Day Three after the Disappearance
Monday, December 6, 1926
Styles, Sunningdale, England
How long has Kenward been waiting? Archie wonders as he spies the constable through the window, pacing the front hall of Styles. As he pulls the Delage alongside the drive, past the reporters camped out on the lawn, he considers whether the constable received word of his attempt to go over his head to Scotland Yard, despite Reynolds’s promise to the contrary. Girding himself with his litany of righteous defenses and ignoring the reporters calling out his name, he opens the door to Styles and steps into his entryway.
“Colonel Christie,” Kenward greets him with an odd smile. There is another man, outfitted in a black policeman’s uniform but of a different design than Kenward’s men, standing to the left.
“Yes, Deputy Chief Constable?”
“There has been an interesting development. But before we discuss it, I’d like to introduce you to my counterpart from the Berkshire Constabulary, Superintendent Charles Goddard. I mentioned to you earlier that he’d be sharing leadership of this operation.” He gestures toward the other man. Not quite dismissively but not quite respectfully either. It is clear that Kenward believes himself to be in charge.
As Archie shakes hands with the new officer, his mind is on this “interesting development” Kenward mentioned. What is it? Has Kenward discovered more about his relationship with Nancy through his incessant baiting of the press?
Archie notices that this Goddard is meticulously dressed, finding his neatly pressed uniform, with its knife-edge crease along the pants, a welcome break from Kenward’s slapdash attire. When Goddard removes his hat, Archie notices that the constable’s near-black hair is as tidily tended to as his uniform. This similarity to his own grooming habits calms him and gives him hope that this policeman might be more inclined toward him than Kenward. More inclined to believe him innocent, that is.
“So what’s this development?” he asks both men, trying not to sound overly concerned though possibly eager for news about his wife’s whereabouts.
Ignoring Goddard altogether, Kenward says, “Seems your brother has received a letter from your wife.”
How peculiar, Archie thinks. The two have always had a pleasant relationship, but surely he must have misheard Kenward. “My brother?”
Kenward consults his ever-present notepad. “Captain Campbell Christie, instructor at the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich. He is your brother, is he not?”
“Yes, he is,” Archie answers guardedly.
“You don’t seem particularly happy about this communique,” Kenward observes.
“It’s, it’s just that—” Archie searches for an explanation. “I’m surprised. That’s all.”
“Was your wife not in the habit of writing letters to your brother? Is that why you’re surprised?” Kenward launches into questions before Archie can even ask about the letter’s content.
“She did not have a regular habit of corresponding with him that I’m aware of. Except perhaps the odd invitation to dinner or something along those lines.”
“Would she address her letters to his place of work or home?”
“I cannot say, given that she had no such habit to contact him at all. But if I had to venture a guess, I assume that she would address correspondence to his home.”
“So this letter from your wife to your brother—if such a letter in fact existed—would be doubly strange, not only in the fact of its writing but in that Captain Christie told us that the letter was delivered to his office. Triply strange, actually, if you think about the fact that she wrote a letter to your brother, not you, her husband.”
Kenward’s words send a momentary sense of relief through Archie; he still hasn’t heard about the letter Agatha left him. This realization preoccupies his thoughts until Goddard clears his throat, presumably at the inappropriate comment from Kenward. Or perhaps Goddard objects to Kenward’s tone? The deputy chief constable seems oblivious to Goddard’s signals, because he rambles on.
“Apparently Captain Christie was unaware of your wife’s disappearance, so when he received a letter from her at his place of work yesterday, he did not think much of it. But when he saw the newspapers today, he reached out to your mother, Mrs. Hemsley, and told her. Curious…” he says.
Archie is irritated that his mother chose to discuss his personal business with his brother, and he is troubled by this peculiar letter from Agatha to Campbell. Why would she write to him? It’s not as if they were particularly close. And upon what did this strange letter focus?
Flustered at this turn of events, Archie instinctively asks, “What’s curious?”
“That your brother didn’t reach out to you directly to inform you about the letter,” Kenward answers, delighted that Archie took his little bait.
Archie could smack himself for walking directly into Kenward’s trap on that question. “My brother and I are not in any usual habit of communication, but he does speak with my mother regularly. I presume that he wanted to speak with her first about it. There’s nothing curious about that.” Archie redirects the conversation, asking, “How did you find all this out? I spoke with my mother early this morning, and she didn’t mention it.”
“Mrs. Hemsley rang my office late this morning when she could not reach you. I gather you were out?” he asks with a single raised eyebrow.
He knows about Scotland Yard, Archie thinks. Kenward’s gesture telegraphs his feelings about Archie’s visit to London, but what does this more inscrutable Goddard think? Will Archie be somehow punished for trying to go around the local authorities to Scotland Yard?
“What did the letter say?” Archie asks the expected question.
“Your brother said your wife made some reference to visiting a spa for ill health. But it’s strange,” Kenward comments and then pauses for a long moment. Archie will not be lured into inquiring again, so Kenward is forced to continue. “He threw out the letter, so we don’t know what she actually wrote. We only have his word for it—and his recollection.”
“I suppose it makes sense that he wouldn’t keep it, as he didn’t know she was missing.”
“True enough. Although he did make a point to keep the envelope in which the letter was posted. It’s all very peculiar.” He stares at Archie. “Perhaps your Friday morning argument is the reason for her feeling ill?”
Archie chooses to treat this as a rhetorical question. “What did the postmark show?”
“That the letter was postmarked at 9:45 a.m. on Saturday morning in the SW1 area of London, which means that it had been posted sometime in the early hours of Saturday. It suggests that she was alive and well on Saturday morning.”
Archie tries to tamp down his annoyance at his brother’s interference, likely prompted by his mother. The word stalwart from that damn letter his wife left him comes into his mind, and he tries to follow its directive: You will have to be stalwart, even when the road is rocky. In an effort to react as a worried husband might and yet still draw Kenward’s attention away from his thought about the existence of other letters, he says, “But it’s wonderful news, isn’t it? It shows that my wife is fine somewhere, perhaps even London. And we can stop this terrible search through the fields and forests.” He thinks but does not say that perhaps it will deter the reporters as well. Without the possibility of a gory body to find in the fields, maybe the story of Agatha’s disappearance will be less intriguing to them.
Kenward opens his mouth in protest, but Goddard inserts himself into the conversation. Finally. “You’re right, Colonel, this is a positive development, and it must be a massive relief to you. But we haven’t seen the letter, and we cannot be certain whether your wife wrote and posted it or someone did so on her behalf.” Goddard turns to Archie and says, “I don’t mean to upset you, sir, but we’ve got to think it through. Isn’t it possible that the letter was posted much earlier and postmarked later? And isn’t it also possible that Mrs. Christie entrusted someone else to post the letter? I was happy to see that this letter has come to light, but I’m not certain it’s dispositive on the timeline or on her whereabouts. Until we ascertain these facts—and actually locate her—we will have to continue with the search. It’s standard protocol.”
Even though this Goddard delivers the unpleasant news that the search will not cease—with all the attendant press coverage it generates—he shares it with a softer touch than Kenward. As if he thinks there might be a chance Agatha is still alive. As if, unlike Kenward, he hasn’t already decided that Archie murdered his wife.