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    The Murder at the Vicarage: A Miss Marple Mystery
    The Murder at the Vicarage: A Miss Marple Mystery
    The Murder at the Vicarage: A Miss Marple Mystery
    Ebook321 pages5 hours

    The Murder at the Vicarage: A Miss Marple Mystery

    By Agatha Christie

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    The Murder at the Vicarage is Agatha Christie’s first mystery to feature the beloved investigator Miss Marple—as a dead body in a clergyman’s study proves to the indomitable sleuth that no place, holy or otherwise, is a sanctuary from homicide.

    Miss Marple encounters a compelling murder mystery in the sleepy little village of St. Mary Mead, where under the seemingly peaceful exterior of an English country village lurks intrigue, guilt, deception and death.

    Colonel Protheroe, local magistrate and overbearing land-owner is the most detested man in the village. Everyone--even in the vicar--wishes he were dead. And very soon he is--shot in the head in the vicar's own study. Faced with a surfeit of suspects, only the inscrutable Miss Marple can unravel the tangled web of clues that will lead to the unmasking of the killer.

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 17, 2009
    ISBN9780061749919
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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    Reviews for The Murder at the Vicarage

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    • 3/5
      Eh. I liked the narrator a lot better than Hastings, but otherwise it was a little dull.
    • 3/5
      Agatha Christie introduces her beloved character, Mrs. Jane Marple, in this tale. One Colonel Protheros is found dead and murdered, but there are so many people who have wished him dead, the suspect list is quite long. Unfortunately, so is this tale. A bit slow moving at times, it finally gets more interesting in the second half of the mystery. Still, it is Christie and Marple, and fans of theirs will enjoy it.
    • 4/5
      Miss Marple makes her debut in a relatively low-key way when death comes to St. Mary Mead in this classic Christie mystery. Who shot and killed the colonel in the vicar's study? There's no shortage of suspects, as that would ruin the fun. But will Marple, with her superior understanding of human nature, catch her own mistake and identify the murderer in time to ensure that justice is done? A fun read. Or, in my case, something like a re-re-re-re-read. :)
    • 4/5
      I never cease to be amazed at how well Agatha Christie's books hold up over time. A fun read, even 82 years later. This was my first Miss Marple book, and while I highly enjoyed it, I don't think I enjoyed it as much as her Poirot books.
    • 4/5
      This book is the introduction to the wise and demure Miss Marple. The most loathed man in the village is murdered in the Vicar’s study. There are multiple suspects (seven according to Miss Marple) and the police are misled by false confessions, seemingly useless input from the village busy-bodies and a few random incidences that may or may not be related to the murder. But of course Miss Marple is able to overcome these obstacles and solve the case. This mystery kept me guessing and there were some great characters. And let’s not forget about the idyllic setting of a quaint English village abounding with gardens. While I found Miss Marple endearing and clever, Poirot still remains my favorite Christie detective.
    • 5/5
      Ha, Inspector Slash is hilariously sexist. This book is great.

    • 3/5
      This is the first Jane Marple story. It is told in the first person by the character the Vicar. we get to know this Marple through the eyes of the other denizens of the village St. Mary Meade. She is portrayed as a nosy busybody and not quite as likable as she is in later stories. She is really intelligent and as sharp as a tack as usual.
    • 5/5
      The first of the Miss Marple novels and one of the best
    • 4/5
      Murder at the Vicarage is about, and I hope this is not too much of a spoiler: a murder that takes place in a vicarage. The vicarage is situated in a village which also happens to be the home of a Miss Marple, and this is the first book in which she makes an appearance.Overall, this book didn't quite reach the bar set by The Seven Dials Mystery but it is none the less enjoyable. The story is fun, and interesting enough, but in my opinion the mystery crossed the fine line from being justifiably elaborate, to being a bit messy. Fortunately the story continues, more or less, in the fun style set out by Seven Dials, making it an entertaining read none the less. While this isn't a book to pick up for a murder mystery, it is worth picking up for the "glances into human nature and interaction" element of it. And there is a bit of a mystery to go with it.
    • 4/5
      Knowing Mss. Marple A murder history told in the first person by a Vicar. Lot of characters interacting in a good plot. One cannot grasp the answers till the end. Agatha Christie present Miss Marple to her readers. Such a clever woman!
    • 4/5
      Miss Marple is such a wonderful idea. She's smart, but overlooked by society who's willing to use her skills without giving her any credit. Lucky thing she didn't decide to go over to the dark side, eh?
    • 4/5
      Read for Profiling Mysteries/BoutofBooks 5.0 (Kindle Freebie circa 2009)Overall Rating 4.00Character Rating 4.25Story Rating 3.75First Thought When Finished: Miss Marple is a HOOT!What I Thought of the Case: I will admit that the case started out a little slow for my liking but I think this has to do with this being a first in series. The first quarter was spent on introducing the characters. Once the case started though it was such a fun ride. Miss Marple is both very smart and a bit of a busy body. I love that Agatha Christie wrote her to be both. The case took a few twists and turns. With Agatha you are always on your toes never quite knowing where the story is going to lead.What I Thought of the Characters: Miss Marple is a hoot! She is a fantastic combo of nosy busy-body coupled with one smart cookie. The rest of the town appears to either love her dearly or dreads her amazing observational skills. I would be scared of her quite frankly but secretly wish I could catch half the things she does!“I really believe that wizened-up old maid thinks she knows everything there is to know. And hardly been out of this village all her life. Preposterous. What can she know of life?” I said mildly that though doubtless Miss Marple knew next to nothing of Life with a capital L, she knew practically everything that went on in St. Mary Mead."My dear young man, you underestimate the detective instinct of village life. In St. Mary Mead everyone knows your most intimate affairs. There is no detective in England equal to a spinster lady of uncertain age with plenty of time on her hands.Final Thought: This was my first Agatha Christie book but it won't be my last. I loved the old fashioned case solving that can really only be found in the classics!
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed it immensely. I'll be reading more of this series. I never guessed who the murder was...
    • 4/5
      Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie is the first of the Miss Marple mysteries. We are introduced to the village of St. Mary Mead and it’s various inhabitants. Among them is the Vicar, Len Clement, who narrates the story during which a secondary character, the incomparable Miss Marple is introduced. The murder of Colonel Protheroe, who apparently was heartily disliked by everyone he knew, has the village turned upside down it only gets more confusing when various suspects step forward and confess to the murder. Miss Marple with her observing ways and knowledge of human nature is the one who is finally able to put the pieces together and solve this mystery.I was particularly engaged by the vicar and his wife, Griselda. On the surface he appears to be the perfect village parson, proper and earnest, but his inner thoughts revealed a sense of humor and a knowledge of human foibles. And while she totally lacked the decorum that one would expect the vicar’s wife to have, Griselda was charming, forthright and fresh. Agatha Christie always seems to people her books with characters that are on the verge of becoming stereotypes yet they still ring true and are fun to read about. In the small village of Saint Mary Mead, we have an assortment of village busybodies and residents’ daily routines are well known and any variations, however slight, are noted and commented on.In typical Christie fashion, the reader is offered many suspects, lots of clues with a few red herrings scattered about and a final reveal with a slight twist just to keep things interesting.
    • 4/5
      I was expecting more Miss Marple than this actually had. Maybe once this moved from being a one-off to being a series Miss Marple becomes a bit more central? Or maybe not. Anyway, I didn't mind at all; I adored the vicar as narrator, with all his own little prejudices and his resigned recognition that these aren't at all Christian of him but humans are only human.

      Also I'm always endeared to murder mysteries where I can actually guess who did it, why, and how. I got a few minor things wrong but by and large I was right, and this is for me a great novelty - ordinarily I'm a total dunce. Possibly this one was particularly easy to solve, I neither know nor care, I'm basking in how clever I am.
    • 3/5
      I shouldn't be writing a review. The reason is that I couldn't grasp how fine or how pedestrian the clever ideas of this story was. I had a faint glimpse of the time of the murder, and the alibis, but I couldn't understand how cleverly it all hung together. The first Miss Marple book also looked threadbare regarding the moral and philosophical musings of the old lady. While reading, it does feel a rough pioneering work. The next Miss Marple book would come twelve years after this one. Did the author herself not see the potential of her character, which, by the way, appeared sporadically, in this mystery?When the crunch time comes it comes differently to most other finales. Miss Marple drags the solution kicking and screaming before the vicar and other assorted people. Dame Agatha Christie does cheat a little though. She throws in a big coincidence, and there are other threads, other events which have their own source. The result is an amalgam of clues that don't fit.While reading in the earlier stages of this story, in hindsight too, I felt nothing for the two guilty, conniving characters. Whether this is a failing of the author or a result of my own preconceived expectations is unclear. The made up pathos surrounding these two people barely registered, and I'm a hopeless sentimentalist. What had more of an effect on me is the treatment of the victim's daughter vis a vis her stepmother. That was well done, just saying.There are several books titled 'Murder at the Vicarage'. If this is a nascent effort, at least it has the print of the author. It feels like her own inimitable style. Now that I've read the first Miss Marple book, and some of the last, I have newer expectations of how the rest of the books might be. Curiously, the very first Marple books, the short story collections, do feel like the later novels. The author could write in different ways, each of them worthwhile. She was not afraid of branching off or experiment. More credit to her.
    • 5/5
      This is the first Miss Marple book, and I think it must be the best Miss Marple I've read. I like that in this book we get an unusually large dose of Miss Marple. She's a full and important character, unlike some later books in which she is only tangential. This book has Miss Marple working on her home turf of St. Mary Mead. Colonel Protheroe, a man no one liked, is found murdered in the vicarage. The narrator of the story is the vicar, and he is endowed with a slightly sarcastic sense of humor. In ambiance and complexity this is one of Christie's best.
    • 4/5
      I really liked this one! I thought it started off great and for the first half of the book I could not look away. I love the vicar's personality- he's so to the point and really witty, too. He made me laugh several times over with his observations about the people in the village. He was just a really fun character. I also enjoyed all of his interactions with his wife- just really amusing.

      Miss Marple was an interesting character but despite the fact that the series is named after her, I thought she was seriously in the background! She only appeared every so often and wasn't really involved until the end. I thought that was a bit odd but the vicar did just fine as the the main character in this one.

      The main reason I don't usually read mysteries is because I'm too impatient and I did lose my patience with this one a bit towards the end. Nothing to do with the book though- just my own personal preference when reading.
    • 4/5
      Well this is by far one of Christie's funniest books. The story's told in the point of view of a vicar, which may seem frustrating since this is really a Marple story but I found his voice surprisingly engaging and his remarks about the eccentric set of characters that appear in this book are insightful and hilarious. The psychological study and the character study is really good here, you can tell Christie's really building the path for Miss Marple's technique (she says herself her hobby is really obversing people) and it works well. I was disappointed in the solution to the mystery, it was a little too convoluted for me and it lacked tension, but the tone of the book is very different from the Poirot books (which I'm more familiar with) and perhaps in a way the low-key setting suited the slightly far-fetched conclusion. I really enjoyed this.
    • 4/5
      My first Miss Marple novel (and actually the first one Agatha Christie wrote using that character). I enjoyed guessing, second-guessing, third-guessing and then just scratching my head at the end. I have many unanswered questions, which I can live with (I'll have to, won't I?), but I'm still glad I read this quaint village mystery, quite the tempest in a tea pot.
    • 3/5
      From the murky world of Philip Marlowe in Los Angeles, to a little British village. I hadn't read any of the Miss Marple books -- I began with a Poirot one -- and thought I'd start from the very beginning. Miss Marple was certainly more likeable than Poirot -- a busybody character, with her nose in everybody's business, but without Poirot's more odious eccentricities. She's kind of fun. It's interesting how, in both Agatha Christie books I've read, the narrator is at a distance from the detective who actually solves things. I thought the vicar, the narrator of this story, was sweet -- and I was actually glad about the little bits about him and his wife, and at the end. I got to like a few of the characters quite a bit, and hope that they're recurring in the later Miss Marple books.

      Agatha Christie's pretty good at misdirection -- I changed my mind about who was the culprit several times -- but I imagine you get used to that, reading her work. I don't think I'll look to her work for great subtlety, but it's fun for a quick read.
    • 3/5
      For some reason I spent a lot of this book thinking that the Vicar had done it. But then I remembered that it was another book she wrote with a narrator-villain.
    • 3/5
      Too many red herrings to be believable. Still, decent mystery and a nice introduction to Marple.
    • 5/5
      The first Miss Marple, and one of the best in the series.
    • 4/5
      Murder at the Vicarage is Agatha Christie's first book to star one of her greatest literary creations, the indomitable Miss Jane Marple. Miss Marple may appear to be your typical "little old lady," but her powers of observation, honed from living almost her whole life in the small village of St. Mary Mead and giving her an acute insight into the human condition, prove to the match of everyone in the village, police included, when it comes to solving the murder of Colonel Protheroe.When you get right down to it, there isn't much to the story. It is a fairly typical Christie mystery, making you think you know the conclusion until she pulls the rug right out from underneath you when she reveals the mastermind behind the murder. The murder in question is that of Colonel Protheroe, a not-much-loved member of the village, who is found murdered in the vicars writing room. There are plenty of people with motives, and plenty bits of misdirection, but it is up to Miss Marple to put the pieces together and discover the identity of the true culprit before it's too late. A fun little read with an endearing character in Miss Marple, the whole story is wrapped up with a nice and tidy ending. Not a bad choice if you're looking for an easy mystery read.
    • 5/5
      Agatha Christie weaves an interesting story about a murder that takes place at vicarage. I found myself wanting to keep reading, just to see who committed the crime. The first book in the Miss Marple series, so there is some buildup of material at the beginning that seems to slow the pace of the book a little, but the ending is gripping.
    • 4/5
      Colonel Lucius Protheroe is very likely the most disliked resident of the sleepy little English village of St. Mary Mead, and when he is found dead, shot through the head, in the vicar's study, there is quite a list of possible suspects. Was it the young wife (who was having an affair with a local artist), the daughter (who led an extremely restricted life under her father's iron thumb), the poacher recently sentenced by the Colonel, the mysterious Mrs. Lestrange whose appearance in the village had set tongues to wagging, or perhaps even the vicar himself? Keen eyed Miss Jane Marple lives next door to the vicarage and not much gets past this shrewd old lady. When there are two improbable confessions to the crime, it will be up to her keen observations and logical mind to help Inspector Slack solve this perplexing whodunit.This is the first Miss Marple mystery, written in 1930 and just as intriguing today as it was then, I'm sure. It's told from the perspective of the vicar, which surprised me a bit, and Christie's wit is sharp as a tack throughout. It's no wonder she has so many fans. I found this book to be very good, but not spectacular.
    • 4/5
      July 16, 1999Murder at the VicarageAgatha ChristieThe very first Miss Marple mystery, though told from the point of view of the local St. Mary Mead vicar, not Miss Marple herself.A local resident, not a popular fellow, is found murdered in the vicar’s study, on an evening when the vicar was supposed to have met him there. By his hand lies a just-started note. The man’s young, beautiful wife is having a love affair (unconsummated) with a local artist who’s renting a studio on the vicarage property, so she is the primary suspect, as is her lover. Miss Marple, who lives next door to the vicarage, is a nosy busybody who irritates and illuminates at the same time. She annoys everyone with her apologetic observations that knock out the Inspector’s theory of the murder, but the vicar can’t help but be fascinated by her shrewd intelligence. She catches the tiny details no one else does, such as the time printed at the top of the note, and the incongruity of what’s actually written. It never seems strange or sinister until Miss Marple points it out.
    • 3/5
      very old fashioned-I don't care all that much for the story from the Vicar's perspective
    • 5/5
      The first Miss Marple, and possibly the best, as a solver of crime she was just so unexpected especially as her mind goes so low. There are so many twists and turns to this plot.

    Book preview

    The Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie

    One

    It is difficult to know quite where to begin this story, but I have fixed my choice on a certain Wednesday at luncheon at the Vicarage. The conversation, though in the main irrelevant to the matter in hand, yet contained one or two suggestive incidents which influenced later developments.

    I had just finished carving some boiled beef (remarkably tough by the way) and on resuming my seat I remarked, in a spirit most unbecoming to my cloth, that anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe would be doing the world at large a service.

    My young nephew, Dennis, said instantly:

    That’ll be remembered against you when the old boy is found bathed in blood. Mary will give evidence, won’t you, Mary? And describe how you brandished the carving knife in a vindictive manner.

    Mary, who is in service at the Vicarage as a stepping-stone to better things and higher wages, merely said in a loud, businesslike voice, Greens, and thrust a cracked dish at him in a truculent manner.

    My wife said in a sympathetic voice: "Has he been very trying?"

    I did not reply at once, for Mary, setting the greens on the table with a bang, proceeded to thrust a dish of singularly moist and unpleasant dumplings under my nose. I said, No, thank you, and she deposited the dish with a clatter on the table and left the room.

    It is a pity that I am such a shocking housekeeper, said my wife, with a tinge of genuine regret in her voice.

    I was inclined to agree with her. My wife’s name is Griselda—a highly suitable name for a parson’s wife. But there the suitability ends. She is not in the least meek.

    I have always been of the opinion that a clergyman should be unmarried. Why I should have urged Griselda to marry me at the end of twenty-four hours’ acquaintance is a mystery to me. Marriage, I have always held, is a serious affair, to be entered into only after long deliberation and forethought, and suitability of tastes and inclinations is the most important consideration.

    Griselda is nearly twenty years younger than myself. She is most distractingly pretty and quite incapable of taking anything seriously. She is incompetent in every way, and extremely trying to live with. She treats the parish as a kind of huge joke arranged for her amusement. I have endeavoured to form her mind and failed. I am more than ever convinced that celibacy is desirable for the clergy. I have frequently hinted as much to Griselda, but she has only laughed.

    My dear, I said, if you would only exercise a little care—

    I do sometimes, said Griselda. "But, on the whole, I think things go worse when I’m trying. I’m evidently not a housekeeper by nature. I find it better to leave things to Mary and just make up my mind to be uncomfortable and have nasty things to eat."

    And what about your husband, my dear? I said reproachfully, and proceeding to follow the example of the devil in quoting Scripture for his own ends I added: She looketh to the ways of her household….

    Think how lucky you are not to be torn to pieces by lions, said Griselda, quickly interrupting. Or burnt at the stake. Bad food and lots of dust and dead wasps is really nothing to make a fuss about. Tell me more about Colonel Protheroe. At any rate the early Christians were lucky enough not to have churchwardens.

    Pompous old brute, said Dennis. No wonder his first wife ran away from him.

    I don’t see what else she could do, said my wife.

    Griselda, I said sharply. I will not have you speaking in that way.

    Darling, said my wife affectionately. Tell me about him. What was the trouble? Was it Mr. Hawes’s becking and nodding and crossing himself every other minute?

    Hawes is our new curate. He has been with us just over three weeks. He has High Church views and fasts on Fridays. Colonel Protheroe is a great opposer of ritual in any form.

    Not this time. He did touch on it in passing. No, the whole trouble arose out of Mrs. Price Ridley’s wretched pound note.

    Mrs. Price Ridley is a devout member of my congregation. Attending early service on the anniversary of her son’s death, she put a pound note in the offertory bag. Later, reading the amount of the collection posted up, she was pained to observe that one ten-shilling note was the highest item mentioned.

    She complained to me about it, and I pointed out, very reasonably, that she must have made a mistake.

    We’re none of us so young as we were, I said, trying to turn it off tactfully. And we must pay the penalty of advancing years.

    Strangely enough, my words only seemed to incense her further. She said that things had a very odd look and that she was surprised I didn’t think so also. And she flounced away and, I gather, took her troubles to Colonel Protheroe. Protheroe is the kind of man who enjoys making a fuss on every conceivable occasion. He made a fuss. It is a pity he made it on a Wednesday. I teach in the Church Day School on Wednesday mornings, a proceeding that causes me acute nervousness and leaves me unsettled for the rest of the day.

    Well, I suppose he must have some fun, said my wife, with the air of trying to sum up the position impartially. Nobody flutters round him and calls him ‘the dear Vicar,’ and embroiders awful slippers for him, and gives him bedsocks for Christmas. Both his wife and his daughter are fed up to the teeth with him. I suppose it makes him happy to feel important somewhere.

    He needn’t be offensive about it, I said with some heat. I don’t think he quite realized the implications of what he was saying. He wants to go over all the Church accounts—in case of defalcations—that was the word he used. Defalcations! Does he suspect me of embezzling the Church funds?

    Nobody would suspect you of anything, darling, said Griselda. You’re so transparently above suspicion that really it would be a marvellous opportunity. I wish you’d embezzle the S.P.G. funds. I hate missionaries—I always have.

    I would have reproved her for that sentiment, but Mary entered at that moment with a partially cooked rice pudding. I made a mild protest, but Griselda said that the Japanese always ate half-cooked rice and had marvellous brains in consequence.

    I dare say, she said, that if you had a rice pudding like this every day till Sunday, you’d preach the most marvellous sermon.

    Heaven forbid, I said with a shudder.

    Protheroe’s coming over tomorrow evening and we’re going over the accounts together, I went on. "I must finish preparing my talk for the C.E.M.S. today. Looking up a reference, I became so engrossed in Canon Shirley’s Reality that I haven’t got on as well as I should. What are you doing this afternoon, Griselda?"

    My duty, said Griselda. My duty as the Vicaress. Tea and scandal at four thirty.

    Who is coming?

    Griselda ticked them off on her fingers with a glow of virtue on her face.

    Mrs. Price Ridley, Miss Wetherby, Miss Hartnell, and that terrible Miss Marple.

    I rather like Miss Marple, I said. She has, at least, a sense of humour.

    She’s the worst cat in the village, said Griselda. And she always knows every single thing that happens—and draws the worst inferences from it.

    Griselda, as I have said, is much younger than I am. At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.

    "Well, don’t expect me in for tea, Griselda," said Dennis.

    Beast! said Griselda.

    "Yes, but look here, the Protheroes really did ask me for tennis today."

    Beast! said Griselda again.

    Dennis beat a prudent retreat and Griselda and I went together into my study.

    I wonder what we shall have for tea, said Griselda, seating herself on my writing table. "Dr. Stone and Miss Cram, I suppose, and perhaps Mrs. Lestrange. By the way, I called on her yesterday, but she was out. Yes, I’m sure we shall have Mrs. Lestrange for tea. It’s so mysterious, isn’t it, her arriving like this and taking a house down here, and hardly ever going outside it? Makes one think of detective stories. You know—‘Who was she, the mysterious woman with the pale, beautiful face? What was her past history? Nobody knew. There was something faintly sinister about her.’ I believe Dr. Haydock knows something about her."

    You read too many detective stories, Griselda, I observed mildly.

    What about you? she retorted. "I was looking everywhere for The Stain on the Stairs the other day when you were in here writing a sermon. And at last I came in to ask you if you’d seen it anywhere, and what did I find?"

    I had the grace to blush.

    I picked it up at random. A chance sentence caught my eye and….

    I know those chance sentences, said Griselda. She quoted impressively, ‘And then a very curious thing happened—Griselda rose, crossed the room and kissed her elderly husband affectionately.’ She suited the action to the word.

    Is that a very curious thing? I inquired.

    Of course it is, said Griselda. Do you realize, Len, that I might have married a Cabinet Minister, a Baronet, a rich Company Promoter, three subalterns and a ne’er-do-weel with attractive manners, and that instead I chose you? Didn’t it astonish you very much?

    At the time it did, I replied. I have often wondered why you did it.

    Griselda laughed.

    It made me feel so powerful, she murmured. "The others thought me simply wonderful and of course it would have been very nice for them to have me. But I’m everything you most dislike and disapprove of, and yet you couldn’t withstand me! My vanity couldn’t hold out against that. It’s so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in their cap. I make you frightfully uncomfortable and stir you up the wrong way the whole time, and yet you adore me madly. You adore me madly, don’t you?"

    Naturally I am very fond of you, my dear.

    Oh! Len, you adore me. Do you remember that day when I stayed up in town and sent you a wire you never got because the postmistress’s sister was having twins and she forgot to send it round? The state you got into and you telephoned Scotland Yard and made the most frightful fuss.

    There are things one hates being reminded of. I had really been strangely foolish on the occasion in question. I said:

    If you don’t mind, dear, I want to get on with the C.E.M.S.

    Griselda gave a sigh of intense irritation, ruffled my hair up on end, smoothed it down again, said:

    You don’t deserve me. You really don’t. I’ll have an affair with the artist. I will—really and truly. And then think of the scandal in the parish.

    There’s a good deal already, I said mildly.

    Griselda laughed, blew me a kiss, and departed through the window.

    Two

    Griselda is a very irritating woman. On leaving the luncheon table, I had felt myself to be in a good mood for preparing a really forceful address for the Church of England Men’s Society. Now I felt restless and disturbed.

    Just when I was really settling down to it, Lettice Protheroe drifted in.

    I use the word drifted advisedly. I have read novels in which young people are described as bursting with energy—joie de vivre, the magnificent vitality of youth … Personally, all the young people I come across have the air of animal wraiths.

    Lettice was particularly wraithlike this afternoon. She is a pretty girl, very tall and fair and completely vague. She drifted through the French window, absently pulled off the yellow beret she was wearing and murmured vaguely with a kind of faraway surprise: Oh! it’s you.

    There is a path from Old Hall through the woods which comes out by our garden gate, so that most people coming from there come in at that gate and up to the study window instead of going a long way round by the road and coming to the front door. I was not surprised at Lettice coming in this way, but I did a little resent her attitude.

    If you come to a Vicarage, you ought to be prepared to find a Vicar.

    She came in and collapsed in a crumpled heap in one of my big armchairs. She plucked aimlessly at her hair, staring at the ceiling.

    Is Dennis anywhere about?

    I haven’t seen him since lunch. I understood he was going to play tennis at your place.

    Oh! said Lettice. I hope he isn’t. He won’t find anybody there.

    He said you asked him.

    I believe I did. Only that was Friday. And today’s Tuesday.

    It’s Wednesday, I said.

    Oh, how dreadful! said Lettice. That means that I’ve forgotten to go to lunch with some people for the third time.

    Fortunately it didn’t seem to worry her much.

    Is Griselda anywhere about?

    I expect you’ll find her in the studio in the garden—sitting to Lawrence Redding.

    There’s been quite a shemozzle about him, said Lettice. With father, you know. Father’s dreadful.

    What was the she—whatever it was about? I inquired.

    About his painting me. Father found out about it. Why shouldn’t I be painted in my bathing dress? If I go on a beach in it, why shouldn’t I be painted in it?

    Lettice paused and then went on.

    It’s really absurd—father forbidding a young man the house. Of course, Lawrence and I simply shriek about it. I shall come and be done here in your studio.

    No, my dear, I said. Not if your father forbids it.

    Oh! dear, said Lettice, sighing. How tiresome everyone is. I feel shattered. Definitely. If only I had some money I’d go away, but without it I can’t. If only father would be decent and die, I should be all right.

    You must not say things like that, Lettice.

    Well, if he doesn’t want me to want him to die, he shouldn’t be so horrible over money. I don’t wonder mother left him. Do you know, for years I believed she was dead. What sort of a young man did she run away with? Was he nice?

    It was before your father came to live here.

    I wonder what’s become of her. I expect Anne will have an affair with someone soon. Anne hates me—she’s quite decent to me, but she hates me. She’s getting old and she doesn’t like it. That’s the age you break out, you know.

    I wondered if Lettice was going to spend the entire afternoon in my study.

    You haven’t seen my gramophone records, have you? she asked.

    No.

    How tiresome. I know I’ve left them somewhere. And I’ve lost the dog. And my wristwatch is somewhere, only it doesn’t much matter because it won’t go. Oh! dear, I am so sleepy. I can’t think why, because I didn’t get up till eleven. But life’s very shattering, don’t you think? Oh! dear, I must go. I’m going to see Dr. Stone’s barrow at three o’clock.

    I glanced at the clock and remarked that it was now five-and-twenty to four.

    Oh! Is it? How dreadful. I wonder if they’ve waited or if they’ve gone without me. I suppose I’d better go down and do something about it.

    She got up and drifted out again, murmuring over her shoulder:

    You’ll tell Dennis, won’t you?

    I said Yes mechanically, only realizing too late that I had no idea what it was I was to tell Dennis. But I reflected that in all probability it did not matter. I fell to cogitating on the subject of Dr. Stone, a well-known archaeologist who had recently come to stay at the Blue Boar, whilst he superintended the excavation of a barrow situated on Colonel Protheroe’s property. There had already been several disputes between him and the Colonel. I was amused at his appointment to take Lettice to see the operations.

    It occurred to me that Lettice Protheroe was something of a minx. I wondered how she would get on with the archaeologist’s secretary, Miss Cram. Miss Cram is a healthy young woman of twenty-five, noisy in manner, with a high colour, fine animal spirits and a mouth that always seems to have more than its full share of teeth.

    Village opinion is divided as to whether she is no better than she should be, or else a young woman of iron virtue who purposes to become Mrs. Stone at an early opportunity. She is in every way a great contrast to Lettice.

    I could imagine that the state of things at Old Hall might not be too happy. Colonel Protheroe had married again some five years previously. The second Mrs. Protheroe was a remarkably handsome woman in a rather unusual style. I had always guessed that the relations between her and her stepdaughter were not too happy.

    I had one more interruption. This time, it was my curate, Hawes. He wanted to know the details of my interview with Protheroe. I told him that the Colonel had deplored his Roman Catholic tendencies but that the real purpose of his visit had been on quite another matter. At the same time, I entered a protest of my own, and told him plainly that he must conform to my ruling. On the whole, he took my remarks very well.

    I felt rather remorseful when he had gone for not liking him better. These irrational likes and dislikes that one takes to people are, I am sure, very unChristian.

    With a sigh, I realized that the hands of the clock on my writing table pointed to a quarter to five, a sign that it was really half past four, and I made my way to the drawing room.

    Four of my parishioners were assembled there with teacups. Griselda sat behind the tea table trying to look natural in her environment, but only succeeded in looking more out of place than usual.

    I shook hands all round and sat down between Miss Marple and Miss Wetherby.

    Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner—Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Of the two Miss Marple is much the more dangerous.

    We were just talking, said Griselda in a honeysweet voice, about Dr. Stone and Miss Cram.

    A ribald rhyme concocted by Dennis shot through my head.

    Miss Cram doesn’t give a damn.

    I had a sudden yearning to say it out loud and observe the effect, but fortunately I refrained. Miss Wetherby said tersely:

    No nice girl would do it, and shut her thin lips disapprovingly.

    Do what? I inquired.

    Be a secretary to an unmarried man, said Miss Wetherby in a horrified tone.

    Oh! my dear, said Miss Marple. "I think married ones are the worst. Remember poor Mollie Carter."

    Married men living apart from their wives are, of course, notorious, said Miss Wetherby.

    And even some of the ones living with their wives, murmured Miss Marple. I remember….

    I interrupted these unsavoury reminiscences.

    But surely, I said, in these days a girl can take a post in just the same way as a man does.

    To come away to the country? And stay at the same hotel? said Mrs. Price Ridley in a severe voice.

    Miss Wetherby murmured to Miss Marple in a low voice:

    And all the bedrooms on the same floor….

    Miss Hartnell, who is weather-beaten and jolly and much dreaded by the poor, observed in a loud, hearty voice:

    The poor man will be caught before he knows where he is. He’s as innocent as a babe unborn, you can see that.

    Curious what turns of phrase we employ. None of the ladies present would have dreamed of alluding to an actual baby till it was safely in the cradle, visible to all.

    Disgusting, I call it, continued Miss Hartnell, with her usual tactlessness. The man must be at least twenty-five years older than she is.

    Three female voices rose at once making disconnected remarks about the Choir Boys’ Outing, the regrettable incident at the last Mother’s Meeting, and the draughts in the church. Miss Marple twinkled at Griselda.

    Don’t you think, said my wife, that Miss Cram may just like having an interesting job? And that she considers Dr. Stone just as an employer?

    There was a silence. Evidently none of the four ladies agreed. Miss Marple broke the silence by patting Griselda on the arm.

    My dear, she said, you are very young. The young have such innocent minds.

    Griselda said indignantly that she hadn’t got at all an innocent mind.

    Naturally, said Miss Marple, unheeding of the protest, you think the best of everyone.

    Do you really think she wants to marry that baldheaded dull man?

    I understand he is quite well off, said Miss Marple. Rather a violent temper, I’m afraid. He had quite a serious quarrel with Colonel Protheroe the other day.

    Everyone leaned forward interestingly.

    Colonel Protheroe accused him of being an ignoramus.

    How like Colonel Protheroe, and how absurd, said Mrs. Price Ridley.

    Very like Colonel Protheroe, but I don’t know about it being absurd, said Miss Marple. You remember the woman who came down here and said she represented Welfare, and after taking subscriptions she was never heard of again and proved to having nothing whatever to do with Welfare. One is so inclined to be trusting and take people at their own valuation.

    I should never have dreamed of describing Miss Marple as trusting.

    There’s been some fuss about that young artist, Mr. Redding, hasn’t there? asked Miss Wetherby.

    Miss Marple nodded.

    "Colonel Protheroe turned

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