The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie
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I had arrived at Styles on the 5th of July. I come now to the events of the 16th and 17th of that month. For the convenience of the reader I will recapitulate the incidents of those days in as exact a manner as possible. They were elicited subsequently at the trial by a process of long and tedious cross-examinations.
I received a letter from Evelyn Howard a couple of days after her departure, telling me she was working as a nurse at the big hospital in Middlingham, a manufacturing town some fifteen miles away, and begging me to let her know if Mrs. Inglethorp should show any wish to be reconciled.
The only fly in the ointment of my peaceful days was Mrs. Cavendishâs extraordinary, and, for my part, unaccountable preference for the society of Dr. Bauerstein. What she saw in the man I cannot imagine, but she was always asking him up to the house, and often went off for long expeditions with him. I must confess that I was quite unable to see his attraction.
The 16th of July fell on a Monday. It was a day of turmoil. The famous bazaar had taken place on Saturday, and an entertainment, in connection with the same charity, at which Mrs. Inglethorp was to recite a War poem, was to be held that night. We were all busy during the morning arranging and decorating the Hall in the village where it was to take place. We had a late luncheon and spent the afternoon resting in the garden. I noticed that Johnâs manner was somewhat unusual. He seemed very excited and restless.
After tea, Mrs. Inglethorp went to lie down to rest before her efforts in the evening and I challenged Mary Cavendish to a single at tennis.
About a quarter to seven, Mrs. Inglethorp called us that we should be late as supper was early that night. We had rather a scramble to get ready in time; and before the meal was over the motor was waiting at the door.
The entertainment was a great success, Mrs. Inglethorpâs recitation receiving tremendous applause. There were also some tableaux in which Cynthia took part. She did not return with us, having been asked to a supper party, and to remain the night with some friends who had been acting with her in the tableaux.
The following morning, Mrs. Inglethorp stayed in bed to breakfast, as she was rather overtired; but she appeared in her briskest mood about 12.30, and swept Lawrence and myself off to a luncheon party.
âSuch a charming invitation from Mrs. Rolleston. Lady Tadminsterâs sister, you know. The Rollestons came over with the Conquerorâone of our oldest families.â
Mary had excused herself on the plea of an engagement with Dr. Bauerstein.
We had a pleasant luncheon, and as we drove away Lawrence suggested that we should return by Tadminster, which was barely a mile out of our way, and pay a visit to Cynthia in her dispensary. Mrs. Inglethorp replied that this was an excellent idea, but as she had several letters to write she would drop us there, and we could come back with Cynthia in the pony-trap.
We were detained under suspicion by the hospital porter, until Cynthia appeared to vouch for us, looking very cool and sweet in her long white overall. She took us up to her sanctum, and introduced us to her fellow dispenser, a rather awe-inspiring individual, whom Cynthia cheerily addressed as âNibs.â
âWhat a lot of bottles!â I exclaimed, as my eye travelled round the small room. âDo you really know whatâs in them all?â
âSay something original,â groaned Cynthia. âEvery single person who comes up here says that. We are really thinking of bestowing a prize on the first individual who does not say: âWhat a lot of bottles!â And I know the next thing youâre going to say is: âHow many people have you poisoned?ââ
I pleaded guilty with a laugh.
âIf you people only knew how fatally easy it is to poison someone by mistake, you wouldnât joke about it. Come on, letâs have tea. Weâve got all sorts of secret stores in that cupboard. No, Lawrenceâthatâs the poison cupboard. The big cupboardâthatâs right.â
We had a very cheery tea, and assisted Cynthia to wash up afterwards. We had just put away the last tea-spoon when a knock came at the door. The countenances of Cynthia and Nibs were suddenly petrified into a stern and forbidding expression.
âCome in,â said Cynthia, in a sharp professional tone.
A young and rather scared looking nurse appeared with a bottle which she proffered to Nibs, who waved her towards Cynthia with the somewhat enigmatical remark:
âIâm not really here to-day.â
Cynthia took the bottle and examined it with the severity of a judge.
âThis should have been sent up this morning.â
âSister is very sorry. She forgot.â
âSister should read the rules outside the door.â
I gathered from the little nurseâs expression that there was not the least likelihood of her having the hardihood to retail this message to the dreaded âSisterâ.
âSo now it canât be done until to-morrow,â finished Cynthia.
âDonât you think you could possibly let us have it to-night?â
âWell,â said Cynthia graciously, âwe are very busy, but if we have time it shall be done.â
The little nurse withdrew, and Cynthia promptly took a jar from the shelf, refilled the bottle, and placed it on the table outside the door.
I laughed.
âDiscipline must be maintained?â
âExactly. Come out on our little balcony. You can see all the outside wards there.â
I followed Cynthia and her friend and they pointed out the different wards to me. Lawrence remained behind, but after a few moments Cynthia called to him over her shoulder to come and join us. Then she looked at her watch.
âNothing more to do, Nibs?â
âNo.â
âAll right. Then we can lock up and go.â
I had seen Lawrence in quite a different light that afternoon. Compared to John, he was an astoundingly difficult person to get to know. He was the opposite of his brother in almost every respect, being unusually shy and reserved. Yet he had a certain charm of manner, and I fancied that, if one really knew him well, one could have a deep affection for him. I had always fancied that his manner to Cynthia was rather constrained, and that she on her side was inclined to be shy of him. But they were both gay enough this afternoon, and chatted together like a couple of children.
As we drove through the village, I remembered that I wanted some stamps, so accordingly we pulled up at the post office.
As I came out again, I cannoned into a little man who was just entering. I drew aside and apologised, when suddenly, with a loud exclamation, he clasped me in his arms and kissed me warmly.
âMon ami Hastings!â he cried. âIt is indeed mon ami Hastings!â
âPoirot!â I exclaimed.
I turned to the pony-trap.
âThis is a very pleasant meeting for me, Miss Cynthia. This is my old friend, Monsieur Poirot, whom I have not seen for years.â
âOh, we know Monsieur Poirot,â said Cynthia gaily. âBut I had no idea he was a friend of yours.â
âYes, indeed,â said Poirot seriously. âI know Mademoiselle Cynthia. It is by the charity of that good Mrs. Inglethorp that I am here.â Then, as I looked at him inquiringly: âYes, my friend, she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from their native land. We Belgians will always remember her with gratitude.â
Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandified little man who, I was sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the day.
He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his fellow Belgians, and I promised to go and see him at an early date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we drove away.
âHeâs a dear little man,â said Cynthia. âIâd no idea you knew him.â
âYouâve been entertaining a celebrity unawares,â I replied.
And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various exploits and triumphs of Hercule Poirot.
We arrived back in a very cheerful mood. As we entered the hall, Mrs. Inglethorp came out of her boudoir. She looked flushed and upset.
âOh, itâs you,â she said.
âIs there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?â asked Cynthia.
âCertainly not,â said Mrs. Inglethorp sharply. âWhat should there be?â Then catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going into the dining-room, she called to her to bring some stamps into the boudoir.
âYes, mâm.â The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently: âDonât you think, mâm, youâd better get to bed? Youâre looking very tired.â
âPerhaps youâre right, Dorcasâyesânoânot now. Iâve some letters I must finish by post-time. Have you lighted the fire in my room as I told you?â
âYes, mâm.â
âThen Iâll go to bed directly after supper.â
She went into the boudoir again, and Cynthia stared after her.
âGoodness gracious! I wonder whatâs up?â she said to Lawrence.
He did not seem to have heard her, for without a word he turned on his heel and went out of the house.
I suggested a quick game of tennis before supper and, Cynthia agreeing, I ran upstairs to fetch my racquet.
Mrs. Cavendish was coming down the stairs. It may have been my fancy, but she, too, was looking odd and disturbed.
âHad a good walk with Dr. Bauerstein?â I asked, trying to appear as indifferent as I could.
âI didnât go,â she replied abruptly. âWhere is Mrs. Inglethorp?â
âIn the boudoir.â
Her hand clenched itself on the banisters, then she seemed to nerve herself for some encounter, and went rapidly past me down the stairs across the hall to the boudoir, the door of which she shut behind her.
As I ran out to the tennis court a few moments later, I had to pass the open boudoir window, and was unable to help overhearing the following scrap of dialogue. Mary Cavendish was saying in the voice of a woman desperately controlling herself:
âThen you wonât show it to me?â
To which Mrs. Inglethorp replied:
âMy dear Mary, it has nothing to do with that matter.â
âThen show it to me.â
âI tell you it is not what you imagine. It does not concern you in the least.â
To which Mary Cavendish replied, with a rising bitterness:
âOf course, I might have known you would shield him.â
Cynthia was waiting for me, and greeted me eagerly with:
âI say! Thereâs been the most awful row! Iâve got it all out of Dorcas.â
âWhat kind of a row?â
âBetween Aunt Emily and him. I do hope sheâs found him out at last!â
âWas Dorcas there, then?â
âOf course not. She âhappened to be near the doorâ. It was a real old bust-up. I do wish I knew what it was all about.â
I thought of Mrs. Raikesâs gipsy face, and Evelyn Howardâs warnings, but wisely decided to hold my peace, whilst Cynthia exhausted every possible hypothesis, and cheerfully hoped, âAunt Emily will send him away, and will never speak to him again.â
I was anxious to get hold of John, but he was nowhere to be seen. Evidently something very momentous had occurred that afternoon. I tried to forget the few words I had overheard; but, do what I would, I could not dismiss them altogether from my mind. What was Mary Cavendishâs concern in the matter?
Mr. Inglethorp was in the drawing-room when I came down to supper. His face was impassive as ever, and the strange unreality of the man struck me afresh.
Mrs. Inglethorp came down last. She still looked agitated, and during the meal there was a somewhat constrained silence. Inglethorp was unusually quiet. As a rule, he surrounded his wife with little attentions, placing a cushion at her back, and altogether playing the part of the devoted husband. Immediately after supper, Mrs. Inglethorp retired to her boudoir again.
âSend my coffee in here, Mary,â she called. âIâve just five minutes to catch the post.â
Cynthia and I went and sat by the open window in the drawing-room. Mary Cavendish brought our coffee to us. She seemed excited.
âDo you young people want lights, or do you enjoy the twilight?â she asked. âWill you take Mrs. Inglethorp her coffee, Cynthia? I will pour it out.â
âDo not trouble, Mary,â said Inglethorp. âI will take it to Emily.â He poured it out, and went out of the room carrying it carefully.
Lawrence followed him, and Mrs. Cavendish sat down by us.
We three sat for some time in silence. It was a glorious night, hot and still. Mrs. Cavendish fanned herself gently with a palm leaf.
âItâs almost too hot,â she murmured. âWe shall have a thunderstorm.â
Alas, that these harmonious moments can never endure! My paradise was rudely shattered by the sound of a well known, and heartily disliked, voice in the hall.
âDr. Bauerstein!â exclaimed Cynthia. âWhat a funny time to come.â
I glanced jealously at Mary Cavendish, but she seemed quite undisturbed, the delicate pallor of her cheeks did not vary.
In a few moments, Alfred Inglethorp had ushered the doctor in, the latter laughing, and protesting that he was in no fit state for a drawing-room. In truth, he presented a sorry spectacle, being literally plastered with mud.
âWhat have you been doing, doctor?â cried Mrs. Cavendish.
âI must make my apologies,â said the doctor. âI did not really mean to come in, but Mr. Inglethorp insisted.â
âWell, Bauerstein, you are in a plight,â said John, strolling in from the hall. âHave some coffee, and tell us what you have been up to.â
âThank you, I will.â He laughed rather ruefully, as he described how he had discovered a very rare species of fern in an inaccessible place, and in his efforts to obtain it had lost his footing, and slipped ignominiously into a neighbouring pond.
âThe sun soon dried me off,â he added, âbut Iâm afraid my appearance is very disreputable.â
At this juncture, Mrs. Inglethorp called to Cynthia from the hall, and the girl ran out.
âJust carry up my despatch-case, will you, dear? Iâm going to bed.â
The door into the hall was a wide one. I had risen when Cynthia did, John was close by me. There were therefore three witnesses who could swear that Mrs. Inglethorp was carrying her coffee, as yet untasted, in her hand.
My evening was utterly and entirely spoilt by the presence of Dr. Bauerstein. It seemed to me the man would never go. He rose at last, however, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
âIâll walk down to the village with you,â said Mr. Inglethorp. âI must see our agent over those estate accounts.â He turned to John. âNo one need sit up. I will take the latch-key.â
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