Behold Here's Poison Read online

  ‘I want to get out of these clothes,’ said Owen, with the air of one who has been taken against his will to a fancy-dress party.

  ‘Oh no, you look so nice in them!’ said his wife fondly.

  ‘Well, I’m not like your pansy little cousin Randall, and I feel a fool in them,’ said Owen Crewe.

  Randall, who had succeeded in annoying both Mrs Lupton and Miss Matthews by pressing his Aunt Zoë’s hand feelingly, and remarking in a voice of concern that he feared the painful nature of the occasion would prove too much for her nerves, had moved away to where the Rumbolds were waiting for their car to drive up. ‘How do you do?’ he said. ‘An impressive sight, is it not?’

  ‘Why, whatever do you mean?’ said Mrs Rumbold, who thought him a very smart, witty young man, and was prepared to be entertained.

  ‘Merely the spectacle of my relatives assuming expression of decent grief,’ said Randall.

  ‘What things you do say, Mr Matthews! I’m sure they must feel it. I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it, Ned?’

  ‘Yes, I think it’s rather unfair to assume that they none of them feel any regret,’ replied Rumbold.

  Randall raised his brows. ‘How long have you known my affectionate family?’ he drawled.

  Rumbold laughed. ‘Three years,’ he answered.

  ‘And your simple faith survives! I suppose you would be shocked if I ventured to ask which of my uncle’s loving relatives is, in your mature judgment, the likeliest suspect?’

  ‘Yes, I should,’ said Rumbold sternly. ‘Nor do I think it’s a question you ought even to ask yourself.’

  Mrs Rumbold, lest Randall should feel snubbed, said hastily: ‘Well, I’m sure anyone might be forgiven for wondering, considering the way they were all at daggers drawn, half the time. I know one oughtn’t to speak ill of the dead, but really, I do think that Mr Matthews was the limit! Talk about rude, overbearing people! Well, he fairly took the cake! And quarrelsome!’

  ‘My dear, you had no reason to say so.’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard him with his family, and what I say is, If you can be civil to strangers you can be civil in your own home, too. Not that he was always civil to strangers either, because everyone knows he was shockingly rude to the Rector, not to mention the way he behaved to Dr Fielding. And it’s no credit to him that he liked you, Ned, because everybody likes you.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ said her husband. ‘He liked me because I could give him a game of chess.’ A gleam of amusement crept into his eyes. ‘And because he thought he could always beat me,’ he added.

  ‘Yes, I always suspected you were the soul of tact in your dealings with my uncle,’ said Randall pensively. ‘So was I. It saved trouble.’

  Mrs Rumbold gave a giggle. ‘Oh, Mr Matthews, as though you’d ever bothered to be tactful in all your life!’

  ‘I ought perhaps to explain that tact from nephew to uncle consisted in this case of refraining from asking him for money,’ said Randall.

  ‘Well, they say virtue brings its own reward, don’t they?’ observed Mrs Rumbold. ‘I wish someone would leave me a fortune, just for being what you call tactful!’

  ‘It has certain disadvantages,’ said Randall in his bored voice. ‘It puts strange ideas into the heads of policemen, for one thing, and that, though amusing up to a point, is apt to become a nuisance.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s all nonsense,’ said Mrs Rumbold, reddening. ‘No one really thinks you had anything to do with it, do they, Ned?’

  ‘What you really mean,’ corrected Randall gently, ‘is that everyone is afraid that I couldn’t have had anything to do with it.’

  Mrs Rumbold did not know what to say in answer to this, and merely looked rather uncomfortable. Her husband said bluntly: ‘In face of your own remarks you can hardly object to your relations speculating on whether you might not be the guilty party.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t!’ said Randall, with all his accustomed urbanity. ‘I regard it as a tribute.’ He perceived a speck of dust on his sleeve, and carefully flicked it away with the glove he was holding. ‘Which reminds me,’ he said, ‘that I quite forgot to congratulate my clever Aunt Zoë on the beautiful words she gave to the world through the medium of the Press. I shall have to go to the Poplars, after all.’

  Rumbold’s lips twitched in spite of himself, but he only said: ‘Why bother?’

  ‘Oh, I never neglect little acts of courtesy,’ said Randall.

  Mrs Rumbold watched him stroll away towards his hired car, and remarked that he was a caution.

  ‘Queer chap,’ Rumbold said, looking after him. ‘I’ve never known what to make of him. Is it all pose, or is he as malicious as he seems to want us to think?’

  Randall’s relatives entertained no doubts on this point. His arrival at the Poplars was greeted by only one member of the family with any sort of acclaim, and that one, surprisingly enough, was Stella, who, from the window in the library, saw him alight from his car, and exclaimed: ‘Oh, good! Here’s Randall!’

  Mrs Matthews, rudely interrupted in the middle of the soulful lecture she was delivering on Death, Human Frailty, and her own thoughts during the Burial Service, sighed, and said that it made her doubly sad to think that her own daughter should have so little interest in Serious Things. Miss Matthews, sniffing into a damp handkerchief, said that it only needed that, and in any case she would like to know what Zoë thought poor Gregory’s death had to do with her; and Guy, staring at his sister, ejaculated: ‘ Good? Have you gone batty, or something?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Stella, ‘I haven’t! I’d sooner have Randall being waspish than this – this atmosphere of faked-up emotion! At least he’s normal, but you and Mother and Aunt Harriet are like people out of a Russian play!’

  ‘I hope,’ said Mrs Matthews, a quiver of anger in her voice, ‘that you are overwrought, Stella. That could be the only possible excuse for you. You grieve me more than I can say.’

  Randall had entered the room at the beginning of this speech, and stood on the threshold, regarding his aunt with anxious concern. ‘No, no, we can’t believe that!’ he said soothingly. ‘You are bereft of the power of self-expression for the moment, perhaps, but you will find words, my dear aunt, if you give yourself time. After all, when have you ever failed to find words suitable to any occasion?’

  Stella turned away hurriedly, and stared out of the window, biting her lip. Even Miss Matthews stopped sniffing, and permitted herself to indulge in a somewhat sour smile. Mrs Matthews begged Randall to remember that he stood in a house of mourning, to which Randall replied: ‘My dear aunt, have you no message of cheer to give us, no elevating thought to carry us through this sad day?’

  ‘Is nothing sacred to you, Randall?’ asked Mrs Matthews tragically.

  ‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘My personal appearance is quite sacred to me. I am shocked at being asked such a question. Surely you must have realised that so perfect a result could not be attained without solemn prayer?’

  Stella gave a gasp ‘Randall!’ she said in a choking voice.

  ‘You are an ass!’ remarked Guy.

  ‘You wrong me, little cousin. Dear Aunt Zoë, do not look so outraged! I have come especially to compliment you on your Message to the Public. It was only equalled by pretty, blue-eyed Rose Daventry’s affecting words.’ His mocking glance fell on Miss Matthews. ‘Aunt Harriet, I must warn you that I have every intention of staying to tea. I am aware that there will not be enough cake to go round, but I am hoping that neither you nor my poor dear Aunt Zoë will have the heart to eat anything. I am going upstairs to wash my hands now, and that will give you all time to think out a crushing reply to me.’ He opened the door as he spoke, and with an encouraging smile bestowed on both his aunts, walked out of the room.

  He left behind him an atmosphere tense with hostility. His aunts joined in condemning his manners, morals, and total lack of proper feeling; Guy said that what he chiefly objected to was the damned side the fellow put on; and Stella sat and frowned a