'He thought it was your fault?'
'That's what he said. I'd a perfect right to advise the girl. After all, I know something of the world. I didn't want the girl to throw herself away.'
Poirot said gently, 'What made you take so much interest in the girl?'
'Well, I don't know.' Nurse Hopkins hesitated. She looked shy and a little ashamed of herself. 'There was something – well – romantic about Mary.'
Poirot murmured, 'About her, perhaps, but not about her circumstances. She was the lodgekeeper's daughter, wasn't she?'
Nurse Hopkins said, 'Yes – yes, of course. At least-' She hesitated, looked at Poirot, who was gazing at her in the most sympathetic manner.
'As a matter of fact,' said Nurse Hopkins, in a burst of confidence, 'she wasn't old Gerrard's daughter at all. He told me so. Her father was a gentleman.'
Poirot murmured, 'I see… And her mother?'
Nurse Hopkins hesitated, bit her lip, and then went on: 'Her mother had been lady's maid to old Mrs. Welman. She married Gerrard after Mary was born.'
'As you say, quite a romance – a mystery romance.'
Nurse Hopkins's face lit up. 'Wasn't it? One can't help taking an interest in people when one knows something that nobody else does about them. Just by chance I happened to find out a good deal. As a matter of fact, it was Nurse O'Brien who set me on the track; but that's another story. But, as you say, it's interesting knowing past history. There's many a tragedy that goes unguessed at. It's a sad world.'
Poirot sighed and shook his head.
Nurse Hopkins said with sudden alarm, 'But I oughtn't to have gone talking like this. I wouldn't have a word of this get out for anything! After all, it's nothing to do with the case. As far as the world is concerned, Mary was Gerrard's daughter, and there mustn't be a hint of anything else. Damaging her in the eyes of the world after she's dead! He married her mother, and that's enough.'
Poirot murmured, 'But you know, perhaps, who her real father was?'
Nurse Hopkins said reluctantly, 'Well, perhaps I do; but, then again, perhaps I don't. That is, I don't know anything. I could make a guess. Old sins have long shadows, as they say! But I'm not one to talk, and I shan't say another word.'
Poirot tactfully retired from the fray and attacked another subject. 'There is something else – a delicate matter. But I am sure I can rely on your discretion.'
Nurse Hopkins bridled. A broad smile appeared on her homely face.
Poirot continued, 'I speak of Mr. Roderick Welman. He was, so I hear, attracted by Mary Gerrard.'
Nurse Hopkins said, 'Bowled over by her!'
'Although at the time he was engaged to Miss Carlisle?'
'If you ask me,' said Nurse Hopkins, 'he was never really sweet on Miss Carlisle. Not what I'd call sweet on her.'
Poirot asked, using an old-fashioned term, 'Did Mary Gerrard – er – encourage his advances?'
Nurse Hopkins said sharply, 'She behaved very well. Nobody could say she led him on!'
Poirot said, 'Was she in love with him?'
Nurse Hopkins said sharply, 'No, she wasn't.'
'But she liked him?'
'Oh, yes, she liked him well enough.'
'And I suppose, in time, something might have come of it?'
'That may be. But Mary wouldn't have done anything in a hurry. She told him down here he had no business to speak like that to her when he was engaged to Miss Elinor. And when he came to see her in London she said the same.'
Poirot asked with an air of engaging candor, 'What do you yourself think of Mr. Roderick Welman?'
Nurse Hopkins said, 'He's a nice enough young fellow. Nervy, though. Looks as though he might be dyspeptic later on. Those nervy ones often are.'
'Was he very fond of his aunt?'
'I believe so.'
'Did he sit with her much when she was so ill?'
'You mean when she had that second stroke? The night before she died when they came down? I don't believe he even went into her room!'
'Really.'
Nurse Hopkins said quickly, 'She didn't ask for him. And, of course, we'd no idea the end was so near. There are a lot of men like that, you know; fight shy of a sickroom. They can't help it. And it's not heartlessness. They just don't want to be upset in their feelings.'
Poirot nodded comprehendingly. He said, 'Are you sure Mr. Welman did not go into his aunt's room before she died?'
'Well, not while I was on duty! Nurse O'Brien relieved me at three a.m., and she may have fetched him before the end; but, if so, she didn't mention it to me.'
Poirot suggested, 'He may have gone into her room when you were absent?'
Nurse Hopkins snapped, 'I don't leave my patients unattended, Mr. Poirot.'
'A thousand apologies. I did not mean that. I thought perhaps you might have had to boil water, or to run downstairs for some necessary stimulant.'
Mollified, Nurse Hopkins said, 'I did go down to change the bottles and get them refilled. I knew there'd be a kettle on the boil down in the kitchen.'
'You were away long?'
'Five minutes, perhaps.'
'Ah, yes, then Mr. Welman may have just looked in on her then?'
'He must have been very quick about it if he did.'
Poirot sighed. He said, 'As you say, men fight shy of illness. It is the women who are the ministering angels. What should we do without them? Especially women of your profession – a truly noble calling.'
Nurse Hopkins, slightly red in the face, said, 'It's very kind of you to say that. I've never thought of it that way myself. Too much hard work in nursing to think about the noble side of it.'
Poirot said, 'And there is nothing else you can tell me about Mary Gerrard?'
There was an appreciable pause before Nurse Hopkins answered, 'I don't know of anything.'
'Are you quite sure?'
Nurse Hopkins said rather incoherently, 'You don't understand. I was fond of Mary.'
'And there's nothing more you can tell me?'
'No, there is not! And that's flat.'
Chapter 11
In the awesome majesty of Mrs. Bishop's black-clad presence Hercule Poirot sat humbly insignificant.
The thawing of Mrs. Bishop was no easy matter. For Mrs. Bishop, a lady of conservative habits and views, strongly disapproved of foreigners. And a foreigner most indubitably Hercule Poirot was. Her responses were frosty and she eyed him with disfavour and suspicion.
Dr. Lord's introduction of him had done little to soften the situation.
'I am sure,' said Mrs. Bishop when Dr. Lord had gone, 'Dr. Lord is a very clever doctor and means well. Dr. Ransome, his predecessor, had been here many years!'
Dr. Ransome, that is to say, could be trusted to behave in a manner suitable to the county. Dr. Lord, a mere irresponsible youngster, an upstart who had taken Dr. Ransome's place, had only one recommendation: 'cleverness' in his profession.
Cleverness, the whole demeanor of Mrs. Bishop seemed to say, is not enough!
