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

"What will become of you?" Fermor had challenged. And he had one solution to offer her.

She could hear his voice:

"I will love you all the day, Every night would kiss and play, If with me you'll fondly stray Over the hills and far away ..."

But where was 'Over the hills and far away' ? Whither would he take her if she put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her?

She was afraid . . . afraid of the pride within her, the desire to mould her own destiny. The Misses Pennifield, shaking their heads over her, had pictured her eagerly trying to please new employers, and there was no mistaking their pity. They knew; and she herself was ignorant. She was in that station of life to which they had been called; but she had received some education and perhaps because of that she found it harder to accept her lot. She had seen Lady Gover's.companion, a sad elderly lady whose face had no animation in it, no love of life. Melisande had seen the same dull, deprecating look in the face of the Leighs' governess.

That was the life of virtue. Fermor was offering another life—the life of sin. And now here alone, with no one in sight, she knew that the nuns had been right to fear for her.

As she stood still considering which way to go, a high-pitched voice suddenly said in perfect French: "Mademoiselle, you cannot get down that way."

"Who is that?" she cried in French, looking about her.

"You cannot see me, can you? I am a bandit. You should be very

frightened, Mademoiselle. If I wished, I could kill you and drink your blood for supper."

The voice was that of a child and she said with a laugh: "I wish you would show yourself.''

"You speak French very well, Mademoiselle. No one else here does . . . except me and Leon."

"I should. I was brought up in France. But where are you? And is Leon with you?"

"No, he is not here. If you can find me I will take you to safety."

"But I can't see you."

"Look about you. You cannot expect to see without looking."

"Are you in that clump of bushes?"

"Go and see."

"It is too high up."

There was a slight movement on her right and a boy appeared. He was small and looked about six years old; his bright dark eyes glowed in his olive-skinned face and he wore a wreath of seaweed round his head. He had an air of extreme arrogance.

"You are not a pisky, are you?" asked Melisande.

He said with the utmost dignity: "No. I am Raoul de la Roche, at your service, Mademoiselle."

"I am glad of that. I need your service. I should be glad if you could show me an easy way down."

"/ know a good way down. / discovered it. I will take you if you like."

"That is kind of you."

"Come this way."

It was difficult to believe he could be as young as he looked. He had such an air of seriousness. He noticed her eyes on the seaweed and took it off.

"It was a disguise," he said. "I was hiding in my cave there, and I wore it to frighten people ... if they should come. / did not wish them to come. / have been watching you. You did look scared. Only / can climb up here."

She was amused by his emphasis on the personal pronoun; it conveyed a certain contempt for the rest of the world and a great respect for Monsieur Raoul de la Roche.

"Do you live here?" she asked.

He led the way, answering: "We are staying here for my health, Leon and I. My health is not good, they say. Are you here for your health?"

"No. I am here as a companion, which means . . ."

"/ know," he said quickly. "Leon is my companion."

"Oh, but you see, I'm a paid companion."

"So is Leon, and he's my uncle too. Fm called old-fashioned. I

make people smile. It's because I've lived with grown-up people, and I like reading better than games, really."

"You're very unusual, I'm sure," said Melisande with a smile, for his arrogance was amusing.

"Yes, I know," he said. "They're trying to make me more usual. . . . Not quite usual, of course, but more usual. That's why I'm here with Leon."

"Where is Leon now?"

"Down there."

"He doesn't mind your climbing about?"

"Oh, no. It is good for me. I do it to please Leon. I play bandits and disguise myself with seaweed to please him. It is good for me, the doctors say."

"But you enjoy it, I'm sure. You sounded as though you did when you called out about drinking my blood."

"A little perhaps. Otherwise I should not do it. You are French also?"

"I suppose so. I lived in France ... in a convent. I am not sure whether my parents were French or not."

"You are an orphan. / too am an orphan."

"Then we are of a kind."

"This is a steep bit. You may slip."

"I'll follow in your footsteps."

"When I am strong I shall swim. That will be good for my health. You should tell me your name. I must introduce you to Leon."

"It is St. Martin. Melisande St. Martin."

He nodded and went on. "There is Leon over there. He has seen us."

A tall thin man was coming towards them; there was a book in his hand; between him and the boy there was a slight resemblance.

"Leon!" cried the boy. "This is Mademoiselle St. Martin. She may be French. She does not know. She is an orphan as I am. She was lost but /showed her the way down."

"Good afternoon," said Melisande.

When he smiled he was very pleasant. "Good afternoon," he said. "So my nephew has made your acquaintance."

"He was kind enough to bring me down."

"I am glad he was of use."

"It was easy to me" boasted the boy.

"Raoul, Raoul!" admonished the man softly, but he smiled indulgently. He turned to Melisande. "Forgive his exuberance. He is really delighted to have helped."

"I am sure he is. You are living here for the winter, he tells me."

"Yes, we have taken a house. It is a great comfort to meet someone with whom we can talk with ease."

"/find it a great comfort," said the boy. "I told Mademoiselle St. Martin that the people here speak either very bad French or no French at all."

"Well, that is good for you," said Melisande. "It will teach you to speak English all the quicker."

"And when they do speak we can't understand," said the man. "I thought I had a fair knowledge of English, but I cannot understand that which is spoken here."

"It is a mixture of Cornish and English," said Melisande.

"I shall engage Mademoiselle as my interpreter!" said the boy.

The man said quickly: "I very much doubt that she would be willing to give you her services. You must forgive Raoul, Mademoiselle St. Martin. He is ten years old and we have brought him here to make him strong on cream and pasties. We have come for the climate which is supposed to be warmer than the east of England. Last winter we were in Kent. That was very cold. How I am talking! You must forgive me. It is because I have had to pick my words and stumble for so long."

"There are just the two of you?"

"We have brought our servants with us. They are not French."

"They are Kentish, and from London some of them," said Raoul, who clearly did not like to be left out of the conversation. "/ thought they were hard to understand until we came here. The people here are far worse speakers."