know.”
The sisters appeared to know about the difficulties of backs. The eldest of the sisters was a tall handsome woman, dark with a black coil of hair. The other one night have been a good deal younger. She was thin with grey hair that had once been fair hanging untidily on her shoulders and a faintly wraith-like appearance. She could be cast successfully as a mature Ophelia, Miss Marple thought.
Clotilde, Miss Marple thought, was certainly no Ophelia, but she would have made a magnificent Clytemnestra she could have stabbed a husband in his bath with exultation. But since she had never had a husband, that solution wouldn't do. Miss Marple could not see her murdering anyone else but a husband and there had been no Agamemnon in this house.
Clotilde Bradbury-Scott, Anthea Bradbury-Scott, Lavinia Glynne. Clotilde was handsome, Lavinia was plain but pleasant-looking, Anthea had one eyelid which twitched from time to time. Her eyes were large and grey and she had an odd way of glancing round to right and then to left, and then suddenly in a rather strange manner, behind her over her shoulder. It was as though she felt someone was watching her all the time. Odd, thought Miss Marple. She wondered a little about Anthea.
They sat down and conversation ensued. Mrs Glynne left the room, apparently for the kitchen. She was, it seemed, the active domestic one of the three. The conversation took a usual course. Clotilde Bradbury-Scott explained that the house was a family one. It had belonged to her great-uncle and then to her uncle and when he had died it was left to her and her two sisters who had joined her there.
“He only had one son, you see,” explained Miss Bradbury-Scott, “and he was killed in the war. We are really the last of the family, except for some very distant cousins.”
“A beautifully proportioned house,” said Miss Marple. “Your sister tells me it was built about 1780.”
“Yes, I believe so. One could wish, you know, it was not quite so large and rambling.”
“Repairs too,” said Miss Marple, “come very heavy nowadays.”
“Oh yes, indeed,” Clotilde sighed. “And in many ways we have to let a lot of it just fall down. Sad, but there it is. A lot of the outhouses, for instance, and a greenhouse. We had a very beautiful big greenhouse.”
“Lovely muscat grapevine in it,” said Anthea. “And Cherry Pie used to grow all along the walls inside. Yes, I really regret that very much. Of course, during the war one could not get any gardeners. We had a very young gardener and then he was called up. One does not of course grudge that, but all the same it was impossible to get things repaired and so the whole greenhouse fell down.”
“So did the little conservatory near the house.”
Both sisters sighed, with the sighing of those who have noted time passing, and times changing but not for the better.
There was a melancholy here in this house, thought Miss Marple. It was impregnated somehow with sorrow , a sorrow that could not be dispersed or removed since it had penetrated too deep. It had sunk in... She shivered suddenly.
Nemesis
Chapter 9
'POLYGONUM BALDSCHUANICUM'
The meal was conventional. A small joint of mutton, roast potatoes, followed by a plum tart with a small jug of cream and rather indifferent pastry. There were a few pictures round the dining-room wall, family pictures, Miss Marple presumed, Victorian portraits without any particular merit, the sideboard was large and heavy, a handsome piece of plum-coloured, mahogany. The curtains were of dark crimson damask and at the big mahogany table ten people could easily have been seated.
Miss Marple chatted about the incidents of the tour in so far as she had been on it. As this, however, had only been three days, there was not very much to say.
“Mr Rafiel, I suppose, was an old friend of yours?” said the eldest Miss Bradbury-Scott.
“Not really,” said Miss Marple. “I met him first when I was on a cruise to the West
The sisters appeared to know about the difficulties of backs. The eldest of the sisters was a tall handsome woman, dark with a black coil of hair. The other one night have been a good deal younger. She was thin with grey hair that had once been fair hanging untidily on her shoulders and a faintly wraith-like appearance. She could be cast successfully as a mature Ophelia, Miss Marple thought.
Clotilde, Miss Marple thought, was certainly no Ophelia, but she would have made a magnificent Clytemnestra she could have stabbed a husband in his bath with exultation. But since she had never had a husband, that solution wouldn't do. Miss Marple could not see her murdering anyone else but a husband and there had been no Agamemnon in this house.
Clotilde Bradbury-Scott, Anthea Bradbury-Scott, Lavinia Glynne. Clotilde was handsome, Lavinia was plain but pleasant-looking, Anthea had one eyelid which twitched from time to time. Her eyes were large and grey and she had an odd way of glancing round to right and then to left, and then suddenly in a rather strange manner, behind her over her shoulder. It was as though she felt someone was watching her all the time. Odd, thought Miss Marple. She wondered a little about Anthea.
They sat down and conversation ensued. Mrs Glynne left the room, apparently for the kitchen. She was, it seemed, the active domestic one of the three. The conversation took a usual course. Clotilde Bradbury-Scott explained that the house was a family one. It had belonged to her great-uncle and then to her uncle and when he had died it was left to her and her two sisters who had joined her there.
“He only had one son, you see,” explained Miss Bradbury-Scott, “and he was killed in the war. We are really the last of the family, except for some very distant cousins.”
“A beautifully proportioned house,” said Miss Marple. “Your sister tells me it was built about 1780.”
“Yes, I believe so. One could wish, you know, it was not quite so large and rambling.”
“Repairs too,” said Miss Marple, “come very heavy nowadays.”
“Oh yes, indeed,” Clotilde sighed. “And in many ways we have to let a lot of it just fall down. Sad, but there it is. A lot of the outhouses, for instance, and a greenhouse. We had a very beautiful big greenhouse.”
“Lovely muscat grapevine in it,” said Anthea. “And Cherry Pie used to grow all along the walls inside. Yes, I really regret that very much. Of course, during the war one could not get any gardeners. We had a very young gardener and then he was called up. One does not of course grudge that, but all the same it was impossible to get things repaired and so the whole greenhouse fell down.”
“So did the little conservatory near the house.”
Both sisters sighed, with the sighing of those who have noted time passing, and times changing but not for the better.
There was a melancholy here in this house, thought Miss Marple. It was impregnated somehow with sorrow , a sorrow that could not be dispersed or removed since it had penetrated too deep. It had sunk in... She shivered suddenly.
Nemesis
Chapter 9
'POLYGONUM BALDSCHUANICUM'
The meal was conventional. A small joint of mutton, roast potatoes, followed by a plum tart with a small jug of cream and rather indifferent pastry. There were a few pictures round the dining-room wall, family pictures, Miss Marple presumed, Victorian portraits without any particular merit, the sideboard was large and heavy, a handsome piece of plum-coloured, mahogany. The curtains were of dark crimson damask and at the big mahogany table ten people could easily have been seated.
Miss Marple chatted about the incidents of the tour in so far as she had been on it. As this, however, had only been three days, there was not very much to say.
“Mr Rafiel, I suppose, was an old friend of yours?” said the eldest Miss Bradbury-Scott.
“Not really,” said Miss Marple. “I met him first when I was on a cruise to the West
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