Emily Inglethorp Character Analysis

He had married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live at Styles, though I entertained a shrewd suspicion that he would have preferred his mother to increase his allowance, which would have enabled him to have a home of his own. [Emily Inglethorp], however, was a lady who liked to make her own plans, and expected other people to fall in with them, and in this case she certainly had the whip hand, namely: the purse strings.

“[…] The fellow must be at least twenty years younger than she is! It’s simply barefaced fortune hunting; but there you are—she is her own mistress, and she’s married him.”

His watchful and attentive manner never varied. From the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and I flatter myself that my first judgements are usually fairly shrewd.

“Look after her, Mr. Hastings. My poor Emily. They’re a lot of sharks—all of them. Oh, I know what I’m talking about. There isn’t one of them that’s not hard up and trying to get money out of her. I’ve protected her as much as I could. Now I’m out of the way, they’ll impose upon her.”

We went slowly down the stairs. I was violently excited. I have a certain talent for deduction, and Dr. Bauerstein’s manner had started a flock of wild surmises in my mind.

“[…] Well, strychnine is a fairly rapid poison. Its effects would be felt very soon, probably in about an hour. Yet, in Mrs. Inglethorp’s case, the symptoms do not manifest themselves until five o’clock the next morning: nine hours! But a heavy meal, taken at about the same time as the poison, might retard its effects, though hardly to that extent. Still, it is a possibility to be taken into account. But, according to you, she ate very little for supper, and yet the symptoms do not develop until early the next morning! Now that is a curious circumstance, my friend. Something may arise at the autopsy to explain it. In the meantime, remember it.”

I had the utmost difficulty in controlling my excitement. Unknown to herself, Annie had provided us with an important piece of evidence. How she would have gaped if she had realized that her “coarse kitchen salt” was strychnine, one of the most deadly poisons known to mankind. I marvelled at Poirot’s calm. His self-control was astonishing. I awaited his next question with impatience, but it disappointed me.

“I had forgotten that,” I said thoughtfully. “That is as enigmatical as ever. It seems incredible that a woman like Mrs. Cavendish, proud and reticent to the last degree should interfere so violently in what was certainly not her affair.”

“Precisely. […]”

“It is certainly curious,” I agreed. “Still, it is unimportant, and need not be taken into account.”

A groan burst from Poirot.

“What have I always told you? Everything must be taken into account. If the fact will not fit the theory—let the theory go.”

“Impossible!” I exclaimed. “She had only made it out that very afternoon!”

“Nevertheless, mon ami, it was Mrs. Inglethorp. Because, in no other way can you account for the fact that, on one of the hottest days of the year, Mrs. Inglethorp ordered a fire to be lighted in her room.”

He had married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live at Styles, though I entertained a shrewd suspicion that he would have preferred his mother to increase his allowance, which would have enabled him to have a home of his own. [Emily Inglethorp], however, was a lady who liked to make her own plans, and expected other people to fall in with them, and in this case she certainly had the whip hand, namely: the purse strings.

“[…] The fellow must be at least twenty years younger than she is! It’s simply barefaced fortune hunting; but there you are—she is her own mistress, and she’s married him.”

His watchful and attentive manner never varied. From the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and I flatter myself that my first judgements are usually fairly shrewd.

“Look after her, Mr. Hastings. My poor Emily. They’re a lot of sharks—all of them. Oh, I know what I’m talking about. There isn’t one of them that’s not hard up and trying to get money out of her. I’ve protected her as much as I could. Now I’m out of the way, they’ll impose upon her.”

We went slowly down the stairs. I was violently excited. I have a certain talent for deduction, and Dr. Bauerstein’s manner had started a flock of wild surmises in my mind.

“[…] Well, strychnine is a fairly rapid poison. Its effects would be felt very soon, probably in about an hour. Yet, in Mrs. Inglethorp’s case, the symptoms do not manifest themselves until five o’clock the next morning: nine hours! But a heavy meal, taken at about the same time as the poison, might retard its effects, though hardly to that extent. Still, it is a possibility to be taken into account. But, according to you, she ate very little for supper, and yet the symptoms do not develop until early the next morning! Now that is a curious circumstance, my friend. Something may arise at the autopsy to explain it. In the meantime, remember it.”

I had the utmost difficulty in controlling my excitement. Unknown to herself, Annie had provided us with an important piece of evidence. How she would have gaped if she had realized that her “coarse kitchen salt” was strychnine, one of the most deadly poisons known to mankind. I marvelled at Poirot’s calm. His self-control was astonishing. I awaited his next question with impatience, but it disappointed me.

“I had forgotten that,” I said thoughtfully. “That is as enigmatical as ever. It seems incredible that a woman like Mrs. Cavendish, proud and reticent to the last degree should interfere so violently in what was certainly not her affair.”

“Precisely. […]”

“It is certainly curious,” I agreed. “Still, it is unimportant, and need not be taken into account.”

A groan burst from Poirot.

“What have I always told you? Everything must be taken into account. If the fact will not fit the theory—let the theory go.”

“Impossible!” I exclaimed. “She had only made it out that very afternoon!”

“Nevertheless, mon ami, it was Mrs. Inglethorp. Because, in no other way can you account for the fact that, on one of the hottest days of the year, Mrs. Inglethorp ordered a fire to be lighted in her room.”