Cécile is Dead by Georges Simenon Page B

now, and my poor mother went to work in a shop in
     Fontenay. She married the department manager there – he was already in bad health, and
     she went on working.
    â€˜Then we were born, and my aunt only
     grudgingly agreed to be Cécile’s godmother. Do you know how much she sent her as a
     First Communion present? A hundred francs! When her husband was already the owner of a
     dozen apartment buildings.
    â€˜â€œNever fear, Émilie,” she
     wrote to my mother. “If anything bad happens to you I’ll look after the
     children.”
    â€˜My father was
     the first to die, and my mother followed him soon. Aunt Juliette was a widow by then and
     had just gone to live in this apartment, but at that time she occupied the whole fifth
     floor.
    â€˜It was her cousin Monfils who brought
     us here from Fontenay. You were too young at the time to remember that, Berthe.
    â€˜â€œOh, my goodness, how thin they
     are!” Aunt Juliette cried when she saw us. “Anyone would think my poor
     sister didn’t give them anything to eat.”
    â€˜Then she started criticizing
     everything about us: our clothes, our underwear, our shoes – she said they were too good
     for us – our manners …
    â€˜Cécile, already in her teens, was
     treated like a domestic servant from the first. As for me, my aunt was going to
     apprentice me to some trade or other, on the grounds that the poor ought to be manual
     workers. If I came home with my trousers torn I never heard the end of it. I was
     ungrateful, I didn’t realize how much was being done for me and my sisters, I was
     sure to come to a bad end.
    â€˜Cécile suffered without a word of
     protest. The maid was dismissed, because my sister could do all the work. Would you like
     to see how we were dressed?’
    He went to find a photograph standing on a
     piece of furniture. It showed the three siblings: Cécile in black looking as Maigret had
     known her, with her hair pulled back in a plain style; Berthe, young and chubby in a
     dress too long for her age; and Gérard, aged fourteen or fifteen, in a suit that had
     certainly not been made for him.
    â€˜When I decided to join the army, my
     aunt didn’t send
me so much as a
     five-franc piece at the end of the month. My comrades got parcels, cigarettes … All my
     life I’ve been seeing other people do well.’
    â€˜How old were you when you left your
     aunt’s household, mademoiselle?’ asked Maigret, turning to the girl.
    â€˜Sixteen,’ she replied. ‘I
     went off on my own to ask a large store for a job. They wanted to know my age, so I told
     them I was eighteen.’
    â€˜When I got married,’ Gérard
     said, taking up his story again, ‘my aunt sent me a silver cake slice. One day,
     when we were very hard up, I wanted to sell it, and it fetched thirty francs. Cécile got
     hardly enough to eat, yet our aunt was a rich woman. And now that she’s dead
     it’s me you blame.’
    He was a pathetic sight, such was his
     bitterness and resentment.
    â€˜Were you ever tempted to do away with
     your aunt?’ asked Maigret, in a calm tone that made the girl start with
     surprise.
    â€˜If I say yes, you’ll come to
     the conclusion that I strangled her, won’t you? Well, yes, I often wanted to, but
     I’m afraid I didn’t feel brave enough, so now you can think whatever you
     like. Arrest me if you want to – that will be only one more injustice.’
    Berthe looked at the time on her little
     wristwatch. ‘Do you need me any longer, inspector?’
    â€˜Why do you ask?’
    â€˜It’s midday, and I was going to
     meet my friend. He’ll be waiting for me opposite the store.’ She still
     seemed virginal, even in speaking of her lover. ‘You have my address: 22 Rue
     Ordener. I’m nearly always at home after
seven in the evening. What are you going to do with