Chapter I. I Go to Styles

by Agatha Christie

　　The intense interest aroused in the public by what was known atthe time as "The Styles Case" has now somewhat subsided.Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attendedit, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the familythemselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, wetrust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours whichstill persist.I will therefore briefly set down the circumstances which led tomy being connected with the affair.I had been invalided home from the Front; and, after spendingsome months in a rather depressing Convalescent Home, was given amonth's sick leave. Having no near relations or friends, I wastrying to make up my mind what to do, when I ran across JohnCavendish. I had seen very little of him for some years.Indeed, I had never known him particularly well. He was a goodfifteen years my senior, for one thing, though he hardly lookedhis forty-five years. As a boy, though, I had often stayed atStyles, his mother's place in Essex.We had a good yarn about old times, and it ended in his invitingme down to Styles to spend my leave there."The mater will be delighted to see you again--after all thoseyears," he added."Your mother keeps well?" I asked."Oh, yes. I suppose you know that she has married again?"I am afraid I showed my surprise rather plainly. Mrs. Cavendish,who had married John's father when he was a widower with twosons, had been a handsome woman of middle-age as I rememberedher. She certainly could not be a day less than seventy now. Irecalled her as an energetic, autocratic personality, somewhatinclined to charitable and social notoriety, with a fondness foropening bazaars and playing the Lady Bountiful. She was a mostgenerous woman, and possessed a considerable fortune of her own.Their country-place, Styles Court, had been purchased by Mr.Cavendish early in their married life. He had been completelyunder his wife's ascendancy, so much so that, on dying, he leftthe place to her for her lifetime, as well as the larger part ofhis income; an arrangement that was distinctly unfair to his twosons. Their step-mother, however, had always been most generousto them; indeed, they were so young at the time of their father'sremarriage that they always thought of her as their own mother.Lawrence, the younger, had been a delicate youth. He hadqualified as a doctor but early relinquished the profession ofmedicine, and lived at home while pursuing literary ambitions;though his verses never had any marked success.John practiced for some time as a barrister, but had finallysettled down to the more congenial life of a country squire. Hehad married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live atStyles, though I entertained a shrewd suspicion that he wouldhave preferred his mother to increase his allowance, which wouldhave enabled him to have a home of his own. Mrs. Cavendish,however, was a lady who liked to make her own plans, and expectedother people to fall in with them, and in this case she certainlyhad the whip hand, namely: the purse strings.John noticed my surprise at the news of his mother's remarriageand smiled rather ruefully."Rotten little bounder too!" he said savagely. "I can tell you,Hastings, it's making life jolly difficult for us. As forEvie--you remember Evie?""No.""Oh, I suppose she was after your time. She's the mater'sfactotum, companion, Jack of all trades! A great sport--old Evie!Not precisely young and beautiful, but as game as they makethem.""You were going to say----?""Oh, this fellow! He turned up from nowhere, on the pretext ofbeing a second cousin or something of Evie's, though she didn'tseem particularly keen to acknowledge the relationship. Thefellow is an absolute outsider, anyone can see that. He's got agreat black beard, and wears patent leather boots in allweathers! But the mater cottoned to him at once, took him on assecretary--you know how she's always running a hundredsocieties?"I nodded."Well, of course the war has turned the hundreds into thousands.No doubt the fellow was very useful to her. But you could haveknocked us all down with a feather when, three months ago, shesuddenly announced that she and Alfred were engaged! The fellowmust be at least twenty years younger than she is! It's simplybare-faced fortune hunting; but there you are--she is her ownmistress, and she's married him.""It must be a difficult situation for you all.""Difficult! It's damnable!"Thus it came about that, three days later, I descended from thetrain at Styles St. Mary, an absurd little station, with noapparent reason for existence, perched up in the midst of greenfields and country lanes. John Cavendish was waiting on theplatform, and piloted me out to the car."Got a drop or two of petrol still, you see," he remarked."Mainly owing to the mater's activities."The village of Styles St. Mary was situated about two miles fromthe little station, and Styles Court lay a mile the other side ofit. It was a still, warm day in early July. As one looked outover the flat Essex country, lying so green and peaceful underthe afternoon sun, it seemed almost impossible to believe that,not so very far away, a great war was running its appointedcourse. I felt I had suddenly strayed into another world. As weturned in at the lodge gates, John said:"I'm afraid you'll find it very quiet down here, Hastings.""My dear fellow, that's just what I want.""Oh, it's pleasant enough if you want to lead the idle life. Idrill with the volunteers twice a week, and lend a hand at thefarms. My wife works regularly 'on the land'. She is up at fiveevery morning to milk, and keeps at it steadily until lunchtime.It's a jolly good life taking it all round--if it weren't forthat fellow Alfred Inglethorp!" He checked the car suddenly, andglanced at his watch. "I wonder if we've time to pick upCynthia. No, she'll have started from the hospital by now.""Cynthia! That's not your wife?""No, Cynthia is a protegee of my mother's, the daughter of an oldschoolfellow of hers, who married a rascally solicitor. He camea cropper, and the girl was left an orphan and penniless. Mymother came to the rescue, and Cynthia has been with us nearlytwo years now. She works in the Red Cross Hospital atTadminster, seven miles away."As he spoke the last words, we drew up in front of the fine oldhouse. A lady in a stout tweed skirt, who was bending over aflower bed, straightened herself at our approach."Hullo, Evie, here's our wounded hero! Mr. Hastings--MissHoward."Miss Howard shook hands with a hearty, almost painful, grip. Ihad an impression of very blue eyes in a sunburnt face. She wasa pleasant-looking woman of about forty, with a deep voice,almost manly in its stentorian tones, and had a large sensiblesquare body, with feet to match--these last encased in good thickboots. Her conversation, I soon found, was couched in thetelegraphic style."Weeds grow like house afire. Can't keep even with 'em. Shallpress you in. Better be careful.""I'm sure I shall be only too delighted to make myself useful," Iresponded."Don't say it. Never does. Wish you hadn't later.""You're a cynic, Evie," said John, laughing. "Where's teato-day--inside or out?""Out. Too fine a day to be cooped up in the house.""Come on then, you've done enough gardening for to-day. 'Thelabourer is worthy of his hire', you know. Come and berefreshed.""Well," said Miss Howard, drawing off her gardening gloves, "I'minclined to agree with you."She led the way round the house to where tea was spread under theshade of a large sycamore.A figure rose from one of the basket chairs, and came a few stepsto meet us."My wife, Hastings," said John.I shall never forget my first sight of Mary Cavendish. Her tall,slender form, outlined against the bright light; the vivid senseof slumbering fire that seemed to find expression only in thosewonderful tawny eyes of hers, remarkable eyes, different from anyother woman's that I have ever known; the intense power ofstillness she possessed, which nevertheless conveyed theimpression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilisedbody--all these things are burnt into my memory. I shall neverforget them.She greeted me with a few words of pleasant welcome in a lowclear voice, and I sank into a basket chair feeling distinctlyglad that I had accepted John's invitation. Mrs. Cavendish gaveme some tea, and her few quiet remarks heightened my firstimpression of her as a thoroughly fascinating woman. Anappreciative listener is always stimulating, and I described, ina humorous manner, certain incidents of my Convalescent Home, ina way which, I flatter myself, greatly amused my hostess. John,of course, good fellow though he is, could hardly be called abrilliant conversationalist.At that moment a well remembered voice floated through the openFrench window near at hand:"Then you'll write to the Princess after tea, Alfred? I'll writeto Lady Tadminster for the second day, myself. Or shall we waituntil we hear from the Princess? In case of a refusal, LadyTadminster might open it the first day, and Mrs. Crosbie thesecond. Then there's the Duchess--about the school fete."There was the murmur of a man's voice, and then Mrs. Inglethorp'srose in reply:"Yes, certainly. After tea will do quite well. You are sothoughtful, Alfred dear."The French window swung open a little wider, and a handsomewhite-haired old lady, with a somewhat masterful cast offeatures, stepped out of it on to the lawn. A man followed her,a suggestion of deference in his manner.Mrs. Inglethorp greeted me with effusion."Why, if it isn't too delightful to see you again, Mr. Hastings,after all these years. Alfred, darling, Mr. Hastings--myhusband."I looked with some curiosity at "Alfred darling". He certainlystruck a rather alien note. I did not wonder at John objectingto his beard. It was one of the longest and blackest I have everseen. He wore gold-rimmed pince-nez, and had a curiousimpassivity of feature. It struck me that he might look naturalon a stage, but was strangely out of place in real life. Hisvoice was rather deep and unctuous. He placed a wooden hand inmine and said:"This is a pleasure, Mr. Hastings." Then, turning to his wife:"Emily dearest, I think that cushion is a little damp."She beamed fondly on him, as he substituted another with everydemonstration of the tenderest care. Strange infatuation of anotherwise sensible woman!With the presence of Mr. Inglethorp, a sense of constraint andveiled hostility seemed to settle down upon the company. MissHoward, in particular, took no pains to conceal her feelings.Mrs. Inglethorp, however, seemed to notice nothing unusual. Hervolubility, which I remembered of old, had lost nothing in theintervening years, and she poured out a steady flood ofconversation, mainly on the subject of the forthcoming bazaarwhich she was organizing and which was to take place shortly.Occasionally she referred to her husband over a question of daysor dates. His watchful and attentive manner never varied. Fromthe very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and Iflatter myself that my first judgments are usually fairly shrewd.Presently Mrs. Inglethorp turned to give some instructions aboutletters to Evelyn Howard, and her husband addressed me in hispainstaking voice:"Is soldiering your regular profession, Mr. Hastings?""No, before the war I was in Lloyd's.""And you will return there after it is over?""Perhaps. Either that or a fresh start altogether."Mary Cavendish leant forward."What would you really choose as a profession, if you could justconsult your inclination?""Well, that depends.""No secret hobby?" she asked. "Tell me--you're drawn tosomething? Every one is--usually something absurd.""You'll laugh at me."She smiled."Perhaps.""Well, I've always had a secret hankering to be a detective!""The real thing--Scotland Yard? Or Sherlock Holmes?""Oh, Sherlock Holmes by all means. But really, seriously, I amawfully drawn to it. I came across a man in Belgium once, a veryfamous detective, and he quite inflamed me. He was a marvellouslittle fellow. He used to say that all good detective work was amere matter of method. My system is based on his--though ofcourse I have progressed rather further. He was a funny littleman, a great dandy, but wonderfully clever.""Like a good detective story myself," remarked Miss Howard."Lots of nonsense written, though. Criminal discovered in lastchapter. Every one dumbfounded. Real crime--you'd know atonce.""There have been a great number of undiscovered crimes," Iargued."Don't mean the police, but the people that are right in it. Thefamily. You couldn't really hoodwink them. They'd know.""Then," I said, much amused, "you think that if you were mixed upin a crime, say a murder, you'd be able to spot the murdererright off?""Of course I should. Mightn't be able to prove it to a pack oflawyers. But I'm certain I'd know. I'd feel it in my fingertipsif he came near me.""It might be a 'she,' " I suggested."Might. But murder's a violent crime. Associate it more with aman.""Not in a case of poisoning." Mrs. Cavendish's clear voicestartled me. "Dr. Bauerstein was saying yesterday that, owing tothe general ignorance of the more uncommon poisons among themedical profession, there were probably countless cases ofpoisoning 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-- MissMurdoch."Cynthia Murdoch was a fresh-looking young creature, full of lifeand vigour. She tossed off her little V. A. D. cap, and Iadmired the great loose waves of her auburn hair, and thesmallness and whiteness of the hand she held out to claim hertea. With dark eyes and eyelashes she would have been a beauty.She flung herself down on the ground beside John, and as I handedher 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 isterrified of 'Sisters'.""I don't wonder. Sisters are, you know, Mr. Hastings. Theysimp-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 writea few notes for me?""Certainly, Aunt Emily."She jumped up promptly, and something in her manner reminded methat 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. Wehave given up late dinner for some time now. Lady Tadminster,our Member's wife--she was the late Lord Abbotsbury'sdaughter--does the same. She agrees with me that one must set anexample of economy. We are quite a war household; nothing iswasted here--every scrap of waste paper, even, is saved and sentaway in sacks."I expressed my appreciation, and John took me into the house andup the broad staircase, which forked right and left half-way todifferent 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 windowwalking slowly across the grass arm in arm with Cynthia Murdoch.I heard Mrs. Inglethorp call "Cynthia" impatiently, and the girlstarted and ran back to the house. At the same moment, a manstepped out from the shadow of a tree and walked slowly in thesame direction. He looked about forty, very dark with amelancholy clean-shaven face. Some violent emotion seemed to bemastering him. He looked up at my window as he passed, and Irecognized him, though he had changed much in the fifteen yearsthat had elapsed since we last met. It was John's youngerbrother, Lawrence Cavendish. I wondered what it was that hadbrought that singular expression to his face.Then I dismissed him from my mind, and returned to thecontemplation of my own affairs.The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night ofthat enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of theanticipation of a delightful visit.I did not see Mrs. Cavendish until lunch-time, when shevolunteered to take me for a walk, and we spent a charmingafternoon roaming in the woods, returning to the house aboutfive.As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into thesmoking-room. I saw at once by his face that somethingdisturbing had occurred. We followed him in, and he shut thedoor after us."Look here, Mary, there's the deuce of a mess. Evie's had a rowwith Alfred Inglethorp, and she's off.""Evie? Off?"John nodded gloomily."Yes; you see she went to the mater, and--Oh, here's Evieherself."Miss Howard entered. Her lips were set grimly together, and shecarried 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 forgetor 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 woman, Emily, and there's no fool like an oldfool. The man's twenty years younger than you, and don't youfool yourself as to what he married you for. Money! Well, don'tlet him have too much of it. Farmer Raikes has got a very prettyyoung wife. Just ask your Alfred how much time he spends overthere.' She was very angry. Natural! I went on, 'I'm going towarn you, whether you like it or not. That man would as soonmurder you in your bed as look at you. He's a bad lot. You cansay what you like to me, but remember what I've told you. He's abad lot!' ""What did she say?"Miss Howard made an extremely expressive grimace." 'Darling Alfred'--'dearest Alfred'--'wicked calumnies'--'wicked lies'--'wicked woman'--to accuse her 'dear husband'!The sooner I left her house the better. So I'm off.""But not now?""This minute!"For a moment we sat and stared at her. Finally John Cavendish,finding his persuasions of no avail, went off to look up thetrains. His wife followed him, murmuring something aboutpersuading Mrs. Inglethorp to think better of it.As she left the room, Miss Howard's face changed. She leanttowards me eagerly."Mr. Hastings, you're honest. I can trust you?"I was a little startled. She laid her hand on my arm, and sankher voice to a whisper."Look after her, Mr. Hastings. My poor Emily. They're a lot ofsharks--all of them. Oh, I know what I'm talking about. Thereisn't one of them that's not hard up and trying to get money outof her. I've protected her as much as I could. Now I'm out ofthe way, they'll impose upon her.""Of course, Miss Howard," I said, "I'll do everything I can, butI'm sure you're excited and overwrought."She interrupted me by slowly shaking her forefinger."Young man, trust me. I've lived in the world rather longer thanyou have. All I ask you is to keep your eyes open. You'll seewhat I mean."The throb of the motor came through the open window, and MissHoward rose and moved to the door. John's voice sounded outside.With her hand on the handle, she turned her head over hershoulder, and beckoned to me."Above all, Mr. Hastings, watch that devil--her husband!"There was no time for more. Miss Howard was swallowed up in aneager chorus of protests and good-byes. The Inglethorps did notappear.As the motor drove away, Mrs. Cavendish suddenly detached herselffrom the group, and moved across the drive to the lawn to meet atall bearded man who had been evidently making for the house.The colour rose in her cheeks as she held out her hand to him."Who is that?" I asked sharply, for instinctively I distrustedthe man."That's Dr. Bauerstein," said John shortly."And who is Dr. Bauerstein?""He's staying in the village doing a rest cure, after a badnervous breakdown. He's a London specialist; a very cleverman--one of the greatest living experts on poisons, I believe.""And he's a great friend of Mary's," put in Cynthia, theirrepressible.John Cavendish frowned and changed the subject."Come for a stroll, Hastings. This has been a most rottenbusiness. She always had a rough tongue, but there is nostauncher friend in England than Evelyn Howard."He took the path through the plantation, and we walked down tothe village through the woods which bordered one side of theestate.As we passed through one of the gates on our way home again, apretty young woman of gipsy type coming in the opposite directionbowed and smiled."That's a pretty girl," I remarked appreciatively.John's face hardened."That is Mrs. Raikes.""The one that Miss Howard----""Exactly," said John, with rather unnecessary abruptness.I thought of the white-haired old lady in the big house, and thatvivid wicked little face that had just smiled into ours, and avague chill of foreboding crept over me. I brushed it aside."Styles is really a glorious old place," I said to John.He nodded rather gloomily."Yes, it's a fine property. It'll be mine some day--should bemine now by rights, if my father had only made a decent will.And then I shouldn't be so damned hard up as I am now.""Hard up, are you?""My dear Hastings, I don't mind telling you that I'm at my wit'send for money.""Couldn't your brother help you?""Lawrence? He's gone through every penny he ever had, publishingrotten verses in fancy bindings. No, we're an impecunious lot.My mother's always been awfully good to us, I must say. That is,up to now. Since her marriage, of course----" he broke off,frowning.For the first time I felt that, with Evelyn Howard, somethingindefinable had gone from the atmosphere. Her presence had speltsecurity. Now that security was removed--and the air seemed rifewith suspicion. The sinister face of Dr. Bauerstein recurred tome unpleasantly. A vague suspicion of every one and everythingfilled my mind. Just for a moment I had a premonition ofapproaching evil.