“Come, let us see if we can find this nurse Carruthers who was with Miss Arundell in her last illness.”
Nurse Carruthers proved to be a sensible-looking, middle-aged woman.
Poirot now appeared in yet another rôle and with one more fictitious relative. This time he had an aged mother for whom he was anxious to find a sympathetic hospital nurse.
“You comprehend—I am going to speak to you quite frankly. My mother, she is difficult. We have had some excellent nurses, young women, fully competent, but the very fact that they are young has been against them. My mother dislikes young women, she insults them, she is rude and fractious, she fights against open windows and modern hygiene. It is very difficult.”
He sighed mournfully.
“I know,” said Nurse Carruthers sympathetically. “It’s very trying sometimes. One has to use a lot of tact. It’s no use upsetting a patient. Better to give in to them as far as you can. And once they feel you’re not trying to force things on them, they very often relax and give in like lambs.”
“Ah, I see that you would be ideal in the par
t. You understand old ladies.”
“I’ve had to do with a few in my time,” said Nurse Carruthers with a laugh. “You can do a lot with patience and good humour.”
“That is so wise. You nursed Miss Arundell, I believe. Now, she could not have been an easy old lady.”
“Oh, I don’t know. She was strong willed, but I didn’t find her difficult at all. Of course, I wasn’t there any length of time. She died on the fourth day.”
“I was talking to her niece, Miss Theresa Arundell, only yesterday.”
“Really. Fancy that now! What I always say is—the world’s a small place!”
“You know her, I expect?”
“Well, of course, she came down after her aunt’s death and she was here for the funeral. And, of course, I’ve seen her about before when she’s been staying down here. A very handsome girl.”
“Yes, indeed—but too thin—definitely too thin.”
Nurse Carruthers, conscious of her own comfortable plumpness, preened herself slightly.
“Of course,” she said, “one shouldn’t be too thin.”
“Poor girl,” continued Poirot. “I am sorry for her. Entre nous,” he leaned forward confidentially, “her aunt’s will was a great blow.”
“I suppose it must have been,” said Nurse Carruthers. “I know it caused a good deal of talk.”
“I cannot imagine what induced Miss Arundell to disinherit all her family. It seems an extraordinary procedure.”
“Most extraordinary. I agree with you. And, of course, people say there must have been something behind it all.”
“Did you ever get any idea of the reason? Did old Miss Arundell say anything?”
“No. Not to me, that is.”
“But to somebody else?”
“Well, I rather fancy she mentioned something to Miss Lawson because I heard Miss Lawson say, ‘Yes, dear, but you see it’s at the lawyer’s.’ And Miss Arundell said, ‘I’m sure it’s in the drawer downstairs.’ And Miss Lawson said, ‘No, you sent it to Mr. Purvis. Don’t you remember?’ And then my patient had an attack of nausea again and Miss Lawson went away while I saw to her, but I’ve often wondered if it was the will they were talking about.”
“It certainly seems probable.”
Nurse Carruthers went on:
“If so, I expect Miss Arundell was worried and perhaps wanted to alter it—but there, she was so ill, poor dear, after that—that she was past thinking of anything.”
“Did Miss Lawson take part in the nursing at all?” asked Poirot.