She heard herself laugh, but it was shrill laughter. She hoped he did not notice that there was a note of hysteria in it.
"Melisande," he repeated. "Melisande."
But he did not follow her now. We are too near the house, she thought; and he has too much wisdom. Poor Caroline! And poor Melisande!
Fermor had gone to London and Trevenning was a different place without him. It is as though an evil spirit has departed, thought Melisande; but how dull was the place without him!
Life had become more simple, it seemed. Everybody appeared to be happy. Caroline spent hours with Miss Pennifield, trying on the garments for her trousseau. They had discovered that Melisande, whilst being a poor needlewoman, could made suggestions about dresses, add an ornament—or take one away—so that the effect was transformed.
"It is your French blood," said Caroline, now sweet and friendly. "The French are wonderfully clever at such things."
"Mamazel certainly has the touch!" cried Miss Pennifield. "Why, Miss Caroline, when you are married you will be wanting her with you to help you with your clothes."
Poor blind Miss Pennifield! thought Melisande. Unwittingly she had shattered the peace.
But the gloom quickly passed and Caroline forgot her fears, and when Miss Pennifield retired to the sewing-room and Caroline suggested that she and Melisande should read together from a French book, she said: "By the way, I hear there are some French people in the neighbourhood. Everyone is agog. They find them amusing."
"I know," said Melisande; "we have met."
"Really?"
"Yes. It was when I went to Miss Pennifield's cottage last week. I tried to get down the cliffs but it was very steep; the little boy was playing there and he guided me down. His guardian, who is also his cousin, was on the beach. The little boy introduced us."
"That must have been fun."
"Yes, it was fun. They were very pleased to speak French. They said they could not understand the English of the people here and I explained they were Cornish . . . not English."
"It must be pleasant to meet people from your own country."
"It was a . . . niceness."
"I expect you all chattered away in great excitement."
"Perhaps. I have met them since. They were lonely and, as you say, it was good to speak French. I have seen them once or twice since."
"You must know more about them than anyone else." Caroline smiled. "I have heard that the boy is rich and used to having his own way with everyone. He's the master of the household and knows it. Mrs. Clark is quite a gossip. They say here that she is a regular Sherborne."
"A Sherborne? I do not know that."
"Oh, it's an old saying that goes back to the days when there was only one newspaper which came all the way from Sherborne. It was the Sherborne Mercury, I believe. They say here, when anyone is a bit of a gossip, that he or she is a regular Sherborne."
Melisande laughed. She had never been on such happy terms with Caroline.
"Well," went on Caroline, "Mrs. Clark says they belong to an old French family—aristocrats. One branch lost its possessions in the revolution; the other survived and escaped. The boy belongs to the rich de la Roches and the man to the poor branch of the family; but if the boy should die the fortune will go to the man. Mrs. Clark is full of sympathy for the man; she says the boy is a handful."
"The regular Sherborne is, I should say, quite right. The boy is amusing but it is not good for one so young to know his power. The man is very kind and tolerant."
"Have you met them often?"
"Once or twice."
Caroline smiled to herself. She was very interested in the foreigners and particularly in the man. It pleased her that he and Melisande had become friends. It seemed to her that this man might provide a solution which would prove satisfactory to everyone concerned.
This was a great occasion. Everyone in the house was talking about it. Sir Charles, Miss Caroline and the Mamazel had all been invited to dine at the rectory with the Danesboroughs.
" 'Tis the first time," said Mr. Meaker, "that I ever heard of a companion going out to visit social like with the family . . . unless, of course she was a poor relation."
Mrs. Soady sat at the head of the table cutting up the pasties so that the savour of onions made everyone's mouth water. She said nothing, but the curve of her lips told them all clearly that if she had chosen to speak she could have startled them.
Mr. Meaker seemed slightly irritated. If she knew something it was a matter of servants' hall etiquette to impart it—at least to Mr. Meaker.
"Well, Mrs. Soady," he said, "you don't think it be strange then?"
Mrs. Soady paused with the knife and fork gracefully poised above the pasty. "Mr. Meaker, I can't say. I be as surprised as you, and that's all I'm in a position to say."
"I've been in some big houses," said Mr. Meaker, "and I repeat: I've never seen it before unless it was a poor relation."
"As a regular thing you be right, Mr. Meaker."
"Of course," said Peg, "she's very pretty."
"And educated better than a lady," put in Bet; "though that might go against her—some holding that education ain't all that ladylike."
"Mr. Danesborough," said the footman, "is never one to stand on ceremony . . . parson though he may be."
"And related to a lord," added Mr. Meaker.
Everyone was looking at Mrs. Soady who, as she served up the pasties, was smiling knowingly at her secret.
"It do make you think," said Peg, "that this Mamazel . . . be somebody."
That made Mrs. Soady dimple.
She do know something! thought Mr. Meaker. 'Tis something about the Mamazel.
From now on it was going to be Mr. Meaker's special task to prise that secret out of Mrs. Soady.
To Melisande it was a great occasion. It was to be the first time she wore the dress bought in Paris for such an occasion, the dress with the frilled skirt and its accompanying sousjupe crinoline. She had cleverly made a rose from pieces of silk and velvet which Miss Pennifield had given her. This she tucked into her corsage, and it gave a youthfulness to the Paris gown, and the green of the rose's stalk and leaf matched her eyes.
Caroline came into the room. She was wearing a blue silk dress, a charming dress she had thought it and one of her most becoming, but as soon as she looked at Melisande she felt it to be dowdy. How could Melisande afford such a dress? And why should a simple gown look so'much more becoming than all the blue silk frills and tucks which had taken so many of Miss Pennifield's hours to create?
Caroline felt that if Fermor had been in the house she would have hated Melisande.
"What a lovely dress!" said she. "It's quite plain . . . apart from the flower. Oh, it is a lovely flower!"
"You have it," said Melisande.
"No, no. It is for your dress. I can see that." Caroline forced herself to smile. "Mr. Danesborough has a special reason for asking you."
"A special reason?"
"Wait and see. A surprise. A rather nice one, I think."
Melisande looked very excited and Caroline thought: She is so young, so fresh and charming. No wonder she attracts him. But for him I should have enjoyed keeping her as my companion.
Melisande was thinking: What a pity! It is Fermor who makes the trouble. She is pleased because there is to be a nice surprise for me. And what is it ? What can it be ? What a nice quiet happiness there is without him!
Later, riding in the carriage with Sir Charles and Caroline, she felt that she belonged to them, and that was what she could only call a great pleasantness.
Sir Charles talked to them both. He was eager to know how Caroline was progressing with her French lessons.
"She progresses well," said Melisande.
"And you are enjoying your riding?"
"That has been a great enjoyment," she told him.
Melisande waited eagerly. Perhaps now he would tell her that soon she must go. Surely they must tell her soon and, now that they w
ere here talking so intimately, that would be a good time?
But neither he nor Caroline said anything about her leaving them.
"I daresay Caroline keeps you and Miss Pennifield busy with the sewing for her wedding."
"Yes, Papa. Mademoiselle St. Martin has very good taste."
"Undoubtedly she has."
He closed his eyes to indicate that he did not wish for more conversation. He was disturbed to be travelling with them both like this. They brought back such memories to him of Maud and Millie, for each was sufficiently like her mother to remind him. He was greatly disturbed by this beautiful young girl. He was wondering what he was going to do with her when Caroline went away. He had a daring scheme. He was thinking of installing her as housekeeper. What would the servants have to say to that! She was popular with them, but to set a young girl in such a position, so that she was the equal of Mrs. Soady and Mr. Meaker! It might cause trouble. It might even do worse. It might cause conjecture. He was terrified of that.
He had hoped in the first place that Caroline would take her away with her when she married. That would have been the best solution. Eventually he might have found a suitable husband for her. But, of course, she could not go with Caroline. He had reckoned without Fermor.
It was a very daring proposition this—to keep her in the house, to create a position for her. He would have to proceed very warily, for there was one thing he could not endure: scandal which might result in exposure.
He was glad that Wenna would leave with Caroline. He would certainly be glad to see the back of that woman.
Caroline had told him of Melisande's encounter with the Frenchman. Danesborough had, in his usual manner, quickly made the acquaintance of the young man and his precious charge. It was Sir Charles who had suggested that Caroline's companion should be invited to meet the young Frenchman; and Danesborough, who had asked de la Roche for dinner extended the invitation to Melisande without hesitation.
Danesborough was a broad-minded man; and Sir Charles had pointed out that, although she was in poor circumstances, Melisande was a girl of education.
They had arrived at the Danesboroughs' and in the drawing-room,
Mr. Danesborough with his sister, who was the chatelaine of the household since the death of Mrs. Danesborough, greeted them warmly.
There were other guests and among them Melisande saw, with surprise and pleasure, Leon de la Roche.
"Ah, Mademoiselle St. Martin!" cried the jovial Mr. Danesborough, "I am so glad you have come. Monsieur de la Roche has been telling me how you and he were introduced by young RaouL ,,
"It is so," said Melisande. "He rescued me and introduced me. It was a double kindness."
Mr. Danesborough was clearly enchanted with her. Sir Charles, he said, had told him of her learning but had not prepared him for her beauty. He had promised Monsieur de la Roche that he should take her in to dinner; Mr. Danesborough implied that he envied Monsieur de la Roche.
And here was Leon de la Roche himself. To Melisande he looked different in this new setting—remote, less friendly, a pale stranger; but there was no doubt of his pleasure in seeing her.
"I am delighted," he said in his own tongue.
She answered in French: "I had no idea that you would be here. You must be the surprise. Caroline told me there was a surprise. A rather nice one, she said." She laughed. She felt young and carefree. This house held no memories of Fermor, and chatting with Leon she could forget all about him. She began to chatter of how excited she was to come out to dinner. "I have never before been out to dinner. It is my first dinner party. Of course, I have had supper with the servants in the servants' hall. Such things there are to eat! And that is great fun. But this is grand . . . and how different you look! And I too, I daresay."
"You look charming. You always look charming. But to-night you are very beautiful."
"It is the dress. It is beautiful. I longed to wear it, but this is the only suitable occasion there has been. I hope there will be other suitable occasions . . . many, many of them."
"So do I. It is a delightful dress."
"It is French. That is why you like it. The flower is English though. Made with these hands from cuttings given by Miss Pennifield. So perhaps it is half French ? She gave the material; I made the flower. I have been wondering if I can earn my living making flowers."
"You go too fast. Why should you earn your living making flowers?"
"If it should be necessary," she said. "Who knows? It would be a little accomplishment."
"But you have many accomplishments."
"I do not know them. You are to take me in to dinner. Mr. Danesborough told me."
"I am delighted."
"Isn't it fun . . . meeting properly like this . . . not just a chance encounter on the seashore, and I promise to be there if we can arrange it and it does not rain!"
"It is. But it was also fun on the seashore . . . the greatest fun."
"And fun to be talking French as loudly as we like. Few, if any of them, know what we are saying."
"It makes us seem apart. I can't tell you how glad I am to find you here. Mr. Danesborough is an interesting man. He called on us and told me a good deal about the neighbourhood . . . past and present. Raoul has taken a fancy to his son Frith who came with him."
"His son?"
"He's not here to-night. He's home for the holidays, I think. Too young for dinner parties. Although I doubt whether he is much younger than you are."
"It is an advantage to be out in the world. Then you come to dinner parties and renew acquaintance with interesting people whom you meet on the beach."
They went in to dinner together. It was delightful, thought Melisande, to walk in a sort of crocodile, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a gentleman. It reminded her of another crocodile— by its very difference.
The table was a magnificent sight to Melisande, with its flower centre-piece and cutlery. Everything was wonderful to-night, she decided. She refused to think of Fermor; she refused to think beyond to-night. She found herself between Leon and Sir Charles, and felt immediately at home.
Sir Charles was talking to a lady on his right, but she could not but be aware that he was listening to what she and Leon were saying, although she doubted whether he could follow their rapid French.
"How is Raoul?" she asked.
"Quite well. This place suits him. He likes it, so we shall stay here."
She smiled. "It seems strange ... a small boy to make the decisions."
"It is an unusual position. Sometimes I think he would be better surrounded by children of his own age."
"Those who did not let him have so much of his own way perhaps. Has he been long in your charge?"
"Since he was five years old. That was when his mother died. Poor Raoul! He belongs to a tragic family. His grandmother was a young woman at the time of the revolution. She was at the court— a close friend of Marie Antoinette. She was imprisoned and suffered
much hardship. It undermined her health. But by some extraordinary good fortune she was released. She was one of those who escaped the guillotine. But there were many who lived and suffered through the revolution."
His expression was mournful, and she thought: What a sad face he has! She longed to make him smile. The smile of a sad person, she decided, was a charming thing, because it came so rarely. She was again thinking of Fermor with his brash gaiety How different was this man! His gentle melancholy appealed to her the more because she had known Fermor.
"Raoul is yet another victim,'' he said.
"Raoul! After all these years!"
"His grandmother escaped, but months in the Conciergerie had ruined her health. She was only seventeen when she was freed, and then she married. She died just after her daughter was born. That daughter was Raoul's mother. She too was fragile. You see, the same disease, the disease of the Conciergerie, was passed on to her. She married. Raoul was born; she died as her mother had, and her sickness began to show itself in Raoul."
"That is terrible!" said Melisande. "To pass on a weakness so. It seems as if a bad thing will live for ever."
"There is hope for Raoul. More is known of these things now. When his father—my cousin—died, he left Raoul in my charge. He asked me to look after him, to educate him, to watch over his health. I have done so for four years."
"That is good of you."
"I don't want to masquerade under false colours. I was poor . . . very poor. My family, you see, lost everything during the Terror. Estates . . . fortune . . . everything gone. I had nothing. My wealthy cousin, in leaving me in charge of his son, was also providing for me."
"Well, perhaps you are fortunate. You have the little boy and your good health."
"You are a comforter," he said, smiling his gentle melancholy smile.
"You have a longing for a different life?"
"We lost much. As you so properly remind me, I have good health, and that is the most important of all possessions. The canaille left my family that—which is more than they did poor Raoul's. You are not eating. I distract you from your food."
She smiled. "And it is all so good! This delicious fish! This sparkling wine! How I love it! But your story is more exciting than fish or wine. To-morrow and the next day . . . food and drink are forgotten. But I shall remember your story as long as I live."
"Do you remember other people's stories so vividly then?"
150 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
"Yes."
"I wonder why?"
"Is it because so little has happened to me? Perhaps. I still remember old Therese, at the Convent, who used to peer at everyone, and how it was said in the town that she was really looking for her Jean-Pierre whom she had loved so long ago. ... I remember Anne-Marie who went away with a rich woman in a carriage. Yes, I think I remember every little detail of what happened to other people. Perhaps it is because, when I hear these stories, I feel that I am the person to whom they are happening. / was old Therese, peering about for her Jean-Pierre; and I was Anne-Marie going away in a carriage. I was poor RaouPs grandmother growing ill in the Conciergerie. When things like that happen you cannot forget . . . even if they only happen in your mind."
It began in Vauxhall Gardens Page 18
