It began in Vauxhall Gardens

by Plaidy, Jean, 1906-1993

  just that St. Martin seems so remote. Melisande—that is entirely yours, and so charming."

  "Then do—providing you do not address me so if there should be another whist party, and I am called up to make a fourth."

  "I promise, Melisande."

  "I turn off here ... I am going to visit a friend."

  "Let me accompany you."

  "Her name is Mrs. Chubb, and I had a room in her house. She is so kind. And so is her daughter Ellen who is all-powerful in the the world of cooks and ladies' maids. She found me my post with Mrs. Lavender."

  "Would you think it impertinent if I asked what you were doing before that?"

  "No. I should not think it impertinent, but I might not wish to answer. Here is Mrs. Chubb's house, and I will say goodbye."

  "May I wait for you?"

  "Oh, but you must not."

  "I should like to. Then I could escort you back."

  "It is not necessary."

  "Please . •. . as a pleasure, not as a necessity."

  "But I may be a very long time."

  Mrs. Chubb, who had been watching through the curtains, opened the door.

  "Why, here you are then. I thought I heard footsteps. Oh . . . and not alone!"

  "Mrs. Chubb, Mr. Randall. This is Mrs. Chubb, Mr. Randall— my very good friend who has been so kind to me."

  Mr. Randall bowed, and Mrs. Chubb summoned her instinct and, obeying its commands, took a liking to him on the spot.

  "Well, you'll come in, won't you?" she said.

  Thorold Randall said he would be delighted.

  Mrs. Chubb bustled them into her parlour. She glanced quickly at the daguerrotype as though she were asking Mr. Chubb to take note of her visitors.

  "It is so kind of you," murmured Mr. Randall. "Such hospitality ... to a stranger ..."

  Mrs. Chubb went to the kitchen to fetch the refreshments she had prepared.

  He was a gentleman. Trust her to know that. A handsome gentleman, too; and he could provide the right ending for her favourite lodger. Mrs. Chubb's instinct had always told her what was what; and right from the beginning it had told her Melisande was not cut out for servitude. Here was the answer; a handsome man who was already half in love with her and would very soon be completely so, who would offer her a devotion rivalled only by that which Mr.

  Chubb had given his wife, and a great deal more in worldly goods besides, Mrs. Chubb was sure.

  Mrs. Chubb felt like a fairy godmother. She had done this—she and Ellen between them.

  Following that afternoon there were other meetings.

  The Gunters knew of them, and they smiled delightedly. Sarah said it was lovely, and that it made her cry every time she thought of it. Mrs. Lavender was unaware of what was happening, because she was aware of little except her own affairs; but Mr. Lavender continued to watch his wife's lady's maid with an ever-increasing attention.

  Thorold Randall had become a more frequent caller at the house; it seemed as if he had discovered a bond between himself and the Lavenders. He could compliment Mrs. Lavender as she liked to be complimented, and he was knowledgeable about Mr. Lavender's favourite topic—horses and their chances.

  But always he was alert for the appearance of Melisande; and whenever he came to the house he found some means of speaking to her.

  Melisande's half-day came round again. She knew that when she left the house she would find Thorold Randall waiting for her. She enjoyed his company; it seemed to her that he was growing more and more like that picture she had built up of that man who was a little like Fermor, a little like Leon, and a little like himself.

  For instance, there were times when there seemed to be a certain boldness in him—and that was Fermor. At others he would talk of the lonely life he led, for he was an orphan and had been brought up by an aunt and uncle who had had little time to spare for him, and he would then remind her of Leon. And then he was himself— courteous, almost humble in his desire to please. She was very happy to have him as her friend.

  He was waiting for her when she left the house.

  "It's a lovely day," she said. "Let us walk in the Park."

  She did not often walk there now. She remembered drives with Genevra, Clotilde and Lucie, and she could not enter the Park without fearing to meet them. Moreover young ladies did not walk in the Park alone—that was asking for trouble. But now she was no longer afraid; it was as though she were tempting adventure. If she

  met anyone from Fenella's house she would feel safe, for she was becoming firmly settled in her new life.

  It was pleasant to walk along by the Serpentine chatting with Thorold. He took her arm and led the conversation—as he did so often—away from himself to her.

  She said: "You are unusual. Most people wish to talk of their affairs, not to hear about those of other people."

  "Perhaps when I am with others, I talk of myself. But you interest me so much ... far more than myself."

  "Nobody is quite as interested in others as in themselves surely.'*

  "Here is one who is so interested in another person that everything else now seems unimportant."

  "Ah! You would flatter me. What is it you wish to know of me?"

  "I should like to look into your mind and see everything that is there, to know your thoughts. What do you think of me, for instance ?"

  "I think that you are most kind and courteous to me always, as you were from the beginning."

  "Would you like to hear what I think of you?"

  "No. It is enough that you give me your company on these half-days."

  "It is not enough for me. Tell me why you are here?"

  "It is because I like to be here."

  "No, no. I mean, why a young lady like yourself is working for a woman like Mrs. Lavender."

  "It is so simple. She needs a maid. I need to be a maid. That fits . . . perfectly, you see."

  "It does not fit."

  Melisande had stood still where she was on the grass. Across the gravel path a woman was wheeling a bath chair and in the bath-chair was a young woman.

  "What is it?" asked Thorold. "Someone you know?"

  Melisande did not answer; she stared after the wheel chair. Neither the woman in the chair nor the one who was wheeling it turned her head to look in Melisande's direction.

  "What is it?" insisted Thorold Randall. "What has happened?"

  "It is . . . someone I know," she said.

  "Then . . . don't you want to speak to her? Wouldn't she be glad to see you?"

  "Oh no. . . . They would not be glad to see me. Oh, but I am so glad to see them."

  "Come and sit down. You look shaken."

  "Thank you."

  They found a seat. He was watching her curiously, but she had forgotten him. She was thinking of Wenna pushing the bath-chair, of Caroline sitting there, wan, pale . . . but alive.

  276 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

  So Caroline had escaped death. There was no more need for Melisande to hear that voice whispering to her: "Murderess! Murderess!" But although Caroline had survived she had to be pushed about in a bathchair. Why? Was she merely delicate and unable to walk far, or was she crippled?

  Still . . . she was not dead, and she had Fermor. As for Melisande, she must cease to think of them. She must banish Fermor from her mind for ever; she must leave him to Caroline.

  She lifted her face to the sun and thought that it was a lovely day.

  "They upset you . . . those people?" said Thorold.

  "No. Oh no! I was glad to see them. I thought she might be dead."

  "The one in the chair?"

  "Yes. There was an accident. I never heard the outcome."

  "Great friends of yours?"

  "I knew them well."

  "And yet you did not speak to them. You did not enquire?"

  "It is all over. It is a part of my life that is finished."

  "I see."

  "I feel gay. It makes me happy to have seen her and to know that she did not die.
I feel that I want to laugh and sing, and that life is not so bad after all . . . even for a lady's maid."

  "You are wrapped in mystery. Tell me what you did before you came here."

  "I was in a convent."

  "You told me that."

  "I was in the country for a long time, and then I left and I . . . Well, they wanted me to marry someone and I did not want to. Then ... I came away. Shall we go from here? I would rather not be in the Park now. I would rather go where I have never been before."

  "Just say where you want to go and I'll take you there."

  She remembered that Polly had told her how her father and mother had met in a pleasure garden. She had only been to such a place once and she longed to do so again.

  "To a pleasure garden," she said.

  "Let us go to Cremorne then."

  "I have never been there. I should greatly like to go."

  "Then that is sufficient reason."

  Melisande never forgot those hours she spent with Thorold Randall. It seemed to her then an enchanted afternoon. Spring was in the air and she felt happier than she had for a long time. Perhaps she mistook relief for happiness. She was gay, wildly, hilariously gay, for Caroline was alive. Caroline had suffered but she was Fermor's wife, and Melisande could not be sorry for Caroline now.

  Thorold Randall could not keep his eyes from her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her laughter was merry, her wit quick. It was as though he found in her another person, even more delightful than the charming girl he had known hitherto.

  They went into the American Bowling Saloor; they sat and listened to the Chinese orchestra; they explored the crystal grotto and the hermit's cave.

  "This is an enchanted place!" cried Melisande.

  "I believe you are enchanted," he answered. "I believe you are not of this world. None was ever so beautiful, Melisande. I must talk to you. You must talk to me. There is so much we have to say to one another."

  "But there is so much to see here ... so much to do."

  "What has happened to you this afternoon?"

  "I have found I like being alive."

  "Has that anything to do with me?"

  "Yes . . . with you and other things."

  "I don't want to share with others."

  "But you must. There is the sunshine and this delightful place, for one thing."

  "J brought you here."

  "But you did not bring the sunshine. You took me to the Park, but . . ."

  "It was the lady in the chair who has made you happy."

  She said seriously: "Yes. You see I thought she was dead, and it made me sad to think it. Now I know she is alive and is cherished, and I am happy because of that."

  "There is so much mystery about you, Melisande. Clear it away for me."

  "What does the past matter? We are here and the sun is shining, and I have found that I am liking life. I do not care about Mrs. Lavender any more. She may be rude to me, throw her hairbrush at me . . . but I do not care. I am finding that life, which I did not think could be good, is good again." Her eyes were enormous and brilliant. "And something else. I believe this: That however bad life became for me, however sad I felt, I should be able to make happiness for myself and those who shared it with me."

  "Melisande," he said gripping her arm, "you are an enchantress, I believe. You are not of this world. You are not human."

  "I should like to think so. What if I could work spells . . . turn men into swine! That was Circe, I believe. Although I would not wish to turn men into swine. Why should I? I do not like swine."

  "But you could turn them into whatever you wished them to be."

  "That would be more sensible."

  278 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

  "You might have turned the man they wished you to marry into someone more acceptable to you. Who were they, Melisande . . . your guardians ? Did you have a guardian ?"

  "Yes, I had a guardian.'*

  "I wish you would trust me. Anything you told me would be entirely between ourselves."

  "I do trust you. But I cannot tell you who my father was. I have determined that I shall tell no one. I know now that he is a good man, that he has done much for me and that it is solely because of his position that he cannot acknowledge me."

  He was silent for a while; then he took her hand and said: "Dear Melisande, you must not think me impertinently curious."

  "No, I do not. I too am curious. I want to know so much about the people I meet. I should like to hear more of you."

  "But your background is so fascinating; mine is so ordinary. There is no mystery about my origins. I told you I was orphaned early, and I lived with an aunt and uncle who had their own family to consider. That is not very exciting . . . neither to live nor to talk about."

  "Life is always exciting," she said. "Everything we do goes on and on and affects what others do. Consider that. My father met my mother in a place like this . . . just by chance, and because of that I sit here in such a place with you. In between, certain people did certain things, and each thing fits into a big picture, and because of each little thing, I am what I am."

  He said: "Will you marry me, Melisande?"

  She was astonished. She had known that she was attractive to him, but she had not wished to consider marriage, and because of that she had shut her mind to the idea.

  Now she realized that she was not yet free from her nightmares. The idea of marriage frightened her. To think of it was to bring back memories of those men: Leon who had a guilty secret; Andrew Beddoes who had a mercenary motive, and Fermor who had not offered marriage at all.

  She said: "I do not wish for marriage . . . just yet. It is so hard to explain and seems so ungrateful. It is not that I am not fond of you. I am. I shall always remember your kindness at the whist party. But . . . things have happened. It is not very long since I ran away from marriage. You see, I thought he was in love with me, and it was really the dowry my father was giving me. I could not endure that. It was so mercenary . . . such hypocrisy. I do not wish to think of marriage for a long time."

  "You will forgive my tactlessness?"

  "But it is not tactlessness. It is kindness."

  "May I ask you again?"

  She smiled: "Will you?"

  "I shall go on asking you until you consent. You will one day, won't you?"

  "If I were sure of that, I should consent now. How can we be sure? So much has happened to me in such a short time, I think. There were years at the Convent when one day was very like another . . . and then suddenly he came for me . . . my father . . . and everything was different; and since then, although it is not two years, there has been a lifetime of experience, it seems to me. That is why I am bewildered. Too much in too short a time, you understand?"

  "And you want a breathing space. I understand perfectly. Melisande, depend on me, rely on me. When that dreadful old woman bullies you, you can walk straight out if you wish to— straight out to me."

  "It is a comfort. I begin to feel very comfortable. But what is the time?"

  He drew out his watch and as she looked at it she exclaimed in horror. "I shall have overstayed my time!"

  "What does it matter?"

  "I may be sent packing right away."

  "That is no longer a tragedy."

  "But I am still unsure."

  "Come on then. We'll make our way back with all speed. When you agree to marry me I want it to be simply because that is what you wish. I want you to be sure."

  "I see how well you understand me," she said, "and I am grateful."

  He took her arm and they hurried through the gardens and out to the streets.

  Listening to the clop-clop of the horse's hoofs as the hansom carried them to the Lavenders' house, Melisande felt that it had been one of the most important afternoons of her life.

  She mounted the steps to the house with trepidation. She was an hour late. There would be recriminations. She must keep her temper; she must not be forced to a decision now. If she were to mar
ry Thorold she must be quite clear that it was what she wanted.

  She went to the sitting-room, framing an apology. She knocked.

  280 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

  A voice said: "Come in!" and uneasily she entered, for it was not Mrs. Lavender, but Mr. Lavender who had spoken.

  He was sitting in an armchair when she entered, smoking a cigar. His quiff of yellow hair fell over his forehead and he was smiling. She felt a tremor of fear. She would have preferred stern looks.

  He said: "Ah, Miss Martin. You are looking for Mrs. Lavender?"

  "Yes," she said hesitating at the door.

  "Come in," he said. "Come in."

  She shut the door behind her and advanced two paces. Then she stood there waiting.

  He took the big gold watch from his pocket and looked at it. "Why," he said, "you are late."

  "I am sorry. I came to say that I was delayed."

  "Oh? Delayed? I can understand how such a charming young lady as yourself might be delayed."

  "I will go to Mrs. Lavender's bedroom. I expect she will be needing me."

  "She's resting. There's no reason why she need know you are late. No need at all . . . unless someone tells her."

  "Oh ... I see."

  "I wonder if you do?" he said. "But of course you do. You must have realized that I want to help you, to be your friend."

  "That is good of you, but ..."

  "But? You are too modest, Miss Martin. Too retiring. I have been wondering why you keep so aloof from me when you are prepared to be so very friendly with Thorold Randall."

  "I have no wish to be other than friendly with anyone."

  "Oh come now, deliberately misunderstanding! You're cleverer than that. I wish to be very friendly with you, Miss Martin. Very friendly indeed. That's why I want to help you ... on occasions like the present one. You ought to be grateful to me, you know."

  She hated him. There was something in his demeanour which reminded her of Fermor. The peace of the afternoon was completely wrecked. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as she said sharply: "You must do as you wish about telling Mrs. Lavender that I am late, Mr. Lavender."