Closed Casket: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mystery 2) (6 page)

‘By everything, you mean …?’ Claudia prompted. She appeared unruffled; Kimpton too. They had an air about them of people watching a pantomime and rather enjoying it.

‘I mean everything,’ Lady Playford said. ‘The Lillieoak estate, my houses in London, everything. All that I own.’

Scotcher rose to his feet so quickly, his chair crashed to the floor. He looked suddenly pale, as if he had heard bad news. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I never asked or expected … Please … There is no need …’

‘Joseph, are you all right?’ Sophie stood, ready to hurry over to him.

‘Here, give him this.’ Kimpton, on her left, handed her his water glass. ‘He looks as if he needs it.’

The nurse was soon by Scotcher’s side. She placed one of her hands under his elbow, as if to hold him upright.

‘It’s always so upsetting to discover a vast fortune is one day to be yours,’ Kimpton remarked drily.

‘Has everybody gone mad?’ Dorro said. ‘Joseph is
dying
. He will be dead and buried before he has a chance to inherit anything! Is this some sort of cruel trick?’

‘I am entirely serious,’ said Lady Playford. ‘Michael will confirm it.’

Gathercole nodded. ‘It is true.’

Claudia smiled. ‘I ought to have been able to guess. I imagine you have wanted to do this for some time, Mother. Though I’m surprised you cut off Harry, your favourite child.’

‘I do not have a favourite, Claudia, as well you know.’

‘Not in the family, no,’ her daughter murmured.

‘Golly, this is a bit of a surprise,’ said Harry, wide-eyed. It was the first comment he had made.

Poirot, I noticed, was as still as a statue.

Orville Rolfe took the opportunity to jab me in the ribs—if you could call it a jab, from so amply padded an elbow—and say, ‘This chicken is excellent, Catchpool. Superb. Brigid is to be congratulated. Well? Tuck in, I should.’

I’m afraid I could not persuade myself to reply.

‘Isn’t it rather pointless to leave one’s money to someone who is about to die, when one is not likely to die oneself for a good many years?’ Kimpton asked Lady Playford.

‘Randall is right,’ said Scotcher. ‘You all know my predicament. Please, Athie, you have been so … There is really no need …’ A complete sentence appeared to be too much for him. He looked ravaged.

Sophie picked up the chair that Scotcher had knocked to the floor. Having helped him back into a seated position, she handed him the glass of water. ‘Drink as much as you can,’ she urged. ‘You will feel better.’ Scotcher was barely able to hold the glass; Sophie had to help him steer it towards his mouth.

I found the whole spectacle curious. Of course Lady Playford’s news would come as a shock, but why should it distress Scotcher to such an extent? Would not a puzzled ‘How silly, when I will not live to inherit and we all know it perfectly well’ have been more appropriate to the occasion?

Dorro stood up. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She clutched at her dress. ‘Why do you hate me, Athie? You must know that Harry and I are the only ones who will suffer, and I cannot believe you hate your own son! Is this punishment for my failure to bear a child? Claudia doesn’t need your money—she is about to marry into one of the richest families in the world.’

Kimpton caught me looking at him. He smiled as if to say, ‘Didn’t know, did you? It’s true: I am quite as rich as Dorro makes me out to be.’

‘So it must be
me
that you seek to harm!’ she went on. ‘Harry and me. Have you not cruelly deprived us already of what was rightfully ours? I
know
it was your doing and not the wish of Harry’s late father, God rest his soul.’

‘What nonsense you invent,’ said Lady Playford. ‘Hate you, indeed—rubbish! As for your reference to my late husband’s will, you have, I am afraid, mistaken your own feelings of disappointment for cruelty on my part.’

Kimpton said, ‘Dorro, surely if Scotcher dies before Athie, everything will go to you and Harry as before. So why worry?’

‘Mr Gathercole, is it true what Randall says?’ Dorro asked.

I was still reflecting upon the mention of the late Viscount Playford’s will. What was the story, I wondered. Even in the midst of this unusual scene and amid the airing of family grievances, one could hardly say to Dorro, ‘What did you mean about Harry’s father’s will?’

‘Yes,’ Michael Gathercole confirmed. ‘If Scotcher were to predecease Lady Playford, it would be exactly as if the terms of the old will still applied.’

‘You see, Dorro?’ said Kimpton. ‘No need to worry.’

‘I wish to understand why this change was made,’ Dorro insisted, still clutching at her dress. She would rip the skirt in a moment if she kept it up. ‘Why leave everything to a man who will soon be rotting in the earth?’

‘Oh, now, that was bitter!’ said Scotcher.

‘I
feel
bitter!’ Turning to Lady Playford, Dorro pleaded, ‘What will Harry and I
do
? How will we
manage
? You must put this right at once!’

‘I for one am glad to have proof at last,’ said Claudia.

‘I quite agree that proof at last is the grail,’ said Kimpton. ‘But proof of what, dearest one?’

‘Of how little we matter to Mother.’

‘Apart from
him
.’ Dorro jabbed an accusing finger at Scotcher. ‘And he isn’t even family!’

At that moment, I happened to glance at Gathercole. What I saw caused me nearly to fall off my chair. His face was a deep, mottled red, and his lips trembled. Evidently he struggled to contain a powerful rage, or it might have been great anguish. Never have I seen a man look more likely to explode. No one else appeared to have noticed.

‘I’m an old woman, and you, Joseph, are a young man,’ said Lady Playford. ‘I neither wish nor intend to outlive you. I am accustomed to getting what I want, you see. Hence my decision. It is well known among the best doctors that the psychological has a profound influence upon the physical, and so I have given you something to live for—something that many would
kill
for.’

‘Psychology again!’ grumbled Kimpton. ‘Now an improved mood can cure a pair of shrivelled brown kidneys! We doctors are surplus to requirements.’

‘You are disgusting, Randall,’ said Dorro. ‘Whatever will our guests think?’

‘Is it “shrivelled” and “brown” that you object to?’ Kimpton asked her. ‘Would you mind explaining why those words are more offensive than “rotting in the earth”?’

‘Shut up!’ cried Sophie Bourlet. ‘If you could only hear yourselves! You are
monsters
, the lot of you!’

‘It is human nature that is the monster, not anybody at this table,’ said Lady Playford. ‘Tomorrow you will come with me to
my
doctor, Joseph. There’s none finer. He can cure you if anyone can. Don’t protest! It’s all arranged.’

‘But there can be no cure for me. You know this, dear Athie. I have explained.’

‘I shall not believe it until I hear it from my own doctor. Not all medical men are equally intelligent and capable, Joseph. It is a profession that risks attracting those who find sickness and weakness attractive.’

‘I know what must be done.’ Dorro clapped her hands together. ‘Joseph must make a will naming Harry and Claudia as the beneficiaries. Mr Gathercole, Mr Rolfe, you will assist with this, won’t you? Can it be done, quickly? I don’t see why it should not be done! You evidently do not wish to steal from this family, Joseph—and I believe it
would
be theft if you were to allow what is rightfully ours to be left to you without putting in place—’

‘That is enough, Dorro,’ Lady Playford said firmly. ‘Joseph, please take no notice. Theft! The very idea! It is no such thing.’

‘And what of Harry and me? We will starve! We will have nowhere to live! Where will we go? Have you made no provision for us
at all
? Oh, do not bother to answer! It gives you pleasure, does it not, to see me squirm and beg!’

‘What an extraordinary thing to say,’ Lady Playford observed mildly.

‘This is about Nicholas!’ Dorro babbled on, wild-eyed. ‘In your mind, you have turned Joseph into Nicholas—your dead little boy, come back to life! The resemblance is quite apparent: both fair-haired and blue-eyed, both weak and sickly. But Nicholas cannot be brought back from the grave by this new will of yours! Nicholas, I am afraid, is
stone-cold dead
and will remain so!’

All movement at the table ceased. A few seconds later, without a word, Lady Playford left the dining room, closing the door quietly behind her.

‘All those children you never had, Dorro?’ said Kimpton. ‘Lucky blighters, I should say.’

‘Indeed,’ said Claudia. ‘Imagine.’

‘Mr Gathercole, Mr Rolfe—go after her, please.’ Dorro gestured frantically towards the door. ‘Make her see sense!’

‘I’m afraid I cannot do as you ask,’ said Gathercole tonelessly. Whatever inner crisis had gripped him before seemed to have passed; he looked composed once again. He averted his eyes as he addressed Dorro, as if she were a gruesome spectacle that, once seen, might haunt a fellow for ever. ‘Lady Playford is certain of her wishes in this matter, and I am satisfied that she is of sound mind.’

‘Mr Rolfe, you must tackle her, then, if Mr Gathercole is too lily-livered to try.’

‘Do not disturb Lady Playford, please,’ said Poirot. ‘She will wish to be alone for a while.’

Claudia laughed. ‘Listen to him! He only arrived this afternoon, yet he talks with such authority about my mother.’

Harry Playford leaned forward and addressed Scotcher, ‘How do you feel about all this, old boy? Bit rum, what?’

‘Harry, you must believe me. I neither asked for this, nor hoped for it—ever. I do not want it! Though I am, of course, deeply moved to learn that dear Athie cares for me to this extent, I never imagined …’ He grimaced and changed course. ‘I should very much like to understand what is behind it, that is all. I cannot truly believe that she envisages a cure for me.’

‘You say you do not want it—then write down your wishes on a piece of paper!’ said Dorro. ‘That is all you need do! Write down that you want everything to go to me and Harry, and we will sign our names as witnesses.’

‘All to go to
you
and Harry?’ said Claudia. ‘What was it you said to Joseph about not even being family?’

‘I meant to you and Harry.’ Dorro blushed. ‘You must forgive me. I scarcely know what I am saying! All I want is to make this right!’

‘You spoke of my wishes, Dorro,’ said Scotcher. ‘I have only one wish. Sophie … I would kneel if I could, but I am feeling particularly unwell after all this commotion. Sophie, would you do me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife, as soon as it can be arranged? That is all I want.’

‘Oh!’ Sophie exclaimed, taking a step back. ‘Oh, Joseph! Are you sure you want this? You have had a shock. Maybe you should wait before—’

‘I have never been more certain of anything in my life, my dearest one.’

‘That is what I call Claudia,’ Kimpton muttered. ‘Kindly invent your own endearments, Scotcher.’

‘What would
you
know about kindness?’ Sophie turned on him. ‘What would any of you know about it?’

‘We should all leave you and Mr Scotcher alone, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot. ‘Come—let us give them some privacy.’

Privacy! That was rich, coming from Poirot, the world’s most zealous interferer in other people’s romantic affairs.

‘You are taking this proposal of marriage seriously, then, Monsieur Poirot?’ asked Claudia. ‘You do not wonder what is the point of it when Joseph has only weeks to live? Surely a sensible invalid would rather not be concerned with arduous wedding preparations.’

‘You are as bad as Randall! You are heartless tormentors, both of you!’ Loathing seemed to pour from Sophie’s eyes as she stared at Kimpton and Claudia.

‘Heartless?’ said Kimpton. ‘Incorrect. I have the valves, the chambers, the arteries that make a heart. My blood is pumped around my body in the same way yours is.’ He turned to Poirot. ‘This is what your psychology does, my friend—it has us all speaking as if muscle tissue were capable of finer feelings. Believe me, Sophie, when you’ve opened up as many bodies as I have and seen the hearts inside them—’

‘Will you stop talking about disgusting, blood-soaked
organs
, while our plates are heaped with meat?’ Dorro spat at him. ‘I cannot bear the sight of it, nor the smell.’ She pushed away her plate.

None of us had managed to eat very much, apart from Orville Rolfe, who had wolfed his entire dinner within a few seconds of it being placed in front of him.

‘Dearest Sophie,’ said Scotcher. ‘Randall and Claudia are right: I do not have long to go. But I should like to spend what time I have left with you, as your faithful and loving husband. If you will have me, that is.’

The sound of a strangled cry, cut off at its mid-point, made everyone look up. It had come from nobody in the room.

‘Which nosy so-and-so has his or her waxy lug-hole pressed up against the door?’ said Kimpton loudly.

We all heard the flurry of footsteps as the listener ran away.

‘Joseph, you know I love you more than anything,’ said Sophie. She sounded—and it struck me as rather odd—as if she was pleading with him. ‘You know I would do anything for you.’

‘Well, then!’ Scotcher smiled. At least, I think it was a smile. He appeared to be in a certain amount of pain.

‘Monsieur Poirot is right,’ said Sophie. ‘We should be sensible and discuss this in private.’

Two by two, the rest of us filed out of the room. Claudia and Kimpton went first, then Harry and Dorro. Ahead of Poirot and me were Gathercole and Rolfe. I overheard Rolfe’s complaint that he had been promised a lemon chiffon cake for pudding; how, now that he had been forced away from the table, was he to be served this cake, and could Mr Scotcher not have been a little less inconsiderate and postponed his proposal until dinner was properly concluded?

As for me, I had completely lost my appetite. ‘I need fresh air,’ I muttered to Poirot. ‘Sorry. I know you find that incomprehensible.’

‘
Non
,
mon ami
,’ he replied. ‘Tonight, I comprehend it only too well.’