The Killings at Kingfisher Hill by Sophie Hannah

Author:Sophie Hannah [Hannah, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-07-17T17:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Helen Acton

Holloway was as dismal as ever. The advantage of visiting with Poirot was that we were treated like royalty and shown immediately to a comfortable, well-appointed room in which coffee of a surprisingly good quality was provided, along with a plate of biscuits of varying levels of appeal. Some were symmetrical and biscuit-coloured; others were misshapen and of a greyish hue. Poirot and I both avoided one that looked as if it had an indentation in it from a thumb or large finger. I thought nostalgically of the scones baked by Marcus Capeling’s wife, and of the fool I had been yesterday to imagine that one might consume too many of them.

Helen Acton was brought to us by two prison guards. I noticed at once that she was not bound, handcuffed or constrained in any way. She smiled at us—a smile that was demure and moderate, welcoming and cautious—as she entered the room and sat in the chair that we had set out for her. Before leaving us alone with her, one of the guards said, ‘Open the door when you’re finished. I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t worry, Miss Acton won’t give you any trouble.’ As he said this, he grinned at her and his expression seemed to me to contain a great deal of respect. She responded to him with a smile.

I was surprised. Female prisoners, on the whole, were treated poorly and often with great brutality by male prison employees. It was one of the many things I hated to witness inside institutions such as this one, and it gave me a convenient opening for our conversation with Helen Acton. ‘You seem to be on friendly terms with the guards here,’ I said.

‘Yes, they treat me well,’ she replied. Her hair was dark brown and cut in a short, plain style. She had a kindly, intelligent face with a large forehead and round brown eyes that were alert and watchful. Her clothing was as plain as the attire of women prisoners all over England.

‘You are lucky, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot. ‘You have received news of the postponement of your execution?’

‘I have,’ she said.

‘And you know the cause?’

‘Yes. Daisy has confessed to killing Frank.’ She leaned forward. ‘M. Poirot, she did not kill him. I did. You must do all that you can to protect Daisy.’

‘If she is innocent, why did she confess?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. Why would she do such a thing? I can think of no reason.’ She spoke as if the three of us were jointly charged with solving the puzzle. ‘It cannot be to save my life—Daisy and I are … well, we are strangers. She might have been Frank’s sister but I did not know her. She has no reason to wish to save the life of the woman who killed the brother she adored, so why does she insist upon this lie?’ She looked from me to Poirot. ‘It is very important to me to know. Will you find out for me, M.

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