Bedelia by Vera Caspary Page B

minutes later Doctor Meyers rang the doorbell. Ben hurried to open the door.
    â€œWell, how’s the patient?” the doctor asked as he pulled off his rubbers. Then he noticed Ben and said, “My wife tells me you called this morning, want to see me about something?”
    â€œAfter you’ve seen Charlie.”
    Bedelia went upstairs with the doctor. Ben picked up the National Geographic and looked at maps of the Caucasus. Mary came into the room with a dustcloth and asked if her work would disturb him. He did not answer, and Mary scurried away to dust the living-room gently as if the furniture were ill, too. After a while Bedelia came downstairs. Her eyes were moist and bright. She sniffed at her handkerchief, which was scented with a flowery perfume.
    â€œThe doctor’s a long time,” Ben said.
    â€œYes. He wanted to know everything Charlie’s eaten for a month. And you know Charlie. He never remembers from one day to the next what he’s had for dinner.”
    She had changed into a house gown of maroon wool banded in black velvet and bound her hair with a maroon ribbon. The doll’s mouth was as red as a cherry.
    â€œYou’ll be ill yourself if you worry,” Ben said. “If it’s food poisoning, as the doctor suggests, Charlie’ll be all right in a few days.”
    She retreated again to the leather armchair. Apparently the flames could not warm her, for she rubbed her hands and shivered. “I’ve been unlucky all my life.”
    The wind echoed her sigh.
    When the doctor came downstairs, she fairly leaped from her chair. “How is he?”
    â€œMuch better. His pulse is slow but not dangerously so. You’ll have to keep him in bed a few days and feed him carefully. It’s been a shock to his system.”
    Bedelia nodded.
    â€œCharlie tells me you gave him a powder last night. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œIt was only a bromide,” she said. “It couldn’t possibly have hurt him.”
    Ben was frozen. Nothing seemed alive in him except hiseyes. They searched the doctor’s face and then fastened on Bedelia’s and remained there, steadily.
    â€œWhat kind of bromide?” Doctor Meyers asked.
    â€œIt was a prescription a famous specialist in San Francisco gave an old lady I used to work for.”
    â€œAnd you gave it to Charlie?”
    She nodded.
    â€œDon’t you know it’s dangerous to give people medicine that’s been prescribed for others?”
    â€œThere was nothing dangerous in this. I’ve often taken it myself. For gas. It was very soothing.”
    â€œI’d like to see it,” the doctor said.
    She left the room. Both men watched until she was out of sight.
    Ben said, “Food poisoning, are you sure that’s the cause of Mr. Horst’s illness, Doctor?”
    Doctor Meyers, affronted by this tone of authority from a man who was no member of the household and hardly more than a stranger in town, bent over to fasten his shoelace. “I hear he had dinner at your house last night, Mr. Chaney.”
    â€œSeveral people dined at my house. They all ate the same food. None of the others were stricken.”
    â€œMrs. Horst says that he had a special dessert served him, a custard. The rest of you ate pie. What was in the custard?”
    Ben shrugged. “Hannah Frost, my hired girl, can tell you. But I hardly think a simple dish like that could have caused it. And the rest of the custard is probably still in the pantry if you’d like to have it analyzed.”
    The doctor took his coat off the hook. With his back to Ben he asked, “Is that what you wanted to see me about, Mr. Chaney? Because one of your guests was poisoned by something he ate? When I discover what caused it, I’ll let you know.” He wrapped a knitted muffler, irrelevantly gay, about his neck.
    â€œDon’t you think he ought to have a trained nurse?”
    The doctor wheeled around.