The Complete Tommy and Tuppence

by Agatha Christie

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Round about the time we were trying to investigate the Jane Finn business,’ said Tommy.

  The looked at each other again; their minds going back to the past.

  Chapter 6

  Problems

  Moving house is often thought of beforehand as an agreeable exercise which the movers are going to enjoy, but it does not always turn out as expected.

  Relations have to be reopened or adjusted with electricians, with builders, with carpenters, with painters, with wall-paperers, with providers of refrigerators, gas stoves, electric appliances, with upholsterers, makers of curtains, hangers-up of curtains, those who lay linoleum, those who supply carpets. Every day has not only its appointed task but usually something between four and twelve extra callers, either long expected or those whose coming was quite forgotten.

  But there were moments when Tuppence with sighs of relief announced various finalities in different fields.

  ‘I really think our kitchen is almost perfect by now,’ she said. ‘Only I can’t find the proper kind of flour bin yet.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tommy, ‘does it matter very much?’

  ‘Well, it does rather. I mean, you buy flour very often in three-pound bags and it won’t go into these kinds of containers. They’re all so dainty. You know, one has a pretty rose on it and the other’s got a sunflower and they’ll not take more than a pound. It’s all so silly.’

  At intervals, Tuppence made other suggestions.

  ‘The Laurels,’ she said. ‘Silly name for a house, I think. I don’t see why it’s called The Laurels. It hasn’t got any laurels. They could have called it The Plane Trees much better. Plane trees are very nice,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘Before The Laurels it was called Long Scofield, so they told me,’ said Tommy.

  ‘That name doesn’t seem to mean anything either,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘What is a Scofield, and who lived in it then?’

  ‘I think it was the Waddingtons.’

  ‘One gets so mixed,’ said Tuppence. ‘Waddingtons and then the Joneses, the people who sold it to us. And before that the Blackmores? And once, I suppose the Parkinsons. Lots of Parkinsons. I’m always running into more Parkinsons.’

  ‘What way do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s that I’m always asking,’ said Tuppence. ‘I mean, if I could find out something about the Parkinsons, we could get on with our–well, with our problem.’

  ‘That’s what one always seems to call everything nowadays. The problem of Mary Jordan, is that it?’

  ‘Well, it’s not just that. There’s the problem of the Parkinsons and the problem of Mary Jordan and there must be a lot of other problems too. Mary Jordan didn’t die naturally, then the next thing the message said was, “It was one of us.” Now did that mean one of the Parkinson family or did it mean just someone who lived in the house? Say there were two or three Parkinsons, and some older Parkinsons, and people with different names but who were aunts to the Parkinsons or nephews and nieces to the Parkinsons, and I suppose something like a housemaid and a parlour maid and a cook and perhaps a governess and perhaps–well, not an au pair girl, it would be too long ago for an au pair girl–but “one of us” must mean a house-holdful. Households were fuller then than they are now. Well, Mary Jordan could have been a housemaid or a parlour maid or even the cook. And why should someone want her to die, and not die naturally? I mean, somebody must have wanted her to die or else her death would have been natural, wouldn’t it?–I’m going to another coffee morning the day after tomorrow,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘You seem to be always going to coffee mornings.’

  ‘Well, it’s a very good way of getting to know one’s neighbours and all the people who live in the same village. After all, it’s not very big, this village. And people are always talking about their old aunts or people they knew. I shall try and start on Mrs Griffin, who was evidently a great character in the neighbourhood. I should say she ruled everyone with a rod of iron. You know. She bullied the vicar and she bullied the doctor and I think she bullied the district nurse and all the rest of it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the district nurse be helpful?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She’s dead. I mean, the one who would have been here in the Parkinsons’ time is dead, and the one who is here now hasn’t been here very long. No sort of interest in the place. I don’t think she even knew a Parkinson.’

  ‘I wish,’ said Tommy desperately, ‘oh, how I wish that we could forget all the Parkinsons.’

  ‘You mean, then we shouldn’t have a problem?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Tommy. ‘Problems again.’

  ‘It’s Beatrice,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘What’s Beatrice?’

  ‘Who introduced problems. Really, it’s Elizabeth. The cleaning help we had before Beatrice. She was always coming to me and saying, “Oh madam, could I speak to you a minute? You see, I’ve got a problem,” and then Beatrice began coming on Thursdays and she must have caught it, I suppose. So she had problems too. It’s just a way of saying something–but you always call it a problem.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tommy. ‘We’ll admit that’s so. You’ve got a problem–I’ve got a problem–We’ve both got problems.’

  He sighed, and departed.

  Tuppence came down the stairs slowly, shaking her head. Hannibal came up to her hopefully, wagging his tail and wriggling in hopes of favours to come.

  ‘No, Hannibal,’ said Tuppence. ‘You’ve had a walk. You’ve had your morning walk.’

  Hannibal intimated that she was quite mistaken, he hadn’t had a walk.

  ‘You are one of the worst liars among dogs I have ever known,’ said Tuppence. ‘You’ve been for a walk with Father.’

  Hannibal made his second attempt, which was to endeavour to show by various attitudes that any dog would have a second walk if only he had an owner who could see things in that light. Disappointed in this effort, he went down the stairs and proceeded to bark loudly and make every pretence of being about to make a sharp snap bite at a tousled-haired girl who was wielding a Hoover. He did not like the Hoover, and he objected to Tuppence having a lengthy conversation with Beatrice.

  ‘Oh, don’t let him bite me,’ said Beatrice.

  ‘He won’t bite you,’ said Tuppence. ‘He only pretends he’s going to.’

  ‘Well, I think he’ll really do it one day,’ said Beatrice. ‘By the way, madam, I wonder if I could speak to you for a moment.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tuppence. ‘You mean–’

  ‘Well, you see, madam, I’ve got a problem.’

  ‘I thought that was it,’ said Tuppence. ‘What sort of problem is it? And, by the way, do you know any family here or anyone who lived here at one time called Jordan?’

  ‘Jordan now. Well, I can’t really say. There was the Johnsons, of course, and there was–ah yes, one of the constables was a Johnson. And so was one of the postmen. George Johnson. He was a friend of mine.’ She giggled.

  ‘You never heard of a Mary Jordan who died?’

  Beatrice merely looked bewildered–and she shook her head and went back to the assault.

  ‘About this problem, madam?’

  ‘Oh yes, your problem.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking you, madam, but it’s put me in a queer position, you see, and I don’t like–’

  ‘Well, if you can tell me quickly,’ said Tuppence. ‘I’ve got to go out to a coffee morning.’

  ‘Oh yes. At Mrs Barber’s isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Tuppence. ‘Now what’s the problem?’

  ‘Well, it’s a coat. Ever such a nice coat it was. At Simmonds it was, and I went in and tried it on and it seemed to me very nice, it did. Well, there was one little spot on the skirt, you know, just round near the hem but that didn’t seem to me would matter much. Anyway, well, it–er–’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuppence, ‘it what?’

  ‘It made me s
ee why it was so inexpensive, you see. So I got it. And so that was all right. But when I got home I found there was a label on it and instead of saying £3.70 it was labelled £6. Well, ma’am, I didn’t like to do that, so I didn’t know what to do. I went back to the shop and I took the coat with me–I thought I’d better take it back and explain, you see, that I hadn’t meant to take it away like that and then you see the girl who sold it to me–very nice girl she is, her name is Gladys, yes, I don’t know what her other name is–but anyway she was ever so upset, she was, and I said, “Well, that’s all right, I’ll pay extra,” and she said, “No, you can’t do that because it’s all entered up.” You see–you do see what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, I think I see what you mean,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘And so she said, “Oh you can’t do that, it will get me into trouble.”’

  ‘Why should it get her into trouble?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I felt. I mean to say, well, I mean it’d been sold to me for less and I’d brought it back and I didn’t see why it could put her in trouble. She said if there was any carelessness like that and they hadn’t noticed the right ticket and they’d charged me the wrong price, as likely as not she’d get the sack for it.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think that would happen,’ said Tuppence. ‘I think you were quite right. I don’t see what else you could do.’

  ‘Well, but there it is, you see. She made such a fuss and she was beginning to cry and everything, so I took the coat away again and now I don’t know whether I’ve cheated the shop or whether–I don’t really know what to do.’

  ‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘I really think I’m too old to know what one ought to do nowadays because everything is so odd in shops. The prices are odd and everything is difficult. But if I were you and you want to pay something extra, well perhaps you’d better give the money to what’s-her-name–Gladys something. She can put the money in the till or somewhere.’

  ‘Oh well, I don’t know as I’d like to do that because she might keep it, you see. I mean, if she kept the money, oh well, I mean it wouldn’t be difficult would it, because I suppose I’ve stolen the money and I wouldn’t have stolen it really. I mean then it would have been Gladys who stole it, wouldn’t it, and I don’t know that I trust her all that much. Oh dear.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuppence, ‘life is very difficult, isn’t it? I’m terribly sorry, Beatrice, but I really think you’ve got to make up your own mind about this. If you can’t trust your friend–’

  ‘Oh, she’s not exactly a friend. I only buy things there. And she’s ever so nice to talk to. But I mean, well, she’s not exactly a friend, you know. I think she had a little trouble once before the last place she was in. You know, they said she kept back money on something she’d sold.’

  ‘Well in that case,’ said Tuppence, in slight desperation, ‘I shouldn’t do anything.’

  The firmness of her tone was such that Hannibal came into the consultation. He barked loudly at Beatrice and took a running leap at the Hoover which he considered one of his principal enemies. ‘I don’t trust that Hoover,’ said Hannibal. ‘I’d like to bite it up.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, Hannibal. Stop barking. Don’t bite anything or anyone,’ said Tuppence. ‘I’m going to be awfully late.’

  She rushed out of the house.

  II

  ‘Problems,’ said Tuppence, as she went down the hill and along Orchard Road. Going along there, she wondered as she’d done before if there’d ever been an orchard attached to any of the houses. It seemed unlikely nowadays.

  Mrs Barber received her with great pleasure. She brought forward some very delicious-looking éclairs.

  ‘What lovely things,’ said Tuppence. ‘Did you get them at Betterby’s?’

  Betterby’s was the local confectionery shop.

  ‘Oh no, my aunt made them. She’s wonderful, you know. She does wonderful things.’ ‘E

  ‘Éclairs are very difficult things to make,’ said Tuppence. ‘I could never succeed with them.’

  ‘Well, you have to get a particular kind of flour. I believe that’s the secret of it.’

  The ladies drank coffee and talked about the difficulties of certain kinds of home cookery.

  ‘Miss Bolland was talking about you the other day, Mrs Beresford.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Tuppence. ‘Really? Bolland?’

  ‘She lives next to the vicarage. Her family has lived here a long time. She was telling us how she’d come and stayed here when she was a child. She used to look forward to it. She said, because there were such wonderful gooseberries in the garden. And greengage trees too. Now that’s a thing you practically never see nowadays, not real greengages. Something else called gage plums or something, but they’re not a bit the same to taste.’

  The ladies talked about things in the fruit line which did not taste like the things used to, which they remembered from their childhood.

  ‘My great-uncle had greengage trees,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘Oh yes. Is that the one who was a canon at Anchester? Canon Henderson used to live there, with his sister, I believe. Very sad it was. She was eating seed cake one day, you know, and one of the seeds got the wrong way. Something like that and she choked and she choked and she choked and she died of it. Oh dear, that’s very sad, isn’t it?’ said Mrs Barber. ‘Very sad indeed. One of my cousins died choking,’ she said. ‘A piece of mutton. It’s very easy to do, I believe, and there are people who die of hiccups because they can’t stop, you know. They don’t know the old rhyme,’ she explained. ‘Hic-up, hic-down, hic to the next town, three hics and one cup sure to cure the hiccups. You have to hold your breath while you say it.’

  Chapter 7

  More Problems

  ‘Can I speak to you a moment, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Tuppence. ‘Not more problems?’

  She was descending the stairs from the book-room, brushing dust off herself because she was dressed in her best coat and skirt, to which she was thinking of adding a feather hat and then proceeding out to a tea she had been asked to attend by a new friend she had met at the White Elephant Sale. It was no moment, she felt, to listen to the further difficulties of Beatrice.

  ‘Well, no, no, it’s not exactly a problem. It’s just something I thought you might like to know about.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tuppence, still feeling that this might be another problem in disguise. She came down carefully. ‘I’m in rather a hurry because I have to go out to tea.’

  ‘Well, it’s just about someone as you asked about, it seems. Name of Mary Jordan, that was right? Only they thought perhaps it was Mary Johnson. You know, there was a Belinda Johnson as worked at the post office, but a good long time ago.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuppence, ‘and there was a policeman called Johnson, too, so someone told me.’

  ‘Yes, well, anyway, this friend of mine–Gwenda, her name is–you know the shop, the post office is one side and envelopes and dirty cards and things the other side, and some china things too, before Christmas, you see, and–’

  ‘I know,’ said Tuppence, ‘it’s called Mrs Garrison’s or something like that.’

  ‘Yes, but it isn’t really Garrison nowadays as keep it. Quite a different name. But anyway, this friend of mine, Gwenda, she thought you might be interested to know because she says as she had heard of a Mary Jordan what lived here a long time ago. A very long time ago. Lived here, in this house I mean.’

  ‘Oh, lived in The Laurels?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t called that then. And she’d heard something about her, she said. And so she thought you might be interested. There was some rather sad story about her, she had an accident or something. Anyway she died.’

  ‘You mean that she was living in this house when she died? Was she one of the family?’

  ‘No. I think the family was called Parker, a name of that kind. A lot of Parkers there were, Parkers or Parkinsons–something like that. I think she was just staying here. I believe Mrs Griffin k
nows about it. Do you know Mrs Griffin?’

  ‘Oh, very slightly,’ said Tuppence. ‘Matter of fact, that’s where I’m going to tea this afternoon. I talked to her the other day at the Sale. I hadn’t met her before.’

  ‘She’s a very old lady. She’s older than she looks, but I think she’s got a very good memory. I believe one of the Parkinson boys was her godson.’

  ‘What was his Christian name?’

  ‘Oh, it was Alec, I think. Some name like that. Alec or Alex.’

  ‘What happened to him? Did he grow up–go away–become a soldier or sailor or something like that?’

  ‘Oh no. He died. Oh yes, I think he’s buried right here. It’s one of those things, I think, as people usedn’t to know much about. It’s one of those things with a name like a Christian name.’

  ‘You mean somebody’s disease?’

  ‘Hodgkin’s Disease, or something. No, it was a Christian name of some kind. I don’t know, but they say as your blood grows the wrong colour or something. Nowadays I believe they take blood away from you and give you some good blood again, or something like that. But even then you usually die, they say. Mrs Billings–the cake shop, you know–she had a little girl died of that and she was only seven. They say it takes them very young.’

  ‘Leukaemia?’

  ‘Oh now, fancy you knowing. Yes, it was that name, I’m sure. But they say now as one day there’ll maybe be a cure for it, you know. Just like nowadays they give you inoculations and things to cure you from typhoid, or whatever it is.’

  ‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘that’s very interesting. Poor little boy.’

  ‘Oh, he wasn’t very young. He was at school somewhere, I think. Must have been about thirteen or fourteen.’

  ‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘it’s all very sad.’ She paused, then said, ‘Oh dear, I’m very late now. I must hurry off.’

  ‘I dare say Mrs Griffin could tell you a few things. I don’t mean things as she’d remember herself, but she was brought up here as a child and she heard a lot of things, and she tells people a lot sometimes about the families that were here before. Some of the things are real scandalous, too. You know, goings-on and all that. That was, of course, in what they call Edwardian times or Victorian times. I don’t know which. You know. I should think it was Victorian because she was still alive, the old Queen. So that’s Victorian, really. They talk about it as Edwardian and something called “the Marlborough House set”. Sort of high society, wasn’t it?’