The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side

‘Died! But what of?’

‘Search me,’ said Cherry. ‘She’d been taken into the house because of her being the secretary of the St John Ambulance, I suppose. She and the mayor and a lot of others. As far as I heard, she had a glass of something and about five minutes later she was took bad and died before you could snap your fingers.’

‘What a shocking occurrence,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Did she suffer from heart trouble?’

‘Sound as a bell, so they say,’ Cherry said. ‘Of course, you never know, do you? I suppose you can have something wrong with your heart and nobody knowing about it. Anyway, I can tell you this. They’ve not sent her home.’

Miss Marple looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean, not sent her home?’

‘The body,’ said Cherry, her cheerfulness unimpaired. ‘The doctor said there’d have to be an autopsy. Post-mortem—whatever you call it. He said he hadn’t attended her for anything and there was nothing to show the cause of death. Looks funny to me,’ she added.

‘Now what do you mean by funny?’ said Miss Marple.

‘Well.’ Cherry considered. ‘Funny. As though there was something behind it.’

‘Is her husband terribly upset?’

‘Looks as white as a sheet. Never saw a man as badly hit, to look at—that is to say.’

Miss Marple’s ears, long attuned to delicate nuances, led her to cock her head slightly on one side like an inquisitive bird.

‘Was he so very devoted to her?’

‘He did what she told him and gave her her own way,’ said Cherry, ‘but that doesn’t always mean you’re devoted, does it? It may mean you haven’t got the courage to stick up for yourself.’

‘You didn’t like her?’ asked Miss Marple.

‘I hardly know her really,’ said Cherry. ‘Knew her, I mean. I don’t—didn’t—dislike her. But she’s just not my type. Too interfering.’

‘You mean inquisitive, nosy?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Cherry. ‘I don’t mean that at all. She was a very kind woman and she was always doing things for people. And she was always quite sure she knew the best thing to do. What they thought about it wouldn’t have mattered. I had an aunt like that. Very fond of seed cake herself and she used to bake seed cakes for people and take them to them, and she never troubled to find out whether they liked seed cake or not. There are people can’t bear it, just can’t stand the flavour of caraway. Well, Heather Badcock was a bit like that.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Marple thoughtfully, ‘yes, she would have been. I knew someone a little like that. Such people,’ she added, ‘live dangerously—though they don’t know it themselves.’

Cherry stared at her. ‘That’s a funny thing to say. I don’t quite get what you mean.’

Miss Knight bustled in. ‘Mrs Bantry seems to have gone out,’ she said. ‘She didn’t say where she was going.’

‘I can guess where she’s going,’ said Miss Marple. ‘She’s coming here. I shall get up now,’ she added.

Miss Marple had just ensconced herself in her favourite chair by the window when Mrs Bantry arrived. She was slightly out of breath.

‘I’ve got plenty to tell you, Jane,’ she said.

‘About the fête?’ asked Miss Knight. ‘You went to the fête yesterday, didn’t you? I was there myself for a short time early in the afternoon. The tea tent was very crowded. An astonishing lot of people seemed to be there. I didn’t catch a glimpse of Marina Gregg, though, which was rather disappointing.’

She flicked a little dust off a table and said brightly, ‘Now I’m sure you two want to have a nice little chat together,’ and went out of the room.

‘She doesn’t seem to know anything about it,’ said Mrs Bantry. She fixed her friend with a keen glance. ‘Jane, I believe you do know.’

‘You mean about the death yesterday?’

‘You always know everything,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘I cannot think how.’

‘Well, really dear,’ said Miss Marple, ‘in the same way one always has known everything. My daily helper, Cherry Baker, brought the news. I expect the butcher will be telling Miss Knight presently.’

‘And what do you think of it?’ said Mrs Bantry.

‘What do I think of what?’ said Miss Marple.

‘Now don’t be aggravating, Jane, you know perfectly what I mean. There’s this woman—whatever her name is—’

‘Heather Badcock,’ said Miss Marple.

‘She arrives full of life and spirit. I was there when she came. And about a quarter of an hour later she sits down in a chair, says she doesn’t feel well, gasps a bit and dies. What do you think of that?’

‘One mustn’t jump to conclusions,’ said Miss Marple. ‘The point is, of course, what did a medical man think of it?’

Mrs Bantry nodded. ‘There’s to be an inquest and a post-mortem,’ she said. ‘That shows what they think of it, doesn’t it?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Anyone may be taken ill and die suddenly and they have to have a post-mortem to find out the cause.’

‘It’s more than that,’ said Mrs Bantry.

‘How do you know?’ said Miss Marple.

‘Dr Sandford went home and rang up the police.’

‘Who told you that?’ said Miss Marple, with great interest.

‘Old Briggs,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘At least, he didn’t tell me. You know he goes down after hours in the evening to see to Dr Sandford’s garden, and he was clipping something quite close to the study and he heard the doctor ringing up the police station in Much Benham. Briggs told his daughter and his daughter mentioned it to the postwoman and she told me,’ said Mrs Bantry.

Miss Marple smiled. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that St Mary Mead has not changed very much from what it used to be.’

‘The grape-vine is much the same,’ agreed Mrs Bantry. ‘Well, now, Jane, tell me what you think.’

‘One thinks, of course, of the husband,’ said Miss Marple reflectively. ‘Was he there?’

‘Yes, he was there. You don’t think it would be suicide,’ said Mrs Bantry.

‘Certainly not suicide,’ said Miss Marple decisively. ‘She wasn’t the type.’

‘How did you come across her, Jane?’

‘It was the day I went for a walk to the Development, and fell down near her house. She was kindness itself. She was a very kind woman.’

‘Did you see the husband? Did he look as though he’d like to poison her?