Agatha Christie - The Hollow

"All I 'ope is that they catch 'ooever done it and 'ang 'im," continued Mrs. Crabtree vindictively. "They don't 'ave 'angings in public like they used to once-more's the pity. I've always thought I'd like to go to an 'anging… And I'd go double quick, if you understand me, to see 'ooever killed the doctor 'anged! Real wicked, 'e must 'ave been.

Why, the doctor was one in a thousand! Ever so clever, 'e was! And a nice way with 'im!

Got you laughing whether you wanted to or not. The things 'e used to say sometimes!

I'd 'ave done anythink for the doctor, I would!"

"Yes," said Henrietta. "He was a very clever man. He was a great man."

"Think the world of 'im in the 'orspital, they do! All them nurses. And 'is patients!

Always felt you were going to get well when 'e'd been along."

"So you are going to get well," said Henrietta.

The little shrewd eyes clouded for a moment.

"I'm not so sure about that, ducky. I've got that mealy-mouthed young fellow with the spectacles now. Quite different to Dr. Christow. Never a laugh! 'E was a one. Dr. Christow was-always up to 'is jokes! Given me some norful times, 'e 'as, with this. treatment of 'is. 'I carn't stand any more of it, doctor,' I'd say to 'im and, 'Yes, you can, Mrs. Crabtree,' 'e'd say to me. 'You're tough, you are. You can take it. Going to make medical 'istory, you and I are.' And 'e'd jolly me along like. Do anythink for the doctor, I would 'ave! Expected a lot of you, 'e did, but you felt you couldn't let 'im down, if you know what I mean."

"I know," said Henrietta.

The little sharp eyes peered at her.

"Excuse me, dearie, you're not the doctor's wife by any chance?"

"No," said Henrietta, "I'm just a friend."

"I see," said Mrs. Crabtree.

Henrietta thought that she did see.

"What made you come along if you don't mind me arsking?"

"The doctor used to talk to me a lot about you-and about his new treatment. I wanted to see how you were."

"I'm slipping back-that's what I'm doing."

Henrietta cried:

"But you mustn't slip back! You've got to get well."

Mrs. Crabtree grinned.

«I don't want to peg out, don't you think it!"

"Well, fight then! Dr. Christow said you were a fighter."

"Did 'e now?" Mrs. Crabtree lay still a minute, then she said slowly:

"'Ooever shot 'im it's a wicked shame! There aren't many of 'is sort…"

We shall not see his like again… the words passed through Henrietta's mind. Mrs. Crabtree was regarding her keenly.

"Keep your pecker up, dearie," she said.

She added, " 'E 'ad a nice funeral, I 'ope."

"He had a lovely funeral," said Henrietta obligingly.

"Ar! Wish I could of gorn to it!"

Mrs. Crabtree sighed.

"Be going to me own funeral next, I expect."

"No," cried Henrietta. "You mustn't let go. You said just now that Dr. Christow told you that you and he were going to make medical history. Well, you've got to carry on by yourself. The treatment's just the same. You've got to have the guts for two -you've got to make medical history by yourself-for him."

Mrs. Crabtree looked at her for a moment or two.

"Sounds a bit grand! I'll do my best, ducky. Carn't say more than that."

Henrietta got up and took her hand.

"Good-bye. I'll come and see you again if I may."

"Yes, do. It'll do me good to talk about the doctor a bit." The bawdy twinkle came into her eye again. "Proper man in every kind of way. Dr. Christow."

"Yes," said Henrietta. "He was…"

The old woman said:

"Don't fret, ducky-what's gorn's gorn.

You can't 'ave it back…"

Mrs. Crabtree and Hercule Poirot, Henrietta thought, expressed the same idea in different language.

She drove back to Chelsea, put away the car in the garage and walked slowly to the studio.

Now, she thought, it has come. The moment I have been dreading-the moment when I am alone…

Now I can put it off no longer… Now grief is here with me.

What had she said to Edward? "I should like to grieve for John…"

She dropped down on a chair and pushed back the hair from her face.

Alone-empty-destitute…

This awful emptiness.

The tears pricked at her eyes, flowed slowly down her cheeks.

Grief, she thought, grief for John…

Oh, John-John…

Remembering-remembering… His voice, sharp with pain: If I were dead, the first thing you'd do, with the tears streaming down your face, would be to start modelling some damned mourning woman or some figure of grief.

She stirred uneasily… Why had that thought come into her head?

Grief… Grief… A veiled figure… its outline barely perceptible-its head cowled…

Alabaster…

She could see the lines of it-tall, elongated … its sorrow hidden, revealed only by the long mournful lines of the drapery …

Sorrow, emerging from clear transparent alabaster.

If I were dead…

And suddenly bitterness came over her full tide!

She thought, That's what I am! John was right. I cannot love-I cannot mourn-not with the whole of me… It's Midge, it's people like Midge who are the salt of the earth.

Midge and Edward at Ainswick…

That was reality-strength-warmth…

But I, she thought, am not a whole person.

I belong not to myself, but to something outside me…

I cannot grieve for my dead…

Instead I must take my grief and make it into a figure of alabaster…

"Exhibit N. 58 Grief, Alabaster. Miss Henrietta Savernake."

She said under her breath:

"John, forgive me… forgive me… for what I can't help doing…"