Postmark Murder (2 page)

Charlie stood beside her, watching the plane, too, as it came in to a landing. His head was bent against the wind; he held on his dignified gray homburg with one neatly gloved hand; the other was at Doris’ elbow. And then the plane moved slowly toward the gate and stopped. At last figures began to descend the gangway, hats and coats and skirts swirled by the wind, and Matt’s tall figure was among them. He saw them and waved and pointed them out to Jonny, who gave them a grave look and clung to Matt’s hand.

Doris flashed into vivacity when she saw Matt; her pansy-brown eyes and her pink lips smiled. She ran to meet the two figures; she kissed Matt; she greeted the lonely little figure beside Matt, briefly and it seemed to Laura perfunctorily. Jonny eyed Doris soberly and clung to Matt’s hand.

Doris was not at all pleased with the fact that there was a Jonny Stanislowski. And she liked a child to be attractive, well mannered and well dressed; Jonny was neither. Her little face was set, almost stolid in its immobility. She wore a faded, purplish coat which was too small for her, a round sailor hat which was too old for her, long black stockings and awkward, ugly shoes. Only her blue eyes, meeting Laura’s, betrayed the fact that she was frightened. Laura, unexpectedly, had bent and kissed Jonny. Matt then had kissed Laura, too, lightly, on the cheek, before he spoke to Charlie.

Afterwards in the car they talked of Jonny while the child sat, still and rather frightened, yet trying not to show it, close beside Matt. “I’ll take her to my apartment tonight,” Doris said. “But the place for her is Harthing. You know, the Harthing School for girls. I’ve already talked to Miss Harthing on the telephone. I am sure she will take Jonny.”

Charlie agreed. “It seems a good plan, at least until the estate is settled. Then we’ll have to make some permanent arrangement for her.”

But Laura looked at Matt and he was looking at her; then she said quite suddenly, “No, I’ll take her—I’ll give up my job. I can get another one later, when we decide what to do about her. I’d like to take her now.”

Doris bit her lip, but looked relieved. Charlie said after a moment, thoughtfully, that was very kind of Laura. Matt said, his eyes flashing blue, that it was splendid. “—It’s the perfect solution. I don’t want her to be put in school among strangers.”

“Laura is a stranger,” Doris said quickly. “We are all strangers, even you, Matt.”

He had Jonny’s hand close in his own big one. “Not I. We got acquainted. She’s a good little traveler.”

Charlie said sensibly that there was a matter of expense to consider; if Laura were serious in her offer to give up her job to look after Jonny, she must be reimbursed from the estate. “Don’t you agree, Matt? Doris?”

In the end it was settled without much discussion. Doris’ big car deposited Laura and Jonny and one of Matt’s big leather suitcases at the apartment house. The suitcase held an odd assortment of clothing—two dark woolen dresses which had obviously been passed on to Jonny as they were outgrown by other children, a woman’s sweater, darned, a heavy flannel petticoat, more long black stockings neatly rolled together, and a Paris doll, which Matt had given Jonny, wrapped tenderly in paper. The next day Laura and Jonny had gone shopping. That night Matt came to tell Laura the whole amazing story of finding her, of cutting through red tape, and of bringing her home. He had come nearly every day since then—to see Jonny of course, but Laura had seen him, too. But the daily visits would end in January; by then, three years after Conrad Stanley’s death, the estate would be settled. The permanent arrangement for Jonny would be made. And Matt’s daily visits would end, for almost certainly he and Doris Stanley would then be married.

So then, too, this curiously happy interlude for Laura would come to an end. Jonny would no longer provide a gay and warm focus; Laura would go back to work; the routine of her life would reestablish itself. It had been a pleasant routine, well flavored by her sense of independence. But it wouldn’t be so pleasant now and Laura knew why. She would miss Jonny—but she would also, too much, too constantly, too deeply and too hopelessly, miss Matt.

Jonny drew the red ribbon teasingly across the rug and the kitten sprang upon it furiously, its little black tail lashing in pretended anger. Just then someone knocked softly on the door. It was so unexpected that it startled her. It wasn’t Matt returning; he wouldn’t knock like that. The soft, almost furtive knock came again. She opened the door.

A man stood outside. He was rather small and thin, too small somehow for his clothes, which looked bulky and clumsy—foreign, Laura thought. He had a slender, pale face, a high, narrow forehead and sharp features, an intellectual face but a rather weak one. His eyes were pale blue, and looked washed out yet very intent. He said, “I am Conrad Stanislowski.”

“C
ONRAD—
”
LAURA STARED AT
him incredulously. “But we tried to find you! For nearly three years we’ve tried to find you!”

“I was in Poland. May I come in?”

“Oh—oh, yes! Please come in.”

He slid instantly into the hall and closed the door behind him. There was something furtive, too, in his quick movements and in the way he closed the door. Suddenly Laura thought, he’s frightened. He said, however, quickly, “I’ve come to see my child. She’s here, isn’t she?”

Laura’s impulse was to say, certainly; she is in the next room. But in the very instant of speaking she remembered her responsibility as trustee. From his position directly before the door he could not see the living room, but she moved a few steps down the hall and closed the door into the living room. His eyes flickered; she was sure that he knew why she closed the door but he did not move. She said, “We didn’t expect you. We had given up trying to find you. We wrote you—so many times, but we didn’t hear from you. Two of our letters came back. They had been opened. They were marked ‘address unknown.’ ”

“Naturally. Probably your letters only made it harder for me to escape.”

“You speak English very well,” she said unexpectedly.

He shrugged. “Of course. That’s my job. Languages. Didn’t you know that?”

“As a matter of fact we could discover very little about you, only that you were born in Poland and were living there for a time after the war. Conrad—your uncle, Conrad Stanley, knew that although he did not know exactly where you were. We assumed that you were still in Poland up to the time when Jonny arrived at the orphanage two years ago.”

“And I suppose you also assumed that I was dead. Well, I’m not. Now may I see my child?”

Again Laura’s impulse was to let him see Jonny at once. Instead she put her hand apologetically but firmly on Conrad Stanislowski’s bony wrist. “I’m sorry. But as you know I am one of the trustees for the Stanley will. I must tell the others that you are here.”

“Before you let me see my child?”

“You must understand. It’s only a matter of identification. Formalities. Routine. I believe you but—”

“But there’s all that money,” he said, with a tinge of bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “But Jonny is in my care. The others gave me that responsibility and I—”

He interrupted. “The others?”

“Yes—you must know. It was all in the letter which was left at the orphanage in Vienna?”

“Oh, the letter. Yes. Yes, I have it.”

“Then you know all about Conrad Stanley’s will.”

“Oh, yes. My uncle.”

“Matt told you about it in the letter. That’s Matt Cosden. He brought Jonny here. He is—he explained it all in the letter. He is Mrs. Stanley’s lawyer. And then, of course, there is another trustee, Charlie Stedman. All of them will be very interested to know that you have arrived. I will telephone to Matt and—”

“Wait, please!” he said, suddenly and peremptorily. “I would like to see my child first. Can’t all this—this formality wait?”

Laura hesitated. “I think I should let them know that you are here as soon as possible. And then, you see—well, they will expect you to give some proof of your identity.”

“I understand. There’s all that money!”

“Well, yes. They told me, Matt and Charlie Stedman, that when you came,
if
you came, we would have to be sure—”

“You want my dossier. Very well. I was born in Cracow.”

“Yes, we knew that.” Cracow: the cradle of culture, the begetter of scholars for one-time sturdy and self-reliant Poland. A Poland which for much of its life had suffered invasion, division and redivision, but somehow always had retained a stubborn flame of life, so it gathered itself together again, piece by piece, and limb by limb. Who can say, Laura thought, that this country is now dead, lost, forever surrendered? Poland had always somehow, sometime, asserted its own stubborn independence. Battered and bleeding after the German invasion in World War II, and then again made captive, still, somewhere, a secret flame of liberty might smolder. The man standing before her was a symbol of that.

He had not followed the swift course of her thoughts. He said slowly, as if merely reciting facts that were completely objective and impersonal, “I studied languages. I was going to teach. I went to England to study, and just before the war, when I knew the war was inevitable, I came to Poland again. I was there that September.”

His voice took on an even more impersonal and chilly quality, as if those terrible September days had killed feelings as they had destroyed cities and people. “Eventually I joined a Polish brigade. We were sent to Russia and then to Africa. After the war was over I returned. There were some difficult times; I need not go into that. However, I managed to live. I was married. Jonny was born. My wife—”  He checked himself almost imperceptibly; his eyes seemed suddenly very bleak and guarded, his face more closed in on itself. He went on rather quickly. “I was left to see to Jonny who was then two years old. I did my best but—that was not good enough. I wished to leave Poland, escape, but meantime I had to live and support Jonny. I became—that is, I joined the government party. I was a language expert.” He shrugged. “I was useful. Eventually I became a member of a minor commission. Two years ago I had a chance to send Jonny to Vienna. I intended to follow her as soon as possible and escape to England or America. However, it took a long time, two years in fact, before I contrived an errand to Vienna and had an opportunity to do so. When I went to the home where I expected to find Jonny, I found instead your letter.” He paused and looked at her steadily. “Now may I see my child?”

It was a reasonable and a factual account of himself. Laura forced herself to question it. She said, “You will have your passport, of course. Or the letter from Matt. Perhaps some means of identification.”

Again his face seemed to withdraw warily into itself. “I do have these things,” he said. His thin shoulders seemed to brace themselves under the awkwardly tailored coat. His rather weak chin lifted. There was a thin edge of defiance in his voice. “I have everything which you will need or any of the others will need to convince you that I am really the man I say I am. I do not have them with me. I do not intend to show them to you at this time.”

The defiance was as surprising as his flat statement. Laura said, “But—but I don’t understand. You must see that—”

He interrupted, “I only know that I want to see my child now. Only let me look at her, Miss March. I will not talk to her. I will not touch her. I will not speak to her. But I must see her—only for a moment.” He put a thin and shaking hand on the door.

And Laura thought, but Jonny will recognize him! That will be proof of his identity. She opened the door to the living room.

He took a quick step or two inside. Laura began “Jonny—” and stopped, for then she saw that Jonny had retreated swiftly as a bird into a thicket, to the cautious stillness and silence which had characterized her first few days with Laura, in a strange home, in a strange country.

She must have heard their voices in the hall, for she was standing now behind an armchair as if it were a bulwark. The kitten stood on the arm of the chair, humped up and gazing with serious blue eyes at this intruder. But Jonny’s face was completely still. She made no movement, she made no cry of recognition, she simply stood there, her eyes blue and fixed and perfectly blank.

The stillness and silence lasted for perhaps a few seconds. Then Conrad Stanislowski said to Laura, “Thank you,” and turned abruptly back into the hall.

“But you—please wait—where are you going?”

“I told you I would only look at her and be sure she was here.” He was already at the door to the corridor.

She cried, “But you can’t leave now. Let me phone the others—”

“No” he said sharply. “Don’t do that.” He took a long breath and said, “Miss March, I must ask you to do something—it is extremely important, otherwise I would not ask you to do it. You won’t understand—only believe me. I must ask you not to tell the others of my arrival. Not yet.”

“But I must tell them!” she cried. “I have to tell them. They will want to see you. Besides, Jonny—”

“That will wait,” he said. “Please promise me now, to keep my arrival a secret? I realize this is an extraordinary request. I must make it.”

Suddenly there was something desperate and beseeching in his face and his thin body. He opened the door.

“But—but I can’t let you go like this! Where are you going?”

He turned back. “I’ll tell you that. I got to a rooming house— 3936 Koska Street. I trust you, Miss March. I believe you will keep a promise. In a few days—only a few days, I’ll come back. I’ll do everything that’s required of me. I’ll show you all my credentials, all my cards of identification, everything. But until—”  He stopped, gave her one long intent look and unexpectedly, as if she had yielded to his appeal, said, “Thank you.” His thin figure with its bulky overcoat turned into the corridor and disappeared.

For a moment Laura did not move. Then she went to the door; he had already reached the bank of elevators. He did not look back; the door closed after him. Somehow she knew that it would have been useless to pursue him, useless to question him. But she stood for a moment staring at the blank, closed doors of the elevators, halfway down the corridor. They were as blank and in a way as baffling as that unexpected and extraordinary encounter.