Десять негритят / And Then There Were None

Vera Claythorne thought: «The catering must be very difficult. That’s the worst of an island. All the domestic problems are so worrying.»

The boat grated against the rocks. Fred Narracott jumped out and he and Lombard helped the others to alight. Narracott made the boat fast to a ring in the rock. Then he led the way up steps cut in the rock.

General Macarthur said: «Ha, delightful spot!»

But he felt uneasy. Damned odd sort of place.

As the party ascended the steps, and came out on a terrace above, their spirits revived. In the open doorway of the house a correct butler was awaiting them, and something about his gravity reassured them. And then the house itself was really most attractive, the view from the terrace magnificent…

The butler came forward bowing slightly. He was a tall lank man, grey-haired and very respectable.

He said: «Will you come this way, please?»

In the wide hall drinks stood ready. Rows of bottles. Anthony Marston’s spirits cheered up a little. He’d just been thinking this was a rum kind of show. None of his lot! What could old Badger have been thinking about to let him in for this? However the drinks were all right. Plenty of ice, too.

What was it the butler chap was saying?

«Mr. Owen – unfortunately delayed – unable to get here till tomorrow. Instructions – everything they wanted – if they would like to go to their rooms?.. dinner would be at 8 o’clock…»

VI

Vera had followed Mrs. Rogers upstairs. The woman had thrown open a door at the end of a passage and Vera had walked into a delightful bedroom with a big window that opened wide upon the sea and another looking east. She uttered a quick exclamation of pleasure.

Mrs. Rogers was saying: «I hope you’ve got everything you want, Miss?»

Vera looked round. Her luggage had been brought up and had been unpacked. At one side of the room a door stood open into a pale blue tiled bathroom.

She said quickly:

«Yes, everything, I think.»

«You’ll ring the bell if you want anything, Miss?»

Mrs. Rogers had a flat monotonous voice. Vera looked at her curiously. What a white bloodless ghost of a woman! Very respectable looking, with her hair dragged back from her face and her black dress. Queer light eyes that shifted the whole time from place to place.

Vera thought: «She looks frightened of her own shadow.»

Yes, that was it – frightened!

She looked like a woman who walked in mortal fear…

A little shiver passed down Vera’s back. What on earth was the woman afraid of?

She said pleasantly:

«I’m Mrs. Owen’s new secretary. I expect you know that.»

Mrs. Rogers said: «No, Miss, I don’t know anything. Just a list of the ladies and gentlemen and what rooms they were to have.»

Vera said: «Mrs. Owen didn’t mention me?»

Mrs. Rogers’ eyelashes flickered.

«I haven’t seen Mrs. Owen – not yet. We only came here two days ago.»

«Extraordinary people, these Owens,» thought Vera. Aloud she said:

«What staff is there here?»

«Just me and Rogers, Miss.»

Vera frowned. Eight people in the house – ten with the host and hostess – and only one married couple to do for them.

Mrs. Rogers said: «I’m a good cook and Rogers is handy about the house. I didn’t know, of course, that there was to be such a large party.»

Vera said: «But you can manage?»

«Oh, yes, Miss, I can manage. If there’s to be large parties often perhaps Mrs. Owen could get extra help in.»

Vera said, «I expect so.»

Mrs. Rogers turned to go. Her feet moved noiselessly over the ground. She drifted from the room like a shadow.

Vera went over to the window and sat down on the window seat. She was faintly disturbed. Everything – somehow – was a little queer. The absence of the Owens, the pale ghostlike Mrs. Rogers. And the guests! Yes, the guests were queer too. An oddly assorted party.

Vera thought: «I wish I’d seen the Owens… I wish I knew what they were like.»

She got up and walked restlessly about the room.

A perfect bedroom decorated throughout in the modern style. Off-white rugs on the gleaming parquet floor – faintly tinted walls – a long mirror surrounded by lights. A mantelpiece bare of ornaments save for an enormous block of white marble shaped like a bear, a piece of modern sculpture in which was inset a clock. Over it, in a gleaming chromium frame, was a big square of parchment – a poem.

She stood in front of the fireplace and read it. It was the old nursery rhyme that she remembered from her childhood days.