Agatha Christie: Elephants Can Remember

"You were at one time a governess in a certain family," said Poirot. "The Ravenscrofts. Perhaps now you hardly remember them."

"Oh, yes, one does not forget, you know, things that happen when you were young. There was a girl, and a boy about four or five years younger in the family I went to. They were nice children. Their father was a general in the Army."

"There was also another sister."

"Ah, yes, I remember. She was not there when I first came.

I think she was delicate. Her health was not good. She was having treatment somewhere."

"You remember their mother's Christian name?"

"Margaret, I think was one. The other one I am not sure of by now."

"Dorothea."

"Ah, yes. A name I have not often come across. But they called each other by shorter names. Molly and Dolly. They were identical twins, you know, remarkably alike. They were both very handsome young women."

"And they were fond of each other?"

"Yes, they were devoted. But we are, are we not, becoming slightly confused? Preston-Grey is not the name of the children I went to teach. Dorothea Preston-Grey married a major-ah, I cannot remember the name now. Arrow? No, Jarrow."

"Ravenscroft," said Poirot.

"Ah, that. Yes. Curious how one cannot remember names. The Preston-Greys are a generation older. Margaret Preston-Grey had been in a pensionnat in this part of the world, and when she wrote after her marriage asking Madame Benoit, who ran that pensionnat, if she knew of someone who would come to her as nursery-governess to her two children, I was recommended. That is how I came to go there. I spoke only of the other sister because she happened to be staying there during part of my time of service with the children. The children were a girl, I think then of six or seven. She had a name out of Shakespeare, I remember. Rosalind or Celia."

"Celia," said Poirot.

"And the boy was only about three or four. His name was Edward. A mischievous but lovable child. I was happy with them."

"And they were happy, I hear, with you. They enjoyed playing with you and you were very kind in your playing with them."

"Moi, j'aime les enfants," said Mademoiselle Rouselle.

"They called you Maddy, I believe." She laughed.

"Ah, I like hearing that word. It brings back past memories."

"Did you know a boy called Desmond? Desmond Burton-Cox?"

"Ah, yes. He lived, I think, in a house next door or nearly next door. We had several neighbors and the children very often came to play together. His name was Desmond. Yes, I remember."

"You were there long, mademoiselle?"

"No. I was only there for three or four years at most. Then I was recalled to this country. My mother was very ill. It was a question of coming back and nursing her, although I knew it would not be perhaps for very long. That was true. She died a year and a half or two years at the most after I returned here.

After that I started a small pensionnat out here, taking in rather older girls who wanted to study languages and other things. I did not visit England again, although for a year or two I kept up communication with the country. The two children used to send me a card at Christmas time."

"Did General Ravenscroft and his wife strike you as a happy couple?"

"Very happy. They were fond of their children."

"They were very well suited to each other?"

"Yes, they seemed to me to have all the necessary qualities to make their marriage a success."

"You said Mrs. Ravenscroft was devoted to her twin sister.

Was the twin sister also devoted to her?"

"Well, I had not very much occasion of judging. Frankly, I thought that the sister-Dolly, as they called her-was very definitely a mental case. Once or twice she acted in a very peculiar manner. She was a jealous woman, I think, and I understood that she had at one time thought she was engaged, or was going to be engaged, to Major Ravenscroft. As far as I could see, he'd fallen in love with her first, then later, however, his affections turned towards her sister, which was fortunate, I thought, because Molly Ravenscroft was a well-balanced and very sweet woman. As for Dolly-sometimes I thought she adored her sister, sometimes that she hated her. She was a very jealous woman and she decided too much affection was being shown to the children. There is one who could tell you about all this better than I. Mademoiselle Meauhourat. She lives in Lausanne and she went to the Ravenscrofts about a year and a half to two years after I had to leave. She was with them for some years. Later I believe she went back as companion to Mrs. Ravenscroft when Celia was abroad at school."

"I am going to see her. I have her address," said Poirot.

"She knows a great deal that I do not, and she is a charming and reliable person. It was a terrible tragedy that happened later. She knows if anyone does what led to it. She is very discreet. She has never told me anything. Whether she will tell you, I do not know. She may do, she may not." Poirot stood for a moment or two looking at Mademoiselle Meauhourat. He had been impressed by Mademoiselle Rouselle.

He was impressed also by the woman who stood waiting to receive him now. She was not so formidable, she was much younger, at least ten years younger, he thought, and she had a different kind of impressiveness. She was alive, still attractive, eyes that watched you and made their own judgment on you, willing to welcome you, looking with kindliness on those who came her way, but without undue softness. Here is someone, thought Hercule Poirot, very remarkable.

"I am Hercule Poirot, mademoiselle."

"I know. I was expecting you either today or tomorrow."

"Ah. You received a letter from me?"

"No. It is no doubt still in the post. Our posts are a little uncertain. No, I had a letter from someone else."

"From Celia Ravenscroft?"

"No. It was a letter written by someone in close touch with Celia. A boy or a young man, whichever we like to regard him as, called Desmond Burton-Cox. He prepared me for your arrival."

"Ah. I see. He is intelligent and he wastes no time, I think.

He was very urgent that I should come and see you."

"So I gathered. There's trouble, I understand. Trouble that he wants to resolve, and so does Celia. They think you can help them?"

"Yes, and they think that you can help me."

"They are in love with each other and wish to marry."

"Yes, but there are difficulties being put in their way."

"Ah, by Desmond's mother, I presume. So he lets me understand."

"There are circumstances, or have been circumstances, in Celia's life that have prejudiced his mother against his early marriage to this particular girl."

"Ah. Because of the tragedy, for it was a tragedy."

"Yes, because of the tragedy. Celia has a godmother who was asked by Desmond's mother to try and find out from Celia the exact circumstances under which that suicide occurred."

"There's no sense in that," said Mademoiselle Meauhourat.

She motioned with her hand. "Sit down. Please sit down. I expect we shall have to talk for some little time. Yes, Celia could not tell her godmother-Mrs. Ariadne Oliver, the novelist, is it not? Yes, I remember. Celia could not give her the information because she has not got the information herself."

"She was not there when the tragedy occurred, and no one told her anything about it. Is that right?"

"Yes, that is right. It was thought inadvisable."

"Ah. And do you approve of that decision or disapprove of it?"

"It is difficult to be sure. Very difficult. I've not been sure of it in the years that have passed since then, and there are quite a lot. Celia, as far as I know, has never been worried.

Worried, I mean, as to the why and wherefore. She's accepted it as she would have accepted an airplane accident or a car accident. Something that resulted in the death of her parents.