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    Sleeping Murder: Miss Marple's Last Case
    Sleeping Murder: Miss Marple's Last Case
    Sleeping Murder: Miss Marple's Last Case
    Ebook254 pages4 hours

    Sleeping Murder: Miss Marple's Last Case

    By Agatha Christie

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    About this ebook

    In Agatha Christie’s classic, Sleeping Murder, the indomitable Miss Marple turns ghost hunter and uncovers shocking evidence of a perfect crime.

    Soon after Gwenda moved into her new home, odd things started to happen. Despite her best efforts to modernize the house, she only succeeded in dredging up its past. Worse, she felt an irrational sense of terror every time she climbed the stairs.

    In fear, Gwenda turned to Miss Marple to exorcise her ghosts. Between them, they were to solve a “perfect” crime committed many years before.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 17, 2009
    ISBN9780061752315
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie (1890–1976) is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the bestselling novelist of all time. The first recipient of the Mystery Writers of America’s Grand Master Award, she published eighty mystery novels and many short story collections and created such iconic fictional detectives as Hercule Poirot, Miss Jane Marple, and Tommy and Tuppence Beresford. She is known around the world as the Queen of Crime.

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    Reviews for Sleeping Murder

    4/5

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    • 3/5
      Her words held all the pointed innuendo that elderly ladies are able to achieve with the minimum of actual statement.

      I had low expectations for this one. Nemesis broke me. Nemesis was the book that obliterated any regards I may have harboured for Miss Marple.
      It seems, however, that Sleeping Murder was written well before Nemesis, even if it was published last in the series, and that the Miss Marple of Sleeping Murder is not as annoying as her older self, yet.
      As becomes clear at the end of this book, the Miss Marple in Sleeping Murder still has some spring in her step.

      Yet, as far as Dame Agatha's books are concerned, this one is not her finest. There is a lot of repetition in the discussion of the mystery and the repetition makes it easy to predict the murderer fairly early on.

      All in all, there isn't really anything about the story or the book that stands out but it is a light and quick read for the Christie completist.
    • 5/5
      I remember this being amongst my favorite Agatha Christie novels when I read it in high school..way back in the 1980s.
    • 4/5
      Newlyweds Gwen and Giles Reed purchase a home in England; so much about their new house seems familiar to Gwen: the wallpaper, a hidden door, the view from the nursery. Gwen has a feeling she has been here before and may have witnessed the murder of a strange woman. With the help of their savvy friend Miss Jane Marple the Reeds unravel a dangerous mystery. This mystery is typical Agatha Christie with lots of characters, twists and turns. Sleeping Murder, the final mystery solved by Jane Marple, was published posthumously.
    • 3/5
      With a premise similar to that of Five Little Pigs or Nemesis - the investigation into a murder that's decades old - I would have expected a better novel. It wasn't abysmal but then again nothing stood out either. The characters are forgettable and flat and Christie should have made the house it's set in more atmospheric, I never really got a feel of the place and yet she does atmosphere so well when she wants to. Shame. Really should have ended the Marple novels with Nemesis, which is such a strong book. Still an entertaining read.
    • 4/5
      In the beginning, a personal anecdote:

      As a child, I was troubled intermittently by a nightmare. I am walking around the compound of my maternal grandfather's ancestral home, when I reach a dilapidated building in a secluded corner. I open it and enter, even though my better sense counsels against it. Inside, it is a prayer room dedicated to evil gods. Their pictures are hung all over the walls, and their ugly idols leer up at me. Also, the place is full of the images of the tortured victims of these deities, their silent screams, mutilated bodies and blood.

      I wake up in a cold sweat.

      The mystery of this dream was solved later. It was only a poster of       Naraka (the Indian hell) which I saw as a child, in that house, which left a lasting impression on me.

      I will not dwell on the Freudian aspects of this incident: just point out the fact that childhood traumas, however trivial, have lasting impacts. I speak from personal experience.

      Onward with the review.

      What if one has witnessed a murder as a toddler? What if one's childhood psyche had repressed that incident, until it came back to haunt one as a distorted vision in one's beautiful new home which one suddenly realises is none other than the venue of that Sleeping Murder?

      One would go mad...that is what nearly happened to Gwen. Fortunately, she had Miss Marple to help.

      Gwenda and Giles Reed return to England from New Zealand. She has no memories; as far as she knows, she has never been in England. However, buying the dream home she had set her eyes on, Gwen begins to be troubled by memories, which she thinks are from another life. She runs away to London to escape. However, watching a performance of the Duchess of Malfi, and hearing the words “cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young” brings a terrifying image into her mind… the blue strangled face of a beautiful young girl, and she herself watching it through the bannisters… and the monkey’s paws…

      Gwen is convinced that she is mad. But thankfully, she had chosen to stay with Raymond West, who most fortuitously had his Aunt Jane Marple on the premises. The old lady is not ready to go for a supernatural explanation. She has a much more prosaic one: Gwen has actually seen somebody murdered in the same house, where she has stayed as a child – a memory which has been suppressed.

      The young lady and her husband soon find out that Miss Marple had hit the nail on the head. Gwen had stayed in the house as a little child, along with her father and her flighty stepmother Helen, who had disappeared, presumably run away with one of her many young men. However, Gwen’s father was convinced that he murdered her, and ultimately was committed and died in an asylum. But it is now possible that he may not have been mad – that Helen was actually murdered (though not by him). However, the tantalising question arises… if she was murdered, who is the killer?

      Thus begins a murder investigation into the past by the young couple, against the counsel of Miss Marple to “leave sleeping murder lie”. Once she is convinced that they will not let go, Miss Marple agrees to join them, if only to keep them safe.

      And thus begins a rollercoaster ride, one of Christie’s most suspenseful novels.

      ***

      As a mystery, Sleeping Murder is rather predictable. There was no “aha!” moment at the end, because I already had a good idea who the murderer was. But I give the novel four stars for its structure and breakneck pace, rather like a Hitchcock movie… and also for the personal experience I quoted at the beginning. I could sympathise with Gwenda.
    • 5/5
      Miss Marple appears scantily in this particular story. Here, the murder dominates the scene. I've noticed that the murders that Agatha Christie places in the relative past, that is prior to the current investigation, well these murders always have the bodies tumbled out of the cupboard. Books of Agatha Christie that use this device appeal to me, and also to many others, judging by the several mysteries where the author uses this trick.It is a trick after all, a very solid gimmick that engenders macabre feelings like there was no tomorrow. I scarcely noticed that Miss Marple was not being her usual self, she didn't draw too much parallel with human psychology when explaining her thoughts at the end. In fact there's little proof that Miss Marple knew with certainty of the murderer's identity. There's no proof of the doctor's crime even. Thankfully it's not one of those stories where the frail Miss Marple derails the mind of a hardened serial killer, with cheap tricks, like in "A Murder Is Announced" for example.So yeah I solved this case. However, the case was very deceiving and I was up against a palpable wall of fog. There was not much to latch onto. There is no slow start to this book, which was one of the reasons for the five stars I gave it. I was completely baffled by the events leading to the bewilderment of one Gwenda Reed. Along with the sense of evil there's a forbidding atmosphere and a hint of regret and a pining at the waste of life.There were two things that put me on the right track. First the action of cutting that tennis net to shreds. Secondly, the murderer is mostly the one who is able to influence the case and distort facts to his advantage. I didn't pick on the wound that Helen got on her foot. I only knew that the doctor didn't have a brain teaser of an alibi.I absolutely loved the quote from the Duchess of Malfi. The quote, which I can't paste because it's too much of a bother to go look for it in my ebook, defines the galling evilness of the crime. It also gave away the fact that the murderer was insane to a degree. I would have wanted for Miss Marple to rant against the wicked nature of the crime, but she was surprisingly passive in this book. If I remember correctly there was one moment where her eyes expressed anger but that was in the middle of the book and at that time she wasn't sure of the solution to the murder. Another reason for liking this book so much is the vivid depiction of the characters. Among all the pure and innocent characters that Agatha Christie has thrust upon our readership, the young Reed couple was one the most believable. It's very difficult to make decent, innocent characters come to life. The author presents Gwenda and her husband in their non British simplicity. They are so pure that the finicky English countryside people warm up to them with no trouble. It's unclear whether the main protagonists had a New Zealand accent and how strong it was. But the Reed couple were life like and they hid the fact that they were cogs in the story which I enjoyed very much.This is, I regret, already the last Marple book that was unread uptil now. The book called Nemesis had a similar strong presence of evil and a murder set in the past, with a close person as the murderer. Miss Marple books are as fine as Alice In Wonderland or Sherlock Holmes stories. They are the finest simple sustenance that the English literature can impart to the young and not so young. They are to be cherished.
    • 2/5
      For some reason, this creeped me out a bit. I guess it's how twisted the murderer is, and yet all along you/the main characters rely on his testimony... I did see it coming, rather, but something about his character really got to me. Ugh.

      That, plus the fact that I called it after about one hundred pages, means I didn't enjoy this book so much. There wasn't anything especially distinguishing and fun about the characters or the setting that made it extra interesting.
    • 4/5
      This is an interesting Christie book. She deals with young married love, brotherly love, disappointed love destructive obsessive love and unrequited love. Best of all the kind of love she describes love like that of Miss Marple who has a great love of her fellow man; who when she sees a young couple headed for heartbreak as well as danger puts herself up as a guardian angel.

      The plot is well described by other reviewers so I won't go into that. What amazed me was that when this was adapted for the storyline, the relationships and basic plot were changed by the powers that be. I am glad I read the book, because it does round out Jane Marple.

    • 3/5
      Hmmm, I dunno, the whodunit thing kept me mildly interested while I was reading it, but I can't help but think there's a certain jot or tittle of camp in the way people enjoy this stuff. Maybe if I'd come to it already loving the old lady. I mean, it was stylish, from time to time--I liked the quotation from The Duchess of Malfi as a central plot point--but the class attitudes on display seemed fairly archaic for the '30s. And as far as whodunit, is the formula just sketch us a bunch of likely rogues and then it's always the least likely one from that delimited field? I haven't read a tonne of these books but it seems like the twist is always it's the least likely one and if so that's hardly a twist at all.
    • 3/5
      Read for book club - not bad at all! This is only the second Agatha Cristie that I have read - the first was And Then There Were None but that was many, many years ago. I would read more.
    • 3/5
      Sleeping Murder, the last of the Miss Marple series -the first for me- was a bit slow, but interesting. I already had a hunch as to who the killer was pretty early on, unlike the other couple of Agatha Christie novels I've read.
    • 4/5
      Classic Ms. Marple -- what's not to love? -- And goodbye Miss Marple -- thanks for all the joy.
    • 4/5
      I always love Miss Marple mysteries and this one did not disappoint. The culprit was a surprise but then I was mad at myself for not figuring it out just like Jane did!
    • 4/5
      In her last case, Miss Marple helps a young married couple discover the truth of what really happened eighteen years ago in the house they've just bought by the sea in the South of England. Is Gwenda hallucinating or was it all just a bad dream? Is the house haunted? If there really was a murder, who did it? Miss Marple advises the young couple to "let sleeping murder lie" but, of course they don't and Miss Marple can't resist offering a little assistance in getting to the bottom of the mystery. What I love about Agatha Christie stories is that they are honest to goodness murder mysteries without the sex and the bad language. It takes excellent writing, which Agatha Christie was so good at, to have followers that made her the most sold murder mystery writer of all time. It was a page turner for me and will have you doing your own sleuthing as to 'who really did it'. Originally posted March 24, 2010
    • 4/5
      When Gwenda and GIles move back to the English countryside aftter just getting married. After buying a beautiful house by the sea Gwenda 'see's' a woman lying, dead, at the bottom of the stairs. She thinks she's going crazy, but Miss. Marple, the aunt of a friend, has a different theory. She thinks that Gwenda lived in the house when she was younger and is remembering a murder she witnessed. Now Gwenda and Giles are looking for answers to a murder comitted 18 years ago.The book was suspenseful and interesting. A great mystery. The ending was really surprising too. 
    • 4/5
      This was a relaxing and engaging read, perfect for a quiet night's escape. It was also a bit haunting at times, which I admit I was surprised by--one of those that can sneak up on you at times. It's certainly enough to push me toward picking up another Miss Marple mystery in the future when I need a break from heavier reading.
    • 4/5
      Gwenda Reed buys a house in Dillmouth and starts to worry as she discovers a plastered over door in exactly the place that she imagined it and that a room was originally wallpapered in the style she wanted. Then a trip to the theatre causes a vision or memory of a woman murdered on the stairs - is she going mad? Miss Marple saves the day and helps Gwenda uncover what really happened. I particularly love the Gothic feel to this novel, as Gwenda tries to work out if she really witnessed a murder.
    • 3/5
      It was a nice mystery, but it didn't stick in my head long after I was finished with it. In fact, I had to review the plot again to write this review! That says something, because I have a good memory for books that really draw me in. However, I would recommend this book for any Christie fan.
    • 4/5
      I really scary book. I could not sleep after reading the start of it. It is defenetly worth taking the time to read.
    • 5/5
      The first thing that struck me is that this doesn't really feel like Miss Marple's "last case". Jane Marple is old but not as old as she is in NEMESIS. She is still able to travel, garden etc.Secondly I think the writing style is actually Christie at her peak, and a little better than in CURTAIN, Poirot's last case.I have actually read SLEEPING MURDER before, and seen TV adaptations, so the story was not new, and I had a vague memory of how it resolved.In contrast, I had never before, as far as I can remember, read CURTAIN, and I have resolved to look for David Suchet's adaptation.So this is the end of my journey, the last novel in my Agatha Christie Reading Challenge, to read her novels more or less in order of publication. It is a journey that began just on six years ago, although I had read many of the novels in paperback form in the late 1960s. Future blog posts will be used to explore some of what I have learnt in my journey.There aren't similarities between CURTAIN and SLEEPING MURDER.* both contain references to Shakespeare's Othello* both contain references to X who is a murderer - in CURTAIN he pushes others to commit murder even if he doesn't commit it himself; in SLEEPING MURDER he appears to be the person actually responsible for Gwenda's stepmother's disappearance.Miss Marple doesn't seem to play a large role in SLEEPING MURDER, more that of a consultant, although she does carry out some investigation herself. She does suggest to Gwenda a possible solution for her memories about the cottage Hillside, and then arranges to take a short holiday in Dillmouth at a B and B, which puts her right on the spot to give advice to the young couple.In the long run a good read.
    • 4/5
      Miss Marple is the finest of ladies, but this is not her best showing. Still fun, though, for the murder mystery/Agatha Christie fan.

    Book preview

    Sleeping Murder - Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie

    Sleeping Murder

    A Miss Marple Mystery

    Contents

    1. A House

    2. Wallpaper

    3. Cover Her Face …

    4. Helen?

    5. Murder in Retrospect

    6. Exercise in Detection

    7. Dr. Kennedy

    8. Kelvin Halliday’s Delusion

    9. Unknown Factor?

    10. A Case History

    11. The Men in Her Life

    12. Lily Kimble

    13. Walter Fane

    14. Edith Pagett

    15. An Address

    16. Mother’s Son

    17. Richard Erskine

    18. Bindweed

    19. Mr. Kimble Speaks

    20. The Girl Helen

    21. J. J. Afflick

    22. Lily Keeps an Appointment

    23. Which of Them?

    24. The Monkey’s Paws

    25. Postscript at Torquay

    About the Author

    Back Ad: The Monogram Murders

    Other Books by Agatha Christie

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    One

    A HOUSE

    Gwenda Reed stood, shivering a little, on the quayside.

    The docks and the custom sheds and all of England that she could see, were gently waving up and down.

    And it was in that moment that she made her decision—the decision that was to lead to such very momentous events.

    She wouldn’t go by the boat train to London as she had planned.

    After all, why should she? No one was waiting for her, nobody expected her. She had only just got off that heaving creaking boat (it had been an exceptionally rough three days through the Bay and up to Plymouth) and the last thing she wanted was to get into a heaving swaying train. She would go to a hotel, a nice firm steady hotel standing on good solid ground. And she would get into a nice steady bed that didn’t creak and roll. And she would go to sleep, and the next morning—why, of course—what a splendid idea! She would hire a car and she would drive slowly and without hurrying herself all through the South of England looking about for a house—a nice house—the house that she and Giles had planned she should find. Yes, that was a splendid idea.

    In that way she would see something of England—of the England that Giles had told her about and which she had never seen; although, like most New Zealanders, she called it Home. At the moment, England was not looking particularly attractive. It was a grey day with rain imminent and a sharp irritating wind blowing. Plymouth, Gwenda thought, as she moved forward obediently in the queue for Passports and Customs, was probably not the best of England.

    On the following morning, however, her feelings were entirely different. The sun was shining. The view from her window was attractive. And the universe in general was no longer waving and wobbling. It had steadied down. This was England at last and here she was, Gwenda Reed, young married woman of twenty-one, on her travels. Giles’s return to England was uncertain. He might follow her in a few weeks. It might be as long as six months. His suggestion had been that Gwenda should precede him to England and should look about for a suitable house. They both thought it would be nice to have, somewhere, a permanency. Giles’s job would always entail a certain amount of travelling. Sometimes Gwenda would come too, sometimes the conditions would not be suitable. But they both liked the idea of having a home—some place of their own. Giles had inherited some furniture from an aunt recently, so that everything combined to make the idea a sensible and practical one.

    Since Gwenda and Giles were reasonably well-off the prospect presented no difficulties.

    Gwenda had demurred at first at choosing a house on her own. We ought to do it together, she had said. But Giles had said laughingly: "I’m not much of a hand at houses. If you like it, I shall. A bit of a garden, of course, and not some brand-new horror—and not too big. Somewhere on the south coast was my idea. At any rate, not too far inland."

    Was there any particular place? Gwenda asked. But Giles said No. He’d been left an orphan young (they were both orphans) and had been passed around to various relations for holidays, and no particular spot had any particular association for him. It was to be Gwenda’s house—and as for waiting until they could choose it together, suppose he were held up for six months? What would Gwenda do with herself all that time? Hang about in hotels? No, she was to find a house and get settled in.

    What you mean is, said Gwenda, do all the work!

    But she liked the idea of finding a home and having it all ready, cosy and lived in, for when Giles came back.

    They had been married just three months and she loved him very much.

    After sending for breakfast in bed, Gwenda got up and arranged her plans. She spent a day seeing Plymouth which she enjoyed and on the following day she hired a comfortable Daimler car and chauffeur and set off on her journey through England.

    The weather was good and she enjoyed her tour very much. She saw several possible residences in Devonshire but nothing that she felt was exactly right. There was no hurry. She would go on looking. She learned to read between the lines of the house agents’ enthusiastic descriptions and saved herself a certain number of fruitless errands.

    It was on a Tuesday evening about a week later that the car came gently down the curving hill road into Dillmouth and on the outskirts of that still charming seaside resort, passed a For Sale board where, through the trees, a glimpse of a small white Victorian villa could be seen.

    Immediately Gwenda felt a throb of appreciation—almost of recognition. This was her house! Already she was sure of it. She could picture the garden, the long windows—she was sure that the house was just what she wanted.

    It was late in the day, so she put up at the Royal Clarence Hotel and went to the house agents whose name she had noted on the board the following morning.

    Presently, armed with an order to view, she was standing in the old-fashioned long drawing room with its two french windows giving on to a flagged terrace in front of which a kind of rockery interspersed with flowering shrubs fell sharply to a stretch of lawn below. Through the trees at the bottom of the garden the sea could be seen.

    This is my house, thought Gwenda. It’s home. I feel already as though I know every bit of it.

    The door opened and a tall melancholy woman with a cold in the head entered, sniffing. Mrs. Hengrave? I have an order from Messrs. Galbraith and Penderley. I’m afraid it’s rather early in the day—

    Mrs. Hengrave, blowing her nose, said sadly that that didn’t matter at all. The tour of the house began.

    Yes, it was just right. Not too large. A bit old-fashioned, but she and Giles could put in another bathroom or two. The kitchen could be modernized. It already had an Aga, fortunately. With a new sink and up-to-date equipment—

    Through all Gwenda’s plans and preoccupations, the voice of Mrs. Hengrave droned thinly on recounting the details of the late Major Hengrave’s last illness. Half of Gwenda attended to making the requisite noises of condolence, sympathy and understanding. Mrs. Hengrave’s people all lived in Kent—anxious she should come and settle near them … the Major had been very fond of Dillmouth, secretary for many years of the Golf Club, but she herself….

    "Yes … Of course … Dreadful for you … Most natural … Yes, nursing homes are like that … Of course … You must be…."

    And the other half of Gwenda raced along in thought: Linen cupboard here, I expect … Yes. Double room—nice view of sea—Giles will like that. Quite a useful little room here—Giles might have it as a dressing room … Bathroom—I expect the bath has a mahogany surround—Oh yes, it has! How lovely—and standing in the middle of the floor! I shan’t change that—it’s a period piece!

    Such an enormous bath!

    One could have apples on the surround. And sail boats—and painted ducks. You could pretend you were in the sea … I know: we’ll make that dark back spare room into a couple of really up-to-date green and chromium bathrooms—the pipes ought to be all right over the kitchen—and keep this just as it is….

    Pleurisy, said Mrs. Hengrave. Turning to double pneumonia on the third day—

    Terrible, said Gwenda. Isn’t there another bedroom at the end of this passage?

    There was—and it was just the sort of room she had imagined it would be—almost round, with a big bow window. She’d have to do it up, of course. It was in quite good condition, but why were people like Mrs. Hengrave so fond of that mustard-cum-biscuit shade of wall paint?

    They retraced their steps along the corridor. Gwenda murmured, conscientiously, Six, no, seven bedrooms, counting the little one and the attic.

    The boards creaked faintly under her feet. Already she felt that it was she and not Mrs. Hengrave who lived here! Mrs. Hengrave was an interloper—a woman who did up rooms in mustard-cum-biscuit colour and liked a frieze of wisteria in her drawing room. Gwenda glanced down at the typewritten paper in her hand on which the details of the property and the price asked were given.

    In the course of a few days Gwenda had become fairly conversant with house values. The sum asked was not large—of course the house needed a certain amount of modernization—but even then … And she noted the words Open to offer. Mrs. Hengrave must be very anxious to go to Kent and live near her people….

    They were starting down the stairs when quite suddenly Gwenda felt a wave of irrational terror sweep over her. It was a sickening sensation, and it passed almost as quickly as it came. Yet it left behind it a new idea.

    The house isn’t—haunted, is it? demanded Gwenda.

    Mrs. Hengrave, a step below, and having just got to the moment in her narrative when Major Hengrave was sinking fast, looked up in an affronted manner.

    Not that I am aware of, Mrs. Reed. Why—has anyone—been saying something of the kind?

    "You’ve never felt or seen anything yourself? Nobody’s died here?"

    Rather an unfortunate question, she thought, a split second of a moment too late, because presumably Major Hengrave—

    My husband died in the St. Monica’s Nursing Home, said Mrs. Hengrave stiffly.

    Oh, of course. You told me so.

    Mrs. Hengrave continued in the same rather glacial manner: In a house which was presumably built about a hundred years ago, there would normally be deaths during that period. Miss Elworthy from whom my dear husband acquired this house seven years ago, was in excellent health, and indeed planning to go abroad and do missionary work, and she did not mention any recent demises in her family.

    Gwenda hastened to soothe the melancholy Mrs. Hengrave down. They were now once more in the drawing room. It was a peaceful and charming room, with exactly the kind of atmosphere that Gwenda coveted. Her momentary panic just now seemed quite incomprehensible. What had come over her? There was nothing wrong with the house.

    Asking Mrs. Hengrave if she could take a look at the garden, she went out through the french windows onto the terrace.

    There should be steps here, thought Gwenda, going down to the lawn.

    But instead there was a vast uprising of forsythia which at this particular place seemed to have got above itself and effectually shut out all view of the sea.

    Gwenda nodded to herself. She would alter all that.

    Following Mrs. Hengrave, she went along the terrace and down some steps at the far side onto the lawn. She noted that the rockery was neglected and overgrown, and that most of the flowering shrubs needed pruning.

    Mrs. Hengrave murmured apologetically that the garden had been rather neglected. Only able to afford a man twice a week. And quite often he never turned up.

    They inspected the small but adequate kitchen garden and returned to the house. Gwenda explained that she had other houses to see, and that though she liked Hillside (what a commonplace name!) very much, she could not decide immediately.

    Mrs. Hengrave parted from her with a somewhat wistful look and a last long lingering sniff.

    Gwenda returned to the agents, made a firm offer subject to surveyor’s report and spent the rest of the morning walking round Dillmouth. It was a charming and old-fashioned little seaside town. At the far, modern end, there were a couple of new-looking hotels and some raw-looking bungalows, but the geographical formation of the coast with the hills behind had saved Dillmouth from undue expansion.

    After lunch Gwenda received a telephone call from the agents saying that Mrs. Hengrave accepted her offer. With a mischievous smile on her lips Gwenda made her way to the post office and despatched a cable to Giles.

    Have bought a house. Love. Gwenda.

    That’ll tickle him up, said Gwenda to herself. "Show him that the grass doesn’t grow under my feet!"

    Two

    WALLPAPER

    I

    A month had passed and Gwenda had moved into Hillside. Giles’s aunt’s furniture had come out of store and was arranged round the house. It was good quality old-fashioned stuff. One or two over-large wardrobes Gwenda had sold, but the rest fitted in nicely and was in harmony with the house. There were small gay papiermâché tables in the drawing room, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and painted with castles and roses. There was a prim little worktable with a gathered sack underneath of pure silk, there was a rosewood bureau and a mahogany sofa table.

    The so-called easy chairs Gwenda had relegated to various bedrooms and had bought two large squashy wells of comfort for herself and Giles to stand each side of the fireplace. The large chesterfield sofa was placed near the windows. For curtains Gwenda had chosen old-fashioned chintz of pale eggshell blue with prim urns of roses and yellow birds on them. The room, she now considered, was exactly right.

    She was hardly settled yet, since she had workmen in the house still. They should have been out by now, but Gwenda rightly estimated that until she herself came into residence, they would not go.

    The kitchen alterations were finished, the new bathrooms nearly so. For further decorating Gwenda was going to wait a while. She wanted time to savour her new home and decide on the exact colour schemes she wanted for the bedrooms. The house was really in very good order and there was no need to do everything at once.

    In the kitchen a Mrs. Cocker was now installed, a lady of condescending graciousness, inclined to repulse Gwenda’s over-democratic friendliness, but who, once Gwenda had been satisfactorily put in her place, was willing to unbend.

    On this particular morning, Mrs. Cocker deposited a breakfast tray on Gwenda’s knees, as she sat up in bed.

    When there’s no gentleman in the house, Mrs. Cocker affirmed, a lady prefers her breakfast in bed. And Gwenda had bowed to this supposedly English enactment.

    Scrambled this morning, Mrs. Cocker observed, referring to the eggs. You said something about finnan haddock, but you wouldn’t like it in the bedroom. It leaves a smell. I’m giving it to you for your supper, creamed on toast.

    Oh, thank you, Mrs. Cocker.

    Mrs. Cocker smiled graciously and prepared to withdraw.

    Gwenda was not occupying the big double bedroom. That could wait until Giles returned. She had chosen instead the end room, the one with the rounded walls and the bow window. She felt thoroughly at home in it and happy.

    Looking round her now, she exclaimed impulsively: I do like this room.

    Mrs. Cocker looked round indulgently.

    It is quaite a naice room, madam, though small. By the bars on the window I should say it had been the nursery at one time.

    I never thought of that. Perhaps it has.

    Ah, well, said Mrs. Cocker, with implication in her voice, and withdrew.

    Once we have a gentleman in the house, she seemed to be saying, "who knows? A nursery may be needed."

    Gwenda blushed. She looked round the room. A nursery? Yes, it would be a nice nursery. She began furnishing it in her mind. A big dolls’ house there against the wall. And low cupboards with toys in them. A fire burning cheerfully in the grate and a tall guard round it with things airing on the rail. But not this hideous mustard wall. No, she would have a gay wallpaper. Something bright and cheerful. Little bunches of poppies alternating with bunches of cornflowers … Yes, that would be lovely. She’d try and find a wallpaper like that. She felt sure she had seen one somewhere.

    One didn’t need much furniture in the room. There were two built-in cupboards, but one of them, a corner one, was locked and the key lost. Indeed the whole thing had been painted over, so that it could not have been opened for many years. She must get the men to open it up before they left. As it was, she hadn’t got room for all her clothes.

    She felt more at home every day in Hillside. Hearing a throat being ponderously cleared and a short dry cough through the open window, she hurried over her breakfast. Foster, the temperamental jobbing gardener, who was not always reliable in his promises, must be here today as he had said he would be.

    Gwenda bathed, dressed, put on a tweed skirt and a sweater and hurried out into the garden. Foster was at work outside the drawing room window. Gwenda’s first action had been to get a path made down through the rockery at this point.

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