Chapter 22 Section 22

"Talking words," said Mrs. Kidder, "but I try not to listen to gossip. But you can't believe what they say." She waited hopefully for her reaction. "Yes, I suppose so," said Lucy. "It's the gossip about the dead woman found in the 'Long Warehouse,'" went on Mrs. Kidder.Meanwhile, she was crawling on the kitchen floor, slowly moving backwards like a crab, scrubbing the floor. "They say she was Mr. Edmund's friend during the war, and now she's come here. A jealous husband comes with her, and kills her. A foreigner might do such a thing, but after all these years, That's unlikely to happen, don't you think?"

"I think that sounds unlikely." "But, they say, there are stranger things," said Mrs. Kidder. "They will say anything; they will. You will find it very strange. Some people say that Mr. Harold married A lady, now she came to England and found out that he married the baroness and committed bigamy. She was going to sue him. He asked her to talk here, and later killed her and put her body in the sarcophagus. Fresh!" "Scary!" said Lucy blankly, thinking of other things. "Of course, I wouldn't listen to their nonsense," said Mrs. Kidder with integrity. "I don't believe it myself, and I don't see how they could even think of it, let alone how to say it." Yes. I only hope these words don't come to Miss Emma's ears. She is a very decent lady. Miss Emma is! I never heard a word against her. Not a word. But, of course, Mr. Alfred is dead now, and no one will speak ill of him. Even if that was what they might say about him, it shouldn't be. But, miss, it's terrible gossip, isn't it? "

Mrs. Kidder spoke with gusto. "You must be very sorry to hear that," said Lucy. "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Kidder, "that was sad, and I said to my husband, and I said, 'How can they say that?'" Doorbell rang. "That's the doctor, miss. Will you open the door for him? Or shall I?" "I'll do it," said Lucy. But instead of a doctor, a tall, elegant woman in a ermine coat stood on the steps.Parked on the gravel drive was a Rolls-Royce, the engine still humming, and a driver at the wheel. "May I see Miss Crackenthorpe, please?"

It was a lovely voice, R's voice was slightly indistinct.The woman was also lovely, about thirty-five, with brown hair and a face beautifully groomed with expensive make-up. "I'm sorry," said Lucy, "but Miss Crackenthorpe is sick in bed and can't see anyone." "I know she's not feeling well lately, yes. But I have something important to see her." "I'm afraid—" began Lucy. The guest interrupted her. "I suppose you're Miss Esborough, aren't you?" She smiled--a charming smile. "My son told me about you, so I know your name. I'm Stoddard Baroness West, Alexander lives with me now."

"Oh, that's right," said Lucy. "And I do have some important business to see Miss Crackenthorpe," said the baroness. "I know all about her illness, and at the same time, believe me, this is not just a social call. It is It's about what those two boys told me. It's a very important thing, I think. I'd like to speak to Miss Crackenthorpe about it, and ask her, will you?" "Please come in," Lucy led the guests into the hall and then into the living room.Then she said, "I'll go upstairs and ask Miss Crackenthorpe." "The Baroness Stoddar West is here," she said, "and she has something special to see you about."

"Baroness Stoddar West?" Emma looked surprised.There was a panicked look on her face. "Nothing happened, did it? Boys—Alexander, nothing happened?" "No, no," said Lucy, "I'm sure the children are all right. She seems to have come for something the children told her, or suggested to her." "Oh, then—" Emma hesitated, "perhaps I ought to see her. Is it all right with me, Lucy?" "You look fine," said Lucy. Emma was sitting on the bed, with a soft light red shawl over her shoulders, which set off the rosy color of her face.Her brown hair has been combed neatly by the nurse.Lucy had a bottle of red leaves on her dresser the first day.Her room looked very nice, not like a sick room.

"I'm really well enough to get out of bed," said Emma. "Dr. Quinpo says I can get out of bed tomorrow." "You do seem to have recovered," said Lucy. "Shall I take Mrs. Stoddar West upstairs?" "Okay, let her come up." Lucy went downstairs again. "Come to Miss Crackenthorpe's room, will you?" She accompanied the guest upstairs, opened the door for her, let her in, and closed the door behind her.Baroness Stoddar West held out her hand and went to the bed. "Miss Crackenthorpe? I do apologize for breaking in. I think I saw you at their school ball game."

"Yes," said Emma, ​​"I remember you very well. Sit down, please." Mrs. Stoddar West sat down in a chair conveniently placed beside the bed, and spoke in a calm, low voice. "You must think it's very strange for me to come here like this. But I have a reason, a very important reason. You know what? The kids have been talking to me about a lot of things. You can see how excited they are about the murder that happened here .I tell you frankly, I didn't like it very much at the time. But my husband laughed. He said it was clearly a murder that had nothing to do with this villa and the people in it. He said that according to his childhood memories, and Jem According to Stein's letter home, he and Alexander were having a good time, and it would be cruel to take them back now. So I gave in and agreed to let them live in the rooms we had originally reserved, James will bring Alexander back with him."

Emma said: "You think we should have sent your son back sooner?" "No, no, that's not what I meant at all. Well, it's really hard for me to do this. But I have to say what I have to say. You know? Those two kids got a lot They told me that this woman—the one who was murdered—they said the police thought she might be your elder brother, the elder brother who died during the war, a French woman they knew in France, Is that what you said?" "That's a possibility," said Emma, ​​pausing a little. "One possibility we have to consider, maybe this is it."

"Is there any reason to believe that the body is that of this woman—this Martin's—?" "I have told you that it is a possibility." "But why—why did they think she was this Martine? Did she have letters with her?—any papers?" "No—nothing like that. But, you know, I got a letter from this Martin." "Did you get a letter from Martine?" "Yes. Got a letter telling me she was in England and wanted to see me. I invited her to come here, but got a telegram saying she was going back to France. Maybe she did, we don't know." .But, since that time, another envelope addressed to her has been found. That seems to indicate that she has come here, but, I really don't understand—" She broke off.

Mrs. Stoddar West broke in quickly and said: "You really don't understand what this has to do with me, do you? That's absolutely true. If I were you, I wouldn't understand. But when I hear this - or rather - this out-of-context Now, I had to find out if that was the case, because, if it were—" "How?" asked Emma. "Then I have to tell you something I wasn't going to tell you before—you know? I'm Martine." Emma looked intently at her visitor, as if she could not comprehend the meaning of what she said. "You?" she said. "You're Martine?" The other woman nodded desperately. "Yes, I'm sure you'll find it surprising. But, it's true, your brother Edmund and I knew each other early in the war. He was actually assigned to our house by the military. Well, the rest you We all know. We loved each other and were going to marry, but then there was a change in the Dunkirk retreat. Edmund was said to have disappeared, and later, there was a report that he was killed in battle. About that time I don't want to say anything to you. It was a long time ago. It's long gone. But I want to tell you that I love your brother very much. "Afterwards, it was the brutal reality of life during the war. The German army occupied France. I became an underground worker. I and some people were sent to help some British people go back to England through France. That's how I met my now husband. He was an Air Force officer who parachuted into France on a special mission. We got married at the end of the war. Once or twice I considered whether to write to you, or visit you, and decided not to. Old memories are of no use. I have a new life, and I don't wish to reminisce about the old." She paused, and then said, "However, I found out that my son James' best schoolmate was Edmund's. Nephew, I felt a strange relief at that time. I felt that Alexander was very like Edmund. I dare say you may feel that way yourself. I think it is a real surprise that James and Alexander should be such good friends. A pleasant thing." She leaned forward and put her hands on Emma's shoulders. "But as soon as I heard about the murder, and the dead woman who was supposed to be Martine, whom Edmund knew, I thought I must come and tell you the truth. You understand, dear Emma, Is it? One of you and I must go and report it to the police. Whoever the dead woman was, it wasn't Martine." "I can't believe it," said Emma, ​​"that you, you are the Martine of whom Edmund's letter speaks." She sighed, shook her head, and frowned in perplexity. "But I don't understand. Was it you, then, who wrote to me?" Countess Stoddar shook her head vigorously and said, "No, no, of course I didn't write to you." "Then—" Emma stopped suddenly. "Then someone must be pretending to be Martine, maybe trying to get some money from you. That must be the case. But who could it be?" Emma said slowly: "I think someone knew about you then." The other woman shrugged and said, "Maybe someone. But, no one was close to me at the time, no one was close to me. I've never talked about it since I came to England. And, why wait all these years?" What about writing later? It's very strange, very strange." "I don't understand the matter," said Emma. "We'll have to go to Inspector Craddock and see what he says." She looked at her guest suddenly very tenderly. "Honey, I'm very happy to finally meet you." "Me too. Edmond talks of you a lot. He likes you very much. I'm happy in a new life now. But I still can't quite forget the past." Emma leaned back and sighed deeply. "That puts my mind at ease," she said, "and if we were worried that the dead man might be Martine, the case seemed to have something to do with our family. But now, ah, I'm relieved. I don't know the poor Who is the woman in question, but she cannot possibly have anything to do with us."