Wandering about the various options on television the other day, I found myself rewatching the Miss Marple Mystery “4:50 from Paddington.” In this story, a woman witnesses a murder as her train passes another train. The train officials can find no evidence that such a murder occurred and think she’s just a silly old biddy who had a nightmare. She was on the train because she was going to visit Agatha Christie’s supersleuth, Miss Marple, and pours the whole story out to her as soon as she arrives. Miss Marple believes her, deduces that the body must have been thrown from the train, and realizes that the only way to find out more is to get someone installed at the only house near where the murder occurred, the estate of a large and wealthy family.

Fortunately the family is in some distress owing to the death of the matriarch and two of the grown children, and the father’s ill health. Miss Marple manages to get her friend Lucy Eyelesbarrow, who has made a nice career out of providing temporary cook-and-housekeeper services to upper-class families, hired on for the time being. Despite being upper-class, Lucy can do it all. She’s a superb chef, she keeps the house running smoothly, she invites confidences from most of the denizens of the house–and in her spare time, she combs the ground for evidence. Long story short, she finds the body and enough clues that Miss Marple can finger the murderer (but not before two more members of the family are murdered).

Lucy is not only competent but beautiful, and she attracts the attention of most of the male characters. One after another they come to press her with their desire for her to either sleep with them or take care of them, or both. Miss Marple foresees that Lucy, although attracted to the most rakish of the sons, will in fact marry dull, widowed Brian because he and his son need her the most. But in the 2004 production that I watched (with Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple), the writers chose another fate for her. Instead of weak Brian, whose proposal consists of “I need someone to take care of me,” she ends up with the local detective, a man of almost equal competence to Lucy, and the only one who has not demanded anything from her, but who instead does things like quietly picking up her luggage and carrying it.

He is the only man who doesn’t think that telling Lucy how she can make him happy is an enticement to intimacy. It doesn’t occur to the others that a woman who has turned being helpful into a lucrative career is not going to jump at the chance to continue that work without being paid a cent, in return for a ring and a different last name. They think they are honoring her by telling her how much they need her. I wanted Lucy to reply, “perhaps, but what do I get?”

In Cold Comfort Farm, Flora Poste also fixes everything for a family. The eldest son shows his gratitude by proposing to her, telling her that he likes what she does and wants to keep her around. But Flora, like Lucy, wants more than just to be needed. She marries Charles, who has always been there to help when she needs it, but who has also told her quite firmly that he doesn’t need or want her to “improve” him. Flora responds positively to this dictate. As Sheila Gibbons, the author of the book, tells us, “Like all strong-minded women on whom everybody flops, she adored being bossed about.” Charles has his own life figured out–he’s a vicar who flies his own plane–and all he wants from Flora is herself.

One can imagine that Lucy and the detective might go on to form a successful detective agency, working in partnership like Christie’s married detectives Tommy and Tuppence do. Likewise, Flora will make an excellent vicar’s wife, finding plenty of scope for her talents in the families of the parish while leaving Charles to his own work. Capable women don’t want to be leaned on; they want capable partners who can pull their share of the load.