Chapter 60 – Agatha All Along (2)

Dame Agatha Christie.

The Queen of Crime.

As her nickname suggests, she, along with Conan Doyle, remains a symbol of the detective novel genre itself in modern times.

And Then There Were None, Murder on the Orient Express, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, The Mousetrap, and many more. She wrote over 80 detective novels during her lifetime, each one more than a masterpiece.

Moreover, her contributions to literature include the closed circle, where crimes occur in isolated settings like a mountain lodge, the Poirot finale, where all the suspects are gathered for the grand reveal, and most notably, the narrative tricks she crafted with unparalleled elegance. These didn't just influence detective novels; they made a mark on modern literature as well.

Even genres far removed from detective fiction have been influenced by her countless times. That alone says it all.

Even I, clumsily as it may be, have tried to incorporate Agatha Christie-style narrative tricks into my stories.

And yet, if you still don't grasp how extraordinary she was, this one phrase should suffice:

'The author who sold the most novels in history.'

But to think that such an Agatha Christie…

Giggle! giggle!

Was Mary? The Mary whose diapers I used to change?

Is this what it felt like for readers when they first encountered The Murder of Roger Ackroyd? My head felt light, as if someone had struck me with a hammer.

Traditionally, among British aristocracy and the upper class, it was customary to use middle names in daily life and reserve first names for formal occasions.

Monty is a perfect example of this, isn't he? His full name is "Louis Montague Miller," not just Montague Miller.

In other words, Agatha Christie. I should have realized that Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller, whom we've only ever called Mary, wasn't referred to as Clarissa, meaning Mary was her middle name all along…!

But then, Maggie is called by her nickname instead of her middle name, even though her full name is Margaret Frary Miller. Why is the Miller family's naming convention so chaotic? There's no consistency, no pattern!

Isn't it a bit odd that she's been a bookworm since such a young age?

Well, this family has always been like that! Every child in this household is passionate about reading! How was I supposed to predict it, now that I see it clearly?

'Phew, let's calm down. Count to ten.'

I took a deep breath using the Lamaze technique to regain my composure.

And just then—

"Dad, I'm sleepy…"

Mary, who had been playing energetically, began to rub her eyes and whine, like a robot with its batteries running low.

"Oh dear. Are you sleepy, Mary?"

"Mmm…"

"Hmm, Daddy still has to entertain the guests a bit longer. What should we do?"

I approached the father and daughter.

"In that case, Mr. Miller, I'll take Mary inside and put her to bed. You can attend to your duties."

"Oh, would you?"

"Yes. Come here, Miss Mary."

"Mmm…"

Mr. Miller naturally handed Mary over to me. She nestled into my arms, her head nodding as if she had done it a hundred, no, a thousand times before. She had grown so comfortable with me that she entrusted herself completely to my care. I couldn't help but suppress a smile at the sight.

With my heart trembling, I carried her inside, exchanging greetings with the passing guests.

The party was taking place in the garden of a country house, so only the women hurriedly gathered to help with the cooking were inside.

I passed by them and slowly made my way upstairs to the children's bedroom.

Mary was unusually quiet as I carried her.

As always.

She was a shy and quiet child by nature.

Completely different from Maggie, who was always full of energy, or Monty, who had recently been acting out due to a severe case of adolescent rebellion. At first, I had even worried that she was too quiet.

"…"

I slowly opened the door.

The bed was slightly too big for a five-year-old, but that made it all the more comfortable for her to sleep in. It was the bed Mr. Miller and I had chosen together.

I gently laid Mary down on that bed. Looking down at her as she mumbled in her sleep, I saw the same Mary—the third child of the Miller family.

'Yes. I was indeed surprised, but it's a matter for the future, isn't it? For now, she's just Mary.'

There was no doubt that she would grow up to become Agatha Christie.

Even as a child, she was so clever that she taught herself to read without any instruction.

But to me, she's still not the famous author Agatha Christie—she's just the adorable youngest daughter of the Miller family.

I mean, I even changed her diapers. How could I suddenly start seeing her differently now? It's absurd.

Besides, though I don't know the exact year, under normal circumstances, her family would have fallen into financial ruin due to her father, Mr. Miller, failing in his investments during her childhood.

But how are things now? Just think about the recent banquet. Isn't it obvious? The Miller family is currently more prosperous than ever.

"Hmm…"

"Yes, snore… snore… sleep tight."

The future isn't set in stone. It can certainly be changed depending on how you handle things.

It varies depending on the setting, but countless works have already dealt with this theme and produced many different endings.

Sorry, Schrödinger, but Back to the Future got it wrong. I'm from the Marvel generation, and the future can be changed.

In the end, the only thing I can do is raise this child well so that she doesn't encounter any problems.

With that in mind, I quietly left the bedroom after putting Mary to sleep.

Now then, what should I do next…

I stepped out onto the dark balcony and looked down below.

I need to think things through. If Mr. Miller is the father of the Agatha Christie, doesn't that mean he's going to die soon?

Of course, his death was due to acute pneumonia brought on by the stress of financial troubles, so there's no immediate cause for concern.

Money? Mr. Miller has plenty of that, having multiplied his already considerable funds through successful business ventures. Now he has more money than he knows what to do with.

So, what else can I do but make sure he eats and sleeps well?

British cuisine is the real problem here. Eating that stuff would stress anyone out and lead to pneumonia.

Or maybe I should consider a mask? Hmm, the air in London is pretty bad. Perhaps his preference for the countryside was actually his body signalling a survival instinct.

It might be best to minimize his trips to London for now.

And then…

At that moment.

"Oh my, Hanslow?"

"Ah, yes."

I turned my head to the familiar voice of an elderly woman.

There stood a gray-haired granny with a gentle smile, knitting in hand, looking at me with her blue eyes. If Clara were to age gracefully, she might look like this.

Surprisingly, this old lady continued knitting without even glancing at her hands. Her skill was like that of Hanslow Jin's mother, who could slice rice cakes in the dark.

As far as I know, she's the only one who can pull off such a feat.

"What brings you here, Madam?"

Madam Margaret Miller.

Mr. Miller's stepmother and Clara's aunt and stepmother.

She smiled warmly as she looked at me.

"Did you put Mary to bed? Thank you."

"Oh, it was nothing. I was just doing what needed to be done. If it were Maggie or Monty, it might have been a challenge, but Mary was quite light."

"Ho ho, let's not mention that to those two. They'd certainly be jealous if they heard that."

"Haha… yes."

As someone who raised five children, she knows them well. Initially, I got the impression she didn't quite like me.

When we first met, she seemed a bit wary, but over time, she gradually opened up to me.

Well, I suppose it's only natural. I've worked hard enough to earn her trust.

It doesn't feel bad, actually—like that sense of satisfaction when a teacher who disliked you finally acknowledges your efforts.

As I was thinking this—

"Thank you, Hanslow."

"Yes? What do you mean?"

With a warm and gentle smile on her rosy-cheeked face, Margaret Miller suddenly said this without any hesitation.

"To be honest, I don't trust people. Especially Fred's judgment."

"Uh, um."

I'm not sure how I feel about hearing this, considering I've succeeded thanks to that judgment.

But since she's his mother, it's hard to argue against her.

I have a rough idea of what she's getting at.

"Of course, he's not entirely lacking in judgment. But he's too kind. I mean, think about it—meeting a new stepmother at the age of seventeen, who wouldn't hate that? But there he was, smiling and confidently calling me 'Mom!' It was more shocking for me."

"Haha…"

That's certainly the kind of charisma Mr. Miller has. He's the type who easily befriends people he's just met.

"So, to be honest, I thought Fred would make a bad investment someday and lose all his money."

"Ah, haha. Mr. Miller does have that side to him."

It's sad that I can't argue with that.

Frankly speaking, it's fortunate that Mr. Miller placed his unwavering trust in me; otherwise, things could have gone terribly wrong, possibly even ruining us.

I didn't realize it at first, but looking back now, it makes sense, even from a historical perspective…

Ah, that's why she didn't like me at first.

"So, all I can say is that I'm really grateful. Hanslow, you could have succeeded without our inadequate son, yet here you are, devoting yourself to our son and daughter-in-law… I'm truly thankful."

"No, it's nothing. After all, Mr. Miller saved my life. This is the least I can do."

"Do you really think so?"

Uh, well. That piercing gaze makes it hard to answer.

I scratched my head, avoiding her eyes.

Looking into her eyes, I felt strangely exposed, as if she could see through everything. Those clear, deep blue eyes… like the ocean.

As I was lost in thought, the old lady had already set down her knitting and took my hand in her wrinkled one.

"Hanslow."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'd like to entrust my son, daughter, and even my grandchildren… to you."

"Well, that's my job, so of course."

"You know that's not what I meant, right?"

"Haha. Is that so?"

Hmm, how should I put this? It's hard to express in words. But as I looked into those sapphire-like eyes, I found myself saying,

"Well, it's not like we've only known each other for a day or two, and honestly, there's no need for me to be independent, right? The kids aren't all grown yet, and it's more comfortable being with Mr. Miller. Being together gives me peace of mind. Well, something like that."

For some reason, I felt emotional. This isn't like me; it's strange. It's been a while since words just flowed out like this.

But I couldn't help it. It felt like I needed to pour out everything. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I scratched the back of my head and finally concluded my long story.

"It's only natural. We're family, after all."

It's not just because he's Agatha Christie's father; we've known each other for too long to reduce it to that. We've already become too deeply intertwined in each other's lives.

I just want to protect my dear friend and family, Mr. Miller.

"Hoo-hoo. That's enough."

Margaret Miller smiled warmly, a mysterious, kind smile.

Then, I suddenly asked the thought that crossed my mind.

"But, why did you suddenly say that?"

"Oh, that?"

She's always been kind, so why did she suddenly speak as if I were about to leave? I have no such intention. Then she smiled as if it were nothing and said,

"Well, Hanslow…"

And then she dropped it.

That bombshell of a statement.

"You know the future, don't you?"

<Agatha All Along (2)> The End.