I felt suddenly rather sorry for Brenda Leonides.
Chapter 5
Along the path towards us came a tall figure walking briskly. It had on a battered old felt hat, a shapeless skirt, and a rather cumbersome jersey.
"Aunt Edith," said Sophia.
The figure paused once or twice, stooping to the flower borders, then it advanced upon us.
I rose to my feet.
"This is Charles Hayward, Aunt Edith.
My aunt, Miss de Haviland."
Edith de Haviland was a woman of about seventy.
She had a mass of untidy grey hair, a weather beaten face and a shrewd and piercing glance.
"How d'ye do?" she said. "I've heard about you.
Back from the East.
How's your father?"
Rather surprised, I said he was very well.
"Knew him when he was a boy," said Miss de Haviland. "Knew his mother very well.
You look rather like her.
Have you come to help us - or the other thing?"
"I hope to help," I said rather uncomfortably. She nodded.
"We could do with some help.
Place swarming with policemen.
Pop out at you all over the place.
Don't like some of the types.
A boy who's been to a decent school oughtn't to go into the police.
Saw Moyra Kinoul's boy the other day holding up the traffic at Marble Arch.
Makes you feel you don't know where you are!" She turned to Sophia: "Nannie's asking for you, Sophia.
Fish."
"Bother," said Sophia. "I'll go and telephone about it."
She walked briskly towards the house.
Miss de Haviland turned and walked slowly in the same direction.
I fell into step beside her.
"Don't know what we'd all do without Nannies," said Miss de Haviland. "Nearly everybody's got an old Nannie.
They come back and wash and iron and cook and do housework.
Faithful.
Chose this one myself - years ago."
She stooped and pulled viciously at an entangling twining bit of green.
"Hateful stuff - bindweed!
Worst weed there is!
Choking, entangling - and you can't get at it properly, runs along underground."
With her heel she ground the handful of green stuff viciously underfoot.
"This is a bad business, Charles Hayward," she said. She was looking towards the house. "What do the police think about it?
Suppose I mustn't ask you that.
Seems odd to think of Aristide being poisoned.
For that matter it seems odd to think of him being dead.
I never liked him - never!
But I can't get used to the idea of his being dead... Makes the house seem so - empty."
I said nothing.
For all her curt way of speech, Edith de Haviland seemed in a reminiscent mood.
"Was thinking this morning - I've lived here a long time.
Over forty years.
Came here when my sister died.