A Murder is Announced. Agatha Christie

Patrick indicated the two big bowls of chrysanthemums, ‘are the funeral wreaths and these dishes of cheese straws and olives represent the funeral baked meats.’

      Phillipa looked inquiringly at Miss Blacklock.

      ‘Is it a joke?’ she asked. ‘I’m always terribly stupid at seeing jokes.’

      ‘It’s a very nasty joke,’ said Dora Bunner with energy. ‘I don’t like it at all.’

      ‘Show her the advertisement,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘I must go and shut up the ducks. It’s dark. They’ll be in by now.’

      ‘Let me do it,’ said Phillipa.

      ‘Certainly not, my dear. You’ve finished your day’s work.’

      ‘I’ll do it, Aunt Letty,’ offered Patrick.

      ‘No, you won’t,’ said Miss Blacklock with energy. ‘Last time you didn’t latch the door properly.’

      ‘I’ll do it, Letty dear,’ cried Miss Bunner. ‘Indeed, I should love to. I’ll just slip on my goloshes—and now where did I put my cardigan?’

      But Miss Blacklock, with a smile, had already left the room.

      ‘It’s no good, Bunny,’ said Patrick. ‘Aunt Letty’s so efficient that she can never bear anybody else to do things for her. She really much prefers to do everything herself.’

      ‘She loves it,’ said Julia.

      ‘I didn’t notice you making any offers of assistance,’ said her brother.

      Julia smiled lazily.

      ‘You’ve just said Aunt Letty likes to do things herself,’ she pointed out. ‘Besides,’ she held out a well-shaped leg in a sheer stocking, ‘I’ve got my best stockings on.’

      ‘Death in silk stockings!’ declaimed Patrick.

      ‘Not silk—nylons, you idiot.’

      ‘That’s not nearly such a good title.’

      ‘Won’t somebody please tell me,’ cried Phillipa plaintively, ‘why there is all this insistence on death?’

      Everybody tried to tell her at once—nobody could find the Gazette to show her because Mitzi had taken it into the kitchen.

      Miss Blacklock returned a few minutes later.

      ‘There,’ she said briskly, ‘that’s done.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Twenty-past six. Somebody ought to be here soon—unless I’m entirely wrong in my estimate of my neighbours.’

      ‘I don’t see why anybody should come,’ said Phillipa, looking bewildered.

      ‘Don’t you, dear?… I dare say you wouldn’t. But most people are rather more inquisitive than you are.’

      ‘Phillipa’s attitude to life is that she just isn’t interested,’ said Julia, rather nastily.

      Phillipa did not reply.

      Miss Blacklock was glancing round the room. Mitzi had put the sherry and three dishes containing olives, cheese straws and some little fancy pastries on the table in the middle of the room.

      ‘You might move that tray—or the whole table if you like—round the corner into the bay window in the other room, Patrick, if you don’t mind. After all, I am not giving a party! I haven’t asked anyone. And I don’t intend to make it obvious that I expect people to turn up.’

      ‘You wish, Aunt Letty, to disguise your intelligent anticipation?’

      ‘Very nicely put, Patrick. Thank you, my dear boy.’

      ‘Now we can all give a lovely performance of a quiet evening at home,’ said Julia, ‘and be quite surprised when somebody drops in.’

      Miss Blacklock had picked up the sherry bottle. She stood holding it uncertainly in her hand.

      Patrick reassured her.

      ‘There’s quite half a bottle there. It ought to be enough.’

      ‘Oh, yes—yes …’ She hesitated. Then, with a slight flush, she said:

      ‘Patrick, would you mind … there’s a new bottle in the cupboard in the pantry … Bring it and a corkscrew. I—we—might as well have a new bottle. This—this has been opened some time.’

      Patrick went on his errand without a word. He returned with the new bottle and drew the cork. He looked up curiously at Miss Blacklock as he placed it on the tray.

      ‘Taking this seriously, aren’t you, darling?’ he asked gently.

      ‘Oh,’ cried Dora Bunner, shocked. ‘Surely, Letty, you can’t imagine—’

      ‘Hush,’ said Miss Blacklock quickly. ‘That’s the bell. You see, my intelligent anticipation is being justified.’

      Mitzi opened the door of the drawing-room and admitted Colonel and Mrs Easterbrook. She had her own methods of announcing people.

      ‘Here is Colonel and Mrs Easterbrook to see you,’ she said conversationally.

      Colonel Easterbrook was very bluff and breezy to cover some slight embarrassment.

      ‘Hope you don’t mind us dropping in,’ he said. (A subdued gurgle came from Julia.) ‘Happened to be passing this way—eh what? Quite a mild evening. Notice you’ve got your central heating on. We haven’t started ours yet.’

      ‘Aren’t your chrysanthemums lovely?’ gushed Mrs Easterbrook. ‘Such beauties!’

      ‘They’re rather scraggy, really,’ said Julia.

      Mrs Easterbrook greeted Phillipa Haymes with a little extra cordiality to show that she quite understood that Phillipa was not really an agricultural labourer.

      ‘How is Mrs Lucas’ garden getting on?’ she asked. ‘Do you think it will ever be straight again? Completely neglected all through the war—and then only that dreadful old man Ashe who simply did nothing but sweep up a few leaves and put in a few cabbage plants.’

      ‘It’s yielding to treatment,’ said Phillipa. ‘But it will take a little time.’

      Mitzi opened the door again and said:

      ‘Here are the ladies from Boulders.’

      ‘’Evening,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe, striding over and taking Miss Blacklock’s hand in her formidable grip. ‘I said to Murgatroyd: “Let’s just drop in at Little Paddocks!” I wanted to ask you how your ducks are laying.’

      ‘The evenings do draw in so quickly now, don’t they?’ said Miss Murgatroyd to Patrick in a rather fluttery way. ‘What lovely chrysanthemums!’

      ‘Scraggy!’ said Julia.

      ‘Why can’t you be co-operative?’ murmured Patrick to her in a reproachful aside.

      ‘You’ve got your central heating on,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. She said it accusingly. ‘Very early.’

      ‘The house gets so damp this time of year,’ said Miss Blacklock.

      Patrick signalled with his eyebrows: ‘Sherry yet?’ and Miss Blacklock signalled back: ‘Not yet.’

      She said to Colonel Easterbrook:

      ‘Are you getting any bulbs from Holland this year?’

      The door again opened and Mrs Swettenham came in rather guiltily, followed by a scowling and uncomfortable Edmund.

      ‘Here we are!’ said Mrs Swettenham gaily, gazing round her with frank curiosity. Then, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she went on: ‘I just thought I’d pop in and ask you if by any chance you wanted a kitten, Miss Blacklock? Our