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

Caroline was waiting fearfully. Fermor was affectionate; he talked often of their marriage. She wished that she did not know so much.

Melisande too was waiting. She could not believe that life was not good. Dreams did come true if they were dreamed as vividly as Melisande dreamed them. They would not come true in the way she dreamed them, for she was no seer, no white witch who could see into the future; but nevertheless they would come true.

She wished that she had not gone to the witch in the woods. She had acted impulsively as usual. She should have waited. She should have asked for a spell to make Caroline turn to John Collings and to change Fermor into a loving husband for Melisande.

Surely this must come to pass. Life was a goodness; and Melisande was Fortune's favourite.

Fermor too was waiting. He was experienced and he knew what was passing through Melisande's mind. He was an eagle watching his prey. His emotions alternated between a passion which was almost brutal and an unaccustomed tenderness. He had laid plans for trapping her, but always that unaccountable tenderness would enter like a forbidding parent watching over a recalcitrant child. On the moors she had not known of her feelings. She was young—even younger than her years. That was due to the Convent life when she had been shut away from realities; but she would learn quickly. He could appraise her at times in the same cool manner in which he would select a horse. There was an air of breeding about her and there was too an air of simplicity. He intuitively knew that she was the result of a love affair between a person of breeding and another of humbler station in life—perhaps a lady and her servant, he ruminated; there were such cases. And her education had been given her by the aristocratic partner in her conception and birth.

Sir Charles was aware of the secret of her birth, Fermor felt sure. He had tried to extract that secret; but Sir Charles was determined to communicate nothing. He could imply with a look that he considered vulgar curiosity an unpardonable offence against good manners.

But Fermor hated inactivity. His desires must be satisfied while they were warm and palpitating. He was afraid of his own feelings, though he scarcely liked to admit this. There were times when he thought of marriage with Melisande. It would be disastrous of course. Even here in Cornwall it would be disastrous. What was he going to do with his life? Parliament was what his father had in mind for him. It could be a life of absorbing interest and adventure. To have a hand in government affairs, to make history—that appealed to Fermor. His father had friends in those quarters which would make advancement certain. Peel, Melbourne and Russell were his friends. There were many young men looking for advancement; it would be ridiculous to make the way more difficult by marrying the wrong young woman merely to satisfy a brief passion. Melbourne had figured in an unsavoury divorce case, but Melbourne was a man of power who had been Prime Minister. He had come through, but not exactly untarnished—no one could do that— although he had survived the scandal. Yet it was growing clearer that, in an England where a young queen was becoming more and more influenced by her priggish German husband, there would be a tightening-up of class distinctions, and a misalliance could ruin a man's career.

Moreover Fermor had been moved to passion before. Passion was fleeting. Many women had loved him and he had loved many women. Was he going to be foolish over one? Such folly was for callow young men, for inexperienced boys.

She must be made to see that that for which she hoped was impossible.

His father was asking why he did not return to London. It was imperative for him to attend certain social gatherings. By shutting himself away in the country he was shutting himself away from his opportunities of making valuable friends.

So Fermor decided to end the waiting.

He went to Sir Charles's study.

Charles was nervous. He had expected a call from the young man. He wondered what he would have done in his place. He could never have married Millie, but Melisande was an educated young lady. He could see the temptation. Yet in his young days life had been easier. The conventions had been less rigid in the Georgian era than in that of Victoria.

"I have come to tell you, sir," said Fermor, "that my father is

128 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

urging me to return to London, and before I go I think we should have a definite date for the marriage. I know Caroline's mother has so recently died and that we are in mourning for her, but in view of the great distance between here and London and the rather special circumstances—our marriage was planned before the tragedy—I wonder whether you will agree that we might hurry on arrangements. Perhaps it would not be considered lacking in respect if the celebrations were quieter than was at first planned."

Charles looked at the young man. He is hard, he thought; harder than I was. He would not have fallen artlessly in love with a little mantua-maker.

Charles felt weary suddenly. It was for all these young people to live their own lives. Melisande must fight her own battles. It was foolish to blame himself, to feel he must shoulder all responsibility. To think as he had been thinking, was to blame or honour every father for what happened to his sons and daughters.

"Do as you think fit," he said. "As you say, these are special circumstances."

"Then," said Fermor, "let us have the wedding here at Christmas. Next week I shall return to London and be back in December."

Sir Charles agreed to this, and whei Fermor went out, he was smiling. He had put an end to the waiting.

Melisande wished to be alone.

Her charm had worked after all. Caroline was at last happy.

They were working on the garments for the poor when Caroline said: "Let us not read this morning. I am so excited. The date for my wedding is fixed."

Melisande bent closer over the flannel petticoat which she was stitching.

"It is to be Christmas Day," went on Caroline. "There is not much time. Why, it is less than two months ... six weeks. That is not very long. I want you to take a message to Pennifield this afternoon. Tell her she is to leave everything and come at once. She will be busy during the next few weeks. There is so much to do."

"Yes. There will be much to do."

"Fermor said it was absurd to wait longer. I fear people will talk. A wedding so soon after a funeral! But Fermor says these are special circumstances. To tell the truth I do not think he greatly

cares what people say. But our wedding was arranged before Mamma died."

"Yes," Melisande answered, "it is a special circumstance."

Caroline looked at Melisande with something like affection. She thought: After six weeks I shan't see her again. Poor girl! What will she do? I suppose she will go to some other house. But she is so pretty that she is bound to be all right. She might even find some man in a good position to marry her.

Caroline was in love with the world that morning.

Melisande continued to sew in silence.

She envies me, went on Caroline's thoughts. She was sure he was in love with her. She does not know him. He always looked at girls with a speculative eye, and she is nothing more to him than the parlourmaid he kissed when he was fifteen. As his wife she would have to curb her jealousy, to remind herself that such affairs were of little importance to him. Some men drank more than was good for them; Fermor probably did that too. Others gambled. He was doubtless a gambler. He liked women too. One must shut one's eyes to his faults, for with them went so much charm, with them went all that Caroline wanted from life.