by Mark Place
I wanted to get at her - to kill her… How could she do it? How could she? He was so alive, so full of life and vigour. To put all that out - to make him limp and cold. Just so that I shouldn’t have him. Horrible woman!… Horrible, scornful, cruel, vindictive woman!… I hate her! I still hate her! They didn’t even hang her. They ought to have hanged her… Even hanging was too good for her… I hate her!… I hate her!… I hate her!…
(End of Lady Dittisham’s Narrative)
Narrative of Cecilia Williams
Dear M. Poirot:
I am sending you an account of those events in September, 19—, actually witnessed by myself.
I have been absolutely frank and have kept nothing back. You may show it to Carla Crale. It may pain her, but I have always been a believer in truth. Palliatives are harmful. One must have the courage to face reality. Without that courage, life is meaningless. The people who do us most harm are the people who shield us from reality. Believe me, yours sincerely,
Cecilia Williams.
My name is Cecilia Williams. I was engaged by Mrs Crale as governess to her half-sister, Angela Warren, in 19—. I was then forty-eight. I took up my duties at Alderbury, a very beautiful estate in South Devon which had belonged to Mr Crale’s family for many generations. I knew that Mr Crale was a well-known painter but I did not meet him until I took up residence at Alderbury. The household consisted of Mr and Mrs Crale, Angela Warren (then a girl of thirteen), and three servants, who had been with the family many years. I found my pupil an interesting and promising character. She had very marked abilities and it was a pleasure to teach her. She was somewhat wild and undisciplined, but these faults arose mainly through high spirits, and I have always preferred my girls to show spirit. An excess of vitality can be trained and guided into paths of real usefulness and achievement.
On the whole, I found Angela amenable to discipline. She had been somewhat spoiled - mainly by Mrs Crale, who was far too indulgent where she was concerned. Mr Crale’s influence was, I considered, unwise. He indulged her absurdly one day and was unnecessarily peremptory on another occasion. He was very much a man of moods, possibly owing to what is styled the artistic temperament. I have never seen, myself, why the possession of artistic ability should be supposed to excuse a man from a decent exercise of self-control. I did not myself admire Mr Crale’s paintings. The drawing seemed to me faulty and the colouring exaggerated, but, naturally, I was not called upon to express any opinion on these matters. I soon formed a deep attachment to Mrs Crale. I admired her character and her fortitude in the difficulties of her life. Mr Crale was not a faithful husband, and I think that that fact was the source of much pain to her. A stronger-minded woman would have left him, but Mrs Crale never seemed to contemplate such a course. She endured his infidelities and forgave him for them, but I may say that she did not take them meekly. She remonstrated - and with spirit! It was said at the trial that they led a cat-and-dog life. I would not go as far as that - Mrs Crale had too much dignity for that term to apply – but they did have quarrels. And I consider that that was only natural under the circumstances.
I had been with Mrs Crale just over two years when Miss Elsa Greer appeared upon the scene. She arrived down at Alderbury in the summer of 19—. Mrs Crale had not met her previously. She was Mr Crale’s friend, and she was said to be there for the purpose of having her portrait painted. It was apparent at once that Mr Crale was infatuated with this girl, and that the girl herself was doing nothing to discourage him. She behaved, in my opinion, quite outrageously, being abominably rude to Mrs Crale and openly flirting with Mr Crale. Naturally Mrs Crale said nothing to me, but I could see that she was disturbed and unhappy and I did everything in my power to distract her mind and lighten her burden. Miss Greer sat every day for Mr Crale, but I noticed that the picture was not getting on very fast. They had, no doubt, other things to talk about.
My pupil, I am thankful to say, noticed very little of what was going on. Angela was in some ways young for her age. Though her intellect was well developed, she was not at all what I may term precocious. She seemed to have no wish to read undesirable books and showed no signs of morbid curiosity such as girls often do at her age. She, therefore, saw nothing undesirable in the friendship between Mr Crale and Miss Greer. Nevertheless, she disliked Miss Greer and thought her stupid. Here she was quite right. Miss Greer had had, I presume, a proper education, but she never opened a book and was quite unfamiliar with current literary allusions. Moreover, she could not sustain a discussion on any intellectual subject. She was entirely taken up with her personal appearance, her clothes, and men. Angela, I think, did not even realize that her sister was unhappy. She was not at that time a very perceptive person. She spent a lot of time in hoydenish pastimes, such as tree climbing and wild feats of bicycling. She was also a passionate reader and showed excellent taste in what she liked and disliked.
Mrs Crale was always careful to conceal any signs of unhappiness from Angela, and exerted herself to appear bright and cheerful when the girl was about. Miss Greer went back to London - at which, I can tell you, we were all very pleased! The servants disliked her as much as I did. She was the kind of person who gives a lot of unnecessary trouble and forgets to say thank you. Mr Crale went away shortly afterward, and of course I knew that he had gone after the girl. I was very sorry for Mrs Crale. She felt these things very keenly. I felt extremely bitter toward Mr Crale. When a man has a charming, gracious, intelligent wife he has no business to treat her badly. However, she and I both hoped the affair would soon be over. Not that we mentioned the subject to each other - we did not - but she knew quite well how I felt about it. Unfortunately, after some weeks, the pair of them reappeared. It seemed the sittings were to be resumed. Mr Crale was now painting with absolute frenzy. He seemed less preoccupied with the girl than with his picture of her. Nevertheless, I realized that this was not the usual kind of thing we had gone through before. This girl had got her claws into him and she meant business. He was just like wax in her hands. The thing came to a head on the day before he died - that is, on September 17th. Miss Greer’s manner had been unbearably insolent the last few days. She was feeling sure of herself and she wanted to assert her importance. Mrs Crale behaved like a true gentlewoman. She was icily polite but she showed the other clearly what she thought of her.
On this day, September 17th, as we were sitting in the drawing-room after lunch, Miss Greer came out with an amazing remark as to how she was going to redecorate the room when she was living at Alderbury. Naturally, Mrs Crale couldn’t let that pass. She challenged her, and Miss Greer had the impudence to say, before us all, that she was going to marry Mr Crale. She actually talked about marrying a married man - and she said it to his wife!
Chapter 9
I was very, very angry with Mr Crale. How dared he let this girl insult his wife in her own drawing-room? If he wanted to run away with the girl he should have gone off with her, not brought her into his wife s house and backed her up in her insolence. In spite of what she must have felt, Mrs Crale did not lose her dignity. Her husband came in just then, and she immediately demanded confirmation from him. He was, not unnaturally, annoyed with Miss Greer for her unconsidered forcing of the situation. Apart from anything else, it made him appear at a disadvantage, and men do not like appearing at a disadvantage. It upsets their vanity. He stood there, a great giant of a man, looking as sheepish and foolish as a naughty schoolboy. It was his wife who carried off the honours of the situation. He had to mutter foolishly that it was true, but that he hadn’t meant her to learn it like this. I have never seen anything like the look of scorn she gave him. She went out of the room with her head held high. She was a beautiful woman - much more beautiful than that flamboyant girl - and she walked like an empress.
I hoped, with all my heart, that Amyas Crale would be punished for the cruelty he had displayed and for the indignity he had put upon a long-suffering and noble woman. For the first time I tried to say something of what I f
elt to Mrs Crale, but she stopped me. She said, “We must try and behave as usual. It’s the best way. We’re all going over to Meredith Blake’s to tea.”
I said to her then, “I think you are wonderful, Mrs Crale.”
She said, “You don’t know…”
Then, as she was going out of the room, she came back and kissed me. She said, “You’re such a great comfort to me.”
She went to her room then, and I think she cried. I saw her when they all started off. She was wearing a big-brimmed hat that shaded her face - a hat she very seldom wore. Mr Crale was uneasy but was trying to brazen things out. Mr Philip Blake was trying to behave as usual. That Miss Greer was looking like a cat who has got at the cream jug - all self-satisfaction and purrs! They all started off. They got back about six. I did not see Mrs Crale again alone that evening. She was very quiet and composed at dinner and she went to bed early. I don’t think that anyone but I knew how she was suffering.
The evening was taken up with a kind of running quarrel between Mr Crale and Angela. They brought up the old school question again. He was irritable and on edge and she was unusually trying. The whole matter was settled and her outfit had been bought and there was no sense in starting up an argument again, but she suddenly chose to make a grievance of it. I have no doubt she sensed the tension in the air and that it reacted on her as much as on everybody else. I am afraid I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts to try to check her, as I should have done. It all ended with her flinging a paperweight at Mr Crale and dashing wildly out of the room.
I went after her and told her sharply that I was ashamed of her behaving like a baby, but she was still very uncontrolled, and I thought it best to leave her alone. I hesitated as to whether to go to Mrs Crale’s room, but I decided in the end that it would, perhaps, annoy her. I wish since that I had overcome my diffidence and insisted on her talking to me. If she had done so, it might possibly have made a difference. She had no one, you see, in whom she could confide. Although I admire self-control, I must regretfully admit that sometimes it can be carried too far. A natural outlet to the feelings is better. I met Mr Crale as I went along to my room. He said good night, but I did not answer. The next morning was, I remember, a beautiful day. One felt when waking that surely with such peace all around even a man must come to his senses. I went into Angela’s room before going down to breakfast, but she was already up and out. I picked up a torn skirt which she had left lying on the floor and took it down with me for her to mend after breakfast. She had, however, obtained bread and marmalade from the kitchen and gone out. After I had had my own breakfast I went in search of her.
I mention this to explain why I was not more with Mrs Crale on that morning as perhaps I should have been. At the time, however, I felt it was my duty to look for Angela. She was very naughty and obstinate about mending her clothes and I had no intention of allowing her to defy me in the matter. Her bathing dress was missing and I accordingly went down to the beach. There was no sign of her in the water or on the rocks so I conceived it possible that she had gone over to Mr Meredith Blake’s. She and he were great friends. I accordingly rowed myself across and resumed my search. I did not find her and eventually returned. Mrs Crale, Mr Blake, and Mr Philip Blake were on the terrace. It was very hot that morning if one was out of the wind, and the house and terrace were sheltered. Mrs Crale suggested they might like some iced beer. There was a little conservatory which had been built onto the house in Victorian days. Mrs Crale disliked it, and it was not used for plants, but it had been made into a kind of bar, with various bottles of gin, vermouth, lemonade, ginger beer, etc., on shelves, and a small refrigerator which was filled with ice every morning and in which some beer and ginger beer were always kept.
Mrs Crale went there to get the beer and I went with her. Angela was at the refrigerator and was just taking out a bottle of beer. Mrs Crale went in ahead of me. She said, “I want a bottle of beer to take down to Amyas.”
It is so difficult now to know whether I ought to have suspected anything. Her voice, I feel almost convinced, was perfectly normal. But I must admit that at that moment I was intent, not on her, but on Angela. Angela was by the refrigerator and I was glad to see that she looked red and rather guilty. I was rather sharp with her, and to my surprise she was quite meek. I asked her where she had been and she said she had been bathing. I said, “I didn’t see you on the beach.” And she laughed. Then I asked her where her jersey was, and she said she must have left it down on the beach. I mention these details to explain why I let Mrs Crale take the beer down to the Battery Garden. The rest of the morning is quite blank in my mind. Angela fetched her needle book and mended her skirt without any more fuss. I rather think that I mended some of the household linen. Mr Crale did not come up for lunch. I was glad that he had at least that much decency.
After lunch, Mrs Crale said she was going down to the Battery. I wanted to retrieve Angela’s jersey from the beach. We started down together. She went into the Battery; I was going on when her cry called me back. As I told you when you came to see me, she asked me to go up and telephone. On the way up I met Mr Meredith Blake and I went back to Mrs Crale. That was my story as I told it at the inquest and later at the trial. What I am about to write down I have never told to any living soul. I was not asked any question to which I returned an untrue answer. Nevertheless, I was guilty of withholding certain facts. I do not repent of that. I would do it again. I am fully aware that in revealing this I may be laying myself open to censure, but I do not think that after this lapse of time anyone will take the matter very seriously, especially since Caroline Crale was convicted without my evidence. This, then, is what happened: I met Mr Meredith Blake as I said and I ran down the path again as quickly as I could. I was wearing sand shoes and I have always been light on my feet. I came to the open Battery door and this is what I saw: Mrs Crale was busily polishing the beer bottle on the table with her handkerchief. Having done so, she took her dead husband’s hand and pressed the fingers of it on the beer bottle. All the time she was listening and on the alert. It was the fear I saw on her face that told me the truth. I knew then, beyond any possible doubt, that Caroline Crale had poisoned her husband. And I, for one, do not blame her. He drove her to a point beyond human endurance, and he brought his fate upon himself. I never mentioned the incident to Mrs Crale and she never knew that I had seen it take place. I would never have mentioned it to anybody, but there is one person who I think has a right to know. Caroline Crale’s daughter must not bolster up her life with a lie. However much it may pain her to know the truth, truth is the only thing that matters. Tell her, from me, that her mother is not to be judged. She was driven beyond what a loving woman can endure. It is for her daughter to understand and forgive.
(End of Cecilia, Williams’ Narrative)
Narrative of Angela Warren
Dear M. Poirot:
I am keeping my promise to you and have written down all I can remember of that terrible time sixteen years ago. But it was not until I started that I realized how very little I did remember. Until the thing actually happened, you see, there is nothing to fix anything by. The very first intimation I had of the whole thing was what I overheard from the terrace where I had escaped after lunch one day. Elsa said she was going to marry Amyas! It struck me as just ridiculous. I remember tackling Amyas about it. In the garden at Handcross it was. I said to him: “Why does Elsa say she’s going to marry you? She couldn’t. People can’t have two wives – it’s bigamy and they go to prison.” Amyas got very angry and said, “How the devil did you hear that?”
I said I’d heard it through the library window. He was angrier than ever then and said it was high time I went to school and got out of the habit of eavesdropping. I still remember the resentment I felt when he said that. Because it was so unfair. Absolutely and utterly unfair. I stammered out angrily that I hadn’t been listening - and, anyhow, I said, why did Elsa say a silly thing like that? Amyas said it was just a joke.
&
nbsp; That ought to have satisfied me. It did - almost, but not quite. I said to Elsa when we were on the way back, “I asked Amyas what you meant when you said you were going to marry him and he said it was just a joke.”
I felt that ought to snub her. But she only smiled. I didn’t like that smile of hers. I went up to Caroline’s room. It was when she was dressing for dinner. I asked her then outright if it were possible for Amyas to marry Elsa. I remember Caroline’s answer as though I heard it now. She must have spoken with great emphasis. “Amyas will marry Elsa only after I am dead,” she said.
That reassured me completely. Death seemed ages away from us all. I don t remember much about the afternoon at Meredith Blake’s, although I do remember his reading aloud the passage from the Phaedo, describing Socrates’s death. I had never heard it before. I thought it was the loveliest, most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I don’t remember much that happened the next morning either, though I have thought and thought. I’ve a vague feeling that I must have bathed, and I think I remember being made to mend something. But it’s all very vague and dim till the time when Meredith came panting up the path from the terrace and his face was all grey and queer. I remember a coffee cup falling off the table and being broken - Elsa did that. And I remember her running - suddenly running for all she was worth down the path - and the awful look there was on her face. I kept saying to myself, “Amyas is dead.” But it just didn’t seem real.
I remember Dr Faussett coming and his grave face. Miss Williams was busy looking after Caroline. I wandered about rather forlornly, getting in people s way. I had a nasty, sick feeling. Miss Williams took me into Caroline’s room later. Caroline was on the sofa. She looked very white and ill. She kissed me and said she wanted me to go away as soon as I could, and it was all horrible, but I wasn’t to worry or think about it anymore than I could help. I was to join Carla at Lady Tressilian’s, because this house was to be kept as empty as possible. I clung to Caroline and said I didn’t want to go away. I wanted to stay with her. She said she knew I did, but it was better for me to go away and would take a lot of worry off her mind. And Miss Williams chipped in and said, “The best way you can help your sister, Angela, is to do what she wants you to do without making a fuss about it.”