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.
Chapter Three
“Hell!” said Guy audibly.
There entered a sleek and beautiful young man who paused just inside the door, and glanced round at his assembled relatives with a bland and faintly mocking smile. He was dressed with the most finicking care, and nothing could have been more symphonic than the blend of his shirt with his silk socks and his expensive tie. His figure was extremely elegant; his hands were well-manicured; his jet-black hair was brushed into waves undisturbed by the slightest disorder; and his teeth were so gleamingly white and regular that they might have served for an advertisement for somebody's toothpaste. His mouth was a little too thin-lipped to be perfect, and curled too sarcastically to be pleasant, but his eyes, set under straight brows and fringed by long lashes, were remarkable for their colour and brilliance. They were of a startling and deep blue, very hard, generally half-hidden by drooping lids, and occasionally disconcerting in their sudden alertness. As he looked from one to the other of his relations they were smiling, and quite limpid.