The Case of the Weird Sisters (5 page)

"Mr. Innes Whitlock is here," she said crisply into the phone, "and he has been quite ill. I wonder if you could come and have a look at him?" "Who is this speaking?"

"Alice Brennan. I am with Mr. Whitlock. I am his . . . secretary," Alice said desperately. "Please come if you can, Doctor. Because Mr. Whitlock wants to drive on to his camp, and I'm not sure he ought to try it" "I see. You wish me to come there?" "Yes, of course,'' she said impatiently. "Do you know where we are? The Whitlock house. It's on a hill." Silence sung on the wire for a moment "Yes, I know," the voice said finally. "Very well." "Thaok you," Alice said with relief. She hung up the phone, looked at her watch. Eight o'clock. It might be sticking her neck out, as Fred had said; but she had a

strong feeling that this was no time to be passive, that it would be dangerous to keep her mouth shut and swallow her own opinions. The sisters thought he ought not to go. It was only Innes who insisted. And if she, Alice, kept still and let him have his way, she could see very plainly how her acquiescence would be open to blame if anything happened.

Besides, she resented illness, in herself and in others. She was impatient with it, and she had no confidence in her ability to take care of Innes if he should become violently ill again on some lonely road. The whole situation annoyed her very much.

How, she wondered, could a little veal in a meat loaf make anybody as sick as that? And how could a man susceptible to such a reaction eat meat loaf without asking what was m it? And, for that matter, how could those who knew his idiosyncrasy have the bad judgment to feed him veal, ever? Alice did a littie pacing up and down.

Presently the front door opened and Isabel came in, followed by a stranger, a dimipling of a little old woman, with pink cheeks and white hair, exactly like a character out of a book of fairy tales. She wore a shabby black coat over a cotton print dress and a velvet hat on the back of her head like a halo. She looked as if she had come in a hurry.

So did Isabel. "How's Innes?" She imwound her shawl with twisting shoulders.

"Better, I guess." Alice smUed uncertainly at the stranger.

"Well, Susan, you'd better see him and try to tell him he must stay here."

"I do agree with you. Miss Isabel," said Alice quickly.

The litde old woman said in a matter-of-fact voice, "You must be Alice."

"Yes, I'm Alice Brennan." Isabel, with queer discourtesy, had gone back to the closet under the stairs to put her shawl away.

"I'm so glad to meet you. Especially if you're going to marry my son."

''Sion!" Alice was so utterly astonished that she staggered.

Isabel said, "Susan was my father's second wife and In-

nes's mother, of course." She seemed aggrieved that there should be any surprise about it.

"I'm s-sorry,'' Alice stammered. "I really didn't know you lived here." Or anywhere, she might have added.

''I live in. a cottage part way down," said Ihnes's mother placidly. She made no move to take her hat and coat off. She was quite obviously transient here, not at home m the Whitlock house. "I'm so happy that you thought to call me, Isabel. Not only because of Innes." She smiled at the girl.

Alice smiled back, with reservations. There seemed to be nothing wrong with Innes's mother. She was whole of limb. Her eyes were bright and intelligent. She had a sweet and vigorous voice. The extraordinary pink cheeks were real, not painted. She looked a thoroughly pleasant old lady, but Alice was a burnt child and she was wary. She said nothing.

Fred opened the sliding doors. "Miss Brennan . . .'' Then his whole face warmed and glowed with smiling welcome. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Innes."

"Hello, Fred," said Susan. "How are you?''

"Fine. Just fine."

"And how's your mother?" she said, passing through the doors in front of him.

"She's fine, thank you," Fred said. "Just fine." The doors slid together.

Alice felt suddenly lonely and cold.

"Was that Susan Innes?" Gertrude's voice, lyrical with surprise, came to them from the back of the hall. The tall thin form moved with her swaying walk, toward them. She wore no coat but something cool and fresh that clung around her and reached Alice's senses, made her sure that Gertrude had been out of doors.

"Yes," said Isabel briefly. "I went to get her."

"Whatever for?" said Gertrude.

"Because Innes thinks he will drive to his camp, in his state, and he really must not," Isabel said. "He really must not."

"He certainly ought not," Gertrude said. "Susan, however . . . Miss Brennan, I really think you are the one best able to persuade him."

With a start, Alice realized that her presence was

known to the blind woman. "I've tried," she said. "As a matter of fact, IVe called the doctor."

"Doctor!" cried Isabel.

"Yes. Dr. FoUett."

''Child," Gertrude said in a moment, "child, what have you done?"

"Fve . . . called the doctor," Alice said in another moment. She kept her voice matter-of-fact, but she was getting angry.

"Oh, dear," said Isabel. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear."

"We do not call Dr. Follett," Gertrude said. "Never. You ought to have asked. He can't be coming. Not here."

"But he is coming," Alice mamtained stoutly, "or so he said. And I'm sorry, but I do not understand."

"No. Of course, you couldn't," said Gertrude with surprising indulgence. "Nevertheless it is . . . well ... Of course"—she drew herself up stiffer if possible— ''we did not call."

"If he's coming," said Isabel, "we must warn Maud."

"Where is Maud?"

"I haven't the famtest idea," said Alice. "Nor have you the faintest idea how annoying all this mystery is to me." She spoke angrily. Then she held her breath for their reaction.

Isabel's eyes shifted. "My dear Alice," she complained, "it's so awkward. Of course you couldn't know, my dear. When Maud was younger she and Dr. Follett. . . Well, he was her suitor. . . ."

"Dr. Follett," said Gertrude in her cool tinkling voice, "went away on what we supposed was a vacation. He married another woman and brought her here to Ogaunee. Of course, we have had no communication with him since."

"I see," said Alice gravely, although she wanted to laugh. "How long ago was this. Miss Whitlock?"

"It was in 1917," Gertrude said, as if time stood still for her and this was just the other day.

"But what do you do for a doctor?"

"Oh, Dr. Gunderson is only eleven miles away," said Isabel. "Really, Alice, you ought to have asked. How dreadful for Maud, for all of us."

Maud was approaching through the dining room. That tread, at once quick and heavy, was the unmistakable con-

comitant of her waddling gait. She came through the door in a moment, shapeless in a dark cloak. She too, had been out of doors. Alice idly wondered where and why.

Isabel spoke to her on the swift fingers of her only hand. Alice watched the pale heavy face, waiting for news to seep through to whatever brain worked behind those little pig eyes that blinked once or twice, but remained fastened on the fingers. She saw the face change, grow sly. The loose hps fell open in a queer smile. The eyes sharpened. Surely the expression was that of anticipation and imholy joy.

Maud said, in her chest tones, "Is that so?"

Isabel's hand worked madly.

"Aw, let him come," said Maud.

"She must not see him," said Gertrude sharply. "She must go upstairs at once." Her voice rang with command. Maud looked planted there on her two Siick stems. Gertrude struck her on the shoulder with her forefinger. Her blind face was imperious.

Then came the doorbell, and the three sisters scuttled out of the hall. Gertrude picked up her skirts and sailed through the parlor toward her own room, with majestic certainty and uncanny speed. Isabel climbed the stairs, pushing Maud before her. Maud, who went up with her face turned backward, reluctant, thoroughly uncoy, per-fecdy wUling to risk an encounter with the man in her life. But she let Isabel hurry her past the table that stood just behind the railing on the edge of the stairwell, and around the comer of an upstairs wall.

They were gone. Alice stood alone, at the foot of the stairs, half exasperated, half relieved.

Dr. Follet was about sixty years old, she guessed, a dignified and rather pordy fellow with a bald head and gold-rimmed eyeglasses. His face was pink and talcumed. His neat tan suit was smooth over his robinlike contours. He sent forth a faint clean aroma, antiseptic and comforting. He acted as if he had resolved to do his duty precisely.

He kept his eyes on her face and his head nodding while he listened to her account of the disaster that had overtaken Innes Whitlock. He said, when she had finished, "Thank you, Miss Brennan, that's very helpful. Now where is the patient?"

Alice knocked on the sliding doors and then began to draw them back. Someone helped from the other side. It was Fred.

Innes was still lying on the sofa, looking very pale, scarcely able to Uft his head. His mother sat in a chair, pulled up close, and she now rose to make room for the doctor.

"Ah," said Dr. Follett, "how are you, Susan?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said. "Just fine. And you, doctor?"

Again Alice felt imreasonably lonely to be left out of a whole world of people who kept saying, "Fine. Just fine," to each other.

Fred had gone. "Would you rather I went away?'' asked Alice.

"No, no," Innes said. "Doctor, this is Miss Brennan, my fiancee."

"Ah," said Dr. Follett, "she told me she was your secretary." In here, safe from the Whitlock girls, he was less businesslike. He looked benignly at Alice through the upper half of his glasses.

"The thing is that I must get along to my camp, doctor," Innes said fretfully. "The object of this whole trip. I never meant to stop here at all. But now Alice has got it into her head to worry about me." Alice wondered who had told him. "Fred says she won't let me go until you've seen me. She's being very bossy." He used his httle-boy voice and his pout, but she realized that he was much pleased. The role of an anxious sweetheart hadn't occurred to her, but here it was, ready and waiting.

"Naturally," said the doctor. "And quite right, too. Now . . .''

Susan Innes Whitlock drew Alice to a far comer of the room. They sat down with their backs to the men. "Innes has been telling me. I'm so happy about you. I've hoped he would find somebody. And I do think you were very wise to make him see the doctor."

"Thaitk you," said Alice, feeling a little ashamed. "But IVe upset his sisters."

"Oh, dear me, I'd forgotten." Susan looked concerned. "But I'm glad," she said, "and I think you were right" She patted Alice's hand with a kind of indignant support "Why did Fred call you Mrs. Innes?" blurted Alice. "If I shouldn't ask, please just say so. But rU go on making mistakes if I don't ask questions."

"Of course," said Susan sympathetically. "You must be wondering. It's only because they are the Misses Whidock, you see, and after their father died and I moved into the cottage. . . . Well, it seemed better not to confuse everybody."

Alice shook her head as if to convince herself that this explained anything.

"It's hard for you to understand, I know," Susan said. "But they never thought I quite measured up to Sophia, you see."

"Why not?" said Alice bluntly. "Because I was in service here." "Oh."

Susan's eyes, that had been watching, relaxed into thoughtfulness. "Stephen always did exactly as he pleased, but I'm afraid it was pretty hard on the girls. They had just come back from Europe, too." She sighed. "Well, that was long ago."

"I wish Innes had taken me to your house," Alice said impulsively.

"I wish so, too. Perhaps he will, someday. Or, at least you must come."

There it was, something unsure, between Innes and his mother. But Ahce liked her. Her instinct was stubborn about that.

Now the doctor was helping Innes to his feet. "He says," called Innes in a pleased voice, "that I will be just as imcomfortable in the car as anywhere else. So we'll go along."

"Is it really all right?" Alice was anxious. "I think so," the doctor said. "He has gotten rid of whatever poisoned him. He will feel weak, of course. And he had better stick to liquids for a day or so. He tells me

"Tell Fred, will you, dear?" Innes wobbled. "Good-by mother."

Alice watched them. Susan patted his sleeve, reaching out from a little distance, as if she dared not come closer. Innes was uncomfortable. Alice already knew him well enough to be sure of that. He was not at ease with his mother.

Alice went with the doctor out into the hall.

Fred was there. "You can put my bag in the car," she told him. "We're going ahead."

Her bag was already at his feet. Fred picked it up and went out

The doctor said, "Good-by, Miss Brennan."

"I'm grateful to you for coming," Alice said, "and I must apologize if I've embarrassed you. I didn't know. But I'm very glad you came. And I do thank you."

The doctor's eyes showed an imexpected twinkle. "Quite all right, Miss Brennan. Ill send a bill." He looked slyly around the hall. The velvet curtains to the parlor had been drawn, covering the opening and shutting them in. "Where are they?" His lips barely moved.

Alice shrugged and felt her dimpb surge into her cheek as it did when she suppressed a smile.

The doctor said, "Well, this has been an adventure. Now I think I'll just take Susan home."

Susan and Innes came through the sliding doors. He walked without her help, but he looked ghastly. "I think .. ." he said, ". . . excuse me."

He wobbled off down the hall. There was a bathroom back there, across the far end of it, connecting both into the hall and to Gertrude's room, behind the parlor. Innes went in and closed the door.

"Good-by, Alice." Alice kissed her mother-in-law to be. The old lady's cheek was soft and fragrant. Dr. Follett gathered Susan under his wing and left.

Alice looked up the stairs. Beyond the railing up there she could see only the table and the big old-fashioned kerosene lamp with the flower-painted china shade that stood on it. No one was visible. The velvet curtains hung straight at her right. All was quiet. Dignified, haughty, withdrawn, invisible, the three Whitlock girls made no sign.