'Wedlock is a hard pinching boot But fornication is an easy shoe.'
"Yes, some years ago that was printed quite casually in one of the papers, and it was not meant to -shock. It was the way we thought in those days. Most people think the same now; they always think the same; but we're entering a new age, Polly. We're becoming a people who wrap ourselves up in decorum and think that if we lay it on thick, what's underneath doesn't exist. But it's there just the same. It's there."
"So he's one of the old lot, is he?" said Polly. "He finds his wife a hard-pinching boot and he thinks our Melly would be an easy shoe. I don't doubt it. I don't doubt it at all. But our little girl took fright, and that's going to send her to Mr. Beddoes. I hope it's right. I only hope it's right."
"He's bewitched you as he has Melisande. That's what men were like in the old days."
"Well, we'll see. But I'd like our little French Melly to be a happy little girl, that I would."
"She will. She'll marry Beddoes and live happy ever after. And we shall have done our duty."
"And earned our money."
"Don't be vulgar, Polly. In time she'll understand that sober marriage and a bank balance are worth all the blue-eyed wooers in the world ... in the long run, of course."
But Polly sighed; and Fenella sighed; they were romantics at heart.
So the meetings between the lawyer and Melisande were encouraged and, a month or so after Lucie's wedding, Andrew Beddoes asked Melisande to marry him.
"I know it seems sudden to you, Miss St. Martin," he said, "but I think it is partly due to seeing the happiness of my friend, Francis Grey. I won't deny that I have given this matter a great deal of thought. I have even discussed it with Grey. He is fond of you, and his wife loves you dearly. We could be near neighbours of theirs and we—he and I—might even consider joining together in a business relationship."
"I ... I see," said Melisande.
She looked at his clear, honest-looking eyes, at his serious face. Fermor had made her expect more passion in a proposal; but this was, of course, a different proposition from that which Fermor had made. She thought of Leon, whose proposal had been of yet another nature. Was she as fond of this lawyer as she had been of L£on ? It was hard to say. Then she had been innocent and inexperienced. She knew now that Leon had aroused her pity and that she had turned to him in order to escape from Fermor. Once again she was seeking escape from Fermor. She did not pity this self-assured young man, but she did admire him. He was always courteous; he did not anger her; he was so energetic in his desire to advance in his profession. How many times had she compared him with Fermor—and always to Fermor's disadvantage! Andrew would be a faithful husband, she was sure; Fermor never. Andrew was determined to make his way in the world. What ambitions had Fermor? Few it seemed, but to seduce her. There had been talk of his going into Parliament. She wondered whether he was too lazy. He already had a large income and one day would inherit more. Fermor seemed to have no ambition but to look about the world, decide on what he wanted, and proceed to take it.
In every way Andrew was admirable; in every way Fermor was disreputable. A wise girl would have had no difficulty in deciding; unfortunately Melisande was not wise.
But she was learning more and more about this establishment in which she found herself. She listened to the chatter of the girls. Lucie had warned her that it was not wise to stay too long with Fenella. If one did sooner or later one might become as Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane. They were such jolly girls—so full of fun and laughter—but what did the future hold for them ? Jane and Hilda, two seamstresses, had been desirable once; they liked to talk to the three jolly girls while they remembered wistfully that that was how they were once. Now they sat sewing for a living, and the privilege
of doing so they owed to the benevolence of Fenella Cardingly.
She must get away from this house. She was sure that Sir Charles was ignorant of its nature. She did not believe he would have sent her there had he known. Lucie was right. A girl must not stay too long at Fenella's. She had only yesterday wandered into the room which was set apart from the rest of the house, and in which was the Bed of Fertility. She had smelt the heavy perfumed air, had seen with shocked dismay the statues and pictures. It was an embarrassing experience.
Now this young man was offering her escape—not only from Fermor and the tragedy which any weakness on her part would surely bring to Caroline, but from Fenella and her mysterious establishment.
"Well," said Andrew, "what is your answer, Mademoiselle St. Martin?"
"I ... I don't know. I want time to think of it."
"Of course, of course. I have been rash. I have spoken too soon."
She smiled at him. He would never be rash; he would never speak too soon. From his point of view at least, she knew there would be no doubt. She was not surprised. Young as she was she had been much admired.
"How long would you like to consider this ?" he asked eagerly.
"Oh ... a few days. . . . Perhaps a week."
"Then you will give me your answer not later than a week from to-day?"
"Yes, but there are things you should know about me."
"Nothing could change my feelings about you."
"You are very good, Mr. Beddoes," she said. "I shall always remember how good."
He kissed her hand and left her; and she decided then that she would be very foolish if she did not accept his offer of marriage.
Fenella sent for her. Fenella was well satisfied. She lay on her chaise longue and held out her hand. Taking Melisande's she patted it. "Dear child, Mr. Beddoes has spoken to me. You know of what." "I can guess."
"He is a good man, my dear." "I know he is." "And you will agree to marry him?"
"I have not yet made up my mind. He has given me a week to decide."
"I hope," said Fenella, picking up the ivory fan which was within her reach, "that you will decide to be wise."
"Sometimes that which appears to be wise turns out unwise."
"Not with a man like Andrew Beddoes, my dear. He knows where he's going. He will be a successful lawyer in a few years' time. Doubtless he will make a fine name for himself. He might get a knighthood. That wouldn't surprise me at all."
"Is it easier to live with people who have titles than those without?"
"Ha! It is an easier matter to live with a successful man than a failure. Don't be deceived by ideas about bread and cheese and kisses. They don't work after the first few weeks, and we want to see you settled for life. I won't deny I hoped you might marry into the peerage. A girl with looks like yours might have done so twenty years ago. But now, my dear, society is changing. The men who could offer you a grander marriage than this one wouldn't offer you marriage at all."
"Is it not a question of affection ?"
"That comes into it. But you are fond of him?"
"I admire him."
"Admiration is as good a basis as love. We seek to turn those we love into the perfect beings of our imagination. Those whom we admire we emulate. Yes, mutual admiration is a very good basis for marriage."
"Madam, I am rather bewildered. Why did my father send me to you? Why did he say I was to be apprenticed to a dressmaker when . . ."
"He could not have explained me nor my establishment to you, dear. Nobody could. I hope you have been happy here. Perhaps you have seen certain things which it was not good for you to see. Here each lives her own life. What is good for one may be bad for another. The chief quality we have is tolerance. You can't go far wrong in being tolerant, dear. Then you don't condemn; you don't blame. You say simply: 'That way is not the way I wish to go.' No more than that. Nobody is unhappy here. That is how I weigh the good and the bad. Happiness is good; sorrow is bad. If I give happiness, that is good enough for me."
"I see. And you would be happy if I accepted Mr. Beddoes ?"
"It is the best thing that could happen to you. I should be pleased; your father would be pleased."
"My father!"
&nb
sp; "He wishes to see you happily settled, of course."
"Does he . . . care then?"
"Care! Of course he cares! He writes regularly asking me of your progress."
"I did not know."
"He cannot write to you. It is not in his nature to do so. He is a man of pride, of fixed conventions. You were* the result of an indiscretion which he feels would disgrace him if it were known. You may call him a coward. But be tolerant, Melisande. Always try to look through the eyes of others; that breeds the best things the world has to offer: kindness, tolerance, understanding and love."
Melisande knelt down and kissed Fenella's hand.
"I think," she said "that I will marry Mr. Beddoes."
After that night and the day which followed it, Melisande often thought that if only one had time to prepare for shocks, so much that was tragic might be averted.
The French maid was dressing her, Clotilde and Genevra.
Genevra was chatting with abandon in front of the maid, since the latter certainly could not understand Cenevra's English.
Genevra was laced and standing in her petticoats waiting for her dress of silk and lace to be slipped over her head. Clotilde lay back languorously in her chair. Melisande was standing before the mirror while Elise laced her corset. She was laughing as she gripped the back of a chair while Elise pulled tighter and tighter.
"That's enough," said Genevra. "Assez, assez! You'll make the poor girl faint into the arms of Mr. Beddoes. But I'll wager another gentleman would be there first to catch her."
"Is it true," asked Clotilde, "that you will marry this Mr. Beddoes, Melisande?"
"It is not yet decided."
"It is a mistake," said Clotilde. "I see it in your eyes. A great mistake."
"How can you be sure of that?" demanded Genevra. "One man's meat is another's poison. One girl's pleasure another's pain."
"Mademoiselle is ready?" asked Elise.
Melisande said she was, and the ivory velvet gown was slipped over her many petticoats.
"Ah," said Elise, "c'est charmante. Mademoiselle will be the belle of the soirSe."
"Traitress!" cried Genevra. "What of little Genevra!"
"Is charming also," said Elise. "But Mademoiselle Melisande . . . ah, parfaitel"
"I have the prettier dress to-night," said Melisande.
"Is it fair?" cried Genevra. "Your prey is trapped. I have yet mine to win. Do you know Teddy's family are trying to force him into marriage with a lady?"
"He'll not be forced," said Melisande. "You'll see to that."
"Poor Teddy!" sighed Genevra.
Clotilde said: "You are in love, Melisande, and it is not with the lawyer."
"I think," said Melisande, "and everyone thinks, it would be a good marriage."
"But a good marriage is not necessarily a happy one."
"Love!" said Elise. "V amour > ma chirie ... it is the best in the world and the . . . how do you say . . . the droit de naissance of Mademoiselle."
"Love, love, love!" cried Genevra. "Can you live on love? Can you eat love? Does it make a roof over your head?"
"Nothing else matters," said Clotilde.
"Agreed," said Genevra. "//"you already have the food and the roof. What if you have not?"
"All is well lost for love," said Clotilde.
"All is well lost for a crust of bread if you're starving. You, my dear Clo, have never starved. That's quite clear to me. You have never seen the inside of a factory, have you? I have. I say: 'Give me the food, give me a roof, give me freedom from earning a living, and then ... if there's anything more to be handed out . . . give me love.' I say to Melly: 'Marry your lawyer. Play my game.' It's the same, you know, only I'm playing for higher stakes. I'll be 'my lady' one of these days. I started lower but I'm going farther up; but it's the same old ladder we're climbing. Fermor Holland has* charm. I don't deny he's a temptation. But don't be foolish, my child. It wouldn't last, and then what would happen? The best would be that you'd be passed on like an old dress. First for the use of the lady, then my lady's maid, then the parlourmaid, then the housemaid . . . then the old slut who mops the kitchen floor . . . and after that the dust bin. No, dears, I know too much. I've seen too much. Don't let yourself get passed down. Marriage is enduring; love passes. Don't be deceived by the sugar and spice. The lawyer is a sensible man. Would he marry you but for the fact that your father's making it worth his while?"
"My father!" cried Melisande.
"Of course, ducky. You're one of the lucky ones. You're like our Lucie. Her father bought her a nice promising lawyer; your father's doing the same. It's only the poor like myself who have to fend for
236 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
themselves. That's why I'm fighting for Teddy. Teddy don't want a dowry, so all he's got to want is Genevra. It's hard, but it's been done before, and what others can do so can I."
"A dowry ..." Melisande was repeating.
"I listen. I keep my eyes open."
"Your manners are shocking," said Clotilde. "Nothing will improve them, I fear. Even when you become a peeress you'll be listening at keyholes."
"They say listeners never hear any good of themselves," said Genevra with a grimace. "Who cares? It's as well to know what people say of you—good or bad. And whoever says good of anyone behind their backs? My little habits have helped me along. That's why I know what a kind papa our Melisande has got. You're a lucky girl, Melly dear. He's a very fond papa. Madam told Polly that he's gone thoroughly into the history of your Mr. Beddoes and has satisfied himself that the young man is a suitable husband for his little ewe lamb. On the day you become Mrs. Beddoes a substantial sum will be handed to the lawyer and much good business will be put in his way. I'd say he was getting a double bargain. Dear little Melly and a fortune! I'd say he's coming off slightly better than Lucie's Francis. Why, what's the matter, dear?"
"I did not know this," said Melisande.
Clotilde, Genevra and Elise were watching her. Her face was white and her eyes like blazing green fire. But she was silent for a while.
Clotilde said: "Genevra . . . you fool!"
"No," said Melisande then. "No, no! Thank you, Genevra. You are the wise one who listens at doors. Thank you. I see I am the fool, Clotilde, because I believed that he wanted to marry me, I did not know of this dowry. You say I have a fond Papa. I suppose that's true. How much is it worth to marry me! A large sum, you say. Then I am not worth very much by myself, am I. It is not a complimentary, is it . . . that such a large sum has to be offered as ... a bride?"
She began to laugh. Genevra was beginning to be alarmed by what she had disclosed. Clotilde was the first to recover herself.
"Melisande," she said, putting her arm about her, "it is a custom, you know. All young ladies of good birth have a dowry. It is merely part of a custom,"
"There is no need to explain these matters to me," said Melisande, her eyes flashing. "I know now. I have been blind-folded. Those who are supposed to love me put bandages on my eyes. Thank you, Genevra, for tearing it away. Oh, how I wish I were as clever as you! How I wish I had lived with you in your garret and seen what men really were, in the beginning. We are different, Genevra. You
saw clearly and I have been stupid . . . stupid all the time. Now I see. Now I understand. And it is the good men I despise the most. The lawyer who is so anxious to marry me . . . for my dowry! He is yet another. Thank you, Genevra. Thank you for explaining what I ought to have known."
"Here," said Genevra, "you'd better calm yourself, ducky."
"You see, dear," said Clotilde, "they only want the best for you. Don't blame them for that. Don't blame him."
"I should have been told. Don't you see ... it is the pretence, that hypocrisy that I cannot endure. They deceive me, all of them, except . . ."
"I've been a fool," said Genevra. "I thought you knew this. You must have known about Lucie."
"I am a fool. I know nothing. I am blind . . . blind. . . . And I do not see until the tru
th is pushed under my nose by kind people like you." She put her arms about Genevra and Clotilde. "Oh, Genevra, Clotilde, you are my friends. You do not pretend to be good. I hate all men and women who pretend to be good, for they are the bad ones. I hate that man now. I never loved him, but I admired him. I respected him. What an idiot!"
Elise said sharply: "Do not, Mademoiselle. I beg ... be calm. You must not laugh so. It is bad."
Genevra put her arms round Melisande and hugged her. "Don't worry, Melly. We'll look after you. I'm sorry I said what I did. I thought you knew . . . honest."
"It is for the best perhaps," said Clotilde. "It was wrong, that marriage. I knew it."
"Melly," said Genevra, "you've got the light of battle in your eyes. What are you going to do?"
Melisande looked from one to the other. Clotilde knew. The battle between security and adventure had been won for adventure.
Melisande threw out her arms suddenly. "I am free!" she cried. "Now I will be no one but myself. I will not be sold with a dowry to make up the weight. I feel as though I have been laced too tightly and now I am free. Now I shall do what / wish . . . not what others wish for me."
"You look wild," said Genevra uneasily. "Are you sure you want to appear to-night?"
"I have something to do to-night, Genevra. I am in love ... in love with my new life."
The ivory velvet encasing the slim figure was a triumph, thought Fenella; and never had Melisande appeared to be so beautiful. What had happened to her to-night? Her eyes were like flashing emeralds.
She seemed so sure of herself. She had thrown aside that modesty which had been so appealing, and yet she was more attractive without it.
Poor Mr. Beddoes was looking bewildered, as though he scarcely recognized his bride-to-be.
Melisande was saying: "I must have a word with you, Mr. Beddoes; I have something to say to you."
It began in Vauxhall Gardens Page 29
