Agatha Christie - After the Funeral

"No – no – perhaps not. But she was very shrewd, Mr Entwhistle. Really very shrewd. It quite surprised me sometimes – how she managed to hit the nail on the head."

Mr Entwhistle looked at Miss Gilchrist with more interest. He thought that she was no fool herself.

"You were with Mrs Lansquenet for some years, I think?"

"Three and a half."

"You – er – acted as companion and also did the – er – well – looked after the house?"

It was evident that he had touched on a delicate subject. Miss Gilchrist flushed a little.

"Oh yes, indeed. I did most of the cooking – I quite enjoy cooking – and did some dusting and light housework. None of the rough, of course." Miss Gilchrist's tone expressed a firm principle. Mr Entwhistle who had no idea what "the rough" was, made a soothing murmur.

"Mrs Panter from the village came in for that. Twice a week regularly. You see, Mr Entwhistle, I could not have contemplated being in any way a servant. When my little tea-shop failed – such a disaster – it was the war, you know. A delightful place. I called it the Willow Tree and all the china was blue willow pattern – sweetly pretty – and the cakes really good – I've always had a hand with cakes and scones. Yes I was doing really well and then the war came and supplies were cut down and the whole thing went bankrupt – a war casualty, that is what I always say, and I try to think of it like that. I lost the little money my father left me that I had invested in it, and of course I had to look round for something to do. I'd never been trained for anything. So I went to one lady but it didn't answer at all – she was so rude and overbearing – and then I did some office work – but I didn't like that at all, and then I came to Mrs Lansquenet and we suited each other from the start – her husband being an artist and everything." Miss Gilchrist came to a breathless stop and added mournfully: "But how I loved my dear, dear little tea-shop. Such nice people used to come to it!"

Looking at Miss Gilchrist, Mr Entwhistle felt a sudden stab of recognition – a composite picture of hundreds of ladylike figures approaching him in numerous Bay Trees, Ginger Cats, Blue Parrots, Willow Trees and Cosy Corners, all chastely encased in blue or pink or orange overalls and taking orders for pots of china tea and cakes. Miss Gilchrist had a Spiritual Home – a lady-like tea-shop of Ye Olde Worlde variety with a suitable genteel clientele. There must, he thought, be large numbers of Miss Gilchrists all over the country, all looking much alike with mild patient faces and obstinate upper lips and slightly wispy grey hair.

Miss Gilchrist went on:

"But really I must not talk about myself. The police have been very kind and considerate. Very kind indeed. An Inspector Morton came over from headquarters and he was most understanding. He even arranged for me to go and spend the night at Mrs Lake's down the lane but I said 'No.' I felt it my duty to stay here with all Mrs Lansquenet's nice things in the house. They took the – the -" Miss Gilchrist gulped a little – "the body away, of course, and locked up the room, and the Inspector told me there would be a constable on duty in the kitchen all night – because of the broken window – it has been reglazed this morning, I am glad to say – where was I? Oh yes, so I said I should be quite all right in my own room, though I must confess I did pull the chest of drawers across the door and put a big jug of water on the window-sill. One never knows – and if by any chance it was a maniac – one does hear of such things…"

Here Miss Gilchrist ran down. Mr Entwhistle said quickly:

"I am in possession of all the main facts. Inspector Morton gave them to me. But if it would not distress you too much to give me your own account?"

"Of course, Mr Entwhistle. I know just what you feel. The police are so impersonal, are they not? Rightly so, of course."

"Mrs Lansquenet got back from the funeral the night before last," Mr Entwhistle prompted.

"Yes, her train didn't get in until quite late. I had ordered a taxi to meet it as she told me to. She was very tired, poor dear – as was only natural – but on the whole she was in quite good spirits."

"Yes, yes. Did she talk about the funeral at all?"

"Just a little. I gave her a cup of hot milk – she didn't want anything else – and she told me that the church had been quite full and lots and lots of flowers – oh! and she said that she was sorry not to have seen her other brother – Timothy – was it?"

"Yes, Timothy."

"She said it was over twenty years since she had seen him and that she hoped he would have been there, but she quite realised he would have thought it better not to come under the circumstances, but that his wife was there and that she'd never been able to stand Maude – oh dear, I do beg your pardon, Mr Entwhistle – it just slipped out – I never meant -"

"Not at all. Not at all," said Mr Entwhistle encouragingly. "I am no relation, you know. And I believe that Cora and her sister-in-law never hit it off very well."

"Well, she almost said as much. 'I always knew Maude would grow into one of those bossy interfering women,' is what she said. And then she was very tired and said she'd go to bed at once – I'd got her hot-water bottle in all ready – and she went up."

"She said nothing else that you can remember specially?"

"She had no premonition, Mr Entwhistle, if that is what you mean. I'm sure of that. She was really, you know, in remarkably good spirits – apart from tiredness and the – the sad occasion. She asked me how I'd like to go to Capri. To Capri! Of course I said it would be too wonderful – it's a thing I'd never dreamed I'd ever do – and she said, 'We'll go!' Just like that. I gathered – of course it wasn't actually mentioned that her brother had left her an annuity or something of the kind."

Mr Entwhistle nodded.

"Poor dear. Well, I'm glad she had the pleasure of planning – at all events." Miss Gilchrist sighed and murmured wistfully, "I don't suppose I shall ever go to Capri now…"

"And the next morning?" Mr Entwhistle prompted, oblivious of Miss Gilchrist's disappointments.

"The next morning Mrs Lansquenet wasn't at all well. Really, she looked dreadful. She'd hardly slept at all, she told me. Nightmares. 'It's because you were overtired yesterday,' I told her, and she said maybe it was. She had her breakfast in bed, and she didn't get up all the morning, but at lunch-time she told me that she still hadn't been able to sleep. 'I feel so restless,' she said. 'I keep thinking of things and wondering.' And then she said she'd take some sleeping tablets and try and get a good sleep in the afternoon. And she wanted me to go over by bus to Reading and change her two library books, because she'd finished them both on the train journey and she hadn't got anything to read. Usually two books lasted her nearly a week. So I went off just after two and that – and that – was the last time -" Miss Gilchrist began to sniff. "She must have been asleep, you know. she wouldn't have heard anything and the Inspector assures me that she didn't suffer… He thinks the first blow killed her. Oh dear, it makes me quite sick even to think of it!"

"Please, please. I've no wish to take you any further over what happened. All I wanted was to hear what you could tell me about Mrs Lansquenet before the tragedy."

"Very natural, I'm sure. Do tell her relations that apart from having such a bad night, she was really very happy and looking forward to the future.

Mr Entwhistle paused before asking his next question. He wanted to be careful not to lead the witness.

"She did not mention any of her relations in particular?"

"No, no, I don't think so." Miss Gilchrist considered. "Except what she said about being sorry not to see her brother Timothy."