Waiting for Willa

by Dorothy Eden

  “Not that woman again!” exclaimed Ulrika, bustling in. “How would her fur piece be here?”

  “Yes, how would it?” Ebba asked. “Unless she left it here and one of the maids put it in the dressing-up box by mistake.”

  “She dropped things around,” Kate murmured, staring at Grace. “Her sunglasses by the lake, for instance.”

  Ulrika examined the piece of spotted fur round Georgy’s neck.

  “It’s only—what do you call it?—simulated. If it’s Willa’s, I suppose she hardly thought it worth looking for.”

  “Then it serves her right to lose it,” Ebba said. “Anyone who has the bad taste to wear fake fur—why are you looking like that, Grace?”

  How was she looking? Deeply startled because she had suddenly remembered Fru Lindstrom’s description of Willa’s clothes when she had left on her hopeful elopement? “Her spotted fur hat and a piece around her neck to match…”

  So that this had been lost after her disappearance from Stockholm. And now it had turned up in an attic at the Von Sturpes. If, of course, it were the same piece…

  Grace managed to speak normally.

  “I suppose I’m surprised because my landlady said Willa was wearing leopard skin when she eloped.”

  “But real, surely, for a wedding,” Ebba insisted. “Even Willa couldn’t wear that ratty old bit to be married in. Could she?”

  She sounded so plausible. Everyone always sounded plausible when Willa was discussed. Nevertheless, with all her fakes, her sunglasses, her false eyelashes, her dyed hair, Willa would be uncritically happy in her faked furs. She would regard it as a foolish waste of money to buy real ones.

  Therefore, although Ebba obviously had no intention of admitting it, Willa must have been here very recently.

  Grace put out her hand to Georgy.

  “If that’s Willa’s, I’ll have it, please.”

  “But, Grace—” Ebba didn’t care for that too much. Then she gave her breathy laugh. “Take it if you want to. I hope the ghost of Jacob’s aunt won’t come claiming it.”

  “I don’t think so. Willa can collect it when she collects the rest of her stuff. But I do think it awfully strange that it should be here.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Then Kate sat up, saying in distaste, “Georgy! Alexander! Go take those awful old clothes off. I’m sorry, Ebba. But clothes after people have—I just mean, they give me the creeps.”

  The men came back just after dark. They were mud-splashed and looked tired, especially Peter, whose face had gone that unhealthy yellowish color again.

  “No luck,” said Jacob.

  “None?” It seemed as if Ebba were disappointed. Her strange eyes flickered again. Did she enjoy seeing the bloodstained carcass of an elk dragged home?

  “We only found tracks,” said Sven. He threw himself into a chair wearily, ignoring his muddy state. But Peter walked about restlessly, saying that they must get on the way. Where were the children? Couldn’t Kate rustle them up quickly?

  Grace made an abrupt decision.

  “Ebba, would you mind if I took the opportunity of a lift with Peter and Kate and went back this evening instead of in the morning?”

  She didn’t care about rudeness. She suddenly didn’t trust Ebba and wanted overpoweringly to get back to tell Polsen everything that had happened.

  Ebba’s manners, it seemed, were equal to the sudden ungracious departure of guests. Or could it be that she was relieved?

  “Why, of course. Grace. Though we’ve loved your visit and it seems awfully short.” Before she could say more, the telephone rang, and she stretched out her hand for it. “Jacob, get everyone a drink. Hello! Who is that?”

  She was an accomplished actress. After all, she had admitted that acting had been her profession. But even her poise was slightly shaken by whoever her caller was. Grace saw her hand tighten around the receiver. Her long narrow face was set.

  “What! You didn’t—but that’s impossible! No, I can’t talk now. I have guests. The men have just come in from shooting. Call me later and tell me in detail.”

  She put down the receiver with a bang and swore softly to herself, then apologized, giving her small laugh.

  “Now if that isn’t the limit. Jacob, that work I’d arranged—no, never mind. I mustn’t bore everyone with domestic problems. Where’s my drink? Didn’t you get me one?”

  Gustav, who was to have arranged that mysterious work, had let her down, Grace was thinking bemusedly. It must have been a very important task, for her to lose her composure. What was more, her uneasiness had communicated itself to everyone else, and for a moment the room was quiet.

  Then Peter said loudly, “Bad show. But that’s how it is nowadays, isn’t it? You can’t delegate. Kate, haven’t you called the kids? We’ve got to be off. Sure, we’ll give you a lift, Grace, but you’ll have to be ready in ten minutes.”

  He drove much too fast all the way to Stockholm. Kate was nervous, sitting tensely beside him, sometimes turning her head to look at him. In the back Grace, with an arm around each child, was exhilarated by the speed and only glad to be getting home quickly. Perhaps there would be some more news from Willa. At least Polsen would be there.

  “I gather Ebba doesn’t like being thwarted,” she said at one stage. “She seemed upset about that thing she wanted done.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t like to defy her,” Kate said. “She terrifies me. How did you enjoy your weekend, Grace?”

  “It was interesting.”

  “You’re being diplomatic.”

  “I liked Sigtuna. It was pretty.”

  “Ghastly place,” said Peter.

  Kate looked at him in surprise. “But I thought you liked it. You always wanted to go there in the summer.”

  “Well, now it’s winter, and I don’t want to go anywhere. We’re staying home for the duration.”

  Kate shrugged. “Goodness, you are touchy. I believe you’ve got a temperature again. I told you we shouldn’t have gone out today.”

  More to change the subject than anything, Grace said. “Wasn’t it strange about finding Willa’s fur? I’m inclined to agree with Ebba. It is a rather horrid article.”

  “Willa’s fur?” said Peter. “Where?”

  “It had got in the dressing-up boxes in the attics,” Kate answered. “Willa must have left it lying around as she did other belongings.”

  Peter was reflecting. “That night she got tight on snaps,” he exclaimed. “Don’t you remember? We had to take her home.”

  “Was she wearing her fur that day? Wasn’t it in the summer?”

  “Late summer. Chilly. We all got a bit merry that day. I wouldn’t have dared drive the car if I hadn’t got diplomatic immunity.”

  “But what I don’t understand,” Grace said deliberately, “is how Fru Lindstrom could have thought Willa was wearing that fur piece the day she eloped.”

  “Is that what the nosy old girl said?” Peter spoke without apparent interest, though after a pause. “She could have been mistaken. Witnesses often are. They have preconceived pictures in their minds. Oh, what the hell!”

  “I know,” said Grace. “Willa, with or without her tatty fur piece, is getting to be a bore.”

  “You’ve said it, love. And how!”

  There was silence again for several miles. The forest and the empty fields receded, and the city lights grew bright. Alexander snuggled against Grace, half-asleep.

  “I’m glad there was no elks,” he murmured.

  “Were no elks,” Georgy corrected. “You still talk like a baby.”

  “Isn’t no elks today,” Alexander said contentedly.

  Chapter 11

  “BACK ALREADY, FRÖKEN ASHERTON! I hope you had a better time than poor Captain Morgensson. He is in a fine state, I can tell you. Some of his cargo has been delayed, and he wanted to sail tomorrow. Now he has wharfage troubles, and goodness knows what.” Fru Lindstrom’s hands were in their familiar upflung position. She was studying Grace’s d
emeanor for signs of more drama, for which she was obviously an addict.

  “I’m sorry for Captain Morgensson,” Grace said perfunctorily, though what did she care for that cold, staring man? “Yes, I had a nice time, thank you. Is everything all right?”

  Fru Lindstrom clapped her hands together, suddenly remembering another gleeful secret.

  “Everything is fine, Fröken Asherton. But judge for yourself when you go upstairs.”

  Since one never knew whether Fru Lindstrom’s glee came from pleasure at another person’s good fortune or misfortune, Grace went upstairs in some apprehension. Willa? she was thinking inevitably.

  As soon as she opened the door, she knew someone had been in the flat. What was different? Nothing, it seemed. Everything was orderly, as she had left it, the cushions straight, the bed undisturbed.

  But no! There was a cover over the birdcage in the corner, and under it, sleepy on his perch, a fine yellow canary.

  Grace dropped the cover and flew up the stairs to Polsen’s door. If he weren’t in—he had to be in!

  The door opened, and he stood there, large, solid, tentative, his thick eyebrows raised over his mild eyes.

  “Oh, Polsen, how darling! The canary!”

  He gave his slow, pleased smile. “You knew it was me?”

  “Of course! Who else would think of something so nice?”

  Polsen stood aside to let her go in.

  “We weren’t expecting you until the morning. The bird was to be singing in welcome.”

  “We?”

  “Magnus and myself. Magnus chose the bird. He said this one was the best specimen.”

  “How adorable! I always hated that empty cage. Of course how I smuggle a canary into England is another thing. It is mine to take to England, isn’t it?”

  “If you insist on returning.”

  “Of course, I’ll have to go home. Don’t be silly. Polsen! Isn’t that Willa’s diary?”

  “The canary moved into the cage, and the diary moved out.” He stopped being facetious and added, “I’ve been going through it again. With a fine-tooth comb, I believe the expression is.”

  “Have you any new ideas? Has something happened this weekend?”

  “You tell me. No, first I’ll tell you that I have found the king with two queens.”

  “Where?”

  “In Uppsala Cathedral. King Gustav Vasa with his great beard lying between his two beautiful little queens.”

  More symbolism!

  “What significance has that got?” Grace asked disappointedly.

  “A belated significance, I’m afraid. I think Willa was telling us that her Gustav was already married. She was to be his second wife.”

  “We know that.”

  “Now. We didn’t when we first read the diary, when we were meant to pick up these clues.”

  “And according to you, both of the wives dead!” Grace protested.

  “That’s interpreting too broadly, I think. Come and sit down and tell me about your weekend. Did Ebba give you a gay time?”

  “I hardly think gay is the right word. I want to know first what you were doing in Uppsala.”

  “Just wandering about. Drinking too much coffee in cafés. Asking about rooms to let or even summer cottages that weren’t shut up for the winter. Whether foreign visitors stayed on after the snow began.”

  “And did you get any interesting answers?” Grace asked tensely.

  “No. Not one. I only found the king and his queens. Which doesn’t mean that we now begin to look for someone with a long beard. Tell me what happened to you.”

  Grace sat on the floor in front of the fat-bellied stove, her head against Polsen’s knees, and felt her tension ebbing away as the events of the weekend were told.

  “They all know something,” she finished. “All of them. Why won’t they tell me what it is? Why am I supposed to be shown how normal and innocent everything is? That horrid bit of fur wasn’t meant to turn up, of course. I’m like Kate. It gives me the creeps. I get this feeling that something much worse than an old bit of fake fur will turn up.”

  When Polsen didn’t speak, she went on, “Ebba insisted that Willa would have had the real thing for her wedding outfit. Do you know if she went shopping for leopard skin?”

  “No, I don’t, but my guess is that if she were in the market for real fur, it would have been mink.”

  “So,” said Grace slowly.

  “So.”

  The fire glowed inside the stove. Grace tried to think only of the comfort and warmth in this room.

  “Did the canary sing to you?” she asked.

  “Like an opera star.”

  “Then it will to me, in the morning.” Her smile died. “Polsen, what am I to do next?”

  “Wait.”

  “For Willa? But I’ve done nothing else—”

  “We’ll both go to Uppsala next Saturday. Or perhaps Wednesday if I can arrange for Oscar Johannson to take my class.”

  “Even that’s two days away,” Grace said impatiently.

  “If all those people know something, as you say, it can’t be so bad. Do you understand?”

  “There’s safety in numbers? But if only one person knew, it would be a deadly secret?”

  “That’s what I mean,” said Polsen in his imperturbable way.

  In the night a gale blew up. Great luminous clouds floated over the moon, and tendrils of cold air somehow crept through the closed windows and made the room chilly. The dawn sky was a beautiful pearled pink, radiant and pure. A pink heaven for the sorrowful Swedes, Grace thought, getting out of bed and leaning on the window-sill. The wind was still buffeting at the window, and the streets below were alive with crazily whirling golden leaves. The boats rocked at anchor. The dark whipped-up water of the harbor looked chillingly cold.

  But presently the pink faded out of the sky, the sun came up, and as the room lightened, the canary, hopefully uncovered by Grace, began to sing.

  Her eyes filled with tears of pleasure. Dear Polsen! Did he know she always associated Willa, with her yellow hair, with that empty cage. Willa, the canary that flew away. But now here was a vigorously alive little occupant, so one had to believe that Willa was vigorously alive, too. Well, alive, anyway.

  Polsen had gone downstairs some time ago. Now Grace heard Captain Morgensson leaving, calling farväl to his aunts in his loud voice, and banging every door behind him. She watched from the window and presently saw him cross the street, his knapsack over his shoulder, his nautical cap tipped over one eye. He walked with a long, swinging stride, purposefully. Grace wondered if he were intending to sail without the cargo that had failed to be loaded.

  Because she had nothing else to do that day (wait, Polsen had said, and the prospect was unbearably tedious), she decided to pay a call on the Misses Morgensson.

  She was greeted with cries of pleasure.

  “But do come in, my dear,” exclaimed Miss Anna. “We are always lonely when Axel has gone.”

  “Is he sailing today?”

  “Ja. He was so angry yesterday; there was a delay about some important cargo. At first he thought he would have to wait for it, but this morning he said if it didn’t arrive before midday, he would sail without it, important or not. He was very annoyed, being a person for strict discipline.”

  So exit Axel, it seemed. Which left gentle Jacob, gloomy Sven. And Gustav?

  “Did you hear my canary singing this morning?” Grace asked.

  “You have a canary! But how charming.”

  “Herr Polsen got it for me.”

  “Aha!” Miss Anna wagged a coy finger. “I think Herr Poise is getting fond of you, Fröken Asherton. He is a lonely man. You won’t leave us too soon, I hope, like Fröken Bedford?”

  “She is back?” said Miss Katerina, cupping her hand to her ear.

  “Nej, Katerina. I didn’t say she was back. I only hoped Fröken Asherton wouldn’t leave us too suddenly.”

  A sudden flurry of yellow leaves blew agains
t the window. It would be stormy for Axel to go to sea. But it was cozy in here, the bright room, the two old papery faces with their friendly eyes and shawled shoulders, the pot plants, the smell of hot coffee, the absence of Axel with his hard stare.

  Grace was reluctant to leave. In spite of the cheering presence of the canary, Willa’s flat was still too empty. Things happened in there. Such as the telephone ringing the moment she unlocked the door. She had the feeling that it had been ringing like that, urgently, all the time she had been out.

  “Grace! Peter told me to tell you—the police will be calling—oh, it’s too awful—”

  Kate’s voice was almost incoherent. Distinctly Grace felt a shiver travel down her spine, spread over her whole body.

  “Willa?” she whispered with shocked inevitability.

  “Yes, Willa. She’s been found.”

  “Found! Where? Why doesn’t she ring me herself? Hasn’t anyone told her I’m here?”

  Grace checked herself. She was beginning to gabble like Kate, putting off the moment when she must listen to what Kate had to tell her.

  “She can’t ring you herself. Because she’s dead!” Kate’s voice was rising in hysteria. “Some schoolchildren found her in the lake at Sigtuna. Among all those rushes. You know, where we used to swim.”

  Yesterday, no, Saturday, she had looked at the very place. She had admired the graceful feathery rushes reflected in the water, not knowing what lay beneath their reflection. Willa, with her drowned face, her streaming yellow hair.

  “Grace, are you there? Are you all right?”

  “Is that where she—fell in?” Grace had closed her eyes to try to shut out the scene. But this was a mistake, for it made it more clear than ever, the horrified schoolchildren, the bitter wind over the disturbed gray water, the fallen birch leaves trampled into the mud.

  “They don’t know. They think—the body might have floated a distance until the storm last night washed it up.” There was a sharply indrawn breath at the other end of the telephone, and Kate gasped, “I have to go. I feel sick.”

  “You don’t! You have to tell me more.”

  “That’s all,” Kate wailed. “Willa’s dead.”

  “Who told you and Peter?”