It Began in Vauxhall Gardens - Plaidy Jean (бесплатная регистрация книга txt) 📗

TWO

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'ctober brought the gales. The rain came driving in from the sea, bending the fir trees, beating against the houses, forcing its way through the windows and under the doors; the sea was grey and angry; the fishermen could not fish. They sat disconsolately in the Jolly Sailor, talking, as they talked every year, of the gales that kept a fisherman from his living. The sea mist, like a damp curtain, descended over the land.

"Everything be damp!" declared Mrs. Soady. "My shoes do get the mildew in them overnight."

Mr. Meaker complained of his rheumatics. Peg only was grateful for the weather. It meant that her young fisherman—for Tamson's charm had worked—could not go out, and everyone knew that fishermen kept from the sea needed a terrible lot of comforting.

Melisande was uneasy now and then. She would wonder whether her onion pierced with pins had been as effective as Peg's wax image. Melisande was by nature gay, and the first shock of finding herself in a somewhat alarming position had given place to a certain exhilaration. She must live for the moment. She was only just past sixteen and each week seemed an age in itself; she found she could not think very seriously of the future. As for Fermor she understood his feelings for her. She was certain that she herself was inclined to wickedness. Had not the nuns always told her so ? Fermor was wicked and, like Satan, was tempting her to sin. Any wickedness at the Convent, so said the nuns, had invariably involved Melisande. So now, naturally enough, Fermor was tempting her because he opined that she would be very likely to fall into temptation. One should love the saints and abhor the sinners; but one could not help being very interested in the sinners; and she, poor little orphan, had been excited because, for the first time, someone had spoken to her of love.

No one had talked of love in the Convent. The baker had given her the gateau; and that was friendship. The affection of the Lefevres was also friendship. Sir Charles had brought her here, and that was kindness. But love was like parsnip wine; it went to your head.

So, she decided, she must be forgiven for thinking of him. He was merely tempting her as one of the devils with the pitchforks depicted on the altar cloth, had tempted St. Anthony and St. Francis. She wondered if St. Anthony and St. Francis had enjoyed being tempted.

Peg would often steal to her room to talk to her, for Peg felt that there was a bond between them since they had gone to Tamson's together. Peg would set down the tray and rock on her heels while she talked of her fisherman, twirling her hair, her eyes soft.

Peg thought suddenly that it was on account of Mamazel that she had fallen in love with the fisherman. Before Mamazel had come she had thought a powerful lot of Master Fermor. Peg had to be in love with someone, and Peg was no dreamer; love for her had to be reciprocated. Master Fermor had been absentminded when she had taken in his hot water, and it was because his thoughts were ori Mamazel. So Peg had promptly looked about and found her fisherman.

"I think my spell worked," said Melisande. "Tamson Trequint is wonderful."

"Her's pretty good. Though Mrs. Soady's stye be no better. 'Tis that old tom-cat. He's a terrible creature. There's no magic in him. Mamazel, I never heard of nobody ever wanting love turned from 'em before."

Pegs thoughts struggled for expression, but she could not find the words. She wondered what became of people like Mamazel. Governesses there were, she knew. There were governesses at the Danes-boroughs' and the Leighs'. But they were not the sort whom love could touch. There were companions too. There was the one at Lady Gover's. They were all middle-aged and Peg was vaguely contemptuous of them. But what could governesses and companions do ? There was no one to marry them. They couldn't marry the gentry like Mr. Fermor and Frith Danesborough; and they couldn't marry the miners and the fishermen. It was a sad thing to be a governess or a companion. But to be a young companion—that was a very queer position.

She wondered what would happen to Melisande when Miss Caroline married. Would Miss Caroline take her with her ? She'd be mazed if she did. But could Mamazel stay at the house if she did not? Who could she be companion to ?

It was too complicated for Peg, so she let her thoughts drift back to her fisherman. That was uncomplicated. If anything should come of it they'd marry and she'd go away to his cottage on the quay. Her story was set in a familiar groove. It was Mamazel's which could twist and turn in any direction.

"Mamazel," she said at length, "what'll 'ee do when Miss Caroline do marry?"

Melisande was silent for a while. Then she said: "I ... I don't know."

Peg looked at her with vague sympathy, and Melisande did not want sympathy. She said almost defiantly: "It is a secret, is it not? It is the mystery. How do any one of us know what will become of her? It is that which makes of life an . . . excitement. When I was at the Convent, I did not know what was coming. And then one day . . . I leave ... I leave the nuns and all that I have known for so many years. I have seen them every day and then ... I never see them any more. It is all a change. There is a new country ... a new house . . . new people. Everything is new. It is like stepping from one life to another. That can be a sadness. But it is an excitement to wonder what will happen next."

Peg stopped twirling her hair to stare at Melisande.

Melisande continued: "It may be that I shall go away from here. It may be that I go to a new country, to a new house, to new people." She added, still defiant: "That is how I wish it to be. That is an excitement. You do not know; it is all there before you . . . waiting for you . . . but you do not know."

There was silence. Melisande had forgotten Peg. She remembered her childish dreams. When the rich woman had come to the Convent for Anne-Marie, Melisande had dreamed that a rich woman came for her, took her away to spend her life eating sweetmeats and wearing a silk dress. That was a foolish dream but it had been pleasant dreaming it. It had helped her over the monotonous days. Now there were other dreams. Perhaps Caroline would fall in love with John Collings and wish to marry him. Perhaps Fermor would discover that he wished to marry Melisande. Perhaps he would change a little. He would still be himself yet there could grow in him a kindness, a tenderness. Anything could happen in dreams, and dreams would not be suppressed. They were as vivid now as they had been in the days when she had dreamed of sweetmeats and silk dresses. Perhaps these dreams were as flimsy, as unlikely of achieving reality?

In the house everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

Sir Charles, often shut away in his study, sitting back from the window, seeing but unseen, watched the girl he had brought into the

126 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

house. He was aware of the conflict between Fermor and Caroline, and that the most foolish thing he had done in the whole of a fairly-exemplary life was to have become Millie's lover, and the next most foolish thing was to have brought Millie's daughter into his home.

Melisande was her mother reborn, it seemed to Sir Charles. In bringing her here he had sinned against his daughter Caroline, as in loving Millie he had sinned against his wife Maud. He recognized the passion Melisande had aroused in Fermor; he understood it. But what could he do? Could he send Melisande away? He believed that wherever she went Fermor would follow. It seemed there was nothing Sir Charles could do but watch and wait.

Wenna was waiting for the whispers to start. They had not yet begun to spread. Here they were through October and into November, and it was weeks since she had told the secret to Mrs. Soady. The cook was being unusually discreet. Had she whispered the secret to Mr. Meaker and had he warned her to silence ?