Boys Shouldn't Play with Dolls
Mr. and Mrs. Herbert W. Chesterfield thought themselves fortunate to have two healthy, intelligent children. In accordance with the customs of the time, the parents decided when their son and daughter were still in diapers that Herbert, Jr., known affectionately as Herbie, was to be groomed to oversee the family railroad interests when his father retired, and Cordelia, the younger child, would be sent to an exclusive finishing school to prepare her for an advantageous marriage. Unfortunately, these plans were made without taking Herbie's or Cordelia's feelings into consideration since they were, after all, only children.
Like many parents in their elevated social stratum, the Chesterfields left the day-to-day child-rearing responsibilities to a nursemaid and the children's early education to a governess. Mrs. Chesterfield dutifully kissed her children goodnight every evening, taking the time from her busy social calendar, and her husband looked in on his growing progeny whenever his business demands allowed.
One evening Herbert Chesterfield came home from a trip to New York where he had met with John Jacob Astor, to find his wife dressed and ready to leave for a dinner party held at the home of one of Boston's wealthiest matriarchs.
"You're back early. I thought you weren't going to come home until tomorrow night," she said, trying to hide her disappointment at her husband's unexpected arrival.
"My meeting with Astor went smoothly, and I was able to get an early train back. Where are you off to tonight?"
"Abigail Cabot is throwing a dinner party at her townhouse. Do you want to come along?"
"No, not really. The train ride from New York has exhausted me. I think I'll retire early this evening, but you go ahead and enjoy yourself."
"Don't forget to look in on the children."
"I'll go up right now before Herbie falls asleep."
No sooner did Mrs. Chesterfield put on her fur wrap than she heard her husband's voice angrily bellowing down from the nursery. Several minutes later he appeared red-faced with rage at the top of the staircase.
"Whatever is wrong?" Mrs. Chesterfield asked. "Why are you carrying on so?"
"Do you know what our son is doing up here?" Herbert stormed.
"No."
"He's playing with his sister's dolls!"
"There's no need to worry, dear," his wife said, trying to defuse a potentially volatile situation. "He's just trying to entertain his sister."
"No, he's not. Cordelia is in bed, asleep. Herbie is in the nursery, dressing the dolls and brushing their hair. I tell you no son of mine is going to play with dolls!"
"Maybe it's time to put the children in separate bedrooms then," Mrs. Chesterfield suggested.
"I'm afraid this situation calls for stronger measures than that. Herbie has to be taught how to be a man."
"But he's only four years old," his wife protested weakly.
"That's old enough to engage in more masculine pastimes."
"I suppose you are right," Mrs. Chesterfield capitulated, eager to be on her way.
"There's no question about it. Tomorrow, I want you to employ a man to look after our boy," Herbert ordered. "The nursemaid can continue to take care of our daughter, but I don't want Herbie exposed to a pack of females."
"I'll see to it first thing in the morning, dear," his wife promised as she hurried out the door.
* * *
Despite the influence of Mr. Oglesby, the male tutor, Herbie showed no interest in "manly" pursuits. In fact, whenever his studies permitted, he would sneak into his sister's room, and the two would play with her dolls. Even when the boy was supposed to be doing his lessons, he would often draw pictures of frilly dresses, hats and shoes.
When Herbie was nine years old, his father again caught him dressing his sister's dolls. His face red with anger, the irate parent immediately launched into a tirade.
"I will not tolerate this gross disobedience!" he screamed.
"I'm not doing anything wrong," the boy objected tearfully. "I was just playing."
"Boys don't play with dolls! Those belong to your sister. You have your own toys."
"But I don't like playing with tin soldiers and toy guns."
"I don't care. You're a boy, not a girl. It's high time you realize that. I thought having a male attendant would rectify the situation, but I see now that's not the solution. I'll have to take more drastic steps."
The following day Mr. Oglesby was discharged, and Herbie was enrolled in an all-boy preparatory school.
The heir to the Chesterfield family fortune was not at all happy with his new surroundings, but his father didn't care. Herbie was only able to endure his years at the school by immersing himself in books, particularly those written about art.
At the beginning of his son's senior year at school, Herbert Chesterfield, Sr., suffered a massive heart attack and died. Instead of being weighed down with grief, his son felt only a profound sense of relief. With his father gone, Herbie immediately quit school and returned to the family home in Boston.
After her husband's well-attended funeral, the widow and her two children met with Herbert Chesterfield's attorney. The reading of the will was a mere formality, as the deceased's wishes were well known to his family. In addition to a generous monthly allowance, Mrs. Chesterfield was to receive the Boston townhouse, its antique furnishings and valuable artwork. Cordelia was given a multimillion dollar trust fund (although her father had firmly believed women had no head for money and ought to leave all financial matters to their husbands or other responsible males). Herbie, while he had not lived up to his father's high expectations, was Chesterfield's principal heir, so the bulk of the family fortune went to him.
"Are you ready to follow in Father's footsteps?" Cordelia asked her brother when the two siblings escaped to the freedom of the Boston Public Garden after the reading of the will.
"Good God, no!" Herbie groaned. "What do I know about railroads?"
"You don't have to know anything about them, silly. Let Father's board of directors and the officers of the company worry about management and day-to-day operations. You just attend the directors meetings, vote the way your lawyers tells you to and then collect the money."
"And what am I to do with my time?"
Cordelia shrugged.
"You can travel or become a philanthropist like Andrew Carnegie. Of course, if you want to get out of Father's shadow, you can always start a business of your own."
Herbie's interest was piqued.
"What kind of business?"
"Whatever suits your fancy. You're one of the richest men in the country now, dear brother. You have the capital to invest in any type of business you choose."
"Any type?" he repeated, the sides of his mouth spreading in a smile.
* * *
La Poupée porcelain dolls, despite their French name, were manufactured in New England, yet they were as finely crafted as their French and German counterparts. Most suppliers and dealers assumed Cordelia was the creative genius and her brother the financial brains behind the company, when the opposite was true. Herbie designed both the dolls and their miniature wardrobes, and his sister, who inherited her father's keen business acumen, took care of all financial and administrative matters.
Within five years of opening the small studio in the town of Essex Green—close to home, but away from the watchful eyes of Boston society's gossips—the Chesterfields' company soon expanded its operations and became the world's largest producer of porcelain dolls, far outselling Jumeau, Bru and Steiner, its main competitors.
As successful as the brother and sister were in business, they had no social life to speak of. Neither of them had close friends or a love interest, and since their mother remarried and moved to London with her new husband, a duke, there were no relatives nearby. The lack of a personal life did not bother Cordelia in the least. Not content to run the doll business, she was intent on learning all about railroads in hopes that she could be the first woman on her brother's board of directors.
Her brother, Herbie, on the other hand, found the hours when he was not in his studio long and lonely ones. One evening, while his sister was in Philadelphia on business, he decided to return to his studio to design a new doll. As he skillfully worked his fingers through the cool, moist, malleable clay, he thought about what type of doll he would create. La Poupée already had a full line of baby dolls and toddlers, both boys and girls.
I should create an adult doll, he thought. Not something small like little girls would use in doll houses, but a much larger doll, perhaps as tall as three feet.
Feeling inspired, he took a second handful of clay and began sculpting a larger head. Once the mouth and nose were completed, Herbie made eye sockets and temporarily placed two glass eyeballs inside. He then crowned the top of the clay face with a doll wig he crafted of human hair.
"No," he said with disappointment at seeing the result. "The scale is all wrong. This head is way too large for a three-foot-tall doll. It's the size of a real woman's head."
As Herbie straightened the blond, curly wig, he experienced an odd feeling that the eyes were looking at him. The idea was ridiculous, of course; they were just spheres of glass, with no more optical abilities than a pair of agate marbles. But the eerie feeling persisted.
He gently removed the wig and the glass eyes but continued to sculpt the facial features despite their inappropriate size. It took Herbie all night to complete the head to his satisfaction.
The following day he began work on the arms and legs. When completed, his creation would be just over five feet in height. No child would be able to play with such a giant toy, but Herbie decided to make a one-of-a-kind doll for his own collection.
Since he began work on the adult doll, which he later named Alicia, there were no more empty hours for the designer. One evening, after everyone at La Poupée went home, he carefully packed the porcelain head, arms, legs, hands and feet into a wooden crate, which he then had transported to his Puritan Falls mansion. There, using the finest muslin and specially designed armature, he constructed a body and attached the head and limbs. Finally, he put the blue glass eyes into the porcelain head cavity and topped it with the blond, curly wig.
"You're magnificent!" he said, standing back to admire his creation.
Even in her natural state, part muslin and part porcelain, Alicia looked real enough to pass for a live woman.
Once the doll was completed, Herbie turned his attention to making clothing for her. Over the following three years, he designed an entire wardrobe including lingerie, stockings, shoes and hats. Alicia's adornment did not stop there. One of the wealthiest men in America, young Chesterfield spent a huge sum of money on diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds to adorn his creation's delicate porcelain neck and wrists.
* * *
During the three years Herbie devoted to providing Alicia with attire that would be the envy of society's most pampered debutants, Cordelia finally married. It was a union Herbert Chesterfield would have approved of since the groom was related to both the Vanderbilts and the Astors. It was not so much a love match as a business merger. Cordelia, who had worked her way onto her brother's board of directors, wanted to use her husband's money to purchase additional shares in the company.
"Shouldn't you tell your brother what you're up to?" the groom asked.
"Herbie won't care if I get controlling interest in our father's company. He doesn't give a damn about the railroad," she reasoned. "All he cares about is La Poupée."
"Still, you ought to tell him. You don't want bad feelings between the two of you."
"I suppose you're right," the bride said with a sigh. "I'll go up to Massachusetts this weekend and talk to him."
Three days later, Cordelia took the train from New York to Boston, and from there she travelled to Puritan Falls. She first stopped at Herbie's studio, but he wasn't there, so she went to her brother's Danvers Street mansion.
"Ah, Miss Chesterfield," the housekeeper said when she opened the door and saw Cordelia on the doorstep. "Your brother will be delighted to see you."
"Thank you, Lucy, but I'm no longer Miss Chesterfield. I was married in New York three months ago. Didn't my brother tell you?"
"No, Ma'am. He didn't, but he's been keeping himself very busy with his doll company."
"That's Herbie for you. Would you be a dear and tell him I'd like to speak to him?"
"He's not here; he's in the carriage house, out back."
"What the devil is he doing out there?"
"I don't know, Ma'am. No one goes there but him."
"Does he go there very often?"
"Every evening after he has his dinner."
Cordelia thanked the housekeeper and then walked out the rear door and across the back lawn to the carriage house, which was hidden by a copse of trees. Her hand went to the doorknob, but she froze when she heard her brother's voice inside.
"You know, my dear, I was thinking how beautiful you look in that lavender dress with the mutton sleeves. Maybe I should buy you some amethysts to wear with it."
Herbie has a woman in his life! Cordelia thought with amazement.
Who was she, a local woman? Someone who worked at La Poupée? Surely none of Boston's proper young ladies would consent to a tryst in a carriage house in Puritan Falls.
Without regard to her brother's privacy, Cordelia tiptoed to the window and peaked inside a crack in the drapes.
"Here, my dearest," her brother said, "is another small token of my affection."
Herbie took a pearl necklace out of a jeweler's box and placed it around the young woman's neck.
At first Cordelia thought the girl was angry at him because she remained stiff when her brother took her in his arms. However, when Herbie turned the woman toward him for a kiss, Cordelia got a glimpse of her face. She tried to stifle her scream, but a short, strangled shriek escaped.
Herbie turned at the sound.
"Is someone there?"
Cordelia tried to hurry back to the house, but her brother ran out the door and intercepted her.
"Cordelia!" he cried with joy. "What an unexpected surprise! Is your husband with you?"
His sister, unable to speak, simply shook her head.
"Too bad. I so wanted to see him again. But you're here at least!"
"W-what are you doing out h-here?" Cordelia stammered nervously.
Herbie smiled and his eyes glistened.
With madness? his sister wondered.
"You're not the only one who fell in love," he proudly announced. "Come inside. I want you to meet Alicia."
Cordelia reluctantly let her brother lead her inside the carriage house.
"Darling, look who's here."
His sister stared at the life-size porcelain figure in horror.
"But it's a doll, Herbie!"
"She was once, but she's not anymore. Alicia can walk and talk and do anything a real woman can do."
Cordelia's keen mind worked fast. There was little doubt her brother was insane. As such, a court of law would declare him legally incompetent to manage his own finances. Her ambition greater than her love for her sibling, she contacted a psychiatrist and a lawyer when she returned to New York.
* * *
After spending years in an exclusive sanitarium, a middle-aged Herbie Chesterfield was declared well enough to take his place in society. When he returned to his Danvers Street mansion, he brought a new wife with him.
Nellie Smith was no high society woman; she was a trained nurse who had devoted fifteen years of her life to caring for the mentally ill, including Herbert Chesterfield, Jr. Immediately upon his discharge, Herbie proposed and Nellie accepted. After a quick ceremony in front of a justice of the peace, the bride and groom journeyed to Puritan Falls. Cordelia and her husband were there to welcome them home.
"I can't wait to get back to work," Herbie announced during dinner. "I have several ideas for new dolls."
Cordelia broke the bad news.
"La Poupée went out of business. I just couldn't find a designer as talented as you."
The truth was she hadn't even tried to find a replacement, preferring to close the doll company altogether.
"That's all right," Herbie said. "I've got more than enough capital to begin a new company."
"Do you think that's wise, dear?" his wife asked timidly.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"It might be too stressful for you," she replied.
His sister jumped into the conversation.
"I agree with Nellie. It was probably the strain of the job that caused you to have a nervous breakdown in the first place."
"The doctor said I was well enough to leave the sanitarium," Herbie stubbornly protested. "I certainly don't intend to stay at home all day and twiddle my thumbs."
When Cordelia realized there was nothing she or Nellie could say to talk him out of it, she reluctantly agreed to help her brother with the necessary business arrangements.
For seven months, Cordelia stalled by postponing meetings, delaying payments and taking weeks to answer routine correspondence. Eventually, her brother put pressure on her to speed things up.
"I've completed several designs," he said, "and I want to begin production as soon as possible."
"These things take time," Cordelia lied, trying to appease him. "It isn't as though I haven't given your new business my undivided attention."
Yet despite her assurances to her brother, she continued to delay the opening of the new doll company.
* * *
On December 20, Cordelia and her husband journeyed to Puritan Falls to celebrate the holidays with her brother and sister-in-law. When she saw Nellie, she knew something was wrong. Although never a pretty woman, the former nurse looked even more haggard than during the previous visit.
"What's wrong?" Cordelia asked when the two women were left alone in the drawing room. "Is Herbie exhibiting signs of his illness again?"
"Oh, no. It's nothing like that."
"But there is something wrong."
"I feel ashamed to speak of it."
"We're sisters-in-law. You can tell me."
"I believe Herbie is being unfaithful to me," Nellie blurted out and began to weep.
"What makes you think that?"
"He leaves me home alone at least five evenings a week. When I ask where he's going, he tells me he's only going for a walk, but he never wants me to accompany him."
Cordelia's suspicions were instantly aroused.
"Has he been spending time in the carriage house?"
"What carriage house?" Nellie asked.
"The one behind the copse of trees in the back yard."
"I never knew there was a building out there."
"Well, if I were you," Cordelia said cryptically, "I'd make sure he stays away from there."
* * *
After celebrating the advent of a new year, Cordelia returned to New York. Left alone with her husband, Nellie found her thoughts drifting to the carriage house. She wondered why her sister-in-law would warn her about the place. What could be in there?
That evening, just after he finished his dinner, Herbie announced he was going to take a walk.
"Wait a second," Nellie said. "Let me get my wrap, and I'll go with you."
"That's all right, dear. I won't be gone long. You stay inside here where it's warm."
Just moments after her husband walked out the door, Nellie went to the window to see which direction he took. Herbie did not head toward the sidewalk but instead walked toward the back of the house. She quickly threw her coat over her shoulders and followed him.
"I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, my dear."
I was right! Nellie thought when she heard her husband's voice coming from inside the carriage house.
Confronted with the truth, there were several things she could do: accept the situation, pretend ignorance, pack her bags and leave Puritan Falls or confront her lecherous husband and his mistress. She hesitated only a moment before boldly opening the door and entering the building.
"So this is where you've been going every ...."
Nellie's voice faltered mid-sentence.
"I suppose I must confess," Herbie said, feeling relief that his secret was out at last. "I'll always be grateful to you, but I don't love you. I love Alicia. She is the only woman for me."
When her husband took Alicia's porcelain hand in his own, Nellie felt revulsion.
"Woman? It's a doll!"
"She's a woman, a special woman. I made her from a lump of clay, just like God made Adam and Eve."
Nellie suddenly noticed the dress the doll wore. Its lace was yellow with age, and there were holes in the fabric from being bitten by moths. Now she knew why Cordelia had warned her about the carriage house. Herbie must have had a habit of going there before he was sent to the sanitarium. Either he was never cured or else he had experienced a relapse after returning to the house on Danvers Street. In either case, there was little doubt that her husband was out of his mind.
"Alicia isn't human," Nellie said in the dispassionate voice she once used to communicate with the mental patients at the sanitarium. "She's made of porcelain and muslin and stuffed with batting."
"Maybe she was once, but not anymore. I breathed life into her."
"If she is alive," Nellie said, reaching for the delicate porcelain arm, "she can also die."
Before her husband knew what she was up to, Nellie yanked Alicia away from him and threw her to the ground. She then ripped the limps from the doll and smashed them against the stone floor.
"NO!" Herbie bellowed with rage. "I won't let you destroy my beloved creation!"
* * *
When Cordelia arrived in Puritan Falls at Easter time, she was amazed at her brother's cheerful disposition.
"You're looking wonderful!" she exclaimed when Herbie greeted her at the front door. "It must be Nellie's home cooking."
"I suppose I should have written you," he said, turning his eyes away. "Nellie has left me."
"Why?" Cordelia asked with surprise.
"She got it into her head that I was seeing another woman. Ridiculous, isn't it?"
"Is it?" the sister asked, deciding to be forthright with her brother. "Tell me, do you still keep Alicia out in the carriage house?"
Although momentarily stunned, Herbie soon recovered and replied, "No. In fact, the carriage house burned to the ground in January, not long after you returned to New York."
"Oh?"
"Yes, so you needn't worry about my mental state. I was completely cured in the sanitarium."
"I'm so glad to hear that!"
Cordelia was unaware that upstairs behind the locked door of the master bedroom, Nellie's lifeless body lay on the four poster bed, her skull covered by Alicia's delicate porcelain features and her brown hair hidden beneath the doll's blond, curly wig.
Salem once fell in love with a porcelain cat. He liked that she never interrupted him when he talked.
