‘Oh, dear.’ Miss Murgatroyd looked down ruefully at her feet. ‘How many eggs today?’
‘Seven. That damned hen’s still broody. I must get her into the coop.’
‘It’s a funny way of putting it, don’t you think?’ Amy Murgatroyd asked, reverting to the notice in the Gazette. Her voice was slightly wistful.
But her friend was made of sterner and more single-minded stuff. She was intent on dealing with recalcitrant poultry and no announcement in a paper, however enigmatic, could deflect her.
She squelched heavily through the mud and pounced upon a speckled hen. There was a loud and indignant squawking.
‘Give me ducks every time,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. ‘Far less trouble…’
V
‘Oo, scrumptious!’ said Mrs Harmon across the breakfast table to her husband, the Rev. Julian Harmon, ‘there’s going to be a murder at Miss Blacklock’s.’
‘A murder?’ said her husband, slightly surprised. ‘When?’
‘This afternoon…at least, this evening. 6.30. Oh, bad luck, darling, you’ve got your preparations for confirmation then. It is a shame. And you do so love murders!’
‘I don’t really know what you’re talking about, Bunch.’
Mrs Harmon, the roundness of whose form and face had early led to the soubriquet of ‘Bunch’ being substituted for her baptismal name of Diana, handed the Gazette across the table.
‘There. All among the second-hand pianos, and the old teeth.’
‘What a very extraordinary announcement.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Bunch happily. ‘You wouldn’t think that Miss Blacklock cared about murders and games and things, would you? I suppose it’s the young Simmonses put her up to it—though I should have thought Julia Simmons would find murders rather crude. Still, there it is, and I do think, darling, it’s a shame you can’t be there. Anyway, I’ll go and tell you all about it, though it’s rather wasted on me, because I don’t really like games that happen in the dark. They frighten me, and I do hope I shan’t have to be the one who’s murdered. If someone suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “You’re dead,” I know my heart will give such a big bump that perhaps it really might kill me! Do you think that’s likely?’
‘No, Bunch. I think you’re going to live to be an old, old woman—with me.’
‘And die on the same day and be buried in the same grave. That would be lovely.’
Bunch beamed from ear to ear at this agreeable prospect.
‘You seem very happy, Bunch?’ said her husband, smiling.
‘Who’d not be happy if they were me?’ demanded Bunch, rather confusedly. ‘With you and Susan and Edward, and all of you fond of me and not caring if I’m stupid…And the sun shining! And this lovely big house to live in!’
The Rev. Julian Harmon looked round the big bare dining-room and assented doubtfully.
‘Some people would think it was the last straw to have to live in this great rambling draughty place.’
‘Well, I like big rooms. All the nice smells from outside can get in and stay there. And you can be untidy and leave things about and they don’t clutter you.’
‘No labour-saving devices or central heating? It means a lot of work for you, Bunch.’
‘Oh, Julian, it doesn’t. I get up at half-past six and light the boiler and rush around like a steam engine, and by eight it’s all done. And I keep it nice, don’t I? With beeswax and polish and big jars of Autumn leaves. It’s not really harder to keep a big house clean than a small one. You go round with mops and things much quicker, because your behind isn’t always bumping into things like it is in a small room. And I like sleeping in a big cold room—it’s so cosy to snuggle down with just the tip of your nose telling you what it’s like up above. And whatever size of house you live in, you peel the same amount of potatoes and wash up the same amount of plates and all that. Think how nice it is for Edward and Susan to have a big empty room to play in where they can have railways and dolls’ tea-parties all over the floor and never have to put them away? And then it’s nice to have extra bits of the house that you can let people have to live in. Jimmy Symes and Johnnie Finch—they’d have had to live with their in-laws otherwise. And you know, Julian, it isn’t nice living with your in-laws. You’re devoted to Mother, but you wouldn’t really have liked to start our married life living with her and Father. And I shouldn’t have liked it, either. I’d have gone on feeling like a little girl.’