Family Ties~Chapter 7~😢Endings and Beginnings👶🍼

  That same afternoon, from his desk, Poirot dialed the number he was given. As he imagined, Celia Watson-Elkins'  parents received the news with joyous tears and blathered 'thank you's.'

 As soon as the mingled voices calmed down, Poirot explained, ever so tactfully,  that Celia was in St. Mark's hospital. "I will let her explain, to you, the specifics. But she gave me permission to call."

    "Thank you SO MUCH, Mr. Poirot.  We will call you when Celia is home, if we may."  Celia's father declared.

    Taking the hint,  he recited his phone number and asked Mr. Watson to repeat it.

    "Very good."  Poirot said, pleased that his telephone number was taken down properly.   "Please take care of Celia. Do not judge her harshly.  She admits her mistakes."

  "So long as she is safe and at home. That's all we care about."

   For the rest of the day, Poirot discussed a case with Assistant Commissioner Japp , and talked to Captain Hastings.

   "By the weekend, Captain Hastings. Will that be a time that is suitable to Madame Hastings and yourself?"

    "Just right," Hastings said. "I work during the week and have a weekend man. Just give me a call." 
 
     In the background, Poirot could hear Isabel call,  "Hello Mr. Poirot!"

    "Did you hear...?"

   Hercule Poirot could not help but chuckle. "I heard.  Miss Lemon also returns her regards."

                           ~~~~
 
     The next morning, Poirot found himself sharing his breakfast coffee with Japp.  Normally, the Assistant Commissioner pondered over his colleague's lack of a 'fortifying English Breakfast' , as had Captain Hastings, back in the day.  This morning, however,  he only sipped his coffee.

  Poirot had informed him on the latest of the Elkins saga;  down to the the late night visits and the phone call from the Casualty Physician on duty and Celia's tragic story.

   "How the blo..." Japp started to swear when Poirot reminded him, with a pointing finger, that Miss Lemon was in her office.

  Apologizing in a whisper, Japp insisted on knowing, "Why wasn't I told about this?"

   "You were the one who told me, Assistant Commissioner, that since Celia was married to Henry Elkins, we could not intervene. So I said nothing.  I merely did what I could when Madame Elkins came to me at ungodly hours of the morning,  when her husband would get intoxicated and violent.  In fact,"  Poirot conceded.  "I have been tempted to tell you, but the late night visits have left my memory in less than ideal condition. I ask your forgiveness."

   Japp couldn't argue Poirot's statement about not being able to intervene, minus request.  "Still, she asked you...."

   "No,"  Poirot shook his head. "Until yesterday,  she came to me only as a temporary sanctuary.  Even with the cut lip and black eye and assorted other injuries, Madame Celia, she would not break trust with her husband until he betrayed her, by paying a woman to destroy their unborn child. Now, she is in the safety of the hospital, no doubt in the company of her parents.  And more good news. Once the newspaper reporters hear of this new story, they will put two and two together."

   "And get twelve."  Japp took a final swig of the warmed coffee.

  Hercule Poirot smiled briefly.  "All the better.  I do not care whether the stories are true, only that they cause the not-so-Honorable Monsieur Elkins as much displeasure as possible.  After the pain he caused Madame Elkins;  paying a woman to torture his wife; ripping her child out of her body.  He killed her sister.  I want Monsieur Elkins to suffer all the scandal that is due him; til his political career, it is dust at his feet."

   This was a side of Poirot James Japp had not seen before. He wasn't just angry, he sounded utterly vengeful.  Out for blood.

    "Remind me never to antagonize you."  Japp said, only half joking.

   Before Poirot could answer, Miss Lemon paced into Poirot's office.  "There's a call for you, Mr. Poirot.  A man."

   "Doctor Dourif."  Poirot guessed.

    "No. This man sounds rather upset."

     "Merci."  Poirot got up from his place at the breakfast table and went to his desk. Picking up the telephone receiver.  Hardly a minute later, he had all but slumped in his chair.  "Oh, mon Dieu.  I am so sorry."  He cleared his throat. "I thought... "  He stopped himself, recalling what the doctor said.  "Please, Monsieur Watson,  let me know if there is anything you need.  Should you need assistance with the....service."  Poirot cleared his throat. "Yes. Thank you for passing this most difficult information.

   Hanging up,  Hercule Poirot stood up and stared out the window.

   Getting up from his place at the breakfast table, Japp approached the detective's desk.  "Poirot? Was that about ....?"

    "Internal bleeding,"  he said, in what seemed like he didn't hear what Japp asked. coughing into his fisted hand to hold off the  emotional impact of the news.  "Celia's father, he was kind enough to call, heart-broken as he is."  He continued, as if he was only reminding himself, aloud, of a previous conversation.  Continuing to fix his attention to the random activity outside his window. "The doctor said this was possible, and yet I was certain, as long as she was in the hospital, and away from Henry Elkins, she would be safe."

   "At least you tried."  Miss Lemon said. "You made every effort to help.  She didn't accept it in time."

                                 ~~~~

  Those words repeated themselves in Poirot's mind; "She didn't accept it in time."   Miss Lemon's words were not only well-meaning, they were true.  He did try to help; pleading with the poor, love sick girl to go back to her parents;  ANYWHERE but where she was.  Those pleadings only drove her back to the very man she needed to be away from.

   That fact robbed Poirot of sleep until he turned on his left bedside lamp, went into the drawer of his bedside table and took out his prayer book.  Usually, this would be recited as he thumbed through his Rosary, but this wasn't a set situation.  He wouldn't be praying as part of a routine but because he desperately needed help. Answers.  COULD he have done more?

   Again, Miss Lemon's words came to him. However, like with Celia's difficulty in accepting help when she needed it, Hercule Poirot was having a hard time believing that he HAD done ALL he could to help.

                                ~~~~~

      By the day of the funeral, the phrase stopped repeating itself in Poirot's mind.  It was replaced by a knowledge that the killer of Celia Watson-Elkins and her unborn child was missing.  According to the information Japp called in, Elkins office at the Parliament  had not seen him in a few days and friends he associated with at work couldn't reach him.

   While Poirot felt a measure of sympathy for Elkins' housekeeping staff, who were not likely to receive their due pay packets, he could not find so much as an ounce of sympathy in him, for the man who killed two women and paid for the murder of his unborn child. 

   Recalling how Virginie mourned the loss of their child brought a lump to Poirot's throat, all these years later. The very idea that a man could, so casually,  risk his wife's life while disposing of a child with no more thought than he would give to tossing a candy bar wrapper into a rubbish bin.  "Please, God, forgive me, but there has to be a deep dark place in HELL for such unspeakable fiends!"

    Listening to the sobbing of Celia's mother, one row in front at the church, Poirot couldn't help but wonder if that poor distraught woman and her husband were thinking; Nay!  WISHING the same thing!  And who could blame them if they were?

  Should Henry Elkins'  body be found, floating, face down, in the Thames River,  Poirot could imagine himself saying,  "The man's just dessert, it has been served."

    The night after the funeral, Poirot packed for his two week vacation with his friends. 

                               ~~~
    By the time the train stopped,  it took all the will power Hercule Poirot possessed NOT to hop off the train and rush to meet Hastings,  who he'd seen and waved to,  a good ten feet back. Two things prevented him;  the first of which was that he was no longer thirty and mere hopping was out of the question.   Secondly,  by the time Poirot was able to disembark,  Hastings had already met up.

    The friends hugged and then talked as they went to retrieve Poirot's luggage.

    "As cases went, Hastings,"  Poirot said as they loaded the trunk and the back seat of his now bigger car.  "the murder of sisters Rhoda and Celia Elkins,  the deaths of their unborn children and, to date, the missing Parliament counselor Peter Elkins;  I recall no other assignment so distressing...."

  Hastings, who was within weeks of fatherhood, shuddered. Poirot apologized for his tactlessness.

   "Difficult as it's been, old boy, I trust this respite will be just the remedy you need."

   The sight of a very pregnant Isabel, and the feeling of tiny kicks in the palm of his hand did Hercule Poirot all the good in the world.