Behold Here's Poison (21 page)

Randall paused in the act of pouring out the sherry, and raised his head. 'Don't tell me you've quarrelled with the boy friend?' he said.

'No, we haven't quarrelled, but I've decided not to marry him, that's all,' replied Stella curtly.

Randall went on pouring out the sherry. 'I expect you would rather I didn't ask you why,' he remarked. 'But you can't have everything you want, my pet. Why have you come to this momentous decision?'

'Various reasons. For one thing I find I'm—not really—in love with him.'

'And for another you've discovered that he isn't really in love with you. It's nice to see glimmerings of intelligence in you, darling.'

'You're perfectly right,' said Stella, keeping her voice rigidly under control. 'He thought I was going to inherit a lot of money, and when I didn't he cooled off. Have a good laugh: I don't mind. I think it's rather funny myself. Anyway, I'm not breaking my heart over it.'

'Why should you?' said Randall, handing her a glass. 'Are you expecting me to ooze sympathy?'

'No, I'm not. I didn't come here to talk about Deryk, only to tell you that the engagement's off, and to ask if I can have the money uncle left me.'

'When you're twenty-five, certainly.'

'The whole point is that I want it now,' said Stella.

'Why this sudden need?'

'Because I'm frightfully hard-up, and I want to share a flat with a girl I was at school with, and get something to do. Only I shall probably have to learn shorthand or something first, and if I'm not earning anything I don't quite see how I'm to live. Mother says she can't afford to increase my allowance—besides, she's dead against the idea, anyway—and I haven't got any money of my own, except what uncle left me. Of course, I know the Will said not till I'm twenty-five, but I thought if I signed a paper promising not to marry Deryk, and you and Mr Carrington agreed—because if both the trustees agree you can sort of wangle things, can't you?'

'Not to my knowledge. As I haven't the remotest intention of agreeing, the point doesn't arise.'

'Why not?' Stella demanded. 'As long as I sign a paper, what difference can it possibly make? I don't mean I want to blue the capital. All I want is the income from it.'

'You won't get it, my love.'

Stella put down her glass, and rose. 'Thanks so much!' she said. 'I was a fool to come. I might have known you'd put a spoke in my wheel if you could. But considering what you've inherited, I think you might have been willing to let me have my rotten two thousand!'

'Dear cousin,' said Randall, 'until after Probate I have inherited nothing, and nor have you. After Probate the first charity that meets my eye will get the lot.'

Stella was so surprised that for a moment she could only stare at him. Then she said: 'Rot! I don't believe you!'

Randall laughed. 'I don't suppose you do, my sweet.'

'But why?' she demanded. 'What's the idea?'

He shrugged. 'Oh, I already have enough for my—er—simple needs,' he said.

'Either you're mad or you're up to something,' said Stella with conviction. 'Whoever heard of giving away a whole fortune?'

'Yes, I feel that there's a certain pleasing originality about it,' agreed Randall. 'Have some more sherry?'

She shook her head. 'No thanks. Even you wouldn't do a thing like that for a gesture. Is it to stop people saying that you probably killed uncle because you were hard-up?'

'Do they say so?' inquired Randall. 'I thought that particular theory was confined to the members of my affectionate family. Moreover, I'm not hard-up.'

She said shrewdly: 'It's my belief you know something about uncle's death that we don't.'

'If by that ambiguous remark you mean that you believe I had something to do with uncle's death, I would point out to you, my sweet one, that the last time I saw him was on Sunday, May 12th.'

'I know. And I didn't mean that. I don't see how you could have done it. What does that Superintendent think?'

'He, like you, sweetheart, doesn't see how I could have done it. It disheartens him, I'm afraid.'

'Randall, will they ever find out who did it?'

'Why ask me?' he countered.

'Because you know something. It's no good saying you don't. I don't see how you could have murdered uncle, but I'm certain you're hiding some fact, or clue, or something which you don't want anyone to get hold of. I haven't forgotten that I saw you coming out of uncle's room that day. You were looking for something.'

'I was,' said Randall imperturbably. 'But I didn't find it.'

'What was it?' she asked. 'I don't know.'

'Don't know?'

'Not yet. I was looking for something that might have contained the poison. I admit it was a forlorn hope.'

'I don't think I altogether believe you,' said Stella.

'Well, that doesn't surprise me,' he replied, quite unmoved. 'Shall we talk of something else for a change? I find these eternal and barren discussions on uncle's death begin to pall on one after a time.'

'Mr Rumbold thinks it will fizzle out for want of evidence.'

'Mr Rumbold is probably right. Does he continue to sustain my afflicted aunts in their more anguished moments?'

'He does manage to soothe them,' admitted Stella, with a smile. 'All the same, you needn't sneer at him, Randall: he's been most frightfully decent to us all.'

'I regard him with profound respect,' said Randall.

'I suppose that means you don't.'

'Why you should suppose anything of the sort is quite beyond my comprehension,' said Randall wearily.

'Well, whenever you say something nice about anybody it generally means the reverse,' said Stella.

'Ah, that is only when I am talking about my relations, or other persons of sub-normal intelligence,' said Randall. 'I always respect brain when I meet it.'

'Thanks very much!' said Stella warmly. 'I suppose you would class me as a sort of moron?'

'Oh no, not quite,' said Randall. 'I have several times known you actually to think before you spoke. Occasionally you even show signs of a certain quickness of intellect. I admit that during your adolescence I had no hope of you at all, but you've improved a lot, my precious.'

'I am glad,' said. Stella. 'Of course, you've taken such an interest in my progress, haven't you? I expect, if I only knew it, all your visits to the Poplars this last year have been really to see me.'

'Well, I imagine you don't suppose I came to see your mother, do you?'

Stella blinked at him. 'You came to see uncle!'

'Good God!' said Randall. He took her arm above the elbow, and propelled her towards the door. 'Not one of your intellectual days, my love. Let us go in to lunch.'

Chapter Eleven

Stella drove herself home to Grinley Heath, profoundly meditating on her cousin Randall's astonishing words. She had received them with surprise and suspicion, and had consequently assumed a defensive, unapproachable attitude. Randall had made no attempt to pursue the subject, but had taken her in to luncheon, and regaled her on lobster a la Newburgh, and an excellent Chablis. Stella, who had eaten no meals away from the Poplars since her uncle's death, frankly enjoyed herself, and managed to forget the troubles clustering about the family until coffee was brought into the room. Some chance words of Randall's recalled them to her then, and her face clouded, and she said with a sigh that it was beastly having murders in the family, because it was like a black cloud hanging over one.

'Everybody suspects everybody else,' she said. 'And though uncle was horrid to people, it isn't any better in any way now that he's dead. I mean, take me, for instance. Uncle made it practically impossible for me to marry Deryk while he was alive, and that was beastly, but as soon as he died and I could marry Deryk, it all started to go wrong.'

'Now please don't fall into a sickening mood of selfirity,' said Randall dampingly. 'You have been a charming companion during lunch, and not one thought of your late swain has crossed your head. You are not in (lie least heartbroken, so it is no use trying to get me to utter facile expressions of sympathy. I am not even remotely sorry for you.'

'I have eaten your salt,' said Stella with dignity, 'so I can't say what I should like to.'

'Don't let that deter you, my love. I have eaten salt—and very little else—at the Poplars, but it has not so far affected my power of speech.'

Stella watched him make the coffee, and said: 'Well, I wasn't pitying myself, if you want to know. All the same, it gives one a jolt to discover that a person you—you thought you could utterly depend on has—well, feet of clay.'

Randall removed the spirit-lamp from under the machine, and transferred his gaze to Stella's face for a moment. 'Did you really think your amorous doctor would prove a tower of strength in adversity? How trusting girls are!'

'The trouble is there isn't anyone we can turn to,' Stella said. 'Uncle Henry is no use, and Guy isn't old enough, besides being—well, anyway, he's not the type. And Mr Rumbold's all very well, but he isn't like someone in the family; and Owen thinks the whole thing is bad form, and doesn't want to be mixed up in it.'

'And Randall is a snake in the grass, and would only sneer at you,' said Randall, stirring the coffee in the top of the machine.

Stella looked faintly startled. 'You would too,' she said. 'I wasn't thinking about you, though.'

'Another of your little errors, darling. You had better start thinking about me. I am now the head of this lamentable family.'

'What's that got to do with it?'

'Oh, quite a lot,' said Randall. 'As head of the family I propose to see this thing through.'

'How nice of you!' said Stella. 'That ought to help a lot. I expect if the police take it into their heads to arrest any of us you'll float in like a fairy godmother and clear up the whole case?'

'Not if they arrest Aunt Gertrude,' said Randall. He poured out the coffee, and handed one cup to Stella. 'For you I might.'

'Give yourself up as the murderer, I should think,' said Stella scornfully.

'Who knows?' said Randall. 'But don't you worry, my sweet: I shan't have to. This little murder-case isn't going to be solved.'

'But I want it to be solved!' Stella said.

'Possibly,' replied Randall. 'But I don't.'

More he refused to say, but quite firmly turned the subject. Stella left his flat shortly after two o'clock, and drove home, pondering his words. She refrained from telling anyone at the Poplars what her errand to town had been; in fact, when closely interrogated by Miss Matthews in a spirit of rampant curiosity, she said unblushingly that she had lunched with a school-friend. Miss Matthews, sniffing, said that she should have thought Stella might have refrained from gallivanting up to town the very day after her uncle's funeral.

Dinner was enlivened by the presence of Mrs Lupton who, as her husband was detained in town, announced her intention of coming to the Poplars, and arrived at a quarter-to-eight in a dress of rustling black silk, and found fault with every course that was set before her. She had some justification, since Miss Matthews, now that her brother's wrath could no longer descend on her, had embarked on a campaign of the most ruthless economy.

'Let me tell you, Harriet,' said Mrs Lupton, 'that if you think to deceive me by covering things up with a thick sauce you are mistaken. This fish is Cod.'

Mrs Matthews sighed, and remarked in a reminiscent voice: 'I must say, when one remembers how particular dear Gregory was about what he ate —'

'Instead of remembering Gregory's tastes you would be better employed, my dear Zoë, in doing your share of the housekeeping,' interrupted Mrs Lupton. 'Harriet never could order a meal.'

By the time Mrs Matthews had regretted that her wretched health prevented her from undertaking such an arduous duty, and Miss Matthews had declared that nothing would induce her to hand the reins over to her sister-in-law, the next course had arrived, a leg of lamb, which Mrs Lupton at once detected to be foreign. The sweet escaped criticism, but some sardines served up on toast as a savoury called forth a severe rebuke. Mrs Lupton after one mouthful, pushed her plate away and said that it was a false economy to buy cheap brands of sardines. Miss Matthews, seeing the savoury declined by the rest of the family, fiercely attacked her own, and said that there was nothing wrong with it at all.

In the drawing-room after dinner the three elder ladies maintained a sort of guerrilla warfare. Guy escaped to the library and Stella went early to bed, wondering whether, if she sold it, her car would realise enough money to enable her to leave the Poplars.

At breakfast next morning Guy was more cheerful than he had been since his uncle's death, and to his sister's relief announced his intention of resuming work on Monday. 'Because it's obvious to me,' he said, 'that nothing more is going to happen. It's just going to fizzle out.'

'I can't make out what the police are doing,' remarked Stella. 'They seem to have stopped haunting the house. You don't suppose they've given it up, do you?'

'I shouldn't be surprised,' said Guy. 'I don't blame them, either.'

'Somehow I don't think we're through with it,' Stella said. 'There's one thing that rather puts the wind up me. Randall knows something.'

'Knows what?' Guy said, looking quickly up from the newspaper.

'He didn't say. But —' She broke off. 'I rather think the police have got their eye on him.'

'How do you know? Who told you?'

'No one. I just do know.' She heard her aunt's step in the hall, and frowned at Guy, who had opened his mouth to question her further. 'Not now! Aunt Harriet's coming.'

Miss Matthews entered the room with a complaint on her lips. Someone had forgotten to open the bathroom window after having a bath, and the room reeked of scent.

'Sorry: my new bath-salts, I expect,' said Stella.

'It is to be hoped you don't marry a poor man,' said Miss Matthews. 'I must say, I should have thought you could have found something better to squander your allowance on than your personal appearance. However, no doubt I am wrong. I'm sure I never expect anyone to listen to what I have to say.'

'Will you have grape-fruit?' said Stella, from the sidetable.

'All I want is a cup of tea, and some toast,' said Miss Matthews. 'I am not feeling at all well this morning, which is not surprising when one thinks of what I have been through. And Guy home for lunch every day, too! Not that I grudge it, but it all makes more work. And why your Aunt Gertrude should elect to come here to dinner simply to make a lot of unkind remarks about my catering —'

'It's probably that sardine which is making you feel queasy now,' said Guy.

Miss Matthews was so incensed by this malicious suggestion that she could only glare at him; and by way of demonstrating that the sardine had in no way upset her digestion she got up, and in awful silence helped herself to a slice of bacon, and resolutely ate it.

This apparently was ill judged, for when Stella went upstairs half-an-hour later she found her mother, swathed in a lilac-coloured wrapper, coming out of Miss Matthews' room with an empty medicine-glass in her hand, and an expression on her face of pious resignation.

'Hullo!' said Stella. 'Aunt Harriet worse?'

Mrs Matthews, who regarded the right to be ill as her sole prerogative, said: 'I don't know what you mean by worse, darling. There's nothing whatever the matter with her beyond a slight bilious attack.'

'She said she felt seedy at breakfast. Guy suggested that the sardine she ate last night might be disagreeing. Not well-received. Have you given her some dope?'

'Some of that wonderful medicine Dr Martin prescribed for me,' said Mrs Matthews. 'Not that I think it necessary. But poor Harriet was always one to make a fuss over the slightest ailment. I sometimes wonder what she would do if she had as much ill-health to bear as I have. I've put her to bed with a hot-water bottle, but I could wish that she had chosen some other day to be ill on. The strain of this past week has been too much for my nerves, and I'm feeling far from well myself. I'm afraid, darling, that you will have to do the shopping. I really don't feel up to it.'

'All right,' said Stella obligingly. 'Shall I go and talk to Mrs Beecher?'

'Yes, dearest, do. And, Stella! Tell her to cook a very light lunch. Soles, perhaps, with a soufflé to follow.'

Stella grinned. 'I bet Aunt Harriet was going to condemn us to cold mutton.'

'Yes, dear, but if she is feeling seedy it is much wiser for her to keep off meat,' said Mrs Matthews, with an air of the purest altruism.

'Of course,' agreed Stella solemnly. 'Shall I take that glass down with me?'

'No, this is my own glass, and I always prefer to wash it myself. Tell Mrs Beecher that your aunt is lying down, and is not to be disturbed, and ask her to order a chicken for dinner. Something really digestible.'

'I should think Aunt Harriet'll pass out when she sees it,' commented Stella.

Mrs Beecher received her in the kitchen with an indulgent smile, tut-tutted when she heard of her mistress's indisposition, and said that she was not surprised. 'That joint we had last night was downright wicked,' she said. 'And as for the fish, well, I was ashamed to send it to table! Enough to make the Master turn in his grave, was what I said to Beecher. And so you're going to do the ordering today, are you, miss? Well, it'll be good practice against the time when you have your own house, won't it?'

Stella, who recognised in this sally an attempt to find out whether she was going to marry Dr Fielding or not, merely smiled and agreed, and firmly turned the conversation on to Poultry. She sallied forth presently in her car to do the marketing, and returned shortly before noon to find her mother just coming downstairs from her room. 'How's the invalid?' Stella inquired.

'Asleep,' Mrs Matthews replied. 'I peeped in a moment ago, but she was sound, so I didn't disturb her.'