The Doctor Makes a Dollhouse Call (9 page)

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Authors: Robin Hathaway

BOOK: The Doctor Makes a Dollhouse Call
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E
very year, on the Saturday before Christmas, it was the custom for the Pancoast sisters to have an open house and display the dollhouse. It was always beautifully decorated, inside and out, just like their real house. It had a wreath on the door, a tree in the parlor with tiny colored lights (that actually blinked), and a stocking for each member of the family hanging from the mantelpiece. Of course, in the dining room, the table was set with a traditional roast of beef and plum pudding (sculpted from polymer and exquisitely painted by Marie).
The inhabitants of Seacrest, adults as well as children, looked forward eagerly to this party every year. Next to Christmas itself, it was the most important event of the season. But this year, for obvious reasons, the aunts were in no mood for a party. They had definitely agreed not to have it.
One afternoon the doorbell rang. It was Carrie. She was just passing by and thought she'd stop in to ask when they expected
her to come serve the refreshments at the open house.
Emily and Judith were silent as Carrie looked from one to the other. Finally, Judith said, “Well, dear, we thought we wouldn't have an open house this year.”
“Not have it? Oh, Miss Judith, what will I do? The children look forward to it so. It's the only Christmas celebration they have, except for the few little presents I can dig up for them at the thrift shop. And they love the dollhouse. It won't be Christmas if they don't see the dollhouse all lighted up. What on earth will I tell them?”
Emily coughed and shifted in her wheelchair. Judith played with her rings and looked out the window.
“And what about all the others?” Carrie went on. “The whole town comes to your open house. They'll be so disappointed. It will ruin everybody's Christmas.” She stopped suddenly, afraid she had gone too far.
Emily looked over at Judith. “I suppose it is selfish to let our unhappiness spoil everyone else's happiness.”
Slowly Judith nodded. “It does seem mean to deny them a party—especially the children.”
“Oh, Miss Judith! Miss Emily! Thank you! Don't worry about a thing. I'll do everything. Just give me the list. I'll buy the groceries. I'll set the table. I'll even trim the tree, if you'd like … .”
The aunts thanked her and told her they'd call her as soon as their plans were firm. As they watched her from the window—she was almost skipping down the path—they agreed they had done the right thing.
 
 
When Dr. Fenimore received his annual Christmas greeting card from the Pancoasts, he was surprised to see that it included an invitation to their traditional open house. Last year he had attended with Jennifer and it had been a happy occasion. But this year was quite a different matter. Of course, he would go. It would be a perfect opportunity to observe the Pancoast family members closely. Since Jennifer was still in France, he decided to take Mrs. Doyle.
 
When they arrived at the Pancoast house, the long driveway was already filled with cars and they had to park in the street. Mrs. Doyle was thrilled by the decorations. In each window burned a single white candle in a nest of holly with white berries. Fixed to the door was an arrangement of pine boughs gathered together with a white satin bow and hung with cones. White had been substituted for the usual red, Fenimore surmised, in deference to the recently departed family members.
The door opened to his touch revealing a long line of people facing toward the foot of the central staircase where the dollhouse stood in all its splendor. The young woman in front of them turned. It was Carrie.
“Oh, hello, Doctor.” She smiled. “I'm taking the kids through now because I have to serve the refreshments later.”
Her brothers and sisters had all been scrubbed and brushed and dressed in their Sunday best for the occasion. They were also on their best behavior. They stood patiently in line in front of Carrie, their excitement only evident in their faces as they turned occasionally to make sure their sister was still there.
The line progressed slowly. While they waited, Fenimore introduced Carrie to Mrs. Doyle and they chatted. When Carrie found out that Mrs. Doyle was a nurse, her face lit up. “Oh, that's what I wanted to be,” she said.
“Why the past tense?” asked Fenimore.
Her smile faded. “Oh well, it's impossible now—since mother's … uh … illness.”
“But there are things you can do at home,” Mrs. Doyle said. “Correspondence courses, for instance. That's how I got my start.”
Fenimore looked at his nurse. He had not known that.
“My father was a chronic invalid and I was needed at home too. I'll send you some information about those courses.”
“Oh, would you, Mrs. Doyle? I'd be so grateful.” Then she turned to Fenimore with an anxious expression. “The police have been to see me three times, Doctor. They keep harping on the fact that I was in the kitchen on Thanksgiving … .”
“Jackasses!” Fenimore barked so loudly that several people turned to look at him. “Don't worry about it. I'll have a word with them before I go back.”
They were approaching the dollhouse at last and Carrie's attention was distracted by her brothers and sisters as they begged her to look at “the tiny tree!” and “the little stockings!” and “the plum pudding!”
The next time they saw Carrie, she was wearing a white frilly apron and offering them an assortment of Christmas cookies on a tray. “Aren't they pretty?” she said.
They each took one and she moved on.
“Nice child,” Mrs. Doyle said.
Fenimore told her the nature of Carrie's mother's illness.
The nurse shook her head. “I'll send her that information right away. She can begin to learn the fundamentals at home and get her hands-on experience later. She'd make a fine nurse. I can tell. She has all the right instincts.”
“Doctor, may I have a word with you?” It was Adam Turner, the school teacher.
“Certainly. What's up?”
“The police,” Adam said. “They've been pestering us day and night. It's interfering with my work. And Susanne's at her wit's end.”
“They've even been badgering the children.” Susanne joined them and nodded at Amanda and Tad, who were stuffing themselves with petit fours nearby.
At least Carrie wasn't their only suspect. Fenimore was relieved. And secretly, he was pleased the police were doing their job. “I plan to talk to them this afternoon,” he said. Which was true, but for other reasons.
“We'd appreciate that,” Adam said.
During the course of the party, Fenimore was accosted by each member of the Pancoast family, except Marie, who had declined to come. Edgar, Mildred, Judith, and Emily all complained bitterly about being visited and questioned frequently by the local police, and usually at the most inopportune times—while at dinner, asleep, or in the bath. Mildred was the most indignant. She had been soaking in a bubble bath studying her horoscope, trying to soothe her jagged nerves, when who should ring the bell but some cop and his smart aleck sidekick who took notes on every word she said. She had barely had
time to put on a dressing gown before they barged in. And would you believe, they even questioned the children. There ought to be a law.
Exasperated, Fenimore said, “You should be glad they're trying to enforce the law.” With a dark look, Mildred stalked off. A very becoming pink shawl lightened her widow's weeds today, Fenimore noticed.
“What was her problem?” asked Mrs. Doyle.
He told her. “Would you mind if I deserted you to pay a call on the Seacrest Police? I want to see how they're getting on. I won't be long.”
“Go ahead. I'm enjoying myself.”
Mrs. Doyle was an easy mixer. It wasn't long before she had engaged all the Pancoasts in conversation and formed her own opinion of each of them. None of them had impressed her as a murderer. But then, she was the first to acknowledge that the most unlikely people fall into that category. Reserving judgment, she decided it was time for another cup of punch. The punch bowl was located down the hall from the dollhouse. For the second time that day, she regretted its blandness. A splash of vodka or rum would have improved it immensely. (Actually, what she really craved was a cold beer.)
The line to the dollhouse had long since dispersed and some children were examining it. They had been sternly admonished to
look, not touch
. Suddenly one child let out a sharp cry and pointed to the attic. Mrs. Doyle came to see.
The attic was outfitted like a sculptor's studio down to the smallest detail. Under a tiny skylight there were pieces of miniature sculpture in various stages of development—finished,
half finished, and just begun. Tiny sculptor's tools—a hammer, chisels, and a blowtorch—were neatly spread out on a wooden bench. On the floor, beside the bench, lay what appeared to be a wooden figure wearing a long white apron—the kind a sculptor might wear to protect her clothes while working. Upon closer examination, Mrs. Doyle saw that the figure had been fashioned from a clothespin. Next to the clothespin lay a plaster cast—the bust of some personage. She couldn't identify it because it was split in half. She turned to the little boy who had cried out. “Did you do that?”
His lower lip trembled. “No. Honest. It was that way when I came.” The other children nodded emphatically, assuring her that what he said was true.
“Sorry, dear.” Mrs. Doyle remembered the doctor telling her that Marie Pancoast was a sculptor and she now realized that Marie was the only member of the family she had not seen that day. She darted up the stairs. If she met anyone she could always say she was looking for the bathroom. Finding no one on the second floor, she made her way to the third. At the top of the stairs she stopped before a closed door. Hanging from the knob dangled a small sign: DO NOT DISTURB. Not easily intimidated, Mrs. Doyle knocked loudly. No answer. She knocked again and called, “Mrs. Pancoast? Are you all right?”
The door flew open. “Can't you read?” Marie glared.
“Oh, please forgive me … .”
“What do you want?”
“I didn't see you downstairs and I just wondered …”
“I told the aunts I'd only make a brief appearance. I think it was very thoughtless of them to have the party at all—under
the circumstances. Now, if you don't mind, I'll get back to my work.” She didn't exactly slam the door, but she closed it very firmly.
Mrs. Doyle retraced her steps, face flaming.
W
hen Mrs. Doyle reached the first floor she went to look for Dr. Fenimore. He hadn't returned from town. Most of the guests had left and it was growing dark. Through the window she glimpsed an orange moon the size of a beach ball rising over the sea. No one else took any notice of it. When you live in such a setting all the time, she supposed, you take the beauty for granted. Judith interrupted her musings to ask if she would like a cup of tea.
“That would be nice.”
The two sisters had known Mrs. Doyle for years as a result of their office visits to Dr. Fenimore and they were fond of her. Soon she and Emily and Judith were comfortably settled in a corner of the parlor, chatting. Carrie, finished with her cleaning up, stopped by on her way out to give Mrs. Doyle her address. She begged her not to forget to send the information about the correspondence course.
“What are you going to send her?” Because of her poor hearing,
Emily had missed some of the conversation.
Mrs. Doyle told her about Carrie's ambition to become a nurse.
“Well, good luck to her,” Emily said. “I wanted to be a doctor, but my father wouldn't hear of it.”
“Times are different now, Emily,” Judith observed. “Women do what they want.” Mrs. Doyle detected a wistful note in her voice.
When her sister left the room to refill the teapot, Emily spoke in a low tone to Mrs. Doyle. “Judith was once engaged to a seaman. Our father forbade her to marry him. It nearly broke her heart.”
When Judith reappeared with the pot, Emily said, “Shouldn't we ask Marie to join us?”
“I don't think she wants to be disturbed.” Mrs. Doyle was emphatic.
“Oh, of course. I forgot she was working.”
“Not all women were stay-at-homes in the old days.” Judith returned to their former topic. “We had one ancestor who went to sea with her husband, remember, Emily?”
“Oh yes. Rebecca. She kept a journal. We have it in the attic somewhere. She tells tales of pirates and mutiny. She's the one who brought back the ruby—”
But Judith's tale of the ruby was interrupted by the return of Dr. Fenimore. He apologized for his long absence. As soon as Mrs. Doyle could get his attention, she drew him aside and told him about the scene in the dollhouse.
“Where is Marie now?” He scanned the room.
“In her studio.”
He gave her a sharp look.
“No, it's all right. I checked. She's very much alive.” Mrs. Doyle reddened at the memory of her reception.
“Nevertheless, I think I'll have a look,” Fenimore hurried out.
“Good luck,” Mrs. Doyle called after him.
Fenimore paused in the hall to examine the carefully contrived scene in the dollhouse studio. Then he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
On the third floor, he went through the same routine as Mrs. Doyle had done. But unlike his nurse, his knocks went unanswered. He tried the knob. The door opened. The room was brilliant. Not with electric light, but with moonlight—pouring through the skylight. It turned everything black and white, like an old film.
“Mrs. Pancoast?” His eyes slid nervously around the room. Perhaps she had gone home. He stepped inside and spotted her—spread—eagled beside her workbench. Near her head lay a white bust. The bust was split in half and spattered with a black substance. He fumbled for the light switch. When he found it, the black substance became red.
… and hit it with the tongs and with the shovel—bang, bang, smash, smash!
—
The Tale of Two Bad Mice
by Beatrix Potter

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