“It’s beautiful,” Janet said. “Have you done this before? You must have. I can imagine Cynthia giving very thorough lessons in how to dress a Christmas tree.”
“I can imagine it too, but it did not happen. My childhood memory of Christmas trees is that they were simply there: like Christmas lunch, and my presents, and snow so deep it went up to my waist.”
“It’s sweet how excited Cynthia is that you’ll be with her for Christmas,” said Janet. “But... you said at dinner last night that you do not plan to stay.”
“No. Poirot and I will have left by then.”
“I am not sure that is Cynthia’s understanding of the situation.”
“Families,” I sighed, forcing a smile. “They are a blessing and a curse.” I bent down and moved things around inside the boxes that contained the remaining decorations, deliberately not looking at Janet.
After a few seconds, she said, “I was not going to mention it, but... well, now that the subject of families has come up, I should like to apologize to you for the behavior of several members of mine. I have never felt more ashamed. My mother’s cooking... I am used to it, but it must have been rather an ordeal for you and Monsieur Poirot. I am sure he is accustomed to the finest French cuisine. And Jonathan was unpardonably rude to you at dinner.”
“Your husband has apologized very graciously,” I told her. “It is forgotten.”
“Do you find it easy to forgive people?” she said quietly. “I wish I did. Sometimes it is altogether too difficult. My brother-in-law, Douglas, is so venal and vile, as is my sister Madeline. He has corrupted her. The Madeline I knew asa child was never cruel to me in the way that Douglas’s Madeline is now.”
I remembered that Maddie Laurier had told Poirot and me soon after meeting us that only her enemies called her Madeline.
“It is unusual to come across two sisters married to two brothers,” I said.
“Not really,” Janet said quickly. “It must happen all the time. How else do people meet? The people we already know introduce us to new people.”
“I suppose so,” I conceded. “Still, it must have—”
“I am sure you noticed Douglas’s obsession with his inheritance—all that talk last night of him being son and heir. He cannot leave the subject alone. It was unconscionable of him to bring it up at dinner, in front of you and Monsieur Poirot, whom he had only just met.”
“Was it not Jonathan who first said it?”
Janet recoiled. “Jonathan might have said something incidental, but it was Douglas—it is always him or my sister—who turned it into an embarrassing scene by accusing Jonathan of trying to steal his share of Arnold’s estate.”
“Did he do that?” I tried to give the impression of struggling to recall the finer details, though I vividly remembered what both brothers had said. “I don’t think I heard an accusation of attempted theft.”
“It was not made overtly,” said Janet. “Douglas would give anything to be able to claim the whole of his father’s estate for himself. The only person standing in the way of that is Jonathan, for whom he cares not a jot. And Isometimes wonder how much he loves Arnold. Jonathanadoreshis father. It is hardly right, really, that Jonathan and Douglas are each to get half of everything once Arnold is gone, if the love felt for him by the two of them is anything but equal. Would you not agree?”
I made a face that indicated I was giving her opinion thorough consideration.
“It is Vivienne’s fault,” said Janet impatiently. “Her stupid belief that fair and equal mean the same thing. Reprehensible woman! Both Douglas and Madeline are inordinately fond of her. They will make sure she wants for nothing as a widow. Madeline treats her as if she is her own mother. It must upset our real mother, Enid—though my sister doesn’t seem to care about that. I could tell you many tales of her and Douglas’s selfishness, but I do not like to speak ill of family. Even though Madeline is quite the most...” Janet stopped. “But I do not like to be disloyal. One should not publicly denounce one’s own relations. Do you not agree, Inspector Catchpool?”
Either this question was a trap or Janet lacked the ability to assess her own behavior in a realistic fashion.
“I imagine it is easy to slip up, even if one has such a policy,” I said.
“The correct standards must be upheld or else we are no better than beasts,” she said. “I have always tried to be a good person and to consider the feelings of others. But if I were like Madeline, if I cared only about myself?” She let out a bitter laugh. “Why, then I wouldbegArnold to die here at Frelly instead of taking himself off to St. Walstan’sto do it. But I care abouthiswishes, and Jonathan’s, so I say nothing of my true sentiments. I tell no one, no one at all, that I would secretly like Frelly to be forever ruined. Then I would be free.”
“I am not sure I follow,” I told her.
She made a small noise: a stifled groan. “If Arnold were to die here, the house would become a place of sadness, sullied by tragedy. That is what Arnold himself thinks, and so Jonathan accepts it unquestioningly. As soon as Arnold knew his illness was terminal, he said, ‘I must not die here at Frelly. This is a place of joy and life. I will not allow it to be destroyed by death.’ That became the truth for Jonathan—do you see? He worships Arnold as if the man were a god. Only if this house were ruined could Jonathan be free of it.”
“Ruined by Arnold dying here?” I said.
Janet nodded. “My conscience will plague me for having told you that.” Her voice shook. “How easy life must be for those without a conscience, like my sister. She and Douglas will be free of this house as soon as Arnold dies. Douglas would have bought a house for the two of them years ago if he could have afforded anything he deemed grand enough. Well, soon he will be able to—his father’s death will make him a wealthy man.” A sneering expression passed across her face. “I’m sure Vivienne will move in with them immediately. The three of them will all be as thick as thieves together. Besides, Vivienne knows she cannot stay here indefinitely.”
Janet eyed me doubtfully. “I assume you know that Frelly will not be here for very much longer?”
“The erosion problem? Yes.”
“Arnold refuses to accept the fact. It was your mother who started him thinking that way. On one of her visits, soon after we received the sad news, she said, ‘Surely something can be done?’ I am afraid Arnold seized upon her words, and Jonathan always ends up believing whatever story his father tells. Now they are as resolute as each other and constantly affirming to one another this belief that Frelly can be saved. It is torture for me, inspector. I love my husband. Ilovehim, and I cannot bear to watch him squander his next three years trying to honor his late father by saving this house. It simply cannot be done. Sometimes one must admit defeat, whatever Arnold believes. And then, to have to watch the house crumble into the sea, and endure Jonathan’s misery and listen to him endlessly blaming himself for having failed Arnold. I don’t think he would ever forgive himself. It will blight his life forever, and mine too.”
