Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery by Agatha Christie
Lydia cried:
‘In my garden? How—how extraordinary!’
Poirot said softly:
‘Is it not, madame?’
Part 6
December 27th
Alfred Lee said with a sigh:
‘That was better than I feared!’
They had just returned from the inquest.
Mr Charlton, an old-fashioned type of solicitor with a cautious blue eye, had been present and had returned with them. He said:
‘Ah—I told you the proceedings would be purely formal—purely formal—there was bound to be an adjournment—to enable the police to gather up additional evidence.’
George Lee said vexedly:
‘It is all most unpleasant—really most unpleasant—a terrible position in which to be placed! I myself am quite convinced that this crime was done by a maniac who somehow or other gained admittance to the house. That man Sugden is as obstinate as a mule. Colonel Johnson should enlist the aid of Scotland Yard. These local police are no good. Thick-headed. What about this man Horbury, for instance? I hear his past is definitely unsatisfactory but the police do nothing whatever about it.’
Mr Charlton said:
‘Ah—I believe the man Horbury has a satisfactory alibi covering the period of time in question. The police have accepted it.’
‘Why should they?’ George fumed. ‘If I were they, I should accept such an alibi with reserve—with great reserve. Naturally, a criminal always provides himself with an alibi! It is the duty of the police to break down the alibi—that is, if they know their job.’
‘Well, well,’ said Mr Charlton. ‘I don’t think it’s quite our business to teach the police their jobs, eh? Pretty competent body of men on the whole.’
George shook his head darkly.
‘Scotland Yard should be called in. I’m not at all satisfied with Superintendent Sugden—he may be painstaking—but he is certainly far from brilliant.’
Mr Charlton said:
‘I don’t agree with you, you know. Sugden’s a good man. Doesn’t throw his weight about, but he gets there.’
Lydia said:
‘I’m sure the police are doing their best. Mr Charlton, will you have a glass of sherry?’
Mr Charlton thanked her politely, but declined. Then, clearing his throat, he proceeded to the reading of the will, all members of the family being assembled.
He read it with a certain relish, lingering over its more obscure phraseology, and savouring its legal technicalities.
He came to the end, took off his glasses, wiped them, and looked round on the assembled company inquiringly.
Harry Lee said:
‘All this legal stuff’s a bit hard to follow. Give us the bare bones of it, will you?’
‘Really,’ said Mr Charlton. ‘It’s a perfectly simple will.’
Harry said:
‘My God, what’s a difficult will like then?’
Mr Charlton rebuked him with a cold glance. He said:
‘The main provisions of the will are quite simple. Half Mr Lee’s property goes to his son, Mr Alfred Lee, the remainder is divided between his other children.’
Harry laughed unpleasantly. He said:
‘As usual, Alfred’s struck lucky! Half my father’s fortune! Lucky dog, aren’t you, Alfred?’
Alfred flushed. Lydia said sharply:
‘Alfred was a loyal and devoted son to his father. He’s managed the works for years and has had all the responsibility.’
Harry said: ‘Oh, yes, Alfred was always the good boy.’
Alfred said sharply:
‘You may consider yourself lucky, I think, Harry, that my father left you anything at all!’
Harry laughed, throwing his head back. He said:
‘You’d have liked it better if he’d cut me right out, wouldn’t you? You’ve always disliked me.’
Mr Charlton coughed. He was used—only too well used—to the painful scenes that succeeded the reading of a will. He was anxious to get away before the usual family quarrel got too well under way.
He murmured:
‘I think—er—that that is all that I need—er—’
Harry said sharply: ‘What about Pilar?’
Mr Charlton coughed again, this time apologetically.
‘Er—Miss Estravados is not mentioned in the will.’
Harry said: Doesn’t she get her mother’s share?’
Mr Charlton explained.
‘Sen˜ora Estravados, if she had lived, would of course have received an equal share with the rest of you, but as she is dead, the portion that would have been hers goes back into the estate to be shared out between you.’
Pilar said slowly in her rich Southern voice:
‘Then—I have—nothing?’
Lydia said quickly:
‘My dear, the family will see to that, of course.’
George Lee said:
‘You will be able to make your home here with Alfred—eh, Alfred? We—er—you are our niece—it is our duty to look after you.’
Hilda said: ‘We shall always be glad to have Pilar with us.’
Harry said:
‘She ought to have her proper share. She ought to have Jennifer’s whack.’
Mr Charlton murmured:
‘Must really—er—be going. Goodbye, Mrs Lee—anything I can do—er—consult me at any time…’
He escaped quickly. His experience enabled him to predict that all the ingredients for a family row were present.
As the door shut behind him Lydia said in her clear voice:
‘I agree with Harry. I think Pilar is entitled to a definite share. This will was made many years before Jennifer’s death.’
‘Nonsense,’ said George. ‘Very slipshod and illegal way of thinking, Lydia. The law’s the law. We must abide by it.’
Magdalene said:
‘It’s hard luck, of course, and we’re all very sorry for Pilar, but George is right. As he says, the law is the law.’
Lydia got up. She took Pilar by the hand.
‘My dear,’ she said. ‘This must be very unpleasant for you. Will you please leave us while we discuss the question?’
She led the girl to the door.
‘Don’t worry, Pilar, dear,’ she said. ‘Leave it to me.’
Pilar went slowly out of the room. Lydia shut the door behind her and turned back.
There was a moment’s pause while everyone drew breath and in another moment the battle was in full swing.
Harry said:
‘You’ve always been a damned skinflint, George.’
George retorted:
‘At any rate, I’ve not been a sponge and a rotter!’
‘You’ve been just as much of a sponge as I have! You’ve battened on Father all these years.’
‘You seem to forget that I hold a responsible and arduous position which—’
Harry said:
‘Responsible and arduous my foot! You’re only an inflated gasbag!’
Magdalene screamed: ‘How dare you?’
Hilda’s calm voice, slightly raised, said:
‘Couldn’t we just discuss this quietly?’
Lydia threw her a grateful glance.
David said with sudden violence:
‘Must we have all this disgraceful fuss over money!’
Magdalene said venomously to him:
‘It’s all very well to be so high-minded. You’re not going to refuse your legacy, are you? You want money just as much as the rest of us do! All this unworldliness is just a pose!’
David said in a strangled voice:
‘You think I ought to refuse it? I wonder—’
Hilda said sharply:
‘Of course you oughtn’t. Must we all behave like children? Alfred, you’re the head of the family—’
Alfred seemed to wake out of a dream. He said:
‘I beg your pardon. All of you shouting at once. It—it confuses me.’
Lydia said:
?
He said slowly:
‘She must make her home here, certainly. And we should make her an allowance. I do not see she has any legal claim to the money which would have gone to her mother. She’s not a Lee, remember. She’s a Spanish subject.’
‘No legal claim, no,’ said Lydia. ‘But I think she has a moral claim. As I see it, your father, although his daughter had married a Spaniard against his wishes, recognized her to have an equal claim upon him. George, Harry, David, and Jennifer were to share equally. Jennifer only died last year. I am sure that when he sent for Mr Charlton, he meant to make ample provision for Pilar in a new will. He would have allotted her at least her mother’s share. It is possible that he might have done much more than that. She was the only grandchild, remember. I think the least we can do is to endeavour to remedy any injustice that your father himself was preparing to remedy.’
Alfred said warmly:
‘Well put, Lydia! I was wrong. I agree with you that Pilar must be given Jennifer’s share of my father’s fortune.’
Lydia said: ‘Your turn, Harry.’
Harry said:
‘As you know, I agree. I think Lydia has put the case very well, and I’d like to say I admire her for it.’
Lydia said:
‘George?’
George was red in the face. He spluttered:
‘Certainly not! Whole thing’s preposterous! Give her a home and a decent dress allowance. Quite enough for her!’
‘Then you refuse to co-operate?’ asked Alfred.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And he’s quite right,’ said Magdalene. ‘It’s disgraceful to suggest he should do anything of the kind! Considering that George is the only member of the family who has done anything in the world, I think it’s a shame his father left him so little!’
Lydia said: ‘David?’
David said vaguely:
‘Oh, I think you’re right. It’s a pity there’s got to be so much ugliness and disputing about it all.’
Hilda said:
‘You’re quite right, Lydia. It’s only justice!’
Harry looked round. He said:
‘Well, that’s clear. Of the family, Alfred, myself and David are in favour of the motion. George is against it. The ayes have it.’
George said sharply:
‘There is no question of ayes and noes. My share of my father’s estate is mine absolutely. I shall not part with a penny of it.’
‘No, indeed,’ said Magdalene.
Lydia said sharply:
‘If you like to stand out, that is your business. The rest of us will make up your share of the total.’
She looked round for assent and the others nodded.
Harry said: ‘Alfred’s got the lion’s share. He ought to stand most of the racket.’
Alfred said: ‘I see that your original disinterested suggestion will soon break down.’
Hilda said firmly:
‘Don’t let’s start again! Lydia shall tell Pilar what we’ve decided. We can settle details later.’ She added in the hope of making a diversion, ‘I wonder where Mr Farr is, and M. Poirot?’
Alfred said:
‘We dropped Poirot in the village on our way to the inquest. He said he had an important purchase to make.’
Harry said: ‘Why didn’t he go to the inquest? Surely he ought to have done!’
Lydia said:
‘Perhaps he knew it was not going to be important. Who’s that out there in the garden? Superintendent Sugden, or Mr Farr?’
The efforts of the two women were successful. The family conclave broke up.
Lydia said to Hilda privately:
‘Thank you, Hilda. It was nice of you to back me up. You know, you really have been a comfort in all this.’
Hilda said thoughtfully: ‘Queer how money upsets people.’
The others had all left the room. The two women were alone.
Lydia said:
‘Yes—even Harry—although it was his suggestion! And my poor Alfred—he is so British—he doesn’t really like Lee money going to a Spanish subject.’
Hilda said, smiling:
‘Do you think we women are more unworldly?’
Lydia said with a shrug of her graceful shoulders:
‘Well, you know, it isn’t really our money—not our own! That may make a difference.’
Hilda said thoughtfully:
‘She is a strange child—Pilar, I mean. I wonder what will become of her?’
Lydia sighed.
‘I’m glad that she will be independent. To live here, to be given a home and a dress allowance, would not, I think, be very satisfactory to her. She’s too proud and, I think, too—too alien.’
She added musingly:
‘I once brought some beautiful blue lapis home from Egypt. Out there, against the sun and the sand, it was a glorious colour—a brilliant warm blue. But when I got it home, the blue of it hardly showed any more. It was just a dull, darkish string of beads.’
Hilda said:
‘Yes, I see…’
Lydia said gently:
‘I am so glad to come to know you and David at last. I’m glad you both came here.’
Hilda sighed:
‘How often I’ve wished in the last few days that we hadn’t!’
‘I know. You must have done…But you know, Hilda, the shock hasn’t affected David nearly as badly as it might have done. I mean, he is so sensitive that it might have upset him completely. Actually, since the murder, he’s seemed ever so much better—’
Hilda looked slightly disturbed. She said:
‘So you’ve noticed that? It’s rather dreadful in a way…But oh! Lydia, it’s undoubtedly so!’
She was silent a minute recollecting words that her husband had spoken only the night before. He had said to her, eagerly, his fair hair tossed back from his forehead:
‘Hilda, you remember in Tosca—when Scarpia is dead and Tosca lights the candles at his head and feet? Do you remember what she says: ‘Now I can forgive him…’ That is what I feel—about Father. I see now that all these years I couldn’t forgive him, and yet I really wanted to…But no—now there’s no rancour any more. It’s all wiped away. And I feel—oh, I feel as though a great load had been lifted from my back.’
She had said, striving to fight back a sudden fear:
‘Because he’s dead?’
He had answered quickly, stammering in his eagerness:
‘No, no, you don’t understand. Not because he is dead, but because my childish stupid hate of him is dead…’
Hilda thought of those words now.
She would have liked to repeat them to the woman at her side, but she felt instinctively that it was wiser not.
She followed Lydia out of the drawing-room into the hall.
Magdalene was there, standing by the hall table with a little parcel in her hand. She jumped when she saw them. She said:
‘Oh, this must be M Poirot’s important purchase. I saw him put it down here just now. I wonder what it is.’
She looked from one to the other of them, giggling a little, but her eyes were sharp and anxious, belying the affected gaiety of her words.
Lydia’s eyebrows rose. She said:
‘I must go and wash before lunch.’
Magdalene said, still with that affectation of childishness, but unable to keep the desperate note out of her voice:
‘I must just peep!’
She unrolled the piece of paper and gave a sharp exclamation. She stared at the thing in her hand.
Lydia stopped and Hilda too. Both women stared.
Magdalene said in a puzzled voice:
‘It’s a false moustache. But—but—why?’
Hilda said doubt
‘Disguise? But—’
Lydia finished the sentence for her.
‘But M. Poirot has a very fine moustache of his own!’
Magdalene was wrapping the parcel up again. She said:
‘I don’t understand. It’s—it’s mad. Why does M. Poirot buy a false moustache?’
II
When Pilar left the drawing-room she walked slowly along the hall. Stephen Farr was coming in through the garden door. He said:
‘Well? Is the family conclave over? Has the will been read?’
Pilar said, her breath coming fast:
‘I have got nothing—nothing at all! It was a will made many years ago. My grandfather left money to my mother, but because she is dead it does not go to me but goes back to them.’
Stephen said:
‘That seems rather hard lines.’
Pilar said:
‘If that old man had lived, he would have made another will. He would have left money to me—a lot of money! Perhaps in time he would have left me all the money!’
Stephen said, smiling:
‘That wouldn’t have been very fair either, would it?’
‘Why not? He would have liked me best, that is all.’
Stephen said:
‘What a greedy child you are. A real little gold-digger.’
Pilar said soberly:
‘The world is very cruel to women. They must do what they can for themselves—while they are young. When they are old and ugly no one will help them.’
Stephen said slowly:
‘That’s more true than I like to think. But it isn’t quite true. Alfred Lee, for instance, was genuinely fond of his father in spite of the old man being thoroughly trying and exacting.’
Pilar’s chin went up.
‘Alfred,’ she said, ‘is rather a fool.’
Stephen laughed.
Then he said:
‘Well, don’t worry, lovely Pilar. The Lees are bound to look after you, you know.’
Pilar said disconsolately:
‘It will not be very amusing, that.’
Stephen said slowly:
‘No, I’m afraid it won’t. I can’t see you living here, Pilar. Would you like to come to South Africa?’
Pilar nodded.
Stephen said:
‘There’s sun there, and space. There’s hard work too. Are you good at work, Pilar?’
Pilar said doubtfully: