Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot 22) - Page 48

“Extraordinary what rubbish people keep! Newspaper cuttings! Old letters. All sorts of things!”

Mary said, unfolding a document:

“Here’s Dad’s and Mum’s marriage certificate. At St. Albans, 1919.”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“Marriage lines, that’s the old-fashioned term. Lots of the people in this village use that term yet.”

Mary said in a stifled voice:

“But, Nurse—”

“What’s the matter?”

Mary Gerrard said in a shaky voice:

“Don’t you see? This is 1939. And I’m twenty-one. In 1919 I was a year old. That means—that means—that my father and mother weren’t married till—till—afterwards.”

Nurse Hopkins frowned. She said robustly:

“Well, after all, what of it? Don’t go worrying about that, at this time of day!”

“But, Nurse, I can’t help it.”

Nurse Hopkins spoke with authority:

“There’s many couples that don’t go to church till a bit after they should do so. But so long as they do it in the end, what’s the odds? That’s what I say!”

Mary said in a low voice:

“Is that why—do you think—my father never liked me? Because, perhaps my mother made him marry her?”

Nurse Hopkins hesitated. She bit her lip, then she said:

“It wasn’t quite like that, I imagine.” She paused. “Oh, well, if you’re going to worry about it, you may as well know the truth: You aren’t Gerrard’s daughter at all.”

Mary said:

“Then that was why!”

Nurse Hopkins said: “Maybe.”

Mary said, a red spot suddenly burning in each cheek:

“I suppose it’s wrong of me, but I’m glad! I’ve always felt uncomfortable because I didn’t care for my father, but if he wasn’t my father, well, that makes it all right! How did you know about it?”

Nurse Hopkins said:

“Gerrard talked about it a good deal before he died. I shut him up pretty sharply, but he didn’t care. Naturally, I shouldn’t have said anything to you about it if this hadn’t cropped up.”

Mary said slowly:

“I wonder who my real father was….”

Nurse Hopkins hesitated. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She appeared to be finding it hard to make up her mind on some point.

Then a shadow fell across the room, and the two women looked round to see Elinor Carlisle standing at the window.

Tags: Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot Mystery
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