The Bird's Nest Part 12

"Indeed it does; Aunt Morgen wants to tell the lawyers that she can't have the money because . . ." Betsy hesitated, with a long, innocent face ". . . because she has been so very nervous since her mother died," said Betsy. Then she asked me bluntly, "Are you going to let her pay you money for telling the lawyers and everyone she's all right?"

"Certainly I am not going to become involved in any such foolishness. I don't want any money, or at least not hers, and I have no intention of discussing her with lawyers or anyone else, and I am furthermore prepared to abandon the subject of this infernal financial lunacy forever; I am neither an accountant nor a bank clerk, and I am heartily tired of dealing with a ledger when I am concerned with a flesh-and-blood-"

"Fiddle-dee-dee," said Betsy, "fiddle-dee-dee. The mouse has married the b.u.mblebee."

"And," I said roundly, "I fully intend to discover what hand you, Miss Betsy, had in all this mischief."

"Me?" said Betsy. "Fiddle-dee-dee."

"Did you, for instance," I wondered aloud, "hint to your aunt of some irrational behavior over expenditures . . . did you, perhaps, demonstrate some such silliness?"

"Fiddle-dee-dee," said Betsy, eyes cast heavenward in innocence.

"I should not be surprised if you had-say-torn up, or burned, some large bill in your aunt's presence-"

"You mean," Betsy asked, "like lighting a cigarette with a ten-dollar bill? Fiddle-dee-dee."

"I see," I said.

"I did," Betsy continued with great candor, "put a little notion into Beth's head about how you were always talking to her these days. I thought maybe when you heard how bad it made Beth feel you'd be a little nicer to us all."

"That was unkind," I said.

"Tell Beth," said Betsy, grinning, and turned to me Beth's tearful face.

"I don't want to talk to you any more," Beth said.

"Beth," I told her with irritation, "I tell you that I have not seen Bess for weeks until this afternoon when she walked into my office. I did not invite her here, and I a.s.sure you that I view her with the most sincere dislike. There is no reason in the world for you or anyone else to be upset; I am a doctor and in order to make any progress upon this case-"

"If you don't like her," said Beth sullenly, "then why do you talk to her all the time instead of me?"

"Oh, Betsy, Betsy," I cried, in despair.

"She's just jealous," Betsy said. "She'll get over it. Fiddle-dee-dee," she added, with a giggle.

"If I could only persuade you to behave," I said wearily.

"Do you know," said Betsy, falling suddenly back into her familiar sullenness, "do you know that if you had left me alone I could be free now? I would be with . . ." She stopped abruptly, and when I looked up questioningly she was turned away.

"Tell me about it, Betsy," I said.

"No. Besides, if I told you about Robin you'd be angry with me and hate me worse than you do now, even, because that was a bad thing. And I wouldn't tell you about the rest of it because then you'd find out about Robin."

"And suppose I promise not to be angry?"

She laughed. "Fiddle-dee-dee," she said. "Said the mouse, 'Dear bee, will you marry me, will you marry me, sweet b.u.mble-bee?' Can you sing, Doctor Wrong?"

"Poorly," I said. "Betsy, I am persuaded that in all of this, even including your nonsense, there is a pattern of sorts to be discovered, and I am determined that it shall not remain hidden. At every crucial point of Miss R.'s life one or another of you steps forward to confuse and bewilder me; you tell me meaningless trifles when I require absolute facts, you babble nonsense at me when I come close to home, you mock me."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. I treat you very nicely, I think."

"And," I continued, "I have observed that whenever I am speaking to you or to Bess, and my searching becomes too sharp for comfort, you withdraw and send Beth with her tenderness and her tears, and evade my questions. I think that you and Bess between you can tell me my story, and I fully intend that you shall. Therefore-"

"Beth won't come, anyway," Betsy interrupted, giggling. "Beth's mad and I'm glad and I know what will please her; a bottle of wine, to make her shine, and Doctor Wrong to-"

"Betsy," I said, "in heaven's name!"

"Now who's blaspheming?" she said pertly.

"I want you to take a note to your aunt," I said in sudden decision. "I'll tell you what I shall write, since I expect you would read it in any case. I shall ask Miss Jones to call here at my office, at any time convenient to her, to discuss the progress of her niece's case."

Although I had serious misgivings about entrusting such an errand to Betsy, I felt that I had no choice; I disliked addressing Miss Jones through the common post, and could not endeavor to communicate through Elizabeth, who would most probably not be allowed to remain conscious long enough to carry a message, or through Beth, who was in the same state of subjection, and angry at me besides, or through Bess, who would surely find the message of ominous import to her security. I might have telephoned Miss Jones, indeed, but, to own it frankly, I was very reluctant to converse with the lady on any grounds but my own, safe in my own office with my own books and my good stout desk before me. I dreaded her mockery, and it was a delicate subject I brought her.

All of these doubts pa.s.sed swiftly through my mind as I wrote a quick note to Miss Jones, asking only that she call on me to discuss the health of her niece, while Betsy sang to herself in her chair; I then thought to fortify the safe delivery of my message by remarking, as I handed the folded note across the desk, "I expect that you will keep this from Bess."

"I will," she said, and added slowly, "if I can." And then, in a rush of words that seemed born of a terror not until now acknowledged, "I think she is getting stronger all the time."

I glanced up at her frightened face, and said easily, "I believe we shall have her down yet. Don't be afraid of her."

"Mother's Betsy mustn't cry," she said, and turned and left me quickly.

Well, then, I sent my note, and had my answer, and my exasperation for my pains; a letter reached me two days later, and a staggering surprise it was-although my reader must do me credit, and suppose that I was not, after the first moment, altogether taken in-to read: "My dear Doctor Wright: I don't think you seriously meant what you said in your letter, and if you did, you should be horsewhipped. I am a poor lone woman but you are a bad old man. Sincerely yours, Morgen Jones." This odd doc.u.ment, laboriously composed, had an air unmistakable, and even though it caused me some honest amus.e.m.e.nt, I was acutely aware of my own folly in supposing that Betsy's seeming friendliness was to be trusted for a moment; I had been taken in by her cheerfulness and seeming cooperative spirit. When I thought, finally, of what nonsense might even now lie in Miss Jones' hands, purporting to be from me, I was inclined to berate myself for a madman. I do believe, however, that this superlative insolence of Betsy's put the final stamp upon my conviction that matters must be brought to a head as soon as possible; I perceived that my present policy of tactful patience had been shortsighted, in allowing Betsy to wander almost freely, and Bess to establish herself almost firmly; knowledge is power, I told myself, and determined to seek my knowledge from Miss Jones, and, armed with my knowledge, lead an unscrupulous flank attack upon her niece.

I was, moreover, deeply concerned at the blatant tricks Betsy seemed willing to employ in order to avoid a meeting between her aunt and myself; I wondered that Betsy so much feared her aunt. That these obstructions came from Betsy I had no reason to doubt, and any question in my mind concerning the author of the letter I received was banished when I discovered, on the afternoon of the same day, that although Elizabeth came in resigned misery to my office, and turned shortly to Beth, from whom I had ten minutes of reproaches and tears, I was not able, that afternoon, to bring Betsy by any ingenuity. I asked her politely to come, I called her, I scolded and entreated, and the best I could do was Bess, who fell immediately to lamenting her aunt's criminal activities with regard to the bank account.

I had never found Bess so trying as on that afternoon; I attempted again and again to drive her away, and she only stayed on like an unwelcome guest, greeting my questions with blank stares or foolish answers, and relating every subject brought forward to her tiresome money. Again and again I tried to bring her to an understanding of the true state of her affairs, again and again I tried to explain to her that she was no more than one-quarter of an individual, that there were three others who shared her life and her person, and must be granted a share in the consciousness of Miss R., but each time I reached a point of final definition, where it seemed that surely this time she must comprehend, she turned aside from me and went back to her unending talk of money; it veritably seemed that she would willingly sacrifice three-quarters of her conscious life, if she might only be allowed to hold onto four-quarters of her money. I had put a pencil close by her hand, but sulky Betsy refused to write, and at last I said in disgust, "Miss R., this cannot continue. I am unable to go on today; we shall take up this conversation at another time, after I have spoken to your aunt."

"What are you going to speak to my aunt about?" Bess demanded with suspicion.

"I must give her a report on your present condition," I said thoughtlessly.

"What will you tell her?" Bess spoke imperatively, and I thought with anxiety; she leaned forward and asked again, "What will you tell her?"

"Merely my own opinions with regard to your mental health," I said; now, indeed, her hand was writing, and I thought more of that than of Bess; this time she caught my glance and looked also down at her hand; "I have done this before," she whispered, gazing in horror at her writing hand, "my hand is moving by itself." She seemed horrified and filled with loathing for her own hand, and yet fascinated, for she made no attempt to lift her hand from the page, but leaned forward to see what was written. A ghostly kind of conversation then commenced, with Bess, speaking in a kind of muted sick voice, communicating with her own right hand. The hand had written: fool fool fool do not let him go he does not love you Bess: (speaking) Who? Who does not love me?

Hand: (it was clearly Betsy, and so I shall call it) robin does not love you or coffee or tea or girls love me Bess: What do you want? Why are you writing? (to me) I can't even feel it; it goes right on moving and I can't make it stop.

Doctor Wright: (to Betsy) Indeed, there has been wickedness done.

Betsy: fiddle-dee-dee.

Bess: This is how my hand cut me with the knife, then.

Betsy: cut your head off next time ha ha dear b.u.mblebess Doctor Wright: Betsy, I think I shall forgive you for your impertinence to me, but will you fare so easily with your aunt?

Betsy: aunties mad and im glad Bess: Her aunt? Does she mean Aunt Morgen?

Betsy: Go marry the mouse you filthy bess Doctor Wright: (at something of a loss) Here is an honor I had not expected. Bess, this is Betsy; I thought you two had already met.

Bess: This is some kind of a joke, I suppose. Or else you are trying to frighten me, Doctor, and I promise you that I am not going to think better of you for these cruel tricks. You seem to think that all you have to do is say "Betsy" and I'll come running to you for help; I wish I could make you understand that this is not at all the way to deal with me. I am willing to be reasonable and helpful, but I won't have you thinking I'm a fool.

Betsy: foul dirty thing Bess: I hope, Doctor, that you won't think I am as vulgar as this writing; I a.s.sure you that- Doctor Wright: I have known Betsy for a long time.

Betsy: old man knows well i am not tame bess will know someday bess darling go away leave go away live somewhere else never come back find someone richer Bess: I thought that sooner or later we would come around to talking of money. Just because I will be very rich, everyone thinks they can play tricks on me to get money.

Betsy: poor bess no more money do not let him go Bess: Who?

Betsy: old doctor money-taker tell aunt m Doctor Wright: Betsy, I will not endure any more mischief from you, remember.

Betsy: better hide nestegg went together to find Bess: (lifting her hand violently from the page, and speaking to me) This is more than I can stand, my own fingers holding a pencil and speaking to me so rudely and then you play tricks and try to take away my money and Aunt Morgen is angry, and all I want is to be left alone and not bothered and I would be so happy!

Doctor Wright: I am not able, seemingly, to persuade you of my good intentions; there is nothing more I can do.

Bess: (writing again) My hand won't stay still-Doctor, can you make it stop?

Betsy: all went together to find a nestegg elizabeth beth betsy and bess Doctor Wright: Betsy, if you will not come yourself, will you send Elizabeth?

Betsy: fiddle-dee-dee "I think I have overstayed my time, Doctor Wright," Elizabeth said, rising and pulling on her glove. "My aunt will wonder why I am late."

"Will she worry?" I asked, rising.

"No, no," said Elizabeth, "she knows where I am, of course. But she doesn't like waiting dinner."

"Goodbye, then, until day after tomorrow," I said.

She stopped in the doorway and looked at me over her shoulder. "Fiddle-dee-dee," she said, and closed the door behind her.

I have in my notes the record of the preceding conversation between Betsy and Bess; I naturally preserved Betsy's scrawl, and noted down Bess' remarks in my book. This odd performance was repeated only once, to my knowledge, and at Bess' insistence, on the occasion of Miss R.'s next visit to my office. Betsy had again refused to put in an appearance, and had showed no sign of her presence; I had spoken briefly to Elizabeth and even more briefly to Beth, who was still downcast, and who had broken off in the middle of a sentence to turn abruptly into Bess, who was seemingly so anxious to talk to me that she could not observe even fundamental good manners, but must interrupt her sister to catch my attention. She had been thinking, she informed me earnestly, and had concluded that it was unjust to suspect me of trickery. (She had been very nervous since her mother died three weeks before.) She had, however, been vastly entertained by my cleverness in causing her hand to write of itself, and hoped that I would show it to her again. Could I, did I think? Would I be so kind?

Betsy's writing seemed to have a kind of horrid fascination for her, the kind of delight so many of us experience when told of our babblings when asleep, or the half-wary excitement of having one's fortune told; I suppose there is a kind of stimulation in a stranger's catching one off guard, as it were; I have felt it myself. At any rate, Miss Bess was charmed with the conversation of her own right hand, and eager to test it again. From the nervousness which possessed her I think that she half-hoped, too, to catch Betsy and Doctor Wright in some kind of a conspiracy against her, so that she might triumphantly reveal a plot against herself and her fortune and emerge victorious from our insidious conniving; in this last, I fear, she was sadly disappointed.

We sat ourselves down, then, Bess with the pencil in her right hand (grasped now, I noted, in the clumsy fashion of one who habitually uses her left, and not at all in the easy manner in which Betsy wrote) and a larger pad of paper provided for the purpose; I with my notebook on the shelf below my desk, quite out of Bess' view, since I did not put it past her to suspect me of a kind of written ventriloquism. Then, after waiting for some few minutes, and Bess watching her hand avidly, and I wondering to myself at her eagerness, and Betsy perhaps off chasing b.u.t.terflies, for all the writing that was being done, finally Bess leaned a little forward and spoke tensely to her hand.

"Now," she said, "you wouldn't do it at home because you were afraid. And I wasn't afraid, so I came here and I'm sitting here waiting, and if you're anything at all, show yourself, or I'll laugh myself sick thinking how silly you are."

It seemed to me that this was no way to summon Betsy, who was not, in my experience, intimidated by strong words, so I said quietly, "Perhaps if you spoke more civilly, and called her by name, she might come."

"She isn't worth it," Bess said with contempt. "All I want is to prove she doesn't exist, and I don't need to worry anymore. It's nothing-" she turned the hand holding the pencil over in a gesture of mockery, "nothing but my imagination. And now are you convinced, Doctor?"

"Betsy," I said, half-humorously, "now you must defend me."

Immediately her hand turned, and wrote on the page, and I felt an unworthy satisfaction in the thought that Betsy had resisted all challenges until I asked her support. All the hand wrote at first, however, was "Doctor, doctor"

Bess: (ironically) She seems to prefer you, Doctor Wright; perhaps you would rather hold the pencil?

Betsy: doctor open my eyes Bess: Betsy darling-if you will not be offended at my speaking familiarly to you?

Betsy: hateful Bess: Now, that is rude, and I am being so polite. I don't even believe that you exist, and yet I am far too polite to say so; I am even calling you Betsy to please you and your dear doctor.

Betsy: b.u.mblebess Bess: I don't think that's very polite, either, and I think you and Doctor Wright should know that it's much better to be polite to me.

Betsy: polite to a pig Bess: That's much better; at least you show that you can understand what I'm saying. Now listen to this: I am so displeased at your manners that I am quite seriously planning to get rid of you for good, You and (to me) your doctor.

Doctor Wright: (without anger) You have tried before, I think.

Bess: But this time little Betsy knows I will manage. Poor Betsy is going to be badly hurt if she troubles me again.

Betsy: cut your head off Bess: But you can't, can you? You tried again with the knife and I was too quick for you, wasn't I? I was watching for you, wasn't I?

Betsy: sleep Bess: No, indeed; you aren't strong enough now. I think you are hardly able to keep writing from weakness.

Betsy: fiddle-dee-dee Bess: I think I hurt you, when I caught you in the hotel, and I think you've been afraid of me ever since because I was stronger and I brought you back from your little escapade; Betsy darling, shall I tell Doctor Wright where you were going and what you were looking for?

Betsy: (suddenly stilled; then) no one knows Bess: I know, darling; you've forgotten that pleasant doctor who treated you to lunch-shall I tell you what he told me?

Betsy: no Bess: (mocking) You must have told him all sorts of things, Betsy darling.

Betsy: if you tell i will tell too Bess: And you know how they are all going to laugh at you, when I tell them, Doctor Wright and Aunt Morgen and that nice doctor in New York, that you went wandering and whining all over the city looking for your- Betsy: now i will tell what you and aunt morgen did and when she came in the door you went to her and said is this true what aunt morgen said and when she looked at you and smiled a little because she was drunk you took your hands- At this point Bess raised her left hand and dashed the pencil from her right hand, in a gesture of such violence that I was shocked, and half-rose to expostulate.

"This is frightful," she said, her voice still shaking with anger. "That I should have to sit here and read the ravings of a maniac . . ."

"Then you concede that it is Betsy?" I asked her dryly.

"Indeed not. It is . . ." She thought deeply. "Hypnotism," she said at last.

"Remarkable," I said. "You make me out an amazing performer."

She reached down slowly and picked up the pencil and put it again into her right hand. Then she said slowly and with venom, "Goodbye, Betsy darling. Say goodbye like a nice girl and I won't hurt you any more."

The pencil wrote, laboriously, "doctor open eyes"

"Betsy," I said sharply, "you may open your eyes."

She took a deep breath and said with relief, "I feel sometimes like I would like to start eating at her from the inside and eat away at her until she was nothing but a sh.e.l.l and then I would crack her in half and throw her away. And then I would take the little pieces and-"

"She is not an attractive girl," I conceded with a sigh. "What were you going to write, when she struck you?"

"Nothing." Betsy spoke more quietly than usual, and when I looked at her I could see that she was suffering from this unending battle; more than either Elizabeth or Beth she was dejected, and weaker. She saw my glance, and perhaps read a kind of sympathy into it, for she said, "It's harder now for me to come out, almost as hard as it was at first with Lizzie."

I wondered if Betsy was not perhaps ready to give up, and I said, "Elizabeth and Beth cannot fight her."

Betsy grinned wanly. "I used to want you on my side," she said. "I always told you she would be worse than I was."

"Actually," I said frankly, "she is infinitely worse."

"I used to know everything," Betsy said wistfully. "All that Lizzie did and thought and said and dreamed and everything. Now I come out sometimes when she lets go for a minute, and it's harder every time, and harder to stay out, with her pushing at me. Funny," she went on, "if I went back under now, after all I've tried."