Chapter 9 Chapter nine

Miss Gilchrist slipped on her black felt hat and tucked into it a lock of gray hair that had fallen out.The investigative court was set at twelve o'clock in the noon, and it was only nearly eleven twenty.Her gray skirt and coat looked pretty good, she thought, and she bought a black baggy top.She wished she could wear black all over, but it was beyond her means.She looked around the tidy little bedroom, at some of the sketches hanging on the wall, Blackham Harbour, Kirkington Harbour, Anstey Harbour, Killance Harbour, Port Friedham, Babbecambe Harbor and so on, all the paintings are signed by Cora Lansquenett.A faded photograph of "Willow House Tea House" hung on the wardrobe door, carefully framed.Miss Gilchrist gazed at the photograph cherished, and sighed.

The downstairs doorbell rang, disturbing her dreams. "Oh!" murmured Miss Gilchrist, "I don't know who..." She walked out of the room and down the slightly rickety stairs.The doorbell rang again with an urgent knock. Miss Gilchrist felt nervous for some reason.Her steps slowed down for a while, and then she walked towards the door reluctantly, forcing herself not to be nervous. A handsome young woman in black was standing on the doorstep with a small suitcase.Noticing the alert look on Miss Gilchrist's face, she said quickly: "Miss Gilchrist? I am Mrs. Lansquenet's niece . . . Susan Banks."

"Well, yes, of course. I don't know. Come in quickly, Mrs. Banks. Watch out for the hall... a bit jutting out. Come in here, yes. I didn't know you were coming to the investigative court. I'll get some For... coffee or something." Susan Banks said briskly: "I don't want to drink anything. I'm sorry if I scared you." "Oh, you know you scare me, kind of. I'm really stupid. I'm usually not nervous. In fact. I told the lawyer that I'm not, and I'm not afraid of being here by myself, I'm not really a nervous person. It's just...maybe it's just because the Detective Court and... were thinking about something, but I've been on my nerves all morning. The doorbell rang about half an hour ago and I almost There's no way to open the door...this is stupid as hell, and besides, the murderer won't come back at a time like this...and why would he come back here?...and it's actually a nun, collecting money for orphans—I'm so relieved Big breath, so I gave her two shillings. I'm not a Roman Catholic, but I believe this poor man's sister is really doing good. Please sit down, Ben... Ben..."

"Banksy." "Yes, of course, Mrs. Bankes. You came by train?" "No, I came by car. The alleys here are so narrow that I drove a little farther to find an old quarry and drive the car in." "This alley is very narrow, but there are almost no cars coming here. This is a somewhat deserted alley." Miss Gilchrist trembled a little after she finished her last sentence. Susan Banks is looking at the interior. "Poor old Aunt Cora," she said. "She left me all she had, you know." "Yes, I know. Mr. Entwhistle told me. I expect you'll be happy with the furniture. You're only married, I know, and it's expensive to buy furniture these days. Lan Squinnet Mistress has some very nice stuff."

Susan disagrees.Cora has bad taste in antiques.Everything in the house is something between "modern" and "fake art". "I don't want any of the furniture here," she said. "I've got mine myself, you know. I'd like to auction them off. Unless...is there any you like? I'd love to..." She stopped, a little embarrassed.But Miss Gilchrist was not at all embarrassed.She smiled. "Really, it's very kind of you, Mrs. Banks... yes, it's very kind. I really appreciate it. But actually, you know, I've got my own. I've hoarded them for later In case... someday... I need to use it. There are some paintings left by my father. I used to have a small tea house, you know... but then the war came... very bad luck. But I didn't put it Everything was resold, and since I really hoped to have my own little home again one day, I hoarded the best stuff along with some of my father's paintings and some relics from our old home. But I'd like it very much, if you really don't mind, dear Mrs. Lansquenet's little coffee table, such a pretty little thing, we used to sit beside it and drink tea."

Susan looked with trepidation at a small green table painted with large purple clematis, and quickly said she would be happy to give it to her. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Banks. I'm a little greedy. I've got those beautiful sketches of her, you know, and a lovely garnet brooch, but I think maybe I should give you that brooch back." .” "No, no, really." "You want to see all her things? After the investigation, maybe?" "I think I'll stay here for a day or two, go through her stuff and clean up." "You mean, sleep here?" "Yes. Difficulty?"

"Oh no, Mrs. Bankes, of course not. I'll put fresh sheets on my bed, and I'll sleep on this couch no problem." "But, isn't there Aunt Kona's room? I can sleep in her room." "You... you are not taboo?" "You mean because she was murdered there? Oh no, I don't hold back. I'm very bold, Miss Gilchrist. The room is... I mean... all right?" Miss Gilchrist understood the problem. "Oh yes, Mrs. Bankes. All the blankets have gone to the laundromat and Mrs. Panter and I have cleaned the whole room thoroughly. And there are plenty of blankets. But come up and see for yourself."

She led the way upstairs, and Susan followed her. The room in which Cora Lansquenet died was clean and strangely devoid of sin.Like the living room, it's filled with "modern" and well-painted furniture that reveals Cora's cheerful but aesthetically lacking personality.Over the mantelpiece hung a painting of a busty young woman about to take her bath. Susan looked a little startled, and Miss Gilchrist said: "It was painted by Mrs. Lansquenet's husband. There are still many of his paintings in the dining room downstairs." "It's terrible." "Oh, I don't much like that style of painting myself...but Mrs Lansquenet is deeply proud of her husband as a painter, and thinks it sad that his work is not appreciated."

"Where are Aunt Cora's own paintings?" "It's in my room. Would you like to see it?" Miss Gilchrist proudly displays her collection. Susan expressed her opinion that Aunt Cora seemed to have a special liking for the seaside scenery. "Oh yes. You know, she and Mr. Lansquenet lived for several years in a little fishing village in Bredney. Small fishing boats are always picturesque, aren't they?" "Obviously," murmured Susan.These nuanced, brightly colored sketches of Cora Lansquenet could make a series of landscape cards, she thought.These paintings raise suspicions that they may in fact have been drawn from landscape cards.

But when she ventured to say this impression, Miss Gilchrist was indignant: "Mrs. Lansquenet has always been a scene sketch! In fact, she once waited hard for To capture the flavor of the sun so that the right light comes into the picture." "Mrs. Lansquenet is a real painter," said Miss Gilchrist reproachfully. She looked at her watch, and Susan said quickly: "By the way, it's time for us to go to the investigative court. Is it far away? Do you want me to drive here?" It was only five minutes' walk, Miss Gilchrist assured her.So they walked there together.Mr. Entwhistle, who came by train, met them and accompanied them into the village hall.

There seemed to be a large number of strangers in attendance, and the investigative court was not sensational.Deceased identity statement.Medical test report.No signs of struggling.The deceased may have been under anesthesia when attacked and died unknowingly.The time of death cannot be after four thirty.The closest estimate was between two and four thirty.Miss Gilchrist testified on the discovery of the body.An inspector and Inspector Maulton each testified.The coroner made a succinct report. "Murdered by someone or persons," the verdict was undisputed by the jury. The investigation is over.They walked back into the sunlight.Several cameras clicked.Mr. Entwhistle escorted Susan and Miss Gilchrist into the Samurai, where he had reserved a private lunch room. "I'm afraid it won't be a very good lunch," he said apologetically. Lunch wasn't too bad though.Miss Gilchrist, with a sore nose, murmured "It was awful," but immediately relaxed again, drank a glass of sherry at the insistence of Mr Entwhistle, and ate Irish stew.Mr Entwhistle said to Susan: "I didn't know you were coming today, Susan, or we could be together." "I know I said I wasn't going to court. But then there wouldn't be any family in court. I called George, but he said he was too busy to come, and Rosamund was auditioning, Uncle Timothy Of course it is even more impossible, he is a useless person. So I had to come." "Your husband didn't come with you?" "Greg had to go to that tiring shop." Seeing the startled look in Miss Gilchrist's eyes, Susan said, "My husband works in a pharmacy." A gentleman who worked in retail seemed an unlikely match for Miss Gilchrist's picture of a bright Susan, but she bravely said: "Oh yes, like Keats." "Greg is not a poet," Susan said. She added: "We have great plans for the future...a dual building...cosmetic and beauty salons, and special prescription laboratories." "That's much better," agreed Miss Gilchrist. "It's as if Elizabeth Arden is actually a baroness, I've been told that's the case... or Helena Rubinstein? Whoever it is," she added kindly, "a pharmacy is nothing like an ordinary shop." . . . say a fabric store, or a grocery store." "You owned a teahouse, you said so, didn't you?" "Yes, I did," said Miss Gilchrist, beaming.She never felt that the business of "Willow House" was the same as that of ordinary stores.In her mind, opening a teahouse is a high-class industry.She began to tell Susan about her "willow house". Mr. Entwhistle, who had heard it before, turned his mind to other matters.Susan had spoken to him twice without answering, and he hastily apologized to her. "Forgive me, honey, to be honest, I was thinking about your Uncle Timothy. I was a little worried." "Worried about Uncle Timothy? I don't. I don't believe there's anything wrong with him. He's just delusional." "Yes... yes, you may be right. I'm frankly not his physical health is my concern. It's Mrs. Timothy. Apparently she accidentally fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. She was lying in bed unable to move , and your uncle is in terrible shape." "Because he has to take care of her instead? It's good for him," Susan said. "Yes . "Life is hard on the elderly," Susan said. "They live in a Georgian manor house, don't they?" Mr Entwhistle nodded. They walked out of the "Golden Samurai" hotel with a little wariness, but the reporters seemed to have dispersed. Several reporters were lying at the gate of the villa waiting for Susan.Escorted by Mr. Entwhistle, she said a few necessary but innocuous words.Then she and Miss Gilchrist went in, and Mr Entwhistle returned to the Samurai, where he had booked a room.The funeral will be held the next day. "My car is still in the quarry," Susan said. "I forgot. I'll drive to the village later." Miss Gilchrist said anxiously: "It's not too late. You don't go out until it's dark, do you?" Susan looked at her and laughed. "You don't think the murderer is still around here?" "No... no, I don't think so." Miss Gilchrist looked embarrassed. "That's what she's thinking," thought Susan. "How funny!" Miss Gilchrist went to the kitchen. "I'm sure you'd like an early afternoon tea. How about another half an hour, Mrs Bankes?" Susan thought three-thirty afternoon tea was going too far, but she could appreciate that "a good cup of tea" was Miss Gilchrist's idea of ​​restoring tension, and that she had her own pleasure in pleasing Jill. Miss Christ's reason, therefore she said: "As you please, Miss Gilchrist." While Miss Gilchrist was happily busy in the kitchen, Susan came into the drawing room.Within a few minutes of her sitting down, the doorbell rang, accompanied by a very regular "dong dong". Susan went down the hall, and Miss Gilchrist appeared at the kitchen door, wearing a bib and rubbing her hands with flour. "My God, who do you think it is?" "Reporter again, I think," Susan said. "Oh, that's annoying, Mrs Bankes." "Oh, it's okay, I'll deal with it." "I'm making some round cakes for tea." Miss Gilchrist hesitated uneasily as Susan came to the door.Susan wondered if she thought a man with a hatchet was waiting outside the door. The visitor, however, was an elderly gentleman, who raised his hat when Susan opened the door, smiled at him, and said, like a man of the uncle's generation: "I suppose you are Mrs. Bankes?" "yes." "My name is Gusrie...Alexander Gusrie, and I am a friend of Mrs. Lansquenett...an old friend of many years, and you, I think, are her niece, formerly Susan Abernether Miss?" "good." "So since we already know who the other is, can I go in?" "certainly." Mr. Gusri carefully wiped the soles of his shoes on the pedals, walked in, took off his coat, put it on an oak box with his hat, and followed Susan into the living room. "It's a sad time," said Mr. Gurris, for whom grief seemed unnatural and whose habit was to smile. "Yes, very sad times. I live around here, and I figured at least I'd be able to attend the Inquiry Court...and the funeral, of course. Poor Cora...poor silly Cora. ​​I knew her not long after she got married. She is, my dear Mrs. Banks. A very spirited girl...and very serious about art...and the same for Peary Lansquenet...I mean, think of him as a painter. Overall, he didn't treat her badly. He went astray, if you know what I mean, yes, he did...but luckily Cora sees that as part of being an artist. He's an artist so Immortal! In fact, I'm not sure she doesn't go a step further and think he's immortal so he must be an artist! Poor Cora, not artistic at all...although, I'd say, she's otherwise sensual enough... …yes, surprisingly sensual.” "Everyone seemed to say that," Susan said. "I don't really know her." "Yes, yes, she's cut off from her family because they don't appreciate her baby Peary. She's not a pretty girl . . . but she has something. What's next, and you never know if her ignorance is real or if she's putting it on. She always makes us laugh. Eternal child... We always thought she was. And I ended up The first time I saw her (I came to see her occasionally after Peary's death) she still struck me as quite a child." Susan offered him a cigarette, but the old gentleman shook his head. "No, thank you, dear, I don't smoke. You must be wondering why I'm here? To tell you the truth, I feel a bit of a conscience, and I promised Cora to come and see her a few weeks ago. Usually I see her once a year." , however recently she has developed a habit of buying paintings at the local auction house, and asked me to look at some of the paintings she bought. I'm an art critic by profession, you know. Of course most of what Cora buys is shoddy stuff, But generally speaking, it's not a bad venture. The paintings sold at these country auctions are worth next to nothing, and the frames alone are worth more than what you pay for them. Certainly any important auction There will be connoisseurs present, and you won't be able to buy a masterpiece. However, just a few days ago, a small oil painting by Chewyp sold for a few pounds at a farm sale. The origin is very interesting. One family gave it to an old nurse who had served faithfully in his home for several years...they didn’t know its value. The old nurse gave it to a nephew who was plowing the fields and he liked to draw The horse in the picture thinks it is too dirty! Yes, yes, this kind of thing happens sometimes, and Cora is confident that she has a good eye for paintings. Of course she doesn't. Ask me to see a picture of her Bought a Rembrant painting last year. A Rembrant painting! Not even a good copy! But she was a blind cat met a dead mouse and bought a very good Bato Raji It's a pity that it got wet. I sold her for thirty pounds. Of course, this gave her great encouragement. She wrote to me happily and told me that she had bought a work before the Italian Revival. I promised her that I would Will come and have a look." "It's the one over there, I suppose," Susan said, pointing to a wall behind him. Mr. Gu Sirui stood up, put on a pair of glasses, and walked over to look at the painting. "Poor Cora," he said at last. "There's a lot more," Susan said. Gu Sirui casually inspected the collection of the hopeful Mrs. Lansquenett, occasionally clicked his tongue and sighed occasionally.Finally he took off his glasses. "Dust," he said, "is a wonderful thing, Mrs. Bankes! It can give a quaint romance to a poor forgery. I'm afraid that Batraj engraving is a mere accident." Bought it by luck. Poor Cora. ​​Yet it added a little spice to her life, and I'm really glad I didn't expose her delusion." "There are still some pictures in the dining room," said Susan, "but I think they are some of her husband's works." Mr. Gu Sirui trembled a little, raised his hand and shook it. "Don't force me to watch that again. It's not for my class! I've tried hard not to hurt Cora's feelings. A devoted wife . . . a very devoted wife. Well, dear Mrs. It's time to waste your time." "Oh, please do stay for your tea. I think it's almost over." "You are so kind." Mr. Gu Sirui quickly sat down again. "I gonna go see." In the kitchen Miss Gilchrist was taking the last round cake out of the oven.The tea sets are all ready, and the lids of the teapots are being lifted by the steam. "There is a Mr. Gu Sirui here. I invite him to stay for a cup of tea." "Mr. Gusrie? Oh yes, he's a good friend of dear Mrs. Lansquinette's. He's a famous art critic. What a coincidence; Strawberry jam, I've just made some more cupcakes. I'll make tea... the kettle is warm. Oh, Mrs. Bankes, don't take such a heavy tea tray. I'll do it." However, Susan picked up the tea tray and walked into the living room. Miss Gilchrist followed behind with a teapot and a hot water kettle, greeted Gu Siri, and then the three of them sat down to drink tea and have snacks. "Hot cakes, that's great," said Mr. Gusrie, "and such delicious jams! There's nothing like that you can buy these days." Miss Gilchrist blushed with delight.The cupcakes were wonderfully done, and the biscuits were extraordinary, and everyone ate them with gusto. The "Willow House" vibe is back, and Miss Gilchrist is clearly in the right place. "Oh, thanks, maybe I can still eat it," said Mr. Gusrie, taking the last piece of cake that Miss Gilchrist offered him. "Though I do feel a little ashamed... enjoying tea where poor Cora was brutally murdered." Miss Gilchrist gave an unexpected Victorian response. "Oh, but Mrs. Lansquenett would like you to have a nice cup of tea and a snack if she were alive. You've got to keep up your strength." "Yes, yes, maybe you're right. But the truth is, you know, one really can't believe that one knows...someone who really knows...will be murdered!" "I feel the same way," Susan said. "It really seems... unbelievable." "And certainly not by some tramp who happened to walk in. I can imagine, you know, why Cora was murdered..." Susan said quickly, "You can? Why?" "Oh, she's so careless," said Mr. Gusrie. "Korna's never been careful, and she likes to...how should I put it...showing how smart she is? Like a little kid who keeps someone else's secret. If Cora knew someone's secret she'd want to tell it. Even She promised not to say it, and she will say it anyway. She can't help it." Susan was silent, and so was Miss Gilchrist.She looked worried.Mr. Gu Sirui continued. "Yes, adding a little arsenic to a cup of tea... I wouldn't be surprised, or mailing a box of chocolates. But dastardly robbing and killing people... seems very inappropriate. I could be wrong, but I do think she didn't Something worth stealing. She didn't have much in the house, did she?" Miss Gilchrist said, "Very little." Mr. Gu Sirui sighed and stood up. "Ah! Anyway, there's been a lot of lawlessness since the war. Times have changed." He thanked them for their tea and bade them a polite farewell.Miss Gilchrist saw him out and helped him into his overcoat.From the living room window, Susan watched him walk towards the door with ease. Miss Gilchrist returned to the living room with a small package in her hand. "The postman must have been there when we went to the investigative court. He shoved it in through the letterbox and dropped it in the corner behind the door. I don't know. . . oh, sure, it must have been a wedding cake." Miss Gilchrist tore off the wrapping paper. Inside was a small white box tied with a silver ribbon. "Sure enough!" She undid the ribbon; inside was a modest wedge cake with almond paste and white icing. "That's great! Who is it..." She looked at the card above. "John and Mary...who could they be? Why are they so stupid that they didn't write their surnames?" Susan stood up from her contemplation and said vaguely: "Sometimes people use their first name and not their last name, it's really hard to read. I got a card the other day signed Joan. I counted and I know eight Joan's... Now that phones are so common, People often fail to recognize the handwriting." Miss Gilchrist thought happily of the John or Mary she had known. "Probably Durose's daughter... Her name is Mary, but I don't know of her ever engaged, let alone married. And there's a little John Banfield... I think he's old enough to marry." ... or Enfield's daughter ... no, her name's Margaret. There's no address or anything on it. Oh, what the hell, I bet it was addressed to me ..." She put away the tea things and went back to the kitchen, when Susan got up and said: "Uh... I think I'd better find a place to park."