Outrageous Fortune (19 page)

Caroline gave her deep gurgling laugh.

“What a horrible problem! Are you always going to tell Robert everything?”

“I
hope
so.”

“Golly!”

Pansy went back to the letter.

This is an entirely personal and private letter, and one which has cost me much thought
—

“It's rather wonderful, isn't it, to think he has been thinking of me like that—
Robert
!”

She turned a crackling page. Robert employed the stiffest and most legal looking blue paper for his private correspondence. It was neatly typed, and upon one side only.

I am well aware that you have been accustomed to think of me as a relative, no longer young, who has stood towards you for many years in a position of trust. I am writing to ask you whether you could bring yourself to think of me in another and, may I say, a more intimate capacity
—

“I think he puts it
beautifully
! Don't you? And as to
trusting
him, I'm sure anyone would trust Robert with
anything.”

With her feet on the firmest of firm ground, Caroline agreed. Robert was undoubtedly the most trustworthy of men.

Pansy went on reading, her eyes full of happy tears.

I have, for some time, been considering the question of matrimony. I hope you know me well enough to be sure that I should give such a subject the most serious consideration before taking what I regard as an irrevocable step. From the tenor of your conversation yesterday I gather that you would not consider a distant degree of relationship, such as subsists between yourself and me, as an insuperable bar to marriage. May I therefore ask whether you could entertain the idea of accepting me as your husband?

Pansy broke off and dabbed her eyes.

“He makes it sound so solemn—doesn't he? I think it's a
wonderful
letter. Don't you?”

I know I need not urge upon you the serious nature of the step. I would only urge my own deep affection, and hope, my dear Pansy, that you may find it worthy of your acceptance.

The usual signature followed in an upright formal hand—“Robert Arbuthnot.”

Pansy dabbed her eyes again.

“I don't know how to answer it. I can't write a beautiful letter like that.”

“I shouldn't try,” said Caroline. “That's Robert's sort of letter. You write your own sort, and perhaps he'll sit down at the other end and wonder how you did it.”

“Do you think so? Do you think I could just say that he's made me very happy—would that do?”

“Beautifully,” said Caroline.

As she said it, the telephone bell began to ring. A scarlet Pansy caught up the receiver.

“Caroline—if it's him—what shall I say?”

Then as Caroline, laughing and shaking her head, was about to run out of the room, there was a change in voice and manner. A puzzled look came over Pansy's face; her colour receded, and her voice took on a tone of disappointment.

“Oh … Yes, she's here. Who shall I say? … Oh … Very well, I'll call her.”

She turned from the instrument, which was fastened to the wall at the foot of the stair.

“Caroline—someone wants you. She won't give any name.”

Caroline took the receiver with some impatience. It was so stupid of people not to give their names. If you were cut off, you never knew who had been calling you. She simply hated that.

There came to her along the wire an almost inaudible voice.

“Is that Caroline Leigh?”

“Who is speaking?”

“Is that Caroline Leigh?”

“Yes. Who is speaking?”

“Will you come and see me? I want to see you very badly.”

“But who are you? I didn't hear—”

“I didn't say. I want to see you—about—Jim.” There was a faint desperate catch in the voice before the name came out.

It took Caroline a moment to get her own voice steady.

“Are you—no, you're not—Nesta?”

“Who is Nesta? No, never mind. I'm Susie. You know now, don't you? Will you come and see me?”

Caroline's heart leapt. Susie Van Berg wanted to see her. Why? Of all things in the world, she wanted most to see Susie Van Berg. She wanted it so much that she was afraid to say yes. Could she go—might she go? Was there any possible hurt to Jim in her going? She couldn't see any.

Susie Van Berg spoke again, a little louder, a little more insistently.

“Are you there? Will you come?”

“Yes,” said Caroline, and had the feeling, like Robert, that she was taking an irrevocable step.

“How will you come?” said Susie Van Berg. “I would send the car—but then the servants would talk—”

“They'll do that anyhow,” said Caroline with the ghost of a laugh. “But you needn't bother—I've got my own little car. When shall I come?”

The voice said, “At once.”

Caroline's thoughts moved rapidly. She said,

“Not if you don't want to make talk. It isn't as if I knew you very well. It would be better if I came in the afternoon—anyone can come in the afternoon.”

“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 nurses, 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.