Agatha Christie - 4.50 from Paddington

‘No, I don’t suppose it would be difficult.’

‘I understand that Mr Crackenthorpe is said locally to be somewhat of a miser. If you accept a low salary, I will make it up to the proper figure which should, I think, be rather more than the current rate.’

‘Because of the difficulty?’

‘Not the difficulty so much as the danger. It might, you know, be dangerous . It’s only right to warn you of that.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lucy pensively, ‘that the idea of danger would deter me.’

‘I didn’t think it would,’ said Miss Marple. ‘You’re not that kind of person.’

‘I dare say you thought it might even attract me? I’ve encountered very little danger in my life. But do you really believe it might be dangerous?’

‘Somebody,’ Miss Marple pointed out, ‘has committed a very successful crime. There has been no hue-and-cry, no real suspicion. Two elderly ladies have told a rather improbable story, the police have investigated it and found nothing in it. So everything is nice and quiet. I don’t think that this somebody, whoever he may be, will care about the matter being raked up—especially if you are successful.’

‘What do I look for exactly?’

‘Any signs along the embankment, a scrap of clothing, broken bushes—that kind of thing.’

Lucy nodded.

‘And then?’

‘I shall be quite close at hand,’ said Miss Marple. ‘An old maidservant of mine, my faithful Florence, lives in Brackhampton. She has looked after her old parents for years. They are now both dead, and she takes in lodgers—all most respectable people. She has arranged for me to have rooms with her. She will look after me most devotedly, and I feel I should like to be close at hand. I would suggest that you mention you have an elderly aunt living in the neighbourhood, and that you want a post within easy distance of her, and also that you stipulate for a reasonable amount of spare time so that you can go and see her often.’

Again Lucy nodded.

‘I was going to Taormina the day after to-morrow,’ she said. ‘The holiday can wait. But I can only promise three weeks. After that, I am booked up.’

‘Three weeks should be ample,’ said Miss Marple. ‘If we can’t find out anything in three weeks, we might as well give up the whole thing as a mare’s nest.’

Miss Marple departed, and Lucy, after a moment’s reflection, rang up a Registry Office in Brackhampton, the manageress of which she knew very well. She explained her desire for a post in the neighbourhood so as to be near her ‘aunt’. After turning down, with a little difficulty and a good deal of ingenuity, several more desirable places, Rutherford Hall was mentioned.

‘That sounds exactly what I want,’ said Lucy firmly.

The Registry Office rang up Miss Crackenthorpe, Miss Crackenthorpe rang up Lucy.

Two days later Lucy left London en route for Rutherford Hall.

Driving her own small car, Lucy Eyelesbarrow drove through an imposing pair of vast iron gates. Just inside them was what had originally been a small lodge which now seemed completely derelict, whether through war damage, or merely through neglect, it was difficult to be sure. A long winding drive led through large gloomy clumps of rhododendrons up to the house. Lucy caught her breath in a slight gasp when she saw the house which was a kind of miniature Windsor Castle. The stone steps in front of the door could have done with attention and the gravel sweep was green with neglected weeds.

She pulled an old-fashioned wrought-iron bell, and its clamour sounded echoing away inside. A slatternly woman, wiping her hands on her apron, opened the door and looked at her suspiciously.

‘Expected, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Miss Something-barrow, she told me.’

‘Quite right,’ said Lucy.

The house was desperately cold inside. Her guide led her along a dark hall and opened a door on the right. Rather to Lucy’s surprise, it was quite a pleasant sitting-room, with books and chintz-covered chairs.

‘I’ll tell her,’ said the woman, and went away shutting the door after having given Lucy a look of profound disfavour.

After a few minutes the door opened again. From the first moment Lucy decided that she liked Emma Crackenthorpe.

She was a middle-aged woman with no very outstanding characteristics, neither good-looking nor plain, sensibly dressed in tweeds and pullover, with dark hair swept back from her forehead, steady hazel eyes and a very pleasant voice.

She said: ‘Miss Eyelesbarrow?’ and held out her hand.

Then she looked doubtful.

‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if this post is really what you’re looking for? I don’t want a housekeeper, you know, to supervise things. I want someone to do the work.’

Lucy said that that was what most people needed.

Emma Crackenthorpe said apologetically:

‘So many people, you know, seem to think that just a little light dusting will answer the case—but I can do all the light dusting myself.’

‘I quite understand,’ said Lucy. ‘You want cooking and washing-up, and housework and stoking the boiler. That’s all right. That’s what I do. I’m not at all afraid of work.’

‘It’s a big house, I’m afraid, and inconvenient. Of course we only live in a portion of it—my father and myself, that is. He is rather an invalid. We live quite quietly, and there is an Aga stove. I have several brothers, but they are not here very often. Two women come in, a Mrs Kidder in the morning, and Mrs Hart three days a week to do brasses and things like that. You have your own car?’

‘Yes. It can stand out in the open if there’s nowhere to put it. It’s used to it.’

‘Oh, there are any amount of old stables. There’s no trouble about that.’ She frowned a moment, then said, ‘Eyelesbarrow—rather an unusual name. Some friends of mine were telling me about a Lucy Eyelesbarrow—the Kennedys?’

‘Yes. I was with them in North Devon when Mrs Kennedy was having a baby.’

Emma Crackenthorpe smiled.

‘I know they said they’d never had such a wonderful time as when you were there seeing to everything. But I had the idea that you were terribly expensive. The sum I mentioned—’

‘That’s quite all right,’ said Lucy. ‘I want particularly, you see, to be near Brackhampton. I have an elderly aunt in a critical state of health and I want to be within easy distance of her. That’s why the salary is a secondary consideration. I can’t afford to do nothing. If I could be sure of having some time off most days?’

‘Oh, of course. Every afternoon, till six, if you like?’

‘That seems perfect.’

Miss Crackenthorpe hesitated a moment before saying: ‘My father is elderly and a little—difficult sometimes. He is very keen on economy, and he says things sometimes that upset people. I wouldn’t like—’

Lucy broke in quickly:

‘I’m quite used to elderly people, of all kinds,’ she said. ‘I always manage to get on well with them.’

Emma Crackenthorpe looked relieved.

‘Trouble with father!’ diagnosed Lucy. ‘I bet he’s an old tartar.’

She was apportioned a large gloomy bedroom which a small electric heater did its inadequate best to warm, and was shown round the house, a vast uncomfortable mansion. As they passed a door in the hall a voice roared out:

‘That you, Emma? Got the new girl there? Bring her in. I want to look at her.’

Emma flushed, glanced at Lucy apologetically.

The two women entered the room. It was richly upholstered in dark velvet, the narrow windows let in very little light, and it was full of heavy mahogany Victorian furniture.

Old Mr Crackenthorpe was stretched out in an invalid chair, a silver-headed stick by his side.