Hercule Poirot stood before the stately Georgian-era house, its historical charm preserved amidst the encroaching modernity of Croft Street. While new supermarkets, gift shops, and cafés had transformed the area, this particular building held onto a certain dignified air, as if defying the tides of time.

Poirot noticed the polished brass knocker glinting in the sunlight and, appreciating the attention to detail, rang the doorbell. A tall, sharp-featured woman with neatly coiffed gray hair and a shrewd glint in her eyes promptly opened the door.

"Mr. Poirot? Right on time. Please, come in," she said.

"You must be Miss Bettesby," Poirot replied.

"Indeed." She gave a polite smile, took his hat, and hung it on a polished rack before leading him into a cozy sitting room. The room overlooked a small, meticulously maintained garden, which seemed to mirror its owner’s disciplined character.

After inviting Poirot to sit, Miss Bettesby seated herself across from him, her expression expectant but with no trace of frivolity. It was clear that she preferred to dispense with pleasantries.

"You were the headmistress of Meadowfield Girls’ School, correct?" Poirot began.

"Yes," she replied with calm precision. "I retired a year ago. I assume you're here about Norma Restarick."

"Exactly."

"You didn’t share much detail in your letter," she noted, leaning slightly forward. "But I know who you are, Mr. Poirot. Before we begin, let me ask: Are you considering hiring Norma for some role?"

Poirot shook his head. "No, that is not my purpose."

"Then may I ask why you are interested in her? Do you have a letter of recommendation from her father?"

Poirot gave a slight smile. "I do not."

Miss Bettesby’s brow furrowed. "That’s odd. He should have accompanied you."

Poirot explained, "I did not ask him to join me. The questions I have might cause him distress, and he has already endured enough."

Miss Bettesby’s sharp expression softened, replaced by concern. "Has something happened to Norma?"

"I hope not," Poirot said gently. "But it is a possibility I cannot dismiss. Miss Bettesby, do you remember her?"

"I remember every one of my students," she said with unwavering certainty. "Meadowfield was a small school, with only about two hundred girls."

"Why did you retire from the school, Miss Bettesby?" Poirot inquired.

"Mr. Poirot, that is hardly relevant," she replied, her tone sharpening.

Poirot chuckled lightly. "It is merely natural curiosity on my part."

"I am seventy years old. Is that reason enough?" she said curtly.

"If I may say so, you appear full of energy and could easily have continued for a few more years," Poirot complimented.

Miss Bettesby’s tone softened slightly. "Times have changed, Mr. Poirot. I could no longer tolerate the modern parents—their expectations for their daughters are both shortsighted and foolish." A flicker of weariness crossed her otherwise composed demeanor.

Poirot nodded thoughtfully and returned to the matter at hand. "What kind of girl was Norma Restarick? How would you describe her character?"

Miss Bettesby considered the question carefully. "She was ordinary. Academically average—she kept up with her studies but never excelled."

"Was she a neurotic type?" Poirot asked.

"Certainly not," Miss Bettesby said firmly. "Her family situation was unfortunate, but she showed no signs of psychological trouble."

"Her mother was unwell, correct?" Poirot pressed.

"Yes. After her father left, her mother harbored a great deal of resentment, most of which she directed at Norma. It made her somewhat emotional, but nothing beyond that." She paused, then added, "Overall, Norma was a normal girl."

"How would you describe the late Mrs. Restarick?" Poirot asked.

Miss Bettesby’s expression darkened. "A principled woman, but weak, self-absorbed, and incapable of coping with life. She had a habit of exaggerating her ailments and frequently checked into sanatoriums. It was a damaging environment for Norma."

"Did Norma ever display signs of instability?"

"Instability? Utter nonsense!" Miss Bettesby’s indignation was palpable. "Norma was emotional, yes, but that’s hardly the same as being unstable."

"Could she have suddenly run off and married someone?" Poirot asked, probing further.

Miss Bettesby smiled faintly. "That is possible. Perfectly normal behavior for a girl her age."

She stood, signaling that the conversation was over, her confidence in her own assessments unshakable.

Poirot rose, thanked her, and left, his mind busy dissecting her words. "An emotional yet normal girl," he mused as he walked away. "But is that truly Norma Restarick? Or is there more to her story than meets the eye?"