"Does that mean that you are not a bit grateful for my kind suggestion?"
"I merely said that you must do as you please about telling her."
"She might decide to dismiss you."
"As you suggest, that is a matter for her to decide."
"It is very difficult, you know, to find posts without references. If you were wise you would not turn away from . . . friends. ..."
He had risen and was leering at her. She stepped back.
"Now, my dear," he said, "if you will be pleasant to me I will be pleasant to you."
Her fingers were on the door handle. She turned it and said quickly: "I must go."
And she went out.
In her attic she locked the door and leaned against it.
Her afternoon was spoiled. Mr. Lavender with his leers and insinuations had reminded her of the unpleasantness of the world.
Perhaps Mr. Lavender had something to do with her decision. He had not told Mrs. Lavender of her lateness; often she met his eyes and he would seem conspiratorial, as though there was a secret understanding between them. She was afraid of Mr. Lavender. Sometimes in the night she would awaken with a start. Had she remembered to lock her door ? She would get out of bed and with immense relief confirm that she had done so. There was really no need to fear that she had not done so. Never did she enter her room without thinking of him, without making sure that she was safe from him.
His eyes followed her; they would seem to say: "We're going to be friends . . . very special friends."
She was afraid of him as the nuns in the Convent had been afraid. She locked her door; they shut themselves away from the world.
During the day he worried her no more than a wasp would have done. If she kept out of his way, made sure that she was prepared against his stings, what trouble could there be! It was only at night that the uneasiness came, and it came in dreams.
Thorold was a frequent visitor at the house; he spent a good deal of time with Mr. Lavender. They went to the races together; sometimes they watched boxing matches; they were interested in all sport. Thorold said that he came to the house only to see her; it was a good thing, he said, that he knew how to interest Archibald Lavender. He was clever too with Mrs. Lavender, so that she was always ready to welcome him.
A few weeks after he had first asked Melisande to marry him he repeated his proposal.
Melisande realized suddenly how empty her life would be if she lost his friendship. Mrs. Chubb, in whom she had confided, thought it was the best thing that had happened to anyone since she herself
met Mr. Chubb. Mr. and Mrs. Gunter who saw 'the way the wind was blowing* were equally sure that it was a good thing.
"The fact is," said Mrs. Gunter, "you're not cut out to work for other people, my dear. You ought to be a lady with a maid of your own. That's my view and Gunter's."
It was folly to hesitate. There was tension now between herself and Mr. Lavender. His smile was less pleasant; there was in it a hint of impatience. He was so arrogant, she guessed, that he could not believe that she really disliked him. Her fears of the man were increasing with each day.
And so, when Thorold again asked her to marry him, she accepted the proposal.
His delight was so intense that it was infectious.
As they walked through the Park she felt gay, certain that the future would be good, sure that she had done the right thing.
"We must marry soon," he said.
Only then was she a little uneasy. "I think we should wait a little while."
"But why?"
"To ... to make sure that it is the right thing."
"I know it is the right thing."
"Yes, of course it is, but . . ."
They seemed to mock her, all the other men whom she had known. How can you be sure? they seemed to ask. Haven't you thought at other times that you were doing the right thing ? Fermor seemed to ask: "What do you want? To escape from the Lavenders? Think again, Melisande. / may be looking for you. / may be waiting for you."
Thorold said: "You don't trust me."
"Oh, but I do."
"It worries me. It alarms me. You don't, you know. You won't even tell me the name of your father."
"I have decided I must never tell that to anyone. You see, he cares so much that it should be kept secret."
"I understand how you feel. But to a man who is to be your husband ... it seems such a little thing to tell."
She said: "He is so proud. He wanted no one to know about my birth. I shall never forget when he discovered that the servants were talking."
"That was in the country-, wasn't it?"
"Yes . . . and it was then that I had to go away. You see, he is a good man, a respectable man, and his one lapse must have caused him so much pain and anxiety."
"Perhaps it caused your mother even greater pain and anxiety?"
"Perhaps. But he looked after her as he looked after me. My future was taken care of."
"It must have cost him a good deal; and then he would have given you a dowry."
"He is a rich man."
"And you won't trust me with his name?"
"Please understand me. I want no one to know it through me. Please, Thorold, don't ask me."
He kissed her hand. "Everything shall be as you wish. Now and for ever."
Mrs. Lavender said: "Mr. Lavender and I are going into the country for a few days, Martin."
"Oh yes, Madam."
"I thought of taking you, but I have decided against it. I shall manage without you for two or three nights." Mrs. Lavender looked sharply at Melisande. "Of course I don't expect you to be idle while I'm away. There is my lace dress which needs mending; there is a tear in the skirt. You'll need to be very careful with that. You might go through all my clothes while I'm away. Make sure that everything is in order. And you can wash those nightgowns and petticoats that need it. Oh ... and make me a flower of those pieces of velvet. .. mauve and green. It will go with my mauve gown."
"Yes, Madam. But I should like to make a black rose for the mauve dress."
"A black one!"
"I think so, Madam."
"Hideous!" said Mrs. Lavender. "Who ever heard of a black rose?"
"Perhaps it is just because one does not hear of them that they seem attractive. Besides, I was thinking how well the black would look on the mauve."
Mrs. Lavender clicked her tongue; but after a while she said: "Well, make the black flower. We can try it."
284 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
Melisande felt happy as she packed Mrs. Lavender's bag.
"No need to pack for Mr. Lavender," said Mrs. Lavender. "He'll do that himself."
"Yes, Madam."
She was so happy, she could have sung, but the only songs which came to her mind were those which she had heard Fermor sing. "Go lovely rose" and "The Banks of Allan Water"—and most poignant of all "O, wert thou in the cauld blast."
A feeling of relief swept through the house when the Lavenders left.
"Two days of peace and quiet," said Mrs. Gunter. "That will be nice. Let's drink to the next two days in a glass of my ginger."
Sarah came down and they were very merry.
And that afternoon Thorold called for Melisande, and they walked in the Park together. He looked a little sad, a little melancholy.
"Is something wrong, Thorold?" she asked.
"No . . . not if you love me."
"But I have said I will marry you."
"You told me about the young man your father wished you to marry, and how hurt you were because you realized your dowry had played a deciding factor. I have wondered whether, if you were in a happy home, your future assured, brothers and sisters and fond parents about you . . . you would marry me?"
"Oh, Thorold," she said impulsively, "I am so sorry."
"Forget I said it. If I can be the means of rescuing you from what is uncongenial, I shall be only too glad to do so."
"But ... I am fond of you. I am sure of it."
"You don't trust me, Melisande."
"But I do. I do."
"Not completely. You won't even tell me the name of your father."
"Oh, Thorold, so it is that! I understand how you feel. It is a hateful feeling. I will tell you my father's name. Of course I will. There shall be no secrets between us. He is Sir Charles Trevenning of Trevenning in Cornwall. He is a man of importance in his own county, and known in London too. You understand why I did not want to tell. Not because I did not trust you, but because I knew that he so ardently wished our relationship to be kept a secret."
"I understand. Of course I understand. You shouldn't have told me, Melisande. I shouldn't have put it like that. But I am glad, glad because you trust me now. We are going to be happy, my darling. Everything will be all right for us now."
That was the end of peace; the end of her brief dream. And now she could wonder at her own folly, at her own naivety which had led her into the trap. There was no excuse this time. It was not her first glimpse of the world. The world was full of evil and she could not, it seemed, learn her lesson.
They met in the Park next day.
Did she notice the difference in him as soon as they met? Was that tenderness, which had warmed and comforted her, replaced by hardness, cupidity, meanness . . . criminality?
"My dear," he said; and he took her hand and kissed it.
They walked arm in arm. She sensed that he was trying to tell her something.
"Melisande," he said at length, "I have a confession to make."
She was startled. She turned to him; he was smiling and she looked in vain for that gentleness which she had loved.
"I am in debt. Deeply in debt. In fact I'm in a bit of a mess."
"Oh, Thorold . . . money?"
"Money, of course. It's that fool Lavender's fault. He has so many tips to give away ... so many 'certainties'. He is all right. He has a rich wife, and he knows how to get round her. Melisande, I'm afraid that if I don't seitle up some of these debts I shall have to resign my commission."
"But surely it's not as bad as that."
"It's as bad as it can be."
"You have never mentioned these debts before."
"I didn't want to worry you. I was afraid you'd despise me. You see, life in the Brigade of Guards is expensive, and for a man with such a small income as I have ..." He shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose so . . . if you bet on horses."
"One has to be in the swim, you know."
"I am sorry, Thorold."
"I knew you would be. . . . That's why I'm sure you'll help me."
"I. . . help? But I have no money. If I had, gladly would I help."
He smiled at her. "Why, my dear, you can help. There's your dowry. That'll settle everything and set us up nicely."
"My dowry! I don't understand."
"But your father was ready to give you a dowry before. He'll do so now."
"But ... I do not see him. I ... I could not accept. I ... It is so different."
"It is not different at all. He chose someone for you to marry, and there was a dowry waiting for you. Now you've made your own choice, but the dowry will still be forthcoming."
"I do not think so."
"But why not, Melisande? Be reasonable."
"So you, too, are eager to marry me because I might have a dowry!"
"My dear girl, how did I know your father was a rich man? You only told me yesterday that he is Sir Charles Trevenning."
"Oh, what a fool I was to tell you that!"
"Listen to me, please, Melisande. I love you. I wanted to marry you the moment I first set eyes on you. I knew there would be difficulties about money. They worried me considerably, so I put off telling you the position. I didn't want to worry you too. And then . . . you tell me that you have a rich father who was ready to give you a dowry. Don't you see! It's like the answer to a prayer."
"How attractive that dowry is!"
"When I asked you to marry me I had no notion that there would be a dowry. You know that. I would be ready to marry you— as you must realize—if you hadn't a penny in the world. But . . . since it is not the case ... I am delighted. Who wouldn't be—and say so if he were an honest man?"
"I do not wish to talk of this any more."
"Let us be calm. You do believe that if you were penniless I would marry you just the same?"
"I am penniless."
"You need not be when you have a father whose conscience is crying out to be soothed."
"I feel I have met you for the first time to-day."
"Now listen, Melisande."
"I wish to listen no more."
"You must listen to me. You are going to marry me."
"You are wrong. I am not going to marry you."
"You change your mind quickly."
"You have changed it for me."
"Melisande, I understand how you feel. That man hurt your feelings. You have been disillusioned, I know. I understand. But I love you. I want to take you away from that impossible woman, but for God's sake let us be reasonable. I'm in low water. A little money could put me right. Your father is wealthy. A thousand or so would mean nothing to him. He ought to give you an income. He owes it to you. Why shouldn't he, and why shouldn't we accept it?"
"Goodbye," she said firmly.
Now he was angry. "You are a fool, Melisande. An adorable fool, it's true, but nevertheless a fool. You have such crazy notions. He will be glad . . . glad to do this."
"He will not be glad, and there shall be no question of his doing it. He shall never hear of it."
"My dear girl, don't you understand, he'll be relieved to hear of you. He's wondering what's happened to you."
"I despise you," she cried. "I see right through you. 'You don't trust me!' you said. 'Tell me his name.' And now, because I have been a fool, you know it... and you are threatening me ... and him."
"I? Threatening! My dear, you're becoming hysterical."
"I hate you. I hate all men. You are all evil . . . every one of you. I wish I had stayed in the Convent. I wish I had never met any of you."
"My dear, you are attracting attention. I beg of you, speak more quietly. Now . . . you are not looking at this clearly."
She allowed him to lead her to a seat and she sat down.
"I am looking at it clearly."
"But he owes it to you. He would, I am sure, be pleased to help you."
"I will not ask him for money."
"Think of our future, Melisande."
"You and I have no future together."
"You don't mean that. I love you and you love me. Now, listen. Meet me here in the Park to-morrow ... at this time ... at this spot. I am sure when you are calmer, when you have thought this out, you will see my point."
"I never shall. And I never want to see you again."
"Melisande, I beg of you, be reasonable."
"I am being reasonable, and my reason tells me to despise you."
"But you and I are to marry. We are not rich and I have been foolish. You have a rich father ..."
"You will have to settle your affairs without my rich father."
"Now, Melisande, please ..."
"I shall never allow you to ask him for money."
There was a short silence, then he said slowly: "I could ask without your consent, you know."
She turned to look at him in astonishment. "You think he would give my dowry to a man whom I had decided not to marry!"
"No. But he might give the equivalent of the dowry to a man who knows that he has an illegitimate daughter."
She had turned pale. She stood up. She wanted to move away quickly, but her trembling legs would not allow her to do so.
"You . . . would never do that!"
"Of course, Melisande, of course I would not." He stood up beside her and gripped her arm.
"But . . . that is blackmail^
She wanted to throw him off, to run away, never to see his face again. But he was holding her fast.
She was bewildered and frightened. She was as terrified of Thorold Randall as she was of Archibald Lavender. Here was another of those monsters to disturb her dreams.
Be calm! she admonished herself. This man is dangerous. He is worse than the hypocrite Andrew Beddoes was; he is more than the philanderer that Archibald Lavender is; he is a blackmailer as well. All men are liars; all men are cheats. Oh God, what have I done?
Thorold was now speaking in the gentle voice she knew so well.
"So you see, my darling, you are wrong to put ugly words to this. It is reasonable. It is natural. All fathers give their daughters dowries if they have the money. And think how useful yours will be to us! You meet me to-morrow and I will have the letter ready then. I will show it to you and you will copy it. Then we will send it. You shall sign it with loving assurances. And then . . . you will see how friendly he will be, how ready to help."
She did not answer him.
He went on to talk of their future, of the little house they would have, of how happy she would be when he had rescued her from servitude with the Lavenders.
He left her at the door of the house.
"Goodbye, my love, until to-morrow. Do not forget . . . the same place in the Park. Our seat, eh? And do not worry. I understand what a forthright soul you are. I know you did not mean all the hard things you said. I understand you . . . andyou understand now, don't you? Don't you, my love?"
"I understand," said Melisande.
What shall I do now? she asked herself. What can I do? Whose advice could she ask ? There was Mrs. Chubb. Now how could simple Mrs. Chubb deal with a situation like this? The Gunters? Sarah? How could they help ?
There was no one to whom she could go. She must act by herself. Between now and to-morrow she must find some means of preventing Thorold Randall from getting into touch with her father.
Perhaps she could appeal again to his sense of decency ? But had he any sense of decency ? She did not think so. She could hear the words he had spoken this afternoon; she could not forget them. Perhaps she could reply to his threats with threats of her own. How? What? There had been threats this afternoon, and there was one
It began in Vauxhall Gardens Page 35
