Finally he said in an awe-stricken voice:
'You're her niece, aren't you?'
'What?'
'You're the victim's niece,' the boy repeated with relish.
'Oh – yes – yes, I am.'
'Ar! Wondered where I'd seen you before.'
'Ghoul,' thought Susan as she retraced her steps to the cottage.
Miss Gilchrist greeted her with:
'Oh, you're safely back,' in tones of relief which further annoyed her. Miss Gilchrist added anxiously:
'You can eat spaghetti, can't you? I thought for tonight -'
'Oh yes, anything. I don't want much.'
'I really flatter myself that I can make a very tasty spaghetti au gratin.'
The boast was not an idle one. Miss Gilchrist, Susan reflected, was really an excellent cook. Susan offered to help wash up but Miss Gilchrist, though clearly gratified by the offer, assured Susan that there was very little to do.
She came in a little while later with coffee. The coffee was less excellent, being decidedly weak. Miss Gilchrist offered Susan a piece of the wedding cake which Susan refused.
'It's really very good cake,' Miss Gilchrist insisted, tasting it. She had settled to her own satisfaction that it must have been sent by someone whom she alluded to as 'dear Ellen's daughter who I know was engaged to be married but I can't remember her name.'
Susan let Miss Gilchrist chirrup away into silence before starting her own subject of conversation. This moment, after supper, sitting before the fire, was a companionable one.
She said at last:
'My Uncle Richard came down here before he died, didn't he?'
'Yes, he did.'
'When was that exactly?'
'Let me see – it must have been one, two – nearly three weeks before his death was announced.'
'Did he seem – ill?'
'Well, no, I wouldn't say he seemed exactly ill. He had a very hearty vigorous manner. Mrs Lansquenet was very surprised to see him. She said, 'Well, really, Richard, after all these years!' And he said, 'I came to see for myself exactly how things are with you.' And Mrs Lansquenet said, 'I'm all right.' I think, you know, she was a teeny bit offended by his turning up so casually – after the long break. Anyway Mr Abernethie said, 'No use keeping up old grievances. You and I and Timothy are the only ones left – and nobody can talk to Timothy except about his own health.' And he said, ' Pierre seems to have made you happy, so it seems I was in the wrong. There, will that content you?' Very nicely he said it. A handsome man, though elderly, of course.'
'How long was he here?'
'He stayed for lunch. Beef olives, I made. Fortunately it was the day the butcher called.'
Miss Gilchrist's memory seemed to be almost wholly culinary.
'They seemed to be getting on well together?'
'Oh, yes.'
Susan paused and then said:
'Was Aunt Cora surprised when – he died?'
'Oh yes, it was quite sudden, wasn't it?'
'Yes, it was sudden… I meant – she was surprised. He hadn't given her any indication how ill he was.'
'Oh – I see what you mean.' Miss Gilchrist paused a moment. 'No, no, I think perhaps you are right. She did say that he had got very old – I think she said senile…'
'But you didn't think he was senile?'
'Well, not to look at. But I didn't talk to him much, naturally I left them alone together.'
Susan looked at Miss Gilchrist speculatively. Was Miss Gilchrist the kind of woman who listened at doors? She was honest, Susan felt sure, she wouldn't ever pilfer, or cheat over the housekeeping, or open letters. But inquisitiveness can drape itself in a mantle of rectitude. Miss Gilchrist might have found it necessary to garden near an open window, or to dust the hall… That would be within the permitted lengths. And then, of course, she could not have helped hearing something…
'You didn't hear any of their conversation?' Susan asked.
Too abrupt. Miss Gilchrist flushed angrily.
'No, indeed, Mrs Banks. It has never been my custom to listen at doors!'
That means she does, thought Susan, otherwise she'd just say 'No.'
Aloud she said: 'I'm so sorry, Miss Gilchrist. I didn't mean it that way. But sometimes, in these small flimsily built cottages, one simply can't help hearing nearly everything that goes on, and now that they are both dead, it's really rather important to the family to know just what was said at that meeting between them.'
The cottage was anything but flimsily built – it dated from a sturdier era of building, but Miss Gilchrist accepted the bait, and rose to the suggestion held out.
'Of course what you say is quite true, Mrs Banks – this is a very small place and I do appreciate that you would want to know what passed between them, but really I'm afraid I can't help very much. I think they were talking about Mr Abernethie's health – and certain – well, fancies he had. He didn't look it, but he must have been a sick man and as is so often the case, he put his ill-health down to outside agencies. A common symptom, I believe. My aunt -'
Miss Gilchrist described her aunt.
Susan, like Mr Entwhistle, side-tracked the aunt.
'Yes,' she said. 'That is just what we thought. My uncle's servants were all very attached to him and naturally they are upset by his thinking -' She paused.
'Oh, of course! Servants are very touchy, about anything of that kind. I remember that my aunt -'
Again Susan interrupted.
'It was the servants he suspected, I suppose? Of poisoning him, I mean?'
'I don't know… I – really -'
Susan noted her confusion.
'It wasn't the servants. Was it one particular person?'
'I don't know, Mrs Banks. Really I don't know -'
But her eye avoided Susan's. Susan thought to herself that Miss Gilchrist knew more than she was willing to admit.
It was possible that Miss Gilchrist knew a good deal…
Deciding not to press the point for the moment, Susan said:
'What are your own plans for the future, Miss Gilchrist?'
'Well, really, I was going to speak to you about that, Mrs Banks. I told Mr Entwhistle I would be willing to stay on until everything here was cleared up.'
'I know. I'm very grateful.'
'And I wanted to ask you how long that was likely to be, because, of course, I must start looking about for another post.'
Susan considered.
'There's really not very much to be done here. In a couple of days I can get things sorted and notifiy the auctioneer.'
'You have decided to sell up everything, then?'
'Yes. I don't suppose there will be any difficulty in letting the cottage?'
'Oh, no – people will queue up for it, I'm sure. There are so few cottages to rent. One nearly always has to buy.'
'So it's all very simple, you see.' Susan hesitated a moment before saying, 'I wanted to tell you – that I hope you'll accept three months' salary.'
'That's very generous of you, I'm sure, Mrs Banks. I do appreciate it. And you would be prepared to – I mean I could ask you – if necessary – to – to recommend me? To say that I had been with a relation of yours and that I
