Chapter 5 chapter Five

1 Miss Marple awoke early, as she often did.She appreciates her bed.very comfortable. She clattered to the window and drew the curtains to let in the pale London morning light.However, despite this, she did not turn off the light.The room they had arranged for her was comfortable, also in keeping with Bertram's tradition.There was wallpaper with roses, a large chest of drawers in polished mahogany, and a dressing table to match.Two high-backed chairs and an easy chair at just the right height from the ground.A door to the side leads to a modern bathroom, but it's also covered in rose-coloured wallpaper, so it doesn't feel too cold and swish clean.

Miss Marple went back to bed, put the pillows together, glanced at her alarm clock, half past seven, picked up the prayer book she always carried with her, and read the page and a half allotted for the day as usual .Then she picked up knitting and started knitting. She was a little slow at first, because her fingers were a little stiff when she woke up, and she also had rheumatism.But she gradually knits faster, and her fingers are no longer stiff and painful. "Another day," Miss Marple said to herself, welcoming the new day with her usual cheerfulness.Another day -- and who knows what it might bring?

She put down her knitting and let herself relax and let the thoughts flow like a slow stream through her brain...Selina Hartz...what a lovely cottage she had in St. Mary Mead— But now someone puts an ugly green roof on it.. muffins.. what a waste of butter.. but it's delicious.. and a nice traditional fenugreek.She never expected, not for a moment, that everything would be the same as before... Because, after all, time is not static... It must cost a lot of money to deliberately stop time like this... There is not even a little bit of plastic in it! ...they would surely benefit from it, too, she surmised.Outdated things come alive again in due time... look how people now yearn for old-fashioned roses and despise nondescript teas! . . . nothing about this place seems real. . . why must it be real. . . . It has been fifty, no, almost sixty years since she last lived here.It's all so unreal to her because she's used to the way she's living now - really, it all raises a bunch of interesting questions... the atmosphere and the people... Miss Marple pointed Push the knitting a little further.

"Places like this," she said aloud, "places like these, I think... must be hard to find..." Could that explain her strange uneasy feeling last night?That feeling that something is wrong... All those old people--so much like the old people she'd met here fifty years ago.They were natural then - not at all natural now.Older people today are not the same as they were back then—they have an anxious, busy look, are too tired to cope with disturbing household chores; and try to look busy and competent; either dyed their hair gentian blue, or wore wigs, and their hands were not the fine, delicate hands she remembered—they were rough with washing and cleaning agents...

So -- alas, so these people don't seem real.But the thing is they are all real.Selina Hartz was real, and so was the good-looking old soldier in the corner—she'd seen him once, but she couldn't remember his name—and the Bishop (Dear Robbie ) is also true. Miss Marple glanced at the small alarm clock, it was half past eight, it was time for breakfast. She checked the guide book provided by the hotel—it was printed in a fairly large print so guests didn't have to wear glasses. You can call room service to order what you want, or you can ring the bell marked "Room Attendant".

Miss Marple chose the latter option, and talking to housekeeping always made her nervous. It works great.Immediately there was a knock on the door and a very pleasant waitress appeared.An unreal-looking real housemaid in a lavender-striped dress and a hat—freshly ironed.The red face is full of smiles, with the simple and honest characteristics of country people. (Where did they find such a person?) Miss Marple ordered breakfast.Tea, poached eggs, fresh rolls.The room maid was so proficient that she didn't mention cereal and orange juice. Five minutes later, breakfast was served.A large round-bellied teapot, creamy milk and a silver kettle sit on a feel-good tray.Two nicely fried, medium-cooked poached eggs on a slice of toast—instead of the small, round, hard bullet-like thing in a tin cup, with a flower stuck to a good-sized pat of butter. thistle flower.Margarine, honey and strawberry jam.The rolls looked good - not the papery hard ones - and they smelled like fresh bread (the most wonderful smell in the world).There is also an apple, a pear and a banana.

Miss Marple took the knife carefully and confidently and inserted it.She was not disappointed, the yellow egg yolk slowly flowed out.Done just right. Everything was served hot, a real breakfast.She could do it herself, but it's not necessary.All this was laid out before her as if—no, not as if she were a queen—as if she were a middle-aged dame in a very nice but inexpensive hotel.Actually -- that's back to 1909.Miss Marple thanked the waiter, who replied with a smile: "Oh, yes, ma'am, the chef is very strict with his breakfast." Miss Marple eyed her approvingly.Bertram certainly worked wonders.A real maid.She secretly pinched her left arm.

"Have you been here long?" she asked. "Just over three years, ma'am." "And before that?" "A restaurant in Eastbourne. Very modern - but I prefer an older place like this." Miss Marple took a sip of her tea and could not help humming indistinctly—it was a line from an old song long forgotten. "Where are you in my life?" The waiter looked at her in surprise. "I'm just reminded of an old song," Miss Marple murmured apologetically but excitedly, "that used to be popular." She then sang softly, "Oh, where the hell are you in my life..."

"Perhaps you know the song?" "Well—" the waitress showed a sorry look. "It's too early for you," said Miss Marple. "Well, people always remember the past, especially in places like this." "Yes, ma'am, I think many of the ladies who live here feel that way." "I think that's part of the reason they're here," said Miss Marple. The waitress went out, apparently used to the old women's chatter and reminiscences. Miss Marple rose easily and cheerfully from her breakfast.She has already planned to go shopping happily all morning.Don't go shopping too much - so as not to overwork you.Perhaps Oxford Street today and Knightbridge tomorrow.She was enthusiastically planning.

At about ten o'clock she emerges from her room fully armed: hat, gloves, umbrella - just in case in spite of the fine weather, handbag - her finest shopping bag... The door of the room next to her was suddenly opened, and someone poked his head out and looked around.It's Bess Sedgwick.She retreated into the room and slammed the door shut again. Miss Marple wondered as she went downstairs.Early in the morning, she still prefers to take the stairs instead of the elevator.This way she can move her muscles.Her pace became slower and slower...she stopped. 2 As Colonel Luscombe was striding down the passage from his room, the door at the top of the stairs was flung open, and Lady Sedgwick said to him:

"You're here at last! I've been watching for you to come and catch you. Where can we talk? I mean, don't run into that old cat all the time." "Well, really, Bess, I don't know--I think there's a study between the ground floor and the first floor." "You'd better come in here. Quickly. Before the waitress sees and thinks something weird about us." Colonel Luscombe reluctantly stepped across the threshold, and Bess shut the door behind him. "I didn't know you'd live here, Bess, not at all!" "I think so." "I mean—I shouldn't have brought Elvira at all. You know, I brought Elvira." "Yes, I saw you with her last night." "But I really didn't know you were here. It's not like a place for you." "I don't see any reason," said Bess dryly. "This is definitely the best hotel in London. Why shouldn't I be here?" "You should understand that I don't know anything about... I mean..." She looked at him and laughed.She was ready to go out in a fitted dark suit and a bright green shirt.She looked cheerful and lively; beside her, Colonel Luscombe looked old and feeble. "Derek, honey, don't look so upset. I'm not accusing you of trying to direct a touching mother-daughter encounter. It's just a natural thing, people meet in unexpected places. But you have to put Get Elvira out of here, Derek, you've got to get her out of here at once—today." "Oh, she'll be gone soon. I mean, I'm just bringing her over for a night or two. For show, that's all. She's going to the Melfords' to-morrow." "Poor child, that would be boring to her." Colonel Luscombe looked at her with concern. "Do you think she'd be bored?" Bess kind of pitied him. "Maybe after the prison life in Italy, she probably wouldn't feel that way. She might even find it very stimulating." Luscomb finally mustered up his courage. "Look, Bess, I'm surprised to find you here, but you don't think it's—well, it might be destined in a way. I mean it might be a good chance... I miss you I definitely don't know... um... how that child feels." "What are you trying to say, Derek?" "You know, you are her mother." "Of course I'm her mother and she's my daughter, but what good has that fact ever done to either of us? What good will it ever do?" "You can't be so sure, I think—I think she feels it already." "Why do you think so?" snapped Bess Sedgwick. "She spoke yesterday. She asked where you were and what you were about." Bess Sedgwick crossed the room to the window and stood for a moment tapping the pane with his fingers. "It's very kind of you, Derek," she said. "You have good ideas, but they won't work, my poor angel. That's what you should tell yourself. They won't work, and they might be dangerous." "Oh, how come, Bess. Dangerous?" "Yes, yes, yes. Dangerous. I am! I have been very dangerous." "When I think of some of the things you've done," said Colonel Luscombe. "That's my thing," said Bess Sedgwick, "and taking risks has become a habit of mine. No, it's not a habit, it's an addiction. It's like a drug. Like that wonderful one." Smaller heroin, addicts have to take it regularly so that life is colorful and worth living. Well, that's okay. That's my funeral - or not - whatever! I never do drugs - —Never needed them—Danger is my drug. But a man who lives like me is a danger to others. Stop being a hard old fool, Derek. You keep that girl away from me, I'm not doing her any good, only harm. If possible, don't even let her know I'm staying in the same hotel. Call the Melfords' and take her there today. Make an excuse, suddenly Emergencies or something..." Colonel Luscombe stroked his beard, still hesitating. "I think you're wrong, Bess," he said with a sigh. "She asked me where you were, and I said you were abroad." "Well, I'll be abroad in twelve hours, and that fits perfectly!" She walked to his side, kissed him on the cheek, and deftly turned him around, as if playing a game of hide-and-seek.She opened the door and gently pushed him out.As the door closed behind him, Colonel Luscombe noticed an old lady ascending the bend of the stairs.She looked into the bag and muttered, "Oops, oops, I think I must have left it in the room, oh my god!" She walked past Luscombe, apparently not paying much attention to him, but as he came down the stairs Miss Marple stopped by her door and cast a furtive glance behind him.Then she looked again at Bess Sedgwick's door. "So that's the one she's waiting for?" Miss Marple said to herself, "That's strange." 3 Canon Pennyfather cheered himself up after breakfast.Strolled through the rest hall alone, and did not forget to leave the key at the front desk.He opened the door and walked out, and was neatly shoved into the taxi by the Irish doorman who was in charge of finding taxis for customers. "Where to, sir?" "Well," said Canon Pennyfather, suddenly dismayed, "let me see—where am I going?" Traffic on Bond Street was stopped for a few minutes while Father Canon Penny was discussing the delicate issue with the doorman. In the end, Canon, Father Penny had a sudden inspiration, so the doorman called a taxi and drove to the British Museum. The doorman stood on the sidewalk, grinning.It seemed that no one had come out for a while, so he strolled a few steps along the front wall of the hotel, humming an old song under his breath. A window on Bertram's ground floor was flung open--but the doorman didn't even look back until a voice suddenly came through the window. "So you're here, Mickey. How did you come here?" He turned around in surprise, eyes widening. Lady Sedgwick poked her head out of the open window. "Don't you know me?" she asked. There was a sudden realization on the guard's face. "Oh, isn't this our little Bessie? Come to think of it, it's been so many years, little Bessie!" "Nobody ever calls me Bessie but you. What a nasty name. What have you been up to all these years?" "Everything," said Mickey vaguely. "I'm not in the news like you are. I see your deeds in the papers all the time." Bess Sedgwick laughed: "I dress better than you anyway," she said. "You drink too much. You always do!" "You dress well because you always have money." "Money won't do you any good, you'll just drink more and be down and out. Yes, you will. How did you get here? That's what I want to know. How did you let this Hired?" "I need a job. I have these—" He tapped the row of medals lightly. "Oh, I see," she said thoughtfully, "it's all true, too, isn't it?" "Of course it is true, why not?" "Well, I'll take your word for it, you've always been so brave. You've always been a good fighter. Yes, the Army is for you, I'm sure." "The military is okay in wartime, but not so good in peacetime." "So you're into this business? I don't get it at all..." She stopped. "What don't you understand, Bessie?" "Nothing. It's weird to see you after all these years." "I never forgot," said the man, "I never forgot you, little Bessie. Ah! what a sweet little girl you are! A sweet little little girl." "A damned silly girl, that's me," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "Yes. You know too little, or you wouldn't be with me. You've got a hand with that horse. Do you remember the horse's name—what was it called?—Molly O'Flynn. Ah, it's a wicked devil, really." "You're the only one who can ride it," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "If he could, he would have thrown me off. When he found he couldn't, he had to give in. Oh, what a beauty she is. But as far as riding, there's nothing out there like you Better girl. You have a lovely butt, lovely hands. You have never been afraid, not for a moment, I think always have been. You have never been afraid to fly a plane, drive a race car." Bess Sedgwick smiled again. "I must get on with my letter." She backed away from the window. Mickey leaned against the railing. "I never forgot Ballygolan," he said in a whisper. "Sometimes I want to write to you." Bess Sedgwick's raspy voice came from inside: "What do you mean by that, Mick Gorman?" "I just wanted to say that I didn't forget — anything. I just wanted to remind you." Bess Sedgwick's voice was still piercing: "If you mean what I think you mean, I'll give you a piece of advice. If you try to get me into any trouble, I'll shoot you like a mouse. I've killed people before... " "Perhaps abroad?" "Whether it's abroad or here - it's the same for me." "Oh my God, I'm sure you'd do that," he said with admiration in his voice, "in Ballygoland..." "In Ballygoland," she interrupted him, "they gave you money to shut up, and a lot of money. You've taken the money. You'll never get anything from me again, Don't even think about it." "It would be a nice romance for the weekend tabloids." "Did you hear what I said?" "Oh," he smiled, "I'm not serious, I'm only joking. I'm not going to do anything to hurt my little Bessie. I'll keep my mouth shut." "Tell you, don't forget," said Sedgwick. She closed the window and stared down at the desk in front of her, at the unfinished letter on the blotter.She picked it up, looked at it, crumpled it up and threw it in the wastebasket.Then she jumped out of her chair and walked out of the room without even looking around. Bertram's smaller studies always seemed empty, even if they were occupied.Two desks were neatly arranged under the window, a table on the right with magazines on it, and two high-backed armchairs facing the fireplace on the left.These places are the favorite places for old soldiers to come to in the afternoon.They sat there peacefully and fell asleep beautifully until tea time.In the morning, these chairs are not so sought-after. By chance, however, they were fully occupied this morning, with an old woman occupying one and a young girl in the other.The girl got up and stood for a moment, looking hesitantly at the door through which Mrs Sedgwick had just passed, and then walked slowly towards it too.Elvira Black was deathly pale. After another five minutes, the old lady started to move.Then Miss Marple decided that her nap after dressing and going downstairs had been long enough, and that it was time to go out and enjoy the beauty of London.She could walk as far as Piccadilly and take the 9 to Henkel Street in Kensington; or she could walk to Bond Street and take the 25 to Marshall and Snellgrove, or take The No. 25 bus in the opposite direction, she remembered, could go all the way to the Military Cooperative Consumer Association.As she walked through the hotel doors, she was still thinking about these happy events.The Irish doorman was back at work, and he made the decision for her. "Are you sure you want a taxi, ma'am?" he assured. "I don't think so," said Miss Marple. "I think I can take the 25, which stops not far from here, or the 2 from the direction of Parker Road." "You don't want to take a bus," said the doorman again without question. "You're old, and it's too dangerous to bump in a bus. The way they drive, start, stop, and drive again, will Throwing you to the floor, really. These guys have no conscience these days. I'll whistle for you a cab so you can go wherever you want like a queen." Marple thought about it and changed his mind. "Well then," she said, "maybe I'd better take a taxi." The doorman didn't have to whistle at all, he just snapped his fingers and a taxi miraculously appeared.Miss Marple was helped into the car with the utmost care, and it was then that she decided to go to Robinson and Cleaver's to see the fine real linen there.She sat happily in the car, feeling just like the doorman said, like a working girl.All she could think about now were the linen sheets, the linen pillowcases, and the proper cellophane and tablecloths—no bananas or figs or Puppies or other distracting patterns.If these messy things are printed, it is very annoying when washing. Mrs. Sedgwick came to the front desk. "Is Mr. Humphreys in his office?" "Yes, Mrs. Sedgwick." Miss Gorringe looked a little surprised. Mrs. Sedgwick went behind the counter, knocked on the door, and entered without waiting for an answer. Mr. Humphreys looked up in surprise. "What's up--" "Who hired that Michael Gorman?" Humphries said hurriedly and flusteredly: "Parfit's gone - he was in a car accident a month ago. We're going to have to replace him soon, and he seems like a good fit. Good in every way, ex-military - doing well in the military - Probably not very bright - but sometimes that's better - you don't know something bad about him?" "Enough to not want him here." "If you insist," said Humphreys slowly, "we'll tell him to let him go—" "No," said Mrs. Sedgwick slowly, "no—it's too late—forget it."