… forced to ask your help… a very serious matter… need desperately to reach my doctor… as quickly as possible… a matter of life and death… Please… please… please…
Her eyes skimmed the note, then turned back to the open window. After the sight of poor Jane, poor futile-looking Jane, in her dirty wrapper, with her messy hair and her swollen eyes, the note seemed wildly melodramatic. But still… With an air of resolution she wheeled herself back to the window, boosted herself up out of the chair and reached for the grillwork.
Down below Mrs. Bates had nearly reached the flower beds beneath the window. She approached them from the left, taking great care to give ample water to the hedge that fronted along the street. Blanche drew the note forward to the grille and waited. She had thought it out carefully; unless Mrs. Bates actually saw the note falling she might assume it was only a scrap of paper which had blown into the yard during the night and overlook it. She would have to wait, then, until the woman was fully turned in her direction. Holding herself upright, Blanche tried, as she waited, to project herself into Mrs. Bates’s mind; she tried to imagine the woman’s first reaction when she saw the note fluttering down from the window, what she would think when she picked it up and read it.
Naturally she would be surprised. But then—after that first moment of surprise—would she think it was some sort of joke? Oh, no, no, she couldn’t do that! Not with a note that said someone needed a doctor. But would she be willing to take the responsibility of calling the doctor as the note asked? She might be one of those women too shy or too cautious to take a hand in the affairs of their neighbors. Actually Blanche knew nothing of Mrs. Bates; she had no clue at all to the sort of person she might be. Craning forward, she studied the figure down below more closely. Suppose she was the kind of woman who liked always to be at the center of the excitement, who might try to interfere personally instead of calling Dr. Shelby. Or—suppose she was a notoriety seeker and called the newspapers!
The newspapers! Blanche drew back from the window as if from a threatened blow. Suppose her note did find its way to the newspapers and they printed it? Suddenly she saw it quite clearly, photographed and reproduced in the evening papers—along with a résumé, no doubt, of her career, ending with the accident which had ended that career. They might even uncover some of the information about the accident that the studio had managed to suppress, a few small details.…
She let go of the grille and eased herself down into her chair. She saw now that her plan with the note held dangers she had not considered; there could so easily be ugly consequences, consequences that she didn’t dare risk. But if she threw away this chance, there wouldn’t be another until Mrs. Stitt came on Friday.…
And then she remembered; Mrs. Stitt had altered her plans for the week; she had said she would be back on Monday morning. Tomorrow! The awful weight of her anxiety fell suddenly away. How foolish to have forgotten; in her fright it had simply slipped her mind. But now that she had remembered it was all so simple; when Mrs. Stitt came tomorrow, she would promptly send her out to call Dr. Shelby from the nearest phone booth, and when he came… What an absolute fool she had been to let herself get into such a state over nothing. Folding the note quickly, almost embarrassedly, she shoved it back into her pocket.
Certainly, Mrs. Stitt had informed Jane, too, of her plans. So Jane could hardly be plotting anything so very sinister, knowing that the woman would be coming into the house the very next morning. Recalling her morbid fancies about Jane’s plans to starve and frighten her to death, Blanche felt a faint flush of chagrin. What a state she had been in! Since Jane had uncovered the breakfast tray to show her there was nothing wrong with it, it was evident that that hideous nonsense was at an end.
At the thought of breakfast, Blanche looked back toward the desk, and at the sight of the food, she was suddenly famished. In a mood of happy relief, she turned her chair and started forward.
As the day passed quietly and without incident, Blanche’s newly found optimism seemed justified. Jane spent most of her time downstairs. Promptly at one she appeared with Blanche’s lunch, uncovered the tray as she had at breakfast time, so that she could see that it contained only a fruit salad in gelatin and a few crackers.
After lunch Blanche read a bit and then, to make up for the sleep she had lost during the night, napped. Shortly after four she awoke, greatly rested, and wheeled her chair to the window to see that Mrs. Bates, in accordance with her accustomed schedule, had returned to her garden. Blanche’s hand sought the note in her pocket, but left it there undisturbed.
At seven, when Jane brought her dinner tray up to her and left it on the desk without removing its cover, Blanche felt none of the previous day’s apprehension. With only a momentary twinge of doubt, she moved her chair over to the desk, reached out to the cloth and removed it.
The food looked wonderful. There were two perfectly grilled chops, a small helping of mashed potatoes, carrots and peas, a small green salad and a slice of cherry pie. Eagerly Blanche picked up her fork and took up some of the potatoes.
She had only just put the food into her mouth when with a sharp gasp she started forward. Letting her fork fall, unnoticed, to the floor, she reached quickly for her napkin. And then she stopped, staring down hard at her plate.
She saw now what she had not seen before; the entire meal had been carefully sprinkled over with fine, white sand.
5
At a quarter to nine the house was still silent; Jane had yet to awaken and emerge from her room.
For Blanche the night had passed again in frightened and interminable sleeplessness. Again she had sat the night out in her chair, listening to the endless silence, her heart racing for fear of—she didn’t know what. And again she had watched the dawn come obliquely into the room through the window, creeping in past the grillwork with cold, gray stealth. Now, as the day began to ripen, and a band of golden light appeared on the sill, Blanche waited with increased tenseness, praying fervently that Mrs. Stitt would come before Jane was up.
It was just two minutes to nine when she finally heard a sound from downstairs and rolled her chair quickly over to the door. There was a slight scratching sound which, even from so great a distance, Blanche recognized as Mrs. Stitt’s key being fitted into the lock of the back door. After a moment the door opened then closed again. As Mrs. Stitt’s footsteps echoed through the kitchen, Blanche put her hand out to the doorjamb in an effort to keep from calling out.
Again a door opened, this time the one to the downstairs hallway closet, and Blanche could visualize Mrs. Stitt putting away her hat and coat, taking down her cleaning apron, slipping it on, tying it around her waist. Any moment now the woman would be on her way upstairs. In anticipation, Blanche wheeled her chair back into the room. The footsteps resumed, approached through the lower hallway, crossed the living room and started up the stairs.
Entering the upper hallway, Mrs. Stitt came briskly forward. At the sight of Blanche sitting there in her chair, she stopped in the doorway in an attitude of surprise.
“Edna!” Blanche said.
“You up already?” Mrs. Stitt asked. “With the house so quiet——”
“Come in here,” Blanche said urgently, keeping her voice low. “Come in and close the door.”
Mrs. Stitt started forward and then, catching sight of the unused bed, hesitated and looked back along the hall toward Jane’s room. “She up, too?”
Blanche shook her head. “Edna, listen…”
Mrs. Stitt, continuing to look down the hall, raised her hand in an abrupt gesture of warning. “Well, good morning,” she said flatly. “I thought I heard you stirring around in there.”
Blanche went slack in her chair, weak with disappointment. Now she would have to wait; she would have to endure more of this dreadful anxiety.
As Mrs. Stitt came into the room, Jane, tying the sash around her soiled wrapper, appeared, swollen-eyed, in the doorway behind her. Her slitted gaze went directly to the desk an
d the covered dinner tray. Without a word, she shuffled into the room, took up the tray and carried it hastily back in the direction of the door.
Mrs. Stitt glanced around at Blanche. “What was it you wanted, Miss Blanche?” she asked.
“Well,” Blanche fumbled, waiting for Jane to leave. “I——”
In the doorway Jane stopped and turned, her gaze narrowed upon Mrs. Stitt. “You better come down and get breakfast,” she said.
Mrs. Stitt’s face took on a faint flush of anger. “Just a minute,” she said. She turned back to Blanche.
“It’s nothing important,” Blanche said resignedly. “You can take care of it when you bring my breakfast up.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Stitt nodded.
Turning to find Jane still there, she crossed swiftly to the door, moved out into the hallway and past Jane, pointedly refusing to relieve her of the tray or even to give any sign that she thought she ought to. Blanche was unable to hold back a sigh of defeat as Jane, casting a last fleeting glance in her direction, followed on down the hall and out of sight.
Fifteen minutes later Blanche received her breakfast, but it was Jane who carried it up the stairs to her and not Mrs. Stitt. As on the previous morning, Jane put the tray down and removed the cover. It contained only the usual breakfast.
Alone, Blanche forced herself to eat. Mrs. Stitt knew now that she wanted to talk to her; certainly she would return upstairs before she left the house. As the hours of the morning slipped past, however, and Mrs. Stitt still did not come, Blanche’s feeling of desperate uncertainty increased. Mrs. Stitt wouldn’t be back until Friday; if she didn’t get to talk to her this morning it would be nearly four days before the chance came again.
Blanche closed her eyes, pressing back tears of fright and frustration. She had to get word out to Dr. Shelby today. She had to. She couldn’t stand any more of this. Whether there was any danger in it or not, she couldn’t bear the prospect of another day in this house alone with Jane. She glanced back at the clock on the stand and saw, with quickened alarm, that it was nearly eleven forty-five. Mrs. Stitt would be leaving in just fifteen minutes!
Moving her chair to the doorway, she paused and listened. For a long moment there was nothing and then, faintly, there came a series of small sounds from the direction of the living room. Quietly, she moved her chair into the hallway and then out onto the gallery. At the bannister, peering down into the living room, she issued a faint sigh of relief.
“Edna!” she whispered. “Edna!”
Mrs. Stitt, dusting the library table directly below, started slightly and then looked up. Stepping back quickly, she glanced off into the lower hallway. What she saw must have reassured her, for when Blanche motioned to her to come upstairs, she nodded and put down her cloth.
Blanche waited for her to catch up with her at the door of her room. “Thank God!” she breathed. “I was so afraid you weren’t going to come upstairs again.…”
“I’ve been trying every way I knew. She’s been just determined to keep me from it.”
“Where is she now?”
“In the kitchen, I guess—or maybe out on the porch.”
As they entered the room, Blanche nodded back the way they had come. “Close the door,” she said urgently, “close it.…” Mrs. Stitt nodded with a look of sharp concern. Her hand had only just touched the edge of the door when, with startling shrillness, the phone suddenly rang out in the hall. They exchanged quick glances. Mrs. Stitt moved hastily back into the hall.
“No!” Blanche cried. “No, don’t bother with it!”
“But she’ll know I’m up here for sure…” Mrs. Stitt snatched up the receiver before it could ring again. “Hello?” she enquired.
“Edna!” Blanche wailed. “Please! You’ve got to listen to me. I’ve got to get word to Dr. Shelby!” She stopped in desperation and then, despite the fact that Mrs. Stitt was speaking—was saying things—into the phone, went on. “Edna, you were right about Jane. These last two days—she has kept me absolutely helpless here in this house. I’ve been a prisoner here in this room, with the…”
“Yes, Mr. Cooper,” Mrs. Stitt was saying rapidly into the phone. “Yes, that’s all right—perfectly all right. Yes, I’m certain. Good-bye—yes—good-bye.” Hanging up, she turned and came back quickly into the room. “Now, tell me,” she said anxiously, “I couldn’t listen to him and hear you, too.…”
“Mrs. Stitt!”
They turned in quick unison toward the door as Jane’s footsteps clattered with angry rapidity up the stairs and into the hallway. In the next instant she was there in the doorway, panting, her gaze snapping from Blanche to Mrs. Stitt.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?”
Mrs. Stitt folded her hand upon her nonexistent stomach in a stiff gesture of exasperation. “Mr. Cooper from down at the store,” she said shortly. “They’re out of your brand of canned vegetables for tomorrow’s deliveries, and he wanted to know if they could bring another kind. I said it was okay.”
Jane accepted this explanation with a look of narrow suspicion. There was a moment’s silence. “I thought you were going to just do the work downstairs today,” she said finally. Her gaze moved to Blanche, then quickly away again.
“I—I just thought I’d have a look around up here before I leave,” Mrs. Stitt said with muted fury. “That’s all.”
“It’s all right, Jane…” Blanche offered weakly.
Unheeding, Jane looked over at the clock, then back at Mrs. Stitt. “It’s three minutes past your time,” she said flatly. “You’d better go if you’re not going to be late at the next place.”
Mrs. Stitt cast her a deliberately measuring glance and then nodded. “I’m going now,” she said. She looked back at Blanche worriedly, made a slight shrugging motion. “I’ll do your room first thing next time, Miss Blanche.” After another moment of hesitation, she wheeled about and stalked out of the room.
Blanche felt a quick tightening about the heart as, for the first time in days, Jane brought her gaze directly down to hers and held it there. In the depths of Jane’s glittering eyes, more frightening by far than any dead bird on a platter or meal dashed over with sand, was naked, staring hatred. Distantly, like hollow echoes from another, saner world, Mrs. Stitt’s footsteps sounded in rapid indignation through the lower hallway to the closet and then, after a brief interval, through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Please,” Blanche said, her voice thin with strain, “Jane…” She had to know what was in Jane’s mind, why she was doing these horrible things to her. Now that she had lost her chance with Mrs. Stitt, she couldn’t endure not knowing any longer. “Just tell me——” And then, seeing the blank denial forming in Jane’s eyes, she stopped.
It was always that way with Jane, always had been. Confronted with her own mischief she simply, flatly denied it. She denied it in the face of all logic and proof. Dead bird?… Sand?… I don’t know what you’re even talking about. You must be crazy. It was no use, no use at all; Blanche could hear Jane’s answers already.
She shook her head in a gesture of defeat, and Jane, her mouth twisting with an expression of scorn, turned on her heel and left. Blanche sat looking after her, frightenedly aware of the thunderous pounding of her own heart.
One o’clock came, and Jane did not bring Blanche her lunch. Not that it mattered, certainly, not that Blanche was concerned about food in her present mood of sick despondency. Later, when she heard Jane starting up the stairs, she turned away and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
Jane passed the open doorway without hesitation and continued down the hall to her own room. Blanche opened her eyes and sat up. Sounds of activity came from Jane’s room, muted sounds, hurried and purposeful. They continued for some minutes and then the door opened and Jane came out into the hall again.
Jane passed the doorway rapidly without glancing into the room, and Blanche saw, with astonishment, that she had dressed to go out. Over her dress she wore a coat
and on her head was her red velvet beret with the preposterous rhinestone clip. Blanche turned, listening carefully, incredulously, to Jane’s progress down the stairs and through the house to the back door.
A moment later there was the distant tap of heels on the concrete walk leading through the back yard and out the gate to the garage. Blanche moved her chair quickly to the window, where the sound carried better from the direction of the garage. After a moment there was the slam of the car door and shortly after that, the roar of the motor.
Blanche couldn’t believe it; there had to be some trick in it. That was it, of course, this was another of Jane’s horrible jokes.… But then there was the sound of the car backing out of the garage, swinging around and heading off down the hill.
The silence, this time, seemed to come into the house as a prolonged sigh of relief. Blanche gripped the arms of her chair with tense alertness. She had to act at once; whatever Jane’s intention, there was an opportunity in this moment that she must seize before it was lost. Boosting herself up in her chair toward the window, she peered hopefully down into the garden below. Mrs. Bates was not there. And probably wouldn’t be for at least another hour or two.
Turning from the window, she wheeled herself rapidly out into the hallway across to the phone. She did not doubt for a moment that Jane had remembered to take it off the hook again downstairs, but she had to be certain.
She put the phone down and turned away, feeling, anew, a sudden rush of panic. No wonder Jane had been willing to go off and leave her alone. She was helpless—completely and utterly helpless—cut off from everything and everyone outside this house. The chill hand of hysteria brushed over her heart making it contract suddenly. She couldn’t stand any more of this; she simply couldn’t! Whatever the risk, she had to get out of here! She had to save herself!
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Page 7