Agatha Christie - 1949 - Crooked House by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie [Christie, Agatha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062073532
Amazon: 0062073532
Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks
Published: 2011-02-02T06:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

There was a murmur of voices from the big drawing room. I hesitated but did not go in. I wandered down the passage and, led by some impulse, I pushed open a baize door. The passage beyond was dark, but suddenly a door opened showing a big lighted kitchen. In the doorway stood an old woman—a rather bulky old woman. She had a very clean white apron tied round her ample waist and the moment I saw her I knew that everything was all right. It is the feeling that a good Nannie can always give you. I am thirty-five, but I felt just like a reassured little boy of four.

As far as I knew, Nannie had never seen me, but she said at once:

“It’s Mr. Charles, isn’t it? Come into the kitchen and let me give you a cup of tea.”

It was a big happy-feeling kitchen. I sat down by the centre table and Nannie brought me a cup of tea and two sweet biscuits on a plate. I felt more than ever that I was in the nursery again. Everything was all right—and the terrors of the dark and the unknown were no more with me.

“Miss Sophia will be glad you’ve come,” said Nannie. “She’s been getting rather overexcited.” She added disapprovingly: “They’re all overexcited.”

I looked over my shoulder.

“Where’s Josephine? She came in with me.”

Nannie made a disapproving clacking noise with her tongue.

“Listening at doors and writing down things in that silly little book she carries about with her,” she said. “She ought to have gone to school and had children of her own age to play with. I’ve said so to Miss Edith and she agrees—but the master would have it that she was best here in her home.”

“I suppose he’s very fond of her,” I said.

“He was, sir. He was fond of them all.”

I looked slightly astonished, wondering why Philip’s affection for his offspring was put so definitely in the past. Nannie saw my expression and flushing slightly, she said:

“When I said the master, it was old Mr. Leonides I meant.”

Before I could respond to that, the door opened with a rush and Sophia came in.

“Oh, Charles,” she said, and then quickly: “Oh, Nannie, I’m so glad he’s come.”

“I know you are, love.”

Nannie gathered up a lot of pots and pans and went off into a scullery with them. She shut the door behind her.

I got up from the table and went over to Sophia. I put my arms round her and held her to me.

“Dearest,” I said. “You’re trembling. What is it?”

Sophia said:

“I’m frightened, Charles. I’m frightened.”

“I love you,” I said. “If I could take you away—”

She drew apart and shook her head.

“No, that’s impossible. We’ve got to see this through. But you know, Charles, I don’t like it. I don’t like the feeling that someone—someone in this house—someone I see and speak to every day is a cold-blooded, calculating poisoner….”

And I didn’t know how to answer that. To someone like Sophia one can give no easy meaningless reassurances.

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