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

She must fight him. He must never know how near she was to submission. She must continually see him as he really was, not as she was trying to believe he must be.

"Do you think I don't understand you?" he said as though reading her thoughts.

"You are clever at self-deception, I do not doubt."

"You attack me with your tongue, but you betray yourself in other ways."

"You have a high opinion of yourself. If it pleases you, keep it, Monsieur."

"Do not call me Monsieur as though I am one of your prinking Frenchmen."

"If I were so misguided as to do as you wish, we should spend our lives in quarrelling."

"Our sort of quarrels can be more stimulating than agreement."

"I do not find them stimulating . . . only an irritation."

"That is why your cheeks grow scarlet, your eyes blaze and you are a hundred times more attractive when you are with me than with anyone else."

"I must return. Caroline will wonder what has happened to me. I should not take all day to visit Miss Pennifield and ask her to make dresses for Caroline's marriage to you." She hurried on.

"Melisande!" he called. "Don't go yet."

She answered over her shoulder: "You had better not come any farther with me. You would not wish Caroline to see you with me, you brave man."

She heard herself laugh, but it was shrill laughter. She hoped he did not notice that there was a note of hysteria in it.

"Melisande," he repeated. "Melisande."

But he did not follow her now. We are too near the house, she thought; and he has too much wisdom. Poor Caroline! And poor Melisande!

Fermor had gone to London and Trevenning was a different place without him. It is as though an evil spirit has departed, thought Melisande; but how dull was the place without him!

Life had become more simple, it seemed. Everybody appeared to be happy. Caroline spent hours with Miss Pennifield, trying on the garments for her trousseau. They had discovered that Melisande, whilst being a poor needlewoman, could made suggestions about dresses, add an ornament—or take one away—so that the effect was transformed.

"It is your French blood," said Caroline, now sweet and friendly. "The French are wonderfully clever at such things."

"Mamazel certainly has the touch!" cried Miss Pennifield. "Why, Miss Caroline, when you are married you will be wanting her with you to help you with your clothes."

Poor blind Miss Pennifield! thought Melisande. Unwittingly she had shattered the peace.

But the gloom quickly passed and Caroline forgot her fears, and when Miss Pennifield retired to the sewing-room and Caroline suggested that she and Melisande should read together from a French book, she said: "By the way, I hear there are some French people in the neighbourhood. Everyone is agog. They find them amusing."

"I know," said Melisande; "we have met."

"Really?"

"Yes. It was when I went to Miss Pennifield's cottage last week. I tried to get down the cliffs but it was very steep; the little boy was playing there and he guided me down. His guardian, who is also his cousin, was on the beach. The little boy introduced us."

"That must have been fun."

"Yes, it was fun. They were very pleased to speak French. They said they could not understand the English of the people here and I explained they were Cornish . . . not English."

"It must be pleasant to meet people from your own country."

"It was a . . . niceness."

"I expect you all chattered away in great excitement."

"Perhaps. I have met them since. They were lonely and, as you say, it was good to speak French. I have seen them once or twice since."

"You must know more about them than anyone else." Caroline smiled. "I have heard that the boy is rich and used to having his own way with everyone. He's the master of the household and knows it. Mrs. Clark is quite a gossip. They say here that she is a regular Sherborne."

"A Sherborne? I do not know that."

"Oh, it's an old saying that goes back to the days when there was only one newspaper which came all the way from Sherborne. It was the Sherborne Mercury, I believe. They say here, when anyone is a bit of a gossip, that he or she is a regular Sherborne."

Melisande laughed. She had never been on such happy terms with Caroline.

"Well," went on Caroline, "Mrs. Clark says they belong to an old French family—aristocrats. One branch lost its possessions in the revolution; the other survived and escaped. The boy belongs to the rich de la Roches and the man to the poor branch of the family; but if the boy should die the fortune will go to the man. Mrs. Clark is full of sympathy for the man; she says the boy is a handful."

"The regular Sherborne is, I should say, quite right. The boy is amusing but it is not good for one so young to know his power. The man is very kind and tolerant."

"Have you met them often?"

"Once or twice."

Caroline smiled to herself. She was very interested in the foreigners and particularly in the man. It pleased her that he and Melisande had become friends. It seemed to her that this man might provide a solution which would prove satisfactory to everyone concerned.

This was a great occasion. Everyone in the house was talking about it. Sir Charles, Miss Caroline and the Mamazel had all been invited to dine at the rectory with the Danesboroughs.

" 'Tis the first time," said Mr. Meaker, "that I ever heard of a companion going out to visit social like with the family . . . unless, of course she was a poor relation."

Mrs. Soady sat at the head of the table cutting up the pasties so that the savour of onions made everyone's mouth water. She said nothing, but the curve of her lips told them all clearly that if she had chosen to speak she could have startled them.

Mr. Meaker seemed slightly irritated. If she knew something it was a matter of servants' hall etiquette to impart it—at least to Mr. Meaker.

"Well, Mrs. Soady," he said, "you don't think it be strange then?"

Mrs. Soady paused with the knife and fork gracefully poised above the pasty. "Mr. Meaker, I can't say. I be as surprised as you, and that's all I'm in a position to say."

"I've been in some big houses," said Mr. Meaker, "and I repeat: I've never seen it before unless it was a poor relation."

"As a regular thing you be right, Mr. Meaker."

"Of course," said Peg, "she's very pretty."

"And educated better than a lady," put in Bet; "though that might go against her—some holding that education ain't all that ladylike."

"Mr. Danesborough," said the footman, "is never one to stand on ceremony . . . parson though he may be."

"And related to a lord," added Mr. Meaker.

Everyone was looking at Mrs. Soady who, as she served up the pasties, was smiling knowingly at her secret.

"It do make you think," said Peg, "that this Mamazel . . . be somebody."

That made Mrs. Soady dimple.

She do know something! thought Mr. Meaker. 'Tis something about the Mamazel.

From now on it was going to be Mr. Meaker's special task to prise that secret out of Mrs. Soady.

To Melisande it was a great occasion. It was to be the first time she wore the dress bought in Paris for such an occasion, the dress with the frilled skirt and its accompanying sousjupe crinoline. She had cleverly made a rose from pieces of silk and velvet which Miss Pennifield had given her. This she tucked into her corsage, and it gave a youthfulness to the Paris gown, and the green of the rose's stalk and leaf matched her eyes.