Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

Mickey woke up suddenly on Monday morning. For a while, she lay in bed in a daze.Her eyes were fixed on the door in bewilderment, for she expected Mrs. Angkatell to appear.What did Lucy say when she floated in here that first morning? A weekend of trouble?She had worried—had thought that something unpleasant might happen. Indeed, some unpleasant things happened - Mickey seemed to be under a heavy cloud psychologically and spiritually.Something she didn't want to think about—don't want to remember.Something, no doubt terrified her, something for Edward's sake. Memories flooded in.An ugly, stiff word--murder!

"Oh, no," thought Mitch, "this can't be real. It's a dream I'm having right now. John Crystal, murdered, shot— lying by the pool. Blood and blue water— —Like the hardcover cover of a detective novel. Grotesque, unreal. The kind of thing that can't happen to me. If we're still in Answick now, none of this can happen." The black weight moved down from her forehead and settled in her heart, making her feel slightly sick. This is not a dream.It was a real thing--something like the one in the News of the World--and she and Edward, Lucy, Henry and Henrietta were all involved.

It wasn't fair--it wasn't fair--because if Gerda had killed her husband, it was none of their business. Mickey was shaking uncomfortably. Peaceful, silly, slightly sentimental Gerda--you can't associate Gerda with melodrama--with violence. Gerda, of course, could not have killed anyone with a gun. The uneasiness in his body rose again.No, no, don't think that way.Because who else could kill John?And Gerda was standing next to his body, holding a revolver in his hand.The revolver she had taken out of Henry's study. Gerda said she found John dead and picked up the revolver.Oh, what else could she have said?She had to say something, poor thing.

Henrietta protected her, very well—it is entirely possible to say Gerda's statement.Decided that was a possible option. Henrietta was acting very oddly last night. Of course, that was the result of being shocked by John Crystal's death. Poor Henrietta--she was so madly in love with John. But she would recover from it in time - a man can recover from anything.Then she would marry Edward, and live in Ainswick - and Edward would live happily together. Henrietta had always been very fond of Edward.It's just John Christo's aggressive, dominant personality holding them back.He made Edward look so pale in comparison.

When Mitch came downstairs to breakfast that morning, she felt that Edward's personality had been liberated from the shadow of John Crystal and began to assert its own authority.He seemed more confident, with a lot less hesitation and burnout. He was talking happily to the scowling and unresponsive David. "You must go to Answick more often, Davy. I want you to feel at home there, and to know the whole place." After eating some marmalade, David said grimly: "These big industries are ridiculous and they should be broken up." "I hope that doesn't happen while I'm alive," Edward said with a smile. "My sharecroppers are pretty contented people."

"They shouldn't be like that," David said. "No one should be satisfied." "If the apes were ever content with having a tail—" murmured Mrs. Angkatell, who was standing at the sideboard, looking vacantly at a plate of kidneys. "That's a poem I learned in kindergarten, but I don't remember the rest of it at all. I have to talk to you, David, and learn all the new ideas. As far as I know, a person can hate other people, but at the same time Give them free medical attention and a lot of extra education (poor fellows, all those helpless little kids are herded into school buildings every day) - while cod liver oil is forced down babies' throats, It doesn't matter if they like it or not—that smelly stuff."

Lucy was behaving as usual, she thought, Mitch. And Gjeon, too, looked the same as usual when she passed him in the hall.Life in the fantasy manor seems to continue according to normal procedures.With Gerda gone, the whole event seemed like a dream. Then there was a rustle of wheels on the gravel outside, and it was Sir Henry pulling up the car.He spent the night at the club he belonged to and drove back early. "Oh dear," said Lucy, "is everything going well?" "Yes. The secretary there is a good girl. She takes care of everything. One of Gerda's sisters. The secretary called her."

"I know there will be," said Mrs Angkatell. "In Tunbridge Wells?" "Bears Hill, I think," said Sir Henry, looking puzzled. "I'm sure—" Lucy considered Bearshill. "Yes—very likely." Gazeon stepped forward. "Inspector Grange has called, Sir Henry. The trial will begin at eleven o'clock on Wednesday." Sir Henry nodded.Mrs Angkatell said: "Mitch, you'd better call your store." Mitch walked slowly towards the phone. Her life has been so ordinary and mundane that she lacks the words to explain to her employer that she won't be able to return to work on time after a four-day vacation due to her involvement in a murder.

It sounds implausible, and it doesn't even feel believable. And Mrs. Alfredge was not one to explain to her all the time. Mickey moved his jaw resolutely and picked up the microphone. Things were as unpleasant as she had imagined.The hoarse voice of the pointed little Jewish woman came over the telephone line angrily. "What's that, Miss Hardcastle? A death? A funeral? Don't you know very well that I'm short of hands? Don't you think I'll accept these excuses? Oh, yes, you had a good time." ,I'm sure!" Mitch interrupted her and said something sharply and clearly.

"Police? Police, what are you talking about?" It was almost screaming. "You got involved with the police?" Mickey was determined to follow through, and she continued to explain.Oddly enough, the woman on the other end of the line made the whole thing seem very dirty.A vulgar police case, what a marvelous alchemy of man! Edward opened the door and walked in, seeing Mitch on the phone, he wanted to go out.She stopped him. "Must stay, Edward, please. Oh, I want you to stay." Edward's presence gave her strength—to neutralize the old crone. She took her hand away from the receiver.

"What? Yes. I'm sorry, ma'am, but after all, it's hardly my fault—" That ugly hoarse voice was screaming. "Who are your friends? What kind of people are they to make the police go out there and a man get shot? I want so badly to keep you from coming back! I can't let the rules I established be violated destroy." Mitch made some more submissive, uncommitted replies.Finally she replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief.She was sick and shaking. "That's where my job is," she explained. "I've got to let them know I can't go back until Wednesday, because of the interrogation and the — the police." "I want them to be comfortable with it, what is it like, my clothing store? Is the woman who runs it kind? Is there compassion for the people who work for her?" "She's not like that, she's a Whitechapel Jewish woman with dyed hair and a voice like a crake." "But my dear Mickey—" The look of horror on Edward's face almost made Mitch laugh.He is so concerned. "But my dear boy—you don't deserve that. If you must have a job, you must find a place where the surroundings are harmonious and the co-workers are easy to get along with." Mitch looked at him and didn't answer for a moment. How to explain, she thought, to a man like Edward?What did Edward know about the labor market, or jobs? Suddenly a burst of bitterness welled up.Lucy, Henry, Edward--yes, even Henrietta--all of them were separated from her by an insurmountable gulf--the gulf which separated the leisure class from the working class. They don't know anything about the difficulty of finding a job once you get it.Just have to keep it!One might say that she has no need to earn money to support herself.Lucy and Henry would be glad to give her a home--and they would be equally glad to make her an allowance.Edward will also be happy to help. But something in Mitch objected to her accepting the comforts offered to her by those overly willing relatives, and it was only on rare occasions that she came and immersed herself in Lucy's well-ordered, luxurious life and felt joy.She can enjoy it.But a certain strong, independent spirit prevented her from accepting sponsorship to live on.The same feeling prevented her from starting her own business with money borrowed from relatives and friends.She had seen too much of that. She doesn't borrow money - doesn't use any leverage.She found herself a job for £4 a week, and if she was given the job because Mrs Alfred hoped that Mickey would bring her "society" friends shopping, then Alfred Mrs. Zhi must be very disappointed.Mitch never encouraged such thoughts among her friends. She has no fancy fantasies about work.She hated the store, she hated Mrs Alfred, she hated being perpetually groveling to the curmudgeon and impolite customers, but she very much doubted if she could get any other job she would have preferred.Because she doesn't have one of the necessary qualifications. Edward's notion of a wide world of options open up before her was just intolerable, and this morning had become exasperating.What right did Edward have to inhabit a world far removed from reality? They were Angkatells, all of them.And she's just half Angkatel!And sometimes, like this morning, she didn't feel like Angkatel at all!She is her father's daughter. With the usual pain and regret of love, she thought of her father, a middle-aged man with gray hair and a tired face.A man who has struggled for years to support a small family business.Even with his care and hard work, it was doomed to slowly go downhill.It's not because he's incompetent at that - it's the process of society. Oddly enough, Mickey's devotion is always devoted to her quiet, tired father, not to her brilliant Angkatel mother.Each time, when she went to Answick, she had a good time, and when she came back she would throw her arms around her father's neck, and answer the slightly disapproving question on his weary face: "Go back. I'm so glad to be home--I'm so glad to be home." When Mickey was thirteen, her mother died.Mitch sometimes wondered how little she knew about his mother.She's dazed, charming, and happy.Did she regret her marriage, the one that had taken her out of the circle of the Angkatells?Mitch doesn't know anything about it.Her father became darker and quieter after his wife's death.His fight to keep his store from closing has also become more futile.When Mickey was eighteen, he died quietly and quietly. Mickey had lived with various Angkatell relatives, received gifts from them, and spent happy times with them, but she refused to participate in the financial crisis. rely on their friendliness.Even though she loves them very much, many times, she will suddenly and strongly feel that there is a difference between her and them. She thought bitterly: "They don't know anything!" Edward, sensitive as ever, looked at her in bewilderment.He asked softly: "Did I make you sad? Why?" Lucy floated into the house.She was in the midst of a conversation with herself. "—you see, people don't really know if she likes White Hart or us?" Mitch looked at her blankly—and then at Edward. "It's useless to watch Edward," said Lucy Angkatel, "Edward would never understand, and you, Mickey, are always so sophisticated." "I don't understand what you're talking about, Lucy." Lucy looked surprised. "Of course it's an interrogation, my dear. Gerda had to come here for that. Will she stay here? Or go to White Hart? There will be painful associations here, of course—but at White Hart there will be There were people staring at her and a lot of reporters. Wednesday, you know, eleven o'clock, or eleven-thirty?" A smile brightened Mrs. Angkatell's face. "I've never been to an interrogation! I think I wear gray - and a hat, of course, like going to church - but no gloves." "You don't know," went on Mrs. Angkatell, crossing the room, picking up the receiver and watching intently, "I don't think I have any gloves these days except gardening gloves! Of course from the Back in the day, there was a lot of long tuxedo gloves in stock. Gloves are pretty silly, don't you think so?" "The only use is to avoid fingerprinting in crime," Edward said with a smile. "Oh, it's funny you say that, Edward—very funny. How am I going to deal with this?" Mrs Angkatell looked at the receiver with a hint of disgust. "Do you want to call someone?" "No." Mrs. Angkatell shook her head blankly, and put the receiver back on the shelf with great care. Her eyes moved from Edward to Mickey. "I don't think you should upset Mitch, Edward. Mitch cares more about sudden deaths than we do." "My dear Lucy," cried Edward, "I'm only worried about where Mickey works, and it sounds like a terrible place." "Edward thought I should have an appreciative, kind, compassionate employer," Mitch said plainly. "My dear Edward," said Lucy, with perfect approval. She smiled at Mickey and went out. "I'm serious, Mitch," Edward said, "I'm worried." She interrupts him: "That damned woman pays me four pounds a week. That's the crux of the matter." Then she went out into the garden. Sir Henry was standing where he usually stood under the low wall, but Mitch turned and started down the flower-path. Her relatives were very personable, but their charms were of no use to her this morning. David Angkatell was sitting on a stool at the end of the path. David had no exaggerated charm, and Mitch walked straight up to him, and sitting beside him, a malicious pleasure rose in her at the sight of his distressed expression. David thought how difficult it would be to try to avoid these people. The bedroom was cleaned by a maid. The study (and the Encyclopedia Britannica) were not the refuge he had optimistically hoped for.Mrs. Angkater came in and out twice, spoke to him in a friendly way, and made some dry comments. He had come out here to consider his situation.He had reluctantly agreed to spend a weekend here, and now the weekend had to be extended because of his involvement in the sudden death case. David is someone who likes to ponder the past of the school, or seriously discuss the future of the left wing. No one is capable of dealing with a status quo full of violence and reality.He didn't read the News of the World, as he had told Mrs. Angkatell.But now it seems that News of the World has come to Hollow House on its own. murder!David shuddered in disgust.What would his friends think?How, how does one commit murder?What is a person's attitude?bored?disgust?Still slightly happy? He was not at all happy to be interrupted by Mickey because he was thinking hard about these issues.He looked at her uneasily as she sat beside him. He was deeply moved by her defiant gaze.An unattractive girl without any intelligence. She said, "What do you think of your relatives?" David shrugged.He said: "Must a man think of his relatives?" Mitch says: "Is it true that one doesn't think about anything?" No doubt, David thought, she did.He said almost generously: "I'm analyzing my reaction to the murder." "Of course it's queer," Mitch said, "in the middle of a murder." David sighed and said: "Bored." That's the best attitude in a way. "All the clichés one can think of exist only in detective stories!" "You must regret coming here," Mitch said. David sighed. "Yes, I could have stayed in London with a friend of mine," he added. "He runs a left-wing bookshop." "I wish it was more comfortable here," Mitch said. "Does one really care about being comfortable?" David asked contemptuously. "There were so many times," says Mitch, "that I felt like I didn't care about anything else." "A pampered attitude to life," David said. "If you're a laborer—" Mitch interrupted him. "I'm a laborer. That's precisely why living comfortably is so attractive to me. Boxwood bed, down pillows - tea is gently placed next to the bed early in the morning - lots of hot water porcelain tubs—scented towels, the kind of easy chairs you sink right into..." Mitch stopped her listing. "Workers," said Davey, "should have all these things." But he's a little skeptical of the gently put down morning tea, which sounds like too much luxury for a world run by serious union workers. "I couldn't agree more," Mitch said heartily.