of her life?
Frightened of those two sisters of hers feeling that it was unwise for her to remain at liberty? Were they uncertain,those two, what their sister Anthea might do or say?
There was some atmosphere here. She wondered, as she sipped9 the last of her tea, what Miss Cooke and MissBarrow were doing. Had they gone to visit that church or was that all talk, meaningless talk? It was odd. Odd the waythey had come and looked at her at St. Mary Mead10 so as to know her again on the coach, but not to acknowledge thatthey had ever seen or met her before.
There were quite a lot of difficult things going on. Presently Mrs. Glynne removed the tea tray, Anthea went outinto the garden and Miss Marple was left alone with Clotilde.
“I think,” said Miss Marple, “that you know an Archdeacon Brabazon, do you not?”
“Oh yes,” said Clotilde, “he was in church yesterday at the service. Do you know him?”
“Oh no,” said Miss Marple, “but he did come to the Golden Boar and he came and spoke11 to me there. I gather hehad been to the hospital and was enquiring12 about poor Miss Temple’s death. He wondered if Miss Temple had sentany message to him. I gather she was thinking of paying him a visit. But of course I told him that although I did gothere in case I could do anything there was nothing that could be done except sit by poor Miss Temple’s bed. She wasunconscious, you know. I could have done nothing to help her.”
“She didn’t say—say anything—any explanation of what had happened?” asked Clotilde.
She asked without much interest. Miss Marple wondered if she felt more interest than she expressed, but on thewhole she thought not. She thought Clotilde was busy with thoughts of something quite different.
“Do you think it was an accident?” Miss Marple asked, “Or do you think there is something in that story that Mrs.
Riseley-Porter’s niece told? About seeing someone pushing a boulder13.”
“Well, I suppose if those two said so, they must have seen it.”
“Yes. They both said so, didn’t they,” said Miss Marple, “though not quite in the same terms. But perhaps that’squite natural.”
Clotilde looked at her curiously14.
“You seem to be intrigued15 by that.”
“Well, it seems so very unlikely,” said Miss Marple, “an unlikely story, unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Well, I just wondered,” said Miss Marple.
Mrs. Glynne came into the room again.
“You just wondered what?” she asked.
“We’re talking about the accident, or the nonaccident,” said Clotilde.
“But who—”
“It seems a very odd story that they told,” said Miss Marple again.
“There’s something about this place,” said Clotilde suddenly. “Something about this atmosphere. We never gotover it here. Never. Never since—since Verity died. It’s years but it doesn’t go away. A shadow’s here.” She looked atMiss Marple. “Don’t you think so too? Don’t you feel a shadow here?”
“Well, I’m a stranger,” said Miss Marple. “It’s different for you and your sisters who’ve lived here and who knewthe dead girl. She was, I gather, as Archdeacon Brabazon was saying—a very charming and beautiful girl.”
“She was a lovely girl. A dear child too,” said Clotilde.
“I wish I’d known her better,” said Mrs. Glynne. “Of course I was living abroad at that time. My husband and Icame home on leave once, but we were mostly in London. We didn’t come down here often.”
Anthea came in from the garden. She was carrying in her hand a great bunch of lilies.
“Funeral flowers,” she said. “That’s what we ought to have here today, isn’t it? I’ll put them in a great jar. Funeralflowers,” and she laughed suddenly. A queer, hysterical16 little giggle17.
“Anthea,” said Clotilde, “don’t—don’t do that. It’s not—it’s not right.”
“I’ll go and put them in water,” said Anthea, cheerfully. She went out of the room.
“Really,” said Mrs. Glynne, “Anthea! I do think she’s—”
“She’s getting worse,” said Clotilde.
Miss Marple adopted an attitude of not listening or hearing. She picked up a small enamel18 box and looked at it withadmiring eyes.
“She’ll probably break a vase now,” said Lavinia.
She went out of the room. Miss Marple said,
“You are worried about your sister, about Anthea?”
“Well yes, she’s always been rather unbalanced. She’s the youngest and she was rather delicate as a girl. But lately,I think, she’s got definitely worse. She hasn’t got any idea, I think, of the gravity of things. She has these silly fits ofhysteria. Hysterical laughter at things one ought to be serious about. We don’t want to—well, to send her anywhere or—you know. She ought to have treatment, I think, but I don’t think she would like to go away from home. This is herhome, after all. Though sometimes it’s—it’s very difficult.”
“All life is difficult sometimes,” said Miss Marple.
“Lavinia talks of going away,” said Clotilde. “She talks of going to live abroad again. At Taormina, I think. Shewas there with her husband a lot and they were very happy. She’s been at home with us now for many years, but sheseems to have this longing4 to get away and to travel. Sometimes I think—sometimes I think she doesn’t like being inthe same house as Anthea.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Marple. “Yes, I have heard of cases like that where these difficulties do arise.”
“She’s afraid of Anthea,” said Clotilde. “Definitely afraid of her. And really, I keep telling her there’s nothing to beafraid of. Anthea’s just rather silly at times. You know, has queer ideas and says queer things. But I don’t think there’sany danger of her—well, I mean of—oh, I don’t know what I mean. Doing anything dangerous or strange or queer.”
“There’s never been any trouble of that kind?” enquired19 Miss Marple.
“Oh no. There’s never been anything. She gets nervous fits of temper sometimes and she takes rather suddendislikes to people. She’s very jealous, you know, over things. Very jealous of a lot of—well, fuss being made overdifferent people. I don’t know. Sometimes I think we’d better sell this house and leave it altogether.”
“It is sad for you, isn’t it,” said Miss Marple. “I think I can understand that it must be very sad for you living herewith the memory of the past.”
“You understand that, do you? Yes, I can see that you do. One cannot help it. One’s mind goes back to that dear,lovable child. She was like a daughter to me. She was the daughter, anyway, of one of my best friends. She was veryintelligent too. She was a clever girl. She was a good artist. She was doing very well with her art training anddesigning. She was taking up a good deal of designing. I was very proud of her. And then—this wretched attachment,this terrible mentally afflicted20 boy.”
“You mean Mr. Rafiel’s son, Michael Rafiel?”
“Yes. If only he’d never come here. It just happened that he was staying in this part of the world and his fathersuggested he might look us up and he came and had a meal with us. He could be very charming, you know. But healways had been a sad delinquent21, a bad record. He’d been in prison twice, and a very bad history with girls. But Inever thought that Verity … just a case of infatuation. I suppose it happens to girls of that age. She was infatuated withhim. Insisted that everything that had happened to him had not been his fault. You know the things girls say.
‘Everyone is against him,’ that’s what they always say. Everyone’s against him. Nobody made allowances for him.
Oh, one gets tired of hearing these things said. Can’t one put a little sense into girls?”
“They have not usually very much sense, I agree,” said Miss Marple.
“She wouldn’t listen. I—I tried to keep him away from the house. I told him he was not to come here any more.
That of course was stupid. I realized that afterwards. It only meant that she went and met him outside the house. Idon’t know where. They had various meeting places. He used to call for her in his car at an agreed spot and bring herhome late at night. Once or twice he didn’t bring her home until the next day. I tried to tell them it must stop, that itmust all cease, but they wouldn’t listen. Verity wouldn’t listen. I didn’t expect him to, of course.”
“She intended to marry him?” asked Miss Marple.
“Well, I don’t think it ever got as far as that. I don’t think he ever wanted to marry her or thought of such a thing.”
“I am very sorry for you,” said Miss Marple. “You must have suffered a lot.”
“Yes. The worst was having to go and identify the body. That was some time after—after she’d disappeared fromhere. We thought of course that she’d run away with him and we thought that we’d get news of them some time. Iknew the police seemed to be taking it rather seriously. They asked Michael to go to the police station and help themwith enquiries and his account of himself didn’t seem to agree with what local people were saying.
“Then they found her. A long way from here. About thirty miles away. In a kind of ditchy hedgy spot down anunfrequented lane where anyone hardly ever went. Yes, I had to go and view the body in the mortuary. A terriblesight. The cruelty, the force that had been used. What did he want to do that to her for? Wasn’t it enough that hestrangled her? He strangled her with her own scarf. I can’t—I can’t talk about it any more. I can’t bear it, I can’t bearit.”
Tears rained suddenly down her face.
“I’m sorry for you,” said Miss Marple. “I’m very, very sorry.”
“I believe you are.” Clotilde looked at her suddenly. “And even you don’t know the worst of it.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know—I don’t know about Anthea.”
“What do you mean about Anthea?”
“She was so queer at that time. She was—she was very jealous. She suddenly seemed to turn against Verity. Tolook at her as though she hated her. Sometimes I thought—I thought perhaps—oh no, it’s an awful thing to think, youcan’t think that about your own sister—she did once attack someone. You know, she used to get these storms of rage. Iwondered if it could have been—oh, I mustn’t say such things. There’s no question of any such thing. Please forgetwhat I’ve said. There’s nothing in it, nothing at all. But—but—well, she’s not quite normal. I’ve got to face that.
When she was quite young queer things happened once or twice—with animals. We had a parrot. A parrot that saidthings, silly things like parrots do say and she wrung22 its neck and I’ve never felt the same since. I’ve never felt that Icould trust her. I’ve never felt sure. I’ve never felt—oh, goodness, I’m getting hysterical, too.”
“Come, come,” said Miss Marple, “don’t think of these things.”
“No. It’s bad enough to know—to know that Verity died. Died in that horrible way. At any rate, other girls are safefrom that boy. Life sentence he got. He’s still in prison. They won’t let him out to do anything to anyone else. Thoughwhy they couldn’t bring it in as some mental trouble—diminished responsibility—one of these things they usenowadays. He ought to have gone to Broadmoor. I’m sure he wasn’t responsible for anything that he did.”
She got up and went out of the room. Mrs. Glynne had come back and passed her sister in the doorway23.
“You mustn’t pay any attention to Clotilde,” she said. “She’s never quite recovered from that ghastly businessyears ago. She loved Verity very much.”
“She seems to be worried about your other sister.”
“About Anthea? Anthea’s all right. She’s—er—well, she’s scatty, you know. She’s a bit—hysterical. Apt to getworked up about things, and she has queer fancies, imagination sometimes. But I don’t think there’s any need forClotilde to worry so much. Dear me, who’s that passing the window?”
Two apologetic figures suddenly showed themselves in the french window.
“Oh do excuse us,” said Miss Barrow, “we were just walking round the house to see if we could find Miss Marple.
We had heard she’d come here with you and I wonder—oh, there you are, my dear Miss Marple. I wanted to tell youthat we didn’t get to that church after all this afternoon. Apparently24 it’s closed for cleaning, so I think we shall have togive up any other expedition today and go on one tomorrow. I do hope you don’t mind us coming in this way. I didring at the front doorbell but it didn’t seem to be ringing.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t sometimes,” said Mrs. Glynne. “You know, it’s rather temperamental. Sometimes it rings andsometimes it doesn’t. But do sit down and talk to us a little. I’d no idea that you hadn’t gone with the coach.”
“No, we thought we would do a little sightseeing round here, as we had got so far, and going with the coach wouldreally be rather—well, rather painful after what has happened just a day or two ago.”
“You must have some sherry,” said Mrs. Glynne.
She went out of the room and presently returned. Anthea was with her, quite calm now, bringing glasses and adecanter of sherry, and they sat down together.
“I can’t help wanting to know,” said Mrs. Glynne, “what really is going to happen in this business. I mean of poorMiss Temple. I mean, it seems so very impossible to know what the police think. They still seem to be in charge, and Imean the inquest being adjourned25, so obviously they are not satisfied. I don’t know if there’s anything in the nature ofthe wound.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Miss Barrow. “I mean a blow on the head, bad concussion—well, I mean that camefrom the boulder. The only point is, Miss Marple, if the boulder rolled itself down or somebody rolled it.”
“Oh,” said Miss Cooke, “but surely you can’t think that—who on earth would want to roll a boulder down, do thatsort of thing? I suppose there are always hooligans about. You know, some young foreigners or students. I reallywonder, you know, whether—well—”
“You mean,” said Miss Marple, “you wondered if that someone was one of our fellow travellers.”
“Well, I—I didn’t say that,” said Miss Cooke.
“But surely,” said Miss Marple, “we can’t help—well, thinking about that sort of thing. I mean, there must be someexplanation. If the police seem sure it wasn’t an accident, well then it must have been done by somebody and—well, Imean, Miss Temple was a stranger to this place here. It doesn’t seem as if anyone could have done it—anyone local Imean. So it really comes back to—well, I mean, to all of us who were in the coach, doesn’t it?”
She gave a faint, rather whinnying old lady’s laugh.
“Oh surely!”
“No, I suppose I ought not to say such things. But you know, really crimes are very interesting. Sometimes themost extraordinary things have happened.”
“Have you any definite feeling yourself, Miss Marple? I should be interested to hear,” said Clotilde.
“Well, one does think of possibilities.”
“Mr. Caspar,” said Miss Cooke. “You know, I didn’t like the look of that man from the first. He looked to me—well, I thought he might have something to do with espionage26 or something. You know, perhaps come to this countryto look for atomic secrets or something.”
“I don’t think we’ve got any atomic secrets round here,” said Mrs. Glynne.
“Of course we haven’t,” said Anthea. “Perhaps it was someone who was following her. Perhaps it was someonewho was tracking her because she was a criminal of some kind.”
“Nonsense,” said Clotilde. “She was the Headmistress, retired27, of a very well-known school, she was a very finescholar. Why should anyone be trying to track her down?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She might have gone peculiar28 or something.”
“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Glynne, “that Miss Marple has some ideas.”
“Well, I have some ideas,” said Miss Marple. “It seems to me that—well, the only people that could be … Oh dear,this is so difficult to say. But I mean there are two people who just spring into one’s mind as possibilities logically. Imean, I don’t think that it’s really so at all because I’m sure they’re both very nice people, but I mean there’s nobodyelse really logically who could be suspected, should I say.”
“Who do you mean? This is very interesting.”
“Well, I don’t think I ought to say such things. It’s only a—sort of wild conjecture29.”
“Who do you think might have rolled the boulder down? Who do you think could have been the person that Joannaand Emlyn Price saw?”
“Well, what I did think was that—that perhaps they hadn’t seen anybody.”
“I don’t quite understand,” said Anthea, “they hadn’t seen anybody?”
“Well, perhaps they might have made it all up.”
“What—about seeing someone?”
“Well, it’s possible, isn’t it.”
“Do you mean as a sort of joke or a sort of unkind idea? What do you mean?”
“Well, I suppose—one does hear of young people doing very extraordinary things nowadays,” said Miss Marple.
“You know, putting things in horses’ eyes, smashing Legation windows and attacking people. Throwing stones, atpeople, and it’s usually being done by somebody young, isn’t it? And they were the only young people, weren’t they?”
“You mean Emlyn Price and Joanna might have rolled over that boulder?”
“Well, they’re the only sort of obvious people, aren’t they?” said Miss Marple.
“Fancy!” said Clotilde. “Oh, I should never have thought of that. But I see—yes, I just see that there could besomething in what you say. Of course, I don’t know what those two were like. I haven’t been travelling with them.”
“Oh, they were very nice,” said Miss Marple. “Joanna seemed to me a particularly—you know, capable girl.”
“Capable of doing anything?” asked Anthea.
“Anthea,” said Clotilde, “do be quiet.”
“Yes. Quite capable,” said Miss Marple. “After all, if you’re going to do what may result in murder, you’d have tobe rather capable so as to manage not to be seen or anything.”
“They must have been in it together, though,” suggested Miss Barrow.
“Oh yes,” said Miss Marple. “They were in it together and they told roughly the same story. They are the—well,they are the obvious suspects, that’s all I can say. They were out of sight of the others. All the other people were onthe lower path. They could have gone up to the top of the hill, they could have rocked the boulder. Perhaps they didn’tmean to kill Miss Temple specially2. They may have meant it just as a—well, just as a piece of anarchy30 or smashingsomething or someone—anyone in fact. They rolled it over. And then of course they told the story of seeing someonethere. Some rather peculiar costume or other which also sounds very unlikely and—well, I oughtn’t to say these thingsbut I have been thinking about it.”
“It seems to me a very interesting thought,” said Mrs. Glynne. “What do you think, Clotilde?”
“I think it’s a possibility. I shouldn’t have thought of it myself.”
“Well,” said Miss Cooke, rising to her feet, “we must be going back to the Golden Boar now. Are you coming withus, Miss Marple?”
“Oh no,” said Miss Marple. “I suppose you don’t know. I’ve forgotten to tell you. Miss Bradbury-Scott very kindlyasked me to come back and stay another night—or two nights—here.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I’m sure that’ll be very nice for you. Much more comfortable. They seem rather a noisy lot thathave arrived at the Golden Boar this evening.”
“Won’t you come round and have some coffee with us after dinner?” suggested Clotilde. “It’s quite a warmevening. We can’t offer you dinner because I’m afraid we haven’t got enough in the house, but if you’ll come in andhave some coffee with us….”
“That would be very nice,” said Miss Cooke. “Yes, we will certainly avail ourselves of your hospitality.”
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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verity
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| n.真实性 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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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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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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afflicted
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delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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