Family Ties~Chapter 5~ 💔 Cutting Ties✂️

   The next day,  before he occupied himself with the business at hand,  Poirot put Miss Lemon on the track of locating Celia Watson's parents.

   "Not an easy chore, I realize.  I might as well have asked you to search for the proverbial needle ...."

    "On the contrary, Mr. Poirot,  it's quite easy."  Felicity Lemon replied, as she sat at a chair, to the right of her employer's desk, with a notepad and pencil.

   "How so?"

    "The newspapers, Mr. Poirot.  The story on the death of Rhoda Elkins was a big deal and reporters just about badgered the poor girl's parents until they gave a statement.  I keep articles of high prominence on file, just in case...."

   "Merci. Thank heaven someone around here is thinking today.   Please, if I may read..."

   As if he had to ask.  Miss Lemon left the stenography pad and pencil on the side of the desk and returned, hardly a minute later, with the newspaper article, which she presented to him.

   "Is there something wrong, Mr. Poirot?  You seem....distracted, for lack of a better word."

   "Tired, my friend, would be a better word.  The Assistant Commissioner and myself, we  were summoned to the home of the newly married Celia Watson-Elkins at the unholy hour of two o'clock in the morning."

   "Good heavens!  What in the world for?"

  Poirot got up from his desk and paced around the room.  "The newly married Mrs. Elkins called me in near hysterics and begged me to come over and rescue her from a man who was going to kill her.  So I called the Assist...."  Poirot stopped pacing long enough to correct himself. "No, that is not true.  I called Scotland Yard for assistance.  The officer who took the call, he called Assistant Commissioner Japp.  Neither one of us was very happy to be summoned from our beds at such an hour.  And even less so when the formerly terrified Mrs. Elkins informed us that she had exaggerated the situation and that all, it was well."

   "But you didn't believe her?"

    "I arrived at the house to find Mrs. Elkins sitting on the couch with her husband. One eye was bruised and swollen to where she could not open it, and her lip had been cut.  An ice pack had been applied to stop the bleeding, and the woman, she apologized to Japp and myself for taking us out of our homes for, as she so inappropriately phrased it,  'nothing'." 

   "Good Lord." Felicity Lemon shook her head. 

    "Let us hope He is listening.  I prayed til I fell asleep, that this poor woman will see the 'Honorable'  Henry Elkins for what he is before she ends up like her sister."

   "So you believe Rhoda Elkins was killed?"   Felicity Lemon asked.

   Staring out the window behind his desk, Hercule Poirot only nodded. "The matter before us now, Miss Lemon," he sighed, fighting against his darkest imaginings. "is getting Madame Celia to believe it."

                         ~~~~

    A new case, involving a will and a missing teenage girl occupied Poirot's time and attention.  The niggling worry that Celia was in danger by the very man who may well have killed her sister,  was pushed to the back of his mind.  with any luck, he would not hear from Celia again and Hercule would accept the possibility that he might have been wrong about Counselor Henry Elkins.  He decided that option was better than what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be true.

  His renowned intuition was proven right. Once again, though, the timing was less-than-ideal as the phone's ringing cut into his dreams.

    "He...hello?"  Poirot mumbled, half asleep.  The alarm clock read five-thirty in the morning.

    "Mr. Poirot, this is Amos. The doorman. Sorry for calling at this hour but there's a lady here in rather rough shape. She said she needs to see you."

   Poirot sat up, sliding his feet into his slippers, as per his routine. "Rough shape?"

   "Bloody, busted nose, that I can tell. She's got a handkerchief covering her face.  Ripped dress. Good nick on her forehead. Can I send her up?"

    "Did she give a name?"

      "Hold on please."   Amos put a hand over the mouthpiece but Poirot could still make out the brief exchange. When Amos returned his attention to the phone conversation,  he told Poirot,  "Cecila....No, sorry,  it's Celia."

    "Merci Dieu,"  Poirot whispered.  "Please, Amos, escort her up."

    "Yes, sir.  Sorry, again,  for wak..."

    "Do not worry, Amos.  Just lead Madame Celia to the suite. I will give you further instructions. Do keep this information in confidence."

   Upon hanging up,  Poirot got into his housecoat and quickly wrote a note that he put into an envelope , along with five pounds. Not custom he held to but this was an exceptional circumstance.  Please God, he would be able to persuade Madame Elkins to leave her brute of a husband.

     Sealing the envelope with a dabber Miss Lemon bought for him, (no doubt fatigued with his carping about the taste of envelope glue) Poirot tucked the envelope in his pocket and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on for some tea.  While he mentally debated whether or not to make his coffee, a knock disrupted the internal argument and Poirot left the kitchen to answer the door.  Coffee would have to wait.

    The sight that met Poirot  upon opening the door pushed any thought of coffee, tea or socializing to one side.  The doorman, Amos, supported young Celia, whose nose was caked with dried blood, as was the  handkerchief she clutched. 

  Opening the door wide, Poirot ushered his doorman and Celia into the suite and then lead the way into the living room / office and the couch where he went to the hall closet and brought back a blanket to keep the woman warm and cover over the rip in her dress, that exposed her right breast.  Then he headed to the bathroom where he ran water and came back with a damp face cloth which he carefully dabbed over the long scrape on the young woman's forehead.

    "Now, you hold,  to your forehead, that cloth and I will prepare a cup of tea or coffee. Then we will take a cab to the hosp..."

    "No,"  Celia Elkins shook her head and spoke for the first time since she was brought into the suite.  "No, no.  I don't need a ...."  Her voice was a bit fuddled,  like one who'd just been awakened. "a hospital. No."

    "Ma'am,"  Amos spoke up, facing her.  "You're in a bad way. Dizzy. You have a nasty gash on your head and a fat lip, along with your bloody nose."

    "Accident.  Just ...an accident."   Celia's tone was becoming defensive and neither Poirot or the doorman could make sense of why this poor, disheveled woman did not want medical help.

    "Thank you, thank you, Amos."  Poirot ushered the doorman to the entryway and slipped him the envelope containing the money and the note.

    With Amos gone, Poirot returned to the living room and asked,  "Would you like coffee or tea?"

    "Tea, please,"  Celia sighed with relief.  At least this kind man would offer her sanctuary without submitting her to some third degree.  "I like your dressing gown.  Very colorful."

    Poirot smiled, "As do I.  A colleague, Captain Hastings insists it's TOO ...vivid.  He is amazed I can sleep after looking at it."

    Poirot excused himself to go and turn the kettle on.  When he returned,  he found Celia standing and looking at pictures.  "You can lose yourself in these scenes.  I like paintings where you can almost imagine yourself in that place."

    "Is that where you want to be?"  The detective asked, fighting every urge he possessed, to hand over a hundred pounds if it would get Celia back to her parents.

   "Right now,  yes.  I seem to be doing all the wrong things lately but I don't know what."  Celia resumed her place on the sofa.

   "I thought tonight...that is to say Last night, things would be different.  Henry is on the shortlist of potential mayoral candidates and there was a party at this mansion to celebrate 'the new order'  as some of the big wigs call it." Celia shrugged her confusion at that logo and continued.  "All I knew was that Henry was in high spirits and he indulged me every which way.  I went shopping and got this dress, which was a lot more beautiful hours ago and matching shoes."

    Poirot glanced down at the slippered feet of his early morning guest. They were nice but hardly matching to the thing of beauty her Aqua Marine gown once resembled. At best, they could be called, 'Cozy'.

   Celia glanced down at the direction her host's eyes followed.  "Oh, no. These are just house slippers.  I took off my shoes the second I got into the house. Beautiful as they were, I didn't take into account how long I'd be standing, and dancing, in them."

    The kettle whistled in the kitchen and Poirot invited Celia to follow him.  The kitchen was neat, small-ish but big enough to cook a proper meal and host...two people at the small table.  For now, it hosted Poirot,  Celia,  and a cup of tea,  and a matching cream pitcher and sugar bowl as well as a small plate with four chocolate biscuits.

    "Thank you."  Celia said, adding a lump of sugar and what amounted to two dots of cream, stirred the tea and sipped. "Nice."  She took a chocolate biscuit and dipped it into the cup.  Once upon a time, such a habit would not have appealed to Poirot's near obsessive penchant for tidiness.  In his years dealing with the public, however  he found himself becoming either more tolerant of others' odd habits or he learned to prioritize between what people needed and put the cause first.  Crumbs could wait.

  "You're not going to have anything?"  Celia said as soon as she swallowed her very early morning treat.

   "It is too early for me. But not to worry.  You need something pleasant.  By the time you are finished, I hope to be able to persuade you to see a doc...."

  Celia sipped her tea and reiterated her refusal; shaking her head for punctuation. "No. No, Mr. Poirot.  That is out of the question.  If a doctor suspects what's going on there would be an horrific scandal if he were to speak to the wrong person. And then, what if I accidentally let something slip?  Either way....."

   "On that topic most appropriate, your sister did not SLIP down the stairs,"  Poirot spoke up. "she was pushed. She was pushed down a long flight of stairs and was killed, along with her unborn child.  Do you want that to happen to you?"

   Hercule Poirot found himself pleading with this young woman as a father would beg his daughter to keep away from the town bully, who she was certain she could reform with enough love.

   "It WON'T!"  Celia insisted. Her words were emphatic and yet Poirot heard a tinge of doubt in her denial.  "If I had to guess, I'd say that I irritated Henry when I danced with the out-going mayor. He asked and Henry was fine with it.  He only teased,  " 'Bring her back when you're finished,  Luke. Remember, you're married.' "  Celia recalled complete with a vocal impersonation of her husband,  down to his laugh.  "Mind you, he was sober when he said it."  Celia said before she sipped on her tea.

   There it was. A key source of  the marital consternation.  Booze.

   Risking offending his guest,  Hercule Poirot asked, "Was he drunk when he hit you the last time?"

     "When I called you over to the house in a blind panic;  worrying he was going to kick the door down?  Yes.  It started in fun, our little....game.  I didn't notice or even care too much about how much he had to drink until something I said apparently antagonized him. I didn't see it coming,  he just hauled off and slapped me.  You might not think of a slap as causing much impact, but if you'd..."

   "The size of the hands,"  Poirot finished the thought. "they dictate the impact of  injury.  That, and how angry the one with the big hands happens to be."

    "I'm learning, Mr. Poirot, that Henry Elkins and liquor don't mix well.  There's no way of predic..."


    "For  the time present, madame, that is not so important as getting you to a safe place. Do you have the money for a hotel ,  or perhaps the Bed and Breakfast? Though I do wish you would  let me accompany you to a hospital or even to Scotland Yard, to report...." 

   Again came the emphatic shake of her head. "And cause even more trouble?  No thank you.  Even if  it was possible, I'm hardly about to make bad situation worse."

    "Not possible?  Why would it NOT be?"

      "Because I'm married to him, Mr. Poirot, as you well know."

    "That makes you Counselor Elkins' WIFE, not his property."  Poirot explained.

    "Tell that to England's lawmakers, Mr. Poirot. As long as I'm married to Henry Elkins,  the law is on his side."

    Hercule Poirot shook his head, utterly puzzled.   Why on earth, or anywhere else for that matter, would a woman stay with a man who mistreated her?   "Does this mean you will leave him?"

    Celia stared into the tea cup she'd finished drinking from,  completely unsure of what to say because she genuinely didn't know what she wanted to do.  "You will think I'm a fool of the first order, Mr. Poirot, but I love my husband.  I LIKE him more when he's not drunk and hostile,  but I do love him! "

   Setting down the tea cup, Celia folded  the blanket and handed it back. "You have been the most kind host, Mr. Poirot.  More patient than I would be, in your place.  Anyway,  I'm sure Henry's asleep.  I'll kip on the sofa and tell him I've been there all night and that'll be that."

    "Until....,"  Poirot cleared his throat.  "until the next time."

    Celia's smile was brief but sincere. She was genuinely touched by Mr. Poirot's kindness. No doubt, that was the reason she found herself at his home. Likewise, however, she realized she could not continue inflicting herself into his life; and at the most inconvenient hours.   "I'll do my best to make sure there isn't a 'next time' .  Failing that, I'll just have to deal with whatever happens when it happens. Thank you."

      Celia headed out of the kitchen, down the hall and out the door before Poirot could respond.  He was mulling over in his mind the words of this blindly adoring woman even as his logic debated it.  She was risking her life for a man who didn't truly love her.

    By the time police arrived, Celia was long gone.

     "Hate to say it, Mr. Poirot,"  one constable, a man about Japp's age, said. "but she's right.  She married him and she obviously wants to stay with him or she'd still be here."

     "And what would you have done?"  Poirot asked. "As you said, if the law is on the side of Counselor Elkins, or any other man,  what good would reporting it do?"

   "It wouldn't do Counselor Elkins' reputation no ...."

     Hercule Poirot sighed heavily.  "If you let this information be known, as I was so foolish to divulge ,  heaven alone knows that harm that might be done to Madame Celia."

   Poirot finally went back to bed, but his mind wouldn't let him sleep right away.  In a way, he was thankful for the apathetic officers. If they didn't follow through on the call, then Counselor Elkins would not be told. Miracle of miracles,  he would believe that Celia had slept on the sofa and she WOULD find a way to put an end to the abuse.

    "...Mon Cher Dieu, please!  Keep her safe."  were the last words he recalled hearing before dozing off.