Hercule Poirot 100 Years (1916 - 2016)

by Mark Place

  "Mentally disturbed?" asked Poirot.

  "No, she was not thought to be so. She was deeply shocked by her husband's death and had a great sense of loss, but she was not recovering very satisfactorily in the impression of her own doctor. He did not quite like the way her convalescence was tending, and she did not seem to be getting over her bereavement in the way that he would have liked. It seemed to be causing her rather peculiar reactions. Anyway, he wanted a consultation and my father was asked by him to come and see what he could make of it. He found her condition interesting, and at the same time he thought it held very decided dangers, and he seemed to think that it would be as well if she was put under observation in some nursing home where particular care could be taken. Things like that. Even more so after the case when this accident to the child happened. There were two children, and according to Mrs. Jarrow's account of what happened, it was the older child, a girl, who attacked the little boy who was four or five years younger than she was, hitting him with a garden spade or hoe, so that he fell into an ornamental pond they had in the garden and was drowned. Well, these things, as you know, happen quite often among children. Children are pushed in a perambulator into a pond sometimes because an older child, being jealous, thinks that 'Mummy will have so much less trouble if only Edward or Donald, or whatever his name is, wasn't here,' or, 'It would be much nicer for her.' It all results from jealousy. There did not seem to be any particular case or evidence of jealousy in this case, though. The child had not resented the birth of her brother. On the other hand, Mrs. Jarrow had not wanted this second child.

  Although her husband had been pleased to have this second child coming, Mrs. Jarrow did not want it. She had tried two doctors with the idea of having an abortion, but did not succeed in finding one who would perform what was then an illegal operation. It was said by one of the servants, and also by a boy who was bringing a telegram, I believe, to the house, that it was a woman who attacked the boy, not the other child. And one of the servants said very definitely she had been looking out of the window and that it was her mistress. She said, 'I don't think the poor thing knows what she is doing nowadays. You know, just since the master died she's been in, oh, such a state as never was.' Well, as I say, I don't know exactly what you want to know about the case. A verdict was brought in of accident. It was considered to be an accident, and the children had been said to be playing together, pushing each other, et cetera, and that therefore it was undoubtedly a very unfortunate accident. It was left at that, but my father, when consulted, and after a conversation with Mrs. Jarrow and certain tests, questionnaires, sympathetic remarks to her and questions, he was quite sure she had been responsible for what happened. According to his advice it would be advisable for her to have mental treatment."

  "But your father was quite sure that she had been responsible?"

  "Yes. There was a school of treatment at the time which was very popular and which my father believed in. That school's belief was that after sufficient treatment, lasting sometimes quite a long time, a year or longer, people could resume a normal everyday life, and it was to their advantage to do so. They could be returned to live at home and with a suitable amount of attention, both medical and from those, usually near relatives, who were with them and could observe them living a normal life, everything would go well. This, I may say, did meet with success at first in many cases, but later there was a difference.

  Several cases had most unfortunate results. Patients who appeared to be cured came home to their natural surroundings, to a family, a husband, their mothers and fathers, and slowly relapsed, so that very often tragedies or near-tragedies occurred. One case my father was bitterly disappointed in - also a very important case in his knowledge - was a woman who came back to live with the same friend she lived with before. All seemed to be going happily, but after about five or six months she sent urgently for a doctor and when he came said, 'I must take you upstairs because you will be angry at what I have done, and you will have to send for the police, I am afraid. I know that must happen. But you see, I was commanded to do this, I saw the Devil looking out of Hilda's eyes. I saw the Devil there so I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to kill her.' The woman was lying dead in a chair, strangled, and after her death her eyes had been attacked. The killer died in a mental home with never any feeling about her crime except that it had been a necessary command laid upon her because it was her duty to destroy the Devil." Poirot shook his head sadly.

  The doctor went on: "Yes. Well, I consider that in a mild way Dorothea Preston-Grey suffered from a form of mental disorder that was dangerous and that she could only be considered safe if she lived under supervision. This was not generally accepted, I may say, at the time, and my father did consider it most inadvisable. After she had been committed once more to a very pleasant nursing home a very good treatment was given. And again, after a period of years she appeared to be completely sane, left the establishment, lived an ordinary life with a very pleasant nurse more or less in charge of her, though considered in the household as a lady's maid. She went about, made friends and sooner or later went abroad."

  "To India," said Poirot.

  "Yes. I see you've been correctly informed. She went to India to stay with her twin sister."

  "And there another tragedy happened?"

  "Yes. A child of a neighbour was attacked. It was thought at first by an ayah, and afterwards I believe one of the native servants, a bearer, was suspected. But there again there seemed no doubt that Mrs. Jarrow had, for one of those mental reasons known only to her, been guilty of the attack. There was no definite evidence, I understand, which could be brought against her. I think General - I forget his name now"

  "Ravenscroft?" said Poirot.

  "Yes, yes, General Ravenscroft agreed to arrange for her to go back to England and again undergo medical treatment. Is that what you wanted to know?"

  "Yes," said Poirot, "that is what I have partly heard already, but mainly, I may say, by hearsay, which is not dependable. What I want to ask you was, this was a case concerned with identical twins. What about the other twin? Margaret Preston-Grey. Afterwards the wife of General Ravenscroft. Was she likely to be affected by the same malady?"

  "There was never any medical case about her. She was perfectly sane. My father was interested, visited her once or twice and talked to her because he had so often seen cases of almost identical illnesses or mental disturbances happen between identical twins who had started life very devoted to each other."

  "Only started life, you said?"

  "Yes. On certain occasions a state of animosity can arise between identical twins. It follows on a first keen protective love one for the other, but it can degenerate into something which is nearer hatred, if there is some emotional strain that could trigger it off or could arouse it, or any emotional crisis to account for animosity arising between two sisters.

  "I think there might have been that here. General Ravenscroft as a young subaltern or captain or whatever he was, fell deeply in love, I think, with Dorothea Preston-Grey, who was a very beautiful girl. Actually the more beautiful of the two. She also fell in love with him. They were not officially engaged, but Captain Ravenscroft transferred his affections fairly soon to the other sister, Margaret - or Molly, as she was called. He fell in love with her, and asked her to marry him. She returned his affection and they were married as soon as it became feasible in his career. My father had no doubt that the other twin, Dolly, was bitterly jealous of her sister's marriage and that she continued to be in love with Alistair Ravenscroft and to resent his marriage.

  However, she got over it all, married another man in due course - a thoroughly happy marriage, it seemed, and later she used frequently to go to visit the Ravenscrofts, not only on that one occasion in Malaya, but later when they were in another station abroad and after they returned home. She was by that time apparently cured again, was no longer in any kind of mental dejection and lived with a very reliable nurse-companion and staff of serva
nts. I believe, or so my father had always told me, that Lady Ravenscroft, Molly, remained very devoted to her sister. She felt very protective towards her and loved her dearly. She wanted often, I think, to see more of her than she did, but General Ravenscroft was not so keen on her doing so. I think it possible that the slightly unbalanced Dolly - Mrs. Jarrow - continued to feel a very strong attachment to General Ravenscroft, which I think may have been embarrassing and difficult for him, though I believe that his wife was quite convinced that her sister had got over any feelings of jealousy or anger."

  "I understand Mrs. Jarrow was staying with the Ravenscrofts about three weeks or so before the tragedy of their suicide happened."

  "Yes, that was quite true. Her own tragic death happened then. She was quite frequently a sleepwalker. She went out one night walking in her sleep and had an accident, falling down a portion of the cliff to which a pathway which had been discarded appeared to lead. She was found the next day and I believe died in hospital without recovering consciousness. Her sister Molly was extremely upset and bitterly unhappy about this, but I would like to say, which you probably want to know, I do not think that this can in any way be held responsible for the subsequent suicide of the married couple who were living so happily together. Grief for a sister's or a sister-in-law's death would hardly lead you to commit suicide. Certainly not to a double suicide."

  "Unless, perhaps," said Hercule Poirot, "Margaret Ravenscroft had been responsible for her sister's death."

  "Good heavens!" said Dr. Willoughby, "surely you are not suggesting"

  "That it was Margaret who followed her sleepwalking sister, and that it was Margaret's hand that was stretched out to push Dorothea over the cliff edge?"

  "I refuse absolutely," said Dr. Willoughby, "to accept any such idea."

  "With people," said Hercule Poirot, "one never knows."

  Chapter 15

  EUGENE AND ROSENTELLE, HAIR STYLISTS AND BEAUTICIANS

  Mrs. Oliver looked at Cheltenham with approval. As it happened, she had never been to Cheltenham before. How nice, said Mrs. Oliver to herself, to see some houses that are really like houses, proper houses. Casting her mind back to youthful days, she remembered that she had known people, or at least her relations, her aunts, had known people who lived at Cheltenham. Retired people usually. Army or Navy. It was the sort of place, she thought, where one would like to come and live if one had spent a good deal of time abroad. It had a feeling of English security, good taste and pleasant chat and conversation. After looking in one or two agreeable antique shops, she found her way to where she wanted - or rather Hercule Poirot wanted her - to go. It was called The Rose Green Hairdressing Saloons. She walked inside it and looked round. Four or five people were in process of having things done to their hair. A plump young lady left her client and came forward with an inquiring air.

  "Mrs. Rosentelle?" said Mrs. Oliver, glancing down at a card. "I understand she said she could see me if I came here this morning. I don't mean," she added,

  "having anything done to my hair, but I wanted to consult her about something and I believe a telephone call was made and she said if I came at half-past eleven she could spare me a short time."

  "Oh, yes," said the girl. "I think Madam is expecting someone."

  She led the way through a passage down a short flight of steps and pushed a swing door at the bottom of it. From the hairdressing saloon they had passed into what was obviously Mrs. Rosentelle's house. The plump girl knocked at the door and said, "The lady to see you," as she put her nose in, and then asked rather nervously, "What name did you say?"

  "Mrs. Oliver," said Mrs. Oliver.

  She walked in. It had a faint effect of what might have been yet another showroom. There were curtains of rose gauze and roses on the wallpaper and Mrs. Rosentelle, a woman Mrs. Oliver thought of as roughly her own age or possibly a good many years older, was just finishing what was obviously a cup of morning coffee.

  "Mrs. Rosentelle?" said Mrs. Oliver.

  "Yes?"

  "You did expect me?"

  "Oh, yes. I didn't quite understand what it was all about. The lines are so bad on the telephone. That is quite all right. I have about half an hour to spare. Would you like some coffee?"

  "No, thank you," said Mrs. Oliver. "I won't keep you any longer than I need. It is just something that I want to ask you about, that you may happen to remember. You have had quite a long career, I understand, in the hairdressing business."

  "Oh, yes. I'm quite thankful to give over to the girls now. I don't do anything myself these days."

  "Perhaps you still advise people?"

  "Yes, I do do that." Mrs. Rosentelle smiled.

  She had a nice, intelligent face with well-arranged brown hair with somewhat interesting grey streaks in it here and there.

  "I'm not sure what it's all about."

  "Well, really, I wanted to ask you a question about, well, I suppose in a way about wigs generally."

  "We don't do as much in wigs now as we used to do."

  "You had a business in London, didn't you?"

  "Yes. First in Bond Street and then we moved to Sloane Street, but it's very nice to live in the country after all that, you know. Oh, yes, my husband and I are very satisfied here. We run a small business, but we don't do much in the wig line nowadays," she said, "though my husband does advise and get wigs designed for men who are bald. It really makes a big difference; you know, to many people in their business if they don't look too old and it often helps in getting a job."

  "I can quite imagine that," said Mrs. Oliver.

  From sheer nervousness she said a few more things in the way of ordinary chat and wondered how she would start on her subject. She was startled when Mrs. Rosentelle leaned forward and said suddenly, "You are Ariadne Oliver, aren't you? The novel writer?"

  "Yes," said Mrs. Oliver, "as a matter of fact -" she had her usual somewhat shamefaced expression when she said this, that was habitual to her - "yes, I do write novels."

  "I'm so fond of your books. I've read a lot of them. Oh, this is very nice indeed. Now tell me in what way can I help you?"

  "Well, I wanted to talk about wigs and about something that happened a great many years ago and probably you mayn't remember anything about it."

  "Well, I rather wonder - do you mean fashions of years ago?"

  "Not exactly. It's a woman, a friend of mine - actually I was at school with her - and then she married and went out to India and came back to England, and there was a tragedy later and one of the things I think that people found surprising after it was that she had so many wigs. I think they had been all supplied by you, by your firm, I mean."

  "Oh, a tragedy. What was her name?"

  "Well, her name when I knew her was Preston-Grey, but afterwards her name was Ravenscroft."

  "Oh. Oh, yes, that one. Yes, I do remember Lady Ravenscroft. I remember her quite well. She was so nice and really very, very good-looking still. Yes, her husband was a colonel or a general or something and they'd retired and they lived in - I forget the county now -"

  "And there was what was supposed to be a double suicide," said Mrs. Oliver.

  "Yes. Yes, I remember reading about it and saying, 'Why, that's our Lady Ravenscroft,' and then there was a picture of them both in the paper, and I saw that it was so. Of course, I'd never seen him, but it was her all right. It seemed so sad, so much grief. I heard that they discovered that she had cancer and they couldn't do anything about it so this happened. But I never heard any details or anything."

  "No," said Mrs. Oliver.

  "But what is it you think I can tell you?"

  "You supplied her with wigs and I understand the people investigating, I suppose the police, thought four wigs was quite a lot to have, but perhaps people did have four wigs at a time?"

  "Well, I think that most people had two wigs at least," said Mrs. Rosentelle.

  "You know, one to send back to be serviced, as you might say, and the other one that they wore while
it was away."

  "Do you remember Lady Ravenscroft ordering an extra two wigs?"

  "She didn't come herself. I think she'd been or was ill in hospital, or something, and it was a French young lady who came. I think a French lady who was companion to her or something like that. Very nice. Spoke perfect English. And she explained all about the extra wigs she wanted, sizes and colors and styles and ordered them. Yes. Fancy my remembering it. I suppose I wouldn't have except that about - oh, it must have been a month later - a month, perhaps, more, six weeks - I read about the suicide you know. I'm afraid they gave her bad news at the hospital or wherever she was, and so she just couldn't face living any more, and her husband felt he couldn't face life without her" Mrs. Oliver shook her head sadly and continued her inquiries.

  "They were different kinds of wigs, I suppose."

  "Yes, one had a very pretty grey streak in it, and then there was a party one and one for evening wear, and one close-cropped with curls. Very nice, that you could wear under a hat and it didn't get messed up. I was sorry not to have seen Lady Ravenscroft again. Even apart from her illness, she had been very unhappy about a sister who had recently died. A twin sister."

  "Yes, twins are very devoted, aren't they?" said Mrs. Oliver.

  "She'd always seemed such a happy woman before," said Mrs. Rosentelle. Both women sighed. Mrs. Oliver changed the subject.

  "Do you think that I'd find a wig useful?" she asked. The expert stretched out a hand and laid it speculatively on Mrs. Oliver's head.

  "I wouldn't advise it - you've got a splendid crop of hair - very thick still. I imagine -" a faint smile came to her lips - "you enjoy doing things with it?"

  "How clever of you to know that. It's quite true - I enjoy experimenting. It's such fun."