Outrageous Fortune

by Patricia Wentworth

“What time?” The voice fluttered.

  “Between five and six,” said Caroline. “Will that do?”

  The voice said, “Yes.” The click of the receiver put a full stop to the word.

  Susie Van Berg turned from the telephone, clutching with both hands at the pale blue satin wrap she was wearing. She had locked both doors before she rang up Caroline Leigh—the bedroom door, and the door of the big dressing-room which she had turned into a sitting-room for herself. The communicating door stood open between the two rooms. The telephone was in the sitting-room. She had hung up the receiver because she had heard someone try the handle of the bedroom door.

  She stood for a moment, listening in a strained position, the light of the grey rainy morning falling cold upon her pallor. She had the type of looks which needs the sun. Her hair was so pale as to be almost silver, her eyes a forget-me-not blue, her skin as white as privet, with no more than a faint rose to tinge the cheeks, and deepen to the colour of pink hawthorn in the lips. These faint delicious tints were all blurred and faded now. Her face was waxy white, and much weeping had washed the shading from her lashes, leaving them as pale as her hair. She wore a diaphanous night-gown under the satin wrap. Her feet were bare in their pink embroidered mules.

  She stood there listening, and heard the handle tried again. In an instant she had stepped out of her slippers and, picking them up, she crossed the floor and went through the communicating door, moving without a sound. The bedroom blinds were down, and the curtains drawn. The only light came from the sitting-room.

  Susie Van Berg slipped into the turned-down bed and, leaning over the edge, set her slippers down beneath it. Then, pulling the clothes about her, she reached out her hand and rang the bell.

  XXII

  As Caroline followed a tall young footman up the imposing staircase of Packham Hall, she looked about her with interest. She had not been in the house since she was a little girl. Mrs Entwhistle had given a wonderful children’s fancy dress ball to celebrate the Armistice. A year later she died, and the house opened its doors no more. Little Caroline had taken off her coat and shawl in one of the big bedrooms upstairs and then walked down the wide, shallow steps proudly and shyly in a flounced Kate Greenaway dress of buttercup yellow, with a tight posy of buttercups and daisies in her hand and a daisy chain on her bright brown curls.

  The picture slipped through her mind. She saw the empty hall below her, full of children. She saw Pansy Ann, quite grown up of course, in a blue and silver eastern dress, and Jim as Haroun al Raschid, with his eyebrows corked and a fierce real scimitar at his side.

  The picture broke. The footman was handing her over to Mrs Van Berg’s maid. Caroline came back to the present with a jerk and took a good look at the “‘inting ’ussy.” She saw a middle-sized person of very discreet appearance with a manner nicely attuned to what might at any moment become a house of mourning.

  As they turned into a long corridor, one of Elmer Van Berg’s nurses passed them, going in the direction of the stairs, a pretty, rather hard-featured girl with bright blue eyes.

  “Ah—the poor monsieur!” said Louise under her breath when the nurse had turned the corner.

  “Isn’t he any better?” said Caroline.

  Louise threw up her hands.

  “He does not speak—he does not move! It is terrible!” She paused, cast a sideways glance at Caroline, and added, “Pauvre Madame!”

  “How is Mrs Van Berg?” said Caroline.

  “Bien souffrante. What would you? A so terrible shock! It is enough to kill, is it not?”

  They had turned again. Louise opened a door and announced “Miss Leigh—”

  Caroline passed into the small sitting-room and heard the door softly closed behind her.

  The room was very warm; that was Caroline’s first impression. It was like coming into a hot-house. There was a fire on the hearth and a scent of pastilles in the air. Though it was not yet six o’clock, the cold, wet daylight had been shut out. Two lamps with pale blue shades filled the room with a light that was rather like moonlight. Susie Van Berg must have imported both the shades and the blue brocaded curtains which covered the windows. Quiet, melancholy Mr Entwhistle could scarcely have been responsible for them.

  The room was most unmistakably that of a pretty, spoilt woman.

  Susie Van Berg herself lay on a couch in front of the fire, banked up with cushions. There was a silver cushion under her head, a pale pink pouffe behind her shoulders, and a three-cornered violet cushion just slipping to the floor as she made a startled movement.

  Caroline was startled too. She didn’t know what she had expected, but not this. The setting was so elaborate, so artificial. Susie Van Berg herself looked like someone in a play. She wore one of those garments which one sees in catalogues. Caroline had always wondered whether anyone ever really wore them. Susie Van Berg was wearing one now—frilled, beflowered, embroidered georgette pyjamas in pale blue shading to green, with a satin coat to match. But the eyes which she fixed on Caroline as she made that movement to rise were the eyes of a frightened child. A dry, hot hand clung to hers, and the voice that she had heard on the telephone said,

  “Caroline Leigh?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “Won’t you sit down? Where will you sit? Come here beside me on the sofa so we needn’t talk loud.” She slipped her feet off the couch as she spoke, pulling herself into a sitting position.

  Caroline took off her tweed coat and sat down.

  “It was very good of you to come,” said Susie Van Berg. She spoke as if she had not quite enough breath for what she wanted to say.

  Caroline saw her with compassion. It was obvious that she had wept bitterly during the last few days; her eyes had a drowned and faded look. Her hands kept plucking at one another, and from time to time a nervous tremor shook her. Yet her nails were carefully henna’d, her pale hair immaculately set, and her lips made up in an artificial curve. She had a lost, tormented look.

  Caroline’s soft heart was a good deal moved. She put her hand on the twisting, plucking fingers and said,

  “What can I do for you, Mrs Van Berg?”

  For a moment the restless movement ceased.

  “Your hand is so cool,” said Susie Van Berg in a little, surprised voice.

  “I’ve been driving in the rain. I had the screen open because the rain beat on it so. My screen-wiper’s out or order and I couldn’t see. I can’t drive in gloves.”

  “Is it raining?”

  “Drenching.”

  Susie Van Berg drew her hands away.

  “It doesn’t matter—nothing matters. Why did you come?”

  “You wanted to see me.”

  “Yes—it was good of you. But it’s no use—nothing’s any use.”

  There was a pause whilst Caroline tried to think of something to say. What could she say to unhappiness like this? She didn’t know.

  She said nothing.

  Susie Van Berg flung round with outstretched hands.

  “What shall I do if Elmer dies?”

  “Perhaps he won’t.”

  “But if he does—if he does!”

  She jumped up with a sudden-surprising energy, ran to the door and opened it. For a moment she stood looking out into the corridor. Then she came back, her blue wrap trailing, her hand at her side, and a faint tinge of natural colour in her face.

  “There’s no one there,” she said, and sank back into the sofa corner again. After a moment she said, “Louise listens,” and then, “There isn’t anyone there.”

  She bent and picked up the violet cushion and put it behind her. All her movements were nervous and uncertain. She leaned back and looked at Caroline.

  “Louise listens—I think she talks—I suppose they all talk. You said so—didn’t you? It’s dreadful! I can’t stop them talking. It’s dreadful to know they’re doing it. It’s dreadful to have to be careful all the time—to be afraid to speak. I am afraid to speak, you know. There are the doctors and the nurs
es, and the servants, and the police. I’m afraid all the time of saying something—something—”

  “Why?” said Caroline. She looked straight into Susie Van Berg’s frightened eyes; her voice was steady and deep.

  Susie went on speaking in a desperate, fluttered voice.

  “It’s awful to be afraid to speak. It’s awful not to have anyone to speak to. That’s why I asked you to come.”

  “Did Jim talk to you about me?”

  Susie nodded.

  “He talked about you a lot—he thought the world of you—he wanted us to meet. Men are funny like that—if two women are fond of them, they can’t see why they won’t be fond of each other. Elmer’s like that too. He had a sister who kept house for him before we were married, and he thought it real unnatural when she didn’t love me. Considering I was turning her out after she’d made up her mind that Elmer wasn’t going to get married, it was expecting a good deal—but he can’t see why to this day.” A little animation had come to her as she talked, but with the last word a nervous shudder took her again.

  “What is it?” said Caroline gently.

  “I felt I’d go mad if I hadn’t someone to speak to. I thought you would be safe because, whatever I told you, you wouldn’t want to hurt Jim.”

  A moment before, Caroline had been too hot. She had wondered how anyone could bear the heat of the room. Now she knew, because, like Susie, she was afraid—so much afraid that her feet were cold and heavy in her country shoes, and her hands heavy and cold on the brown tweed that covered her knees. She didn’t know that she was going to speak, but she said,

  “Jim—”

  Susie looked at her out of panic-stricken eyes and whispered,

  “I’ve killed Elmer.”

  Caroline straightened herself.

  She said, “Nonsense!” and her own voice comforted her and made her feel sure that what Susie had just said could not possibly be true.

  Susie shook her head.

  “You don’t know. He was jealous—I made him jealous—of Jim. It was only nonsense. You said nonsense, didn’t you? That was all it was. One oughtn’t to be punished like this just for a bit of nonsense—it isn’t fair. Elmer wouldn’t want me to be punished like this.”

  “What did you do?” said Caroline.

  “I must tell someone. It just goes on and on in my head all the time. I don’t sleep, you know.”

  “You can tell me—I’m safe.” And then as soon as she had said it she had a revulsion of feeling. “No, don’t tell me—don’t! Don’t tell me anything! Because if you did it, and they thought it was Jim, I should have to tell them.”

  Susie shook her head again.

  “It wasn’t like that. What did you think? I didn’t shoot Elmer—I didn’t mean that. Did you think I did?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want you to tell me anything you’d feel sorry about afterwards.”

  “I must tell someone,” said Susie piteously. “I’ve just got to the place where I’m bound to tell someone. If I don’t I’ll go crazy. Why, I’ve been afraid I’d get up in the night and run down the corridor screaming out that I’d killed Elmer.” She broke off with a start. “Look out of that door and see there’s no one listening!”

  Caroline opened the door and looked out. There was no one in sight. The contrast between the room and the passage was extreme. The air was cold. Against an uncurtained window about three yards away the rain was beating. An inky cloud hung like a curtain across the sky. It was so dark that the sun might have set already.

  She turned back into the lighted room. The blue shades made everything look as if they were under water. She went back to the sofa and sat down.

  “There’s no one there.”

  And at once, without any preliminaries, Susie Van Berg said,

  “Jim shot Elmer.”

  “No!” said Caroline. No!”

  “Jim shot him. It was my fault—I made Elmer jealous. You know I can’t help flirting—I’m made that way. What did Elmer marry me for if he didn’t like it? It made him mad, and—you know the way it is—I liked making him mad. But he ought to have known there was nothing in it.”

  Caroline heard her voice, harsh and unfamiliar.

  “Wasn’t there anything in it?”

  “Only nonsense—and he wouldn’t even play up to that. He thought a lot of Elmer. There was an invention they both thought a lot of. That’s what Jim came to see him about that night. Did you know he was here the night Elmer was shot?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “Elmer didn’t tell me Jim was coming. If he had, I wouldn’t have worked him up like I did. I only wanted to make him mad, and then kiss and be friends. I didn’t know he’d got a date with Jim—I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”

  “What happened?”

  “Did you read what I told the police? I didn’t tell any lies, but I didn’t tell all the truth. They’d have arrested Jim straight away if I had.”

  “What didn’t you tell?”

  “I told them I went downstairs to get a book, and heard voices in the study. I didn’t tell them that it was Jim’s voice I heard.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure—I went right up to the door and listened.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “They were quarrelling—that’s why I listened. I heard Elmer say, ‘I’m through with you!’ And I heard Jim say, ‘I’m damned if I’ll be spoken to like that!’”

  “Was that all?”

  “No, it wasn’t. Jim said, ‘You take that back!’ And then Elmer got up—I heard his chair scrape along the floor and he came towards the door, and I thought how mad he’d be if he found me there and I ran away.”

  “Is that all you heard?” Caroline was conscious of relief.

  “Yes. I was too frightened to stop another minute.”

  “Jim never shot Mr Van Berg,” said Caroline. “Jim isn’t a thief. The person who shot Mr Van Berg is the person who stole the emeralds.”

  Susie Van Berg put her hand to her head. She spoke in a weak, extinguished voice.

  “I don’t mind about the emeralds—he shot Elmer. And I tore the page with his finger-prints out of Elmer’s book. I knew if the police found it they would arrest him, so I tore it out.” She sat bolt upright, her hands locked upon her knee. “I tore it out, but I didn’t tear it up. Do you know where he is? If you do, will you tell him that?”

  “That you tore it out?”

  Susie had a small hard spot of colour on either cheek; her eyes were bright and hard, her voice louder than it had been.

  “Tell him I tore it out, but I didn’t tear it up. If Elmer gets better, I’ll tear it up, but if he doesn’t—” Her locked hands strained one against the other; a line of livid pallor showed beyond the painted line of her lips. “If he doesn’t—if he dies—I’m going to give those finger-prints to the police, and I’m going to swear that I heard his voice and that I heard him threaten Elmer.”

  XXIII

  Caroline fought the sharpest fear she had ever known. What had really happened in the library that night?

  Jim had quarrelled with Elmer Van Berg on the other side of that door at which Susie had listened. Why hadn’t she opened it and gone in? Would things have turned out differently if she had..… It was no good asking that now. She had gone away upstairs to her room—to this very room in which they were—and in the morning Elmer Van Berg had been found shot. Jim had quarrelled with him. Was it possible that Jim had shot him? Everything in Caroline’s heart said “No”; but in her mind a faint terrible whisper said “Perhaps.” It rustled there like dry leaves and would not be still.

  She steadied herself. Only a moment had passed really. Susie Van Berg had not moved. The patch of colour on either cheek had spread a little, as a stain spreads in milk.

  Caroline said, “Why?” Then as Susie went on staring at her she made a quick movement. “I d
on’t understand. Why did you tear the page out?”

  “To help Jim—because it was my fault.”

  “You won’t have helped him very much if you mean to tell the police in the end.”

  “Only if Elmer dies,” said Susie with dry lips. Her eyes stared past Caroline at a picture of Elmer dead.

  Caroline spoke again.

  “Jim didn’t shoot him.”

  Susie shook her head.

  “Yes—he did. If Elmer gets well, he’ll tell me what to do. That’s why I tore out the page, and why I didn’t tell the police. I was waiting for Elmer to tell me what to do, but if he doesn’t get well, I shall say that Jim shot him, and that it was my fault. I can’t go on like this.” There was a dreadful finality about the way she said it.

  Caroline had a feeling that if they were to go on talking for hours, they would never get beyond this point. If Elmer Van Berg died, then Susie would say that they had quarrelled on her account, and that Jim had shot him. She prayed with all her might that Elmer should not die. There was nothing else that she could do or say.

  She got up and put on her coat.

  “Are you going?”

  “Yes,” said Caroline.

  Susie drew a long sighing breath and turned her head.

  “Is it still raining?”

  “I expect so—it looked very black.”

  For a moment, they were both silent, as if neither of them were able to put an end to this strange meeting. Through the silence came the sound of the rain and a deep roll of thunder.

  Susie shuddered and stood up.

  “There’s a storm. You can’t go if there’s a storm.”

  “I’ll get home before it breaks,” said Caroline.

  Now that she was on her feet, she wanted to be gone. Her head burned with the heat of the room, and her knees were trembling. Outside, in the wind and the rain, it might be easier to feel sure about Jim. She said “Good-bye,” and went out without touching Susie’s hand.

  As soon as she had shut the door she began to run. She wanted to get right away, and she had a feeling that Susie might call her back. She turned the corner, and then turned again. The passages were very dark. She stopped running and wondered if she had taken the wrong turning. The house was old and rambling. She had a bewildered feeling of having lost her sense of direction. A sudden flare of lightning gave a blinding picture of two corridors meeting at the foot of a narrow stair. Darkness followed immediately, and one of those peals of thunder which sound like giant girders being thrown down upon an iron roof. The noise was deafening. Caroline shrank instinctively away from the window, and found herself six or seven steps up the stair, holding to the narrow baluster and waiting for the horrible noise to stop.