Read Online Taken at the Flood by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online

brief instant all the long hours of thought and worry and vague planning flashed again across her brain.
    Sell the house—(But move where? There weren’t any small houses on the market—certainly not any cheap houses). Take paying guests—(But you couldn’t get staff—and she simply couldn’t—she just couldn’t deal with all the cooking and housework involved. If Lynn helped—but Lynn was going to marry Rowley). Live with Rowley and Lynn herself? (No, she’d never do that!) Get a job. What job? Who wanted an untrained elderly tired-out woman?
    She heard her voice, belligerent because she despised herself.
    â€œI mean money,” she said.
    â€œMoney?” said Rosaleen.
    She sounded ingenuously surprised, as though money was the last thing she expected to be mentioned.
    Adela went on doggedly, tumbling the words out:
    â€œI’m overdrawn at the bank, and I owe bills—repairs to the house—and the rates haven’t been paid yet. You see, everything’s halved—my income, I mean. I suppose it’s taxation. Gordon, you see, used to help. With the house, I mean. He did all the repairs and the roof and painting and things like that. And an allowance as well. He paid it into the bank every quarter. He always said not to worry and of course I never did. I mean, it was all right when he was alive, but now—”
    She stopped. She was ashamed—but at the same time relieved. After all, the worst was over. If the girl refused, she refused, and that was that.
    Rosaleen was looking very uncomfortable.
    â€œOh, dear,” she said. “I didn’t know. I never thought…I—well, of course, I’ll ask David….”
    Grimly gripping the sides of her chair, Adela said, desperately:
    â€œCouldn’t you give me a cheque—now….”
    â€œYes—yes, I suppose I could.” Rosaleen, looking startled, got up, went to the desk. She hunted in various pigeonholes and finally produced a chequebook. “Shall I—how much?”
    â€œWould—would five hundred pounds—” Adela broke off.
    â€œFive hundred pounds,” Rosaleen wrote obediently.
    A load slipped off Adela’s back. After all, it had been easy! She was dismayed as it occurred to her that it was less gratitude that shefelt than a faint scorn for the easiness of her victory! Rosaleen was surely strangely simple.
    The girl rose from the writing desk and came across to her. She held out the cheque awkwardly. The embarrassment seemed now entirely on her side.
    â€œI hope this is all right. I’m really so sorry—”
    Adela took the cheque. The unformed childish hand straggled across the pink paper. Mrs. Marchmont. Five hundred pounds £500. Rosaleen Cloade.
    â€œIt’s very good of you, Rosaleen. Thank you.”
    â€œOh please—I mean—I ought to have thought —”
    â€œ Very good of you, my dear.”
    With the cheque in her handbag Adela Marchmont felt a different woman. The girl had really been very sweet about it. It would be embarrassing to prolong the interview. She said goodbye and departed. She passed David in the drive, said “Good morning” pleasantly, and hurried on.

Six
    â€œW hat was the Marchmont woman doing here?” demanded David as soon as he got in.
    â€œOh, David. She wanted money dreadfully badly. I’d never thought—”
    â€œAnd you gave it her, I suppose.”
    He looked at her in half-humorous despair.
    â€œYou’re not to be trusted alone, Rosaleen.”
    â€œOh, David, I couldn’t refuse. After all—”
    â€œAfter all—what? How much?”
    In a small voice Rosaleen murmured, “Five hundred pounds.”
    To her relief David laughed.
    â€œA mere fleabite!”
    â€œOh, David, it’s a lot of money.”
    â€œNot to us nowadays, Rosaleen. You never really seem to grasp that you’re a very rich woman. All the