Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen Confused (Continued)

Miss Marple walked out of the vicarage door and down the lane leading to the high street. She leans on Julian.Reverend Harmon's stout tree cane, which walks fairly quickly. She passed the Red Bull store and the butcher shop, stopped in front of Elliott's antique shop, and looked in the window.The shop is cleverly located next door to the "Blue Bird" teahouse and coffeehouse, so that rich people who drive, wait until they stop, have a good cup of incense in the teahouse and taste a bit of the so-called "family Homemade Cakes', Mr. Eliot's tastefully decorated windows may be irresistible.

In this bow-shaped window, Mr. Elliott displays goods to suit every taste.Two Waterford glasses sit next to an immaculate chiller.A book case made of walnut wood of various shapes can be seen at a glance to be genuine.On a table in the window was an assortment of cheap locks and odd knick-knacks, including pieces of carved Dresden china, two ugly rosary necklaces, a Gift" and some stingy Victorian silverware. Miss Marple stared intently at what was in the window.Mr Elliott, the fat old spider, peered out of his spreading web, wondering if it was possible to catch the "fly" that had just arrived.

He concluded that the charming present "from Tunbridge" was too expensive for the lady who lived in the parsonage (Mr. Elliot knew who she was as well as anyone else, of course).At this moment, Miss Marple saw Miss Dora Bonner walk into the "Blue Bird" coffee house through the corner of her eye, so she immediately decided that she must drink a cup of delicious coffee to resist the cold wind. There are already four or five women in the coffee shop, and they come here to have a little refreshment, so as to make their morning shopping activities more interesting.Miss Marple blinked her eyes into the darkness of the "Blue Bird" house, pretending to be loitering skillfully, when suddenly, Miss Bonner's greeting sounded beside her: "Ah, good morning, Miss Marple. Come and sit here .I am alone."

"thanks." Miss Marple sat gratefully in one of those stiff little blue-painted armchairs that the Bluebird always provided. "Such a biting wind," she complained, "my legs are so rheumatic that I can't walk." "Ah, I see. I had sciatica one year—I was in pain most of the time." The two women talked for a while with gusto about rheumatism, sciatica, and neuritis.A sullen girl in a smock with flying bluebirds on it looked impatient, yawning and writing down their coffee and cake orders on the refreshment list. "The cake here," whispered Miss Bonner in a conspiratorial voice, "is pretty good."

"I was interested in that very pretty girl I met the other day on my way out of Miss Blacklock's," said Miss Marple. "I think she said she was a gardener. Is she local? Haynes— Is that the name?" "Ah, yes, Philippa Haymes. We all call her 'The Lodger.'" Miss Bonner laughed at her own humor. "A quiet and nice girl, a 'lady,' if you understand me meaning." "I wonder. I know a Colonel Hymes--in the Indian cavalry. Her father, perhaps?" "She was Mrs. Haymes, a widow. Her husband was killed in Sicily or in mainland Italy. Of course, it could have been her father."

"I don't know, maybe there's been a little romance?" Miss Marple hinted mischievously, "with that tall young man?" "You mean Patrick? Oh, I don't know—" "No, I mean the young man with the glasses. I saw them together." "Oh, of course, Edmund Swettenham. Hush! In the corner is his mother, Mrs. Swettenham. To be honest, I don't know.Do you think he adores her?He's a strange young man--says very nasty things all the time.He should be smart, you know. said Miss Bonner with obvious disapproval." "Smart isn't everything," said Miss Marple, shaking her head. "Ah, here's our coffee."

The sullen girl put down her coffee cup with a slam.Miss Marple and Miss Bonner pushed the cake to each other, "I'm very interested to hear that you and Miss Blacklock go to school together. Your friendship is really deep." "Yes, indeed," sighed Miss Bonner. "There are few people who are so faithful to old friends as Miss Blacklock. Oh, my God, those days seem so long ago. Such a pretty girl, and life It's such a good time. It all seems so sad." Miss Marple sighed and shook her head, though she didn't know what "so sad" was, "Life is so hard. she whispered.

"Bear the pain bravely," whispered Miss Bonner through tears, "I always think of that line. True patience, true withdrawal.Such courage and endurance should be rewarded, that's what I said.I cannot overstate my affection for Miss Blacklock, and she deserves whatever good returns she receives. " "Money," said Miss Marple, "can make a person's life very smooth." She felt it safe to say so, for she was sure that Miss Blacklock was dreaming of exactly the kind of affluence her friend had mentioned. However, this sentence led Miss Bonner to another line of thought.

"Money!" she exclaimed bitterly, "unless one has experienced it, you know, I don't believe anyone can really appreciate what it means to have money or not to have it." Miss Marple nodded sympathetically. Miss Bonner went on quickly.She spoke more and more vigorously, and her face became red: "I often hear people say, 'I would rather have flowers on the table than a meal without flowers.' But how many meals have these people been hungry? They don't know the real truth. What it's like to be hungry--it's impossible to know without being hungry. Bread, you know, a pot of broth, a little cream substitute. Every day is the same, what a longing for a plate or two piled high with meat and vegetables .And the clothes, tattered, patched and patched, and hope not to show. Then apply for a job, always told you are too old. Even if you find a job, after all, you are not strong enough, so you faint Down. And you're right back where you were. But the rent--it's always rent--has to be paid--or you're out on the street. There's not much left in those days. And the pension doesn't last long--at all It won't be long."

"I understand," said Miss Marple softly.She looked at Miss Bonner's pinched face with a glass of pity. "Afterwards I wrote to Lettie. I happened to see her name in a paper. It was a luncheon to finance Milchester Hospital. In black and white, Miss Letitia Blacklock. It evoked I haven't heard from her for years. She was a secretary to a very rich man—Godler, you know. She was always a bright girl—one of the The kind of person who goes ahead in the world. You can't judge by appearances—but that's what she is. I thought—yes, I thought—maybe she remembers me—that's the one I could turn to. I mean, when you met as girls—at school—they ought to have known you—they knew you were more than just a letter-begging—"

Tears welled up in Dora Bonner's eyes. "Then Lottie came and took me away - and said she needed someone to help her. Of course, I was very surprised--very surprised--but then I thought the newspapers couldn't be wrong.She's so kind - so compassionate and remembers so well... I'd do anything for her - I would. I'm trying too hard, but I'm afraid I mess things up sometimes - my brain isn't what it used to be.I forget three things and forget four things, and say stupid things.But she is very patient. The best thing about her is that she always pretends that I'm useful to her.This is kindness from the heart, isn't it? " Miss Marple said softly, "Yes, it's kindness from the heart." "Even when I'm in the paddock, you know, I'm often worried about what happens to my life in case—what happens to Miss Blacklock? After all, there are plenty of chances—the car whizzes by. But—no one can predict that, right? Of course I didn't say it, but she must have guessed something. One day, she suddenly told me that she would leave me a small sum in her will annuity--and--what I valued--all her beautiful furniture. I was overjoyed.... and she said that no one cherished furniture as much as I did--which was true--I Can't bear to see someone break beautiful china, or leave a mark on a wet glass by putting it on the table. I do look after things for her. Some people - especially some - are so carelessness—sometimes worse than carelessness!" "I'm not as stupid as I seem," Miss Bonner went on simply, "I can see, you know, that if Miss Blacklock were to be plotted against, someone—I won't name— But they will take advantage of it. My dear Miss Blacklock is perhaps too trusting." Miss Marple shook her head. "It was a mistake." "Yes. You and I, Miss Marple, know the world. My dear Miss Blacklock—" She shook her head. Miss Marple thought that, as the secretary of a great financier, Miss Blacklock should also be well versed in world affairs.Dora Bonner, however, may have meant that Letty Blacklock, who had always been pampered, was ignorant of the unfathomable depths of human nature. "That Patrick," said Miss Bonner, with such a suddenness and severity that Miss Marple was startled. "As far as I know, she asked for money at least twice. She pretended to be nervous, said she was in debt, and so on. She was too generous. When I tried to persuade her, she only said to me: 'The boy is young, Dora. When you are young, you want to enjoy yourself. '" "Yes, that's the truth. said Miss Marple, "and such a handsome young man again." " "To be handsome is to be handsome," said Dora Bonner, "but he's too fond of making fun of people. I reckon he has a hand with quite a few girls.I'm just an object of his amusement--that's all.He doesn't seem to realize that other people have feelings too. " "Young people are so inconsiderate," said Miss Marple. Miss Bonner suddenly leaned forward mysteriously. "You won't miss a word, my dear?" she demanded, "but I can't help feeling that he must have been involved in this dreadful business. I think he knew the young man—and Julia too." Yes. I dared not suggest such a thing to dear Miss Blacklock--but at least I did it, and she gave me a bloody scolding. Of course, such a thing was very embarrassing, because he was Her nephew—or at least her cousin. If that young Swiss guy shot himself, Patrick might be morally responsible, shouldn't he? I mean, if he Let that guy do it. I'm really confused by the whole thing. Everyone's making a fuss about the other door into the parlour. That's another thing that's bothering me—' said the inspector that the door was oiled .Because you see, I saw""" She broke off abruptly, and Miss Marple was picking out her words. "It's a real embarrassment for you," she said sympathetically. "Naturally you don't want these things to get to the police." "Exactly," exclaimed Dora Bonner, "I lay in bed at night worrying--because you see, I ran into Patrick one day in the bushes. I was looking for (another bird) Egg - laid by a hen (again bird) - and there he is, with a - 'feather and a cup - a greasy cup. When he sees me, he looks guilty He seemed taken aback. Tell me: 'I'm wondering what this thing is for here. 'Of course, he's thinking fast.I gotta say, although I startled him, he made it up pretty quickly.Unless he was looking for it, unless he knew perfectly well that it was there, how could he be looking for it in the bushes?Of course, I didn't say anything. " "Yes, yes, of course not." "But I gave him some face, if you know what I mean." Dora Bonner reached out and absent-mindedly took a bite of the blood-red cake the color of a salmon. "Another day I overheard a strange conversation he had with Julie Kie. They seem to be arguing.He said: 'If only I knew you did such a thing! ' said Julia (she's always calm, you know) 'Oh.Little brother, what do you want? ' And then, very unfortunately, I stepped on the board that creaked when I stepped on it, and they saw me.So I cheerfully asked: 'Are you arguing? ' Patrick said: 'I'm warning Julia not to continue doing this black market business. 'Oh, that's glib, but I don't believe they're talking about that at all!If you ask me, I believe it was Patrick who tampered with that lamp in the living room to put out the others, because I distinctly remember the shepherdess's--not the shepherd boy's.But the next day—" She stopped suddenly and turned pale.Miss Marple turned her head and saw Miss Blacklock standing behind them—must have just come in. "Coffee chat, Bonnie?" said Miss Blacklock, reproachfully. "Good morning, Miss Marple. It's cold, isn't it?" The door slammed open and Bunche Harmon ran into Bluebird. "Hello," she greeted, "did I miss my coffee?" "No, dear," said Miss Marple, "sit down and have a drink." "We've got to go home," said Miss Blacklock. "Are you done shopping, Bonnie?" Her voice was full of accommodating again, but there was still a hint of blame in her eyes. "Yes, yes, thank you, Litty. I've got to stop by the drugstore for some aspirin and (again) eye ointment." After the Bluebird's door closed behind them, Bunch asked, "What are you talking about?" Miss Marple made no immediate answer.She waited for Bench to finish his tea before she said, "Family unity is a very powerful thing. Very strong. Do you remember that famous case? I can't remember which one. They say the husband poisoned the wife, The poison was put in a glass of wine. At trial later, the daughter said she drank half of her mother's glass - and denied the charges against her father. They did say—but maybe it was just a rumour—that she never spoke to her father or lived with him after that.Of course, the father is one thing, and the nephew or cousin is another.But it's still the same—nobody wants a member of their family hanged, does they? " "Yes," Ben Qi said after thinking for a while, "I don't think they would be willing." Miss Marple leaned back on the chair, and she murmured to herself in a low voice: "People are so alike, they are the same everywhere they go." "Who am I like?" "You, darling, honestly, you're just like yourself. I don't know who to remind me of, except maybe—" "You are here again." Ben Qi said. "I'm thinking of my parlormaid, my dear." "Parlormaid? I'd make a terrible maid." "Yes, darling, and she too. She's no good standing at the table and waiting. The table is in a mess, the kitchen knives mixed with the dining-room knives, and her hat--it's It happened a long time ago—it was never worn." Bunch straightened his hat involuntarily. "And then?" she asked impatiently. ' "I kept her because she was such a joy to have in the house, because she always made me laugh. I liked the way she talked straight to the point. One day she said to me: 'Of course, I don't know, ma'am,' she said, 'But Flory sits like a married woman.' And sure enough, poor Flory was in trouble—with a suave young man who was an assistant in the hair salon. I'm with him After talking, they had a very nice wedding and settled down happily. Flory is a good girl, but she is easy to fall in love with her gentle appearance." "She didn't do the murder?" Bunch asked. "I mean the parlor maid." "No," said Miss Marple, "she married a Baptist minister and had a family of five." "Just like me," said Bunche, "though so far I've only had Edward and Susan." After a while, she added: "Who are you thinking about right now, Aunt Jane?" "A lot of people, my dear, a lot of people," replied Miss Marple vaguely. "At St. Mary Mead?" "Mainly... I think of Ellerton Hushi - such a wonderful and kind woman, she looked after an old lady and seemed to really like her. Then the old lady died. Then she took care of another , died again. It was morphine injection, and finally the truth came out. It was done in the most merciful way, and the horror is that the woman herself really didn't know what she did wrong. 'They don't live long anyway.' She said one of them had cancer and was quite miserable." "You mean to kill with good intentions?" "No, no. They made a will and left her the money. She's in it for the money, you know..." And then the young man in the paper—Mrs. Pusey of the paper shop nephew.He took the stolen things home for her to deal with, saying that he bought them abroad, and she believed it.Then the police came and started asking questions and he shoved it all over her head so she couldn't get rid of him... not a nice guy - but good looking and got two women to fall in love with him.He spent a lot of money on one of them. " "The dirtiest one, I think," said Bunche. "Yes, my dear. And there's Mrs. Clay of the Woolshop, who devoted herself to her son and spoiled him of course. As a result, he got entangled with a bunch of dubious people.Remember Joan Croft, Bunch? " "No, I don't remember." "I think you saw her when I visited with me. Often strutting around with a cigarette or a pipe in her mouth. A bank was robbed once, and Joan Croft happened to be in the bank. She beat the man He fell to the ground and grabbed the revolver. The judge also congratulated her for her heroic act. " Bunch listened intently, as if she wanted to take it all into her head. "And then—" she asked. "That summer, the girl from Saint-Jean de Corinth, such a quiet girl--not that she was quiet and taciturn, everyone liked her, but no one knew her very well... Later we heard that she Her husband was a forger, and that made her feel like she was apart from people. That last thing made her a little bit weird, and it was just frustration." "Is there any British colonel who served in India in your memory, my dear?" "Of course, my dear. There's a Major Vaughan in Larix and a Colonel Wright in Shimla Lodge. They're all right. But I do remember Mr. Hodgson, who went on a voyage and married a good Young woman to be his daughter. No idea where she came from—except of course she told him." "And she wasn't telling the truth?" "No. Definitely not, my dear." "Not bad." Bunch nodded, pointing out with his fingers, "We have wholehearted Dora, handsome Patrick, Mrs. Swettenham, Edmund, Philippa Haymes, Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook—if you ask me, you are quite right about her. But she had no reason for murdering Letitia Blacklock." "There are things that Miss Blacklock may know, but would rather not let others know." "Oh, dear, one of those old Tanqueray things? It must be as silent as the mountain." "Probably not. You see, Bunch, you're not the type to particularly care what people think of you." "I see what you mean," said Bunch suddenly. "If you rise up and resist, then, like a shivering cat that has lost its way, people will find a home, comfort, and a loving caress." People call you old girl, you've got a lot of admiration for you...you try to keep that...yeah, I gotta say, you've shown me all sorts of people." "But you don't see them very clearly," said Miss Marple mildly. "Really? I'm missing something? Julia? Julia, pretty Julia is queer." "Three shillings and sixpence," said the sullen waitress, coming out of the shadows. "Besides," she added, her breasts heaving violently under Bluebird, "I wonder, Mrs. Harmon, why you call me eccentric. I have an aunt who joins the ranks of the 'queer ones,' but I've never been an Episcopalian myself, and the Reverend Hopkins, retired, can tell you that." "I'm so sorry," Bunch said, "I was just quoting a song, I didn't mean you at all, I didn't know your name was Julie Ji." "Quite a coincidence," said the stern-faced waitress, and cheered up, "I'm sure no offense, but when my name is called, I'm thinking—well—naturally, if you feel people are talking about you , then it’s human nature to prick up your ears and listen. Thank you.” She took the tip and left. "Aunt Jane," Ben Qi said, "don't look so angry. What's the matter?" "To be sure," muttered Miss Marple to herself, "it can't be so. There's no reason—" "Aunt Jane!" Miss Marple sighed and smiled brightly. "It's nothing, dear," she said. "Do you think you know the murderer?" Bunch asked. "Who is it?" "I don't know," replied Miss Marple, "I had a sudden idea—and it disappeared. Wish I knew.The time is so short, it is simply too short. " "What do you mean short?" "That old lady in Scotland could die any moment." Bunch stared. "So you really believe in Pip and Emma? You think they did it—and they'll do it again?" "Of course they will strike again," Miss Marple said almost absent-mindedly. "If you strike once, there must be a second strike. Once you decide to kill someone, you will never give up because of the first miss." .Especially when you're sure you're not under suspicion." "But if it's Pip and Emma," said Bunch, "there's only two possible ones. It must be Patrick and Julie Kie. They're brother and sister, and just the right age." "It's not that simple at all, my dear. There are all kinds of outcomes and combinations. There's Pip's wife—if he's married, or Emma's husband. And their mother—even if she Impossible to have a direct inheritance, and she was the interested party. If Miss Blacklock hadn't seen her in thirty years, she might not recognize her by now. Older women look alike. You remember, Wotherspoon receives Mrs. Butler's share in addition to his own, although Mrs. Butler has been dead for many years. Besides, Miss Blacklock is short-sighted. Did you notice How does she see other people? And then there's the father, who's clearly a bad guy." "Yes, but he is a foreigner." "Birthwise. But there's no reason to believe that he spoke English as a pidgin, or necessarily danced when he spoke it. I dare say he might be playing the role of a British colonel serving in India, and with Everyone else did just as well.” "Is that what you think?" "No, no, really not, dear. I just thought there was a lot of money at stake, a lot of money. I'm afraid I know too well that people still do things to get a lot of money." What a terrible thing to do." "I suppose they would," said Bunche, "but it wouldn't do them any good, would it? It wouldn't?" "Yes—but they usually don't think so." "I can understand." Ben Qi suddenly smiled, quite sweetly, and his mouth crooked. "Everyone feels money differently... even I feel it," she muses. "You're kidding yourself that you're getting that money and you're going to do a lot of good. Make some plans...for abandoned children Provide a home. Tired mother... Send the old woman who has worked hard all her life to go abroad to recuperate..." Her expression became gloomy, and her eyes suddenly became sad. "I know what you're thinking," she said to Miss Marple. "You're thinking, I'm the worst kind of person, because I have children of my own. If you want that money out of selfishness, how can you?" Seeing your nature. But once you pretend you're using money for good, you're able to convince yourself that maybe killing people doesn't matter and her eyes light up again. "But I shouldn't," she said, "I shouldn't kill people at all. Not even old people, or sick people, or people who have done the worst things in the world. Not even blackmailers, or—or out-and-out beasts. She picked a fly out of the coffee grounds and put it on the table to dry, "Because people always like to be alive, don't they?"So do flies. Even if you are old and sick, you can only crawl out of the house into the sun.Julian said that these people prefer to live than the young and strong.He said that death is harder for them, so the struggle is even greater.I myself like to be alive - not just for happiness, enjoyment, and pleasure.I'm talking alive—waking up and feeling all over my body, feeling like I'm still there—like a clock ticking away. " She blew lightly on the fly: it moved its legs and flew away drunk. "Cheer up, dear Aunt Jane," said Bunch, "I will never kill anyone."