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“Had she anyone to go to here except her—her mother—your cousin, I mean? Anyone who—”
“Well, there’s many as was kind to her. There was the people at The Old Manor House, you know. Mrs. Glynne wasn’t there then, but Miss Clotilde, she was always one to be good to the girls from school. Yes, many a nice present she’s given Nora. She gave her a very nice scarf and a pretty dress once. Very nice, it was. A summer frock, a sort of foulard silk. Ah, she was very kind, Miss Clotilde was. Tried to make Nora take more interest in her schooling. Lots of things like that. Advised her against the way she was going on because, you see—well, I wouldn’t like to say it, not when she’s my cousin’s child though, mark you, my cousin is only one who married my boy cousin, that is to say—but I mean it was something terrible the way she went on with all the boys. Anyone could pick her up. Real sad it is. I’d say she’ll go on the streets in the end. I don’t believe she has any future but that. I don’t like to say these things, but there it is. Anyway, perhaps it’s better than getting herself murdered like Miss Hunt did, what lived at The Old Manor House. Cruel, that was. They thought she’d gone off with someone and the police, they was busy. Always asking questions and having the young men who’d been with the girl up to help them with their enquiries and all that. Geoffrey Grant there was, Billy Thompson, and the Landfords’ Harry. All unemployed—with plenty of jobs going if they’d wanted to take them. Things usedn’t to be like that when I was young. Girls behaved proper. And the boys knew they’d got to work if they wanted to get anywhere.”
Miss Marple talked a little more, said that she was now quite restored, thanked Mrs. Blackett, and went out.
Her next visit was to a girl who was planting out lettuces.
“Nora Broad? Oh, she hasn’t been in the village for years. Went off with someone, she did. She was a great one for boys. I always wondered where she’d end up. Did you want to see her for any particular reason?”
“I had a letter from a friend abroad,” said Miss Marple, untruthfully. “A very nice family and they were thinking of engaging a Miss Nora Broad. She’d been in some trouble, I think. Married someone who was rather a bad lot and had left her and gone off with another woman, and she wanted to get a job looking after children. My friend knew nothing about her, but I gathered she came from this village. So I wondered if there was anyone here who could—well, tell me something about her. You went to school with her, I understand?”
“Oh yes, we were in the same class, we were. Mind you, I didn’t approve of all Nora’s goings-on. She was boy mad, she was. Well, I had a nice boyfriend myself that I was going steady with at the time, and I told her she’d do herself no good going off with every Tom, Dick and Harry that offered her a lift in a car or took her along to a pub where she told lies about her age, as likely as not. She was a good mature girl as looked a lot older than she was.”
“Dark or fair?”
“Oh, she had dark hair. Pretty hair it was. Always loose like, you know, as girls do.”
“Were the police worried about her when she disappeared?”
“Yes. You see, she didn’t leave no word behind. She just went out one night and didn’t come back. She was seen getting into a car and nobody saw the car again and nobody saw her. Just at that time there’d been a good many murders, you know. Not specially round here, but all over the country. The police, they were rounding up a lot of young men and boys. Thought as Nora might be a body at the time we did. But not she. She was all right. I’d say as likely as not she’s making a bit of money still in London or one of these big towns doing a striptease, something of that kind. That’s the kind she was.”
“I don’t think,” said Miss Marple, “that if it’s the same person, that she’d be very suitable for my friend.”
“She’d have to change a bit if she was to be suitable,” said the girl.
Eighteen
ARCHDEACON BRABAZON
When Miss Marple, slightly out of breath and rather tired, got back to the Golden Boar, the receptionist came out from her pen and across to greet her.
“Oh, Miss Marple, there is someone here who wants to speak to you. Archdeacon Brabazon.”
“Archdeacon Brabazon?” Miss Marple looked puzzled.
“Yes. He’s been trying to find you. He had heard you were with this tour and he wanted to talk to you before you might have left or gone to London. I told him that some of them were going back to London by the later train this afternoon, but he is very, very anxious to speak to you before you go. I have put him in the television lounge. It is quieter there. The other is very noisy just at this moment.”
Slightly surprised, Miss Marple went to the room indicated. Archdeacon Brabazon turned out to be the elderly cleric whom she had noticed at the memorial service. He rose and came towards her.
“Miss Marple. Miss Jane Marple?”
“Yes, that is my name. You wanted—”
“I am Archdeacon Brabazon. I came here this morning to attend the service for a very old friend of mine, Miss Elizabeth Temple.”
“Oh yes?” said Miss Marple. “Do sit down.”
“Thank you, I will, I am not quite as strong as I was.” He lowered himself carefully into a chair.
“And you—”
Miss Marple sat down beside him.
“Yes,” she said, “you wanted to see me?”
“Well, I must explain how that comes about. I’m quite aware that I am a complete stranger to you. As a matter of fact I made a short visit to the hospital at Carristown, talking to the matron before going on to the church here. It was she who told me that before she died Elizabeth had asked to see a fellow member of the tour. Miss Jane Marple. And that Miss Jane Marple had visited her and sat with her just a very, very short time before Elizabeth died.”
He looked at her anxiously.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple, “that is so. It surprised me to be sent for.”
“You are an old friend of hers?”
“No,” said Miss Marple. “I only met her on this tour. That’s why I was surprised. We had expressed ideas to each other, occasionally sat next to each othe
r in the coach, and had struck up quite an acquaintanceship. But I was surprised that she should have expressed a wish to see me when she was so ill.”
“Yes. Yes, I can quite imagine that. She was, as I have said, a very old friend of mine. In fact, she was coming to see me, to visit me. I live in Fillminster, which is where your coach tour will be stopping the day after tomorrow. And by arrangement she was coming to visit me there, she wanted to talk to me about various matters about which she thought I could help her.”
“I see,” said Miss Marple. “May I ask you a question? I hope it is not too intimate a question.”
“Of course, Miss Marple. Ask me anything you like.”
“One of the things Miss Temple said to me was that her presence on the tour was not merely because she wished to visit historic homes and gardens. She described it by a rather unusual word to use, as a pilgrimage.”
“Did she,” said Archdeacon Brabazon. “Did she indeed now? Yes, that’s interesting. Interesting and perhaps significant.”
“So what I am asking you is, do you think that the pilgrimage she spoke of was her visit to you?”
“I think it must have been,” said the Archdeacon. “Yes, I think so.”
“We had been talking,” said Miss Marple, “about a young girl. A girl called Verity.”
“Ah yes. Verity Hunt.”
“I did not know her surname. Miss Temple, I think, mentioned her only as Verity.”
“Verity Hunt is dead,” said the Archdeacon. “She died quite a number of years ago. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “I knew it. Miss Temple and I were talking about her. Miss Temple told me something that I did not know. She said she had been engaged to be married to the son of a Mr. Rafiel. Mr. Rafiel is, or again I must say was, a friend of mine. Mr. Rafiel has paid the expenses of this tour out of his kindness. I think, though, that possibly he wanted—indeed, intended—me to meet Miss Temple on this tour. I think he thought she could give me certain information.”
“Certain information about Verity?”
