Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel) (9 page)

Aunt Edith’s plate looked exactly like her own.

 

Margot liked working with Dr. Creighton, who was meticulous and skilled, and they had an interesting case that morning. The preceding afternoon, a young longshoreman had been sent to the hospital from the docks. He had injured himself while unloading a pallet of cartons from a freighter. He presented with abdominal pain and a visible swelling of the groin, and Margot diagnosed an inguinal hernia. Due to the risk of peritonitis or suppuration, she recommended surgery the next morning, the earliest she could schedule it. The man’s wife had been called to the hospital, and the two of them made an effort to be cheerful in the face of this information. It was clear to Margot they were both terrified, despite her efforts to be reassuring. The wife carried a baby in her arms and had a toddler whimpering at her knees.

The longshoreman was heavily muscled, and they proceeded with care in the first incision. Dr. Creighton allowed Margot to manage the dissection of the Cooper’s fascia, which required special precision with the scalpel, and he nodded approval as she delicately exposed the hernial sac and then identified it by touch. Fortunately, the patient exhibited a healthy gut, with no discoloration, and the repair was made without incident or complication. When the final sutures were placed, Margot stood back with a feeling that she had, in fact, performed the operation mostly on her own. She was smiling beneath her surgical mask, and when she saw Dr. Creighton’s eyes twinkling at her, she knew he understood.

She went out to the waiting family as soon as she could. The longshoreman’s wife was fresh-faced, even younger than he was, wearing an inexpensive hat and a cloth coat. She shot to her feet when she saw Margot, waking the infant in her arms and startling the toddler. When Margot gave her the good news, she burst into relieved tears, and her two little ones immediately began a chorus of wailing. A nurse bustled over to quiet the group, but Margot waved her off, letting the young wife clutch her hand and sob for a moment, then crouching down to comfort the older child, to assure him his father was going to be returned to them in just a few days. When the fuss settled down, the young woman turned her tearstained face up to Margot and said, “Thank you so much, Dr. Benedict. We’re so grateful.”

Margot watched the little family depart with a feeling of profound satisfaction. She hoped she never reached a point where she took such moments for granted. Her intention, her promise to herself, was to always remember that this was why she had chosen her profession. She started back up to the wards with a light and energetic step, pleased by a good morning’s work, content that there was more to come.

She finished her rounds in the children’s ward in the early afternoon. As she took off her white coat, she was trying to decide whether to eat lunch in the canteen or at Arnie’s diner before beginning the task of unpacking boxes and organizing shelves and cabinets in her clinic. The diner won, in no small part because of Hattie’s disdain for the food in the canteen. Margot was fitting her hat onto her head, taking her gloves out of her coat pocket, when someone knocked on the coatroom door. Margot opened it to find one of the nurses from reception.

“Dr. Benedict,” the nurse said. “Your family telephoned. It seems your mother and sister-in-law were having tea at Frederick & Nelson, but someone is ill. Fainted, the caller said.”

“My mother fainted?”

The nurse shook her head. “I’m sorry, they didn’t say who it was. Just that you were needed.”

Margot thrust her arms through the sleeves of her coat. “Thank you. I’m on my way. Do you think you could put a call through to my father, Dickson Benedict? His office is in the Smith Tower.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I appreciate it.” Margot seized up her medical bag and hurried out. All thoughts of lunch fled before the fresh tide of worry about her mother. Edith’s grief over the death of her youngest son had subsided, over the past months, into a persistent listlessness. Margot had spoken to Dr. Creedy, and received his assurance that he had withdrawn the laudanum from Edith after Preston’s funeral. He shared her concerns, but neither of them knew how else to help her. In another time, Margot supposed, a physician would prescribe a change of scene, perhaps a sea voyage. The presence of Allison had made no appreciable difference, unfortunately. What Edith needed was something to distract her. Something, in point of fact, to live for.

Luckily, it was one of the best November days, clear and cold, as if the recent rains had washed the sky clean. Margot hastened the few blocks to Frederick & Nelson, dodging the lunchtime crowd. The Tea Room was on the fifth floor, she recalled. She had been there a year ago with Ramona. Anxiety made her impatient, and she pushed her way through the crush of shoppers to the elevator. Clever Ramona had somehow managed to get Edith out of the house, which was a significant achievement. She wished her sister-in-law’s kind gesture hadn’t ended like this. She would have to address the problem with her father. Edith wouldn’t listen to her, of course, but if Dickson . . .

The elevator operator opened the doors, and Margot stepped out to see a group of people clustered around a chaise longue just outside the entrance to the Tea Room. The maître d’hotel was obvious, with his black suit and bow tie. Ramona, her back to Margot, was on her knees beside the chaise, careless of the skirt of her frock. At the foot, wide-eyed and white-faced, stood Edith, twisting a handkerchief between her fingers.

It was Allison lying on the chaise. Drops of perspiration shone like chips of ice against her pale face. A waitress in a frilled white apron was handing a folded napkin to Ramona, who pressed it to Allison’s forehead as Margot approached.

“Oh, Ramona!” Margot murmured. “I didn’t expect this to be Allison! I was certain it was Mother!”

Ramona looked up, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Margot, thank God you’re here. Allison just collapsed in my arms! She didn’t say a word, just—just fainted dead away!”

Without being prompted, Ramona stood up, making way for Margot to reach her cousin. Margot eyed Allison’s still face as she reached for her wrist. The girl showed hardly more color than the damp napkin resting on her forehead. Her fair hair fell away from her face, revealing the sharpness of her cheekbones, the hollowness of her jaw. Her pulse was fast and thready. Margot set her medical bag beside the chaise, unsnapped the top, and pulled out her stethoscope. She put the bell to Allison’s chest and the earpieces into her ears, and bent her head to listen.

A moment later, Margot folded her stethoscope. As she stowed it back in her bag, she spoke to the maître d’ over her shoulder. “Can you bring me a glass of juice, please, something sweet? Orange, or apple.”

He nodded and scurried away. Allison’s eyelids began to flutter. She moaned something and tried to sit up. Margot slipped an arm behind her shoulders to help her.

Edith said, “What could be wrong with her? Cousin Adelaide will never forgive us if—” Her voice trailed away on a little sob. Margot cast her a wary glance, afraid she might have two unconscious family members at once, but Ramona moved to her mother-in-law’s side and put a protective arm around her.

Margot nodded her appreciation. “As you can no doubt see, Mother,” she said, “Allison is very thin. Her blood pressure is quite low, which could account for her fainting. I don’t know yet if there’s a reason for her being underweight, but for now, a little nourishment should help.”

The maître d’hotel reappeared with a glass, and Margot held it to Allison’s white lips. The girl’s eyes opened, moving from side to side as she took in the scene, and an involuntary sound escaped her. “Drink this, please, Allison,” Margot said. She used the matter-of-fact tone she employed with most of her patients, and Allison, obedient to the authority in her voice, drank. In fact, once she tasted the orange juice, she drank it thirstily, draining the glass. Her cheeks pinked up almost immediately, Margot noticed with satisfaction. She took Allison’s wrist again and felt the pulse begin to steady under her fingers.

Allison blinked and brought her free hand to her forehead. “Oh,” she said softly, her voice that of a child. “Oh, oh.”

“You’ll feel better in a moment,” Margot said. She released the girl’s wrist and moved the damp napkin away to the arm of the chaise. When Allison tried to move her legs, to stand up, Margot said, “Wait a bit, Allison. Give yourself some time.”

“What happened?” It was little more than a whisper, full of confusion and fear.

“You fainted, that’s all.”

“Did I—did I—” Allison turned her eyes up to Margot, the pupils expanded, the lashes damp with sudden tears. “Was I sick?”

Margot’s own eyes narrowed, trying to think what this meant. She said carefully, “I don’t think so. No one has said that, only that you fainted.”

Allison’s eyelids fell, and she drew a shaky breath. “Oh,” she said again, but her voice was stronger now. “Oh.”

Edith, from the foot of the chaise, said, “Is she all right, Margot? Can we go home?”

“Yes,” Margot said. “I’ll come with you.”

“I shouldn’t have come out,” Edith fretted, as if it were all her fault. “I told Ramona I didn’t want to come.”

Ramona ignored this, saying calmly, “Shall I go call a taxi, Margot?”

Margot cast her a quick, appreciative glance. Ramona was proving, through the hardships of the past year, to be more level-headed and pragmatic than she would ever have suspected. “Thank you, Ramona. That’s an excellent idea. If you could take Mother down with you in the elevator, Allison and I will come along shortly.”

The maître d’ said, “Thank you for coming, Dr. Benedict.”

“Not at all,” Margot said. “Is there a bill to settle?”

“Not today,” he said. “There’s no charge for the juice. And no one’s eaten a thing.”

C
HAPTER
8

He huddled in the cold shadows cast by the water tower in Volunteer Park and watched Benedict Hall. He had done this for days, so many he had lost count. The more days that passed, the more his resentment grew. He wasn’t sure, at first, why he came here, what he was looking for, but his thoughts and his need were at last beginning to come together, setting his purpose and focusing his mind.

When he saw the taxicab pull up on Fourteenth Avenue, he briefly wondered why they weren’t in the Essex. He concentrated, pulling his scarred eyebrows together until the memory came to him. It was hazy, muddled by months of pain, but he remembered.

The Essex was smashed. He had driven it into the tree himself, and then—yes, even after that, he had gone on driving it, wrecked though it was. He had driven it into the city, inexpertly operating the pedals and the wheel, running it up onto the curb in front of Seattle General. Shouldn’t have happened, of course. He was never meant to drive the damn thing. That was Blake’s job. He was meant to ride in the back, properly, while Blake the butler drove the motorcar.

Blake had betrayed him. Turned on him. It was Blake’s fault, really, almost as much as it was hers, but he didn’t know where Blake was, and she was still taking up space in the family digs. He felt the grimace on his face, and he knew it was an expression that made him look like something out of a nightmare.

His laugh was rough, as ugly as he had become. He was even more wrecked than the Essex, and it was she who had brought him to this. She had taken his life and twisted it into something so macabre he could barely comprehend it, even after all these months.

He had to release the grimace. It still hurt too much, sometimes maddeningly. Something about the nerves, he supposed, though he was only guessing.
She
would know, blast her to hell. He could almost believe she had deliberately set those oxygen bottles in his path, but even in his pain-racked brain, that was a stretch.

No, it was just her customary obstinacy and arrogance that had destroyed him. If she had only gotten out of his way—better yet, if she had never been born—he wouldn’t have to hide himself like this, pull his hat brim down so low he could barely see, pull his muffler up so it hid his twisted mouth and ravaged cheeks.

Yes, she bore the blame, there was no doubt about that. He had had everything, family, position, a job that brought him respect and even a small measure of renown. It was all gone now. Vanished. She was probably happy about that.

He straightened suddenly, wincing at the twinge that ran down his back as he did so. Who was in that taxicab? Oh, for God’s sake, Margot, mannish as always. She was wearing last year’s coat, with that moth-eaten fox collar! Why couldn’t she make an effort to dress better?

Not that he cared. His column was ended, dead and buried, just like he was. Margot couldn’t embarrass him anymore.

As he watched, she turned back to the cab and held out her hand to someone. There was a girl, slender, fair-haired. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t get a good look. Margot encircled the girl with one arm and led her through the front gate as Mother climbed out of the taxicab. Ramona got out the other side, paid the cabbie, then hurried to take Mother’s arm.

Since when did Edith need Ramona’s arm to walk up the few steps to the porch of Benedict Hall? She moved so slowly, as if she’d been ill. Her hair had turned the most repulsive shade, yellow and gray all mixed together. Surely she knew there were things you could do about that!

But perhaps he was being unfair. Mother had always put him first, at least to the best of her ability. She could have done more, done something about Margot, but then, Mother wasn’t the sort to stand up to people. Still, despite how unhappy she must be now, there was no point in letting herself go. She couldn’t be much above fifty.

Why the devil didn’t Margot make herself useful and do something to help her?

He watched as the group of women made a slow progress up the walk and onto the porch. Hattie appeared, wearing her apron, holding the door and fussing as they passed. Hattie looked much the same. She, it seemed, had recovered from the tragedy awfully quickly. Maybe she hadn’t cared as much about him as she’d pretended.

He faded back into deeper shadows and started to make his way around to the far side of the water tower. The rest of it didn’t matter. Who that girl was, the one who looked as if she could barely support her own weight, didn’t matter. Blake didn’t matter, because he had gotten what was coming to him. Father and Dick and Ramona were all right, even if they were fools to allow themselves to be taken in by the magnificent Margot. Even Mother didn’t matter, not really. Seeing her so frail was troubling, but, sadly, she was an innocent but unfortunate bystander. Such things happened, and they couldn’t be helped.

No, all that mattered—and his only reason for being alive, now—was Margot. The rest of it could take care of itself.

Allison could still taste the orange juice in her mouth. Its tart sweetness had thrilled her tongue and tingled in her throat, making her want to beg for more.

Now, in her bedroom at Benedict Hall, undressed by Ruby and tucked under a quilt, she rolled on her side to escape Margot’s searching gaze.

She heard the murmur of a few words and the swish and click of the door as it closed. A chair grated on the floor, then made a softer sound as its legs settled into the rug beside the bed.

“Allison,” Margot said. Her voice was low and clear, in a tone that meant she expected an answer. “I need to know what’s going on with you.”

Allison closed her eyes, crushing her lids together as if that would keep out the sound of Margot’s voice.

“Your blood pressure got very low. That’s why you fainted, and that’s why the juice made you feel better.”

Allison said resentfully, “I don’t feel better.”

“All right, you don’t feel better,” Margot said. She sounded as pragmatic as if they were discussing fabric colors or motorcar models. “But you’re conscious,” she added. “I think you would agree that’s an improvement.”

Allison opened her eyes to glare at the primrose wallpaper so near her face. A familiar bubble of resentment rose in her throat and choked off her voice. Usually, it was her mother who provoked this feeling. Now it was Margot, sounding so reasonable and concerned and . . . it was all too confusing. She wished she would just go away and leave her alone.

“Can you tell me what’s bothering you?” Margot asked.

Allison narrowed her eyes, and the primrose pattern blurred into a mix of pink and green and brown. It made her head spin.

“Allison, if you won’t talk to me, and explain what’s wrong, I’m going to have to telephone your parents.”

Allison whispered, “Haven’t you done enough already?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Tears of anxiety suddenly pricked Allison’s eyes and ached in her throat. She could feel the argument building, the explosion that invariably followed if she didn’t think before she spoke. Hastily, her words tumbling over one another, she said, “Never mind. Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” But she had. She couldn’t think how to explain it.

Margot waited for her to finish her answer, and when she didn’t go on, she said, “Allison, I’m sure your family would want you to see your family physician.”

Dr. Kinney! Hair in his ears and rotten breath and the threat of a sanitorium! Allison groaned, “No, no, please. I’ll be all right now, I promise.”

“You’re not all right,” Margot said. Her voice softened, gentled into the one she used with Aunt Edith in the dining room. “You have to understand that I can’t just ignore what happened.”

Allison gazed at the blurred primroses, willing them to stop their mad whirling.

“Allison, we’re family. We’re living under the same roof, and we need to speak openly with each other. Are you angry with me about something?”

Allison rolled onto her back to get away from the primroses, and she stared up at the molded ceiling in an agony of confusion. She had never had such a conversation. She didn’t trust it. Adults didn’t ask her to speak her mind. This was like walking on quicksand, when the wrong answer would sink her straight to the bottom of the quagmire. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop her tears from falling, and she struggled to think of what to say, how to end this.

A strong hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Please explain to me,” Margot said. “If I’m to help you, I need to understand.”

Allison wanted to protest that she didn’t need help, but it was obvious Margot wouldn’t accept that. She said finally, resignedly, “Coming here—to Seattle—it’s my punishment.”

“Punishment?”

“Yes. But I didn’t do anything!”

“All right. Let’s posit that you didn’t do anything. But why should that make you angry with me?”

“Papa said this was your idea. Me coming to Seattle.”

“Oh, but, Allison—no one said anything about punishment to me! Uncle Henry was upset, and I gather something went wrong on your trip. I suggested you spend a few weeks with us when Uncle Henry said your mother was having difficulty coping—”

“Coping?” Allison cried. She knew her voice was rising, going thin and shrill so she sounded like a wounded child. Papa hated that voice, but she couldn’t help it. She rolled to her left to face Margot. “My mother can’t cope with
anything!
”

Margot lifted her hands and pushed her fingers through her hair so it stood out in little ruffles over her ears. When she spoke again, her voice sounded different. Less confident. “Oh, Allison,” she sighed. “I know a thing or two about mothers. You’ve seen how mine is. If it weren’t for your cousin Ramona—” She dropped her hands to her lap. The gesture, with her shoulders hunched and her eyes downcast, made her look more like a girl and less like a doctor. She looked sad. Hurt.

Allison didn’t know what to do. Had she been wrong? Everyone told her something different, and it was bewildering. She was tempted, for one mad instant, to tell Cousin Margot everything, about Dr. Kinney, the sanitorium, explain what really happened on
Berengaria,
even tell her about the spoon—

No. She could never tell her about the spoon.

Margot lifted her head, but slowly, as if it were too heavy to hold upright. She avoided Allison’s eyes as she rose, and replaced the chair beside the wardrobe. Her doctor’s voice returned. “I do see why Uncle Henry was concerned about you, Allison. I can even understand why Aunt Adelaide felt she didn’t know how to manage.” She came back to the bed, and now she stood looking down at Allison with a composed expression that was impossible to read. Allison gazed up at her with apprehension.

Margot said, “It’s not normal for a girl to be so thin. Along with everything else, I’m concerned about anemia. Are you fatigued? Are you often dizzy? I haven’t been present at all your meals here, but you don’t seem to have a strong appetite.”

Even hearing the word
appetite
made Allison’s stomach cramp with hunger.

“And I would guess,” Margot went on, “that you have amenorrhoea. No menstrual periods.”

Allison shivered with sudden anxiety and shame. It was true. She hadn’t been getting her monthlies for some time. She hadn’t told her mother that, of course. She knew such things weren’t nice to mention. Ruby hadn’t noticed, and Dr. Kinney hadn’t asked. She had never thought it was a problem. Maybe even Cousin Margot would want to send her to the sanitorium!

After a moment, Margot said briskly, “You understand, I can’t let this go on. Not as a physician, nor as a family member.”

Cautiously, Allison pushed herself to a sitting position and found that her head didn’t spin even a little bit. It occurred to her that the juice she’d drunk had actually made her feel a good bit stronger. She linked her hands, hoping to look demure, and said, “I feel much better now, thank you.”

She looked up and saw the skeptical set of Margot’s brows. “Really,” she said.

“Yes,” Allison said, and attempted a smile. “Yes, I do. Thank you for coming to help me today.”

“You’re welcome.” Margot reached for her wrist, and Allison allowed her to hold it for a few seconds while she measured her pulse. “I’d like to see you eat something now. Will you come down to the dining room and let Hattie fix you a sandwich?”

Allison nodded. She didn’t think there was much else she could do.

“I’ll speak to Hattie,” Margot said. “And I’ll wait for you,” she added.

Allison, her eyes on her hands, felt the faint brush of Margot’s long fingers over her hair. Startled, she glanced up, but her cousin had already turned away and was crossing the room to the door. She reached it in two strides, opened it, and went out, leaving Allison staring after her. Why had she done that? No one really touched Allison except Ruby, and that was only because it was her job. When was the last time her mother had caressed her hair that way? Or her father? So long ago she couldn’t remember. If ever.