Read After the Funeral for Free Online Page A

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    “Of course,” said Miss Gilchrist, noticing his expression, and quick to sense his reaction. “I don't know much myself, though my father was a painter - not a very successful one, I'm afraid. But I used to do water-colours myself as a girl and I heard a lot of talk about painting and that made it nice for Mrs Lansquenet to have someone she could talk to about painting and who'd understand. Poor dear soul, she cared so much about artistic things.”
    “You were fond of her?”
    A foolish question, he told himself. Could she possibly answer “no”? Cora, he thought, must have been a tiresome woman to live with.
    “Oh yes,” said Miss Gilchrist. “We got on very well together. In some ways, you know, Mrs Lansquenet was just like a child. She said anything that came into her head. I don't know that her judgment was always very good -”
    One does not say of the dead - “She was a thoroughly silly woman” - Mr Entwhistle said, “She was not in any sense an intellectual woman.”
    “No - no - perhaps not. But she was very shrewd, Mr Entwhistle. Really very shrewd. It quite surprised me sometimes - how she managed to hit the nail on the head.”
    Mr Entwhistle looked at Miss Gilchrist with more interest. He thought that she was no fool herself.
    “You were with Mrs Lansquenet for some years, I think?”
    “Three and a half.”
    “You - er - acted as companion and also did the - er - well - looked after the house?”
    It was evident that he had touched on a delicate subject. Miss Gilchrist flushed a little.
    “Oh yes, indeed. I did most of the cooking - I quite enjoy cooking - and did some dusting and light housework. None of the rough, of course.” Miss Gilchrist's tone expressed a firm principle. Mr Entwhistle who had no idea what “the rough” was, made a soothing murmur.
    “Mrs Panter from the village came in for that. Twice a week regularly. You see, Mr Entwhistle, I could not have contemplated being in any way a servant. When my little tea-shop failed - such a disaster - it was the war, you know. A delightful place. I called it the Willow Tree and all the china was blue willow pattern - sweetly pretty - and the cakes really good - I've always had a hand with cakes and scones. Yes I was doing really well and then the war came and supplies were cut down and the whole thing went bankrupt - a war casualty, that is what I always say, and I try to think of it like that. I lost the little money my father left me that I had invested in it, and of course I had to look round for something to do. I'd never been trained for anything. So I went to one lady but it didn't answer at all - she was so rude and overbearing - and then I did some office work - but I didn't like that at all, and then I came to Mrs Lansquenet and we suited each other from the start - her husband being an artist and everything.” Miss Gilchrist came to a breathless stop and added mournfully: “But how I loved my dear, dear little tea-shop. Such nice people used to come to it!”
    Looking at Miss Gilchrist, Mr Entwhistle felt a sudden stab of recognition - a composite picture of hundreds of ladylike figures approaching him in numerous Bay Trees, Ginger Cats, Blue Parrots, Willow Trees and Cosy Corners, all chastely encased in blue or pink or orange overalls and taking orders for pots of china tea and cakes. Miss Gilchrist had a Spiritual Home - a lady-like tea-shop of Ye Olde Worlde variety with a suitable genteel clientele. There must, he thought, be large numbers of Miss Gilchrists all over the country, all looking much alike with mild patient faces and obstinate upper lips and slightly wispy grey hair.
    Miss Gilchrist went on:
    “But really I must not talk about myself. The police have been very kind and considerate. Very kind indeed. An Inspector Morton came over from headquarters and he was most understanding. He even arranged for me to go and spend the night at Mrs Lake's down the lane but I said 'No.' I felt it my duty to