Behold, Here's Poison ih-2 Read online

  “It sounds as though it's I who will have the awful time,” he replied teasingly.

  “Well, I must say I shouldn't like it if you got off with anyone else now that you're engaged to me,” admitted Stella.

  “I'll watch my step,” he promised, walking over to the bell and setting his finger on it.

  Jenner's entrance put an end to the conversation. He brought word of two patients awaiting the doctor in the surgery.

  “Who are they?” asked Fielding.

  “Young Jones, sir, and Mrs Thomas about her little girl's leg.”

  “Oh, well, tell them I don't see patients until two o'clock. Put the clocks back, or something.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Don't think you've got to stay here because of me,” said Stella. “I'm just going anyway.”

  “It's nobody who matters,” he said lightly.

  Stella looked at him with a hint of austerity in her candid eyes. “You don't only care about the people who matter, do you, Deryk?”

  “Of course not, but there's nothing urgent about these cases. Have some more cream?”

  “No, thanks. If it's Mrs Thomas from North End Cottages I do wish you'd go. She told Aunt Harriet that Minnie dreads having her leg dressed, and I must say I'm not surprised. I hate kids to be scared, don't you? I used to be at the dentist's, and he always kept me waiting, which made it worse.”

  He got up, pushing his chair back, and said ruefully: “You're determined to keep my nose to the grindstone, young woman. Shall I ever be allowed to have a meal in peace when we're married?”

  “Yes, lots,” said Stella, kissing her hand to him.

  She finished her luncheon alone, and strolled back to the Poplars. She noticed as she walked up the drive that the blinds were all down in the front windows, and found, upon entering the house, that this had been brought about by the relentless hand of her aunt Gertrude, who had returned to the Poplars, accompanied this time by her younger daughter, Janet.

  In consequence of the gloom reigning over the library and the dining-room the family had been forced to sit in the drawing-room, a large and cheerless apartment at the back of the house, elegantly but uncomfortably furnished in the style of Louis XV. Mrs Lupton was discussing with her sister what had best be done with Gregory Matthews' clothing, and Janet, a pale, earnest looking young woman of five-and-twenty, was trying to be bright and intelligent over her cousin Guy's sketch of the overmantel for the house in Dorking. Stella paused on the threshold, meditating instant flight, but Guy cast her a supplicating look, and feeling that at least she had enjoyed a very good luncheon while he regaled himself on cold lamb and rice pudding she took pity on him, and advanced into the room. “Hullo, Janet!” she said.

  Mrs Lupton looked up, folding her lips. She was a just woman and she did not blame Stella for being much better-looking than either of her own daughters. She was merely sorry that Stella should ruin her complexion with make-up, and squander her mother's (or more probably Gregory's) money on ridiculously unsuitable clothes. “Well, Stella?” she said. “And where have you been, may one ask?”

  “Out,” said Stella briefly.

  Mrs Lupton was glad to think that her daughters would never dream of answering her in that rude way. “I should have thought you could have stayed at home for one day,” she remarked. “And have you nothing quieter to wear than that frock?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “You must have a black one.”

  “All right,” said Stella equably. “If she happens to think of it, I daresay mother will buy one for me.”

  Mrs Lupton sat very straight in her chair. “The least said about your mother's expedition to town the better,” she announced.

  Guy looked up, a spark of anger in his eyes. “Quite!” he said with a good deal of emphasis.

  Janet, who hated people to quarrel, hurried into speech. “Aunt Zoë has such wonderful taste!” she said. “I'm afraid I never know what to buy, but of course I don't care for clothes, much. Or jewellery either. Isn't it funny? Because Agnes—”

  “Not funny: tragic,” said Stella, with a smile that took the sting out of her words. “You look heathenish in that hat too.”

  “Oh, Stella, you are awful! Do I really?”

  “Yes,” said Guy viciously.

  “I know you're only teasing me, but I don't care. I think nearly everything is so much more important than mere clothes, don't you?”

  “No,” said Stella. “You can see I don't.”

  Janet persevered. “Oh, I know you only say that! Guy has been showing me a design for an overmantel. I think it's marvellous. I should never have thought of green marble. I'm not really a bit artistic. You'd shriek if you saw my attempts at drawing! It's funny, really, because Agues used to sketch beautifully, and of course she has awfully good taste. By the way, mother rang her up as soon as she heard, and she sent her love, and said to tell you all how sorry she is. She'd have come down, only that Baby's cutting a tooth, and she doesn't like to leave him.”

  “I shall give that baby an expensive christening present,” said Guy in a burst of gratitude.

  Janet giggled. “You are mad! You know he was christened ages ago, the dear mite! Why, he's actually six months old now! It doesn't seem possible, does it?”

  As neither Stella nor Guy could think of anything to say in answer to this a silence fell. Janet broke it, saying in a lowered voice: “It's funny, isn't it, the way one simply can't help talking of ordinary, everyday things even when something awful has happened? I suppose it is that one just doesn't realise it at first.”

  “No, I think it is that uncle didn't really matter to any of us,” replied Stella thoughtfully.

  “Oh, Stella, how can you?” cried Janet, shocked.

  “But it's perfectly true,” Stella said, resting her chin in her cupped hands, and wrinkling her brow a little. “When he was here he made himself felt because for one thing he was a domestic tyrant, and for another he had a pretty strong personality. But he didn't matter to us because we didn't like him.”

  “I'm sure I was always very fond of him,” said Janet primly.

  Another silence fell. Miss Matthews' voice made itself heard from the other end of the room. “All those lovely ivory brushes and things too! With G. M. on the backs, so they won't be any use to Randall, and it's obviously meant that Guy should have them. And I do think we ought to give something of Gregory's to Mr Rumbold.”

  “I fail to see what claim Mr Rumbold has on any of Gregory's possessions,” said Mrs Lupton.

  “Not a claim exactly, but he is such a close friend, and we had him to stay when Mrs Rumbold went to visit her sister. Really quite like one of the family, for I'm sure he treated this house like a second home, playing chess with Gregory, you know. Though I shall always feel it's a pity he ever married That Woman.”

  “Harriet,” said Mrs Lupton, not mincing matters, you're a sentimental fool, and always have been.”

  “I may be a fool,” said Miss Matthews with a rising colour, “but I wish very much that Mr Rumbold weren't away, because at least he's a Man, in spite of being married to That Woman, and he could advise me.”

  “I have very little opinion of men,” stated Mrs Lupton, “and I fail to see that you stand in any need of advice. Nothing can be done until the Will has been read. I have no doubt that will make very unpleasant hearing, but at least it cannot come as a shock to those of us who have seen what has been going on under our noses for the past five years.”

  Stella did not feel that she could let this pass. “Yes,” she said across the room. “Mother said today that she believed uncle was fonder of her than of either of his sisters.”

  Mrs Lupton bent a cold stare upon her. “I can well imagine that your mother may have said so, but if she supposes that your uncle had any real affection for anyone but himself she is a bigger fool than I take her for.” She turned back to her sister. “Has anyone remembered to inform Randall of his uncle's death?” she demanded.
/>   “I'm sure it's no use asking me,” replied Miss Matthews. “I have had far too much to think of.”

  “If there's one thing more certain than anything else it is that we don't want Randall coming here to make things ten times more unbearable than they are already,” said Guy.

  “My opinion of Randall must be as well known to you as it is to him,” said Mrs Lupton, “but personal feelings are beside the point. So far as we know Randall is his uncle's heir. He is certainly the head of the family, and he should be summoned.”

  “I must say,” remarked Janet with an air of originality, “that I don't like Randall. I know it's wrong of me, but I just can't help it. He's the sort of person I could never trust. I don't know why, I'm sure.”

  “Oh, because he's like an amiable snake,” said Stella light-heartedly. “Smooth, and fanged.”

  The door opened. “Mr Randall Matthews!” announced Beecher.

  Chapter Three

  “Hell!” said Guy audibly.

  There entered a sleek and beautiful young man who paused just inside the door, and glanced round at his assembled relatives with a bland and faintly mocking smile. He was dressed with the most finicking care, and nothing could have been more symphonic than the blend of his shirt with his silk socks and his expensive tie. His figure was extremely elegant; his hands were well-manicured; his jet-black hair was brushed into waves undisturbed by the slightest disorder; and his teeth were so gleamingly white and regular that they might have served for an advertisement for somebody's toothpaste. His mouth was a little too thin-lipped to be perfect, and curled too sarcastically to be pleasant, but his eyes, set under straight brows and fringed by long lashes, were remarkable for their colour and brilliance. They were of a startling and deep blue, very hard, generally half-hidden by drooping lids, and occasionally disconcerting in their sudden alertness. As he looked from one to the other of his relations they were smiling, and quite limpid.

  “How lovely for me!” he said in a voice of honeyed sweetness. “Not only my dear Aunt Gertrude, but my charming cousin Janet as well!” He walked forward, graceful and rather feline, and bent to kiss his aunt's cheek. “My dear aunt! You look so nice in that hat.”

  “Do you think so?” said Mrs Lupton unresponsively.

  “I've thought so for years,” he said gently, and passed on to Miss Matthews. “You must none of you bother to say how pleased you are to see me,” he said. “I can read it in all your expressive faces.” He looked critically at Stella, and strolled across the room towards her. “Yes, darling, that is quite a nice frock, but the handkerchief is not only the wrong shade of grey, but quite damnably tied. Let me show you, my sweet.”

  Stella pushed his hand away. “No, thanks!”

  He was still smiling. “How you hate me, don't you?” he murmured. “And Guy? How are you, little cousin?”

  Guy, who did not relish this form of address, glowered at him.

  Mrs Lupton, still rigid with wrath at the edged compliment paid her, said sharply: “I presume you have heard the news of your uncle's death?”

  “Oh yes!” said Randall. “You will notice that I am wearing an armband. I always like to observe the conventions. And which of you,” he inquired, looking amiably round, “is responsible for dear uncle's death? Or don't you know?”

  This airy question produced a feeling of tension, which was possibly Randall's object. Mrs Lupton said: “That is not amusing nor is this a time for jokes in bad taste.”

  Randall opened his eyes at her. “Dear aunt, did you think I was joking?”

  “If uncle was poisoned, which I don't believe he was for an instant,” said Stella, “you had a bigger motive for killing him than anyone else!”

  Randall took a cigarette out of his thin gold case, and lit it in a leisurely way. “True, my pet, very true, but you mustn't forget that I was several miles distant when he died. And while I am on the subject may I ask who was responsible for starting this canard that uncle was poisoned?”

  “I was responsible for the post-mortem,” replied Mrs Lupton.

  “Do you know, I thought perhaps you might be?” said Randall.

  “I am by no means satisfied that your uncle died a natural death. I accuse no one; I make no insinuations; but I shall be surprised if my suspicions are not found to be correct.”

  “I know you like plain-speaking, my beloved aunt,” said Randall, “so you will not mind my telling you that I find your behaviour extremely officious.”

  “Indeed?”

  “And ill judged,” said Randall pensively.

  “I am not concern—”

  “Also more than a little stupid. But that was to be expected.”

  “It may interest you to know—”

  “Experience, my dear aunt, leads me to reply with confidence that whatever it is you have to say is not in the least likely to interest me.”

  While Mrs Lupton fought for words Stella said curiously: “Then you don't think uncle can really have been poisoned, Randall?”

  “I haven't the slightest idea,” replied Randall. “The question interests me almost as little as Aunt Gertrude's remarks.”

  “Of course, I see what you mean,” said Janet. “But if he was poisoned I'm sure we all want it cleared up.”

  “Are you, darling?” said Randall solicitously.

  “Well—well, you wouldn't want a thing like that to go unpunished, would you?” said Janet.

  “If there's any doubt naturally we want it cleared up!” said Guy, looking defiantly at Mrs Lupton.

  “That was not the tone you used this morning,” she commented dryly.

  “You must not pay too much attention to Guy, Aunt Gertrude,” said Randall. “He is only trying to impress you.”

  “Damn you, are you hinting that I've any reason for wanting it hushed up?” demanded Guy angrily.

  “Shut up! he's only trying to get a rise out of you,” said Stella. She met Randall's ironic gaze, and said bluntly:

  “Why are you so against a post-mortem?”

  “Oh, I'm not!” Randall assured her. “I was merely looking at it from your point of view.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes, my sweet, yours, and Guy's, and Aunt Harriet's, and even my clever Aunt Zoë's. You ought all of you to be very thankful for uncle's timely decease. I do not like to see you looking a gift horse in the mouth. Could you not have induced your obliging medical friend to have signed the death certificate, Stella darling?”

  She flushed. “Dr Fielding was perfectly ready to sign the certificate without any persuasion from me. None of us wanted to start a scandal except Aunt Gertrude.”

  “Of course we didn't,” corroborated Guy. “In fact, I said everything I could to stop it.”

  “Then do not assume a pious attitude now, little cousin,” said Randall. “Believe me, it is nauseating.”

  Miss Matthews, who had been opening and shutting her mouth in the manner of one awaiting an opportunity to enter into the conversation, suddenly exclaimed: “How dare you say that I wanted Gregory to die? I never even thought of such a thing! I may not have been very fond of him, but—” She broke off as Randall's smile grew, and said, trembling: “You are insufferable! just like your father!”

  “My dear aunt,” said Randall, “you were not in the least fond of uncle. Nor was Stella, nor was Guy, nor, even, was my clever Aunt Zoë.”

  “And nor were you!” flashed Stella.

  “And nor was I,” agreed Randall suavely. “In fact, I can think of no one, with the possible exception of Aunt Gertrude, who was fond of him. Were you fond of him, aunt, or was it a mere question of affinity?”

  “I'm sure I was very fond of poor Uncle Gregory,” said Janet unwisely.

  “How very affecting!” said Randall. “But perhaps you are also sure that you are very fond of me too?”

  “I always try to see the best in people,” said Janet with a bright smile. “And I'm sure you don't mean half the things you say.”

  Randall looked at her wi
th acute dislike. “I congratulate you, Janet,” he said. “Your cousins have been trying to silence me for years, but you have done it with one utterly fatuous remark.”

  “May I ask, Randall, whether you came here with any other intention than of being offensive to my daughter?” asked Mrs Lupton.

  “Why, certainly,” he answered, “I came to satisfy my not unnatural curiosity.”

  “You mean your uncle's death?”

  “I mean nothing of the sort,” said Randall. “I was already informed of that, and also of the impending post-mortem, by uncle's solicitor. I was curious to know how you were all behaving in this time of trial, and why it had not occurred to any of you to notify me of uncle's death.”

  He looked round inquiringly as he spoke, and Guy immediately said: “Because we didn't want you nosing about and creating unpleasantness!”

  “Oh, I do hope I haven't done that?” said Randall in a voice of gentle concern.

  “As a matter of fact,” stated Mrs Lupton fairly, “I was telling your Aunt Harriet that you ought to be informed when you arrived. Not that I consider you have any cause for complaint. You are not more nearly concerned than Gregory's sisters. Please do not imagine that you need give yourself airs just because you happen now to be the head of the family! There will be time enough for that when we have heard your uncle's Will read. Which reminds me, Harriet, that I must arrange with Mr Carrington when it will be convenient to him to come down here. In the ordinary course of events I suppose he would come immediately after the funeral, but in this case I am of the opinion that the sooner he comes the better.”

  “I am glad of that,” said Randall. “He is coming on the day after tomorrow.”

  Mrs Lupton eyed him with something approaching loathing. “Do I understand that you took it upon yourself to make this arrangement without a word to anyone?”

  “Yes,” said Randall.

  At this moment a not unwelcome interruption occurred. Mrs Matthews came into the room. She extended a gloved hand towards Randall, and said: “I saw your car, and so guessed you were here. Janet, too! Quite a little family party, I see. I wonder if you thought to order any fresh cake, Harriet dear? I seem to remember that there was not a great deal yesterday. But I'm sure you did.” She dropped her hand on to her sister-in-law's shoulder for a moment, and pressed it. “Poor Harriet! Such a sad, sad day. And for me too.”