"Thank you, mon ami, for passing on much needed good tidings. I look forward to hearing about the WHY of the matter, but that will come in due time, I am certain. Merci."
Poirot hung up and greeted Miss Lemon with a cheery, "Good morning!"
"Good morning Mr. Poirot. Judging by the smile, and the tone of your greeting, I take it you got good news."
"The very best." The detective left his desk to clean his breakfast dishes; Felicity Lemon following him into the kitchen with another plate and the butter dish. The plate was handed to Poirot and the butter dish she placed in the refrigerator after placing the matching ceramic cover over the half plate of butter.
As he ran water into the sink, adding two dabs of dish soap to the small collection of dishes, Miss Lemon's employer explained. "The Assistant Commissioner called to inform me that the child, he has been located. Unharmed but determined. It was SHE who took the will and ran off to a friend's farm. Darbyshire, I believe, but I could be mistaken about the name. In any case, the young woman, she simply told her relatives that they would not get the will back until they stopped arguing about who got more and were thankful for their share. From what the good Assistant Commissioner relayed, everyone got something. As far as the young woman was concerned, it was all fairly dispersed, but everyone wanted, as they say, a 'bigger slice of the pie .
In their state of financial well being, Miss Pamela Caldwell said no one had any place to complain."
"Sounds like a very level headed young woman." Miss Lemon declared. "Would to heaven more adults had her sense."
With the dishes washed and dried, Poirot returned to his desk to find the mail Miss Lemon set on his desk. Two letters and an ad he set to one side. Occasionally, mail adverts were of interest. Right this moment, it was the letter at the top of the collection which captured Hercule Poirot's attention. It was a letter from Captain Hastings.
The last case taxed Poirot's intellect almost to its limit. Too many loose ends he couldn't seem to tie together. It was a relief to learn that they were never intended to fit. Japp's phone call was a testimony that Poirot was not 'past it', as he was beginning to feel. Then, there was the dead end case of the dead sister of the woman now married to her former brother-in-law. If all that wasn't confusing enough, there was ample evidence that the good counselor Elkins was beating up on his wife and yet she was content to have it so.
Without a doubt, a break from that mess was just what he needed.
"Miss Lemon, please do come in here for a moment. No need to bring your writing pad, I simply need...." The phone rang, cutting off the request but Miss Lemon was on her way into Poirot's office when he answered the phone.
"Hello, Hercule Poirot speaks."
"Mr. Poirot? Hello, this is doctor Charles Dourif at St. Mark's Hospital . I'm calling on behalf of a patient. Mrs. Celia Elkins is in our casualty ward. I would say more but I would rather speak to you personally after you visit with her. Would it be possible for you to visit?"
"Oh, mon Dieu." Poirot whispered under his breath. "Can you give me more informa...?" His question was cut off by the doctor's reiteration that Poirot come to St. Mark's Hospital as soon as possible.
Poirot agreed that he would be there. It wasn't til he hung up that Hercule Poirot wondered why the doctor didn't notify Counselor Elkins. The next thought that dawned on him made him wonder why he'd asked himself such a foolish question.
Promptly, Poirot went to the front hall and got into his coat. "Miss Lemon, please contact our friend, Captain Hastings and tell him that I will be happy to accept his invite and I will contact him this evening with details."
"Where are you going? I'm assuming it has something to do with your phone call."
Poirot's nod was mournful. "Madame Celia, she is in the hospital. Her attending physician, he is adamant that I be there as soon as possible."
He stopped buttoning his coat. "This has me so bothered, I am not even thinking properly. Miss Lemon, please do call a cab. Tell them I will be waiting out front. Merci."
"Oh, that poor woman! In such a short time, she's endured...."
Hercule Poirot wasn't sure he wanted to give voice to his less charitable opinions about the second Madame Elkins. For the time being, he would hear the poor, pathetic damsel out and, heaven willing, be more agreeable to returning to her parents' home or....anywhere else that didn't involve the 'good' counselor Elkins.
"I'll get right on it." Felicity Lemon replied before adding, "Mr. Poirot, you could ask Mrs. Elkins if I could visit her tomorrow. Perhaps another woman would have a better chance of speaking sense to her."
"You are not fully informed of the whole story, mon ami."
"I am informed enough, Mr. Poirot. You told me the first Mrs. Elkins had been killed. Now the new Mrs. Elkins is in the hospital after a few occasions where you and Mr. Japp had to investigate a call where Celia Elkins was in danger. Then there's the matter of Mrs. Elkins visiting early, a few days ago. And today, she's in the hospital. My own little grey cells are at work, Mr. Poirot."
Few others in his company were as intuitive as Felicity Lemon and Poirot decided she could be of help. "I will offer your assistance, Miss Lemon. I cannot force the issue. On the other hand, if Madame Elkins decides to accept, you can see her tomorrow. Merci."
"You are quite welcome. Now go downstairs. I'll call your cab and then phone Captain Hastings."
~~~~~
At the hospital, Poirot was given written instruction on the floor Celia was on as well as the director for Dr. Dourif's office.
"We were told you were coming and told to every assistance." The charge nurse offered Poirot a kind smile.
"Thank you so much." Poirot smiled and nodded his gratitude and then took the note and followed its direction.
On the second floor and half way down a long left corridor til he came to a swinging door. Upon entering, Poirot found himself in something of a 'tent' city which made up the connected patient's rooms.
"Hello?" a nurse interrupted Poirot's puzzled gazing. "Are you here to visit someone in particular?"
"Oh, yes. Apologies. I wasn't expecting such small....rooms. "
"Yes," the young woman in the nurse's white uniform nodded. "This is casualty. It's easier to keep track of emergency cases if they're all in an enclosed area."
"Of course. My name is Hercule Poirot and I am here to see Madame Celia Elkins. I was invited by doctor Dourif."
"You show him, Lucy," another nurse said and a red headed girl lead Poirot to a curtained 'room' eighth from the nurse's desk after studying a diagram of the room.
The young woman made sure she was at the proper cubicle and informed the patient that she had a visitor.
"Yes, please." The woman said.
The nurse could be heard, adjusting pillows and settling her patient properly. With that accomplished, Poirot was admitted.
"Not to long, okay? She's in a fragile state," the red headed nurse requested.
Poirot was surprised to see that Mrs. Elkins was not injured as he expected. There was no black eye or broken nose or fat lip. Physically, she appeared fine. Except, she wasn't. She was wan and pale and clearly dejected about something. Then, there was the Inter-venous bottle dripping clear liquid.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Poirot." Celia said, sounding tired.
"I am sorry I did not bring, for you, some chocolates or flowers."
"That's okay. I'm not much in the mood for chocolate and I'm allergic to flowers." Celia invited Poirot to take a seat. He did.
"I suppose you're going to ask why I'm here?"
"Dr. Dourif recommended, with some urgency, that I speak with you."
"I asked him to call you. I think I might be willing to call my parents, but I needed to confide something to you first." She fidgeted with a linen handkerchief; twining it around her fingers. "Remember when you asked me about my sister and how she was pregnant? You asked if I knew she was going to have a baby, or if I believed Henry knew. I honestly didn't think Henry knew because if he had, he wouldn't have pushed Rhoda." She stopped and cleared her throat. "How wrong I was."
"Please tell me, Madame Elkins." Poirot requested, surmising that Celia needed to tell it as much as he needed to hear it all.
Celia Elkins' head bowed and tears slid down her cheeks. "I'm here because I trusted a man YOU knew could not be trusted. I told Henry I was going to have a baby. In fact, Mr. Poirot, I was over the moon. I was going to have a baby and I was as sure as I am, of my own name, that my husband would be just as thrilled as I was."
Her sigh was long with nothing said for half a minute. Then, she continued. "I might as well have told Henry that his bank burned down for the response I got." Poirot could see the strain in the woman's eyes aging her, even as she told her story. "If you can you imagine it, Henry blamed me for getting pregnant as if he wasn't involved." Celia's laugh was mirthless. Bitter. "After he ranted at me for ten minutes or so, he stalked into the library and slammed the door. He was in there for ....oh, God alone knows how long.
I heard him talking on the phone, but I couldn't make out all he said. Whatever it was, it resulted in Henry casually suggesting we take a drive. I convinced myself that Henry just wanted to talk and apologize for how he reacted. Fifteen minutes later, we came upon this very nice colonial house. A house in which, ironically, you would want to ...." Celia stopped , cleared her throat from a sob that threatened to dissolve her reason and rationale. "raise a child. Anyway, Henry spoke to this woman who came out of the house. At one point, he took out his billfold and counted out bills which he placed in the woman's hand. I can't say how much money he gave her, but from the car, I could see this woman smile and then she came to the car. Oh so kindly she said, "Hello. My name is Christie. Your husband seems concerned about you. How about us girls sit and talk over a cup of tea?"
Celia chuckled, "Another lie I fell for and for no good reason. The tea was drugged. Christie was a ...doctor who performed abortions."
Poirot crossed himself and then stared at Celia. "Ma chère dame, you have been most cruelly wronged!"
If Celia heard the detective speak, she didn't reply. Instead, staring at the high ceiling, she told her sorry tale. "I hardly remember what was happening, only that I dreamed I was a victim of Jack the Ripper. I was in a dark alleyway of old London, being torn to pieces with a strait razor. Couldn't hear myself scream, I just felt weak, like I was bleeding to death. Then...voices. I wasn't even sure if I was dreaming. Next thing I know, I'm here, talking to Dr. Dourif."
In his chair, Hercule Poirot sat, head bowed. "I am so sorry."
Wiping her tears with the bed sheet because the blanket would be too itchy, Celia contradicted him.
"No, Mr. Poirot. It was me who called you to come to the house, and then acted like nothing was wrong. It was me who came over to your home at some ungodly hour of the morning. You offered advice that I would not take. You told me what I already, in my heart of hearts, knew to be true. Still, I did not want to hear it. I wanted to be persuaded that Henry Elkins did love me. It's me who should apologize for wasting your time and waking you up at odd hours just so's I'd have sanctuary from the brute....."
"Where IS your...?"
"I no longer care, Mr. Poirot." Celia Elkins said with a resolution in her voice Hercule wasn't familiar with. "Henry Elkins smiled at me. That was the first thing that made trust him. He had the sort of smile that could persuade a woman to follow him to the very gates of hell. Then he killed my sister. THAT," the young woman declared. "is when I should have figured it out. As soon as he was willing to tell me that he killed Rhoda, he was sure he had me where he wanted me. And," she ended her story, "until yesterday, he probably did." She side-shrugged. "But it was Henry who killed our child and my love for him at the same time. For all I care, he can be hanging off the end of a cliff by a frayed sewing thread."
The nurse peeked her head in. "Visiting time is over. Anyway, Doctor Dourif wants to see you, Mr. Poirot."
By way of a goodbye, Poirot took Celia's hand and patted it. "Would you like me to contact your parents?"
Her eyes full and spilling over, Celia could only nod and manage a hoarse, "Please."
The nurse poured a cup of water for Celia as Poirot left the curtained cubicle and retraced his way back to the doors he came through. Returning to the main floor via lift, he referred to his little notebook, and found his way to Doctor Dourif's office, where his receptionist escorted me to the doctor's office.
Charles Dourif was not too much taller than Poirot, with brown, wavy hair and a kind smile. He shook Poirot's hand gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.
Just as they were about to begin talking, another fella in a lab coat peeked his head through the door. "Hey Chucky, is lunch still on?"
Dr. Dourif checked his wristwatch. "Call me in another half hour. I'll have a better idea then. It's just going on eleven in the morning."
"Just make sure you have lunch this time! You'll go bonkers if you don't take a break."
"If you're paying, Norris, I'm hungry."
"At the Cowbarn then." The door closed.
"Cow Barn?" Poirot puzzled and even grimaced.
"An inappropriately named steak house." With a chuckle, Dr. Dourif waved the matter off. "Now, onto more difficult business at hand. "Mrs. Elkins is in a bad way. I'm not completely certain of all the details, only that this woman was brought into Casualty by a man who just about literally dropped her own a gurney and took off without so much as a crumb of information."
"No doubt her ....husband!" Poirot said with a sneer in his voice if not in his features.
"No matter, I was called to treat her. It didn't take much to figure out what had happened. Long story short, Mr. Poirot, this poor woman's womb could have been ripped apart by a ....."
"Jack the Ripper," Poirot filled in the blank the doctor couldn't bring himself to speak and then informed the physician, "It is how Madame Elkins described it."
"Sadly apt description. However, that's not even the worst of it. I was able to stop the bleeding by removing her uterus, pardon the indelicacy."
Poirot waved off the propriety. "Madame Celia, she is the priority. I do not understand, though. How can she be in a bad way if you removed the ....infected area and stopped the bleeding?"
"In the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Mrs. Elkins will either recover or possibly bleed internally. For now, it's a waiting game."
"Well," Poirot said. "I am thankful we will not be waiting alone. Madame Celia gave to me permission to call her parents. She will be able to go home with her parents when she recovers."
The word WHEN was used purposely. Just thinking that Celia issued permission to call her parents gave the detective all the hope in the world that all would be well. Celia was in a hospital, in the care of a compassionate physician and nurses. Of all the places to find peace of mind.
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