Agatha Christie - Sad Cypress

Nurse O'Brien responded, "It was, indeed. And the flowers! Did you ever see such beautiful flowers? A harp of white lilies there was, and a cross of yellow roses. Beautiful!"

Nurse Hopkins sighed and helped herself to buttered teacake. The two nurses were sitting in the Blue Tit Cafe.

Nurse Hopkins went on: "Miss Carlisle is a generous girl. She gave me a nice present, though she'd no call to do so."

"She's a fine, generous girl," agreed Nurse O'Brien warmly. "I do detest stinginess."

Nurse Hopkins said, "Well, it's a grand fortune she's inherited."

Nurse O'Brien said, "I wonder -" and stopped.

Nurse Hopkins said, "Yes?" encouragingly.

"It was strange the way the old lady made no will."

"It was wicked," Nurse Hopkins said sharply. "People ought to be forced to make wills! It only leads to unpleasantness when they don't."

"I'm wondering," said Nurse O'Brien, "if she had made a will, how she'd have left her money?"

Nurse Hopkins said firmly, "I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"She'd have left a sum of money to Mary – Mary Gerrard."

"Yes indeed, and that's true," agreed the other. She added excitedly, "Wasn't I after telling you that night of the state she was in, poor dear, and the doctor doing his best to calm her down. Miss Elinor was there holding her auntie's hand and swearing by God Almighty," said Nurse O'Brien, her Irish imagination suddenly running away with her, "that the lawyer should be sent for and everything done accordingly. 'Mary. Mary' the poor old lady said. 'Is it Mary Gerrard you are meaning?' says Miss Elinor, and straightaway she swore that Mary should have her rights!"

Nurse Hopkins said rather doubtfully, "Was it like that?"

Nurse O'Brien replied firmly, "That was the way of it, and I'll tell you this, Nurse Hopkins: In my opinion, if Mrs. Welman had lived to make that will, it's likely there might have been surprises for all! Who knows she mightn't have left every penny she possessed to Mary Gerrard!"

Nurse Hopkins said dubiously, "I don't think she'd do that. I don't hold with leaving your money away from your own flesh and blood."

Nurse O'Brien said oracularly, "There's flesh and blood and flesh and blood."

Nurse Hopkins responded instantly, "Now, what might you mean by that?"

Nurse O'Brien said with dignity. "I'm not one to gossip! And I wouldn't be blackening anyone's name that's dead."

Nurse Hopkins nodded her head slowly and said, "That's right. I agree with you. Least said soonest mended."

She filled up the teapot.

Nurse O'Brien said, "By the way, now, did you find that tube of morphine all right when you got home?"

Nurse Hopkins frowned. She said, "No. It beats me to know what can have become of it, but I think it may have been this way: I might have set it down on the edge of the mantelpiece as I often do while I lock the cupboard, and it might have rolled and fallen into the waste-paper basket that was all full of rubbish and that was emptied out into the dustbin just as I left the house." She paused. "It must be that way, for I don't see what else could have become of it."

"I see," said Nurse O'Brien. "Well, dear, that must have been it. It's not as though you'd left your case about anywhere else – only just in the hall at Hunterbury – so it seems to me that what you suggested just now must be so. It's gone into the rubbish bin."

"That's right," said Nurse Hopkins eagerly. "It couldn't be any other way, could it?"

She helped herself to a pink sugar cake. She said, "It's not as though -" and stopped.

The other agreed quickly – perhaps a little too quickly.

"I'd not be worrying about it any more if I was you," she said comfortably.

Nurse Hopkins said, "I'm not worrying."

Young and severe in her black dress, Elinor sat in front of Mrs. Welman's massive writing table in the library. Various papers were spread out in front of her. She had finished interviewing the servants and Mrs. Bishop. Now it was Mary Gerrard who entered the room and hesitated a minute by the doorway.

"You wanted to see me, Miss Elinor?" she said.

Elinor looked up. "Oh, yes, Mary. Come here and sit down, will you?"

Mary came and sat in the chair Elinor indicated. It was turned a little toward the window, and the light from it fell on her face, showing the dazzling purity of the skin and bringing out the pale gold of the girl's hair.

Elinor held one hand shielding her face a little. Between the fingers she could watch the other girl's face. She thought, Is it possible to hate anyone so much and not show it?

Aloud she said in a pleasant, business-like voice, "I think you know, Mary, that my aunt always took a great interest in you and would have been concerned about your future."

Mary murmured in her soft voice, "Mrs. Welman was very good to me always."

Elinor went on, her voice cold and detached: "My aunt, if she had had time to make a will, would have wished, I know, to leave several legacies. Since she died without making a will, the responsibility of carrying out her wishes rests on me. I have consulted with Mr. Seddon, and by his advice we have drawn up a schedule of sums for the servants according to their length of service, etc."

She paused. "You, of course, don't come quite into that class."

She half hoped, perhaps, that those words might hold a sting, but the face she was looking at showed no change. Mary accepted the words at their face value and listened to what more was to come.

Elinor said, "Though it was difficult for my aunt to speak coherently, she was able to make her meaning understood that last evening. She definitely wanted to make some provision for your future."

Mary said quietly, "That was very good of her."

Elinor said brusquely, "As soon as probate is granted, I am arranging that two thousand pounds should be made over to you – that sum to be yours to do with absolutely as you please."

Mary's color rose. "Two thousand pounds? Oh, Miss Elinor, that is good of you! I don't know what to say."

Elinor said sharply, "It isn't particularly good of me, and please don't say anything."

Mary flushed. "You don't know what a difference it will make to me," she murmured.

Elinor said, "I'm glad."

She hesitated. She looked away from Mary to the other side of the room. She said with a slight effort, "I wonder – have you any plans?"

Mary said quickly, "Oh, yes. I shall train for something. Massage, perhaps. That's what Nurse Hopkins advises."

Elinor said, "That sounds a very good idea. I will try and arrange with Mr. Seddon that some money shall be advanced to you as soon as possible – at once, if that is feasible."

"You're very, very good, Miss Elinor," said Mary gratefully.

Elinor said curtly, "It was Aunt Laura's wish." She hesitated, then said, "Well, that's all, I think."

This time the definite dismissal in the words pierced Mary's sensitive skin. She got up, said quietly, "Thank you very much, Miss Elinor," and left the room.

Elinor sat quite still, staring ahead of her. Her face was quite impassive. There was no clue in it as to what was going on in her mind. But she sat there, motionless, for a long time.

Elinor went at last in search of Roddy. She found him in the morning-room. He was standing staring out of the window.

He turned sharply as Elinor came in.

She said, "I've got through it all! Five hundred for Mrs. Bishop – she's been here such years. A hundred for the cook and fifty each for Milly and Olive. Five pounds each to the others. Twenty-five for Stephens, the head gardener; and there's old Gerrard, of course, at the lodge. I haven't done anything about him yet. It's awkward. He'll have to be pensioned off, I suppose?"

She paused and then went on rather hurriedly: "I'm settling two thousand on Mary Gerrard. Do you think that's what Aunt Laura would have wished? It seemed to me about the right sum."