The Albatross

by Charlotte Armstrong

  “I thought … Did you want me to?”

  “That’s up to you,” Tom said coldly. “Arcadia was your idea. And this is your house as much as it’s mine. I’m not trying to torture you.” Then he looked at her and she knew he wasn’t cold at all, but struggling miserably. “I simply wanted to help Audrey and you know why. I’m not conspiring with Audrey either. I won’t be in the middle, Esther.”

  Esther said, “I’m sorry.”

  “A little patience would help a lot.”

  Esther said, “I know. I’ll try.”

  For two days thereafter only Tom was long away from the house.

  Esther had resolved to be present and available so that Audrey would have no excuse on any day for not going house-hunting. So Esther went out on only the brief necessary forays to market.

  She was stubbornly patient around the house. She kept her feelings to herself. There was nobody she could talk to.

  She couldn’t talk to Tom unless she was prepared to pull her rank and insist that Tom’s wife’s comfort superseded the comforting of his own conscience. To go on talking about it could only keep reminding him that (however he tried to squirm out) he was in the middle.

  Tom accepted the surface peace. He was preoccupied with his effort to walk a stern line of his own. He reasoned. He owed Audrey Caldwell his material help. He had intended to give it. He would still give it. He would not press Audrey to move out of his house.

  But the house was also Esther’s. Therefore, neither would he press Esther to keep Audrey in it. If Esther found her presence intolerable, Esther was free to say so. To Audrey. Meantime, he must do what he must.

  This position was logical and upright and starkly lonely and in it there was no comfort at all. He came and he went, and he struggled to blame neither woman for any of it. But he kept on blaming himself. And no hour of any day was immune from the swift sinking sickness of remembering. In the midst of dictation, or while he was shaving, or when he was stopped at a traffic light, suddenly he would remember: I killed a man.

  He couldn’t speak of it to Esther, which was a separation that made him sad.

  Esther, unwilling, unable, to talk to Tom, found she couldn’t talk to female friends either. In the first place she would have had to seek them out. She had refused too many invitations since Audrey and Joan had come. Nobody called her much any more. Then, Esther had never been a wife who cheerfully betrayed her husband over the card table or dissected her marriage to a few bare bones in the beauty shop, nor had she much indulged in parlour psychoanalysis. Women who did appalled her.

  Now she began to understand them a little better, for the pressure was hard to bear all alone and if once one broke the dam and confided, the momentary relief would be delicious. But oh, the loss would be terrible and permanent. She and Tom would never be the same true two again.

  Esther cringed to think of the licking of neighbourhood lips over Tom’s “guilt complex,” the dainty widow’s “transference,” and Esther’s “problem.”

  No!

  Patience was her watchword. And fortitude. (There did not seem to be anything the brain could work on.)

  Audrey did not leave the house or garden, either. If she had mailed a payment to the dress shop, Esther had not seen her do so. If there was war, it had gone deep underground. Audrey was exactly as sweet as ever. She seemed to think she was being active. She made phone calls to real-estate people. She spoke hopefully of this or that encouraging prospect. But she did not go anywhere.

  It took Esther’s brain two days to realize why.

  Joan was out of sorts, somehow. Joan had taken to giving Esther some very black looks. On Wednesday, Joan said at the lunch table, “Audrey, you shouldn’t be eating cheese. You know it makes you miserable. Doesn’t Esther know that by now?” Joan’s face was ill-tempered.

  “I asked,” said Esther, surprised.

  “Of course she did,” said Audrey sweetly. “Esther always asks, Joan dear. Nobody could be more considerate. And do you know, I quite like these, the way Esther fixes them. Delicious! And they are the simplest things to make, really,” said Audrey dreamily. She took a bite, a most ostentatious bite. Then something about her mouth was wry.

  “It’ll poison you,” said Joan gloomily, “if anybody cares.”

  “Dear, don’t be silly.”

  Esther let the little unpleasantness ripple by. Later in the morning, Joan said indignantly, “The cleaner did not get that spot out, Audrey. You’ll never wear that skirt the way it is.”

  “We can send it back, I suppose,” said Esther. She had come in from the garden to give the cleaner his money. Her pedal-pushers had soil-crusted knees.

  “We’ll do no such thing,” said Audrey. “We mustn’t fuss, Joan. Goodness, what does it matter?” The black skirt hung in her hand and Audrey gave it a little flip as if she’d gladly throw it away if only everyone would be pleasant and peaceful.

  “I’m sure.” said Esther slowly, “if the spot still shows, the cleaner will do it over again.” She disliked rows with tradesmen.

  “Will they?” said Joan rather nastily. “Did you ever ask them to do anything over?” Her eyes scanned Esther’s disreputable condition scornfully. “A slob like you” was the phrase she did not say.

  Esther’s strong dirty hands were putting the change away. She wished she could say abruptly, coldly, “That’ll be a dollar fifty five, ladies.” Patience.

  Audrey turned Joan’s chair with one hand, making hard work of it. “You should lie down and rest, Joan dear,” she said anxiously. Then, as if Joan’s ears could not hear behind her head, since her eyes could not see, Audrey said aside to Esther, “Dear, I’m sorry. Joan’s not quite herself. She didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “If she’s implying I’m a mess, said Esther genially. “I am, at the moment.”

  “But you’ve been gardening!” cried Audrey. “Oh, how I wish I could do all that you do so easily.” Joan muttered. Audrey seemed to understand her. “But dearest, I am tough, in my own feeble way. I’m quite well and happy.”

  “You always say you are happy,” said Joan darkly over her shoulder.

  “Well, I quite wilt,” Audrey’s brow was sad, “if I don’t look at things cheerfully. Come, Joan, you really must lie down, dear. And I’ll rest, too.”

  Esther stood still, listening to overtones.

  “Poor Esther,” Audrey said warmly, “she must be so tired of two such weak and feeble creatures.”

  “She’s healthy,” Joan said viciously as Audrey wheeled her away. “Why should she get tired?”

  “Hush.”

  Esther chewed her lip thoughtfully. Joan was rude, all right. But that wasn’t all.

  Early Thursday Joan said whiningly, “Audrey, you just never get away any more. Why don’t you go somewhere, once in a while, and have some fun? You don’t have to act like a prisoner.”

  “Yes, why don’t you go out, Audrey?” said Esther lightly. “Perhaps look at some places? I’ll be here.”

  Joan’s head went down and her eyes looked up. She looked ugly. Audrey touched her sister’s arm. “Esther is such a dear about staying with you. But we mustn’t impose. She isn’t your sister, Joan. She couldn’t possibly feel about you as I do. I think I’d rather stay with you myself, just now.”

  “I won’t—” began Joan harshly.

  “I know you are thinking of me,” said Audrey, “and I am thinking of you. Which is as it should be.” She sat, wrapped mistily in sainthood.

  Esther straightened. “What have I done,” she asked Joan bluntly, “that makes you so mad at me?”

  “Nothing in the world,” said Audrey quickly. “How could Joan be angry with you, dear? I’m afraid she doesn’t feel awfully well.”

  “Yes, I do,” Joan said, “but you’re going to wear yourself out, Audrey.”

  Audrey went right on talking. “Don’t you worry about Joan, Esther, dear. Please go about your own affairs. My sister and I take care of each other. Come Joan, your shot. Now
, you didn’t have it. I noticed. I always notice, don’t I?”

  Esther glumly began to gather up Joan’s breakfast dishes.

  Then she lifted her head sharply, as if a scent had come to her. Joan had conceived this violent dislike, this new antagonism. Every time it showed, Audrey protested. Oh yes, Audrey defended Esther. Audrey protested every time.

  She said Joan wasn’t well. Joan, unwell or not, was obviously filled with resentment, envy, whatever. Joan was pro-Audrey and anti-everyone-else. Especially Esther. All right, Joan was in a bad mood. Did Audrey imply that Audrey dared not leave her with Esther “just now”?

  Maybe so. A guardian dog is a fine thing from the point of view of the one who is being guarded. But other people need protection from it sometimes. Was Audrey afraid of a scene?

  If so, why? Why was Joan so resentful now after all this time? Who was putting the envy, the antagonism and the hatred into Joan?

  Not me, thought Esther stoutly. I haven’t done a thing to her. I haven’t even felt anti-Joan. She’s hardly looked at me for all these weeks. Why is she looking now and growling in her throat? It may be that Joan feels me being anti-Audrey. That’s probably it. But then, what does it do to her when Audrey defends me? Audrey protests. How quickly she does! How constantly! But isn’t there, inbedded in her protests, plenty of fuel for Joan’s anger?

  Doesn’t Audrey hint that I fix cheese sandwiches just because they’re simple and easy? So I am lazy. Doesn’t Audrey imply that I am tired of them, just because they are feeble and frail? So I am hard hearted. Doesn’t Audrey point out that I can’t feel kindly towards Joan just because I am not her kin? Doesn’t Audrey protest too much?

  Standing at her own sink, in her own sunny kitchen, tall and strong, looking at the picture Audrey was pointing in her inverted way, Esther Gardner shivered.

  What wouldn’t (or might) Joan do, if left alone with Esther? Why wouldn’t Audrey leave her? A thought more wicked than this came to Esther. When would Audrey leave Joan with Esther? When she had Joan worked up enough?

  Oh, nonsense! Stop this, Esther. That poor, sick crippled thing couldn’t be dangerous. Audrey was just an automatic martyr.

  Yet somebody else had once called Joan a watchdog. Oh, yes, that nice Mr. Saunders.

  As if the thought of him reached over the miles and stirred him up, Mr. Saunders telephoned that very morning.

  Esther answered. Her house guests were on the back terrace.

  “Mrs. Gardner? Saunders in Arcadia.”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Saunders.”

  “I think I’ve spotted an apartment for Mrs. Caldwell.”

  “Oh, have you?”

  “Looks about right to me. If ninety bucks isn’t too steep.”

  “I don’t know. I’d have to inquire.” Esther wondered how she could inquire. She’d have to admit she’d started this.

  “Sure thing,” said Saunders easily. “They’re still looking, are they?”

  “They haven’t found anything. I’ll tell them. I’ll see if my husband won’t drive Mrs. Caldwell over there on the weekend. Mr. Saunders—” Esther clung to him—“One more thing, I wanted to ask you—”

  “What’s that?”

  Esther squeezed her eyes shut to help squeeze out of her brain that stray wonder. “You remember, you said you had forwarded a bill?”

  “Yup.”

  “When did you mail it?”

  “Lessee. You were here on Monday. It was the day before—the Sunday. Should have got to your house, well, not by Monday but surely Tuesday morning.”

  “Did the envelope have a window? You know what I mean?”

  “Uh huh. I know what you mean and it did.”

  “Mr. Saunders, did you happen to notice where the bill came from?” He didn’t answer. “Was it a dress shop?” Esther probed.

  “Was from a doctor,” Saunders said.

  “A doctor! Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure, Mrs. Gardner. I remember the MD perfectly well. Kinda surprised me.”

  “What was the doctor’s name?”

  “There you got me. I didn’t know the name. I know that. So now I don’t remember.”

  “Was it a doctor in Arcadia?”

  “No, it was not,” said Saunders. “That’s what surprised me.”

  “Not?”

  “Some town I never heard of. But I can’t say what town. I didn’t pay enough attention. Sorry—”

  Silence beat on the wires. Silence in the house.

  Esther turned her head. She could see Joan. Not Audrey. Where was Audrey?

  “Why?” said Saunders strongly in her ear.

  “Just something that’s puzzled me,” said Esther weakly. Her mind was not on the conversation any more. She was wondering whether Audrey was in the kitchen. Was Audrey on the phone? She didn’t think so. She hadn’t heard anything on the wire. But she moved to the length of the telephone cord to try to see.

  “Nothing more I can tell you about it, I’m afraid,” said Saunders’ friendly voice. “Unless you got another question? I could try to answer. You haven’t thought any more about what I—?”

  Esther said hastily, “No, no … thank you very, very much, Mr. Saunders. I’ll tell Mrs. Caldwell about the apartment. We’ll be in touch. Goodbye.”

  Esther hung up. She was ready to jump out of her skin with nerves. For some reason she was convinced that Audrey was listening.

  She walked rapidly out to the kitchen. No Audrey there. She swept through; she pushed out the back door.

  Joan looked up.

  “Where’s Audrey?”

  “In the house,” said Joan, and then suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Nothing,” said Esther.

  She moved backwards into the kitchen and there she found things to do. Her brain was working. It seemed incredible that the bill that had come in the windowed envelope on Tuesday morning had not been the same bill forwarded by Saunders. It must have been. Monday morning there had been no bill for Caldwell. And Wednesday morning there had been no bill for Caldwell, either. Either Saunders was inaccurate to the point of making things up, or—But Audrey had said it was from some dress shop. Okay, then dear Audrey had told a big fat lie.

  The sisters agreed that Esther must not see a doctor’s bill? Why not?

  Was it something about Joan? Was Joan insane?

  Esther served lunch on the back terrace. It was a lovely day and the garden looked well. Esther’s inner excitement made her able to seem animated. She found herself being chatty. She was looking at Joan with new eyes. Audrey had appeared from her own part of the house and nothing was said about what she might have been doing there.

  Audrey sat demurely in her black dress. Audrey’s fingers were daintily lifting the cinnamon pastry.

  Esther said, “Audrey, shouldn’t Joan see a doctor?” Joan’s head snapped up. “If she hasn’t been feeling well?”

  “Ah, but these spells,” murmured Audrey, “come and go.” Her eyes had a little flame of wariness.

  “My doctor is awfully good,” said Esther. “I suppose you had a local man?”

  “What was that, dear?” Audrey’s attention seemed divided. Now Esther knew that Joan was tense and angry and alarmed, that Joan was projecting all this to Audrey and that Audrey knew it.

  “Did you have a doctor in Arcadia?” asked Esther, firmly pursuing her clue.

  “Of course,” said Audrey, lifting her brows.

  “How long had you lived in Arcadia?” Esther went on.

  “Some years. Why, dear?”

  “I wondered.” Esther was wondering about an out-of-town doctor.

  Joan said, in a tone of tense warning, “Audrey?” It was just as if something were going to break.

  Audrey said quickly, “Joan, dear, Esther is only being thoughtful. She’s worried about you. And I am, too. It is just possible, dear, that you ought to have a blood-sugar test. It’s been a while. Now Esther knows that and we both only want …”

  Joan had turned her chair.
She was scooting rapidly across the terrace, towards the kitchen door. She seemed to be running away.

  Audrey rose. “Sit still, Esther,” she said soothingly. “Joan is this way. She’s seen too much of doctors in her life, poor dear. One can’t, you see, tell Joan she ought to see a doctor. It frightens her. She has to be coaxed. I know how to do it. Of course, you couldn’t know.” Audrey put a moist finger forgivingly on Esther’s bare arm. The touch was cold and damp. Esther had to control a shudder.

  “I didn’t mean to upset her,” said Esther.

  “I know.”

  Then, sitting there alone, forgiven (forgiven for what?), after Audrey had caught Joan up and taken her inside, Esther said to herself: Well—that was a darned lie I just told. I sure hoped I’d upset one or both of them. And so I did.

  She got up to carry the dishes in and she moved in a dream. Now she knew without any doubt that the bill had come from a doctor. Audrey had lied. And Joan was afraid!

  Why?

  All afternoon her guests were shut away alone in their bedroom. It made Esther a little nervous. She got on her gardening clothes and went out to rake the border. It should have been good … to be working alone in the beauty of the weather—like old times. But she could feel them in her house. She was oppressed by their hidden presence. She could imagine their voices going on and on. What about?

  It was a relief, finally, when about four o’clock she saw the chair, and Audrey in her black dutifully behind it coming out of the house. She saw Joan stationed on the terrace. She saw Audrey seat herself.

  She waved.

  Audrey lifted a hand. Her slim little body in the black dress was a contradiction to the red-and-yellow chair and Joan—Esther’s terrace looked like the terrace of some sanatorium. Esther turned her back and finished picking up her pile of leaves and twigs and crushing them into a bushel basket.

  So much for the garden today. Now she had better bathe and change and head for the kitchen.

  Esther put the bushel basket on her left hip bone and started diagonally down towards the incinerator.

  Nobody screamed. The only sound she heard was a rattling. Esther turned to look.