Sixteen
MOTHER’S SON
“D own, Henry,” said Mrs. Fane to an asthmatic spaniel whose liquid eyes burned with greed. “Another scone¹, MissMarple, while they’re hot?”
“Thank you. Such delicious scones². You have an excellent cook.”
“Louisa is not bad, really. Forgetful, like all of them. And no variety in her puddings. Tell me, how is DorothyYarde’s sciatica nowadays? She used to be a martyr³ to it. Largely nerves, I suspect.”
Miss Marple hastened to oblige with details of their mutual⁴ acquaintance’s ailments⁵. It was fortunate, she thought,that amongst her many friends and relations scattered⁶ over England, she had managed to find a woman who knew Mrs.
Fane and who had written explaining that a Miss Marple was at present in Dillmouth, and would dear Eleanor be verykind and ask her to something.
Eleanor Fane was a tall, commanding woman with a steely grey eye, crisp white hair, and a baby pink and whitecomplexion which masked the fact that there was no baby-like softness whatever about her.
They discussed Dorothy’s ailments or imagined ailments and went on to Miss Marple’s health, the air ofDillmouth, and the general poor condition of most of the younger generation.
“Not made to eat their crusts as children,” Mrs. Fane pronounced. “None of that allowed in my nursery.”
“You have more than one son?” asked Miss Marple.
“Three. The eldest⁷, Gerald, is in Singapore in the Far East Bank. Robert is in the Army.” Mrs. Fane sniffed⁸.
“Married a Roman Catholic,” she said with significance. “You know what that means! All the children brought up asCatholics. What Robert’s father would have said, I don’t know. My husband was very low church. I hardly ever hearfrom Robert nowadays. He takes exception to some of the things I have said to him

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