Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel) Page 9

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Allison said fretfully. “It’s the way it’s cut. It won’t fit!”

  “It will if you lose a bit of weight.”

  “Lose weight?” Allison said, startled.

  Adelaide pursed her lips, drawing the wrinkles deeper into her cheeks. “For heaven’s sake, Allison! Look at yourself!”

  Allison gazed at her reflection. Her hair was still long enough then to be caught back and pinned with a silver clasp. Her cheeks were faintly pink, her lips full, if a bit pale, and her eyes were wide and clear. She had always thought it was too bad her lashes were so light, and her chin perhaps a bit too pointed, but she had never been unhappy about the way she looked. She hadn’t, in fact, thought about it all that much. She had thought much more about her tennis serve than about the size of her hips.

  But at that moment, under her mother’s critical eye, the awful truth struck her. She experienced a sinking sensation that made her legs feel weak and her stomach collapse in on itself. She saw for the first time, as if her eyes had only just opened, how she truly looked. Her breasts were too big and too pointed, bending the pattern of the plaid wool crepe. Reluctantly, she turned sideways, and realized that her hips had swelled to humiliating proportions. There was also a hideous bulge around her stomach. She pressed her hand there, fingers splayed. She felt no more than a modest curve, but she knew it was there, right where the lines of the plaid refused to hang straight. She ran both hands down her sides, over the bunched fabric, feeling the lumpiness of her thighs. Even her legs had distorted as if overnight.

  What, she wondered in desperation, had happened to her body?

  “You’d better try on the blue gown,” Adelaide said with a warning tone. “The one for the Pettersons’. It’s Blue and Silver Night, remember? You have to be able to wear it!” She hurried across the bedroom to the wardrobe, pulled open the heavy doors, and rummaged through the clothes until she found the dress. Allison struggled to pull the plaid frock over her head, her throat closing with panic.

  Her mother slid the white cotton cover off the gown and held it out. It was a pretty blue silk, shot through with silver thread. There were pumps to match, and an embroidered headband. Adelaide shook the dress, and the silver thread shimmered with light. “I hope to God this still fits, Allison. What have you been thinking? You know how important this party is! All the college men have been invited!”

  With difficulty, Allison extricated herself from the plaid frock, and she stood with it draped over her hands, staring at her mother. Adelaide Benedict seemed a stranger at that moment, a sort of angry monster, eyes snapping, sunken cheeks coloring beneath their layer of rouge. The hand holding the blue gown trembled, and Allison noticed for the first time how prominent the bones of her mother’s hand were, how fleshless her arms, how fragile her figure. She spoke without thinking. “Mother. You’re so thin.”

  It had not been intended as a compliment. Compliments were few enough in their family, hard to win, nearly impossible to recognize on the rare occasions they were uttered. What Allison meant was that her mother looked like an assortment of bones held together only by her expensive day frock. That she looked dried up, shrunken somehow, like an apple left too long in the pantry.

  Her mother misunderstood. “Of course I’m thin, Allison,” she said. Her voice was dry, too, and edgy, as if it had been sharpened. “It’s hardly an accident, you know. It’s a question of discipline.” She thrust the blue gown forward. “Put it on.”

  Allison laid the plaid frock across the back of the white-painted chair beside her bed. She took the blue one from her mother, but stood with it trailing from her hands in sparkling folds. “What do you mean, it’s not an accident?”

  Adelaide fixed her daughter with a faded blue stare. “I mean that I take control of my own life. My own mother gained ten pounds with every one of her six children, and I decided early on I wasn’t going to do that. Put the dress on, Allison.”

  “I don’t understand. You only had me.”

  Allison didn’t know why she had never noticed how sharp her mother’s chin was. Her thinness made her teeth too prominent, her lipsticked smile grotesque. Allison shivered with a feeling that was both shock and revulsion.

  Adelaide didn’t notice. She said, “I never wanted children, you know. Your father insisted, and so we had you, but that was all. What I wanted was to keep my figure, and I have. I weigh less now than the day I was married. If I wanted to wear my wedding dress again, I’d have to have it taken in.” This last pronouncement was issued with fierce pride, much the way Allison thought a general would announce that he had won an important battle. That he had defeated his enemy and decided the war.

  Perhaps it was a war, Allison thought helplessly. She turned back to the mirror, holding the blue gown before her. Adelaide stepped forward to undo the hooks and eyes in the bodice, to help her drape it over her head, slide it down over her chemise. Allison couldn’t bear to watch as her mother fastened the hooks into the eyes, starting at the top, working her way down. There were twenty of them, tiny silvery fastenings, and as each one slipped into place, the gown grew tighter and tighter. Allison held her breath. She pulled her stomach in until it began to hurt. She felt the tug of the fabric, the pinch of her mother’s fingers, and then the last fastening was done. Cautiously, Allison lifted her gaze to the mirror.

  “Well, I guess you’re in luck this time,” her mother said. “You can still squeeze into it.”

  Allison looked from her reflection to Adelaide’s, and her heart constricted. She could have sworn that what she read in her mother’s face was not relief but disappointment.

  Allison took her seat next to Aunt Edith. Cousin Margot was off already, as she knew, but Uncle Dickson, Cousin Dick, and Ramona were all there. All Allison could see of her uncle and cousin was the back page of a newspaper section. Ramona smiled as she sat down and said, “Good morning, Cousin Allison. I hope you slept well.”

  “Yes, thank you.” One of the twin maids came in with the coffeepot and filled the small bone-china cup in front of Allison. Allison glanced up at her. “Thanks, Leona.” The maid murmured something and dipped a small curtsy before she made her way around the table to refill the other cups.

  Ramona said, “You’re so good at telling them apart, Allison. I still have trouble, and I’ve known them for three years.”

  “That’s what Ruby says. I can just see that one is a little thinner than the other, and Leona has a freckle Loena doesn’t.”

  Ramona held her coffee cup in her two slender hands. Allison liked looking at her, with her neat finger-waved bob and pretty wool frock. Her wedding ring, a fat ruby circled in pavé diamonds, glittered under the light from the chandelier. “You have an eye for detail,” she said to Allison. “Why not come shopping with us this afternoon? You can help me choose a pair of shoes to go with my new evening dress.”

  “I would love that,” Allison said. She felt a little rush of good cheer at the idea of an outing. She had no money for shopping, of course, because Papa had seen to that. It was part of her punishment. Allison didn’t know if Ramona and the others knew, but still, it would be good just to be out. Benedict Hall, despite its elegance, was beginning to feel like a jail. A cold, damp jail.

  The maids came in with platters of griddle cakes and rashers of bacon, just as Ramona leaned forward to look down the table at her mother-in-law, who hadn’t spoken yet this morning. In fact, she had barely spoken since Allison had arrived. “Mother Benedict,” Ramona said, in the tone one might use to speak to a child. “Won’t you come, too? We could have tea at Frederick’s. You always enjoy that.”

  Aunt Edith turned her face to Ramona, but the gesture was slightly off, sluggish, as if the thought trailed behind the action. “How kind,” she said vaguely. “Thank you, Ramona. I don’t think I feel up to it today.”

  “You might feel better for a little air,” Ramona said. “Why don’t we talk about it after you’ve eaten something?”

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nbsp; Loena was at Allison’s elbow, offering her the tray of griddle cakes. They were the loveliest golden brown, crisp around the edges, and smelling of butter and eggs. Allison’s stomach cramped with a sudden hunger that made her mouth water. She looked down at the plaid dress, at its snug fit around her hips, and then back at the platter. She took one griddle cake, the smallest one on the tray, and set it in the center of her plate. Loena waited for her to take more, but she gave a small shake of her head.

  Uncle Dickson and Cousin Dick took several each, with slices of fragrant bacon. Even Ramona took three griddle cakes, and when she glanced across the table at Allison’s plate, she raised her delicately painted eyebrows. “This is one of Hattie’s specialties,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll like them.”

  Leona came around with a small carafe of warm maple syrup, and everyone took some. Allison poured a few careful drops on the griddle cake. She had refused the bacon. She was relieved when everyone began to eat, the men laying their newspapers aside, Ramona using her knife and fork to cut her bacon into bite-sized pieces.

  While everyone was occupied, Allison picked up her own flatware. She cut the griddle cake in half, and then in quarters. She cut each quarter in half, and swirled the tiny pieces in the little bit of glowing maple syrup. She spread the pieces out, then mounded them to one side of the plate, so it looked as if she had eaten most of the griddle cake. She put just one morsel in her mouth, biting back a groan at the rich taste of good eggs and flour and butter, with the tinge of maple sweetness. She chewed it, swallowed it, then laid down her fork. She picked up her coffee cup and looked across its rim at the others.

  Ramona and Dick were talking about a piece of furniture they were thinking of buying. Uncle Dickson was chewing huge mouthfuls of griddle cake and bacon, and looking down at the newspaper beside his plate. Allison let her glance slide to her right, to Aunt Edith.

  Aunt Edith was perfectly groomed, her hair brushed, her face clean, her shirtwaist ironed and tidy. She managed, just the same, to give the faint impression of disorder. There was something about the cloisonné clip that held her graying hair back from her face, about the odd match of her shirtwaist and skirt, the slightly over-powdered surface of her face, that made her look as if she didn’t quite remember how to put everything together. As if it were Aunt Edith who needed a lady’s maid, far more than Allison did.

  Aunt Edith looked up, as if she felt Allison’s gaze. Her eyes drifted to Allison’s plate, then to her own. She showed no reaction, but Allison felt a slight shock, the way you do when you catch sight of yourself in a mirror and realize your buttons are undone or your hair is standing up in the back.

  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.”