The Lady and Her Doctor (37 page)

She let him move away, across the room, out into the hall, and then ran after him. “I'm coming with you. To the boat, Milt. I'm going to see you off.” He shook his head. “Oh, my God, Milt, what's wrong with that? You see people off. Maybe I never been to Europe, but I know that much. People see people off.” She put her hand on his sleeve and began to stroke it. “Milt—I got to—maybe I'll never see you again. I got to at least see you off, Milt.”

He stared down at her stroking hand, then removed it and held it. “Jenny, no. Stay away, Jenny, don't see me off. I'm asking you, Jenny, keep hands off!” Her mouth began to work. “Jenny, I told you a hundred times, butt out. Butt out, Jenny! And, by the way, don't be surprised if you hear from a certain lawyer one of these days informing you you and the kids are provided for.” He looked down at the hand he was holding, then dropped it and walked out of the apartment, not turning back once.

For at least five minutes, Jenny stood where he had left her. For five minutes at least, then she began to walk up and down where Milton had walked five minutes before, the way Milt had walked, like a caged lion, unable to sit as he had been unable to sit or rest. Then she ran out of the room, picked up a silk scarf which Maureen wore on her hair and made a
babushka
out of it. She was going to do what Milt asked. She was not going to the boat to see him off, but since she couldn't sit still, why shouldn't she go to the Haunted House today? Why wait?

For Milt's sake wouldn't she be a fool if she carried out his orders like a moron and waited until the man from the museum came tomorrow and walked in cold and maybe saw something he shouldn't see? For Milt's sake Jenny slammed the door behind her and, thrusting her arms into her coat sleeves, hurried out of the apartment house.

Jenny pulled up to an empty sidewalk. It was lunch time. Jenny, hearing only her own hurrying footsteps on the path and the wind in the dead leaves and dry grass, was made a bit nervous. She had become so accustomed to voices and cars and other people's footsteps. She was disconcerted when the big front door opened so noiselessly, and did not like the solid sound of it closing behind her. She stood in the wide hall swallowing hard, feeling as if she had been locked in a vault. “With two skeletons,” she thought, catching sight of Gog and Magog.

She put the key carefully into her coat pocket and started down the hall to look. For what? “I'll
know
what it is when I see it,” she told herself, and then heard sounds from upstairs. It was only the thought of Milt saying “I told you to butt out” that prevented her from running away. “Who's there?” she called.

Like an echo, from upstairs someone said, “Who's there?”

“Who's that up there? Oh, it's you. The maid. What are you doing here?” she asked Mrs. Austen.

“Mrs. Krop! Madam! I thought you were coming tomorrow, Madam!”

“Come on down here. What are you doing here, anyway? The doctor said the place was empty and you were on your way to Canada. What are you doing here?”

The old lady, holding on to the banisters, walking carefully, started down, talking a mile a minute. Yes, Dr. Krop did think the house was empty and that was so. He had started her toward Canada, yes. She had been waiting by the gate for the taxi when she heard some ladies there talking about—gangs. They said the house would soon be swarming with these gangs by nightfall. They would break windows and get into the house and destroy the property. She had been brought up to respect property. She had driven off in the taxi Dr. Krop had so kindly provided, but she had turned back. She couldn't leave this house and madam's things (“
madam's
things!”) to be destroyed like that. She had been told by Dr. Krop that madam (“Me,” Jenny thought) was coming tomorrow and that the gentleman from the museum would be here then and she had decided that it was her duty to stay behind a day and look after madam's things until tomorrow. (There was something fishy about the story, Jenny decided. The old woman was sweet-talking too much.) “Well, I'm here now,” Jenny said. “I'll take over.”

“Yes, madam.”

“In other words, you can go now.”

“Yes, madam.”

For whatever reason she had sneaked back, she was meekly going to go now. Why? With what? What had she really come back for?

“Madam—might I ask you I would feel much better, since you are here—I wonder could you go over my things, madam? I have my suitcase right here in the hall.” She hurried past Jenny to where the shabby case lay on a bench and began to work the fasteners open.

Jenny had a feeling that she was being manipulated. “Wait a sec—how did you get in? Did you break a window?”

Mrs. Austen had the fasteners open. “The back door was unlocked, madam.”

Just like Milt, Jenny thought. Leaves a door open. Lets her sneak back this way.

Mrs. Austen carefully lifted the lid of the suitcase and stepped aside. “If you will be kind enough to go over my things. Before I go, madam. It is customary.”

Whatever she had sneaked back for, it certainly wouldn't be laying right there in that suitcase since she was so anxious for Jenny to look it over. “Now, Mrs. Austen—” The old lady stood like a block of stone. “Come on, Mrs. Austen, why bother? I know you're honest!”

Mrs. Austen's thin lips began to tremble. “If you please, madam! Madam, you must! I begged Dr. Krop to do this and he would not. It wasn't only the gangs, madam, I came back so that you could look my things over. Dr. Krop said you would be here tomorrow. I will not leave until you do, madam.”

She meant it. Jenny took off her coat. She wouldn't leave until her junk got the once-over. Jenny, shoving her sleeves up, paused. “I'll do it but first you tell me why it's so important to you. Why is it so important?”

The old lady clamped down her trembling lips, then opened them, but good. In two minutes Jenny heard all about the missing brooch, what it meant to her who had worked all her life in good houses to be suspected of stealing, her helpless fury when, having accused her, the only proper thing was not done, they would not, would not call the police in and settle the matter once and for all time. Her good name. Her good name. The old lady was shaking so that Jenny thought she would fall apart. She got up so much steam that Jenny was afraid she would blow her top. She was like a witch, blazing away; her eyes shot darts. Jenny, staring at the old woman, suddenly remembered the Duchess at the funeral. The Duchess at the funeral, Jenny thought, imagining God-knows-what about Milt because of the dirty look this old lady had given Milt. Jenny squatted down in front of the battered suitcase and smiled up at the old lady. (She could have kissed the old lady.) “Shhhh,” she said, “shh, calm down, calm down. You'll blow your top if you don't calm down, Mrs. Austen. Sure I'll look over your—stuff for you—” (She almost said
junk!
) “But tell me something first. This is important to me, Mrs. Austen, like your good name is to you. I can see that your good name means more to you than all the pensions, right? Well, this means a lot to me. Now tell the honest truth, so help you God! Mrs. Austen, you hold a grudge against the doctor. Don't bother to contradict because I know better.” She pointed at the old lady. “Your face says better. You have an honest face, Mrs. Austen. It tells the truth.”

“I am honest, madam. I was brought up to be honest.”

“That's right. Now, are you sore at Milt for not calling the cops in about the brooch, is that it? Poor Milt, he'd think he was doing you a favor but that's beside the point. Now, that's what you have against him, isn't it, Mrs. Austen?”

“But that was
madam
,” Mrs. Austen said, shaking her head. She held her hand against her knocking heart in a real-life gesture but spoke with her servant's voice. “It was
madam
who wouldn't have the police in! Dr. Krop wouldn't understand, madam, and I wouldn't expect him to, but
madam
—and that put me into black despair!” Now that she had broken her rule of “keeping herself
to
herself,” now that the dam was broken, she could not stop. She had felt there was no one left in the whole new world who understood her sense of values, so what was the need to go on? She had felt that she could not stay on with madam after that, but what would she do then? Where could she go? Back on the dole? Madam was the only person who had been willing to take her on. Madam had been so kind, working out the plan so that she could cook for madam. No one else would go to that trouble, only madam—and then madam had let her down! The old lady held up her trembling hand as if Jenny had been about to interrupt her, although Jenny had no such intention. That, Mrs. Austen said, was how she felt at the time, although now, of course, she understood. Now that poor madam was gone and the story was out in the open. “Poor wandering creature, believing she had killed her mother like that, naturally madam would refuse to have the police in. She couldn't help herself. No, Mrs. Krop, that was
madam
, so I can't blame Dr. Krop for
that!
”

“For
that?
Then what do you blame him for?”

“You are mistaken, madam.”

Like fun mistaken, only the old lady had herself under control again. Jenny shrugged and, bending over the suitcase, began to go through the things in it.

“… bolt of good Irish linen my old madam brought me—keeping it to be buried in, madam. Lace—
real
lace, madam, not machine made—”

Jenny lifted each of the sad objects in the suitcase and heard faintly Mrs. Austen's descriptions, the proud old voice coming from far off. If it had only been the brooch that made Mrs. Austen hate Milt, she could have called the Duchess and told her off. What a pleasure it would have been to tell the Duchess off—“So you thought the old lady had something on Milt, well, she did. You know what she had on him? He insulted her good name. He wouldn't call the cops in to give her the once-over—he trusted her but that isn't the way she wanted it—so now you know what you can do with your suspicions of Milt!” Jenny lifted out the bottle which was tucked into the corner of the suitcase, laid it on the floor, then picked it up again, and recognized, from the way her heart gave a sudden squeeze, that it was Milt's handwriting on the label.
CAUTION
.
POISON
.
DO NOT OVERDOSE
.
NO MORE THAN THREE PILLS DAILY
. Jenny held the bottle toward Mrs. Austen because it was such a nutty thing to steal.

Mrs. Austen took in the expression on Jenny's face and a white ring formed around her mouth. “If you mean that I—took that, madam, you are quite mistaken.”

“Aw—Who cares? My, you're touchy!”

“That bottle is mine, madam. Dr. Krop gave that bottle to me more than three years ago in the clinic, madam.”

“Of course he did! It slipped my mind—Sure he did! I remember now Milt said you'd been a clinic patient from way back.” She smiled sadly at the bottle. “This happens to be a drug my husband worked on. You didn't know that, did you? My hubby was a doctor, too, Mrs. Austen. Milt—Dr. Milton Krop was carrying on the clinical side of my husband's research on this drug in Queens General cardiac clinic.” She made her face quiet and serious. “I hope it helped you.”

“No, madam, it did not.” The white ring deepened with distaste.

“Well, it didn't hurt you anyhow.”

“Neither helped
nor
hurt, madam.”

Now what was eating her? Jenny looked up from the label at Mrs. Austen's face. (Like she was smelling something bad.) “What do you mean by that? Why do you say that? Mrs. Austen—”

Mrs. Austen told Jenny what she meant.

“Mrs. Austen,” Jenny said, “you've got to tell the Duchess what you just told me.”

“The Duchess, madam?”

“Lady what's-her-name—”

“Madam!”

“Mrs. Austen—I won't take no for an answer. Now, wait, I know you're not one to broadcast your troubles, but you've got to tell her. If I tell her she won't believe me—she's got to hear this from your lips.”

“I don't understand, madam.”

“All right. I'll tell you. Lady what's-her-name saw you at the funeral. She saw you giving the doctor a dirty look. She got the idea in her royal head that the dirty look meant you had something on Milt, something you weren't telling the cops. About her sister, Mrs. Austen—about her sister dying. You know.”

Mrs. Austen looked thoroughly shocked. “I told the police all I knew, madam.”

“Sure. I know. That's what I told the Duchess, but—Mrs. Austen, don't you get it? She wants to make trouble for Milt, so we have to set her right on this. Mrs. Austen, you know as well as I do what kids men are. They set their hearts on one thing and beyond that they will not see. All Milt will see is getting off on that boat today. He should worry about what's going on in the Duchess' head. He should worry what comes next, but I worry. I give a thought to tomorrow even if Milt doesn't so I tell you we have to tell her.” Jenny jumped up and brushed her skirt off. “Now, Mrs. Austen, have a heart! Now I've explained the whole thing to you you don't hold any grudge against my brother-in-law any more, do you?”

“No, madam. I understand now.”

“Good. Then, if you don't hold any grudge any more it's up to you to tell the Duchess.” (Get her off Milt's neck, stop her smelling around, poking around.) “O.K.?”

But Mrs. Austen would not be rushed. “Her ladyship thinks I kept evidence from the police?”

Jenny nodded. “That's it.”

“But I wouldn't do that, madam! Why, madam—her ladyship's sister was ever so kind to me, madam. I told you. She was the only one—I told you, madam! If I knew that Dr. Krop had done anything to harm madam nothing would have kept me from speaking out! How could her ladyship think such a thing!”