Джорджетт Хейер - Behold, Here's Poison

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.”