The Black-Headed Pins

by Constance Little

  "What do you mean?"John asked, beginning to be interested.

  "I mean, I know why I got the bird. I know all about it."

  "Let's hear," said John, preparing for a tale of intricate office intrigue.

  "They caught me doing the Suzy Q. during office hours." John said, "Oh, shut up," Rhynda giggled, and Mrs. Ballinger who had been tch-tching for some time looked puzzled. Any loss of money coming in seemed a tragic thing to her. She could not imagine jesting about it.

  The three Ballingers, Freda, John and Berg, had a private income of about seventy-five dollars a month each left in a trust fund for them by their father so that they would never be actually destitute. Freda had an office job of some sort and managed her finances quite competently. John was doing well in a bank, but Berg drifted around from one thing to another. I think he had been almost everything from an actor to a cowboy. He had a lively interest in anything that was new, and I believe he liked nothing better than to be fired from a job that had begun to pall.

  Mrs. Ballinger stopped clicking her tongue long enough to inquire thinly how it was that Mr. Jones was able to absent himself from the daily grind for an entire week. She did not ask him if he had been fired, too, but it hung in the air.

  He smiled sunnily and said that he thought his concern could do very well—nay, better—without him.

  Mrs. Hannahs chirruped, "I'm sure you're being too modest, Mr. Jones."

  Mr. Jones winked at her, to her confusion, and John stirred and observed, "I'll have to go back, worse luck. But there's no reason why Rhynda and Rosalie can't stay."

  I dared not look at Mrs. Ballinger. I knew that she must be dangerously close to the explosion point, and I wondered nervously whether John was deliberately exasperating her, or whether he could possibly be so completely blind. To take his free repair work, and himself—who was her favorite—off and leave all these drones on her hands was nothing short of high treason. I think she would certainly have made a scene had it not been for Doris, who opportunely took that moment to spill hot coffee all down the front of Amy's dress.

  Amy sprang up, shouting abuse, and Doris, mopping at her ineffectually with a napkin, declared earnestly that in all her years of service she had never done such a crude thing before. Being practically in the servant class myself l knew perfectly well that Doris had done it on purpose, and I could not find it in my heart to blame her. It was the only way to square things with Amy, who was not only inconsiderate at all times but downright objectionable to those who she thought were her inferiors.

  When the fuss had died down and they had all left the dining room, I asked Doris if I could help with the dishes, but she shook her head firmly. "No, dearie—you run along and leave all this to me. You're doin' plenty, Lord knows, and you're only young once."

  I thanked her, and she went out into the kitchen, and then I heard the muffed hammer strokes from the roof again. I put my hands over my ears for a moment, hating to think of John perched up there, and telling myself at the same time not to be silly, because the roof was not slippery and John was always careful.

  I shook myself and went up to Amy's room, because I knew that her bed would be still unmade. I made it, with the sheet hanging down one side and the blankets down the other, and met Amy coming in as I was on my way out.

  "What are you doing in here?" she asked sharply.

  "I was making your bed," I said, matching her tone, "but if you prefer to do it yourself, I shall be glad to leave it to you."

  "Oh no," she said quickly. "No, that's all right. Do it, by all means."

  I went on down the hall to Mrs. Hannahs' room and glanced in. As I had expected, it was in apple pie order. That finished the work for the time being, and I went to my own room and fell onto the bed. The sound of hammering came faintly to my ears as I went off to sleep.

  I was awakened by a loud bang on the door and called feebly, "Come in."

  Berg walked in and perched himself on the end of my bed.

  "Listen, darling, Doris is about to serve a sumptuous tea, after which she is quitting us cold for the rest of the day. She says she has her own Christmas to celebrate. She is leaving a kettle of soup on the stove, and we are to help ourselves from it, when and if we get hungry, later on. Further, we are not to bother you about it. My guess is that she likes you, and only you, out of this whole gang."

  "Don't chatter so, Berg," I said sleepily. "John's still hammering, isn't he? Is he never going to stop?"

  "Not," said Berg solemnly, "until the last shingle is perfectly and prettily in its place. He's got to stick at it, too, because he has to go back to the city next week, and if this job isn't done Mabel'll sue him for breach of promise."

  I stretched and swung my feet over the edge of the bed.

  "Are you coming, Smithy?" Berg asked plaintively. "Or must I go alone to battle with Amy over the biggest piece of gingerbread? Greedy hog," he added without venom.

  "You go and round up the others, Berg. I'll go to the attic and call John. We might as well have the tea while it's hot."

  He went off, and I hurried up to the attic, feeling very brave because it was the second time I had forced myself up there. I went to the spot where he was hammering, and when he paused, opened my mouth to call him.

  But I never got that far.

  I heard the hammer fall against the shingles and heard it clatter down the side of the roof. There was a rending of wood, a hoarse shout from John, and the sickening thud and bump of his body as it went down the steep incline.

  CHAPTER 5

  The silence that followed those dreadful sounds was so heavy that I was acutely conscious of the chattering of my own teeth. For a moment, I could not seem to move or breathe. Then I gasped and flew to the stairs.

  I flung into Rosalie Hannahs' room, threw open the window, and looked out. I could see John lying down there, his body curiously twisted and very still, and I had a vague, horrified impression that there was blood around his head.

  I drew back in again and stood for a moment leaning against the sill, my hands over my face, and my heart thudding dully.

  "Whatever in the world is the matter?" said an amazed voice, and I looked up to see Mrs. Hannahs standing at the dressing table, powder puff suspended, and her face only half on.

  "It's John," I whispered. "Don't let Rhynda see it."

  I started for the door and heard her let out a shrill scream behind me. I turned hastily and saw her hanging out the window, her plump body heaving with shriek after shriek. I dragged her in, shut her up somehow, and left her lying on the bed moaning.

  I rushed to the stairs and started down and saw that they were all grouped in the lower hall, looking up at me.

  "It's John," I said breathlessly. "Out at the side," and gestured feebly.

  Richard and Berg were out of the front door without a moment's delay, and Freda was close behind them. Amy and Donald Tait followed more slowly, but Mrs. Ballinger and Rhynda just stood there and looked at me mutely. I avoided their eyes, and brushing past them, hurried to the telephone and called for a doctor.

  As I hung up the receiver, Mrs. Ballinger gave a little moan and fainted dead away. Doris appeared from the kitchen before I could open my mouth to call her and took in the situation in one competent glance.

  "Pick up her legs," she said practically, and herself grasped the inert form firmly by the shoulders.

  We carried her to a couch, and Doris went off for some smelling salts, after stuffing a couple of pillows under her feet so that her head would hang down. I chafed at her wrists as best I could.

  Rhynda continued to stand perfectly still, her face deadly white and her eyes very dark and bright. She spoke suddenly.

  "Leigh! You go out and see what it is. Find out, and come back and tell me. Somebody must tell me. I'll—I'll go crazy."

  I thought she looked ripe for violent hysterics at any minute, and I did not want to set her off, so I dropped Mrs. Ballinger's wrists and hurried out the front door. I went around to t
he side of the house and saw that Richard and Donald Tait were just lifting John from the ground. Berg stood a little apart, his face very white and set, and Freda was sobbing on his shoulder.

  He looked up at me and said desperately, "Leigh, take her in, will you?"

  I disentangled Freda from him and started off with an arm about her waist. We had not gone far when I stumbled on something and discovered with a little thrill of horror that it was John's scaffolding. It was just a wooden plank with an arrangement of ropes which secured it to the chimney and also acted as a pulley, so that he could raise or lower it.

  I turned my head and called back to Berg, "Put that thing down in the cellar."

  He nodded briefly, and I heard him begin to fumble with it

  I took Freda in, and Richard and Donald carried John to a couch in the parlor. Mrs. Ballinger was sitting up in an armchair, look pretty rocky, and Rhynda was on her knees beside John, with face hidden in his coat. Doris stood beside Mrs. Ballinger"s chair with her arms folded.

  The doorbell rang, and Doris admitted the doctor. We had had no occasion for a doctor before, and I had simply picked one out of the directory, a Dr. Kenneth O'Beirne.

  He turned out to be the Village Institution and coroner, and was a big man, youngish and with a pleasant manner. He pronounced John dead, superintended the removal of his body upstairs, and then collected us in the parlor to get the details of the accident, this last in his capacity as coroner. After a few questions, he said he wanted see where John had fallen, and most of us picked up whatever coat was nearest and escorted him around to the side of the house I noticed that it was very cold, and that the wind was rising.

  "Whereabouts on the roof was he working?" Dr. O'Beirne ask

  Several people started to reply, but Richard Jones got the floor. "I was watching him this morning," he said. "You can just see the pieces of wood he has nailed to the roof, like steps going up. He stood on those and nailed the shingles on to his right. As he got them done, he'd take a step up—you see he has the pieces of wood nail right to the top of the roof."

  Dr. O'Beirne gazed upward for a while and then shook his head. "It's a great pity," he commented. "People should leave this sort of thing to professional builders. They know better how to guard against accidents. He must have slipped and lost his balance."

  After a few technicalities he got into his car and drove away.

  I was shivering in Mrs. Ballinger's raincoat, the first wrap that had met my eye, and I was glad to get inside again. As I hung the coat up in the hall closet, I suddenly remembered the scaffolding. I wondered whether John had been standing on it when he fell or whether he had been attempting to fix it to the chimney. I had an uneasy feeling that I ought to tell Dr. O'Beirne about it, in any case.

  But I forgot about it completely in the next half-hour, for I was too busy to think at all.

  Mrs. Ballinger and Rhynda had both retired to bed. and Doris and I rushed to and fro with hot-water bottles, smelling salts and aspirin, and numerous assurances that we would attend to all the arrangements. When we had gotten them quiet we dashed downstairs to try and patch up the tea that Amy had been demanding every time she saw us.

  I was trying to eat and drink something and feeling faintly ashamed because I was able to when Berg came to me and mentioned the scaffolding.

  "Don't you think we ought to phone O'Beirne and tell him about it?" he asked.

  I said tiredly, "What's the use? We don't want him out here again, and the conclusion would be the same—accidental death. After all, the scaffolding can't prove that anyone went up there and pushed him off."

  He moved away with a look of pain, and I felt ashamed of myself for not being more tactful. I sighed and took a moment to wish that I were somewhere where people waited on me hand and foot and I never had to lift a finger from morning till night.

  I glanced around the room and saw that Amy, Donald and Richard were eating with as good an appetite as mine. Berg stood by a window, staring into space, and Freda was trying to drink hot tea while her tears dripped into it.

  Rosalie Hannahs had the floor. She must have been a very old friend of John's, for she was giving his life history from infancy on and making it extremely flattering. She gave herself time out occasionally, to nibble at the food on her plate.

  I left when John was about eighteen because I had a restless feeling that I would be wanted. I found Mrs. Ballinger in the upper hall, in her dressing gown. She was highly agitated, and she cried shrilly, "Where have you been, Leigh? I've called and called and could not get anyone to hear."

  She was shivering and half-crying, and I put an arm around her and led her back to her own room. "You must go back to bed," I said soothingly. "I'll look after everything."

  "But you haven't—you're not. There's no one with him. My poor John! You've left him all alone, and I won't have it! Do you understand? I won't have it!"

  "It's all right. I understand. But you must lie down again."

  She wrenched herself away and almost screamed at me, "No! No! No! Listen to me, Leigh. Someone must stay with him all the time. He must not be left alone."

  I could do nothing with her, so in the end I went downstairs and brought Berg up. She made him promise to sit with John and to arrange with the other men to take shifts. I went downstairs again and on the way remembered that no arrangements had been made about the funeral. I changed my course and headed for the telephone.

  When I finally replaced the receiver, it was borne in upon me that the house was definitely colder than the usual Ballinger freezing point. I heard the crackle of a fire from the living room and knew that the others would not notice the falling temperature for a while, but there was no time to be lost.

  I groaned and rushed to the kitchen, where Doris raised an eyebrow in mute question.

  "Furnace," I said briefly, and went on down to the cellar. She followed me, and in fear and trembling we looked at it together. It was dead out. We cursed freely, and while she began to rake out the dead coals, I went to get paper and kindling.

  It was a tremendous furnace, and lighting it was something of a tremendous job. We were about halfway through, grimy, sweating, and grimly silent, when Richard Jones appeared on the stairs.

  "Thought you must have gone on your vacation, Smithy," he observed. "They're all looking for you, up above."

  '"Oh, damn them!" I said crossly.

  He came over and relieved Doris of the coal shovel. "Go on up and wash your faces, both of you. And understand that this furnace is my responsibility as long as I'm here. I don't want to catch either one of you mucking around it again."

  We thanked him almost tearfully and made a beeline for the stairs. I noticed, as I went up, that John's scaffolding had been put under the stairs. I saw the broken rope that had cost him his life and shivered uncomfortably.

  It turned out to be Amy who had made the most determined search for me. She told me, aggrievedly, that there was no hot water. I explained that the hot-water boiler was connected with the furnace, that the furnace had been out for some time, and that she probably would have hot water in two hours' time, unless she cared to go to the kitchen and heat some on the stove.

  She gave me an evil look and suggested that I bring pitchers of hot water to the guests' rooms, since I had let the furnace go out. I said I'd be only too glad but that it was not my work, and the servants' union would get at me if I attempted it.

  I went to the living room, where Freda sat alone by the fire, knitting. I stood there for a moment, wondering what I should be doing, but when nothing very pressing presented itself, I sat on the edge of a chair and extended my cold hands to the blaze. Freda glanced at me, blew her nose, and began to tell me in a hushed voice a long story about some friends of hers, millionaires or close to it. I caught only snatches of the tale, something about a house they owned that had a roof from which it would be impossible to fall off.

  I was nearly asleep, despite the fact that Freda was rapidly approaching the denouemen
t of her story, when something that had been nagging at my mind suddenly became quite clear.

  That rope on John's scaffolding that I had glimpsed as I came up from the cellar—the end was not frayed or broken unevenly. It had been cut!

  I pulled myself out of the chair and hurried from the room, leaving Freda in mid-sentence with her mouth hanging open. I went to the cellar door, switched on the dim light, and ran down the steps. I went around behind them, and then stopped dead.

  The scaffolding was no longer there.

  CHAPTER 6

  I stood there for a moment, puzzled and uneasy, looking into the dusty space where the scaffolding had been. But there was no doubt about it. It had disappeared. I looked about the cellar a bit, but I was too conscious of the probable presence of rats and spiders to be at all thorough. I gave up the search before it was well started and went upstairs to find Berg.

  I ran into Richard Jones in the kitchen. He stared at me and asked suspiciously, "Have you been messing around with my fire again?"

  I said "No," impatiently and tried to brush past him. He laid a restraining hand on my arm. "Then what were you doing in the cellar?"

  "Looking for the scaffolding," I said wearily.

  "What scaffolding?"

  I pulled my arm away and tried to pass him again, but he stepped directly in front of me and repeated, "What scaffolding, Smithy?"

  "The one John was standing on when he fell."

  "John? But I thought he had slipped. I didn't know—"

  "I'll speak very slowly and try to keep it to words of one syllable," I said bitterly. "John was standing on the scaffolding, and it broke. It was lying near him on the ground. Berg put it in the cellar, and now it's gone, and I want to find him and tell him about it."

  He grinned at me oddly and stepped aside, and I hurried off, feeling that I had been rude, and excusing myself because I was so tired.

  I could not find Berg at first, and then I remembered guiltily that he was sitting with John and that I had promised to have him relieved. I ran upstairs and went to the little sewing room at the end of the hall where they had put John. I knocked softly, and Berg opened the door. He looked tired, and I knew he thought he was going to be relieved. I felt sorry for him.