Agatha Christie - After the Funeral: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Agatha Christie Collection)

Agatha Christie

Chapter 1

Old Lanscombe moved totteringly from room to room, pulling up theblinds. Now and then he peered with screwed up rheumy eyes throughthe windows.

Soon they would be coming back from the funeral. He shuffled along alittle faster. There were so many windows.

Enderby Hall was a vast Victorian house built in the Gothic style. Inevery room the curtains were of rich faded brocade or velvet. Some ofthe walls were still hung with faded silk. In the green drawing-room,the old butler glanced up at the portrait above the mantelpiece of oldCornelius Abernethie for whom Enderby Hall had been built. CorneliusAbernethie's brown beard stuck forward aggressively, his hand restedon a terrestrial globe, whether by desire of the sitter, or as a symbolicconceit on the part of the artist, no one could tell.

A very forceful looking gentleman, so old Lanscombe had alwaysthought, and was glad that he himself had never known him personally.Mr Richard had been his gentleman. A good master, Mr Richard. Andtaken very sudden, he'd been, though of course the doctor had beenattending him for some little time. Ah, but the master had neverrecovered from the shock of young Mr Mortimer's death. The old manshook his head as he hurried through a connecting door into the WhiteBoudoir. Terrible, that had been, a real catastrophe. Such a fineupstanding young gentleman, so strong and healthy. You'd never havethought such a thing likely to happen to him. Pitiful, it had been, quitepitiful. And Mr Gordon killed in the war. One thing on top of another.That was the way things went nowadays. Too much for the master, ithad been. And yet he'd seemed almost himself a week ago.

The third blind in the White Boudoir refused to go up as it should. Itwent up a little way and stuck. The springs were weak - that's what itwas - very old, these blinds were, like everything else in the house.And you couldn't get these old things mended nowadays. Too old-fashioned, that's what they'd say, shaking their heads in that sillysuperior way - as if the old things weren't a great deal better than thenew ones! He could tell them that! Gimcrack, half the new stuff was -came to pieces in your hand. The material wasn't good, or thecraftsmanship either. Oh yes, could tell them.

Couldn't do anything about this blind unless he got the steps. He didn'tlike climbing up the steps much, these days, made him come overgiddy. Anyway, he'd leave the blind for now. It didn't matter, since theWhite Boudoir didn't face the front of the house where it would be seenas the cars came back from the funeral - and it wasn't as though theroom was ever used nowadays. It was a lady's room, this, and therehadn't been a lady at Enderby for a long while now. A pity Mr Mortimerhadn't married. Always going off to Norway for fishing and to Scotlandfor shooting and to Switzerland for those winter sports, instead ofmarrying some nice young lady and settling down at home withchildren running about the house. It was a long time since there hadbeen any children in the house.

And Lanscombe's mind went ranging back to a time that stood outclearly and distinctly - much more distinctly than the last twenty yearsor so, which were all blurred and confused and he couldn't reallyremember who had come and gone or indeed what they looked like.But he could remember the old days well enough.

More like a father to those young brothers and sisters of his, MrRichard had been. Twenty-four when his father had died, and he'dpitched in right away to the business, going off every day as punctualas clockwork, and keeping the house running and everything as lavishas it could be. A very happy household with all those young ladies andgentlemen growing up. Fights and quarrels now and again, of course,and those governesses had had a bad time of it! Poor-spiritedcreatures, governesses, Lanscombe had always despised them. Veryspirited the young ladies had been. Miss Geraldine in particular. MissCora, too, although she was so much younger. And now Mr Leo wasdead, and Miss Laura gone too. And Mr Timothy such a sad invalid.And Miss Geraldine dying somewhere abroad. And Mr Gordon killed inthe war. Although he was the eldest, Mr Richard himself turned out thestrongest of the lot. Outlived them all, he had - at least not quitebecause Mr Timothy was still alive and little Miss Cora who'd marriedthat unpleasant artist chap. Twenty-five years since he'd seen her andshe'd been a pretty young girl when she went off with that chap, andnow he'd hardly have known her, grown so stout - and so arty-crafty inher dress! A Frenchman her husband had been, or nearly a Frenchman

-and no good ever came of marrying one of them! But Miss Cora hadalways been a bit - well, simple like you'd call it if she'd lived in avillage. Always one of them in a family.

She'd remembered him all right. "Why, it's Lanscombe!" she'd said andseemed ever so pleased to see him. Ah, they'd all been fond of him inthe old days and when there was a dinner party they'd crept down tothe pantry and he'd gave them jelly and Charlotte Russe when it cameout of the dining-room. They'd all known old Lanscombe, and nowthere was hardly anyone who remembered. Just the younger lot whom

he could never keep clear in his mind and who just thought of him as abutler who'd been there a long time. A lot of strangers, he had thought,when they all arrived for the funeral - and a seedy lot of strangers atthat! Not Mrs Leo - she was different. She and Mr Leo had come hereoff and on ever since Mr Leo married. She was a nice lady, Mrs Leo - areal lady. Wore proper clothes and did her hair well and looked whatshe was. And the master had always ben fond of her. A pity that sheand Mr Leo had never had any children...

Lanscombe roused himself; what was he doing standing here anddreaming about old days with so much to be done? The blinds were allattended to on the ground floor now, and he'd told Janet to go upstairsand do the bedrooms. He and Janet and the cook had gone to thefuneral service in the church but instead of going on to theCrematorium they'd driven back to the house to get the blinds up andthe lunch ready. Cold lunch, of course, it had to be. Ham and chickenand tongue and salad. With cold lemon souffl and apple tart to follow.Hot soup first - and he'd better go along and see that Marjorie had gotit on ready to serve, for they'd be back in a minute or two now forcertain.

Lanscombe broke into a shuffling trot across the room. His gaze,abstracted and uncurious, just swept up to the picture over thismantelpiece - the companion portrait to the one in the green drawing-room. It was a nice painting of white satin and pearls. The human beinground whom they were draped and clasped was not nearly soimpressive. Meek features, a rosebud mouth, hair parted in the middle.A woman both modest and unassuming. The only thing really worthy ofnote about Mrs Cornelius Abernethie had been her name - Coralie.

For over sixty years after their original appearance, CoralCornplasters and the allied "Coral" foot preparations still held their