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

Melisande spoke her thoughts aloud. "But I suppose even Mormons only marry one woman at a time."

She had spoken in English and shocked glances were cast in her direction. This was a most improper conversation to be carried on at the table of a clergyman, and Mr. Danesborough was as guilty as anyone; but even if the men liked to make bold comments, it was not expected that ladies should do so.

Miss Danesborough hastily changed the conversation, and Leon de la Roche bent towards Melisande and said: "Now that we have met formally, you must visit us. Mrs. Clark would be pleased to give you luncheon or dinner. If you came to luncheon Raoul would be delighted, I am sure."

"Thank you. I will ask Caroline. If she can spare me, I should very much like to come."

"We will invite Miss Trevenning too. Perhaps then there will be more hope of your coming."

"I shall look forward to that."

When they were in the drawing-room and the men were still at the dinner table, Melisande told Caroline that Leon proposed asking them to luncheon. "Would you wish to go?"

"Why, of course," said Caroline.

"I am glad."

"I am to come as a sort of chaperone?" said Caroline with a friendly grimace.

152 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"He did not say that."

"Well, I have no objection. You can't, you know, go calling on gentlemen alone."

How charming she is! thought Melisande. How friendly! It is because Fermor is not here.

And later during the evening the invitation was given and accepted. Caroline and Melisande were to have luncheon with the de la Roches in two days' time.

They were silent riding back in the carriage, and when they returned to the house, Caroline said to Melisande: "Come and help me. I don't want to wake Wenna at this hour."

So Melisande went to Caroline's bedroom and unhooked her gown and brushed her hair for her.

"It was a successful party," said Caroline, looking at Melisande's reflection in the mirror. "Everyone was admiring you. Did you know that . . . Melisande?"

Melisande blushed with pleasure, not because of Caroline's remark but because for the first time she had used her Christian name.

"No," she said.

"Please call me Caroline now. We don't want to stand on too much ceremony, do we? They were admiring you, Melisande. I believe everybody thought you were a connection of the family."

"Do you think so . . . Caroline?"

"I am sure of it. I wonder if Monsieur de la Roche thinks it."

"No. I told him I came from the Convent."

"Well, it clearly made no difference to him. He is rather interesting, don't you think?"

"Very interesting."

"And certainly taken with you!" Caroline laughed lightly and Melisande knew that even now she was thinking of Fermor. She wished Leon to be interested in Melisande and Melisande in Leon ... and it was because of Fermor.

The door opened and Wenna looked in.

"Why didn't you call?" she began, and stopped, seeing Melisande.

"Oh, Wenna, I didn't want to disturb you. Mademoiselle is helping."

Wenna said: "You should have called. Wouldn't you like me to . . ."

"No, no," said Caroline impatiently. "Go back to bed at once, Wenna."

"All right, all right. Goodnight then."

Both girls said goodnight and the door was closed in silence.

Then Melisande said: "She does not like me. I wish it were not so. She watches me . . . sometimes there is a hatred."

"That's Wenna's way, and of course it is not really hatred."

"That way is, for me."

"Melisande . . . don't worry about Wenna. Everything will be all right."

Caroline, smiling into the mirror, saw two weddings—her own with rermor and Melisande's with Leon de la Roche. After the wedding she and Fermor would never see Melisande again.

"Yes," she repeated, "everything will be all right."

At the supper table in the servants' hall the relationship between the French Mamazel and the French Mounseer was being discussed with eagerness. Mrs. Soady sat, lips pursed, as she always did when this subject was under discussion, smiling to herself as she listened to the chatter about her.

Every now and then Mr. Meaker would dart a look at her.

It was not like her to keep a secret for so long. It must be a very special secret; she must have been warned; the need for silence must indeed have been deeply impressed upon her.

"It's a clear-cut case of romance," said the footman.

"It's a lovely story," said Peg. "And Mamazel's so pretty she might be a princess in disguise."

That remark made Mrs. Soady's lips twitch. This secret, Mr. Meaker had already guessed, had something to do with the Mamazel.

"Though," said Bet, "you'd hardly call that mounseer a prince, would you?"

"Well," admitted Peg, thinking fondly of her fisherman, "he might not be everybody's fancy, but by all accounts he's a very nice gentleman."

Bet said that when she thought of a prince in disguise she thought of someone like Mr. Fermor. "You know," said Bet, "always singing and laughing, and big and strong and ever so goodlooking."

"Good looks," declared the footman earnestly—he had no pretensions to them himself—"are a matter of opinion. . . . To snails other snails are good looking. There's no accounting for tastes."

"But they're not snails!" pointed out Peg. "And Mr. Fermor's so very goodlooking. He makes most others seem plain . . . terrible plain."

"Yet," said the parlourmaid, "if two snails do find each other handsome, perhaps two French people do. I reckon 'tis because she's

a mamazel and he's a mounseer that they like each other all that much."

Mr. Meaker said, as he passed his plate up for a helping of nattlin pie: "I hear the boy's not all that pleased about this friendship between our Mamazel and his uncle."

All eyes were on Mr. Meaker who slowly piled cream on to his nattlin.

He filled his mouth and masticated slowly. "These painted ladies," he said, studying the potatoes on his plate, "ain't all that much better than painted lords."

"Oh, yes they be," said Mrs. Soady sharply. "Painted ladies be the best sort of 'taters I ever knew. And how did you get to hear about the little 'un and our Mamazel, Mr. Meaker?"

"Well, I had cause to go into the town, and while I was refreshing myself at the Jolly Sailor who should come in but Mr. Fitt, him that is coachman to the Mounseer ... or I should say to the little 'un. That's a strange household, seeing that this boy is the master, having all the money, and Mounseer nothing more than one of these tutors, though he be a relation. The little 'un is a Duke or a Count or something . . . though that may be different in French. This Mounseer is his guardian, but he has little of his own, so I did understand."

"And what did Mr. Fitt say about the little boy and our Mamazel?" persisted Mrs. Soady.

"Well," said Mr. Meaker, picking up his glass of mead and taking a gulp before proceeding, "it seems that the boy is spoilt . . . very spoilt. It seems that though he first found our Mamazel and took quite a liking to her, he don't like any to have the stage but himself —so to speak. And the Mounseer has been spending too much time with Mamazel for the liking of his little lordship."