Postern of Fate

  'I'm sure you can,' said Tommy. 'Only good thing about you, Tuppence, is that at least you have a kindly heart. You wouldn't put them into execution just for fun.'

  'But there wasn't any Mary Jordan in the cemetery. There weren't any Jordans.'

  'Disappointing for you,' said Tommy. 'Is that thing you're cooking ready yet, because I'm pretty hungry. It smells rather good.'

  'It's absolutely done to a point,' said Tuppence. 'So, as soon as you've washed, we eat.'

  Chapter 4

  LOTS OF PARKINSONS

  'Lots of Parkinsons,' said Tuppence as they ate. 'A long way back but an amazing lot of them. Old ones, young ones and married ones. Bursting with Parkinsons. And Capes, and Griffins and Underwoods and Overwoods. Curious to have both of them, isn't it?'

  'I had a friend called George Underwood,' said Tommy.

  'Yes, I've known Underwoods, too. But not Overwoods.'

  'Male or female?' said Thomas, with slight interest.

  'A girl, I think it was. Rose Overwood.'

  'Rose Overwood,' said Tommy, listening to the sound of it. 'I don't think somehow it goes awfully well together.' He added, 'I must ring up those electricians after lunch. Be very careful, Tuppence, or you'll put your foot through the landing upstairs.'

  'Then I shall be a natural death, or an unnatural death, one of the two.'

  'A curiosity death,' said Tommy. 'Curiosity killed the cat.'

  'Aren't you at all curious?' asked Tuppence.

  'I can't see any earthly reason for being curious. What have we got for pudding?'

  'Treacle tart.'

  'Well, I must say, Tuppence, it was a delicious meal.'

  'I'm very glad you liked it,' said Tuppence.

  'What is that parcel outside the back door? Is it that wine we ordered?'

  'No,' said Tuppence, 'it's bulbs.'

  'Oh,' said Tommy, 'bulbs.'

  'Tulips,' said Tuppence. 'I'll go and talk to old Isaac about them.'

  'Where are you going to put them?'

  'I think along the centre path in the garden.'

  'Poor old fellow, he looks as if he might drop dead any minute,' said Tommy.

  'Not at all,' said Tuppence. 'He's enormously tough, is Isaac. I've discovered, you know, that gardeners are like that. If they're very good gardeners they seem to come to their prime when they're over eighty, but if you get a strong, hefty-looking young man about thirty-five who says, "I've always wanted to work in a garden," you may be quite sure that he's probably no good at all. They're just prepared to brush up a few leaves now and again and anything you want them to do they always say it's the wrong time of year, and as one never knows oneself when the right time of year is, at least I don't, well then, you see, they always get the better of you. But Isaac's wonderful. He knows about everything.' Tuppence added, 'There ought to be some crocuses as well. I wonder if they're in the parcel, too. Well, I'll go out and see. It's his day for coming and he'll tell me all about it.'

  'All right,' said Tommy, 'I'll come out and join you presently.'

  Tuppence and Isaac had a pleasant reunion. The bulbs were unpacked, discussions were held as to where things would show to best advantage. First the early tulips, which were expected to rejoice the heart at the end of February, then a consideration of the handsome fringed parrot tulips, and some tulips called, as far as Tuppence could make out, viridiflora, which would be exceptionally beautiful with long stems in the month of May and early June. As these were of an interesting green pastel colour, they agreed to plant them as a collection in a quiet part of the garden where they could be picked and arranged in interesting floral arrangements in the drawing-room, or by the short approach to the house through the front gate where they would arouse envy and jealousy among callers. They must even rejoice the artistic feelings of tradesmen delivering joints of meat and crates of grocery.

  At four o'clock Tuppence produced a brown teapot full of good strong tea in the kitchen, placed a sugar basin full of lumps of sugar and a milk jug by it, and called Isaac in to refresh himself before departing. She went in search of Tommy.

  I suppose he's asleep somewhere, thought Tuppence to herself as she looked from one room into another. She was glad to see a head sticking up on the landing out of the sinister pit in the floor.

  'It's all right now, ma'am,' said an electrician, 'no need to be careful any more. It's all fixed.' He added that he was starting work on a different portion of the house on the following morning.

  'I do hope,' said Tuppence, 'that you will really come.' She added, 'Have you seen Mr Beresford anywhere?'

  'Aye, your husband, you mean? Yes, he's up on an upper floor, I think. Dropping things, he was. Yes, rather heavy things, too. Must have been some books, I think.'

  'Books!' said Tuppence. 'Well I never!'

  The electrician retreated down into his own personal underworld in the passage and Tuppence went up to the attic converted to the extra book library at present devoted to children's books.

  Tommy was sitting on the top of a pair of steps. Several books were around him on the floor and there were noticeable gaps in the shelves.

  'So there you are,' said Tuppence, 'after pretending you weren't interested or anything. You've been looking at lots of books, haven't you? You've disarranged a lot of the things that I put away so neatly.'

  'Well, I'm sorry about that,' said Tommy, 'but, well I thought I'd perhaps just have a look round.'

  'Did you find any other books that have got any underlined things in them in red ink?'

  'No. Nothing else.'

  'How annoying,' said Tuppence.

  'I think it must have been Alexander's work, Master Alexander Parkinson,' said Tommy.

  'That's right,' said Tuppence. 'One of the Parkinsons, the numerous Parkinsons.'

  'Well, I think he must have been rather a lazy boy, although of course, it must have been rather a bother doing that underlining and all. But there's no more information re Jordan,' said Tommy.

  'I asked old Isaac. He knows a lot of people round here. He says he doesn't remember any Jordans.'

  'What are you doing with that brass lamp you've put by the front door?' asked Tommy, as he came downstairs.

  'I'm taking it to the White Elephant Sale,' said Tuppence.

  'Why?'

  'Oh, because it's always been a thorough nuisance. We bought it somewhere abroad, didn't we?'

  'Yes, I think we must have been mad. You never liked it. You said you hated it. Well, I agree. And it's awfully heavy too, very heavy.'

  'But Miss Sanderson was terribly pleased when I said that they could have it. She offered to fetch it but I said I'd run it down to them in the car. It's today we take the thing.'

  'I'll run down with it if you like.'

  'No, I'd rather like to go.'

  'All right,' said Tommy. 'Perhaps I'd better come with you and just carry it in for you.'

  'Oh, I think I'll find someone who'll carry it in for me,' said Tuppence.

  'Well, you might or you might not. Don't go and strain yourself.'

  'All right,' said Tuppence.

  'You've got some other reason for wanting to go, haven't you?'

  'Well, I just thought I'd like to chat a bit with people,' said Tuppence.

  'I never know what you're up to, Tuppence, but I know the look in your eye when you are up to something.'

  'You take Hannibal for a walk,' said Tuppence. 'I can't take him to the White Elephant Sale. I don't want to get into a dog-fight.'

  'All right. Want to go for a walk, Hannibal?'

  Hannibal, as was his habit, immediately replied in the affirmative. His affirmatives and his negatives were always quite impossible to miss. He wriggled his body, wagged his tail, raised one paw, put it down again and came and rubbed his head hard against Tommy's leg.

  'That's right,' he obviously said, 'that's what you exist for, my dear slave. We're going out for a lovely walk down the street. Lots of smells, I hope.'

  'Come on,' said To
mmy. 'I'll take the lead with me, and don't run into the road as you did last time. One of those awful great "long vehicles" was nearly the end of you.'

  Hannibal looked at him with the expression of 'I'm always a very good dog who'll do exactly what I am told.' False as the statement was, it often succeeded in deceiving even those people who were in closest contact with Hannibal.

  Tommy put the brass lamp into the car, murmuring it was rather heavy. Tuppence drove off in the car. Having seen her turn the corner, Tommy attached the lead to Hannibal's collar and took him down the street. Then he turned up the lane towards the church, and removed Hannibal's lead since very little traffic came up this particular road. Hannibal acknowledged the privilege by grunting and sniffing in various tufts of grass with which the pavement next to the wall was adorned. If he could have used human language it was clear that what he would have said was: 'Delicious! Very rich. Big dog here. Believe it's that beastly Alsatian.' Low growl. 'I don't like Alsatians. If I see the one again that bit me once I'll bite him. Ah! Delicious, delicious. Very nice little bitch here. Yes - yes - I'd like to meet her. I wonder if she lives far away. Expect she comes out of this house. I wonder now.'

  'Come out of that gate, now,' said Tommy. 'Don't go into a house that isn't yours.'

  Hannibal pretended not to hear.

  'Hannibal!'

  Hannibal redoubled his speed and turned a corner which led toward the kitchen.

  'Hannibal!' shouted Tommy. 'Do you hear me?'

  'Hear you, Master?' said Hannibal. 'Were you calling me? Oh yes, of course.'

  A sharp bark from inside the kitchen caught his ear. He scampered out to join Tommy. Hannibal walked a few inches behind Tommy's heel.

  'Good boy,' said Tommy.

  'I am a good boy, aren't I?' said Hannibal. 'Any moment you need me to defend you, here I am less than a foot away. They had arrived at a side gate which led into the churchyard. Hannibal, who in some way had an extraordinary knack of altering his size when he wanted to, instead of appearing somewhat broad-shouldered, possibly a somewhat too plump dog, he could at any moment make himself like a thin black thread. He now squeezed himself through the bars of the gate with no difficulty at all.

  'Come back, Hannibal,' called Tommy. 'You can't go into the churchyard.'

  Hannibal's answer to that, if there had been any, would have been 'I am in the churchyard already, Master.' He was scampering gaily round the churchyard with the air of a dog who has been let out in a singularly pleasant garden.

  'You awful dog!' said Tommy.

  He unlatched the gate, walked in and chased Hannibal, lead in hand. Hannibal was now at a far corner of the churchyard, and seemed to have every intention of trying to gain access through the door of the church, which was slightly ajar. Tommy, however, reached him in time and attached the lead. Hannibal looked up with the air of one who had intended this to happen all along. 'Putting me on the lead, are you?' he said. 'Yes of course, I know it's a kind of prestige. It shows that I am a very valuable dog.' He wagged his tail. Since there seemed nobody to oppose Hannibal walking in the churchyard with his master, suitably secured as he was by a stalwart lead, Tommy wandered round, checking perhaps Tuppence's researches of a former day.

  He looked first at a worn stone monument more or less behind a little side door into the church. It was, he thought, probably one of the oldest. There were several of them there, most of them bearing dates in the eighteen-hundreds. There was one, however, that Tommy looked at longest.

  'Odd,' he said, 'damned odd.'

  Hannibal looked up at him. He did not understand this piece of Master's conversation. He saw nothing about the gravestone to interest a dog. He sat down, looked up at his master enquiringly.

  Chapter 5

  THE WHITE ELEPHANT SALE

  Tuppence was pleasurably surprised to find the brass lamp which she and Tommy now regarded with such repulsion welcomed with the utmost warmth.

  'How very good of you, Mrs Beresford, to bring us something as nice as that. Most interesting, most interesting. I suppose it must have come from abroad on your travels once.'

  'Yes. We bought it in Egypt,' said Tuppence.

  She was quite doubtful by this time, a period of eight to ten years having passed, as to where she had bought it. It might have been Damascus, she thought, and it might equally well have been Baghdad or possibly Tehran. But Egypt, she thought, since Egypt was doubtless in the news at this moment, would be far more interesting. Besides, it looked rather Egyptian. Clearly, if she had got it from any other country, it dated from some period when they had been copying Egyptian work.

  'Really,' she said, 'it's rather big for our house, so I thought -'

  'Oh, I think really we ought to raffle it,' said Miss Little. Miss Little was more or less in charge of things. Her local nickname was 'The Parish Pump', mainly because she was so well informed about all things that happened in the parish. Her surname was misleading. She was a large woman of ample proportions. Her Christian name was Dorothy, but she was always called Dotty.

  'I hope you're coming to the sale, Mrs Beresford?'

  Tuppence assured her that she was coming.

  'I can hardly wait to buy,' she said chattily.

  'Oh, I'm so glad you feel like that.'

  'I think it's a very good thing,' said Tuppence. 'I mean, the White Elephant idea, because it's - well, it is so true, isn't it? I mean, what's one person's white elephant is somebody else's pearl beyond price.'

  'Ah, really, we must tell that to the vicar,' said Miss Price-Ridley, an angular lady with a lot of teeth. 'Oh yes, I'm sure he would be very much amused.'

  'That papier-mâché basin, for instance,' said Tuppence, raising this particular trophy up.

  'Oh really, do you think anyone will buy that?'

  'I shall buy it myself if it's for sale when I come here tomorrow,' said Tuppence.

  'But surely, nowadays, they have such pretty plastic washing-up bowls.'

  'I'm not very fond of plastic,' said Tuppence. 'That's a really good papier-mâché bowl that you've got there. I mean, if you put things down in that, lots of china together, they wouldn't break. And there's an old-fashioned tin-opener too. The kind with a bull's head that one never sees nowadays.'

  'Oh, but it's such hard work, that. Don't you think the ones that you put on an electric thing are much better?'

  Conversation on these lines went on for a short time and then Tuppence asked if there were any services that she could render.

  'Ah, dear Mrs Beresford, perhaps you would arrange the curio stall. I'm sure you're very artistic.'

  'Not really artistic at all,' said Tuppence, 'but I would love to arrange the stall for you. You must tell me if I'm doing it wrong,' she added.

  'Oh, it's so nice to have some extra help. We are so pleased to meet you, too. I suppose you've nearly settled into your house by now?'

  'I thought we should be settled by now,' said Tuppence, 'but it seems as though there's a long time to go still. It's so very hard with electricians and then carpenters and people. They're always coming back.'

  A slight dispute arose with people near her supporting the claims of electricians and the Gas Board.

  'Gas people are the worst,' said Miss Little, with firmness, 'because, you see, they come all the way over from Lower Stamford. The electricity people only have to come from Wellbank.'

  The arrival of the vicar to say a few words of encouragement and good cheer to the helpers changed the subject. He also expressed himself very pleased to meet his new parishioner, Mrs Beresford.

  'We know all about you,' he said. 'Oh yes indeed. And your husband. A most interesting talk I had the other day about you both. What an interesting life you must have had. I dare say it's not supposed to be spoken of, so I won't. I mean, in the last war. A wonderful performance on your and your husband's part.'

  'Oh, do tell us, Vicar,' said one of the ladies, detaching herself from the stall where she was setting up jars of jam.

  '
I was told in strict confidence,' said the vicar. 'I think I saw you walking round'the churchyard yesterday, Mrs Beresford.'

  'Yes,' said Tuppence. 'I looked into the church first. I see you have one or two very attractive windows.'

  'Yes, yes, they date back to the fourteenth century. That is, the one in the north aisle does. But of course most of them are Victorian.'