Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 9, No. 2, February 1964

The Vision of Mrs. Hardy by Bernice Balfour

Multiple-family living, increasing in proportion to our mushrooming elderly population, offers financial advantages to both parties. Don’t overlook the fact, however, that it may also engender some murderous situations.

Mrs. Hardy knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Doreen, her new daughter-in-law, was plotting to kill her. She realized, being confined to a wheelchair, a victim of arthritis, asthma, and a chronically weak heart, that she was hardly a prize to have around the house. She could even understand Doreen’s wish to turn her room into a nursery, especially since a baby was expected in about five months. Nevertheless, she didn’t believe either her afflictions or the coming infant warranted her murder.

The problem now was how to make her son Charles aware of her vision of doom, for Charles was blinded by Doreen’s superficial assets, her striking beauty and hypnotic charm, qualities apt to be overwhelming for a plain, sincere boy who had lived alone with an invalid mother for a number of years.

When Mrs. Hardy’s husband had died ten years ago, Charles was only fifteen, and the tragedy had left him shaken, insecure, and rather morbidly bound to his mother. Although Charles’ father had provided generously for them in his will, leaving his wife the house and considerable stock, the boy nevertheless had felt it his duty through the years to look after his mother and take care of many of her needs. Because of this, an affinity, rather touching in its implications, had grown up between mother and son. Charles wouldn’t even listen to their family physician, Dr. McKay, who, in recent years, once advised a rest home for Mrs. Hardy. “As long as I’m alive, my mother is going to have a real home,” had been Charles’ belligerent declaration. Thus, the matter had been considered closed — until the unexpected advent of his wife, Doreen.

Until Doreen came into his life, everyone had assumed that Charles would never marry, so devoted was he to his ailing mother. “Charles marry?” the very idea had been laughable to those who knew him. But it was Charles who enjoyed the final laugh, for not only did he marry and thus partially shatter the theory that he was “Mama’s boy,” but he also managed to capture a prize worthy of a giant. In fairness to Charles, it must be noted that he was not altogether a dud. In fact, he was rather good looking, in a quiet way, intelligent, and held a position of some importance in an accounting firm. Although there was speculation as to why Doreen had chosen Charles, the simplest answer seemed to be that she loved him. They had met at a dinner party given by mutual friends and had been almost inseparable companions until their marriage.

Actually, during the courtship period, Charles had related very little about Doreen to his mother. While Mrs. Hardy had tried, at least in the beginning, not to interfere too openly, it was apparent to Charles that his mother disapproved of the relationship. She had implied that a girl of Doreen’s sophistication must surely have ulterior motives in choosing someone as unworldly as Charles. On the few occasions when Doreen came to the house to visit, Mrs. Hardy usually managed to find something about the girl to criticize. Then, one night a few weeks before the marriage, alone with her son in the privacy of her room, she had let her defenses fall.

“What’s to become of me if you and Doreen marry? Am I going to be carted off to an institution?”

Quickly, Charles had assured her that no such action was contemplated.

“No, you wouldn’t do it, but what about her? She’ll want to get rid of me.”

At the time, Charles had pooh-poohed her sentiments, but a short while after the wedding, he finally confessed to his mother that there might be a grain of truth to her fears. Doreen, he had explained, believed in “modern marriage,” where the newlyweds live alone rather than with parents or relatives.

A few months following this conversation, however, shortly after Charles learned he was going to be a father, a rather surprising development occurred. Charles in formed his mother that Doreen had experienced a change of heart and felt differently about Mrs. Hardy living with them. In fact, she would not hear of Charles’ mother ever going to a rest home. “She wants you to stay just as much as I do, Mother,” Charles said proudly. “Now that she’s going to be a mother herself, she’s become more understanding.”

After revealing this somewhat puzzling news to Mrs. Hardy, Charles, casually, had brought up the matter of a will, suggesting that his mother draw one up without further procrastination.

At this point, Mrs. Hardy became uneasy.

“Was the will your idea?” she had questioned Charles.

“Well, no,” he’d admitted. “Doreen brought it up. She was shocked to learn you still didn’t have one.” Then, noting that his mother’s face had whitened, he hastily added, “Really, Mother, it’s just a sensible precaution for everyone. Doreen even suggested that I see my lawyer soon. It can be pretty messy if a person suddenly dies without leaving a will; his beloved kin can turn into a pack of vultures.”

Mrs. Hardy started to reply, but a sharp pain shooting through her back caused her to cry out instead. Then her breath began to come in short quick gasps, and Charles recognized the start of an asthma attack. Rushing to her bedside table, he grabbed her adrenalin inhaler and put it to her mouth. After a few moments, she stopped wheezing and leaned back in her chair.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Hardy sighed, and smiled wearily at Charles. “I’ve been feeling too tense lately. Perhaps a few days in the hospital might be wise. I’m not feeling up to par, and the rest would do me good.”

Charles had thoroughly agreed, and they both decided that discussion of the will could await her return. Mrs. Hardy then made arrangements with Dr. McKay to enter a neighborhood hospital for a week or two.

During her hospital stay, Charles’ mother almost managed to dispel the hideous notion that Doreen was planning to kill her. At times it almost seemed like an absurdity in this strangely comforting environment, with its good food and service, to say nothing of the professional medical care. When Charles and Doreen came to visit her, she indicated that she felt better not only physically, but mentally as well. After ten days, she told Dr. McKay she was ready to go home.

Home again once more, seated in the familiar wheelchair in her bedroom, Mrs. Hardy busily wheeled herself about the room, making minor changes and adjustments. Although they had capable maid service — a domestic agency sent professional help almost every day — Mrs. Hardy was never quite satisfied with the appearance of the house. Often, she’d found herself thinking that if only she had Doreen’s youth, her able body and fine strong hands, there never would be a need for outside help. But, of course, Doreen was not much use around the house, and even before her pregnancy did little more than a minimal share of domestic chores.

As she wheeled herself over to the mahogany bureau, Mrs. Hardy noted a thin veil of dust on its top, and, shaking her head, made a mental note to bring this to Doreen’s attention. Apparently her room had been neglected during her hospital stay, and in view of her dust allergy and related asthma, this was hardly forgiveable.

She opened the top drawer and observed that everything appeared to be in place. She reached into the middle drawer, where she kept her underclothes, and felt the comforting presence of the pistol hidden there. Charles had purchased the gun for her protection in the rather unlikely event of burglary or housebreaking when she was at home alone. Although these acts were never really anticipated, the mere presence of the weapon had been a comfort to her. Then she opened her purse and took out the small key to her jewelry box which rested on top of the bureau. Gazing at her beautiful jewels, especially an old family heirloom, a diamond necklace of considerable value, always gave Mrs. Hardy pleasure. But now, as she opened the box, she noticed immediately a great void. The necklace was, missing.

Frantically, she pulled open the top bureau drawer and rummaged through the contents. She searched futilely through the middle drawer next, her hand brushing several times against the pistol that lay nestled between items of lingerie. Nor did the necklace appear anywhere in the bottom drawer.

Then, slowly, she began to recall snatches of a recent conversation with her son and Doreen. One evening she had worn the necklace and Doreen had complimented her on it. Mrs. Hardy, pleased at the time, had explained that it was a priceless heirloom, passed on to female blood members, of the family for generations. Next in line to receive it, after her death, was her sister’s oldest daughter. Doreen had appeared only mildly interested in this information, but Mrs. Hardy had noticed that her daughter-in-law kept her eyes glued to the necklace the rest of the evening. She had forgotten the incident until just now. Of course, of course! Mrs. Hardy shook her head knowingly as the entire picture became clear. First, Doreen’s change of heart about Mrs. Hardy going to a rest home. Then Doreen suggesting to Charles that his mother hurry up and make out a will. And now the necklace missing, the necklace which Doreen knew could never be willed to her. It was all too obvious. She wondered how she ever could have doubted her intuitions. They were always right! The only knowledge which Mrs. Hardy lacked was the method. How did Doreen plan to kill her?

Just then she heard Charles’ footsteps outside the door, and quickly made an effort to compose herself. Nevertheless, there would have to be a showdown. Charles would have to know.

“Hello, Mother.” Charles briskly strode to his mother’s chair and pecked her on the cheek as always.

“Hello, son,” Mrs. Hardy replied hoarsely, a slight quaver to her voice. “Shut the door and sit down, will you?”

Charles obediently closed the door and pulled up a chair facing his mother. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Then, calmly, without wasting words, she related her fears about Doreen, concluding with her current suspicion that the girl must have had a duplicate key made for the jewelry box and had stolen the necklace, which she was probably planning to sell, if she had not already done so.

At first Charles appeared stunned and speechless. Finally he spoke.

“Mother, surely you can’t be serious?”

“I am quite serious.” Mrs. Hardy met her son’s gaze with determination.

“Mother—” Charles shook his head helplessly. “Why... why would Doreen want to kill you?”

“Because I’m in the way, and she hates me for it. Because she knows I plan to will you the house and stock.” Mrs. Hardy paused and wet her lips. “People have killed for less.”

Again, Charles shook his head. “Mother, this is incredible! Doreen could never do such things — plot to kill you — steal your necklace! You’re simply confused and upset tonight. You don’t know what you’re saying.” He paused momentarily to allow a note of finality to enter his voice. “We’ll just forget all about this conversation. You’ll feel better in a day or so.”

As Charles arose to leave, there was a knock on the door, and without waiting for Charles to open it, Doreen entered the room. Charles bent over to kiss her. “Hello, dear. I was just leaving.” He turned then to his mother. “I’ll explain to Doreen about the — missing item, and we’ll be on the lookout.”

Mrs. Hardy nodded dumbly, her face a distorted image of despair.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mother?” Doreen smiled sweetly at her mother-in-law.

Mrs. Hardy shook her head. She wished they both would leave.

“Well, dinner will be ready shortly. I’ll bring you your tray at six.” Doreen rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Don’t you think, Mother, you might have coffee instead of tea tonight — just this once?”

Mrs. Hardy nodded weakly. “Yes, coffee will be all right. But don’t fuss about my dinner tonight, Doreen. I’m... I’m not hungry.”

“Why, Mother!” Doreen pretended to be piqued. “And after I spent all afternoon preparing a roast for your homecoming.”

Yes, Mrs. Hardy thought, that would be a major undertaking for you. She started to reply, but Charles cut her off.

“I’m sure Mother appreciates your efforts, dear, but she’s tired tonight. Just serve her a light portion.”

“Well, all right.” Doreen took her husband’s arm, and Mrs. Hardy watched the couple depart.

“It’s her manner which is so disarming,” she thought to herself. “If only I could find some way to break it down, to reveal her as she really is.” She pursed her lips, determinedly, knowing she soon would have to find a way.

Several days after this rather bleak homecoming, Mrs. Hardy awoke with a strange foreboding. She had experienced a somewhat garbled dream the night before, leaving her feeling restless and uneasy, even though she remembered little of the dream except that one part of it concerned Doreen and herself. Doreen had been wheeling her in her chair, but when Mrs. Hardy had turned to tell the girl something, there was no one behind her, yet her chair kept moving. Frightened, she remembered calling for Doreen, but no answer came.

Mrs. Hardy shook her head vigorously, as though trying to rid herself of her vaguely disturbing mood. She reached for the buzzer by her bed, and in a few moments, Charles’ wife appeared. She smiled pleasantly at Mrs. Hardy, who noticed that her daughter-in-law was finally wearing maternity clothes. The baby would arrive in less than five months.

“Good morning, Mother, how do you feel?”

“Not so good. My back is stiff.”

“Oh, dear. Well, perhaps we’ll phone Dr. McKay later if it doesn’t improve.” Doreen automatically helped Mrs. Hardy to her chair and got her robe. “Charles just left for the office. I’ll have breakfast for you in a short while.”

Mrs. Hardy looked up, something in Doreen’s tone making her wary. “You have some help today, don’t you?”

“No—. I told the agency we wouldn’t need anyone for a few days. We’re well caught up on the housework, and the few remaining chores I can handle.”

“But — my dear, is that wise with you pregnant and me on your hands?” Mrs. Hardy’s growing anxiety had reached the breaking point. “I... I honestly feel, Doreen, that we’d all be better off if I did go to a rest home as Dr. McKay once suggested.”

“Nonsense!” Doreen’s expression told Mrs. Hardy the subject was closed. When the girl left a moment later to prepare breakfast, Mrs. Hardy tried to take stock of her disturbing sense of impending doom. Throughout the day she became more and more immersed in her thoughts, so that she hardly noticed the tempting dishes Doreen had managed to prepare for her. She remembered how, in the past, her remarkable intuitive powers foretold everything from an oncoming storm to Great Uncle Harry’s death. “A lady of vision” she was called in her younger days, because somehow she always managed to be right in her predictions.

She glanced at her watch. 3:30 p.m. Past her naptime, but today she would forget about that. Today she must be prepared for any eventuality. Then she heard Doreen’s soft footsteps approaching, and she knew the time had come. The old lady was hardly surprised when she saw the sly look on the girl’s face as she entered the room.

“I have a surprise for you, Mother,” Doreen said, and without further ado, walked quickly behind Mrs. Hardy’s chair. When Mrs. Hardy felt Doreen’s strong hands on her neck, the last remaining link in her knowledge was supplied. Now. Mrs. Hardy knew the method. Doreen was going to choke off her air, bring on a fatal attack, and the doctor’s reports would simply say death from natural causes, from chronic asthma and a weak heart.

“No, no!” Mrs. Hardy suddenly screamed, and like a flash, tore away from Doreen’s grasp, and wheeling madly to the bureau, reached inside her lingerie drawer for the gun.

“You stole the necklace, but you didn’t know where I had the gun hidden, did you?” Mrs. Hardy shouted at Doreen’s startled figure. “No, no, I was too smart for you,” the old woman cried, and before Doreen could utter a word, a shattering explosion rocked the room. The dull thud of Doreen’s body on the floor told Mrs. Hardy that it was all over, and, miraculously, she had escaped death, thanks to her uncanny foresight.

So engrossed was she in the events of the moment that she was scarcely aware of her son throwing open the door and dashing into the room.

“Doreen! Where’s Doreen? I heard a shot.” Charles glanced momentarily at his mother, and then saw his wife’s crumpled figure on the floor. He reached over and felt her pulse, but he had known from the way her body was lying. He stood up then and faced his mother.

“I had to, son,” she said tearfully, dropping the gun to the floor. “She tried to strangle me.”

Charles’ burdened voice came slowly. “Doreen called me at the office about an hour ago and asked me to come home early. She wanted to celebrate because she had a surprise for you.” Charles walked over to Doreen’s body and removed the diamond necklace, still clutched in the dead woman’s hand.

“She was going to put the necklace on you, not strangle you,” he said quietly. “She found it tucked in a side pocket of your suitcase — the one you had with you at the hospital.”