The innocent Mrs Duff

by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and fell silent.

  She is thinking about that slipper, he told himself. Very well; why doesn’t she say so? Why doesn’t she say—that looked like one of your red slippers, down on the beach. My dear girl, I didn’t bring any slippers. No. She packed my suitcase herself. My dear girl, those slippers are in my closet at this moment.

  He was ready and eager to face things now, but what could he do when she sat there in silence? He ate a few mouthfuls of food, and his mind was working fast.

  “Did that damn dog wake you up last night?” he asked.

  “No, I didn’t hear anything,” she answered.

  “Waked me,” he said. “Howling, just outside the window. I got up and heaved one of my slippers at it and it ran away. But it came back, and I let it have the other one.”

  “Did you?” she said.

  “The funny part of it is,” he went on, “that both the slippers are gone.” He glanced at her, and her black lashes were down, her face unreadable. “Dog must have carried them away,” he said.

  He waited.

  “You’re not very talkative,” he said. “Not very civil.”

  “I’m sorry. Only—”

  “Only what?”

  “Jake,” she said, “I could send Ellen out here to cook for you, and all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’d—like to go back to Jay,” she said. “I’d like to go tomorrow.”

  He could not understand this, and he must. It was dangerous.

  “Why?” he asked, after a moment.

  “Well, I miss Jay—”

  “No. Why do you want to go?”

  “I—just do, Jake.”

  “By all means!” he said, pushing back his chair. “By all means. Go to hell, if you like.”

  Locked in his room, he lay down on the bed and fell asleep at once. He waked with a start, in a flame of anger against Reggie. She wants to leave me here, does she? All right. Let her go. Let her go to hell.

  He could hear faint sounds from the kitchen, the clink of china, the rattle of a drawer closing. She was still working in there, toiling, in an apron, like a maid-of-all-work. Let her. It was what she liked. Mrs. Jacob Duff.

  He heard the switch click off in the kitchen, and Reggie’s footsteps, light and slow, coming along the hall to the room next to his. The door closed, and he heard a key turn in the lock; he heard that plainly. He sat up straight in the dark.

  Why was she locking her door? She never did that. What was she afraid of? It made him shiver.

  Chapter 12

  He could not forgive Reggie.

  “There’s a train at nine-forty,” he said, as they sat at breakfast. “I’ll telephone for a taxi to get us there in time for that.”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t get ready by then, Jake.”

  “I’ll pack my own things. You can certainly pack your own bag in an hour, can’t you?”

  “Yes, but there’s the dishes and—”

  “My dear girl,” he interrupted, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop this talk about your dishes and your kitchen and so on. You’re not a laborer’s wife.”

  “All right, Jake,” she said.

  He telephoned for a taxi and then he locked himself into his room, and unlocked the closet where the wet clothes lay on the floor of the closet. They had to go into the big suitcase, and it was an infuriating job. He was not used to packing. He had long ago lost the key, so he put a leather strap around it. What’s more, he thought, I’ve got to lug that empty bottle all the way back to New York. I can’t so much as throw away an empty bottle in my own house without all this criticism.

  When his bags were closed, he took them into the sitting-room, and there he found Reggie, in her hat and coat, her bag beside her. Through the open doorway he could see the breakfast dishes still on the table. What’s wrong with her? he thought.

  He was no longer worried about Nolan, nor about the old maniac. All that was past. He was going back to the house in Vandenbrinck, to a normal life, under the roof with normal Miss Castle. I’ll simply ignore Reggie, he thought. Anyhow, until she’s got over this fit of sulks, whatever it is.

  They spoke scarcely a word on the way in to New York. Then he took her to the Grand Central and to the gate of the train.

  “I’ll be home to dinner,” he said, briefly.

  He had a minor but annoying problem before him. In the small new bag he had an empty bottle, one that was quarter full, and a full one. He wanted to buy two bottles to take home with him, but the bag would hold no more than three, and he could think of no way of disposing of empty bottles.

  Preposterous! he thought. Here I am, in a city like New York, and there’s absolutely no place where I can leave an empty bottle. He sat down in the waiting-room, frowning in bitter resentment.

  By God, I’m going to leave them here, in the men’s room! he decided, and rose. He locked himself in; he got the empty and the almost empty bottle out of the little bag and set them on the floor in a comer. But then panic overwhelmed him. When he opened the door, he might come face to face with someone he knew. Or, far worse, he might meet someone unknown to him who would recognize Jacob Duff, who would go around telling people how Jacob Duff left empty bottles in the men’s room in Grand Central. Like an old souse.

  He put the bottles back into the bag and returned to the waiting-room. He sat down, and glanced at his watch, and he saw that it was nearly twelve. I’m wasting my whole day over this damn nonsense! he cried to himself. I’d better get some lunch, and then I’ll see…

  He checked both the bags and crossed the street to a hotel bar. It was jammed; he had to stand and wait to get near the bar, and he was beginning to feel sick; his hands were shaking again. When he at last found a place, he ordered a double rye, straight, with water on the side; he drank it, but it didn’t help him. The drinks here, he thought, were extremely small.

  “Make it another double,” he said to the bartender.

  “Hel-lo, Duff!” said a voice beside him.

  It was Vermilyea.

  “Martini,” he said to the bartender and then turned his ruddy, serious face toward Duff. “Bad business about old Mr. Paul, isn’t it?”

  “What is it? I haven’t heard,” said Duff.

  He felt remarkably cool and alert now.

  “Why, the poor old fellow’s disappeared,” Vermilyea told him. “Left his house a couple of nights ago, took a train to New York, and he’s never been seen since.”

  “I don’t think I know him,” said Duff, frowning thoughtfully. “Paul…? Paul?”

  “Riding-master,” Vermilyea explained. “Your wife took lessons from him. Very decent old boy. Personally, I think it’s one of these cases of amnesia. You know. Forget your name, and so on.”

  “Yes, I’d think that was very likely,” said Duff.

  “My mother’s very much upset,” Vermilyea went on. “Paul was a sort of protégé of hers, y’know. She met him two or three years ago in New York; he was giving Russian lessons, hardly making both ends meet. In fact, she was the one who got him out to Vandenbrinck, found pupils for him, got him on his feet. Have another drink, Duff?”

  “No, thanks,” said Duff. “To tell you the truth, I don’t go in much for drinks in the middle of the day.”

  “You’re right!” said Vermilyea. “I don’t either. Not once in two or three months. But today I happened to find myself in this neighborhood, with time on my hands… Y’see, I told my secretary I shouldn’t be back until two-thirty or so. I thought this thing would take more time. But the people seemed very efficient. My mother’s idea, this was. She doesn’t think the police are taking enough interest in poor old Paul, so she found this agency.”

  “What agency?” asked Duff.

  “Forgotten the name. She saw it advertised in the newspaper. Wait… Here’s the card. Dependable Agency—right here on Forty-Second Street.”

  “Vermilyea,” said Duff, “I happen to know something a
bout those people, and I advise you to have nothing to do with them. They’re very good people to keep away from.”

  “How’s that. Duff?”

  “It was told me in confidence, by a friend,” said Duff. “Those people make a business of blackmailing their clients.”

  “Whew!” said Vermilyea, whistling. “However, they certainly couldn’t find any possible excuse for blackmailing my mother. At the worst, it’ll simply be a waste of money, and at the best, they might find the poor old boy.” He finished his drink. “Had your lunch. Duff?”

  “Yes,” Duff answered, looking at his watch. “I’ll have to get going now. See you soon!”

  He went back to the Grand Central and stood in the rotunda, smoking. This is too much, he thought. What am I to do? If that McGinnis comes out to Vandenbrinck again…

  Take it easy. Take it easy. What if he does come? I hired him to watch Nolan, and Nolan happened to be living in this Paul’s house. That doesn’t incriminate me. Involve me, I mean. I mean, why should I care?

  For a paralyzing moment, he was aware of the frantic confusion in his own mind. He felt himself threatened on every side, and knew himself to be helpless. Nolan, McGinnis, Paul, even Vermilyea, all dangerous to him, and he could not think why.

  I need food, he told himself.

  When he moved, his knees were weak. I can’t get across the street, he thought. There’s a place here… Food, that’s the thing. I’ve got to quit this drinking, or it’ll get me down. Got to keep my wits about me.

  He went into a restaurant, and looked and looked at the menu.

  “Scrambled eggs and sausages,” he said to the waitress. “Toast and coffee. And oatmeal,” he added.

  “Oatmeal?” she said. “We don’t have oatmeal for lunch.”

  “This happens to be breakfast, for me,” said Duff, with an amused smile.

  He forced himself to eat as much as he could stand; then he lit a cigarette. I’ll go home, he thought. I’ll get a nap on the train and that’ll help. I’m absolutely cutting out the drink. But I’m not going to be stuck out there without a couple of bottles in case I want a shot. I may find it’s better to taper off, instead of quitting cold.

  There was a liquor store opposite the restaurant; he bought two bottles of gin there and carried them away in a paper bag. He got his two bags from the checkroom, and thus loaded down, he went back to the men’s room. He put the empty bottles into the paper bag and replaced them with the full ones. He left the paper bag in a comer. I don’t give a damn if anyone does notice, he thought. I’ll say it isn’t mine, I don’t know anything about it.

  Boarding the train early, he got a seat by a window, and at once closed his eyes. If anyone who knew him came along, they could damn well let him alone. It was hot in here; no air, and he felt, miserable. He grew drowsy, and then came awake with a start, thinking that his big suitcase was toppling over on him. But it was quite safe, up in the rack. With those wet clothes in it.

  Another problem, another worry. He could not dry them anywhere without being noticed. He could not take them to a cleaner’s without causing talk. Absolutely Reggie’s fault, he thought. She’s made it impossible for me to confide in her. I can’t simply go to her and ask her to look after these clothes. It’s her fault about these bottles. All of it.

  He slept for a time, and waked, greatly refreshed. There were windows open now, and cool air blew in; he sighed and looked out at the river. And he felt in some way purged of error, he felt tranquil and innocent. At the Vandenbrinck station he was lucky enough to get a taxi to himself, and he looked with a certain indulgence at the green Spring world. It may be better for Jay, out of the city, he thought.

  He thought of Jay with somber affection. A handsome child, very intelligent, too. It was his irrevocable misfortune to have lost his mother so early in life. But if he goes to a good school. Duff thought, if he makes the right friends… If he marries the right sort of girl… That’s of paramount importance. A girl with breeding, loyalty, poise…

  He went into the house and, to his delight, he found Miss Castle alone in the sitting-room.

  ‘How are you?” he said. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  He hurried up to his room, locked the two bags in the closet, and descended again.

  “Is Jay around?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Duff took him for a walk,” said Miss Castle.

  “It seems to me he’s rather old to be ‘taken’ for walks,” said Duff.

  “Oh, he likes it,” said Miss Castle. “He’s a very companionable child. Will you have tea, Mr. Duff?”

  “Thanks, yes. My aunt’s as fond of her tea in the afternoon as you are. Miss Castle.”

  “Oh, I’m a creature of habit,” she said.

  And all her habits, he thought, were well-bred, quiet, civilized. She was wearing a grey wool dress and a small string of pearls, and with her neat shining hair and the pretty color in her cheeks she looked, Duff thought, like some healthy and happy royal person.

  “It’s a shocking thing about poor old Mr. Paul, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Oh, yes!” said Duff. “But as I never set eyes on him—”

  “He was a very fine old man,” she said. “I do hope they’ll find him.”

  Find him? thought Duff. Where is he, anyhow? Why doesn’t he get washed ashore somewhere, and be done with it?

  “It’s too bad you couldn’t have had a longer time at the seaside,” said Miss Castle.

  “It’s rather a cheerless place, that shack,” said Duff.

  “Oh, is it? I’ve heard such glowing accounts of it from Jay.”

  “Well, he used to go down there with his mother,” said Duff. “Very different, of course.”

  “Poor little boy!” said Miss Castle.

  She understands, thought Duff. She can see what the child’s lost—and what we’ve got here, in Helen’s place. If I could talk to her frankly, some time—

  “Mr. Duff,” she said, “if you wouldn’t mind my suggesting it—?”

  “No! Certainly not! Please go ahead!”

  “I know you have Doctor Staples and, of course, he’s excellent. He was so good when Jay had the measles, wasn’t he? But sometimes another opinion, don’t you think…? This doctor in the village. Doctor Hearty—Mrs. Vermilyea recommended him to me, and I liked him very much. He’s rather old-fashioned, but he is so sensible.”

  “Doctor Hearty, eh?” said Duff.

  He liked this conversation, yet the gravity of her tone made him a little uneasy.

  “It seems to me I’m improving,” he said.

  “Oh, yes!” said Miss Castle, but convincingly. “It’s simply that I thought Doctor Hearty might have some quite simple, old-fashioned tonic… It’s only a suggestion.”

  At that, thought Duff, he might be a damn sight better than Staples. I can’t see that Staples has done me much good, with his pills and so on—

  But I haven’t consulted Staples, he thought, with a faint shock. I never got that medicine I talked about. It’s all very well if I want to tell Reggie things like that, to stop her from nagging, but I’ve got to keep things straight in my own mind. I haven’t seen a doctor for the last two or three years.

  Mary came into the room.

  “Nolan’s here, sir,” she said. “He says could he see you a few minutes, please?”

  “Yes,” said Duff. “Take him in to the study.”

  He rose; for a moment he hesitated, not sure whether or not he should make Miss Castle some sort of explanation. But, after all, he didn’t know what she had heard about Nolan,

  “If you’ll excuse me, please…” he said. “I’ll just see what he wants.”

  I’ll go upstairs and have a drink first, he thought. But at the foot of the stairs he stopped. No, I won’t, he thought. I need a clear head, to deal with that fellow.

  Only the worst of it was, that a few drinks gave him a clearer head, made his hands stop shaking, made him steadier in every way. That’s bad, he thought. This can’t
go on. It’s dangerous.

  He had his drink; he went through all the irritating locking and unlocking process, and then he went down to the study. Nolan was standing by the window, very straight and still, with the stillness of a strong, wary animal. His handsome face in profile had an almost brutal vitality, with the dark hair springing up from his temples, his blunt nose, the sharp angle of his law.

  “Well?” Duff asked, curtly.

  “I just wanted to ask if you’d seen old Paul,” said Nolan, speaking just as he always had spoken. You could not call it an impudent tone, although it was certainly not respectful.

  “Paul…?” said Duff. “Oh, the man who’s disappeared? No, I never set eves on him in my life.”

  He turned, to close the door upon this interview, and, in the short passage outside stood Reggie, hand in hand with Jay.

  Duff slammed the door with a crash that shook the walls. But it was too late. He was sure Reggie had heard what he had said.

  Chapter 13

  “Why should I have seen this man?”‘ Duff asked.

  “Well, to tell you the truth,” said Nolan, “I don’t remember what I told Paul about you.”

  “About me? And what do you think you’ve got to tell about me?”

  “If I’d told him the whole tale,” said Nolan, “he’d have been plenty mad. And he was absolutely fearless, poor old boy. Nothing he wouldn’t do for a friend. But I can’t remember what I told him.”

  “Why can’t you remember?”

  “I was drunk,” Nolan explained. “Blind. Sometimes, when I’m not working, I feel like drinking for a couple of days.”

  “You’ll get yourself in trouble that way,” said Duff.

  “Could be,” said Nolan.

  Suppose Reggie were to walk in now, still holding Jay by the hand? Suppose she were to point at her husband, accuse him—?

  Of what? Duff thought. The man attacked me. He hit me, and I struck back. Reggie knows that; she saw that. The man was crazy, anyway, and it’s very probable that he has got amnesia.

  Stop this. You know where he is. Don’t try to fool yourself, ever. He’s in the sea.

  But suppose he isn’t? Suppose he wasn’t dead? Suppose he got out—and now he’s coming home? Suppose he’s here now? Outside the window—dripping water—white hair—white face…