The Mysterious Affair at Styles | Page 4

owing to the general
ignorance of the more uncommon poisons among the medical
profession, there were probably countless cases of poisoning quite
unsuspected."

"Why, Mary, what a gruesome conversation!" cried Mrs. Inglethorp. "It
makes me feel as if a goose were walking over my grave. Oh, there's
Cynthia!"
A young girl in V. A. D. uniform ran lightly across the lawn.
"Why, Cynthia, you are late to-day. This is Mr. Hastings--Miss
Murdoch."
Cynthia Murdoch was a fresh-looking young creature, full of life and
vigour. She tossed off her little V. A. D. cap, and I admired the great
loose waves of her auburn hair, and the smallness and whiteness of the
hand she held out to claim her tea. With dark eyes and eyelashes she
would have been a beauty.
She flung herself down on the ground beside John, and as I handed her
a plate of sandwiches she smiled up at me.
"Sit down here on the grass, do. It's ever so much nicer."
I dropped down obediently.
"You work at Tadminster, don't you, Miss Murdoch?"
She nodded.
"For my sins."
"Do they bully you, then?" I asked, smiling.
"I should like to see them!" cried Cynthia with dignity.
"I have got a cousin who is nursing," I remarked. "And she is terrified
of 'Sisters'."
"I don't wonder. Sisters are, you know, Mr. Hastings. They simp--ly
are! You've no idea! But I'm not a nurse, thank heaven, I work in the
dispensary."

"How many people do you poison?" I asked, smiling.
Cynthia smiled too.
"Oh, hundreds!" she said.
"Cynthia," called Mrs. Inglethorp, "do you think you could write a few
notes for me?"
"Certainly, Aunt Emily."
She jumped up promptly, and something in her manner reminded me
that her position was a dependent one, and that Mrs. Inglethorp, kind as
she might be in the main, did not allow her to forget it.
My hostess turned to me.
"John will show you your room. Supper is at half-past seven. We have
given up late dinner for some time now. Lady Tadminster, our
Member's wife--she was the late Lord Abbotsbury's daughter--does the
same. She agrees with me that one must set an example of economy.
We are quite a war household; nothing is wasted here--every scrap of
waste paper, even, is saved and sent away in sacks."
I expressed my appreciation, and John took me into the house and up
the broad staircase, which forked right and left half-way to different
wings of the building. My room was in the left wing, and looked out
over the park.
John left me, and a few minutes later I saw him from my window
walking slowly across the grass arm in arm with Cynthia Murdoch. I
heard Mrs. Inglethorp call "Cynthia" impatiently, and the girl started
and ran back to the house. At the same moment, a man stepped out
from the shadow of a tree and walked slowly in the same direction. He
looked about forty, very dark with a melancholy clean-shaven face.
Some violent emotion seemed to be mastering him. He looked up at my
window as he passed, and I recognized him, though he had changed
much in the fifteen years that had elapsed since we last met. It was

John's younger brother, Lawrence Cavendish. I wondered what it was
that had brought that singular expression to his face.
Then I dismissed him from my mind, and returned to the contemplation
of my own affairs.
The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night of that
enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of the
anticipation of a delightful visit.
I did not see Mrs. Cavendish until lunch-time, when she volunteered to
take me for a walk, and we spent a charming afternoon roaming in the
woods, returning to the house about five.
As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into the
smoking-room. I saw at once by his face that something disturbing had
occurred. We followed him in, and he shut the door after us.
"Look here, Mary, there's the deuce of a mess. Evie's had a row with
Alfred Inglethorp, and she's off."
"Evie? Off?"
John nodded gloomily.
"Yes; you see she went to the mater, and--Oh, here's Evie herself."
Miss Howard entered. Her lips were set grimly together, and she
carried a small suit-case. She looked excited and determined, and
slightly on the defensive.
"At any rate," she burst out, "I've spoken my mind!"
"My dear Evelyn," cried Mrs. Cavendish, "this can't be true!"
Miss Howard nodded grimly.

"True enough! Afraid I said some things to Emily she won't forget or
forgive in a hurry. Don't mind if they've only sunk in a bit. Probably
water off a duck's back, though. I said right out: 'You're an old