Death of a Doll Page 3

  But she had run again, out into the night, pleading with herself to be calm. She’d thought of Mrs Sutton, maybe Mrs Sutton would take her in and ask no questions. Maybe she’d listen and advise. But then she’d remembered that Mrs Sutton was leaving town. And she’d told herself that Mrs Sutton was too young, it wouldn’t be fair to frighten her.

  She’d begun to cry, standing on a corner and turning slowly and steadily as if she were surrounded. The fog was thick and the passers-by were dim and shapeless. She could follow me and I wouldn’t know it, she wept; I wouldn’t see her. My eyes—

  That was when she’d remembered the eye doctor. The only man she knew except Mr Benz. And his office wasn’t far away, an office and apartment combined. She’d talk to him and he’d tell her what to do. He’d been, well—friendly. He’d been, well—interested.

  She’d climbed the stairs to his office, but no one had answered her ring. She’d slipped a note under the door, asking him to call her at Hope House. “Leave a message if I’m not there,” she’d written, “and tell me where I can reach you. I need some advice. It’s important to me.” She couldn’t tell him how important. She couldn’t write a word like death. It would look hysterical.

  She’d left the doctor’s building and walked to Fourteenth Street, telling herself to buy the blue because he would see her in it. But the scheme took care of that.

  Ten minutes after she left the building a cleaning woman swept the note into the hall, down the single flight of stairs, and out into the gutter. Later on the rain washed the words away.

  Outside the shop window she had looked at the blue and talked to herself again. Talked and argued and planned. Talked about the economy of spending money, argued about the possibility of mistaken identity, planned what she’d say to the doctor when he called. Maybe I made a mistake, she’d said. Lots of people look alike, you’re always hearing of cases. There was even a man who looked like the President. And she didn’t act queer when she saw me, she acted like she’d never seen me before. So I could be wrong… But she saw her own shaking hands and knew in her heart that there was no mistake.

  But I’ll go back there tonight, she’d said. I’ve got to. There’s my suitcase and the telephone call. Nothing can happen if I go straight to my room tonight and lock the door. A big houseful of people, I’ll be safe for one night. That’s all I’ll need, one night. He’ll call tonight or tomorrow and he’ll tell me what to do. Maybe I’ll laugh about this in a day or so. I bet I laugh, I bet I do… She’d tried to laugh then but it had sounded wrong.

  If I stay in my room, she’d said, I’ll be safe. They can put the message under the door. No matter what, I’ll keep out of sight until he calls. They have trays, I’ll ask my roommate to bring me a tray. I’ll tell her I have a headache. If I keep out of sight and don’t let her see me again—

  Buy the blue, she’d said, buy the blue and then you’ll always have it.

  Miss Plummer looked up from her embroidery when Ruth came in. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said kindly.

  “Has a telephone call come for me?”

  “No dear. You had me worried, staying out so late all by yourself. We lock up at midnight, except in the case of a special pass, and I wondered if you understood. Been buying something pretty?”

  “I bought a suit.”

  “That’s nice. My name’s Plummer, Ethel Plummer. My sister’s the housekeeper here and if you’re hungry I think I can get you a little something.”

  “No thank you, Miss Plummer. I’d rather go to bed.”

  “You’re a sensible girl, I can see that. I’ve no patience with late hours, although goodness knows I keep them! Your suitcase is in your room, dear, and you can run yourself up in the elevator, that is if you’re not timid about machinery.”

  “I guess I am a little. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to run an elevator.”

  “Well, never you mind, I used to be afraid myself, but you’ll get over it the same as I did. I’ll take you up this time and you’ll see how easy it is.”

  On the seventh floor Miss Plummer pointed down a bare, dim hall lined on one side with closed doors. “You see that big door straight ahead? That’s the fire door. You go right on through to the other side. There’s a short hall back there, with the bath, the telephone, and your own room. It’s the only room at that end and it’s nice and quiet, almost like a little house set off to itself.”

  “Miss Plummer?” Her voice broke and she tried again. “Miss Plummer, do outside calls come in on that phone?”

  “Oh yes. When that happens we ring a bell in your room.” Miss Plummer smiled a goodnight, and the elevator closed.

  Her room was dark. She could hear nothing but she knew someone was there. The unknown roommate, already in bed and asleep. It had to be the roommate, it couldn’t be anyone else. She waited in the cool darkness, listening.

  A voice spoke, a thin, sweet voice like a child’s. “Turn on the light,” it said. “There beside the door. It won’t bother me.”

  She found the switch and turned it. In one of the two beds a small girl sat up in a welter of blankets, rubbing her short, fair curls and yawning. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked like an animated doll.

  “Hello,” she said. “I had to go back to work after dinner, did you?”

  “No, I went shopping.” Ruth hesitated. “I’m sorry, but they didn’t tell me your name. I’m Ruth Miller.”

  The small girl laughed. “I knew that. There’s not much I miss! I’m April Hooper. That sounds silly, the April part, but my mother was English and she always said there was nothing prettier than an English April. So she called me that. You see, she was always homesick. Are your father and mother dead?”

  “Yes.” Her suitcase was lying on the other bed and she went over to it.

  “Are your grandparents dead, too?”

  “Yes.” This was an odd conversation. She stared at the little creature smiling and nodding among the blankets.

  “So are mine,” April ran on. “All of my people are dead. I was born in this block, right on this very spot. They tore down three tenements to make this house, and then my grandmother died and I moved in here. I work around the corner, in the drugstore. Where do you work?”

  She prattles like a little kid, Ruth thought. She can’t be more than sixteen if she’s that. She untied the string on the suit box. “I work at Blackman’s.”

  “Like Moke and Poke. They were born in this neighbourhood like me. You’ll die laughing, but they have the same name and they’re not even related. Mary Smith. But I guess you knew that. That’s why they call themselves Moke and Poke. That’s cute, isn’t it? Have you known them very long? You do know them, don’t you?”

  “They sent me here.” She held up the suit and shook out the folds. She was tired, and April’s chatter was too shrill. But she knew she had to be polite. She needed April. April would bring her the trays. “Look, April,” she said. She held up the suit.

  But April had no eyes for clothing. She rattled on. “Moke and Poke are nice. Some people think they’re fresh, but I don’t. When the weather’s bad and there’s ice on the pavement, they call for me. Even when they have dates, they call for me. They take the time. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “It surely is.” She hung the suit in the closet and closed the door. Chatterbox, she thought wearily. She could have made some comment, she could have said something. I’d have said something in her place.

  “I think they’re pretty, too,” April said. “Their hair is so soft, and they take good care of their skin. It’s like velvet. I like to touch their faces and they don’t mind. It isn’t often that you find a nice person who’s pretty too… What do you look like, Ruth?”

  Ruth looked aghast at the small figure huddled in the middle of the bed. Why, the child’s feeble-minded, she told herself with horror. Why didn’t they tell me about her? Feeble-minded. And even Moke and Poke didn’t say anything. I can’t bear it, I can’t, it’s too much. She backed away from
the clear gaze that was as innocent and candid as the voice.

  A cloud came over April’s face. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ruth. That’s a shame, that’s what it is. Nobody told you about me and I’ve scared you. But you’re not to feel bad about me because I don’t mind at all. I’m blind.”

  Ruth went slowly to the tumbled bed. Her hands automatically smoothed the covers and rearranged the pillow. April’s hand found one of hers and held it fast.

  “You’re not to feel bad, do you hear?” she insisted. “When you’re born that way, it doesn’t make any difference. But there’s one thing you’ve got to remember, please. You’ve got to make me turn the lights on. I’ve got the habit of not doing it because what’s the use, but just the same I ought to. That’s why I asked for a roommate, to make me remember. It scares the other girls to find me in the dark, like taking a bath and things. So you make me turn the lights on every time, even when you’re going out on a date and I’m staying here… I think the room looks nicer that way, too.”

  “They’re on now… Wait.” Ruth went to the lamps on the two small desks. “Now everything’s on. And you’re right, it does look nicer.”

  She let April talk. April sold cigarettes and magazines at the drugstore. She knew where each kind was. She could ring up sales and make change without a mistake. She was worried about getting old and having to use rouge. She was afraid she’d put on too much.

  When the lights were finally out, Ruth lay awake for a long time. She had promised to breakfast with April, in the dining room. There was no help for it. She had no choice. She went back to the first day she had gone to work at Blackman’s, to the first time she had talked to Moke and Poke, to all the little things that had fallen into their allotted places in the scheme that led to Hope House. Whose scheme? She covered her face.

  2

  Moke and Poke screamed across the crowded dining room: “Hey kids, come over here!”

  April led Ruth proudly, a paradox that brought smiles to many faces.

  “We fixed it,” Moke said. “You’re going to eat at our table. One big happy family. Hey, Clara, two more breakfasts.”

  “Miss Brady’s looking for you, Ruth,” Poke said. “She wants to tell you about this afternoon, at least that’s what she said.”

  “As if we couldn’t tell you just as good,” Moke jeered, “and no fancy lies thrown in. It’s about the tea. We have a tea every Sunday, but this one’s different. And worse. We got to make masks for the costume party… What’s the matter with you? You got a stiff neck or something?”

  April answered importantly. “She has a sore throat and a headache and she talked in her sleep all night. She didn’t want to come down but I made her.”

  “Next time make her gargle,” Poke advised. “Salt water. Shut up, let me tell it. So we’ve got to make masks for the party tomorrow night. House birthday party. House is five years old.”

  “Got all our teeth and can we bite,” Moke said. “Let me tell it, let me. Now get this. Mrs Marshall-Gill, head of the Board, dreamed up a costume party, everybody dressed alike, rag dolls with the same old false face so nobody knows who anybody is. Rag dolls, I’m not kidding, with rag faces and holes to see and breathe through. She’s even got a prize for the girl who guesses the most other girls. So we’re going to make the masks this afternoon, in the lounge. It’ll be a scream. With bought refreshments.”

  The breakfasts came on two trays. Ruth pushed hers aside. Nine o’clock and he hadn’t called. Nine o’clock. The lobby had been full of people when she and April went through. She had walked with her eyes lowered. People had crowded about them, jostling. She couldn’t do that again.

  “I can’t go,” she said suddenly and sharply.

  Even April looked surprised.

  “I can’t go,” Ruth repeated, but she spoke softly. “I’m expecting a call, I may have to go out.” She put her elbows on the table and shielded her face with her hands.

  Moke frowned and her shrewd young eyes moved about the room. Girls coming and going, House girls, the regular gang. Nothing to make a person turn white and hide her face. She looked at Ruth again. Not eating, either. Sick and no fooling. Sick or something. “Okay,” she said lightly, “but you got to come for a minute anyway. It’s a—what do I want to say, Poke?”

  “An obligation.”

  “Right. Miss Poke here bought a dictionary for three dollars, and every night she learns a long word so her college-educated kids won’t be ashamed of her. Next month she’s going to buy the ring.” Moke waited for a laugh, but none came.

  Moke grew uneasy. She felt responsible and helpless. Maybe Ruth really was sick. We got her in here, she argued silently, and it’s up to us to see she’s okay. She fell back on her own never-failing panacea. “Listen, Ruth, why don’t you go back to bed? Poke and I always do on Sunday. Go on, it’ll do you good.”

  Ruth left the table hurriedly. But not until she knew there was no one between her and the door. When she had gone, Poke tapped a finger against her temple and wagged her head.

  “No,” Moke said.

  April touched Moke’s sleeve. “Is Ruth pretty?” she asked.

  “Pretty? Honey, she’s out of this world!”

  Poke leaned over and tapped Moke’s temple.

  It was Miss Brady who knocked on her door at four o’clock. There had been one other knock, but it had come without footsteps and without a voice. She’d stood close to the door and whispered. “Who’s there?” And no one had answered. But this time was different. She had no excuse. This time the caller announced herself at once.

  “Ruth,” Miss Brady shouted. “Open up!”

  The door was locked. She’d locked it when April went down to dinner at one o’clock. Now she turned the key with a muttered apology. “I’m sorry, Miss Brady. I was asleep.”

  Miss Brady strolled about the room, unobtrusively taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the strained, tight features. Downright ugly, she noted. Homesick. Or maybe just sick. Or maybe Angel’s right, the fool girl could be frightened about something. We could be harbouring two halves of a nasty piece of unfinished business. A nice outlook, a sweet outlook, and it should happen to me when I’m ready to quit.

  Miss Brady dug into her well-trained but curiously innocent mind and brought up her pet anathema. Some man, she thought savagely. Some pipsqueak. Miller had him and somebody else got him. No. Somebody else had him and Miller got him. These quiet pale ones fool you. Miller got him, and got something else with him, and somebody in the House knows it. Sure, the pale quiet ones fool you. Look at that girl last year with the baby, right under my eye… She sat on April’s bed and wondered if she could keep the distaste she felt out of her face and voice. So help me, she promised herself, if this one drinks iodine in the middle of the night, I’ll break her back in six places.

  “Ruth,” she said mildly, “we missed you at dinner. You mustn’t skip meals, you know. And Miss Small is worried about you. She thinks you need building up.”

  “I had coffee, April brought me coffee, that was all I wanted.”

  “Not enough. Now comb your hair and wash your face like a good girl and come on down with me. We’re sewing in the lounge and Mrs Marshall-Gill is serving tea. She’s our most important patron, and she likes to know all the new girls.”

  “I don’t think I—”

  “You must,” Miss Brady said firmly. “You needn’t stay long but you really must make an appearance. Unwritten law, Mrs Marshall-Gill’s. Everybody shows up or else.”

  Everybody, more than seventy people. She could sit in a corner, off to herself, safe for a little while because of more than seventy witnesses. Safe for the rest of her life if she could prove she was mistaken. If she could study that face again, if she could listen to the voice, if she could prove to herself that she was wrong… But that would be too good, too wonderful, she didn’t have that kind of luck. Going downstairs to the tea was another part of the scheme, another small thing falling into place, lining up behind he
r, pushing her forward to meet the end. But I’ve got to know, she said; I’ve got to finish it. I can’t go on like this. I can’t wait for him to call, I can’t wait. I’ve got to do something myself.

  “Will you wait for me while I change my dress?” she asked.

  Good God, Miss Brady marvelled silently, vain too. “Go right ahead,” she said.

  Ruth dressed carefully in the blue suit. But how will I know if I’ve made a mistake? she wondered. How can I be sure? She knew the answer to that at once. If one pair of eyes followed her with a certain look, if one head turned in her direction then turned away, too quickly, she’d know. Not only know that she wasn’t wrong but also that she’d been recognised. Then there would be no time to lose, not even a minute. She’d go to the doctor’s office and sit on the steps until he came home. He’d find her a place for the night, he might even know of a job. She’d have to leave Blackman’s. Miss Brady had written Blackman’s on her card, and anybody could read that card. And Moke and Poke—

  “I’m ready now,” she said to Miss Brady.

  The elevator girl looked surprised when they got in together.

  “Jewel,” Miss Brady said, “this is Ruth Miller.” Jewel nodded.

  She knew a little about Jewel. She’d asked April when they’d walked down to breakfast. April had accepted the walk without question. April had said that Jewel’s real name was Annie…

  They had never told her the other one’s name, and they’d kept hers a secret too. They’d said she’d be better off if she didn’t know. They’d kept it all a secret, it wasn’t even in the papers…

  At the fifth floor three girls crowded into the small cage. Miss Brady introduced them briskly, but Ruth hardly heard. They had names like Betty and Peggy and Janie. They meant nothing, they looked exactly alike. Sometimes people do look alike, she reminded herself without hope. When the door slid open at the first floor, sound poured out from the lounge and filled the lobby.