“ ‘Well, at any rate, I shall get my golf,’ said George, and he went off with the kindliest feelings toward Zarida, the Reader of the Future.
“On his return to the house, he found Mrs. Pritchard in a state of great agitation. She was, as usual, lying on her invalid couch, and she had a bottle of smelling salts in her hand which she sniffed at frequent intervals.
“ ‘George,’ she exclaimed. ‘What did I tell you about this house? The moment I came into it, I felt there was something wrong! Didn’t I tell you so at the time?’
“Repressing his desire to reply, ‘You always do,’ George said, ‘No, can’t say I remember it.’
“ ‘You never do remember anything that has to do with me. Men are all extraordinarily callous — but I really believe that you are even more insensitive than most.’
“ ‘Oh, come now, Mary dear, that’s not fair.’
“ ‘Well, as I was telling you, this woman knew at once! She — she actually blenched — if you know what I mean — as she came in at that door, and she said, “There is evil here — evil and danger. I feel it.” ’
“Very unwisely George laughed.
“ ‘Well, you have had your money’s worth this afternoon.’
“His wife closed her eyes and took a long sniff from her smelling-bottle.
“ ‘How you hate me! You would jeer and laugh if I were dying.’
“George protested and after a minute or two she went on.
“ ‘You may laugh, but I shall tell you the whole thing. This house is definitely dangerous to me — the woman said so.’
“George’s formerly kind feeling toward Zarida underwent a change. He knew his wife was perfectly capable of insisting on moving to a new house if the caprice got hold of her.
“ ‘What else did she say?’ he asked.
“ ‘She couldn’t tell me very much. She was so upset. One thing she did say. I had some violets in a glass. She pointed at them and cried out. ‘Take those away. No blue flowers — never have blue flowers. Blue flowers are fatal to you — remember that.’
“ ‘And you know,’ added Mrs. Pritchard, ‘I always have told you that blue as a color is repellent to me. I feel a natural instinctive sort of warning against it.’
“George was much too wise to remark that he had never heard her say so before. Instead, he asked what the mysterious Zarida was like. Mrs. Pritchard entered with gusto upon a description.
“ ‘Black hair in coiled knobs over her ears — her eyes were half closed — great black rims round them — she had a black veil over her mouth and chin — she spoke in a kind of singing voice with a marked foreign accent — Spanish, I think—’
“ ‘In fact, all the usual stock-in-trade,’ said George cheerfully.
“His wife immediately closed her eyes.
“ ‘I feel extremely ill,” she said. ‘Ring for nurse. Unkindness upsets me, as you know only too well.’
“It was two days later that Nurse Copling came to George with a grave face.
“ ‘Will you come to Mrs. Pritchard, please. She has had a letter which upsets her greatly.’
“He found his wife with the letter in her hand. She held it out to him.
“ ‘Read it,’ she said.
“George read it. It was on heavily scented paper, and the writing was big and black.
“ ‘I have seen the Future. Be warned before it is too late. Beware of the full moon. The Blue Primrose means Warning; the Blue Hollyhock; means Danger; the Blue Geranium means Death...’
“Just about to burst out laughing George caught Nurse Copling’s eye. She made a quick warning gesture. He said rather awkardly, ‘The woman’s probably trying to frighten you, Mary. Anyway, there aren’t such things as blue primroses and blue geraniums.’
“But Mrs. Pritchard began to cry and say her days were numbered. Nurse Copling came out with George upon the landing.
“ ‘Of all the silly tomfoolery,’ he burst out.
“ ‘I suppose it is.’
“Something in the nurse’s tone struck him, and he stared at her in amazement.
“ ‘Surely, nurse, you don’t believe—”
“ ‘No, no, Mr. Pritchard. I don’t believe in reading the future — that’s nonsense. What puzzles me is the meaning of this. Fortune-tellers are usually out for what they can get. But this woman seems to be frightening Mrs. Pritchard with no advantage to herself. I can’t see the point. There’s another thing—’
“ ‘Yes?’
“ ‘Mrs. Pritchard says that something about Zarida was faintly familiar to her.’
“ ‘Well?’
“ ‘Well, I don’t like it, Mr. Pritchard, that’s all.’
“ ‘I didn’t know you were so superstitious, nurse.’
“ ‘I’m not superstitious; but I know when a thing is fishy.’
“It was about four days after this that the first incident happened. To explain it to you, I shall have to describe Mrs. Pritchard’s room—”
“You’d better let me do that,” interrupted Mrs. Bantry. “It was papered with one of these new wallpapers where you apply clumps of flowers to make a kind of herbaceous border. The effect is almost like being in a garden — though, of course, the flowers are all wrong; I mean they simply couldn’t be in bloom all at the same time—”
“Don’t let a passion for horticultural accuracy run away with you, Dolly,” said her husband. “We all know you’re an enthusiastic gardener.”
“Well, it is absurd,” protested Mrs. Bantry. “To have bluebells and daffodils and lupins and hollyhocks and Michaelmas daisies all grouped into a tangle together.”
“Most unscientific,” said Colonel Bantry. “But to proceed with the story... Among these massed flowers were primroses — clumps of yellow and pink primroses. Well, one morning Mrs. Pritchard rang her bell violently and the household came running — thought she was in extremis. But not at all. She was terribly excited and pointing to the wallpaper; and there sure enough was one blue primrose in the midst of the others...”
“Oh,” said Miss Helier, “how creepy!”
“The question was: Hadn’t the blue primrose always been there? That was George’s suggestion and the nurse’s. But Mrs. Pritchard wouldn’t have it. She had never noticed it till that very morning and the night before had been full moon. She was very upset about it.”
“I met George Pritchard that same day and he told me about it,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I went to see Mrs. Pritchard and did my best to ridicule the whole thing; but without success. I came away really concerned, and I remember I met Jean Instow and told her about it. Jean is a queer girl. She said, “So she’s really upset about it?” I told her that I thought the woman was perfectly capable of dying of fright, that she was really abnormally superstitious.
“I remember Jean rather startled me with what she said next. She said, ‘Well, that might be all for the best, mightn’t it?’ And she said it so coolly, in so matter-of-fact a tone that I was really — well, shocked. Of course, I know it’s done nowadays — to be brutal and outspoken; but I never get used to it. Jean smiled at me rather oddly and said, ‘You don’t like my saying that — but it’s true. What use is Mrs. Pritchard’s life to her? None at all; and it’s hell for George Pritchard. To have his wife frightened out of existence would be the best thing that could happen to him.’ I said, ‘George is most awfully good to her always.’ And she said, ‘Yes, he deserves a reward, poor dear. He’s a very attractive person, George Pritchard. The last nurse thought so — the pretty one — what was her name? Carstairs. That was the cause of the row between her and Mrs. P.’