Sparkling Cyanide by Agatha Christie Page B

question.”
    Iris was startled for a moment out of her apathy.
    “I never thought of George marrying Ruth.”
    “You don't see what goes on under your nose, child. Of course you haven't had my experience of life.” Iris smiled in spite of herself. Aunt Lucilla was really very funny sometimes. “That young woman is out for matrimony.”
    “Would it matter?” asked Iris.
    “Matter? Of course it would matter.”
    “Wouldn't it really be rather nice?” Her aunt stared at her. “Nice for George, I mean. I think you're right about her, you know. I think she is fond of him. And she'd be an awfully good wife to him and look after him.”
    Mrs Drake snorted and an almost indignant expression appeared on her rather sheep-like amiable face.
    “George is well looked after at present. What more can he want, I should like to know? Excellent meals and his mending seen to. Very pleasant for him to have an attractive young girl like you about the house and when you marry some day I should hope I was still capable of seeing to his comfort and looking after his health. Just as well or better than a young woman out of an office could do - what does she know about housekeeping? Figures and ledgers and shorthand and typing - what good is that in a man's home?”
    Iris smiled and shook her head, but she did not argue the point. She was thinking of the smooth dark satin of Ruth's head, of the clear complexion and the figure so well set off by the severe tailor-mades that Ruth affected.
    Poor Aunt Lucilla, all her mind on comfort and housekeeping, with romance so very far behind her that she had probably forgotten what it meant - if indeed, thought Iris, remembering her uncle by marriage, it had ever meant anything to her.
    Lucilla Drake was Hector Marle's half-sister from the father's earlier marriage. When her stepmother died she had performed the part of a mother to Hector, who was much younger. Taking care of her father she went towards spinsterhood and was nearly forty when she met Reverend Caleb Drake, who himself was over fifty. Her married life had been short. Two years later she was a widow with a child...
    Maternity, late and unexpected, had been the supreme experience in Lucilla's life. Her son became to her an anxiety, a source of suffering and a constant financial drain - but never a disappointment.
    Mrs Drake refused to see in Victor anything more serious than a lovable weakness of character. Victor was too trusting, easily influenced by bad company, due to his trusting nature. Victor had bad luck; Victor was cheated on; he was only a pawn to bad men who exploited his innocence.
    When any criticism to him was made, Mrs Drake's simple and nice face became hard and obstinate. She knew her son - a good boy with the best intentions, and his so-called friends took advantage of him. Lucilla knew how he hated having to beg her for money. But what could he do in such a terrible situation? He had nobody else to turn to.
    Anyway, Lucilla had to admit that the invitation to live at George's house and take care of Iris was a godsend. Her life in that house during the last year had been happy and comfortable. And so she didn't like the idea of the young and efficient Ruth marrying George and evicting her from this place.
    Miss Lessing was very presentable - but, thank goodness, there was one person at least who saw what she was up to!
    Lucilla Drake nodded her head several times, causing her soft double chins to quiver, raised her eyebrows with an air of superb human sapience, and abandoned the subject for one equally interesting and possibly even more pressing.
    “It's the blankets I can't make up my mind about, dear. You see, I can't get it clearly laid down whether we shan't be coming down again until next spring or whether George means to run down for weekends. He won't say.”
    “I suppose he doesn't really know.” Iris tried to give her attention to a point that seemed completely unimportant. “If it was nice weather it might be