Seventeen Widows of Sans Souci

by Charlotte Armstrong

  “What is so honorable about not discussing it?” inquired Daisy in her disagreeable logical way. “Or walking around in a huff? Try the brain, why don’t you?”

  The elevator had come and Georgia was opening the door. “Mrs. Fitz …?” Georgia was going to ignore all Daisy had said.

  But Mrs. Fitz had put a small pink hand over her eyes. “Georgia, dear, could you ask Robert to excuse me?”

  “Aren’t you feeling well? Ah, don’t be upset …”

  “I think I had better not venture out,” said Mrs. Fitz. “You must go, of course. No, don’t wait, dear. I shall be quite all right. You mustn’t disappoint Robert.”

  “No, but can’t I …?”

  “I can walk to my apartment, Georgia,” said Mrs. Fitz with a touch of frost.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Are we going down or not?” put in Daisy Robinson.

  So Daisy and Georgia got into the elevator.

  “You really …” began Georgia with uncharacteristic hostility, which she quickly turned to simple anxiety. “Oh, dear, I hope she’s not upset.”

  Daisy Robinson said loudly, “I’ve found the most enchanting hole-in-the-wall bookstore, open evenings! The man’s a real collector! Lincolniana. Why, it’s amazing!”

  “How nice,” said Georgia Oliver tolerantly.

  Upstairs, Mrs. Fitz turned away. But she did not turn down the north wing. She lifted her chin even higher. She began to walk—one leg, other leg—down the east wing.

  Tess Rogan opened to her ring.

  Chapter 27

  “Mrs. Rogan, I would like very much to talk this over, quietly,” said Ursula Fitzgibbon. “I am sure we are both honorable women …”

  “Come in,” said Tess Rogan cordially.

  So Ursula came in, a small rigid body. She looked about, rather blindly. Tess had been reading, under one standing lamp. “Such a pleasant apartment,” said Ursula mechanically.

  “Yes,” said Tess. “Sit down, won’t you, please?” Tess was wary.

  “Thank you.” Ursula sat down and took some time to compose her clothing, her skirt, her short coat, her scarf. Tess waited. “It seems wise,” said Ursula, “for you and me who are older and perhaps wiser to try to resolve this difficulty. Don’t you think so?”

  Tess smiled. She had seated herself and the one lamp shed upon them both, the small stiff body, the bony little feet flat on the rug, and the tall woman with the cut on her forehead who leaned back, whose feet rested upon their heels.

  “I am very sure,” said Mrs. Fitz, and in the quiet room her voice rang not so confident as the words, but faintly belligerently. “I am very sure that you will not tell me that my son caused you to have that fall.”

  “That was an accident,” Tess said.

  Ursula’s face relaxed and softened. “I was so sure,” she said warmly. “I am so glad I came.” She leaned forward. “But what are we to do, Mrs. Rogan, about Nona Henry?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tess, rather sadly.

  “Surely, you have some influence! There must be a way to stop this slander. Do you know what she is saying?”

  “I think so.”

  “I am sure you can’t approve of it, any more than I. Do you know that she is actually saying that my Robert proposed marriage to you?” cried Ursula. She let out a nervous little laugh. “Which of course must embarrass you, very much.”

  Tess Rogan moistened her lips. She said to the little pink woman, “Could we not say that your son had, perhaps, too much to drink that evening? I am very sorry that he was taken ill.”

  “To drink?” said Ursula sharply. “But … do you realize that he was with me, for dinner and that evening?”

  “Was he?”

  “Why yes. Why, he had a drink, of course. But only the one. We watched television together. Forgive me, Mrs. Rogan. I am trying to understand. How much had you had to drink?”

  “If you mean alcoholic drink, I never take any,” said Tess pleasantly.

  “But … you are now saying that Nona Henry is telling the truth!” said Ursula, stiffening.

  “As she knows it,” said Tess.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Why”—Tess made an effort—”only that when he turned, so quickly, and his arm came up and hit me, and I fell, Nona couldn’t tell …”

  “Hit you!” burst Mrs. Fitz. “But you just said you had an accident.”

  “That was the accident.” Tess was looking sad.

  “I came here,” said Ursula haughtily, “for the truth, Mrs. Rogan.”

  “Yes,” said Tess, sadly.

  “We will leave out the question of drinking. I am going to ask you directly, and I would like an answer”—Ursula was sharp—”if you please … did my son Robert, or did he not, ask you to marry him?” Ursula’s voice held contempt.

  (Oh, this was the whisper that scandalized and hurt. Poor Georgia!)

  Tess Rogan did not answer.

  “I insist,” said Ursula imperiously. “You must answer. I am Robert’s mother.”

  Tess moved her hands. “There are some questions you can’t answer yes or no,” she said mildly. “Things are rather more complex, sometimes.”

  But Ursula was not listening to this.

  “Did he? Or did he not? Surely, that’s simple enough! I would appreciate the answer.”

  “He did and he didn’t,” said Tess rather stubbornly.

  “That’s no answer!”

  “Nevertheless, that is the answer,” Tess said with a spark of belligerence.

  “Did he? Or did he not?” Ursula’s body was vibrating. “Do you refuse to answer me?”

  Tess said, “His exact words, I believe, were these. ‘I’ll marry you.’ But if you are asking whether, had I consented, he ever would have married me, the answer is ‘Of course not.’ No.”

  “You are not being direct!” cried Ursula shrilly. “You are quibbling! Did he? Or did he not?”

  Tess sat still. Her head moved, making a small negative.

  Ursula said frantically, “You say that my son had too much to drink. But I know that isn’t true. You say that he hit you. I know that he couldn’t have done such a thing! Never. Now, are you saying that he asked you to marry him? You are an old woman, Mrs. Rogan, almost as old as I am. Robert is engaged to marry Georgia Oliver. Not for her money, either. Georgia is not rich. Not rich! Those are all lies! Why are you trying to tell me these lies?”

  Tess said distantly, “I am not interested in trying to tell you anything. You came asking questions.” Then her voice softened. “You will make yourself ill, Mrs. Fitzgibbon. Won’t you agree that there’s no need to examine every word a man says when he has had too much? I think he was a bit unhappy … he talked recklessly. Let it go …”

  “Unhappy? Robert!” cried Mrs. Fitz. “How could he have been unhappy? That’s absurd! Everyone loves and admires him. Georgia, myself … how can you say such a thing!”

  Tess did not answer this at all. Something in her silence this time flustered Ursula, and she began to fumble for a more tenable position. Her eyes were frightened. “You said—you are saying—that Robert was not himself?” she quavered.

  “That is not what I said, or what I am saying.” Tess rose. “You don’t hear. Let’s not go on.”

  “Give me any reason, at all,” cried Ursula fiercely, “why he should even think of marrying you. You are seventy-one, are you not? Seventy-one years old!”

  “But you see, he was asking me to take him around the world,” said Tess. “I suppose—propriety.” Tess bit her mouth and shook her head.

  “It’s impossible!” cried Ursula, beyond compromise now. “He is going to marry Georgia, in June. A lovely young woman. Quite suitable. A darling girl! Furthermore, Robert has been around the world, many times. He wants to settle. He wants to be near me! He is my son. You are lying about my son! I know my own son! Why would he even think of going around the world with you? You can’t answer that!”

  Tess looked at
the quivering old body and moistened her mouth. “Hadn’t you better go along, Mrs. Fitzgibbon? This isn’t good for you, or me either. I’m sure of that. There is nothing I can say to you.”

  “I want the truth!” Ursula managed to rise. “And I will not go, until I get it!”

  “The truth?” said Tess, sadly.

  “I insist. You must explain this fantastic pack of lies, or else see to it that they are stopped. My son … go off …” Ursula had begun to pant. “Marry an old countrywoman—incredible! These lies are vicious! I demand your explanation.”

  Tess looked at her.

  “Well?”

  Tess said, “If you’ll sit down … perhaps if we can only go over the whole—” She stopped speaking and bit her lips.

  “You can’t explain! Can you?” cried Ursula, triumphantly.

  Tess Rogan said, “No.”

  “Then admit it’s all lies!”

  “If you won’t leave now, Mrs. Fitzgibbon …”

  “Not until you admit …!”

  “Then, I must leave,” said Tess. “Excuse me.” Tess Rogan went into her bedroom.

  Ursula Fitzgibbon stood in the living room. Her lips twitched and grimaced, and let a muttering through.

  This was the moment that Nona Henry tapped upon Tess’s door. The door was not all the way closed, she noticed. So she pushed at it, calling, “Tess? Anybody home?”

  She thought she heard a human sound. So she stepped in and was utterly astonished to see who stood in that living room, trembling with a kind of triumphant rage, her small pink mouth moving, moving, but only a muttering coming through.

  “What’s the matter? Can I do anything? Where is Mrs. Rogan?” Nona was frightened.

  Ursula Fitzgibbon drew up her trembling little old body and turned it. She gave her back and her contempt to Nona Henry.

  But Nona saw, now, that the bedroom light was up. “Tess?” She went into the bedroom. No one? She came opposite the bathroom and Tess was in there. She was clinging to the washbasin with both hands and she leaned forward, looking ill.

  Nona went to her swiftly. “What is it?”

  “Has she gone?” asked Tess.

  “She’s in a state,” gasped Nona. “What happened?”

  “Listen …” They could hear something, a rustle and a drag. Was it one leg, other leg? “Is she leaving?”

  “No.” Nona caught a glimpse. Ursula Fitzgibbon was in the bedroom, moving mindlessly, as if she would beat and beat again against that which refused to behave as she must have it behave. Nona’s heart leaped. There mustn’t be a battle.…

  Tess reeled, and Nona yanked quickly at the bathroom door. “What shall I do? You don’t want to see her?” Nona was whispering.

  Tess said loudly, “The door! Mind the door!”

  Too late. Nona, with all her strength, had pulled and lifted and succeeded. She had closed the bathroom door.

  “That door sticks,” Tess said. “Better try … ask her …” She bent over the washbasin.

  Nona strained at the doorknob. It was closed, all right. She couldn’t budge it. It had jammed and locked itself somehow. She called out, “Mrs. Fitz? Would you phone down to Mr. Etting, please? This door is stuck.”

  They could hear no sound.

  “Just call the desk?” Nona tried again. “Mrs. Fitzgibbon? Are you there?”

  No sound.

  Out in that bedroom, Ursula Fitzgibbon leaned upon the dresser and saw her own image blurring in the mirror. Her head was swimming.

  “Mrs. Fitz? Please. The door is stuck. Will you call downstairs? Just tell Mr. Etting … Mrs. Fitz?… We are locked in here.”

  Ursula’s ears were blurring sound, too. Oh, she could hear a voice somewhere. She looked about. But where was she? A bedroom. Not her own bedroom. So angry. She had not been so angry in years, if ever. And it was not wise, she thought. No, no, composure.

  She began to walk—one leg, other leg. In four steps she was at the threshold of the foyer. Wait. What must she wait for? What was it she must do? Ursula’s hand fumbled. The bedroom light went off under her fingers. No one in the bedroom, and she was leaving. Turn the light off. Yes, of course. Very proper. Now, then. Foyer, yes. Door to the hall. Open. That way was her way. She must get to her own place.

  Wait … wasn’t there … something? Ursula Fitzgibbon—one leg, other leg—rode on the stalking of her small skeleton toward the one lamp in Tess Rogan’s living room. Her mouth was very tight. Her fingers found the switch and turned the lamp off.

  There.

  She staggered back toward the light coming in from the hall. The public corridor. Exit. Yes, get out. Get out of this place. Get rid of all that was in it. Shut the door. So forget. (None of it was true.)

  So upset. Why, she felt as if she must have fainted, there for a moment. A yellow pill? Yes, she would. She resisted depending on the pills too much but on this occasion … (Bang! She must have slammed a door.) Surely, she deserved a yellow pill.

  Ursula started down the hall. Robert. So attractive. Women, so often drawn … a magnetism … well … But an old woman! That was disgusting! Too disgusting to think about, at all.

  Ursula Fitzgibbon got all the way around the right angle of the building on the energy of the furious jealousy she was not thinking about because she did not admit that it existed.

  “She’s gone, I think,” said Nona expelling breath. “Mr. Etting will do something. Are you all right?”

  Tess stepped backward and sat down upon the one firm seat. The bones of her face seemed very prominent. Her eyes were angry. “You had to defend my reputation,” she said.

  Her anger hit Nona as if with a blow and Nona stiffened her back against that stubborn door. “Well, I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I certainly didn’t mean— But what happened? What did she come for?”

  “She came for the truth,” said Tess bitterly.

  “I hope you gave it to her,” said Nona with asperity.

  Tess closed her eyes. “Oh, yes,” she said sarcastically. “Certainly. I told Ursula Fitzgibbon that her son said in our presence ‘God damn my mother.’ Oh yes, a fine chance I had to tell her that ‘truth.’”

  Nona trembled deeply. “I’m sorry, Tess. I never expected anything like this …” Nona was thinking of the feud, and her own pariahship and Tess’s present distress.

  Tess said with her eyes still closed, “I couldn’t … wasn’t able … and that makes me angry.” She seemed to speak of this without anger.

  In a moment, Nona said, “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.” She squirmed restlessly. “But I thought they had gone to the hospital. Georgia must have gone alone.”

  Tess moved one shoulder. “I should have called Mr. Etting the moment we knew how drunk the man was. As you suggested. ‘Should’ and ‘ought’ …” Her voice fell away drearily.

  Nona swallowed.

  They were silent, in the small space, the bright glare of the white-tiled bathroom, where they waited to be let out.

  In her own bedroom, Ursula Fitzgibbon was able to undress herself with dispatch. What now? Something she ought to do? Oh yes. Yes, that pill. She went into her own bathroom and found the little bottle. She took the yellow pill. She did all else she must do before bed.

  Strange, but against old habit she had not closed her bathroom door.

  Then, her own bed. Ah, clean, comforting. Much, much better. Own bed. Own place. Own universe.

  She must rest. Lies could not hurt, dear Georgia said. So devoted. Dear Robert. Simply think no more about those lies. Abolish them. Quite right. And wise.

  Wasn’t there something more that she had been supposed to do? No, nothing more. Surely, Georgia and Robert and all those, so many, who were devoted to “Mrs. Fitz” … (The nickname pleased her.) All of them would urge her to rest, now, and take care of herself. She must not worry … or think. She was seventy-five years old.

  In fact, it was best not to worry them, either. An ugly scene, best forgotten. She had forgotten it, al
ready.

  She would think of something pleasant—a little trick she knew—and she would doze. The rosy light, so pretty. She spread her hands. Her hands were old. But well-shaped, still. The nails so well-kept.

  Ursula Fitzgibbon suddenly felt well-pleased, as if something had happened that was quite satisfying, quite just.

  More than an hour had gone by. Nona, shifting her weight from one tired foot to the other, said to Tess, “She didn’t call downstairs.”

  “Evidently not.” Tess was matter-of-fact. She sat still.

  “Well,” said Nona quickly, “she was pretty upset. She’ll tell Georgia. Georgia will be back soon, now.” Nona wound her wrist watch.

  When Georgia came back from the hospital, at about a quarter after eight, she found Mrs. Fitz’s door unlocked. She entered, tiptoe. Mrs. Fitz was in her bed, and drowsy but not asleep.

  “Ah, you are back, dear? How is Robert?”

  “Oh, he is fine,” said Georgia. “We had such a nice quiet talk. But how are you?”

  “I’m … just very tired,” said Ursula.

  “Can I fix you anything? Something hot to drink? Would that relax you?”

  “I think not, dear.”

  “Shall I stay?” Georgia touched the white hair fondly.

  “No, no, dear. I shall be quite all right.” Ursula raised herself a little. “There’s no more to be done tonight,” she said, rather vehemently.

  Chapter 28

  “She didn’t tell Georgia, either,” Nona said, in a low voice. “Well, here we are, then.” Tess was herself. Not angry, not sarcastic, any more. In fact, she smiled.

  Nona said furiously, “We are not. We’ll get out!” She pushed her back away from the door and looked around her, filled with energy.

  The bathroom was about 7 by 9. Out from the left wall, directly before her, the washbasin protruded and the medicine cabinet hung above it. Against the end wall there stood a low white wicker hamper with a wooden cover. The bathtub was set into the far right-hand corner and the shower curtain, of a white canvaslike material, billowed around it. Immediately to her right, Tess was sitting upon the hard wooden cover of the W.C.

  There was no window. Above the tub, very high, there was some kind of vent.