Behold Here's Poison Read online

  Henry looked rather frightened, and said: ‘No, my dear, of course not, but hadn’t we better think it over before we act?’

  ‘Deryk, you don’t think he was poisoned, do you?’ asked Stella anxiously.

  Fielding gave her a brief smile. ‘No, I don’t. At the same time, if Mrs Lupton feels there is room for doubt I should naturally prefer that there should be a post-mortem examination.’ He glanced at Mrs Lupton as he spoke, and added: ‘As far as I am concerned there is no objection to the matter being put into the hands of the Coroner.’

  ‘Well, I think there’s every objection!’ said Guy angrily. ‘Everyone but Aunt Gertrude is perfectly satisfied with your diagnosis, and I utterly fail to see what point there is in having uncle cut up, and a lot of family linen washed in public ! Of course he wasn’t poisoned, but the instant we have an autopsy and an inquest people will start talking, and say there’s no smoke without a fire, and life will be pure hell!’

  ‘I must say, that is perfectly true,’ agreed his mother. ‘And one cannot help wondering whether it is quite what poor Gregory would have liked.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Miss Matthews positively. ‘He said he wasn’t going to have anything more to do with doctors. And it isn’t what I like either, though no one considers my feelings in this house, or ever has! I know what it will be. We shall all have to answer questions which have nothing to do with the case, and after all no one could possibly live with Gregory without quarrelling with him. And for my part I shall tell them quite frankly that it was Gertrude who always quarrelled most with him in the nursery, which is perfectly true, as poor Hubert and Arthur would bear me out if only they were alive to hear me!’ This chance reference to her two deceased brothers caused her to burst into tears again. She brought out a large handkerchief from her pocket, and sniffed into it, saying: ‘If only I had a Man to turn to! But my brothers are all dead, and even Mr Rumbold’s away, and you can put upon me as much as you choose!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harriet!’ commanded her sister. ‘No one suspects you of having anything to do with it.’

  ‘That’s what you say!’ retorted Miss Matthews. ‘But I haven’t the least doubt they’ll bring it home to the duck, and not believe a word about the cutlets! And if they don’t say it’s the duck you may depend upon it they’ll fix upon poor Guy, because his uncle was going to send him to South America, which was just like Gregory, and if Guy had killed him there would have been some excuse. And so I shall tell them! Guy’s the only one of you who has any affection for his poor old aunt, and it’s my belief you’re behaving like this out of pure spite, Gertrude!’

  After delivering herself of this diatribe Miss Matthews was entirely overcome, and sobbed so gustily, and thrust her sister and sister-in-law away so violently that it fell to Guy and Stella to escort her up to her own room. Guy performed his share of this task without conveying any marked impression of fondness for his aunt, while Stella openly grimaced at Dr Fielding. She was obliged to remain with Miss Matthews until that afflicted lady had recovered some measure of composure, and by the time she was at liberty to go downstairs again Dr Fielding had left the house, and Mrs Matthews was bidding farewell to the Luptons in the porch.

  Stella found her brother in the library, telephoning to Mr Nigel Brooke, with whom, a year ago, he had gone into a precarious partnership.

  Mr Brooke’s vocation was Interior Decoration, and since Guy coupled a leaning towards Art with a profound veneration for Mr Brooke, four years his senior, he had had no difficulty in discovering the same vocation in himself. Both were alike in being the only sons of widowed mothers, but whereas Nigel had entire control over his inherited capital the little money which Arthur Matthews had been able to leave his son was left him in trust, the trustees being his wife, and his eldest brother, Gregory. Guy had owed his partnership to his mother’s skilful handling of his uncle, Gregory Matthews, who liked a Pretty Woman, and who knew next to nothing of his nephew’s abilities, and had allowed himself to be cajoled into putting up a thousand pounds for Guy’s share in the virgin business. Since that day he had ample opportunity of appraising his nephew’s capabilities, and the result of this study was that upon being asked for a further advance to support the struggling fortunes of the firm of Brooke and Matthews he had countered with an offer from a business acquaintance who had a vacancy for a young man in the office of his rubber plantations in Brazil. The coaxings and even the tears of a Pretty Woman had this time failed to melt Gregory. He apostrophised his nephew as a young waster, and stated, with unnecessary violence, his profound desire to be rid of him. For perhaps the first time in her life Zoë Matthews had found it impossible to get her own way. Her only means of gratifying her son’s ambition, and of keeping him at her side, was to sell out some of her own capital for his use, and since her income was already quite insufficient for her needs this expedient was naturally out of the question. She did not even consider it. Nor did she permit her resentment to become apparent to Gregory Matthews, for that would have been very stupid, and might have led to the loss of an extremely comfortable home for which she was not expected to pay as much as one farthing. The home had its disadvantages, of course. It was not her own, and the presence of her sister-in-law was always an irritation, but since poor Harriet was the antithesis of everything Gregory Matthews thought a female should be it needed really very little trouble to enlist his support in any disagreement she happened to have with her sister-in-law. Patience and unfailing sweetness had achieved their object: at the end of a five-year sojourn at the Poplars Zoë Matthews had contrived to make herself, if not the mistress of the house, at least the cherished guest whose comfort must be everyone’s first consideration. ‘Such a ruthless woman – my dear Aunt Zoë,’ Randall Matthews had once murmured, glancing maliciously up under his long lashes.

  Randall was in Stella’s thoughts as she waited for her brother to conclude his conversation with Nigel Brooke. When he put the receiver down at last she said abruptly: ‘Do you suppose uncle left everything to Randall, Guy?’

  ‘You bet he did – most of it, anyway,’ replied Guy. ‘Randall’s been working for it for months, if you ask me – always turning up here for no known reason except to oil up to uncle by suddenly being attentive to him. It’s so damned unfair! I come down from Oxford, and get a job absolutely bang-off, and stick to it, and all Randall does is to drift around looking willowy and run through a packet of money (because Uncle Hubert left a fair spot, so Aunt Harriet told me) and never do a stroke of work, or attempt to! It makes me sick! Besides, he’s so utterly poisonous.’

  Stella lit a cigarette. ‘I suppose he’ll turn up next. And say foul things to everybody in a loving voice. Do you think uncle’s left mother any money?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure he has,’ said Guy confidently. ‘Anyway, the main point is she’s my sole trustree now, which means I shall be able to carry on with Nigel.’ His brow clouded. ‘Everything would be all right if it weren’t for that blasted old harridan Aunt Gertrude! What the hell she wanted to stick her nose into it for I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Jealous of us,’ said Stella negligently. ‘She probably thinks mother’s getting more out of uncle’s death than she is. Of course it’s fairly noxious, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter – the post-mortem, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, doesn’t it matter?’ said Guy with considerable bitterness. ‘Well, for once in her life Aunt Harriet hit the nail on the head! We shall have the police barging in and asking damned awkward questions, and if that’s your idea of a good time it isn’t mine! Everyone knows I had a flaming row with uncle over his precious South American scheme, and when the police hear about that I shall be in a nice position.’

  Stella, not much impressed, flicked the ash off her cigarette on to the carpet. ‘But when they don’t find poison in uncle they won’t ask us any questions at all.’

  ‘Yes, but what if they do find poison?’ Guy demanded.

  ‘They won’t.’ She looked up quickl