Outrageous Fortune (20 page)

“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 don'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.

The stair was enclosed on either side—a little winding stair running up between two walls. Another stabbing flash sent Caroline round the turn. She put her fingers in her ears and leaned against the wall. There could be no question of going out into a storm like this. The whole house seemed to shake as the thunder pealed overhead.

She felt that she was shaking too. She had never minded a thunderstorm before; now, for the first time in her life, she knew herself to be upon the edge of panic. She shut her eyes and tried to steady herself. The noise diminished. The wall against which she leaned began to feel solid again. She told herself that the storm had passed overhead and was going down the river. She let her hands drop and moved away from the wall.

When she opened her eyes, she saw above her a very faint streak of light. There was a door a few steps up, and the light came from under it. It was just a thin pale streak, but it meant that there was someone in the room. Caroline had a feeling that someone else's company would be pleasant. She could say that she had lost her way in the passages.

She went up to the level of the door, and as she lifted her hand to knock, the light of another flash flared up from behind her and below, and a crash more violent than either of the others followed. Urged by a blind instinct for shelter, Caroline opened the door.

She was inside the door and leaning against the jamb with the door shut behind her before the second crack of thunder came. She could not have moved to save her life. The shock, the impact, the mere sound, was beyond anything she could have imagined. After a little while she was able to take her breath and gather her bewildered thoughts. She was inside the room from which the light had come, but there was so little light that she wondered why she had seen it. She was in the room, but she could not see it at all, because a four-leafed screen covered the door, one panel being flat against the wall on her left, whilst the other three zigzagged out from it at an angle.

Caroline took her hand from the door and moved forward, following the line of the screen. It was tall and solidly made, a heavy old-fashioned piece of furniture covered with dark crimson rep. She had taken about three steps, when, in the room on the other side of the screen, someone spoke.

“Do you think it's going over?”

Caroline stood still just where she was. She had only heard that voice once before, but she would have known it anywhere. It was Nesta Riddell who had spoken. Beyond any possibility of doubt it was Nesta Riddell.

Someone answered her.

“Yes, it's going over. It'll draw down river now.”

Caroline had never heard this voice before, or any quite like it. It reminded her of a fly in treacle, or a voice heard in a thick muffling fog. It had a peculiar soft tonelessness that blurred the words, and the pitch never varied.

“Then we'd better get on with it,” said Nesta. “That last crash put me right off—but I shall have a train to catch presently, and I've got to know about Jim before I go.”

Caroline had taken another step, but these words halted her. She had not meant to listen, but when Nesta said, “I've got to know about Jim,” she knew that she was going to listen. If there was anything to know about Jim, she was going to know it. She heard the soft sound of someone moving, and the gurgle of water or some other liquid. The smooth toneless voice said,

“Look into the pool.”

“What shall I see? Suppose I don't see anything.” This was Nesta.

“I don't say you'll see, nor what you'll see—there's no saying. If you don't see nothing, there's no harm done. Look in the pool.”

Silence fell on the room—a curious silence, enclosed by the sound of restless, hurrying wind and distant thunder. It was like the still place at the centre of the storm. Caroline edged forward and looked round the screen.

The room was full of a half light except for one bright patch—a Victorian room, with a round walnut table between the windows, crimson rep curtains closely drawn, a faded carpet with moribund rose wreaths on a mustard ground, a mantel-drapery of crimson plush with an edging of little silk balls, and photographs everywhere. There was a fire on the hearth banked down with coal dust. In front of it on a black wool hearth-rug stood a reading-lamp with a piece of black velvet draped round its shade. The light was directed downwards upon a bowl of dark blue glass which appeared to be full of ink. It was about the size of a hyacinth bowl, and it stood on a stool with a worked cross-stitch top. On one side of this stool Nesta Riddell was kneeling, and on the other, in a low armless chair sat a plump elderly woman. This must be the other Caroline—Caroline Bussell, Nesta Riddell's cousin, the housekeeper at Packham Hall. She wore a dark stiff dress buttoned up to the throat, where a collar of hand-made crochet was fastened by one of those large old-fashioned brooches which contain quite a substantial quantity of hair. She had a pale flat face, pale and plump, and a tight curled fringe of faded hair controlled by a net. Her hands lay in her lap. She leaned forward over them, watching Nesta.