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After the Funeral: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
After the Funeral: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
After the Funeral: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
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After the Funeral: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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Hercule Poirot is called on to investigate the murder of a brother and sister, in this classic Agatha Christie mystery now available in an updated edition with a foreword Sophie Hannah.

 “He was murdered, wasn’t he?”

When Cora Lansquenet is savagely murdered, the extraordinary remark she had made the previous day at her brother Richard’s funeral suddenly takes on a chilling significance. At the reading of Richard’s will, Cora was clearly heard to say, “It’s been hushed up very nicely, hasn’t it. But he was murdered, wasn’t he?”

Did Cora’s accusation a dark truth that sealed her own fate? Or are the siblings’ deaths just tragic coincidences?

Desperate to know the truth, the Lansquenet’s solicitor turns to Hercule Poirot to unravel the mystery. For even after the funeral, death isn’t finished yet . . .

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHarperCollins
Release dateJan 25, 2005
ISBN9780061739910
Author

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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Reviews for After the Funeral

Rating: 4.184210526315789 out of 5 stars
4/5

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Hercule Poirot investigates two family-based murders.I got a big kick out of this. It did take a little while to get going, but as the story progressed I found myself eager to see how it would all turn out. The plot is semi-recycled from a couple of Dame Agatha's other books, but she's changed enough elements that it still works well even for the hardcore Christie reader. The clues are nicely dispersed, the pacing is good and, most importantly, all the characters are viable suspects. Even though I guessed the culprit early on, I wasn't sure until the very end.Good stuff. I definitely recommend it to fans of Christie's work.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Fairly standard Poirot - with an interesting plot, especially the motive for the murder, people have killed for less.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    As efficient as usual, quite an unusual motive but for once I could almost sympathize with the murderer.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    After the funeral of the wealthy Richard Abernethie, his remaining family assembles for the reading of the will at Enderby Hall. The death, though sudden, was not unexpected and natural causes have been given on his death certificate. Nevertheless, the tactless Cora says, "It's been hushed up very nicely ... but he was murdered, wasn't he?" The family lawyer, Mr. Entwhistle, begins to investigate. Before long there is no question that a murderer is at large.(wikipedia.org)Another great mystery solved by fantastic Poirot! I really do enjoy him as a detective. He's so funny and really knows what he is doing. This story revolves around the death of Richard Abernethie. The day after his funeral his sister Cora was mysteriously murdered with a hatchet. Poirot is trying to figure out "who done it".As usual, Poirot is delightful! The crime it's self isn't as spectacular as some of the others, but it's still wonderfully written! The suspects each could have had different motives and reasons. The whole time I thought I knew who had committed the murder and then.....BAM! Agatha Christie hits you with a twist! I throughly loved the ending. I had know idea what was coming!All in all I give 3.5/5! This means that it really good but not as good as some of the others I've read. But don't get me wrong it was still a good short novel to read in spare time! I can't wait to read other novels by Agatha Christie!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    "Nobody had felt any deep grief for Richard Abernethie's death since none of them had had any close ties with him".But when his sister Cora makes the suggestion that Richard was actually murdered, and is then viciously murdered herself on the day after his funeral, the long-time family solicitor Mr Entwhistle is upset at the possibility.At the beginning of the novel the reader is provided with a copy of the Abernethie family tree, indicating who was at Richard's funeral. Once Hercules Poirot is engaged by Mr Entwhistle to investigate any possible connections between Cora Lansquenet's murder and her claim that her brother was murdered, then we are taken fairly systematically through how members of the family will benefit from either death. In the long run it is a very tidy plot.It is not the first time I have read this novel, but I found that I had only a vague idea of the final resolution. Red herrings abound and as usual and Poirot does not share all his suspicions. The novel ends with his usual collective revealing of the culprit.As I have been doing with most of the Christie novel I have read so far, I was also looking for the author's commentary on British social life. The novel is set after World War II and and Enderby, the Abernethie family home, once the scene of a privileged life, will have to be sold so that the proceeds of the estate can be divided up amongst Richard Abernethie's heirs. Yet another sign that the old social order is collapsing.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Richard ist das älteste Familienoberhaupt des Stammes der Abernethies. Nachdem sein Sohn Mortimer stirbt, hält ihm nichts mehr am Leben. Sein Tod ereilt ihn dann aber doch sehr plötzlich. Nach der Beerdigung findet sich die Familie in dem alten Landsitz ein. Cora, die jüngste Schwester, wirft die Vermutung in den Raum, dass ihr Bruder ermordet wurde. Einen Tag später wird sie selbst Opfer eines brutalen Verbrechens.Der Mord an Cora ruft den Detektiv Hercule Poirot auf den Plan. Alle Familienmitglieder werden unter die Lupe genommen, doch jeder dieser Menschen hat ein Geheimnis und ein starkes finanzielles Motiv. Lange Zeit tappt der Detektiv im Dunkeln, bis ein Spiegel ihn auf die richtige Lösung bringt.Unter dem Originaltitel AFTER THE FUNERAL (im Übrigen ein viel passenderer Titel und weniger gezwungen als die deutsche Übersetzung. Später mehr) wurde die Geschichte erstmals 1953 veröffentlicht.Dabei handelt es sich um eine eher typische Christie-Geschichte: Ein altes Landhaus, eine ehrwürdige Familie, Dienstboten, Abgeschiedenheit. Zunächst tritt Poirot gar nicht ins Geschehen ein. Die Familie wird charakterisiert, ihre Verhältnisse untereinander beschrieben. Stark hervor tritt hie die Spannung zwischen der jungen und der alten Generation. Während die Alten noch auf Traditionen Wert legen und auf den genügsamen Umgang mit Geld, so entwickeln sich die Jungen eher in die künstlerische, selbstverwirklichende Richtung. Erst nachdem dem Notaren ernsthafte Zweifel am natürlichen Tod seine ältesten Freundes Richard kommen, wird Poirot zurate gezogen. Gewohnt objektiv berichtet Christie über die Umstände und Personen. Innere Gefühle und Motivationen durch innere Monologe kommen selten zum Einsatz, was es dem Leser ermöglicht, selbst seine Schlussfolgerungen zu ziehen. Die Erzählung ist zwar objektiv, doch hier und da mit einer leichten Prise Ironie gewürzt.Christie braucht keine lückenfüllenden Passagen. Alles ist auf den Punkt gebracht, alles in irgendeiner Form relevant. Sie hält sich nicht auf mit endlosen Beschreibungen.Wie schon angedeutet, empfinde ich den Titel als nicht allzu passend, denn lediglich wurde ein erzählerisches Motiv für den Titel gewählt, das zwar im Endeffekt auch etwas mit der Lösung des Falles zu tun hat, aber genauso gut hätte er auch „Besuch einer Nonne“ heißen können. Aber das ist der deutschen Titelfindung geschuldet und mindert selbstverständlich nicht im Geringsten den Inhalt.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    England, ca 1952Richard Abernethie er død 68 år gammel og da han ingen børn efterlader sig - hans søn Mortimer er død af polio i sin ungdoms blomst - bliver boet delt i seks dele.De fire dele går til broderen Timothy Abernethie, nevøen George Crossfield, niecen Susan Banks og niecen Rosamund Shane. Og de to sidste til søsteren Cora Lansquenet og enken efter hans bror Leo, Helen Abernethie. De to sidste dele er båndlagt, så kun udbyttet bliver udbetalt og når Cora og Helen dør går deres arvepart videre til de fire første. Huset, som hedder Enderby Hall, skal sælges, for ingen af arvingerne ønsker at overtager det.Efter begravelsen siger Cora eftertænksomt (og ubetænksomt): "Men han blev da myrdet, ikke sandt?".Dagen efter bliver hun selv brutalt myrdet med en økse og sagføreren Mr Entwhistle tilkalder Hercule Poirot.Fra en side af mangler arvingerne penge og har derfor motiv til mord alle til hobe.Susan Banks har som den eneste arvet onklens tæft og intelligens. Efter ligsynet på Cora, besøger hun Miss Gilchrist, som passede hus for Cora og også boede i huset. Mens Susan er der, bliver Miss Gilchrist forgivet med arsenik. Men hun overlever og får sig manøvreret ind i huset hos Timothy og Maude, og senere med til Richards hus. Poirot får samlet dem alle under påskud af at indboet skal fordeles, da huset er solgt til en flygtningehjælpsorganisation.Han kommer frem til at Richard Abernethie ikke blev myrdet og faktisk hang hele ideen om at han blev myrdet alene på Coras udtalelse. Så tilbage er at Cora døde og at Miss Gilchrist ikke døde. Helen Abernethie er kommet på lignende tanker, men hun bliver slået ned, mens hun pr telefon snakker med Entwhistle.Miss Gilchrist havde hørt på Coras erindringer i en uendelighed og havde gået så meget op ad hende at hun ret overbevisende kunne udgive sig for hende, så faktisk var det Miss Gilchrist, der med fuldt overlæg sagde "Men han blev da myrdet, ikke sandt?". Dagen efter slog Miss Gilchrist Cora ihjel på en vældig brutal måde og motivet var at et af de dårlige malerier Cora købte i hobetal, faktisk var en Vermeer og salget af den ville kunne indbringe nok til at Miss Gilchrist kunne åbne en tesalon i stil med den, hun havde inden krigen. Inspector Morton kan arrestere Gilchrist og hun bliver da også dømt.Det er vist den eneste krimi, hvor te spiller en rolle som motiv.Klassisk Poirot-krimi.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    The usual Christie fun and games, right up to the weak ending.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    When Richard Abernathie's will is read, his sister Cora voices her suspicion that he was murdered. No test can be made to find if he was poisoned since he was cremated. When Cora herself is murdered with a hatchet, Mr. Entwhistle, the solicitor, asks Poirot to look into the matter of Richard's death since the police are investigating Cora's. I found this one fairly predictable. I didn't really care that much for the family involved, but it was a pleasant enough puzzle although not an entirely captivating read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Another great Christie mystery that kept me guessing until the end.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Very interesting...Monsieur Poirot did not play a prominent part in this story. He came in towards the middle, listened to some inquiries he'd made and showed up again at the end....

    Aunt Cora has always taken pleasure in blurting inconvenient truths... those which make people stop in their tracks. At reading of her brother Richard's will she purposely announces "But, he was murdered, wasn't he!" Which of course leads to her murder an an attempt on her "Lady's Companion" as well.....

    Greedy, twisted, hypochondriacs...the lot of Rotters...all wanting more than their entitlement..... But Who Done It?
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Well constructed mystery, good, unexpected ending. Plays fir. Poirot his usual confident self. Well drawn characters.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This is a very well plotted book, set in the middle of the 20th century. It features an upper-middle class family who gather together after the demise of the family head, Richard Abernethie. Agatha Christie isn't noted for characterisation, but she creates some believable and distinct family members, any of whom could have committed the crimes which are investigated through the course of the book.There's a fair amount of detailed descriptions, conversations and internal monologues, skipping about from person to person... but of course the clues to the puzzle are in these; I fell for several red herrings, and was convinced, at different times, that each main character must be guilty... other than the one who is eventually denounced.Hercule Poirot is involved half-way through the book; he's always a delight, and I liked this book very much. Recommended to anyone who enjoys this kind of light crime fiction of sixty plus years ago.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Audiobook read by Hugh FraserOriginally published as Funerals Are FatalFrom the book jacket: When Cora Lansquenet is savagely murdered with a hatchet, the extraordinary remark she made the previous day at her brother Richard’s funeral suddenly takes on a chilling significance. At the reading of Richard’s will, Cora was clearly heard to say, “It’s been hushed up very nicely, hasn’t it… But he was murdered, wasn’t he?” In desperation the family solicitor turns to Hercule Poirot to unravel the mystery.My reactionsOh, I love Hercule Poirot and his little grey cells. Always entertaining and always keeping me guessing. Here we have quite a number of characters, all of whom seem to have some motive for killing Cora Lansquenet and/or Richard Abernathie. I’m glad I had a text copy along, because it has a family tree printed in it, which is a great help in keeping these various Abernathie relations straight. What a family! Hardly a likeable person in the bunch. I’d have been happy to have any one of them be the murderer. But that’s the joy of a Christie mystery.The killer and Dame Christie cleverly give us many red herrings, false clues, misleading statements, and seemingly meaningless occurrences to confuse, baffle and thwart any attempts at solving the mystery. But, of course, Hercule Poirot will unveil the person responsible. I was almost as surprised as the culprit when the reveal came. Hugh Fraser does a commendable job of voicing the audio. There are so many characters that it is hard to keep them straight at time, especially when there is a meeting of two or more women, but Fraser manages quite well. And I do love his interpretation of Hercule Poirot!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Richard Abernethie suddenly dies. His family come together for his funeral. At the funeral luncheon his sister Cora asks “He was murdered wasn’t he”. All of his relatives and his lawyer Mr. Entwhistle are shocked and uneasy at the remark. Cora as a young girl was always known as telling the unpleasant truths. Bearing this in mind Mr. Entwhistle determines he is going to visit Cora and learn why she said that about his old friend and client. But before he can see her, he is contacted by one of his partners and informed that Cora has been murdered in her home in Lytchett St. Mary.Mr. Entwhistle goes to visit his old friend Hercule Poirot, the famous detective, to engage him to discover the truth of Richard’s death and the murder of Cora.I love Agatha Christie, I think the first time I read one of her mysteries I was about 12 years old and I fell in love with her writing. This is one of her later novels but it is still characterized by a twisting plot, lots of clues, fully developed characters that she created so visually for me to see, but most of all with a sly sense of humor.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    In which a stray comment from a batty relative leads to murder.

    After the Funeral features one of my personal favourite denouements, as well as one of my favourite titles in the Christie canon. On the other hand, I think it struggles to integrate the detective, and relies a little bit too much on chance. "After the Funeral" is promisingly bleak, with a horde of greedy relatives torn asunder when – at the reading of a dead man’s will – a tactless relative intimates he was murdered. Dame Agatha was grand at creating scheming, backstabbing households, and "After the Funeral" is a powerful example. Unlike the repressed schemers of "4.50 From Paddington" or "Hercule Poirot’s Christmas", the Abernethie heirs really have no shame in their greed, and it’s not hard to suspect everyone in the two murders. In this bewildering mix, Christie floods us with clues while blinding us to the obvious. Indeed, hidden amongst the plot are many of Christie’s stalwart tropes, but reinvented and interpreted so as to seem refreshing. The denouement is simply a wonderful piece of plotting.

    There aren’t really any flaws. While the murderer’s plan relies on taking a great risk, it seems reasonable that he or she would try it, and – unlike some very contrived plots like "The Body in the Library" – this is a risk that only requires one event to work as planned. Poirot puts in a good show of logic, but his characterisation gets somewhat lost under the weight of the others. Still, this was an era when Christie often inserted Poirot as an afterthought, so he’s probably lucky to have emerged at all.

    [US readers, unsurprisingly, got this title rejiggered as "Funerals are Fatal", and, later "Murder at the Gallop", because a Margaret Rutherford Marple movie stole this plot.]

    Poirot ranking: 10th out of 38.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A good, standard Hercule Poirot mystery. These never fail to delight me as I struggle in vain to deduce the identity of the murderer, only to discover some devious twist that I would never have though of given all the time in the world. Curiously enough, it doesn't irritate me; it is always fun.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    In between the heavier non-fiction work, I like to cleanse my palate by re-reading an old Agatha Christie novel. Like the French do with the trou normand halfway through dinner. Only in this case, it felt like I was chewing on a mothball. It's a classic Agatha Christie story, but the usual humour seems to be lacking. Maybe because it is set in the austerity years right after WWII, and the author repeatedly reminds us of Britain's decay: food is rationed, the upper class is impoverished, servants start having a will of their own, and the welfare state is being built by - gasp - taxing the wealthy. For once, the author is the grimmest character in the novel.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    After the Funeral begins with Mr. Entwhistle, a lawyer attending a funeral for one of his oldest clients and friends, Richard Abernethie. Mr. Abernethie ran a successful family business and with the death of only son occurring years earlier, the heirs to the family money include Richard's hypochondriac brother Timothy, his sister Cora, whom no one has seen in twenty years after she married a man considered 'unsuitable', nieces Susan, a businesswoman, Rosamund, an actress, and nephew George, in finance.At the home after the funeral, Cora carelessly tosses off a comment about Richard being murdered. Most of the family chalked it up to Cora just stirring up the pot, as she is wont to do. But the next day, Cora is brutally murdered in her home, and now Mr. Entwhistle is concerned that perhaps Richard was murdered.He goes to Hercule Poirot to investigate and find out if Richard was murdered and who killed Cora. I found it amusing when Poirot turns to Mr. Goby, a man "famous for the acquiring of information." Goby calls government snooping "God's gift to investigators." Given what we know about the NSA, one could infer that government's spying on their citizens is a time- honored practice.The family members all have money issues: Timothy hasn't worked due to his "illnesses", and his house and car are falling apart. Susan wishes to buy a pharmacy for her husband. Rosamund wants to use the money to support her and her husband's dreams of staging a play. George apparently has a gambling problem and has been using clients' funds to cover his losses.They all have motives for wanting the money, and Poirot discovers that many of them had opportunity as well. It's great fun following the clues and trying to put the puzzle pieces together to discover the murderer. (I confess that I was wrong.)It's interesting that Poirot does not dominate the story. He comes into the story late and stays in the background for the most part. In today's mystery/thriller series books, the protagonist (a cop, investigator, medical examiner) tends to dominate the stories of the books, with the crime relegated to equal or lesser plotlines.I also found it interesting the lengths that people will go to when money is involved. Like government spying, greed appears to be something that has been with humans for a long time, and probably will be for a long time to come.Now that I have read three Agatha Christie novels, two of them featuring M. Poirot, I'm curious to read Sophie Hannah's take on the iconic character in The Monogram Murders.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Considering how many books I read, it's surprising that I'd never read an Agatha Christie novel until I read After the Funeral, and the only reason I read that is because the publisher sent me a review copy. Now, you might wonder why a publisher would send out review copies of a book that was originally published more than 50 years ago. Apparently, the Christie estate has authorized Sophie Hannah to write a new Poirot novel called The Monogram Murders, and the publisher had her choose her favorite Poirot novel and write an introduction for a new edition, She chose After the Funeral for its "nontransferable motive."This book certainly had one of the most peculiar motives I've read. In fact this is one of the few mysteries I've read where I didn't have any idea who the killer was until the end of the book. Despite being a Poirot mystery, Poirot isn't in the book very much. The book spends most of it time with the family of the victim(s). They are a strange lot.I really enjoyed the book and will have to add Agatha Christie to the ever growing list of authors whose books I really have to read.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    murder in a rather decayed old British family.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Stellar build-up - creeping and sinister; cheerfully and anarchically callous about offing its cast! - with a lame SAD TROMBONE of a twist and follow-up. However, it's delicious for the first 4/5, with schools of red herrings and classic Christie antici-pation.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was a good, solid Poirot mystery, made more interesting because it was written at a mansion local to where I live and included a reference to a food supplement that we hold the archive for at the museum I work at. There were plenty of blind alleys and potential suspects. As usual, I pegged the wrong person, but I picked up on the significant clues. It was a little disappointing that Poirot didn't make an appearance until a quarter of the way through the book and seemed more subdued than usual. I love Poirot as a character. I suppose Christie was writing him as a man whose fame was on the wane and who was technically in retirement. I missed the foil of Captain Hastings, as well. All in all though an entertaining read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    When the family of the late Richard Abernethie gathers in the library of Enderby to hear the reading of the will, the deceased's sister, Cora Lansquenet, voices her suspicion that her brother was murdered. The following day, she herself is found dead in her cottage, brutally killed with a hatchet. The solicitor and old friend of Mr Abernethie's, Mr Entwhistle, then contacts Hercule Poirot, mainly to assuage his doubts in view of recent events that Cora's death was just a coincidence and that Richard had died a natural death. Intrigued by the case, Poirot begins his investigations ...It's been a long time since I've read an Agatha Christie novel and I'd forgotten how much fun they can be. The enjoyment mainly derives from trying to work out the puzzle before Poirot (or Miss Marple) announces the solution to the assembled suspects, and sifting the liberally strewn red herrings from the real clues. Poirot doesn't feature prominently in this mystery, and is mainly there to set a few wheels in motion and to pull the threads together at the end. As Sophie Hannah rightly observes in the Introduction, Agatha Christie wasn't concerned with plausibility, but intent on creating an entertaining, and cleverly crafted, murder mystery; in this she has entirely succeeded, with a very neat twist. Of course the upper middle-class structure of society, so often depicted in her writings, appears terribly dated these days, but the insights into human psychology are universal. Not world literature, but excellent value as a brain teaser.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Christie's powers of mesmerizing murder mysteries continues in this work when at the funeral of a rich estate owner, someone makes a strange remark & another looks at a mirror & realizes something is wrong. Poirot is called out of retirement to untangle a crime of smoke & mirrors which turns on a deception. Is there 2 murders or just one murder? It's all about Art appreciation & one mistake cracks the case.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Something in this book didn't work for me. I didn't like it as much as I should.

    Maybe it is because this year I have read several books of Agatha Christie and this story contains some elements typical for this author. That's why this story seemed very similar to her other novels. To the point it blended out with some of Christie's other works. There was nothing new, fresh and unique about it. I doubt if in a month I'll be able to remember any details about this book.

    Also because this story just didn't pull me in. I wasn't interested in it. It's so slow and devoid of twists. The mystery of death, or rather two deaths, is somehow so completely uninspiring. And a group of the characters similar to other characters from the novels of Christie. There is simply nothing distinguishing about this novel. There is not one element that would make it stand out from the others.

    I am also disappointed with the ending. Apparently it should be a surprise but even though I did not suspect this person any more than the others, after all this solution at the end is very Christie style. If you read some of her books, it's no surprise. In my opinion, this ending is also somehow too simple. I was expecting something more spectacular, more unique, something more like The Murder in Orient Express.

    This is not a bad book by Agatha Christie. It's just not a unique story.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    During the gathering after Richard Abernethie's funeral, the family is shocked when his sister Cora blurts out "He was murdered, wasn't he?" Richard's death was sudden, but not completely unexpected since he was terminally ill. But there is no doubt that murder was the cause of Cora's death the next day. Family attorney Mr. Entwistle, disturbed by the close proximity in these events, enlists the aid of his old friend Hercule Poirot.I am always partial to mysteries like this one that begin with a family tree. The younger characters and their dialogue maybe aren't as sharply drawn as Christie ages, but she is still at the top of her form when it comes to hiding clues in plain sight.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Funerals Are Fatal (1953) (Hercule Poirot #31) by Agatha Christie. Richard Abernethie was old and rich and had a brother, sister-in-law and cousin who were all needing of money. This also applies to their adult children and their spouses. So they were not too unhappy when the old man died “very suddenly.” A quick look into the Oxford Standard Book of the ole’ tech sprech says this is a euphemism for murdered in 98% of all usages. The other two percent are given out as “Red” herrings or some such thing.So the old man is dead and there is a funeral, cremation, and everyone goes home to the vast manor house for the reading of the will. Everyone knows the the entire lot will go to George, Richard’s nephew by way of his late brother Leo, but instead the moola and property is to be divided up between everyone but George. He has been written out altogether.But Cora, in her usual tipsy manner, says how lucky they all were that no mention of murder has echoed within the hallowed walls. Then Cora is butchered in a most horrible fashion. Soon after her “companion’ is slightly poisoned. Mr. Entwhistle, now suspecting something, asks Poirot to look into things.This he does and in usual, but brilliant, Christie fashion, he unravels a plot more puzzling than the lawn maze that must grace the estate grounds somewhere.And the answer has a stunning revelation or three that you won’t see coming.This is one of the top five or six Poirot novels and somehow I’ve missed it up till now. It seems something good has come out of this pandemic, although, given my druthers, I would gladly have skipped this in favor of what we had.Remember, “Stay Healthy, Stay Sane, and Stay Away From Me.” I thank you, my wife thanks you, my kids thank you, the grand babies thank you and our new German Shepard grand baby dog thanks you.By the way, my American copy offers this title in lieu of the Brit one.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    The characterization of the various members of the Abernethie family was very well done, and Mr Entwhistle the solicitor was a good conduit for evidence gathering until Poirot became involved. The solution was just about believable.

Book preview

After the Funeral - Agatha Christie

One

I

Old Lanscombe moved totteringly from room to room, pulling up the blinds. Now and then he peered with screwed-up rheumy eyes through the windows.

Soon they would be coming back from the funeral. He shuffled along a little faster. There were so many windows.

Enderby Hall was a vast Victorian house built in the Gothic style. In every room the curtains were of rich faded brocade or velvet. Some of the walls were still hung with faded silk. In the green drawing room, the old butler glanced up at the portrait above the mantelpiece of old Cornelius Abernethie for whom Enderby Hall had been built. Cornelius Abernethie’s brown beard stuck forward aggressively, his hand rested on a terrestrial globe, whether by desire of the sitter, or as a symbolic conceit on the part of the artist, no one could tell.

A very forceful-looking gentleman, so old Lanscombe had always thought, and was glad that he himself had never known him personally. Mr. Richard had been his gentleman. A good master, Mr. Richard. And taken very sudden, he’d been, though of course the doctor had been attending him for some little time. Ah, but the master had never recovered from the shock of young Mr. Mortimer’s death. The old man shook his head as he hurried through a connecting door into the White Boudoir. Terrible, that had been, a real catastrophe. Such a fine upstanding young gentleman, so strong and healthy. You’d never have thought such a thing likely to happen to him. Pitiful, it had been, quite pitiful. And Mr. Gordon killed in the war. One thing on top of another. That was the way things went nowadays. Too much for the master, it had been. And yet he’d seemed almost himself a week ago.

The third blind in the White Boudoir refused to go up as it should. It went up a little way and stuck. The springs were weak—that’s what it was—very old, these blinds were, like everything else in the house. And you couldn’t get these old things mended nowadays. Too old-fashioned, that’s what they’d say, shaking their heads in that silly superior way—as if the old things weren’t a great deal better than the new ones! He could tell them that! Gimcrack, half the new stuff was—came to pieces in your hands. The material wasn’t good, or the craftsmanship either. Oh yes, he could tell them.

Couldn’t do anything about this blind unless he got the steps. He didn’t like climbing up the steps much, these days, made him come over giddy. Anyway, he’d leave the blind for now. It didn’t matter, since the White Boudoir didn’t face the front of the house where it would be seen as the cars came back from the funeral—and it wasn’t as though the room was ever used nowadays. It was a lady’s room, this, and there hadn’t been a lady at Enderby for a long time now. A pity Mr. Mortimer hadn’t married. Always going off to Norway for fishing and to Scotland for shooting and to Switzerland for those winter sports, instead of marrying some nice young lady and settling down at home with children running about the house. It was a long time since there had been any children in the house.

And Lanscombe’s mind went ranging back to a time that stood out clearly and distinctly—much more distinctly than the last twenty years or so, which were all blurred and confused and he couldn’t really remember who had come and gone or indeed what they looked like. But he could remember the old days well enough.

More like a father to those young brothers and sisters of his, Mr. Richard had been. Twenty-four when his father had died, and he’d pitched in right away to the business, going off every day as punctual as clockwork, and keeping the house running and everything as lavish as it could be. A very happy household with all those young ladies and gentlemen growing up. Fights and quarrels now and again, of course, and those governesses had had a bad time of it! Poor-spirited creatures, governesses, Lanscombe had always despised them. Very spirited the young ladies had been. Miss Geraldine in particular. Miss Cora, too, although she was so much younger. And now Mr. Leo was dead, and Miss Laura gone too. And Mr. Timothy such a sad invalid. And Miss Geraldine dying somewhere abroad. And Mr. Gordon killed in the war. Although he was the eldest, Mr. Richard himself turned out the strongest of the lot. Outlived them all, he had—at least not quite because Mr. Timothy was still alive and little Miss Cora who’d married that unpleasant artist chap. Twenty-five years since he’d seen her and she’d been a pretty young girl when she went off with that chap, and now he’d hardly have known her, grown so stout—and so arty-crafty in her dress! A Frenchman her husband had been, or nearly a Frenchman—and no good ever came of marrying one of them! But Miss Cora had always been a bit—well simple like you’d call it if she’d lived in a village. Always one of them in a family.

She’d remembered him all right. Why, it’s Lanscombe! she’d said and seemed ever so pleased to see him. Ah, they’d all been fond of him in the old days and when there was a dinner party they’d crept down to the pantry and he’d given them jelly and Charlotte Russe when it came out of the dining room. They’d all known old Lanscombe, and now there was hardly anyone who remembered. Just the younger lot whom he could never keep clear in his mind and who just thought of him as a butler who’d been there a long time. A lot of strangers, he had thought, when they all arrived for the funeral—and a seedy lot of strangers at that!

Not Mrs. Leo—she was different. She and Mr. Leo had come here off and on ever since Mr. Leo married. She was a nice lady, Mrs. Leo—a real lady. Wore proper clothes and did her hair well and looked what she was. And the master had always been fond of her. A pity that she and Mr. Leo had never had any children. . . .

Lanscombe roused himself; what was he doing standing here and dreaming about old days with so much to be done? The blinds were all attended to on the ground floor now, and he’d told Janet to go upstairs and do the bedrooms. He and Janet and the cook had gone to the funeral service in the church but instead of going on to the Crematorium they’d driven back to the house to get the blinds up and the lunch ready. Cold lunch, of course, it had to be. Ham and chicken and tongue and salad. With cold lemon soufflé and apple tart to follow. Hot soup first—and he’d better go along and see that Marjorie had got it on ready to serve, for they’d be back in a minute or two now for certain.

Lanscombe broke into a shuffling trot across the room. His gaze, abstracted and uncurious, just swept up to the picture over this mantelpiece—the companion portrait to the one in the green drawing room. It was a nice painting of white satin and pearls. The human being round whom they were draped and clasped was not nearly so impressive. Meek features, a rosebud mouth, hair parted in the middle. A woman both modest and unassuming. The only thing really worthy of note about Mrs. Cornelius Abernethie had been her name—Coralie.

For over sixty years after their original appearance, Coral Cornplasters and the allied Coral foot preparations still held their own. Whether there had ever been anything outstanding about Coral Cornplasters nobody could say—but they had appealed to the public fancy. On a foundation of Coral Cornplasters there had arisen this neo-Gothic palace, its acres of gardens, and the money that had paid out an income to seven sons and daughters and had allowed Richard Abernethie to die three days ago a very rich man.

II

Looking into the kitchen with a word of admonition, Lanscombe was snapped at by Marjorie, the cook. Marjorie was young, only twenty-seven, and was a constant irritation to Lanscombe as being so far removed from what his conception of a proper cook should be. She had no dignity and no proper appreciation of his, Lanscombe’s, position. She frequently called the house a proper old mausoleum and complained of the immense area of the kitchen, scullery and larder, saying that it was a day’s walk to get round them all. She had been at Enderby two years and only stayed because in the first place the money was good, and in the second because Mr. Abernethie had really appreciated her cooking. She cooked very well. Janet, who stood by the kitchen table, refreshing herself with a cup of tea, was an elderly housemaid who, although enjoying frequent acid disputes with Lanscombe, was nevertheless usually in alliance with him against the younger generation as represented by Marjorie. The fourth person in the kitchen was Mrs. Jacks, who came in to lend assistance where it was wanted and who had much enjoyed the funeral.

Beautiful it was, she said with a decorous sniff as she replenished her cup. Nineteen cars and the church quite full and the Canon read the service beautiful, I thought. A nice fine day for it, too. Ah, poor dear Mr. Abernethie, there’s not many like him left in the world. Respected by all, he was.

There was the note of a horn and the sound of a car coming up the drive, and Mrs. Jacks put down her cup and exclaimed: Here they are.

Marjorie turned up the gas under her large saucepan of creamy chicken soup. The large kitchen range of the days of Victorian grandeur stood cold and unused, like an altar to the past.

The cars drove up one after the other and the people issuing from them in their black clothes moved rather uncertainly across the hall and into the big green drawing room. In the big steel grate a fire was burning, tribute to the first chill of the autumn days and calculated to counteract the further chill of standing about at a funeral.

Lanscombe entered the room, offering glasses of sherry on a silver tray.

Mr. Entwhistle, senior partner of the old and respected firm of Bollard, Entwhistle, Entwhistle and Bollard, stood with his back to the fireplace warming himself. He accepted a glass of sherry, and surveyed the company with his shrewd lawyer’s gaze. Not all of them were personally known to him, and he was under the necessity of sorting them out, so to speak. Introductions before the departure for the funeral had been hushed and perfunctory.

Appraising old Lanscombe first, Mr. Entwhistle thought to himself, "Getting very shaky, poor old chap—going on for ninety I shouldn’t wonder. Well, he’ll have that nice little annuity. Nothing for him to worry about. Faithful soul. No such thing as old-fashioned service nowadays. Household helps and babysitters, God help us all! A sad world. Just as well, perhaps, poor Richard didn’t last his full time. He hadn’t much to live for."

To Mr. Entwhistle, who was seventy-two, Richard Abernethie’s death at sixty-eight was definitely that of a man dead before his time. Mr. Entwhistle had retired from active business two years ago, but as executor of Richard Abernethie’s will and in respect of one of his oldest clients who was also a personal friend, he had made the journey to the North.

Reflecting in his own mind on the provisions of the will, he mentally appraised the family.

Mrs. Leo, Helen, he knew well, of course. A very charming woman for whom he had both liking and respect. His eyes dwelt approvingly on her now as she stood near one of the windows. Black suited her. She had kept her figure well. He liked the clear cut features, the springing line of grey hair back from her temples and the eyes that had once been likened to cornflowers and which were still quite vividly blue.

How old was Helen now? About fifty-one or -two, he supposed. Strange that she had never married again after Leo’s death. An attractive woman. Ah, but they had been very devoted, those two.

His eyes went on to Mrs. Timothy. He had never known her very well. Black didn’t suit her—country tweeds were her wear. A big sensible capable-looking woman. She’d always been a good devoted wife to Timothy. Looking after his health, fussing over him—fussing over him a bit too much, probably. Was there really anything the matter with Timothy? Just a hypochondriac, Mr. Entwhistle suspected. Richard Abernethie had suspected so, too. Weak chest, of course, when he was a boy, he had said. But blest if I think there’s much wrong with him now. Oh well, everybody had to have some hobby. Timothy’s hobby was the all absorbing one of his own health. Was Mrs. Tim taken in? Probably not—but women never admitted that sort of thing. Timothy must be quite comfortably off. He’d never been a spendthrift. However, the extra would not come amiss—not in these days of taxation. He’d probably had to retrench his scale of living a good deal since the war.

Mr. Entwhistle transferred his attention to George Crossfield, Laura’s son. Dubious sort of fellow Laura had married. Nobody had ever known much about him. A stockbroker he had called himself. Young George was in a solicitor’s office—not a very reputable firm. Good-looking young fellow—but something a little shifty about him. He couldn’t have too much to live on. Laura had been a complete fool over her investments. She’d left next to nothing when she died five years ago. A handsome romantic girl she’d been, but no money sense.

Mr. Entwhistle’s eyes went on from George Crossfield. Which of the two girls was which? Ah yes, that was Rosamund, Geraldine’s daughter, looking at the wax flowers on the malachite table. Pretty girl, beautiful, in fact—rather a silly face. On the stage. Repertory companies or some nonsense like that. Had married an actor, too. Good-looking fellow. "And knows he is, thought Mr. Entwhistle, who was prejudiced against the stage as a profession. Wonder what sort of a background he has and where he comes from."

He looked disapprovingly at Michael Shane with his fair hair and his haggard charm.

Now Susan, Gordon’s daughter, would do much better on the stage than Rosamund. More personality. A little too much personality for everyday life, perhaps. She was quite near him and Mr. Entwhistle studied her covertly. Dark hair, hazel—almost golden—eyes, a sulky attractive mouth. Beside her was the husband she had just married—a chemist’s assistant, he understood. Really, a chemist’s assistant! In Mr. Entwhistle’s creed girls did not marry young men who served behind a counter. But now of course, they married anybody! The young man, who had a pale nondescript face and sandy hair, seemed very ill at ease. Mr. Entwhistle wondered why, but decided charitably that it was the strain of meeting so many of his wife’s relations.

Last in his survey Mr. Entwhistle came to Cora Lansquenet. There was a certain justice in that, for Cora had decidedly been an afterthought in the family. Richard’s youngest sister, she had been born when her mother was just on fifty, and that meek woman had not survived her tenth pregnancy (three children had died in infancy). Poor little Cora! All her life, Cora had been rather an embarrassment, growing up tall and gawky, and given to blurting out remarks that had always better have remained unsaid. All her elder brothers and sisters had been very kind to Cora, atoning for her deficiencies and covering her social mistakes. It had never really occurred to anyone that Cora would marry. She had not been a very attractive girl, and her rather obvious advances to visiting young men had usually caused the latter to retreat in some alarm. And then, Mr. Entwhistle mused, there had come the Lansquenet business—Pierre Lansquenet, half French, whom she had come across in an Art school where she had been having very correct lessons in painting flowers in watercolours. But somehow she had got into the Life class and there she had met Pierre Lansquenet and had come home and announced her intention of marrying him. Richard Abernethie had put his foot down—he hadn’t liked what he saw of Pierre Lansquenet and suspected that the young man was really in search of a rich wife. But whilst he was making a few researches into Lansquenet’s antecedents, Cora had bolted with the fellow and married him out of hand. They had spent most of their married life in Brittany and Cornwall and other painters’ conventional haunts. Lansquenet had been a very bad painter and not, by all accounts, a very nice man, but Cora had remained devoted to him and had never forgiven her family for their attitude to him. Richard had generously made his young sister an allowance and on that they had, so Mr. Entwhistle believed, lived. He doubted if Lansquenet had ever earned any money at all. He must have been dead now twelve years or more, thought Mr. Entwhistle. And now here was his widow, rather cushion-like in shape and dressed in wispy artistic black with festoons of jet beads, back in the home of her girlhood, moving about and touching things and exclaiming with pleasure when she recalled some childish memory. She made very little pretence of grief at her brother’s death. But then, Mr. Entwhistle reflected, Cora had never pretended.

Reentering the room Lanscombe murmured in muted tones suitable to the occasion:

Luncheon is served.

Two

After the delicious chicken soup, and plenty of cold viands accompanied by an excellent Chablis, the funeral atmosphere lightened. Nobody had really felt any deep grief for Richard Abernethie’s death since none of them had had any close ties with him. Their behaviour had been suitably decorous and subdued (with the exception of the uninhibited Cora who was clearly enjoying herself) but it was now felt that the decencies had been observed and that normal conversation could be resumed. Mr. Entwhistle encouraged this attitude. He was experienced in funerals and knew exactly how to set correct funeral timing.

After the meal was over, Lanscombe indicated the library for coffee. This was his feeling for niceties. The time had come when business—in other words, The Will—would be discussed. The library had the proper atmosphere for that, with its bookshelves and its heavy red velvet curtains. He served coffee to them there and then withdrew, closing the door.

After a few desultory remarks, everyone began to look tentatively at Mr. Entwhistle. He responded promptly after glancing at his watch.

I have to catch the 3:30 train, he began.

Others, it seemed, also had to catch that train.

As you know, said Mr. Entwhistle, I am the executor of Richard Abernethie’s will—

He was interrupted.

"I didn’t know, said Cora Lansquenet brightly. Are you? Did he leave me anything?"

Not for the first time, Mr. Entwhistle felt that Cora was too apt to speak out of turn.

Bending a repressive glance at her he continued:

Up to a year ago, Richard Abernethie’s will was very simple. Subject to certain legacies he left everything to his son Mortimer.

Poor Mortimer, said Cora. "I do think all this infantile paralysis is dreadful."

Mortimer’s death, coming so suddenly and tragically, was a great blow to Richard. It took him some months to rally from it. I pointed out to him that it might be advisable for him to make new testamentary dispositions.

Maude Abernethie asked in her deep voice:

"What would have happened if he hadn’t made a new will? Would it—would it all have gone to Timothy—as the next of kin, I mean?"

Mr. Entwhistle opened his mouth to give a disquisition on the subject of next of kin, thought better of it, and said crisply:

On my advice, Richard decided to make a new will. First of all, however, he decided to get better acquainted with the younger generation.

He had us upon appro, said Susan with a sudden rich laugh. First George and then Greg and me, and then Rosamund and Michael.

Gregory Banks said sharply, his thin face flushing:

I don’t think you ought to put it like that, Susan. On appro, indeed!

But that was what it was, wasn’t it, Mr. Entwhistle?

"Did he leave me anything?" repeated Cora.

Mr. Entwhistle coughed and spoke rather coldly:

I propose to send you all copies of the will. I can read it to you in full now if you like but its legal phraseology may seem to you rather obscure. Briefly it amounts to this: After certain small bequests and a substantial legacy to Lanscombe to purchase an annuity, the bulk of the estate—a very considerable one—is to be divided into six equal portions. Four of these, after all duties are paid, are to go to Richard’s brother Timothy, his nephew George Crossfield, his niece Susan Banks, and his niece Rosamund Shane. The other two portions are to be held upon trust and the income from them paid to Mrs. Helen Abernethie, the widow of his brother Leo; and to his sister Mrs. Cora Lansquenet, during their lifetime. The capital after their death to be divided between the other four beneficiaries or their issue.

"That’s very nice! said Cora Lansquenet with real appreciation. An income! How much?"

I—er—can’t say exactly at present. Death duties, of course, will be heavy and—

Can’t you give me any idea?

Mr. Entwhistle realized that Cora must be appeased.

Possibly somewhere in the neighbourhood of three to four thousand a year.

Goody! said Cora. I shall go to Capri.

Helen Abernethie said softly:

How very kind and generous of Richard. I do appreciate his affection towards me.

He was very fond of you, said Mr. Entwhistle. Leo was his favourite brother and your visits to him were always much appreciated after Leo died.

Helen said regretfully:

"I wish I had realized how ill he was—I came up to see him not long before he died, but although I knew he had been ill, I did not think it was serious."

It was always serious, said Mr. Entwhistle. But he did not want it talked about and I do not believe that anybody expected the end to come as soon as it did. The doctor was quite surprised, I know.

"‘Suddenly, at his residence’ that’s what it said in the paper, said Cora, nodding her head. I wondered then."

It was a shock to all of us, said Maude Abernethie. "It upset poor Timothy dreadfully. So sudden, he kept saying. So sudden."

Still, it’s been hushed up very nicely, hasn’t it? said Cora.

Everybody stared at her and she seemed a little flustered.

I think you’re all quite right, she said hurriedly. "Quite right. I mean—it can’t do any good—making it public. Very unpleasant for everybody. It should be kept strictly in the family."

The faces turned towards her looked even more blank.

Mr. Entwhistle leaned forward:

Really, Cora, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean.

Cora Lansquenet looked round at the family in wide-eyed surprise. She tilted her head on one side with a birdlike movement.

"But he was murdered, wasn’t he?" she said.

Three

I

Travelling to London in the corner of a first-class carriage Mr. Entwhistle gave himself up to somewhat uneasy thought over that extraordinary remark made by Cora Lansquenet. Of course Cora was a rather unbalanced and excessively stupid woman, and she had been noted, even as a girl, for the embarrassing manner in which she had blurted out unwelcome truths. At least, he didn’t mean truths—that was quite the wrong word to use. Awkward statements—that was a much better term.

In his mind he went back over the immediate sequence to that unfortunate remark. The combined stare of many startled and disapproving eyes had roused Cora to a sense of the enormity of what she had said.

Maude had exclaimed, "Really,

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