Chapter 21 twenty one

.21. Lance and Patty stroll around the grounds of "Yew House". Patty whispered, "Lance, I hope I don't hurt your pride by saying I've never been in such a bad garden." Lance said, "It doesn't hurt my pride. Is it bad? I don't know. It's like three gardeners working tirelessly." Patty said, "Maybe that's where the trouble is. At all costs, without personal taste, I think the heathers and the beds are in the right season." "Well, Patty, if you had an English garden, what would you plant?" "I want hollyhocks, larkspurs and bluebells in my garden, no beds and no dreaded yews," said Patty.

She looked contemptuously at the dark yew hedge. "Association," Lance said lightly. Patty said, "There's a horrible quality to a poisoner, I mean, he must have a horrible mind, a vindictive vengeance." "Is that your opinion? Strange! I think the man is methodical and ruthless." She trembled slightly and said, "Maybe it can be said that. In short, three murders in a row... the person who did it must be crazy." Lance murmured, "Yes, I'm afraid so," and then snapped, "Petty, please get out of here. Go back to London, to Devonshire or the Lake District, to Stratford-on-Avon, Or go and see the Norfolk Moors. The police won't object to your going—you have nothing to do with these things. You were in Paris when the old man was killed; you were in London when the other two died. Tell you, you were here I'm worried half to death."

Patty paused for a moment before saying quietly: "You know who the murderer is, don't you?" "No, I do not know." "But you think you know... so you worry about me... I hope you tell me." "I can't tell you, I don't know anything. But I pray God to get you out of here." Patty said, "Honey, I'm not going, I'm staying here. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad, that's how I feel." She suddenly choked up, "It's just that bad things happen to me." "Petty, what do you mean by that?"

"I mean I bring bad luck. I bring bad luck to anyone I come into contact with." "Charming little fool, you brought me no bad luck. You see, as soon as I married you, the old man told me to go home and be reconciled to him." "Yes, but what if you go home? Tell you, I'm not lucky." "Look, honey, you're a little superstitious about these things. Pure superstition." "I can't help it. Some people do bring bad luck, and I'm one of them." Lance put his arm around her shoulders and shook her violently. "You are my beloved Patty, and marrying you is the greatest blessing in the world. Don't let your silly head think about it." After he calmed down, he said in a serious tone: "But, seriously, Patty, you must Be careful. I don't want you to get shot or drink hemlock water if anyone's insane around here."

"You said to drink poisonous eggplant water." "While I'm away, with the old woman. What's her name? Marple. Why do you think Aunt Effie asked her to live here?" "God knows what Aunt Effie does anything for. How long are we going to be here, Lance?" Lance shrugged. "Hard to say." "I don't think we're really welcome," Patty said. She hesitated: "I guess the house belongs to your brother now? He doesn't want us here, does he?" Lance giggled suddenly. "He doesn't want to, but he's going to put up with us anyway for now."

"What about the future? Lance, what shall we do? Should we go back to East Africa?" "Petty, do you want to go back?" She nodded desperately. "That's lucky, I want to go back too. I don't like the state of my country very much," Lance said. Patty was beaming. "It's charming. Listening to what you said that day, I'm afraid you want to stay here." Lance's eyes glowed evilly. He said, "Petty, you mustn't give away our plans. I'm going to fuck dear old Percival." "Oh, Lance, be careful." "I'll be careful. But I don't see how Percy should get everything right."

Miss Marple was sitting in the drawing room listening to Mrs. Percival Fortescudor, with her head tilted a little like a kindly cockatoo.Miss Marple looked particularly out of place in this drawing-room.Sitting on a large brocade sofa surrounded by cushions of various colors, her thin figure looked strange.Miss Marple had learned to use a back board as a girl to keep her body from bending, so she sat very upright now.Young Madame Percival was sitting next to her in a large armchair, dressed in fine black, chattering away.Miss Marple thought to herself: "It looks like Mrs. Emmett, the wife of the bank manager." She remembered that one day Mrs. Emmett came to visit to discuss the benefit performance of the Wounded Soldier's Fund Day. After the basic things were discussed, Mrs. Emmett suddenly He talked a lot.Mrs. Emmett's situation in St. Mary's Ranch was difficult.

Her family was in decline, and the circle of ladies near the church could not accommodate her. Even if they were not daughters of the family in the county, they knew the ins and outs of the family very well.Emmett, the bank manager, married a man of lower status, and as a result his wife became very lonely, and of course it was not convenient for her to associate with the wife of a small businessman.Snobbery prevails, leaving Mrs. Emmett on the island of eternity. Mrs. Emmett needed much to talk, and the day finally broke the line, and Miss Marple accepted the torrent.She felt sorry for Mrs. Emmett then, and she felt sorry for Mrs. Percival Fortescuder today.

Mrs. Percival was full of bitterness, and it was a lot easier to confide in strangers. Mrs. Percival said, "Of course I don't want to complain. I've never been a whiner. I've always said that one has to put up with everything. There's nothing you can do to correct it. You have to put up with it; and I've never said anything to anyone. I Who can I tell? One can be very lonely here--very lonely. Of course, it is convenient and save money to have a room in this house; but it is not the same as having a home of your own. I believe you agree with me." Miss Marple agreed.

"Fortunately our house is almost ready to move in. It's just a matter of getting someone to paint and decorate. These guys are so slow. Of course, my husband likes living here, but men are different. I always say-- Men are different. Don't you agree?" Miss Marble agrees that men are different.When she said this, her conscience would not disturb her, because she really thought so.According to Miss Marple, "gentlemen" are quite different from women.They asked for two eggs and bacon for breakfast, three nutritious and delicious meals a day, and no one would talk back to them before meals.Mrs. Percival continued:

"You know, my husband works downtown all day; when he gets home he's tired and just wants to sit down and read. I'm the opposite. I'm all alone here all day, with no proper company. I'm living comfortably. , the food is fantastic. But I think one needs a pleasant social circle. I don't get along with people here. Some of them are what I call flashy bridge players - not elegant bridge. I like to play bridge myself , but of course the folks over here are rich. They bet big and drink hard. In fact, that's what I call a loose society. There's also a small group of—oh, you just You can call them 'Old Cats', and they love to hang out with trowels and plant flowers and grass." Miss Marple, who had a natural fondness for gardening, looked apologetic. Young Mrs. Percival went on: "I don't want to criticize the dead, but my father-in-law, Mr. Fortescue, is stupid to remarry. My—I can't call her mother-in-law, she's about my age. To be honest, she wants to The man wants to go crazy, really wants to go crazy. And she really spends money, my father-in-law treats her like a fool.Doesn't interfere no matter how many bills she piles up.Percival was furious, really furious.Percival had always been careful with money, he hated waste.Afterwards Mr. Fortescue became queer, terribly ill-tempered, prone to tantrums, and spent money like water, backing dubious speculative schemes.Oh -- not noble at all. " Miss Marple spoke a word. "Your husband must be worried about this too?" "Oh, yes. The last year Percy has been really worried. He's changed. You know, his attitude towards me has also changed.Sometimes I talk to him and he doesn't answer at all. Mrs. Percival sighed and continued: "And my sister-in-law Ellen, you know, she is a very strange girl, she is outdoors all day.She's not unkind, she's just unsympathetic, you know.She never wanted to go shopping in London, or go to the theater or anything like that.She's not even interested in clothes. Mrs. Bossinier sighed again, and said in a low voice: "Of course I don't want to complain. Her conscience was a little disturbed, and she said quickly: "You must feel strange, you are a stranger, and I have told you so much."Still, because of the tension and the shock—I think most of all the shock: the belated shock.I feel so nervous, you know, I really -- oh, I really have to talk to someone.You remind me of a dear old lady, Miss Trefusis James.When she was seventy-five, she bruised her femur.I nursed her for a long time and we became good friends.When I left, she gave me a fox fur cloak, which I thought was very thoughtful. " "I know how you feel," said Miss Marple. This is the truth again.Mrs. Percival's husband was obviously annoyed to death by her and paid little attention to her. The poor young woman couldn't make friends locally.She went to London to go shopping, watch movies, and live in a luxurious house, but the lack of human touch in her relationship with her husband's family was not what those enjoyments could make up for. Miss Marple said in a soft old woman's voice, "I hope I'm not being rude. I really don't think the late Mr. Fortescue could have been a nice guy." The dead man's daughter-in-law said, "He's not. In a whisper, he's a hideous old man. I'm not surprised at all that someone wants to get rid of him—not really." "You have absolutely no idea who—" Miss Marple stopped short. "Oh, God, maybe I shouldn't have asked—or even guessed, who—who—oh, who was the murderer?" Mrs. Percival said: "Oh, I think it's the dreadful Crump. I never liked him. His attitude...isn't really crude, you know, but it's very rude, say arrogant. more appropriate." "But I guess there's always a motive." I really don't know how much motivation that kind of person needs.I guess Mr. Fortescue has scolded him for some reason, and I suspect he sometimes drinks too much.I really think he's a little out of character, you know.Like that porter or steward who shoots people around the corner.Of course, to tell you the truth, at first I suspected that Adele had poisoned Mr. Fortescue, but now that she's been poisoned herself, we certainly can't think so.You know, she probably accused Crump.So he lost his head and tried to put poison in the sandwich, and Gretty saw it, so he killed her too—I thought it was dangerous to keep him in the house.Oh man, I wish I could walk away, but I guess these horrible cops won't let it. She fell forward impulsively, and put her fat hand on Miss Marple's arm. "Sometimes I feel compelled to go—if things don't get over quickly—I will actually run away. " She leaned back—watched Miss Marple's expression. "But perhaps—isn't it very clever?" "No—I don't think it's smart—the police will find you in a minute, you know." "Can they? Can they really? You think they're that smart?" "It would be foolish to underestimate the abilities of the police. I think Inspector Neal is a man of extraordinary intelligence." "Oh! I thought he was stupid." Miss Marple shook her head. Jennifer Fortescu said hesitantly, "I can't help but feel that . . . it's dangerous to stay here." "You mean you're in danger?" "Yes—of—oh, yes—" "Because you—knew something?" Mrs. Percival seemed to take a breath. "Oh no—of course I don't know anything. What would I know? It's just—it's just that I'm nervous.That Crump guy—” Miss Marple thought to herself: Mrs. Percival Fortescudson wasn't thinking of Crump—you could tell by the way she made and let go of her fist.Miss Marple thought Jennifer Fortescue was really panicking for some reason.