Death of a Doll Page 4

  Miss Brady swept her forward, like a dead leaf in the wind. She saw lighted lamps, trays of food, flowers, and a fire.

  There was a vacant chair in a corner by the fire. Its back was to the wall, and she took it. No one spoke to her. She tried to make herself small and inconspicuous, but that was a wasted effort and she knew it. The bright blue suit betrayed her against the cream walls. She braced herself for whatever the next hour held and deliberately turned her face to the nearest lamp, inviting recognition. After a while, when still no one had come to her side, she began to breathe easier and dared to look at her neighbours.

  Mrs Marshall-Gill dominated the room. She looked like a charge customer, the kind who tapped her foot and called the clerks “my girl.” She was calling somebody “my girl” now, a thin and brightly smiling woman who ran obediently from group to group with a dish of bonbons, who ran back for fresh supplies from a box on Mrs Marshall-Gill’s lap and ran off again. The woman looked like a paid companion and her lips moved in a constant chant, indistinct across the room. When she offered the dish to Ruth, the chant was, “Compliments of Mrs Marshall-Gill.”

  A girl put a piece of heavy muslin in Ruth’s lap and went away without speaking. She held it stupidly, wondering what to do. It was shaped like a small flour sack, and a crude face was pencilled on one surface. When she found the needle and coloured wool inside, she knew what it was. This was her party mask, and she was to make it herself. I’ll never wear it, she thought, but they don’t know that.

  In a few minutes the girl came back. She said her name was Minnie May Handy, and she offered to help. Together they made the scrolls of yellow hair, the red buttonhole mouth, the long black lashes that fringed the cut-out eyes. If Minnie May noticed her trembling fingers she chose to ignore them.

  Minnie May had a fretful and dubious Southern accent. She said, “My roommate says that every stitch you sew on Sunday you have to take out in Hell. With your nose. My roommate’s terrible. When did you move in? Haven’t I seen you before?”

  “No,” Ruth said. “You’ve never seen me before… I came last night.”

  “It’s terrible. No place to entertain, I mean what I call entertain. So what are you going to do? Well, you do it, and everybody waits up for you to come in and tries to smell your breath.” She exhaled the disputed breath and filled the vicinity with clove. “I’m sick and tired of chaperons. I want an apartment.”

  Here was an opening, a safe opening even if someone overheard. She and Minnie May were temporarily isolated. The crowd had moved to the other end of the long room and overflowed into the lobby. Only Mrs Marshall-Gill remained within earshot and she was counting costumes audibly.

  “I can understand about wanting an apartment,” Ruth said carefully. “I suppose you’ve lived here a long time.” She was surprised at her own craft. Her voice was even and natural, the question was natural, too.

  “Two years.”

  Two. That was more than she’d hoped for. Three would have been better but two was close enough to figure on. She’d have to hurry. The crowd was shifting again, coming their way. But she mustn’t sound as if she were hurrying. She must sound as if she had all the time in the world.

  “I suppose everybody here is from out of town,” she went on. “New Yorkers would have families to live with, wouldn’t they?”

  Minnie May didn’t answer. That meant she’d have to be more definite. She’d have to make Minnie May talk. “I suppose every state in the union is represented here,” she said with quiet intensity. “Everybody from a different place. Even the servants.” That was a good touch about the servants. That was natural and good.

  Minnie May rolled her eyes. “What’s eating you?”

  She smiled gaily. “Maybe I’m lonely! I guess that’s it. I’m just wondering if anybody comes from the same part I do. I mean it would be nice to find somebody that knew a mutual friend. You’re Southern, aren’t you?”

  Minnie May gave her a long look. “Sort of,” she said. She yawned and stood up. “Got to go. Got to make a phone call. See you some more.” She strolled across the room, bowed demurely to Mrs Marshall-Gill, and ducked through the door.

  Two more people came in, Lillian Harris and the girl who had asked for a tray the night before. Then three more, then five. They all looked as if they didn’t see her.

  No one approached her chair. She sat erect, her fingers locked over the mask. She saw Moke and Poke over by the piano, Kitty Brice in a corner talking to a square, heavy woman in black with keys hanging from her belt. The housekeeper, Miss Plummer’s sister. She looked for Miss Plummer but she wasn’t there. Taking the board so Kitty could come to the party, that would be it. Miss Plummer knew how to work the board. If the doctor’s call came, Miss Plummer would tell her. Miss Plummer was reliable. April in the far corner, sitting on Miss Brady’s lap, being petted and fed from a full plate like a little dog. Jewel in the doorway, slouched and sullen.

  Mrs Marshall-Gill spied Jewel and raised an imperious hand. The paid companion ran forward and was waved back. “Annie!” Mrs Marshall-Gill’s voice filled the room. “Annie, come here, I want a few words with you.” Everybody watched and listened. The girl at the piano stopped playing, and even April twisted around on Miss Brady’s lap. Miss Small hurried in from the lobby as if she had been summoned. She looked apprehensive.

  “I want you to stop calling yourself by that silly name, Annie,” Mrs Marshall-Gill said clearly. “It’s inappropriate and ridiculous and I don’t like it. It may even be dishonest, I don’t know. At any rate, you’re to stop it at once. I looked up your registration, and your name is Annie, a solid, Christian name. You’ll do well to abide by it.”

  “I don’t like Annie,” Jewel said.

  “It suits your face,” Mrs Marshall-Gill said. A titter ran around the listening room. Jewel drew back. Dark red stained her thick, sallow skin. Even her neck was red.

  “I don’t like Annie,” she repeated. “I like to call myself Jewel.”

  “That will be all, Annie. You may join the others for your tea.”

  Jewel turned, hesitated, and went to the door. She closed it gently behind her, but not before Mrs Marshall-Gill explained her stand.

  “Jewel doesn’t match Schwab,” she said.

  Someone held out a cup of tea. It was Miss Small. Ruth took it in both hands but the hot liquid, thick with cream, spilled into her lap.

  “What a shame,” Miss Small grieved, “and it’s a new suit, isn’t it? But you mustn’t worry, it’ll clean.” She talked easily, quietly. “Too bad about poor little Jewel. That’s an old feud. But she really is very trying. This is the fifth time she’s changed her name, poor child. Now tell me how you’re making out. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you must ask me. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I’m all right,” Ruth said.

  “You don’t look it,” Miss Small insisted gently. “Does April worry you? I’m so sorry I didn’t warn you about that.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I’m glad. April’s a dear, but I’m afraid we spoil her dreadfully. You really must meet some of the others. Why don’t we walk around a bit? There may be a very lovely friend waiting for you in this very room, someone who will change your whole life. Shall we try it?”

  Ruth brushed her lips with a handkerchief and averted her head. After a pause, Miss Small tried again.

  “You know,” she said, “I’m paid a very good salary for the work I do here, and if my girls don’t bring me their little problems I’m very unhappy. I tell myself that I’ve failed somewhere. You understand, don’t you?”

  Ruth nodded. At the other end of the room Moke and Poke left the piano and walked slowly toward her, stopping at other groups on the way. Hurry, she begged silently, hurry, don’t stop again. I’m afraid I’ll say something, I’m afraid I’ll give myself away.

  Miss Small’s soft voice went on. “We’ve had all sorts of girls here, from all sorts of homes, and we’ve managed to make them happy. No
t at first, perhaps, but always in the end. Confidence is the thing that does it.” Miss Small’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m like a doctor, Ruth, you can talk to me and I never tell the things I hear, never. I want you to think about that. Think about it tonight.” Her hand touched Ruth’s lightly. “People are looking at us, but we don’t mind that, do we? Now I must run off and talk to our patron. But I’ll be thinking about you and worrying.”

  Ruth sat with bent head, staring at the dark stain on the blue, hardly remembering how it had come there, not caring. I didn’t give myself away, she said over and over; I didn’t tell her anything. She wanted me to talk, but I didn’t. It isn’t safe to talk, not even one word, not even a lie… Moke and Poke came up and sat on the arms of her chair.

  “Listen,” Moke said, “we dreamed up some funny business. You’ll die. You know there’s a prize for the girl that guesses the most other girls, a double strand of pink pearls—”

  “Simulated,” said Poke.

  “Phony,” agreed Moke, “but pink. Listen. If you embroider a little mole beside your left eye, then I’ll know you. You can use the same stuff you used for the hair. What do you say?”

  “I don’t mind,” she said softly. It wouldn’t do Moke any good but she couldn’t tell her that.

  “You don’t sound as if you meant it,” Moke objected. “Do it now where I can see you. No, lemme. You look like you might be honest.” She took Ruth’s mask and went to work. “Poke’s got one black eyebrow and one brown. Show her, Poke. Cute?”

  They rattled on, repeating House gossip, giving priceless information, innocently pointing the way to escape. Sunday night supper was always cold stuff and cocoa, put on the table and no service. Sunday nights, Monny and Angel always ate at Marshall-Gill’s. At last year’s party Minnie May had spiked the punch, and Fister was going to guard the table this time. At last year’s party they had dressed as fairies because the people Plummer worked for had a lot of old gauze and busted sequins they were throwing out. Somebody jilted Plummer when she was eighteen and she still wore a locket with his picture in it. Plummer was okay, though, if you wanted to come in after midnight without telling the world. She’d slip the latch if she liked you. Last year a girl on the third took poison but Monny brought it up with mustard water. The girl had been sneaking down the fire escape after hours and sneaking back again and nobody ever knew it. Monny had paid for the baby and nobody was supposed to know that either. Monny was all right in her way but she had a temper and threw things. Angel was all right, too, if you soft-soaped her and gave presents. She was working on Harris now, and it wouldn’t be long. Harris was tough but Angel always got her girl. Angel knew what she wanted. Used to be a boarder herself until Monny promoted her. Minnie May’s roommate, Dotty, had religion. Some people said she’d been in jail and got it there. Everybody had a past if you believed all you heard.

  “You got a past, Ruth?” Moke grinned.

  Ruth smiled. “Well, yes. Yes, that’s right, that’s what I’ve got.”

  It was after six when she finally reached her room. She wasn’t hungry and she wasn’t even tired. Her mind was clear and orderly because she knew what she had to do. She knew she had been right. She knew she had been recognised. She had seen the following eyes.

  If one girl could use the fire escape without detection, so could she. The lobby wasn’t safe. And it would have to be at a certain time, not when people were dressing to go out or undressing to go to bed. She might be seen through the windows.

  She went to the closet and collected her clothes. Pack first, while April was still downstairs. Hide the suitcase on the fire escape outside the bathroom window. When April came she’d tell her she was going for a walk. No, that wouldn’t do. April might want to come. Or she might even wait up. She’d tell April she was spending the night with an old friend, and later, much later, she’d write her a little note.

  She went to the bathroom and looked out of the window. There was a fence dividing the courtyard from the building next door. A white cat sat motionless on the fence. She saw it clearly in the light from the street. Where the fence met the street there was a gate between the two buildings. It was open.

  She returned to her room and finished packing. It’s a relief to know the truth, she told herself; now I know where I stand, I know what I have to do. I lost my head last night, I didn’t think straight. After all these years I didn’t want to believe what I saw… The doll mask was on the bed, together with the long, shapeless costume. I knew I’d never wear it, she said, I knew it. She touched the ridiculous mole that would have marked her from the others and hoped that Moke would win the pearls.

  She went back to the night before, to the afternoon that was just over. She retraced every step. I don’t think she knew me at first, she decided. Because of my glasses. I was wearing glasses before. But she knew me this afternoon. Maybe I have a special way of turning my head or using my hands… She looked at her hands and saw they were clenched. Maybe I did that this afternoon. Maybe I did that the other time.

  She went back to the other time. She saw an office, richly furnished, saw two hatted men with hard eyes, saw another man, hatless, sitting in a leather chair behind an ornate desk. She saw the other girl, her face twisted with fury. She heard the voice again, low and quiet at first, then screaming: ‘I’ll kill you for this. Someday we’ll meet and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’

  They’d told her not to worry, but she knew they were worried themselves. They’d given her some money and told her to leave town for a little while. They’d said it would all blow over. But she’d heard them whispering among themselves. They were as worried as she was. Five years ago they’d sent her away, but now she was caught.

  She sat on the bed because her knees were shaking. April’s alarm clock said seven-thirty. She noticed for the first time that it had no crystal. April read with her fingers… I’ll take a bath, she said, and then I’ll be ready. And April will be back by then. She locked the suitcase and took it with her to the bathroom, first making sure there was no one in the hall. She studied the hall, wondering about emergency exits. Beyond her room, at the far end, were the packrooms, enormous cupboards holding trunks and old furniture. The fire door was at the front end, then the bath, the telephone, and her own room. I won’t call him up, she said. They’ll keep a record of the number. She could see it, she could see it in a minute and maybe follow me.

  At eight she was ready and the suitcase was on the fire escape. She sat on the bed again and waited for time to pass.

  At eight-thirty a bell rang shrilly over her head. She began to tremble. He had come home, he had found her note, she was safe. She saw Kitty’s long, thin hands inserting the right plug, she saw Kitty swivel around in her chair and press the right bell. Her bell. He was calling at last. She’d tell him to come for her there. She wouldn’t risk the dim halls and the stairs. She’d wait in her room until he was announced.

  She didn’t know the voice at first. But it wasn’t his. It was level and toneless.

  “Miss Miller?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “This is Mrs Fister, the housekeeper. I’d like to see you in my room, please.”

  She answered calmly. “I have a headache, Mrs Fister. Won’t tomorrow do?”

  Mrs Fister was sorry. “I’m afraid it won’t. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important, Miss Miller. Room 202.”

  She heard the receiver click.

  Room 202. Second floor. She’d have to go. She would walk, stopping on each landing to look up and down, ready for flight if she met a figure coming toward her on the dim stairs. She’d have to go. It would look suspicious if she didn’t. She mustn’t do anything that looked odd or suspicious. She must pretend she didn’t know.

  There was no one on the stairs. The elevator hummed in its shaft, and the stairs wound down beside it. When the elevator stopped at a floor, she waited on the landing until it went on. It was better not to take chances.

  Mrs Fister’s
door was open, and she hesitated on the threshold.

  “Come in,” Mrs Fister said, “and close the door. I asked you to come here because I’m having a little trouble and I think you’re the one who can help me.” She pointed to a rocking chair. The room was filled with rocking chairs, taborets, jardinieres, and a big bed, relics of a home-owning past. “My sister has the room next to this one, and we usually leave the communicating door open. That one.” She pointed to a door. It was closed.

  “Yes, Mrs Fister,” she said.

  Mrs Fister went on slowly. “April’s in there. She’s in bed, sick. She’s been eating too many sweets.”

  She wanted to scream. Was this the thing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?

  “I’ve put her to bed, my sister can sleep with me, you see I brought my own bed with me when I came.” The level, toneless voice droned on. “April needs attention, not much, but she needs to be watched. I can’t do it myself because I’ve got to go out tonight. On private business. There’s nobody to watch her while I’m gone, that’s why I called you. I was sure you wouldn’t be going anywhere, and I didn’t think you’d mind giving a little time to an afflicted girl.”

  She forced herself to say, “How long?”

  “How long will I be gone?” Mrs Fister was donning coat and hat, taking down a small satchel from the closet shelf. “Not too long, not long enough to make any difference to you. This is as good a place to sit as any. Say about two hours, maybe more, maybe less. You weren’t planning anything, were you?”

  “No.”

  “She won’t wake up for a while, perhaps not till I get back. Don’t go in there unless she calls, and don’t give her anything but water.” Mrs Fister walked heavily to the door and turned. “The time will go faster down here,” she said.