Behold, Here's Poison ih-2

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “I understood that you had been shopping in town,” said Mrs Lupton.

  Mrs Matthews gave her a look of pained reproach. “I have been buying mourning, Gertrude, if you can call that shopping.”

  “I do not know what else one can call it,” retorted Mrs Lupton.

  Randall handed Mrs Matthews to a chair. “How tired you must be!” he said. “I find there is nothing so fatiguing as choosing clothes.”

  “Oh,” said Mrs Matthews, sinking into the chair, and beginning to draw off her gloves, “it was not so much choosing, as taking anything that was suitable. One doesn't care what one wears at such a time.”

  “You have a beautiful nature, dear Aunt Zoë. But I feel sure that exquisite taste cannot have erred, shattered though we know you to be.”

  Mrs Matthews fixed her soulful eyes on his face, and replied gravely: “Not shattered, Randall, but in a mood of—how shall I express it?—melancholy, perhaps, and yet not quite that. Gregory has been much in my thoughts.”

  “Let me beg of you, Zoë, not to make yourself ridiculous by talking in that affected way!” said Mrs Lupton roundly. “You will find it very hard to convince me for one that Gregory has been in your thoughts, as you call it, for as much as ten seconds.”

  “And I'm sure I don't know why he should be!” added Miss Matthews, a good deal annoyed. “I lived with Gregory all my life, and what is more he was my brother, and if he was in anyone's thoughts it was in mine, which indeed he was, for I have been sorting all his clothes, wondering whether we should not send most of them to a sale. Though there is an old coat which might very well be given to the gardener, and no doubt Guy would be glad of the new waterproof.”

  “My thoughts were rather different, dear,” said Mrs Matthews. “I was in Knightsbridge, and found time to slip into the Oratory for a few moments. The peace of it! There was something in the whole atmosphere of the place which I can hardly describe, but which seemed to me just right, somehow.”

  “It must have been the incense,” said Miss Matthews doubtfully. “Not that I care for it myself, or for joss-sticks either, though my mother used to be very fond of burning them in the drawing-room, I remember. Though why you should go into a Roman Catholic Church I can't imagine.”

  “Nor anyone else,” said Mrs Lupton.

  Janet said large-mindedly: “I think I can understand what you mean, Aunt Zoë. There's something about those places, though one can't approve of Roman Catholics, of course, but I can quite imagine how you felt.”

  “No, dear, you are too young to understand, mercifully for yourself,” said Mrs Matthews, disdaining this wellmeant support. “You do not know anything of the dark side of life yet, and pray God you never may!”

  “Oh, mother!” groaned Guy, writhing in acute discomfort.

  “If all this grossly exaggerated talk refers to Gregory's death I can only say that I never listened to such nonsense in my life!” declared Mrs Lupton.

  Randall lifted one long, slender finger. “Hush, aunt! Aunt Zoë is remembering that she is a widow.”

  “Damn you!” muttered Stella, just behind him.

  “Yes, Randall, I am remembering it,” said Mrs Matthews. “Now that Gregory has passed on I realise that I am indeed alone in the world.”

  Randall made a gesture towards his scowling cousins. “Ah, but, aunt, you forget your two inestimable Blessings!” He glanced down into Stella's wrathful eyes, and said softly: “That will teach you to say damn you to me, my sweet, won't it?”

  Under cover of Mrs Lupton's and Miss Matthews' voices, both uplifted in indignant speech, Stella said: “You're a rotten cad!”

  He laughed. “Temper, Stella, temper!”

  “I wish to God you'd get out, and stay out!”

  “Think how dull you'd be without me,” he said, turning away. “Dear, dear, surely my beloved aunts are not quarrelling?”

  The dispute ended abruptly. “Do you mean to stay to tea, Randall?” snapped Miss Matthews.

  “No, Stella has expressed a wish that I should get out and stay out,” replied Randall, quite without rancour.

  “Stella, dear! I'm sure you didn't mean that,” Mrs Matthews said.

  “What a thing it is to be head of the family!” murmured Randall. “I am becoming popular.” With which parting shot he blew a kiss to the assembled company, and walked out of the room.

  He left behind him a feeling of tension which the succeeding days did nothing to allay. The family was uneasy, and the intelligence, conveyed to Stella by Dr Fielding, that the organs of Gregory Matthews' body had been sent to the Home Office for analysis was not reassuring. The suspense set everyone's nerves on edge, and the visit of Mr Giles Carrington, of the firm of Carrington, Radclyffe, and Carrington, to read the Will on Friday had the effect of causing a great deal of pent-up emotion to explode.

  Everyone had nursed expectations; everyone, except Randall, was disappointed. Mrs Lupton was left a thousand pounds only, and an oil painting of her brother which she neither liked nor had room for on her already overcrowded walls, and was inclined to regard it as an added injury that she was referred to in the Will as Gregory's beloved sister Gertrude. Neither of her daughters was mentioned, and it was insufficient consolation to discover that Guy had been similarly ignored. Stella, in a codicil dated three weeks previously, was to receive two thousand pounds upon her twenty-fifth birthday on condition that she was not at that time either betrothed or married to Dr Fielding. The bulk of the estate was inherited by Randall, but a disastrous provision had been made for Mrs Matthews, and for Harriet. Gregory Matthews, with what both ladies could only feel to have been malicious spite, had bequeathed to them jointly his house and all that was in it with a sum sufficient for its upkeep to be administered by his two executors, Randall and Giles Carrington.

  While Giles Carrington, who was a stranger to them, was present the various members of the family had for decency's sake to control their feelings, but no sooner had he departed than Mrs Lupton set the ball rolling by saying: “Well, no one need think that I am in any way surprised, for I am not. Gregory never showed the faintest consideration for anyone during his lifetime, and it would be idle to suppose that he would change in death.”

  Randall raised his brows at this, and mildly remarked: “This document is not a communication from the Other Side, I can assure you, aunt”

  “I am well aware of that, thank you, Randall. Nor would it astonish me to learn that you had a great deal to do with the drawing-up of the Will. To refer to me as his beloved sister, and then to leave me a portrait of himself which I never admired and do not want makes me suspect strongly that you had a finger in the pie.”

  “Perhaps,” said Stella, looking him in the eye, “it was you who had this bright notion of leaving me two thousand pounds with strings tied to it?”

  “Darling, I wouldn't have left you a penny,” replied Randall lovingly.

  “That would suit me just as well,” said Stella. “I don't want his filthy two thousand, and I wouldn't touch it if I were starving!”

  Agues Crewe, who had come down with her husband to hear the Will read, said:. “I didn't expect uncle to remember me in his Will, but I must admit that it does upset me to think that Baby is not even mentioned. After all, the mite is the only representative of the third generation, and I do think uncle might have left him something, even if it were only quite a little thing.”

  Owen Crewe, a quiet man in the late thirties, said pleasantly: “No doubt he felt that my son was hardly a member of the Matthews family, my dear.”

  Agnes, as fair-minded as her mother, and with her sister's invincible good-nature, replied: “Well, there is that, of course, but after all, I'm a Matthews, and—”

  “On the contrary, my dear,” said Owen, “you were a Lupton before you married me.”

  Agnes gave her jolly laugh. “Oh, you men! You always have an answer to everything. Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk, and I shan't say another word about it.”

  “T
hat is an excellent resolve, my dear, and one that I hope you won't break more than three times a day,” replied Owen gravely.

  Henry Lupton, who had made no contribution to the conversation till now, suddenly said with a deprecating little laugh: “Blessed is he that expecteth nothing.”

  “You may consider yourself blessed if you choose,” said his wife severely. “I am far from looking at it in that light. Gregory was a thoroughly selfish man, though I am sorry to have to say such a thing of my own brother, and when I think that but for me he would be buried by now, and no one a penny the wiser as to the cause of his death I am extremely sorry that I did not wash my hands of the whole affair.”

  “No, no!” remonstrated Randall. “Think of the coals of fire you are heaping on his ghostly head!”

  “Please do not be irreverent, Randall! I am not at all amused.”

  “It seems to me that the whole Will is rottenly unfair!” exclaimed Guy bitterly. “Why should Stella get two thousand pounds and me nothing? Why should Randall bone the lot? He wasn't uncle's son any more than I was!”

  “It was because of my endearing personality, little cousin,” explained Randall.

  “No one—no one has as much cause for complaint as I have!” said Miss Matthews in a low, trembling voice. “For years I've slaved to make Gregory comfortable, and not squander the housekeeping money as others would have done, and what is my reward? It was downright wicked of him, and I only hope I never come across him when I die, because I shall certainly tell him what I think of him if I do!”

  She rushed from the room as she spoke, and Randall at once turned to Mrs Matthews, saying with an air of great affability: “And what has my dear Aunt Zoë to say?”

  Mrs Matthews rose nobly to the occasion. She said with a faint, world-weary smile: “I have nothing to say, Randall. I have been trying to forget all these earthly, unimportant things and to fix my mind on the spiritual side of it all.”

  Henry Lupton, who thought her a very sweet woman, looked round with a touch of nervous defiance, and said: “Well, I think we may say that Zoë sets us all an example, don't you?”

  “Henry,” said his wife awfully, “I am ready to go home.”

  Mrs Matthews maintained her air of resignation, but when alone with either or both of her children found a good deal to say about the Will. “It is not that one wants anything,” she told them, “but one misses the thought for others. Consideration for people's feelings means so much in this dark world, as I hope you will both of you remember always. I had no claim on Gregory, though since I was his brother's wife I daresay a lot of people would disagree with me on that point. As far as actual money goes I expected nothing, but it would have been such a comfort if there had been some little sign to show that I was not quite forgotten. I am afraid poor Gregory—”

  “Well, there is a sign,” said Stella bluntly. “You've got a half-share in the house, and it isn't to cost you anything to keep up.”

  “That was not quite what I meant, dear,” said Mrs Matthews, vague but repressive. “Poor Gregory! I have nothing but the kindest memories of him, but I am afraid his was what I call an insensitive nature. He never knew the joy of giving. In some ways he was curiously hard. Perhaps if he had had more imagination—and yet I don't know that it would have made any difference. Sometimes I think that he was brought up to be selfish through and through. I was very, very fond of him, but I don't think he ever had a thought for anyone but himself in all his life.”

  “He was rather a mean brute,” agreed Stella.

  “No, darling, you must never think that,” said her mother gently. “Try only to look on the best side of people. Your uncle had some very sterling qualities, and it wasn't his fault that he was hard, and selfish, and not always very kind to others. We cannot help our natures, though some of us do try.”

  “Well,” said Stella, correctly divining the reason for these strictures on her uncle's character, “one comfort is that Aunt Harriet can't live for ever.”

  “That kind of person nearly always does,” said Mrs Matthews, forgetting for the moment to be Christian. “She'll go on and on, getting more eccentric every day.”

  Stella laughed. “Cheer up, Mummy! She's years older than you are, anyway.”

  “I only wish that I had her health,” said Mrs Matthews gloomily. “Unfortunately I've never been strong, and I'm not likely to get better at my age. My nerves are not a thing I should ever expect your aunt to sympathise with—I've often noticed that people who are never ill themselves have not the faintest understanding of what it means to be more or less always seedy—but though I make a point of never letting anyone guess how very far from well I often feel, I do sometimes long for a little more consideration.”

  “Aunt Harriet isn't such a bad old stick,” remarked Guy, glancing up from his book.

  “You don't have to live with her all day,” replied his mother with a touch of asperity. She recollected herself, and added: “Not that I don't fully realise all her good points, but I can't help wondering what induced your uncle to leave her a half-share in this great house. She would be far happier in a little place of her own. She's always complaining that this house is too big, and runs away with so much money, and we all know that she really is not capable of doing the housekeeping—which I've no doubt she'll insist on doing the same as ever.”

  “But mother, you know your health would never stand the worry of housekeeping,” said Stella tactfully.

  “No, darling, that is not to be thought of—not that I should consider my health for a moment if it weren't my duty to keep myself as well as possible for your sakes—but if I had my way I should install a competent housekeeper.”

  “That's more or less what Aunt Harriet is,” said Guy.

  “She is not in the least competent,” retorted Mrs Matthews. “And really her mania for using things up, and saving money on sheer necessities, like coal, will drive me into my grave! It's all very well for you two: you have your own lives, and your own amusements, but at my age I don't think I'm unreasonable to want a house of my own, where I can entertain my friends without having Harriet grudging every mouthful they eat, and wanting to turn off all the lights at eleven o'clock!”

  “If you mind frightfully,” said Stella, “wouldn't your income run to a small flat, or something?”

  “Not to be thought of!” said Mrs Matthews firmly. “I have to be very careful as it is.”

  It was evident that she was a good deal moved, and Stella, who had not before realised how confidently she had expected to be left in sole possession of the Poplars, did what she could to console her. This was not very much, since honesty compelled her to admit that Miss Harriet Matthews was an impossible companion for anyone of Mrs Matthews' temperament. Honesty also compelled her to admit that Mrs Matthews herself was not the ideal housemate, but loyalty to her mother would not allow her to listen to her aunt's rambling complaints. Guy, though quite fond of his aunt, always defended his mother from any criticism levelled at her by any other person than himself or Stella, so Miss Matthews was in the unfortunate position of having a grievance with no one to whom she could air it. She went muttering about the house, gave vent to dark sayings at odd moments, and was fast developing a tendency to behave as though mortally injured when Mr Edward Rumbold and his wife providentially returned from Eastbourne, where they had been staying during the whole of the past week.

  Miss Matthews was delighted. She was genuinely attached to Edward Rumbold, who always treated her with courtesy, and never seemed to be bored by her discursive conversation. Moreover, she had a firm belief in the infallibility of the male sex, and had very often found Mr Rumbold's counsel to be good. Her brother had more than once warned her jeeringly not to make a fool of herself over a married man, but although this advice had the power to distress her she knew that there was Nothing Like That in her relationship with Edward Rumbold, and even had he not already possessed a wife she still would not have wished for a closer tie than that of friendship.<
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  Randall had once remarked that Edward Rumbold seemed to have been created especially to be a Friend of the Family. It was certainly true that Miss Matthews' woes were not the only ones poured into his ears. Mrs Matthews, and Stella, and Guy all took him in varying degrees into their confidence, and if he found the recital of other people's troubles wearisome, at least he was far too well-mannered to show it.

  He had of course seen the notice of Gregory Matthews' death in the papers, and came round to the Poplars after his return on Saturday to offer condolences, and any help that might be needed. Mrs Rumbold accompanied him, which was not felt by the two elder ladies of the house to be an advantage.

  “One wonders what he saw in her,” and “One wonders how she managed to catch him” were expressions frequently heard on Mrs and Miss Matthews' tongues, and they both persisted, in spite of his evident fondness for his wife, in pitying him from the bottom of their hearts. Miss Matthews usually referred to Mrs Rumbold as That Woman, while her more charitable sister-in-law spoke of her as Poor Mrs Rumbold, and said that That Type always pulled a man down. Occasionally she added that it was very sad that the Rumbolds were childless, and it was generally understood that this circumstance was in her opinion a further blot on Mrs Rumbold's character.

  Actually it would have been hard to have found a couple more quietly devoted to each other than Edward and Dorothy Rumbold. They took little part in the social activities of Grinley Heath, but spent a considerable portion of the year in travelling, and always seemed to be content with one another's company. Edward Rumbold was a fine-looking man of about fifty, with iron-grey hair, very regular features, and a pair of steady, far-seeing eyes. His wife was less prepossessing, but persons not so biased as Mrs and Miss Matthews had no difficulty in perceiving wherein lay her attraction for Edward Rumbold. “She must have been awfully pretty when she was young,” said Stella.