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?”