The innocent Mrs Duff

by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  “My God!” he cried to himself. “It’s not possible.” He stepped upon the trembling platform again and put in another penny; out came another ticket with the same figure on it.

  No matter who might be watching him, he had to try the honest old-fashioned scales. He set the weights for what he had last weighed; five pounds more, ten pounds more, fourteen.

  Fourteen pounds more than he had ever weighed in his life. It made him feel actually sick. I need a drink, he thought. Then I’m going to turn over a new leaf. Diet, exercise, and so on.

  There was a bar down the street where he sometimes went after five for a cocktail. He had never entered it at an earlier hour; he could not remember ever having taken a drink at eleven o’clock in the morning, and he was ashamed to be seen going in there.

  But there were plenty of men at the bar, and they looked all right, prosperous-looking fellows, well-dressed; they seemed perfectly matter-of-fact about an eleven o’clock drink. He ordered a straight rye, and drank it standing at the bar. It wasn’t quite enough, and he ordered a second.

  That turned out to be just what he needed. Sitting on the stool, in the dim, quiet bar, his mind began to work, quickly and clearly. This weight, he thought; I can get rid of that, easily enough. Go to one of these gyms, sweat it off in a couple of weeks. No. That’s not what’s worrying me. It’s the whole setup. Reggie. I don’t see why I should sacrifice my whole life for her. She married me for money and social position; nothing else. For all I know—

  A thought came to him that was like a flash of light. Dam good-looking fellow, Vermilyea had said. Mrs. Laird had talked about Nolan’s good looks. Had everybody in the neighborhood been talking about his handsome chauffeur?

  I’ll just put on a dress and drive down to the station with you, Reggie had said. Then she would have driven home alone with Nolan. And she had done that, a dozen, a score of times. He began to remember other things now. The way she said ‘hello’ to Nolan, with her wide, dazzling, model’s smile.

  I’ve been sleeping in that other room for nearly two months now, he thought, and she hasn’t said a word. That simply isn’t natural— unless there’s somebody else. That would be absolutely typical of her, to disgrace me—with a chauffeur.

  But she’s not a bad girl, he thought.

  On the contrary, he had found her altogether too good, too innocent; it had been like marrying a schoolgirl. He remembered the miserable embarrassments of their honeymoon. When the bellboy had opened the door of the hotel suite in Montreal, she had given a squeal of delight. Oh, Jake! Isn’t this grand?

  Helen had felt as he did; they had both determined that no one should know they were a honeymoon couple, and they had gone to Havana, and nobody had known. But not Reggie. Reggie had told people. She’s absolutely insensitive, he thought. She doesn’t realize that she’s killed all the love I ever had for her. But she’s not a bad girl.

  Not yet. At least, I don’t think so. But she could behave in a way to make a hell of a scandal with that fellow Nolan.

  Anyhow, I can’t stand any more of this, and I’m going to tell Aunt Lou so, frankly. I’ll provide for Reggie, of course. Generously. I’m not interested in a divorce, either. I simply want to get away from that setup. I cannot stand it any longer.

  Chapter 3

  When her husband died, Mrs. Albany had sold his house on Ninth Street, and she lived now in an apartment-hotel not far from Washington Square. She lived, as always, with old-fashioned stateliness, combined with her own particular dash. When Duff rang the bell of her suite, the door was opened by a colored maid in a trim uniform, who led him into the sitting-room filled with the hideous Albany furniture, pictures and ornaments.

  “I’ll see if Mrs. Albany is at home, sir,” said the maid, and withdrew.

  It made no difference that he was Mrs. Albany’s nephew and heir.

  He would have to wait, like anyone else, and if Mrs. Albany were taking a nap, or if she were engaged with the manicurist, or if she were not disposed to receive guests, he would be dismissed, like anyone else. I have no regular hours At Home, in war time, she had told her nephew. If people want to see me, they must telephone ahead, or take their chance.

  Rose, the maid, came back.

  “Mrs. Albany is At Home, sir,” she said, and went away, without a smile.

  Louisa Albany came in promptly, a tall and very thin woman, with frizzy hair dyed a strange, pale red; she had rouge on her hollow cheeks and on her thin lips; she wore a blue satin blouse with a high collar, and a short black skirt. You could say, with truth, that her face in profile was like a camel’s; you could say she was a hag. But it was none the less undeniable that she had an air; she had style, even elegance.

  “Well, Jacob?” she said, in her clear, superior voice. “Sit down! I haven’t seen you for some time.”

  “I’ve been rather busy. How are you keeping. Aunt Lou?”

  ‘Very well indeed, thank you. You’re putting on weight, Jacob.”

  His face grew hot.

  “I’ll soon get rid of it,” he said. “I’ve started on a diet.”

  “Then I shan’t offer you a cocktail,” she said.

  “That won’t do me any harm.”

  “It will,” said she. “You can’t touch alcohol when you’re reducing. Your Uncle Fred often had to go without a drink for weeks, when his weight got up. He had a perfect horror of getting fat.”

  “Naturally,” said Duff. “Look here. Aunt Lou, I’d really like a cocktail. I’m a bit upset.”

  She looked at him for a moment.

  “Then you shall have one,” she said. “I’ll make it myself.”

  He watched her as she crossed the room to the kitchenette across the hall.

  “Ice, Rose,” she said.

  “Yes, madam,” said Rose, who never smiled.

  There was a strange, and, to Duff, an irritating harmony between Mrs. Albany and Rose. They worked together now like two professional bartenders.

  “Martinis,” said Mrs. Albany.

  On a shelf there was a fine array of bottles, with jiggers of two sizes, swizzle sticks, glass mixers. Rose washed a lemon, and cut curls of peel; Mrs. Albany moved about neatly. Rose put a glass mixer and two glasses on a tray and brought it into the sitting-room.

  “What are you upset about, Jacob?” Mrs. Albany asked, when they were alone.

  “I simply can’t go on like this,” he said. “My life is hell.”

  She took a sip of her cocktail. “Light a cigarette for me, Jacob,” she said. “Thank you. Is this all about Reggie?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how to make you understand. You’re absolutely blind about that girl.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Mrs. Albany, simply. “She has her faults. I was telling her today—you knew they came in to lunch?”

  “They?”

  “Yes. Reggie and Jay.”

  “Jay?”

  “Don’t shout so, Jacob.”

  “I said the child was to stay in his room—”

  “Well, probably your Miss Castle didn’t think that was a good idea.”

  “When I give an order, in my own house—”

  “Pooh!” said Mrs. Albany. “That’s no way to talk. No… I was speaking to Reggie about her housekeeping. I told her she’d better go and take one of those courses. I told her about this finishing-school—junior college, they call it now—where she could learn how to do things properly.”

  “It’s a lot more serious than a matter of housekeeping. She doesn’t care a damn for me.”

  “Yes, she does. She’s very fond of you, and very anxious to make you happy.”

  He had finished his cocktail. He set the empty glass on the table and glanced at Mrs. Albany, but she took no notice.

  “Mind if I help myself?” he asked. “They’re excellent. Excellent. Aunt Lou, I’ll tell you something that may make you realize. For nearly two months we’ve—” He hesitated. “We’ve been occupying separate rooms.”

  “Reggie didn’t m
ention that. What was the quarrel about, Jacob?”

  “There wasn’t any quarrel. One night I didn’t feel at all well, and I went to sleep in one of the guest rooms. And the next night, it was simply taken for granted. Bed turned down in there, my pajamas laid out. And it’s been that way ever since. Reggie’s never said a word.”

  “It’s for you to speak of it” said Mrs. Albany, severely. “That’s no way to treat your wife.”

  “No…” he said. “There’s nothing left of our marriage. No companionship, no home life, no social life, nothing.”

  “Jacob,” said Mrs. Albany, “Reggie is young, very young, and she has not had advantages. But she’s an affectionate, loyal, good girl. She’s devoted to little Jay. If you’ll give her the help and guidance it’s your duty to give her, she’ll make you a splendid wife.”

  “Not she! She won’t do a single thing I ask her. She doesn’t learn anything.”

  “That’s unjust. She’s learned to dress in very good taste.”

  “That’s because you buy her clothes for her.”

  “No. She gets things for herself now. And she’s always reading little articles, about etiquette, and so on, and keeping up with the new books. And she works faithfully as a Nurse’s Aid in the hospital.”

  “Mind if I finish up the cocktails?”

  “Yes, I do mind,” said Mrs. Albany. “I only made two each, and I want that for myself.”

  “Then d’you mind if I get a drink from the kitchen?”

  “Yes, I do. You’ve had plenty.”

  “I’m upset!” he cried. “The whole thing is hell. And when I think of Helen—”

  “You never cared so very much for Helen.”

  “I respected her.”

  “She saw to that,” said Mrs. Albany. “Helen knew how to hold her own. And Reggie doesn’t.”

  “Look here, Aunt Lou, I really need another drink.”

  “Don’t ever let me hear you say you ‘need’ a drink.”

  “Well, I do!” he said. “I can’t go on, with things as they are. I’ll have to get away, take a room in town—”

  “Out of the question!” said Mrs. Albany. “You can’t desert that poor girl for no reason at all.”

  “All right!” he said, rising. “Suppose I told you I’d heard some very unpleasant talk about Reggie?”

  “What sort of talk?”

  “She’s pretty free and easy with Nolan—”

  “Jacob,” said Mrs. Albany, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for listening to gossip about your wife. What’s more, you know as well as I do that there’s not a word of truth in it. You know Reggie’s absolutely incapable of anything of that sort.”

  “Good God!” he cried. “You have no sympathy for me whatever, no understanding. Reggie is ‘incapable’ of anything wrong, but I’m —I don’t know what. A monster. I never knew you to be so utterly unjust.”

  That disturbed her.

  “I don’t mean to be so,” she said. “I know Reggie has a great deal to learn, “and I know you’re not happy, Jacob. But—to be frank, Jacob— I don’t think you ever could be happily married.”

  “What? Why not—if I found the right woman?”

  “You don’t know how to be married, Jacob. You don’t like it. You’re not domestic. A man’s man, as they say.”

  “And what about Uncle Fred? He didn’t spend—didn’t want to spend four months of the year at home.”

  “He wanted me with him, wherever he went,” said Mrs. Albany. “He was—very companionable.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “I don’t mean to be carping and fault-finding, Jacob,” she said, and she was a little anxious now. “But I’m sure that, if you’ll try, you can make this marriage a success. Reggie does everything she can to please you—”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said.

  “No…” she said. “Jacob, give her a chance. To- to make her happy—”

  “Good God!” he cried. “When you think of what I’ve given that girl–!”

  “Jacob,” said Mrs. Albany, “that’s sheer vulgarity.”

  Their eyes met.

  “I think I’d better be going,” he said, coldly.

  “Perhaps…” said Mrs. Albany, with a sigh.

  When he went out into the little hall, she followed him.

  “I dare say it’s hard,” she said. “But now that you’re getting older, it will be easier to settle down. As time goes on.” She hit his shoulder with her bony hand. “Think of Jay,” she said. “Try to make the best of things, Jacob.”

  He stood waiting for the elevator, sunk in a bleak depression. If she’d stood by me, he thought, I might have been able to stand it, to go on. But she’s hypnotized by Reggie. Now I can’t stand it. Now I can’t go on.

  Chapter 4

  He stopped in at a bar and got a drink; only one—that was all he wanted.

  The bartender set a plate of cheese crackers and pretzels before him.

  “Not for me, thanks,” said Duff. “I’m on a diet.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of us on diets now,” said the bartender, somberly, “so many things you can’t get.”

  “Compared with the rest of the world,” said Duff, “we’re damn lucky. The thing is, some people say alcohol puts weight on you. What do you think?”

  “Well, it does with some,” said the bartender. “With others it don’t. It all depends on what constitution you got.”

  “That’s probably it,” said Duff.

  He felt somehow reassured by this little talk. I know people who drink, he thought, drink excessively, and they’re thin as rails. He knew he was going to need a few drinks at bedtime, to get some sleep, and he did not want to think that that might undo the benefits of the day’s dieting. Black coffee and orange juice for breakfast, a lamb chop and a salad for lunch—nothing else. It won’t take long, at this rate, he thought. And after all, fourteen pounds isn’t so much, on a big frame.

  He missed the five-twenty. Won’t hurt Nolan to wait a while, he thought. God knows he has little enough to do these days, with no gas to run the cars. I don’t know about Nolan and all that gossip…

  He sat in the smoker, in a front seat, hoping not to see anyone he knew. He wanted to think about Nolan. Where did I first hear that gossip about Nolan and Reggie? he thought. But he could not remember. It’s probably all over the place, he thought. You can’t deny that Aunt Lou’s a woman of the world. She travelled everywhere with Uncle Fred, met everybody. But she doesn’t know anything about a girl like Reggie. Never met that type.

  Well, he thought, with a sigh, there’s nothing to do but wait. In the course of time she’s absolutely certain to do something that will make Aunt Lou realize… Or she’ll get sick of living like this, and she’ll leave me. That would be the perfect solution.

  The sun was low when the train stopped at Vandenbrinck; the river was pearly grey under a sky without color. The whole scene had, for him, a desolate look. I’ve had some of my happiest hours alone, he thought. In the North Woods, the Adirondacks, sailing. It’s either that, or the big cities. But this suburban setup makes me sick.

  The car was waiting, and Reggie was in it. Her beauty surprised him, for when he thought of her, he forgot that: the delicate loveliness of her thin young face, the grace and fineness of her body. She looked entirely right, too, in a navy-blue linen dress, her shining black hair brushed back from her face. She looked like a quiet, well-bred young girl. But who knew better than he that she was not?

  Nolan was standing in the road, smoking; he threw away his cigarette and hastened forward to open the door of the car. And for the first time Duff really looked at him. Why, he’s like a damn movie actor! he thought, outraged. Black, wavy hair, Nolan had, that sprang up from the temples, fine black brows over deep-blue eyes; he was of medium height, and slender, but in his very upright carriage, the set of his head, there was a vitality a little aggressive.

  “Hello, Jake!” said Reggie.

 
He gave her something like a smile and got in beside her.

  “The chairs have come!” she said.

  “What chairs?”

  “Why, don’t you remember, Jake? You said I could order those dining-room chairs, over four months ago?”

  “That’s nice,” he said.

  “I went in to lunch with Aunt Lou, Jake, and she had an awfully good idea. About me taking a Homemaker’s Course. I went to the Haverdean Junior College about it. Of course, it’s sort of late in the year, but Mrs. Haverdean said that if I started right away, I’d get a good two months, and I could take some private lessons. And next year I could start when the school opens.”

  “Do you want to do that?” he asked.

  “I’m crazy to.”

  “You would be,” he said.

  “How do you mean, Jake?” she asked.

  “I think you would be crazy, to go to a school like that—with young girls.”

  “Well, I’m not so terribly old, Jake. Twenty-one.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “But then what, Jake? You mean because I’m married?”

  “That’s one reason.”

  “But Mrs. Haverdean says they’ve got other married girls—”

  “Please don’t talk about ‘married girls’. I’d rather not go on with this. If you can’t see for yourself how unsuitable, how—damn ridiculous it would be for you to go Haverdean—”

  “You mean, about them being society girls?” she asked. “Well, Aunt Lou said that would be all right, Jake. She said I’d make some nice friends.”

  “Do you want to have schoolgirls for friends?” he asked.

  “Well…” she said, with a doubtful smile.

  They were both silent then. It’s all very well for Aunt Lou to say that I didn’t love Helen, he thought. I wasn’t infatuated with her; I admit that. But we got on together. We spoke the same language. Helen was a woman, not an ignorant, childish—ninny.

  They had turned into the driveway: the burgeoning trees threw long shadows on the lawn, the windows had a fiery dazzle from the setting sun. It seemed to Duff that the place had a strangely deserted look. Not like a home at all, he thought. The housemaid opened the door, and they went in, to a blank silence. Never any stir here, no preparations for guests, no telephone calls.