No one spoke for a minute. The implication of Mrs Lupton's words could not be misunderstood, but it took time for her meaning to be fully realised. Everyone stared at her a little blankly, except the doctor, who stood looking down, still frowning, at the table's polished surface.
Harriet was the first to break into agitated speech. “You may just as well say at once that you think I poisoned him, and I'm astonished that you don't! And as for housekeeping, you may think you are much better at it than I am, but all I can say is I should be ashamed of the waste that goes on in your house! And if you think I gave Gregory duck on purpose to kill him there are the cutlets to prove I didn't!”
“No, there aren't,” said Stella unsteadily. “Eaten in the kitchen.”
Mrs Matthews took a cigarette-case out of her handbag, and with trembling fingers selected a cigarette, and lit it. “Stella! Please!”
Guy came forward a few paces. “Do you mean you want a p—post-mortem?” he demanded. “It's absolute rot! And I must say I should like to know what right you have to waltz in and interfere! Now uncle's dead I'm the head of this house, and—”
“No, my dear Guy, you are not,” said his aunt, quite unruffled. “I have little doubt that you would like to think yourself the head of the family, and I am well aware of the machinations of you and your mother to induce your uncle to name you his heir. What I am not aware of is that he ever did so. That being so it is my duty to remind you that the head of this family is now your cousin Randall.”
Guy flushed angrily. “Anyway, you're not the head, and you've no right—”
“If Randall is going to be dragged into this I shall remove myself at once,” said Stella disgustedly. “I can put up with a good deal, but not with Randall. What's more, if anyone poisoned uncle I should think it was he.”
“That,” said Mrs Lupton, “is a foolish remark which you will, I trust, regret having made once you have given yourself time to consider. I hold no brief for Randall. Far from it. But to accuse him of poisoning your uncle is absurd. Randall has not been down to Grinley Heath since last Sunday.”
“Are we not all of us a trifle overwrought?” interposed Mrs Matthews smoothly. “Surely no one seriously thinks that poor Gregory died from anything but the results of acute indigestion? If there were the slightest reason for suspecting foul play I should be the first to demand a thorough investigation. But I am sure no one can have wanted his death, and really, Gertrude, when one considers the unpleasantness of—of inquests, and things—”
“I hope I am not one to shrink from unpleasantness,” said Mrs Lupton. “And when you say that you are sure no one can have wanted Gregory's death I must beg to differ from you. Please understand that I make no accusations! But I am not ignorant of the dissensions in this household, and I cannot but see, painful though the thought may be, that his death benefits several people.”
Her husband entered unexpectedly into the discussion. He gave a little cough, and said nervously: “Really, my dear, I think we should be guided by what the doctor says. You don't want to start any sort of scandal, do you? You would very much dislike to be dragged into—er—that kind of publicity, you know.”
“Kindly permit me to know my own mind, Henry,” said Mrs Lupton freezingly. “You and I at least can have no reason to fear an investigation.”
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 inn 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 quickly. “Good lord, you don't—you don't really think he was done-in, do you?”
“No, of course not,” answered Guy. “Still, we've got to face the fact that he may have been. Mind you, I don't believe he was, but that ass Fielding didn't seem any too sure.”
“Do you frightfully mind not calling Deryk "that ass"?” asked Stella frigidly. “I happen to be going to marry him.”
“Well, you'll have a jolly job explaining that to the police,” retorted Guy. “And you'll also be able to tell them what uncle said about it, not forgetting the bit about the Inebriates' Home.”
“Shut up!” Stella said fiercely. “It isn't Deryk's fault that his father drank!”
“No, but it's definitely his misfortune,” mocked Guy. “Particularly if it comes out that uncle, in his well-known playful way, threatened to blow the gaff if Fielding didn't lay-off you.”
Stella's hand as she raised her cigarette to her lips was shaking, but she controlled her temper, and merely said: “I suppose you have to be vulgar as well as spiteful?”
“I may be vulgar, but I'm not in the least spiteful,” replied Guy. “I'm merely pointing out to you how and where you stand. I don't blame Fielding for having a Hopeless Inebriate for a father, but if you think Grinley Heath would be nice about it you've got another guess coming. A fat lot of practice he'd have had here by now if uncle had split! 'Tisn't as though he were even T.T. himself. Far from it, in fact.”
“You're a filthy, backbiting little cad!” Stella exploded, her cheeks flaming. “If you're hinting that Deryk poisoned uncle, let me tell you that I'd a lot sooner believe you did!”
“Oh, you would, would you?” said Guy, suddenly furious. “Thanks very much! Well, I didn't poison him, and I'll trouble you to refrain from suggesting that I did! Because if there's going to be any chat of that sort from you, there'll be quite a spot from me about your precious Deryk! Quite got that?”
“If you think that I'd—” Stella broke off, staring across the room at him. She gave an uncertain laugh. “What on earth did you start this futile argument for? You talk as though we knew uncle had been poisoned, and you know perfectly well it's all rot!”
“Yes, of course,” Guy said, his anger evaporating. “Utter rot. Sorry; I didn't mean to be offensive. Only if there does happen to be trouble we've damned well got to stick together.”
“What's going to be done?” asked Stella, after a slight pause. “Did Aunt Gertrude ring up the police?”
“No; Fielding's going to get on to the Coroner. They'll come and take uncle's body away, and I suppose we shan't know anything much for a day or two. I asked Fielding, and he said it would be a question of sending the organs up to the Home Office, or somewhere. I've rung up uncle's lawyer, by the way, so no doubt he'll come down with the Will. Personally I can't see any reason why I shouldn't go up to town as usual.”
His mother, entering the room at that moment, overheard this last remark and read him a fond but reproving lecture on the respect due to the dead. When she perceived that this made very little impression on him she begged him to consider her feelings. Stella, realising that her mother was going to expatiate sadly on the loneliness of widowhood, slipped out of the room, and went upstairs, only to run into her aunt, who had temporarily forgotten her woes in the discovery that owing to the window in Gregory Matthews' bathroom having been left open the new bottle of his medicine had been blown over into the washbasin, and smashed.
“I can't see that it matters,” said Stella crossly. “You couldn't use up somebody else's tonic.”
“No, but the chemist always allows us something on the bottles,” said Miss Matthews severely.
Stella looked with faint repulsion at the assortment of objects in her aunt's clutch, and wondered how one could be expected to feel solemn about death when one's relatives behaved like Aunt Harriet. Miss Matthews had triumphantly collected from her brother's bathroom his sponges and face-flannel (which would all come in useful for cleaning-rags), a cake of soap, two toothbrushes (excellent for scrubbing silver filigree dishes), a half-used tube of toothpaste (which she proposed to use up herself as soon as her own was finished), a bottle of mouth-wash, and a loofah.
“I thought Guy might like the loofah,” said Miss Matthews. “It's a very good one. There's the end of a stick of shaving-soap too.”
“If you take my advice you won't offer it to him,” said Stella. “He's a bit squeamish.”
“If there's one thing I hate above all others,” declared Miss Matthews, “it is waste!”
Her activities during the rest of the morning were surprising. Having ordered cold lamb and rice-pudding for lunch, spurning all Mrs Beecher's more appetising suggestions on the score that no one would care what there was to eat on such an occasion as this, she announced her intention of having Gregory Matthews' room turned out. No sooner had his body been removed in an ambulance than she ordered both Rose and Mary upstairs to begin this work of purification. Rose at once started to cry, saying that she couldn't bear to enter the Master's room, but Miss Matthews, her own late qualms forgotten, told her not to be silly, but to gather up all the Master's discarded underclothing, and carry them to the dirty-linen basket. Rose immediately gave notice, and retired sobbing. Mrs Matthews came up to suggest that they should all of them devote the rest of this unhappy day to quiet and meditation, but was tartly informed that if a thing had to be done her sister-in-law did not believe in putting it off. She went away, routed, and since Guy was occupied in designing an overmantel for a house in Dorking, and flatly refused to meditate with his mother, and Stella could not be found, abandoned all ideas of a contemplative day, and ordered the chauffeur to motor her to town for the purpose of buying mourning clothes.
When Miss Matthews, busily engaged in inspecting the condition of Gregory's suits (with a view to selling them), heard of her sister-in-law's action she could scarcely contain herself. To go to London for no nobler purpose than to squander money on dress seemed to her the height of callousness. “After all her talk about setting our minds on higher things! Meditation indeed! And I should very much like to know what right she has to take the car out without one word to me!” This aspect of the case soon outweighed every other. Miss Matthews went muttering about the house, and by lunch-time had muttered herself into a state of considerable agitation which found expression in a sudden announcement to her nephew and niece that she could not enjoy a moment's peace until she had seen Gregory's Will, and had the Whole Thing settled Once and for All.
One glance at the rice pudding which succeeded the lamb at luncheon drove Stella from the table. She said in a wan voice that she really didn't feel she could, and betook herself to the house next door.
Dr Fielding had come in from his rounds when Stella arrived, and had just gone in to luncheon. He was glancing through his notebook when Stella was ushered into the room, but at sight of her he threw the book aside, and jumped up. “Stella, my dear!”
“I've come to lunch,” said Stella. “There's nothing but mutton and rice chez noun, and I can't bear it.”
He smiled. “Poor darling! Jenner, lay for Miss Matthews. Sit down, my dear, and tell me all about it. Have you had a difficult morning?”
“Ghastly,” said Stella, accepting a glass of sherry. “Enough to make one wish uncle hadn't died.”
Fielding gave her a warning look, and said: “I was afraid you'd have rather a bad time. All right, Jenner, we'll wait on ourselves.” He paused while the manservant withdrew, and then said: “Stella, be careful what you say in front of people. You don't want anyone to get the impression that you wished your uncle to die.”
“I didn't wish him to,” replied Stella. “I hadn't ever considered the possibility. He wasn't the sort of person you'd expect to die, was he?”
“Well, I'm a doctor,” said Fielding, smiling.
“You mean you did expect it? You never told me.”
“No, I didn't exactly expect it. Nor should I have told you if I had, my darling.”
Stella laid down her knife and fork. “Deryk, please tell me one thing: Do you believe uncle was poisoned?”
“No, I don't,” he answered. “But although there were no signs not compatible with death from syncope, I couldn't undertake to state definitely that he was not poisoned upon a purely superficial examination.”
She looked a little troubled, and presently said: “I do wish there hadn't got to be a post-mortem. Whatever you may say, I believe you're secretly a bit afraid that they may find something.”
“I'm not in the least afraid of it,” said Fielding calmly. “I hope they won't, for all your sakes, but if there's any doubt I want it cleared up.”
Stella was unappeased. “Well, it's pretty beastly for the rest of us. I must say I hoped you weren't going to give in to Aunt Gertrude. Couldn't you have stopped it all?”
He raised his eyebrows rather quizzically. “My dearest child! What about my professional reputation?”
“I don't know, but you said yourself you were prepared to sign a death certificate. I can't understand your wanting a post-mortem. Supposing they do find poison? Everyone knows uncle had a row with you about me, and it seems to me the police are quite likely to start suspecting you of having given him poison.”
“They can suspect what they like,” said Fielding coolly. “But they'll be darned clever if they manage to prove that I ever administered poison to your uncle. Don't you worry your head about me, Stella: I haven't the slightest reason to fear a post-mortem.”
“Of course I didn't mean that I thought you really might have poisoned uncle,” said Stella. “But it does seem to me that things are going to be fairly beastly one way and another. The only nice part of it is that we shall be able to get married now without an awful fight. I don't think mother really minds about it. She's much more wrapped up in Guy than she is in me.”
He stretched out his hand to her across the table. “Well, that's a very nice part, anyway.”
She nodded. “Yes, because I hate rows. I should have married you whatever uncle said, but it makes it easier now that he's dead.”
Fielding got up, and came round behind her chair. “I'm going to ring for Jenner to bring in the next course,” he said, laying his hands on her shoulders. “But first I must kiss you.”
She raised her face, and as he bent over her put her hand to caress his lean cheek. “How many girls have you kissed, like that?” she asked, when she was able.
“Crowds,” he said, laughing.
She smiled, but said seriously: “I expect that's true. You were keen on Betty Mason before you thought of me, weren't you?”
“Never!”
“Oh, I'm not throwing a jealous fit,” Stella assured him. “You needn't mind admitting it. I think you're rather the type that can't help making love to girls who aren't actually cross-eyed or hare-Tipped. I shall probably have an awful time with you when we're married.”
“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.