Behold, Here's Poison Part 4

'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 amus.e.m.e.nts, 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 s.e.x, 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.

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 Sat.u.r.day 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 circ.u.mstance 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.

She was still pretty in a kind light, for she had large blue eyes, and a retrousse nose which gave a piquancy to her face. Unfortunately she was a blonde who had faded quickly, and she had sought to rejuvenate herself by the not entirely felicitous use of hair-dye, and rouge. Nature had intended her, at the age of forty-seven, to be greyhaired and plump, but Art and Slimming Exercises had given her bronze locks and a sylph-like silhouette. She was always rather lavishly made-up, and had lately taken to painting her eyelashes a startling blue, and her fingernails a repulsive crimson. She was as kind as she was common, and Stella and Guy (though they vied with one another in inventing her past history) liked her, and said that she was a Good Sort.

She sat beside Miss Matthews on the sofa in the drawing-room when she came with her husband to condole, and said: 'You poor dear! It must have been a terrible shock. I was ever so upset when I read it in the paper. I couldn't believe it at first, not till I saw the address, and even then I couldn't seem to take it in, could I, Ned?'

'It was surely quite unexpected?' he said, his quiet voice in somewhat striking contrast to his wife's shrill tones.

This civil question had the effect of causing Miss Matthews to break into a torrent of words. Gregory Matthews' const.i.tution, his disregard of his health, the duck he had eaten at his last meal, Mrs Lupton's spite, and the scandal of a post-mortem were all crammed higgledy-piggledy into one speech.

'I am exceedingly sorry! I had no idea!' Mr Rumbold said. 'Of course it must be most unpleasant for you all.'

'Why, whatever can have made Mrs Lupton go and say a thing like that?' wondered Mrs Rumbold. 'As though anyone would want to murder Mr Matthews! No, really, I do call it downright spiteful, don't you, Ned?'

'I expect she was upset,' he answered.

'So were we all, but we didn't say he'd been poisoned!' retorted Miss Matthews. 'I wished very much that you had been here to advise me. I shall always feel that something ought to have been done to stop it, no matter what anyone says!'

He smiled a little. 'I'm afraid you wouldn't have been able to stop it,' he replied. 'And after all, if there is any feeling of suspicion you'd rather have it put to rest, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, if it is put to rest,' agreed Miss Matthews. 'But it's my belief that as soon as you start stirring things up something shocking is bound to be discovered where you least expect it'

'The idea that Gregory was poisoned is merely absurd,' said Mrs Matthews. 'Of that I am convinced.'

'Yes, I daresay you are, but you know very well Guy had been quarrelling with him, not to mention Stella.'

The effect of this speech was to turn Mrs Matthews from a Christian woman into something more nearly resembling a tigress at bay. There was even something faintly suggestive of a feline crouch in the way she leaned forward in her chair, with her hands gripping the arms of it. 'Perhaps you would like to explain what you mean by that, Harriet?' she said in a low, menacing voice. 'Please do so! And remember that you are speaking of My Children!'

Miss Matthews quailed, as well she might, and said tearfully that she meant nothing at all.

'Ah!' said Mrs Matthews, relaxing her taut muscles. 'I am glad of that, Harriet.'

Under her delicate make-up she was quite pale. Guy leaned over the back of her chair, and grinned down at her. 'Attaboy, ma!' he said approvingly.

She put up her hand to clasp his, but said only: 'Please don't use that vulgar expression, dear. You know I dislike it.

'I'm sure,' said Miss Matthews, groping in her pocket for her handkerchief, 'you needn't turn on me, Zo! n.o.body could be fonder of Guy than I am-and of Stella too, of course. I was only thinking how it would look to an outsider.'

Mrs Matthews recovered her poise. 'Don't let us say any more about it. You naturally cannot be expected to understand a mother's feelings.' She turned to Mrs Rumbold, and said graciously: 'And has your stay at the seaside done you good, Mrs Rumbold?'

'Oh, I'm splendid, thanks!' replied Mrs Rumbold. 'It was only Ned who would have it I needed a change of air.' She threw him a warm look as she spoke, and added: 'You wouldn't believe the way he spoils me, that man!'

Mrs Matthews smiled politely, but made no remark. Miss Matthews, with a glance of hatred cast in her direction, asked Mr Rumbold to come and look at the plumb ago, and bore him off in triumph to the conservatory. She was a keen horticulturist, and soon became torn between a desire to talk solely of her troubles and an even stronger desire to compare notes with him on the progress of their respective rarities. She contrived in the end to do both, but became somewhat muddled, and kept on handing him earthy pots of flowers (which he could have looked at just as easily without having to hold them) with a slightly inconsequent recommendation to him to Look at the way she's behaving now, just as though she owned the whole house! He escaped from her presently on the pretext of' being obliged to go and wash his hands, and went upstairs to do so only to fall a victim, on his way down again, to Mrs Matthews, who was on the look-out for him.

Later, Stella accompanied both the visitors down the drive to the gate, and said with a twinkle: 'Did Mother tell you all her woes when Aunt Harriet had finished telling you hers, Mr Rumbold?'

He laughed. 'You're an irreverent minx, Stella. She did tell me a certain amount.'

'Well, I hope you smoothed them both down. They're rather on each other's nerves.'

'And I'm sure it's not to be wondered at,' said Mrs Rumbold kindly. 'A death in the house is enough to upset anybody, and when it comes to inquests and things, I'm not surprised at your mother and your auntie being a bit on edge.'

'We all are,' Stella said. 'Uncle wasn't poisoned, of course, but somehow when a thing like that has been suggested you find yourself-sort of speculating on who might have done it. It's horrid.'

'I shouldn't think about it at all, if I were you,' said Edward Rumbold with calm good sense. 'Dr Fielding is much more fitted to judge than your Aunt Gertrude, you know.'

'Yes,' agreed Stella. 'Only if it did happen to be true, and the police come and ask us all questions won't it look rather black that Guy, and D-that Guy and I have been having rows with uncle?'

'Of course it won't,' said Edward Rumbold comfortingly. 'The police don't arrest people merely because they've been quarrelling, you know! You're too fond of meeting troubles halfway, young woman.'

'Well, all I can say is I hope they don't come,' said Stella unconvinced.

'I don't suppose they will,' said Mr Rumbold.

But at ten o'clock on Monday morning Beecher went to the store-room in search of Miss Matthews, and in ominous silence held out a silver tray with a visiting-card reposing on it.

The card bore the name of Detective-Superintendent Hannasyde, of the Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard. Miss Matthews gave a startled gasp, and dropped it as though it were red-hot.

'I've shown them into the library, miss,' said Beecher.

Chapter Four.

There were three people in the library. One was a middle-aged man, with grizzled hair, and eyes deep-set in a square, good-humoured countenance; the second was a thin man with a clipped moustache, and a very thin neck; the third was Dr Fielding. As Miss Matthews entered the room, clinging to her nephew's arm, the doctor stepped forward, and said in a grave voice: 'Miss Matthews, I am sorry to say that things are more serious than I had supposed. This is Superintendent Hannasyde, of Scotland Yard; and this,' he added, indicating the man with the moustache, 'is Inspector Davis, from the Police Station here.'

Miss Matthews looked at the Superintendent much as she might have looked at a boa-constrictor, and said Good-morning in a frightened whisper. The local Inspector she ignored.

'Good morning,' Hannasyde said pleasantly. 'Inspector Davis and I have come to ask you one or two questions about your brother's death.'

'You surely aren't going to tell us that he really was poisoned?' exclaimed Guy. 'I don't believe it! Why on earth should anyone want to poison him?'

Hannasyde glanced towards him. 'I don't know, Mr Matthews? That is one of the things I've come to find out.'

'But it's incredible!' Guy declared. 'I simply can't believe it!'

'I'm afraid there's no doubt, Guy,' interposed Fielding. 'The a.n.a.lysts discovered nicotine.'

Guy blinked. 'Nicotine? But he didn't smoke!'

'So Dr Fielding has been telling me,' replied Hannasyde.

Miss Matthews found her voice. 'Then it couldn't have been the duck!' she said.

'The duck?' repeated Hannasyde a little blankly.

'Yes, because if there had been any poison in that we should all be dead! And in any case I have the bill for two lamb cutlets, and anyone will tell you that they were ordered for my brother, even though he didn't eat them.'

'Miss Matthews was afraid that the roast duck which her brother ate that evening might have caused his death,' explained the doctor.

'I see,' said Hannasyde. 'No, it could hardly have been the duck, Miss Matthews. Can you remember what else your brother ate or drank on the night he died?'

She began to enumerate the dishes which had appeared for dinner, but he stopped her. 'No, later than that, Miss Matthews. Did he take anything on going to bed? A cup of Ovaltine, perhaps, or-'

'He couldn't bear anything with malt in it,' said Miss Matthews positively. 'Often and often I've begged him to try it, because he didn't sleep very well, but he never would listen to advice, not even when he was a little boy.'

'Did he take anything at all for his insomnia?' Hannasyde asked.

'Oh, it wasn't as bad as that!' said Miss Matthews. 'In fact, it's my belief he slept a lot better than he thought he did.'

Hannasyde turned his head towards the doctor, and raised his brows in a mute question.

Fielding said: 'I prescribed nothing. He may occasionally have taken aspirin. I don't know.'

'No, that I'm sure he did not,' said Miss Matthews. 'He didn't approve of drugs.'

'Then between dinner and bedtime he didn't, to your knowledge, take anything at all? No drink of any sort? A whiskey-and-soda, for instance, or-'

'Oh, that sort of thing!' said Miss Matthews. 'He often had a whiskey-and-soda about half an hour before he went to bed. Not always, you know, but quite often. We have a tray brought into the drawing-room at ten o'clock. I myself think it's entirely unnecessary, and simply encourages young people to sit up late, drinking and smoking, and wasting the electricity.'

'Do you remember if your brother had a whiskey-and-soda, or any other kind of drink, on Tuesday evening? Perhaps you can help me, Mr Matthews?'

'I was just trying to remember,' said Guy. 'I don't think-'

'Yes, he did,' said Miss Matthews suddenly. 'Speaking to you reminded me of it, Guy. He had a small whiskey, and he said that when he asked for a small one he didn't mean he wanted it drowned in soda. And you said the syphon was rather "up." Don't you remember?'

'Was that the night he died?' asked Guy, frowning.

'Yes, I believe it was.'

'Did you pour out his drink for him, Mr Matthews?'

'Yes. I often did,' Guy answered.

'At about what time did he have the whiskey?'

'Oh, I don't know! The usual time, I think. Round about half-past ten.'

'Do you know when he went up to bed?'

'No, I was in the billiard-room with my sister.'

'My brother always went up to his room at eleven, unless we had visitors,' said Miss Matthews. 'We were all brought up to keep regular hours in my family, though I must say Gregory used to waste a lot of time pottering about his room before he got into bed.'

'You don't know what he did after he went upstairs, or when he actually got into bed?'

Miss Matthews was inclined to be affronted.

'Certainly not! I was not in the habit of spying on him!'