Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was the sound of water lapping gently at the bottoms of boats and perhaps the pillars of a waterside dock. The boats knocked against each other and their rigging creaked gently.

A car pulled up, its engine taking over from the sound of water. When it stopped, the door opening and closing, footsteps crunched on gravel, slow and certain.

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of a bag clasp being opened, something moving around inside the bag, and the clasp snapped shut again.

A man's voice faded into hearing range, sounding puzzled, although it was clear from his tone that he was talking to himself. "Well, that just doesn't make sense," he said. "That would mean-"

He broke off, and the gravel footsteps stopped abruptly.

"You?!" he said. "But, I don't understand! Why would you? No, no, please. I swear I won't say anything. Please, M-"

The last word was cut off by the ringing sound of a single gunshot. After a moment, the lapping water seemed to rush in again, making the boats bob together and the rigging creak.

It had, what with one thing and another, been a rather stressful few months. Well. Year, really. Everything had started with that horrible murder at the vicarage, and really gone downhill from there.

Cherry distracted herself from those thoughts by making up a tea tray, even if she doubted Miss Marple was going to want it. After getting back from her coach trip, which would have been a strain anyway at her age, even if it hadn't been for that terrible death, Miss Marple had shut herself away. Again.

She'd been doing that more and more lately, retreating to her inner sanctum without a word to anyone, and not even taking messages. Cherry had become quite creative in coming with excuses, and only old Mrs Bantree had trouble believing them. Admittedly "She's been upset by her nephew's latest novel" hadn't been her best effort, but Dolly Bantree's stare could rattle the most experienced domestic staff, even over the telephone.

The tea things, placed neatly on the side table in the little drawing room, went untouched. So did the plate of cold cuts that that Cherry had hoped might be an acceptable alternative to a proper dinner. Knowing better by now, she didn't even bother about making breakfast the next morning, eating with Jim in their flat above the old stables, and trying not to worry too much.

By the time the bell rang three days later, Cherry had nearly finished a thorough spring clean of the cottage, and had actually been wondering if she should overstep her usual bounds to attempt a little weeding. The summons saved her from having to make such a difficult decision.

In the far corner of the front parlour, which was a small, dark room only used for visitors, the armoire door stood just a little ajar. A glow came from inside it, marking a bright line across the carpet as the light spilled out. Cherry stopped when she saw it, tracing the line back across the carpet's pattern, up to the dark oak of the doors. It looked so strange, the brightness in the gloom, that she almost forgot why she was there for a moment, just staring into the light.

Then the bell rang again, jolting her out of her daydreaming. Taking a deep breath, because this never got any more normal, she crossed the room, opened the armoire, and stepped inside.

"Ah, Cherry. Good."

Inside had been remodelled again. Cherry found herself standing at the centre of a square courtyard, the edges of which were covered by a low roof, supported on pillars. She'd never been there, but it wasn't hard to recognise this as the cloisters of the school in Italy where Miss Marple had spent one of her happiest girlhood summers. At the centre, instead of the fountain that Cherry had heard Miss Marple describe so many times, there was a towering machine, six-sided and with a tall, glass column at its centre.

As Cherry looked around, Miss Marple leaned out from around the console and gave her a thin smile.

"Thank you for coming, my dear," she said, and to Cherry's practised ear, she sounded tired. "I am so sorry to have kept you waiting all this time."

"That's alright, ma'am. I've found plenty to keep me busy."

At that, Miss Marple's smile gentled into something more like her usual self. "I'm sure you have, Cherry. Just as I'm sure I now have the shiniest silverware in St Mary Mead." The smile faded as she looked away. "I didn't realise it would take so long."

"It's only been three days, ma'am. I can manage quite well." Miss Marple's face fell at that, and Cherry frowned. "It has only been three days, hasn't it?"

"I may have lost track a little." Miss Marple shook her head. "But you see, I did so need to be sure."

"About what?"

"All the things that have been happening recently. Don't you think it's been rather odd that so many wicked things should happen so closely together?"

She had, of course, but then so many things in her life had become odd recently that Cherry had rather taken it as part of the package. "I suppose so," she said uncertainly.

"Quite. As always, investigation was required. As I said, I needed to be sure."

This was all going a little fast for Cherry. "And now you are?"

"I rather think that I am," Miss Marple said, and glanced towards the door, which Cherry had left slightly open. "Do you think you could be spared for a few hours? I would so appreciate your company for this."

It wasn't an easy question to answer. There was every chance that she and Miss Marple would be back before Jim got in from work. Equally, there was every chance they wouldn't. But then that had been the agreement, so Cherry nodded, finding that her smile was steadier than she'd expected.

"Of course," she said. "But where are we going?

The American sunshine was everything Cherry had read about in books, bright and sharp and hot, making her squint despite the wide-brimmed hat Miss Marple had provided. Whereas at home they would have made their way to the nearest tea shop, here, they sat on a bench on a wooden pier, listening to the water lap around them.

"Shouldn't we be doing something? Or at least looking around a bit?" Cherry asked. The strange material of the trousers Miss Marple had found to go with the hat was making her hot and sticky, and just sitting in the sun wasn't helping.

"We visited two local shops and the Post Office. Or what passes for it out here," Miss Marple said with a sniff. "I should think that is quite enough for now. At my age, I do so prefer to make other people do the running around."

"But how are we going to find whoever we're looking for just sitting here?" Cherry didn't add and why couldn't we do our 'just sitting' in the shade, although she sorely wanted to.

"I rather think that they will find us, don't you?" When Cherry gave her a blank look, Miss Marple smiled. "Tell me, if two foreign strangers arrived in St Mary Mead, visited the shops, bought postcards and stamps and asked for directions to the local beauty spot, how long do you think it would take for the whole village to know about it."

"On a good day, about two hours. If it's Agnes from Mrs Bantree's afternoon out, thirty minutes."

"Yes," Miss Marple said absently, "I really must speak to Dolly about that." She shook her head. "Anyway, all small towns are the same, no matter the decade, the country or even the planet, I can tell you. I am sure that the person we are looking for will find us soon enough." Settling back on the bench, she folded her hands and stared out across the water, apparently prepared to wait for as long as it took.

Cherry sighed a little and tipped the brim of her hat back so it covered the back of her neck properly. She'd be lobster red by the end of this, she could already tell.

The rumour mill of Cabot Cove worked just a little faster than that of St Mary Mead, because they'd oly been sitting on the bench for only just over an hour when a small boy came running up to them, hesitated, then held out his hand towards Miss Marple, a slightly crumpled piece of paper clutched in it. Miss Marple took it, passed the boy a small coin, and then unfolded it as he ran off.

She pressed her lips together, obviously unhappy. "It seems," she said, "that we have been invited to tea.”

The house was huge, but then they all seemed to be here. Not as big as Gossington Hall, perhaps, but they came close, and even the small ones were bigger than most of the ones on the Development in St Mary Mead. Cherry had heard that everything was bigger in America, but it was strange seeing it for real.

The woman who opened the door to them was younger than Miss Marple, but how much older she was than Cherry, it was hard to say. She had red hair, cut short in what to Cherry's eyes seemed a most unusual style, very modern, and her trousers and jacket seemed to be made of rather better fabric than Cherry's own. For a moment, Cherry let herself be jealous, then the woman met her eyes, and Cherry found herself swallowing hard.

There were moments when Miss Marple looked across the room at her, and Cherry had the sudden feeling that she knew absolutely everything about her, from the time she'd copied Jenny Hyde's answers at primary school, to that broken china dog at the back of the kitchen cupboard. It was an unearthly, unsettling gaze, and it turned Cherry's stomach inside out, as though the woman knew her, all about her, just from that single look.

And just like that, the woman smiled, the moment passed and Cherry found herself catching her breath.

"Well, well, if it isn't Jane Marple. Won't you come in? How long has it been?" The accent was definitely American, although different to the ones Cherry had heard at the Pictures. It was more refined, she thought, with a playful tone that didn't seem quite right for the circumstances.

They were ushered into a large sitting room, with huge, puffy furniture, lots of brightly coloured cushions and books seemingly everywhere

"I had hoped to leave it longer," Miss Marple said, looking around in what might have been disapproval. "Some people apparently just can't leave well enough alone."

The other woman ushered them to the biggest and softest settee Cherry had ever seen, and took the armchair opposite. "You didn't honestly think I was going to let you go mad with boredom in that stuffy little town you chose for yourself, did you? Now, really, Jane. What are friends for?"

"I thought I knew," said Miss Marple stiffly, folding her hands in her lap again. "But it seems I didn't actually know you very well at all, did I?" She shook her head. "There really was no need for all of this. If you had just asked, I would have come."

"Would you?" The other woman sounded thoughtful. "I do wonder. And if you weren't bored then that makes one of us."

"So this is how you decided to amuse yourself?" There was the slightest shake in Miss Marple's voice now, and Cherry realised that what she'd thought was detachment was just the opposite. She knew that tone, and could see that Miss Marple's knuckles were white from having her hands so tightly clasped together. It was anything but calm; it was barely restrained fury. "Doing all these terrible things?"

"It got your attention, didn't it? And how else would you have found me?" She shrugged, just a little. "I had to leave you some kind of breadcrumbs."

"Those breadcrumbs were people, Jessica. Hundreds of them." Miss Marple wasn't trying to hold back her anger now, and her voice shook even more. "It was bad enough when I realised you had interfered with my life, but the chaos you have wrought on the people around you is unforgivable. Just unforgivable."

The woman - Jessica - shifted a little in her chair, and Cherry felt the atmosphere of the room shift. It was very much like the time the Vicar's wife had made that oh-so-unfortunate remark to the District Nurse at the Village Fete, and the whole tea tent had fallen silent, watching to see what Nurse McGrath would do next. Except this time, the stakes were rather higher than a scone thrown in anger.

"Do you really care, Jane?" Jessica said, sitting a little further back in her chair and resting her hands on the wide arms. "I suppose you must if you've come all the way here, but I do think you've rather lost your sense of perspective. Human lives are so short anyway. What does another few years here or there matter?"

"It matters to them. It matters very much to them. And it matters to me."

"Then the question becomes, Jane," Jessica put all the emphasis she could on the name, apparently making some point that Cherry couldn't quite grasp, "what are you doing to do about it?"

"I am going to stop you," said Miss Marple, getting to her feet, and forcing Jessica to look up at her, "but then you already know that."

The two women looked at each other for a long moment, Jessica with her head tipped back, Miss Marple with her hands clenched at her sides. Cherry might have been imagining it, but she thought she could feel something in the room, a sense of power and foreboding that sent a cold ripple down her spine. She must have actually shivered, because Jessica's eyes snapped to her as though drawn by the movement, and the earlier, pleasant smile shifted into something crueller, hungrier.

"You're welcome to try, Jane. I won't make it too hard for you to find me, of course. And I promise to make it an interesting hunt."

There was no warning before she moved, she was just up and out of her seat in one fluid movement, far more spry than Miss Marple, and too far away for Cherry to catch. The puffy settee was difficult to get out of, and Cherry only caught up with Miss Marple at the door into what she assumed would be the kitchen. Just as she did so, there was a strange sound, and Miss Marple shoved her, harder than Cherry would have thought possible. She fell to her left, Miss Marple throwing herself to the right, just as a wave of heat and noise came through the door right where they had been standing.

Faintly, in the distance, Cherry heard another door slam, and she turned to try and see Miss Marple through the growing cloud of smoke.

"I think she went out of the back door," she said, regretting it as the smoke hit the back of her throat and she choked on it.

Miss Marple just nodded, pointing over her shoulder towards the door they had come in through. Both of them staggered a little as another blast hit them, and Cherry heard a crackling sound, as though she'd just thrown a log onto the fire that was just a little too big for it. She glanced over her shoulder, stared for a second, and then tried to stagger faster, moving over to take Miss Marple's elbow and help her towards the front door.

Behind them, the whole kitchen was on fire, flames licking up to the ceiling and starting to come through the doorway into the sitting room, which was already half-full of smoke.

They were both coughing badly by the time they got to the door, and Cherry wasn't at all surprised to find that, when she turned the handle, it was locked fast.

"The whole place is probably booby trapped," Miss Marple said, somehow managing to breath a little more easily than Cherry, which didn't seem fair. She was rummaging in her bag as she spoke. "We must leave as quickly as possible."

Gasping for air, Cherry rattled the door handle again, making the point, and Miss Marple nodded. "I know, I know. It's in here somewhere. Ah." With a flourish, she produced-

Her knitting bag.

If Cherry could have drawn in a deep enough breath, she would have asked how exactly Great Nephew Peter's Christening Cardigan was going to help them at this moment, but Miss Marple dug a hand into the bag, and pulled one needle free of the stitches.

"I'm going to have a devil of a time - excuse me, Cherry - picking all those up again, but needs must." Without hesitating, she put the point of the needle against the handle and twisted the knob on the end. There was a strange high-pitched, whirring sound, like an over-boiling kettle crossed with a trapped fly, followed by a click that had to be the lock turning.

Cherry didn't hesitate, she slammed the handle down again, and this time, the door swung open, and they stumbled out into the clean air and the bright sunshine. Barely seconds had passed, Cherry realised, and no one had made it this far from the town yet.

"What do we do?" She was still coughing a little, gulping in clean air. Beside her, Miss Marple's hat had been knocked askew, and there was a smudge of something on her cheek, but she seemed otherwise little affected. Cherry resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and concentrated on breathing.

"I think we should not be here when help arrives," Miss Marple said, already moving down the road away from the house. "I really do not want to have to answer any difficult questions."

In the distance, Cherry heard the growl of an engine, and, still trying to get her breath back properly, she followed Miss Marple along the lane at a brisk trot, ducking behind a fence just as the first car came skidding to a stop outside the now-burning house. The black smoke was stark against the white-painted boards, and Cherry stared at it as she got herself and her lungs under control.

"Oh dear," said Miss Marple. "I rather think this means that we will need to start all over again."

Much, much later, when they were safely back in the Italian courtyard, and Cherry had a chance to change back into her normal clothes, throwing the smoke-smelling ones into a rather dubious machine that Miss Marple promised her would take care of them, that Cherry finally asked the question that had been bothering her since the start.

"Who was that?"

In answer, Miss Marple nodded, gesturing to the corner of the cloister where a small table and chairs had been set in the shade. "I think we should have some tea and talk about this. This may prove to be a little complicated." She sounded tired again, and while she had cleaned the smudge of soot from her face, she was still wearing the same smoke-smelling clothes from earlier, refusing to listen to Cherry's insistence that she change.

In here, Miss Marple always served the tea, and Cherry had to resist the urge to sit on the edge of the furniture. Once they both had full cups, and Cherry had persuaded Miss Marple to eat some Battenberg, Miss Marple leaned back in her chair, looking out at something rather further away than the console.

"There is an idea, or there will be, I think, I tend to lose track, that everything in the world is connected to everything else. Those who study it say that if a butterfly flaps its wings in Hong Kong the change in air currents could cause a hurricane in the Bahamas."

It seemed a rather distant way to begin, but that wasn't exactly unusual, and the point would turn up eventually. In the meantime, Cherry considered the idea. "I reckon quite a lot of other things would have to happen as well for it to get to that point," she said, and Miss Marple smiled.

"You are, of course, correct, my dear. But if you could, you would eventually find that, once you traced everything back, searched through all the possibilities, eliminated everything extraneous and ruled out what was unnecessary, you would eventually find that the first trigger, the one thing without which nothing else would have happened, would be that wretched butterfly."

There was such vehemence in her voice that Cherry shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Gosh," she said, trying to sound less unsettled than she was, "that sounds like one of your mysteries, that does."

"Indeed," Miss Marple said, sounding tired again. "That was very much what I thought. I have lived in St Mary Mead for all this life. I have seen all of human nature here, and have taken careful note. There have been times when I have intervened to ensure happiness here or justice there. When friends had asked for help, I was able to give it. But until that nasty business with Colonel Protheroe at the Vicarage, things had always happened somewhere else. I had observed, noted and commented, but I had not been involved. Not directly. And later, when that poor girl's body turned up in Dolly's library, I thought it was just a coincidence. Odd, but a coincidence. Then when Maud asked me to come and help with that unpleasant poison pen business in Lymstock, I began to wonder."

Long experience told Cherry that this would not be a good time to ask questions. Not when Miss Marple obviously needed to say what was on her mind. Interrupting now would only lead to an endless, confusing digression, and it would take even longer to get back to the point.

"I think Lymstock was when I really began to suspect, and by the time Bunch told me about the ridiculous goings on in Chipping Cleghorn, I was sure. For so many things to happen, so close together and so close to me?" She shook her head. "That could not be a coincidence. And it worried me." She hesitated, and Cherry took her cue.

"You were worried that someone close to you might get hurt."

"I was. I was terribly afraid of that."

It wasn't a surprise. It would never have occurred to Miss Marple to worry about her own safety. Although given they were currently drinking tea in an Italian cloister inside an antique oak armoire, Cherry supposed Miss Marple's priorities were rather different to most people's.

Miss Marple went on, "Of course, it wasn't until Elspeth missed her train at Paddington and had to come on the 4:50 instead that I had something concrete to work with. Someone, a flesh and blood being, had knocked her off her feet and caused her to miss her train. And it was, of course, only because she did that she witnessed that awful murder. After that, I was sure there would be more evidence. Someone suggested that Marina Gregg buy Gossington Hall, where she would just happen to run into the Badcocks. Someone gave that wicked man in Saint Honore a thorough lesson in herbology, then posted Raymond the brochure that sent me there. And someone helped set up Bertram's Hotel as a centre of such intrigue. Really, when I went and looked back at it, someone could have been responsible for all those terrible events. Not for actually doing them, of course, and I am not for one moment excusing those who actually carried them out. But behind them all, I felt sure that someone had set them on their path."

Normally at the end of a speech like that, Miss Marple would announce the conclusion of her investigation, watching everyone to see if they had worked it out as well. This time, she reached for her teacup with a hand, Cherry noticed, that trembled just a fraction.

"And that's who we just met?"

"My butterfly, yes." Miss Marple shook her head. "As you may have gathered, she didn't make it terribly difficult for me to find her. Cabot Cove isn't as small as St Mary Mead but still. For there to be so many suspicious deaths in one locality in such a short period of time, I was sure that could not be a coincidence."

"It was nearly two more suspicious deaths," Cherry said. Her own hair still smelled faintly of smoke. "If it hadn't been for your knitting needle."

"Yes. The extra weight does make it rather hard to keep my tension even, but I have never doubted that it would be worth it in the end." She pressed her lips together for a moment. "I should have anticipated something like that might happen, but I had hoped that having gone to so much trouble to get my attention, she might have wanted to keep it for longer." Turning to Cherry, her expression grew grave, and she stretched a hand out across the table "I am so sorry, my dear. If I had had any idea that things would turn out that way, I certainly would not have asked you to come."

Cherry accepted the offered hand, gripping it a little before letting go. "It's quite alright, ma'am. I wouldn't have liked to have thought of you doing this alone." She hesitated, trying to choose a question that she thought might actually be answered, and then asked, "What are you going to do now?"

"I have to track her down." Miss Marple's voice was firm and decisive. "She cannot be allowed to go on causing chaos like this."

"But how are you going to find her?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Cherry caught sight of Miss Marple's expression, and her stomach turned over. Again. She knew the answer even before it came.

"We follow the trail of bodies, I'm afraid." She hesitated for a moment, as though distracted by the thought. "I thought I might start in the Cotswolds, although that one is rather difficult to pin down. I am also considering Egypt at the turn of the century, and Cumbria somewhat later than that. There are depressingly many choices, I have to say."

Cherry, who really didn't have an answer for that, finished her cup of tea and put it back down on the table. "Oh," she said, and Miss Marple gave her a small, sad smile.

"It's quite alright, my dear. I will see that you and Jim are well looked after while I'm away, although whether I will be returning to St Mary Mead in the future, I really can't say for sure."

For a moment, all Cherry could hear was the ghostly tinkle of water, as though the fountain that should have been at the centre of the courtyard was trying to break free of the console. It was an unreal place, this one. But the woman in front of her wasn't. Miss Marple had been kind and thoughtful, she had been shrewd and cunning, she had been brave and just, and had shown Cherry a world that she never could have hoped to see. Really, it wasn't that much of a decision, was it?

"I think," Cherry said slowly, "that I should talk to Jim first. He'd never forgive me if I left him behind for this one."

It wasn't often that she could surprise Miss Marple, and it was strangely satisfying to see her eyes widen for a moment. She blinked. "Are you sure, Cherry? It might be dangerous. In fact, you know it will be."

"All the more reason for Jim to come too," Cherry said, suddenly confident. "You'll just have to let us put some things together, and we should probably make sure the boiler is turned off. No point burning oil if we're not there, is there?"

Miss Marple stared at her for long enough that Cherry began to worry she was going to tell her to stay behind after all. When she finally smiled, it was the first genuine, wide smile that Cherry had seen on her face since the bell had rung what seemed like an age ago.

"Thank you, Cherry," she said, sounding like herself again at last. "That is an excellent idea."

Cherry scooped up the tea things and stepped out into the sunshine of the courtyard. As she reached the door on the other side, she looked back. Miss Marple still sat at the small table, her skirt smoothed down, and her hands neatly folded in her lap.

She probably shouldn't have thought about disturbing her, but, in the end, training won through. Miss Marple's training.

"Will there be anything else, ma'am," Cherry asked, and Miss Marple shook her head.

"No, Cherry, thank you. That will be all."

Cherry made sure to close the door carefully behind her. She didn't want Jim working out what was going on before she had a chance to tell him. Their lives had become interesting as soon as they'd taken Miss Marple up on her offer to come and live with her, and it seemed, they were about to get interesting all over again. Despite everything, as Cherry took the tea things down to the kitchen, and started to work out what she was going to tell Jim, she found she was humming to herself. After all, no one could ever tell her again that village life was boring.