The Moving Finger Read Free Page B

“Was it?” rather disturbing.

Two
    I
    I am not going to pretend that the arrival of our anonymous letter did not leave a nasty taste in the mouth. It did. At the same time, it soon passed out of my mind. I did not, you see, at that point, take it seriously. I think I remember saying to myself that these things probably happen fairly often in out-of-the-way villages. Some hysterical woman with a taste for dramatizing herself was probably at the bottom of it. Anyway, if the letters were as childish and silly as the one we had got, they couldn’t do much harm.
    The next incident, if I may put it so, occurred about a week later, when Partridge, her lips set tightly together, informed me that Beatrice, the daily help, would not be coming today.
    â€œI gather, sir,” said Partridge, “that the girl has been Upset.”
    I was not very sure what Partridge was implying, but I diagnosed (wrongly) some stomachic trouble to which Partridge was too delicate to allude more directly. I said I was sorry and hoped she would soon be better.
    â€œThe girl is perfectly well, sir,” said Partridge. “She is Upset in her Feelings.”
    â€œOh,” I said rather doubtfully.
    â€œOwing,” went on Partridge, “to a letter she has received. Making, I understand, Insinuations.”
    The grimness of Partridge’s eye, coupled with the obvious capital I of Insinuations, made me apprehensive that the insinuations were concerned with me. Since I would hardly have recognized Beatrice by sight if I had met her in the town so unaware of her had I been—I felt a not unnatural annoyance. An invalid hobbling about on two sticks is hardly cast for the role of deceiver of village girls. I said irritably:
    â€œWhat nonsense!”
    â€œMy very words, sir, to the girl’s mother,” said Partridge. “‘Goings On in this house,’ I said to her, ‘there never have been and never will be while I am in charge. As to Beatrice,’ I said, ‘girls are different nowadays, and as to Goings On elsewhere I can say nothing.’ But the truth is, sir, that Beatrice’s friend from the garage as she walks out with got one of them nasty letters too, and he isn’t acting reasonable at all.”
    â€œI have never heard anything so preposterous in my life,” I said angrily.
    â€œIt’s my opinion, sir,” said Partridge, “that we’re well rid of the girl. What I say is, she wouldn’t take on so if there wasn’t something she didn’t want found out. No smoke without fire, that’s what I say.”
    I had no idea how horribly tired I was going to get of that particular phrase.
    II
    That morning, by way of adventure, I was to walk down to the village. (Joanna and I always called it the village, although technically we were incorrect, and Lymstock would have been annoyed to hear us.)
    The sun was shining, the air was cool and crisp with the sweetness of spring in it. I assembled my sticks and started off, firmly refusing to permit Joanna to accompany me.
    â€œNo,” I said, “I will not have a guardian angel teetering along beside me and uttering encouraging chirrups. A man travels fastest who travels alone, remember. I have much business to transact. I shall go to Galbraith, Galbraith and Symmington, and sign that transfer of shares, I shall call in at the baker’s and complain about the currant loaf, and I shall return that book we borrowed. I have to go to the bank, too. Let me away, woman, the morning is all too short.”
    It was arranged that Joanna should pick me up with the car and drive me back up the hill in time for lunch.
    â€œThat ought to give you time to pass the time of day with everyone in Lymstock.”
    â€œI have no doubt,” I said, “that I shall have seen anybody who is anybody by then.”
    For morning in the High Street was a kind of rendezvous for shoppers, when news was exchanged.
    I did not,