They Do It With Mirrors

CHAPTER 5

Gently eluding her hostess the next morning, Miss Marple went out into the gardens. Their condition distressed her. They had once been an ambitiously set out achievement. Clumps of rhododendrons, smooth slopes of lawns, massed borders of herbaceous plants, clipped boxhedges surrounding a formal rose garden. Now all was largely derelict, the lawns raggedly mown, the borders full of weeds with tangled flowers struggling through them, the paths moss-covered and neglected. The kitchen gardens, on the other hand, enclosed by red brick walls, were prosperous and well stocked. That, presumably, was because they had a utility value. So, also, a large portion of what had once been lawn and flower garden, was now fenced off and laid out in tennis courts and a bowling green.

Surveying the herbaceous border, Miss Marple clicked her tongue vexedly and pulled up a flourishing plant of groundsel.

As she stood with it in her hand, Edgar Lawson came into view. Seeing Miss Marple, he stopped and hesitated. Miss Marple had no mind to let him escape. She called him briskly. When he came, she asked him if he knew where any gardening tools were kept.

Edgar said vaguely that there was a gardener somewhere who would know.

‘It’s such a pity to see this border so neglected,’ twittered Miss Marple. ‘I’m so fond of gardens.’ And since it was not her intention that Edgar should go in search of any necessary implement she went on quickly:

‘It’s about all an old and useless woman can find to do. Now I don’t suppose you ever bother your head about gardens, Mr Lawson. You have so much real and important work to do. Being in a responsible position here, with Mr Serrocold. You must find it all most interesting.’

He answered quickly, almost eagerly:

‘Yes—yes—it is interesting.’

‘And you must be of the greatest assistance to Mr Serrocold.’

His face darkened.

‘I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It’s what’s behind it all—’

He broke off. Miss Marple watched him thoughtfully. A pathetic undersized young man in a neat dark suit. A young man that few people would look at twice, or remember if they did look …

There was a garden seat nearby and Miss Marple drifted towards it and sat. Edgar stood frowning in front of her.

‘I’m sure,’ said Miss Marple brightly, ‘that Mr Serrocold relies on you a great deal.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Edgar. ‘I really don’t know.’ He frowned and almost absently sat down beside her. ‘I’m in a very difficult position.’

‘Of course,’ said Miss Marple.

The young man Edgar sat staring in front of him.

‘This is all highly confidential,’ he said suddenly.

‘Of course,’ said Miss Marple.

‘If I had my rights—’

‘Yes?’

‘I might as well tell you … You won’t let it go any further, I’m sure?’

‘Oh no.’ She noticed he did not wait for her disclaimer.

‘My father—actually, my father is a very important man.’

This time there was no need to say anything. She had only to listen.

‘Nobody knows except Mr Serrocold. You see, it might prejudice my father’s position if the story got out.’ He turned to her. He smiled. A sad dignified smile. ‘You see, I’m Winston Churchill’s son.’

‘Oh,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I see.’

And she did see. She remembered a rather sad story in St Mary Mead—and the way it had gone.

Edgar Lawson went on, and what he said had the familiarity of a stage scene.

‘There were reasons. My mother wasn’t free. Her own husband was in an asylum—there could be no divorce—no question of marriage. I don’t really blame them. At least, I think I don’t … He’s done, always, everything he could. Discreetly, of course. And that’s where the trouble has arisen. He’s got enemies—and they’re against me, too. They’ve managed to keep us apart. They watch me. Wherever I go, they spy on me. And they make things go wrong for me.’

Miss Marple shook her head.

‘Dear, dear,’ she said.

‘In London I was studying to be a doctor. They tampered with my exams—they altered the answers. They wanted me to fail. They followed me about the streets. They told things about me to my landlady. They hound me wherever I go.’

‘Oh, but you can’t be sure of that,’ said Miss Marple soothingly.

‘I tell you I know! Oh they’re very cunning. I never get a glimpse of them or find out who they are. But I shall find out … Mr Serrocold took me away from London and brought me down here. He was kind—very kind. But even here, you know, I’m not safe. They’re here too. Working against me. Making the others dislike me. Mr Serrocold says that isn’t true—but Mr Serrocold doesn’t know. Or else—I wonder—sometimes I’ve thought—’

He broke off. He got up.

‘This is all confidential,’ he said. ‘You do understand that, don’t you? But if you notice anyone following me—spying, I mean—you might let me know who it is!’

He went away, then—neat, pathetic, insignificant. Miss Marple watched him and wondered …

A voice spoke.

‘Nuts,’ it said. ‘Just nuts.’

Walter Hudd was standing beside her. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he was frowning as he stared after Edgar’s retreating figure.

‘What kind of a joint is this, anyway?’ he said. ‘They’re all bughouse, the whole lot of them.’

Miss Marple said nothing and Walter went on:

‘That Edgar guy—what do you make of him? Says his father’s really Lord Montgomery. Doesn’t seem likely to me. Not Monty! Not from all I’ve heard about him.’

‘No,’ said Miss Marple. ‘It doesn’t seem very likely.’

‘He told Gina something quite different—some bunk about being really the heir to the Russian throne—said he was some Grand Duke’s son or other. Hell, doesn’t the chap know who his father really was?’

‘I should imagine not,’ said Miss Marple. ‘That is probably just the trouble.’

Walter sat down beside her, dropping his body on to the seat with a slack movement. He repeated his former statement.

‘They’re all bughouse here.’

‘You don’t like being at Stonygates?’

The young man frowned.

‘I simply don’t get it—that’s all! I don’t get it. Take this place—the house—the whole set-up. They’re rich, these people. They don’t need dough—they’ve got it. And look at the way they live. Cracked antique china and cheap plain stuff all mixed up. No proper upper-class servants—just some casual hired help. Tapestries and drapes and chair-covers all satin and brocade and stuff—and it’s falling to pieces! Big silver tea urns and what do you know—all yellow and tarnished for want of cleaning. Mrs Serrocold just doesn’t care. Look at that dress she had on last night. Darned under the arms, nearly worn out—and yet she could go to a store and order what she liked. Bond Street or wherever it is. Dough? They’re rolling in dough.’

He paused and sat, deliberating.

‘I understand being poor. There’s nothing much wrong with it. If you’re young and strong and ready to work. I never had much money, but I was all set to get where I wanted. I was going to open a garage. I’d got a bit of money put by. I talked to Gina about it. She listened. She seemed to understand. I didn’t know much about her. All those girls in uniform, they look about the same. I mean you can’t tell from looking at them who’s got dough and who hasn’t. I thought she was a cut above me, perhaps, education and all that. But it didn’t seem to matter. We fell for each other. We got married. I’d got my bit put by and Gina had some too, she told me. We were going to set up a gas station back home—Gina was willing. Just a couple of crazy kids we were—mad about each other. Then that snooty aunt of Gina’s started making trouble … And Gina wanted to come here to England to see her grandmother. Well, that seemed fair enough. It was her home, and I was curious to see England anyway. I’d heard a lot about it. So we came. Just a visit—that’s what I thought.’

The frown became a scowl.

‘But it hasn’t turned out like that. We’re caught up in this crazy business. Why don’t we stay here—make our home here—that’s what they say? Plenty of jobs for me. Jobs! I don’t want a job feeding candy to gangster kids and helping them play at kids’ games … what’s the sense of it all? This place could be swell—really swell. Don’t people who’ve got money understand their luck? Don’t they understand that most of the world can’t have a swell place like this and that they’ve got one? Isn’t it plain crazy to kick your luck when you’ve got it? I don’t mind working if I’ve got to. But I’ll work the way I like and at what I like—and I’ll work to get somewhere. This place makes me feel I’m tangled up in a spider’s web. And Gina—I can’t make Gina out. She’s not the same girl I married over in the States. I can’t—dang it all—I can’t even talk to her now. Oh hell!’

Miss Marple said gently:

‘I quite see your point of view.’

Wally shot a swift glance at her.

‘You’re the only one I’ve shot my mouth off to so far. Most of the time I shut up like a clam. Don’t know what it is about you—you’re English right enough, really English—but in the durndest way you remind me of my Aunt Betsy back home.’

‘Now that’s very nice.’

‘A lot of sense she had,’ Wally continued reflectively. ‘Looked as frail as though you could snap her in two, but actually she was tough—yes, sir, I’ll say she was tough.’

He got up.

‘Sorry talking to you this way,’ he apologized. For the first time, Miss Marple saw him smile. It was a very attractive smile, and Wally Hudd was suddenly transfigured from an awkward sulky boy into a handsome and appealing young man. ‘Had to get things off my chest, I suppose. But too bad picking on you.’

‘Not at all, my dear boy,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I have a nephew of my own—only, of course, a great deal older than you are.’

Her mind dwelt for a moment on the sophisticated modern writer Raymond West. A greater contrast to Walter Hudd could not have been imagined.

‘You’ve got other company coming,’ said Walter Hudd. ‘That dame doesn’t like me. So I’ll quit. So long, ma’am. Thanks for the talk.’

He strode away and Miss Marple watched Mildred Strete coming across the lawn to join her.

‘I see you’ve been victimized by that terrible young man,’ said Mrs Strete, rather breathlessly, as she sank down on the seat. ‘What a tragedy that is.’

‘A tragedy?’

‘Gina’s marriage. It all came about from sending her off to America. I told mother at the time it was most unwise. After all, this is quite a quiet district. We had hardly any raids here. I do so dislike the way many people gave way to panic about their families—and themselves, too, very often.’

‘It must have been difficult to decide what was right to do,’ said Miss Marple thoughtfully. ‘Where children were concerned, I mean. With the prospect of possible invasion, it might have meant their being brought up under a German régime—as well as the danger of bombs.’

‘All nonsense,’ said Mrs Strete. ‘I never had the least doubt that we should win. But mother has always been quite unreasonable where Gina is concerned. The child was always spoilt and indulged in every way. There was absolutely no need to take her away from Italy in the first place.’