Miss Matthews was delighted. She was genuinely attached to Edward Rumbold, who always treated her with courtesy, and never seemed to be bored by her discursive conversation. Moreover, she had a firm belief in the infallibility of the male sex, and had very often found Mr Rumbold's counsel to be good. Her brother had more than once warned her jeeringly not to make a fool of herself over a married man, but although this advice had the power to distress her she knew that there was Nothing Like That in her relationship with Edward Rumbold, and even had he not already possessed a wife she still would not have wished for a closer tie than that of friendship.
Randall had once remarked that Edward Rumbold seemed to have been created especially to be a Friend of the Family. It was certainly true that Miss Matthews' woes were not the only ones poured into his ears. Mrs Matthews, and Stella, and Guy all took him in varying degrees into their confidence, and if he found the recital of other people's troubles wearisome, at least he was far too well-mannered to show it.
He had of course seen the notice of Gregory Matthews' death in the papers, and came round to the Poplars after his return on Saturday to offer condolences, and any help that might be needed. Mrs Rumbold accompanied him, which was not felt by the two elder ladies of the house to be an advantage.
“One wonders what he saw in her,” and “One wonders how she managed to catch him” were expressions frequently heard on Mrs and Miss Matthews' tongues, and they both persisted, in spite of his evident fondness for his wife, in pitying him from the bottom of their hearts. Miss Matthews usually referred to Mrs Rumbold as That Woman, while her more charitable sister-in-law spoke of her as Poor Mrs Rumbold, and said that That Type always pulled a man down. Occasionally she added that it was very sad that the Rumbolds were childless, and it was generally understood that this circumstance was in her opinion a further blot on Mrs Rumbold's character.
Actually it would have been hard to have found a couple more quietly devoted to each other than Edward and Dorothy Rumbold. They took little part in the social activities of Grinley Heath, but spent a considerable portion of the year in travelling, and always seemed to be content with one another's company. Edward Rumbold was a fine-looking man of about fifty, with iron-grey hair, very regular features, and a pair of steady, far-seeing eyes. His wife was less prepossessing, but persons not so biased as Mrs and Miss Matthews had no difficulty in perceiving wherein lay her attraction for Edward Rumbold. “She must have been awfully pretty when she was young,” said Stella.
She was still pretty in a kind light, for she had large blue eyes, and a retrousse nose which gave a piquancy to her face. Unfortunately she was a blonde who had faded quickly, and she had sought to rejuvenate herself by the not entirely felicitous use of hair-dye, and rouge. Nature had intended her, at the age of forty-seven, to be greyhaired and plump, but Art and Slimming Exercises had given her bronze locks and a sylph-like silhouette. She was always rather lavishly made-up, and had lately taken to painting her eyelashes a startling blue, and her fingernails a repulsive crimson. She was as kind as she was common, and Stella and Guy (though they vied with one another in inventing her past history) liked her, and said that she was a Good Sort.
She sat beside Miss Matthews on the sofa in the drawing-room when she came with her husband to condole, and said: “You poor dear! It must have been a terrible shock. I was ever so upset when I read it in the paper. I couldn't believe it at first, not till I saw the address, and even then I couldn't seem to take it in, could I, Ned?”
“It was surely quite unexpected?” he said, his quiet voice in somewhat striking contrast to his wife's shrill tones.
This civil question had the effect of causing Miss Matthews to break into a torrent of words. Gregory Matthews' constitution, his disregard of his health, the duck he had eaten at his last meal, Mrs Lupton's spite, and the scandal of a post-mortem were all crammed higgledy-piggledy into one speech.
“I am exceedingly sorry! I had no idea!” Mr Rumbold said. “Of course it must be most unpleasant for you all.”
“Why, whatever can have made Mrs Lupton go and say a thing like that?” wondered Mrs Rumbold. “As though anyone would want to murder Mr Matthews! No, really, I do call it downright spiteful, don't you, Ned?”
“I expect she was upset,” he answered.
“So were we all, but we didn't say he'd been poisoned!” retorted Miss Matthews. “I wished very much that you had been here to advise me. I shall always feel that something ought to have been done to stop it, no matter what anyone says!”
He smiled a little. “I'm afraid you wouldn't have been able to stop it,” he replied. “And after all, if there is any feeling of suspicion you'd rather have it put to rest, wouldn't you?”
“Yes, if it is put to rest,” agreed Miss Matthews. “But it's my belief that as soon as you start stirring things up something shocking is bound to be discovered where you least expect it”
“The idea that Gregory was poisoned is merely absurd,” said Mrs Matthews. “Of that I am convinced.”
“Yes, I daresay you are, but you know very well Guy had been quarrelling with him, not to mention Stella.”
The effect of this speech was to turn Mrs Matthews from a Christian woman into something more nearly resembling a tigress at bay. There was even something faintly suggestive of a feline crouch in the way she leaned forward in her chair, with her hands gripping the arms of it. “Perhaps you would like to explain what you mean by that, Harriet?” she said in a low, menacing voice. “Please do so! And remember that you are speaking of My Children!”
Miss Matthews quailed, as well she might, and said tearfully that she meant nothing at all.
“Ah!” said Mrs Matthews, relaxing her taut muscles. “I am glad of that, Harriet.”
Under her delicate make-up she was quite pale. Guy leaned over the back of her chair, and grinned down at her. “Attaboy, ma!” he said approvingly.
She put up her hand to clasp his, but said only: “Please don't use that vulgar expression, dear. You know I dislike it.
“I'm sure,” said Miss Matthews, groping in her pocket for her handkerchief, “you needn't turn on me, Zoë! Nobody could be fonder of Guy than I am—and of Stella too, of course. I was only thinking how it would look to an outsider.”
Mrs Matthews recovered her poise. “Don't let us say any more about it. You naturally cannot be expected to understand a mother's feelings.” She turned to Mrs Rumbold, and said graciously: “And has your stay at the seaside done you good, Mrs Rumbold?”
“Oh, I'm splendid, thanks!” replied Mrs Rumbold. “It was only Ned who would have it I needed a change of air.” She threw him a warm look as she spoke, and added: “You wouldn't believe the way he spoils me, that man!”
Mrs Matthews smiled politely, but made no remark. Miss Matthews, with a glance of hatred cast in her direction, asked Mr Rumbold to come and look at the plumb ago, and bore him off in triumph to the conservatory. She was a keen horticulturist, and soon became torn between a desire to talk solely of her troubles and an even stronger desire to compare notes with him on the progress of their respective rarities. She contrived in the end to do both, but became somewhat muddled, and kept on handing him earthy pots of flowers (which he could have looked at just as easily without having to hold them) with a slightly inconsequent recommendation to him to Look at the way she's behaving now, just as though she owned the whole house! He escaped from her presently on the pretext of being obliged to go and wash his hands, and went upstairs to do so only to fall a victim, on his way down again, to Mrs Matthews, who was on the look-out for him.
Later, Stella accompanied both the visitors down the drive to the gate, and said with a twinkle: “Did Mother tell you all her woes when Aunt Harriet had finished telling you hers, Mr Rumbold?”