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

"And I have spoken too soon."

"Yes, that is it. You have spoken too soon. Could we put this aside . . . until later on ? Leave it for a few weeks, Leon. That is best. Let us talk of other things and suddenly . . . soon ... I shall know. I feel it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Melisande, I understand."

She jumped up. "It will soon be dark and I am late. Please . . . I must go at once."

They walked back to Trevenning, but they did not talk any more of marriage. But when he left her he said: "We must meet often . . . every day. We must get through this business of knowing each other 'as soon as possible. You are very beautiful and T am very impatient.''

"Good night," she said.

He took her hands and kissed them.

"I am very fond of you," she said, "and a little of Raoul. I think it could be a happy thing if we were all together."

He would have put his arms about her but she held him off. "Please ... we must wait. It is too important and, as yet, we cannot be sure."

She left him and, as she did so, she seemed to hear Fermor's mocking laughter. Two proposals—and how different!

"Life is a strangeness," she murmured in English.

Three ways were open to her now. Which should she choose?

Take the one you long for! she seemed to hear a voice urging her. Be bold. Say goodbye to the dull life. Live gaily and recklessly. That is the way. She could imagine the tuneful tenor voice:

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

Over the hills and far away to a sinful life ... to adventure. She thought: Clearly if I were wise I should marry Leon.

It was Christmas Day.

Melisande lay awake, though it was early and the house not yet astir.

Caroline's wedding day had come.

Fermor had returned only yesterday, having been, he said, delayed in London. As soon as she heard his voice she felt excitement rising within her; as soon as she looked from her window and saw him laughing as he was greeted by the grooms and servants, she knew great disquiet.

Now on this early morning she would look facts in the face and see

them as they really were. She had dreamed—she who lived so much in dreams—that something would happen before this day was reached. Her romantic thoughts, winding along pleasantly to a happy ending, had given John Collings to Caroline, and had found a charming girl for Leon; that left Melisande and Fermor who, by a miraculous stroke of good fortune, had changed his nature; he became serious-minded without losing any of his gaiety; he became tender without losing any of his passion; he became loving instead of lustful.

In her dreams Melisande lived in a perfect world.

But now—on Caroline's wedding day—reality had risen indisputably over fantasy, and ruthlessly was preparing to stamp it out.

In the wardrobe was the dress of green silk, made to her own design, which Miss Pennifield had helped her to sew; at the neck were little bows of black velvet, and there was a big rose of black silk and velvet to wear at the waist. "Black!" Miss Pennifield had cried. "Why, it looks like mourning. Black is for funerals, not for weddings. Why don't you make a nice pink one? Roses are pink, not black, my dear. And I'll find 'ee some lovely pieces." "There can only be black," she had said. "It is a need ... for a green gown." And she thought: For me too.

She was not quite seventeen, and that was young to despair. She wondered how old the nun had been at the time of her incarceration. She, Melisande, would this day be walled in—walled in by the death of hope.

She had not seen him alone since his return. He had not sought her, she knew, for had he wished to see her he would have found some means of doing so. He had come with wedding presents . . . for Caroline. He talked with Caroline; he rode with Caroline; and that was fitting.

So clearly Melisande had meant nothing to him but a possible partner in a light adventure which he thought they might share together; Melisande had turned away and he was shrugging his shoulders as he passed on.

Now she could hear the first stirrings in the house. In the servants' hall they would be up very early. Mrs. Soady, a sedate priestess in her kitchens had been withdrawn and absentminded for days, her mouth watering at the pies and pasties she was making, the cakes, the puddings. There was hardly time to gossip with a wedding so near.

Melisande rose. She must go down to help them. It was better than lying in bed and examining lost dreams.

Caroline lay awake. She had scarcely slept all night.

The day had come—the day she had feared would never come. She had left the wardrobe door open that she might see the white dress which had been the despair of both herself and Miss Pennifield. On the dressing table was the white lace veil which had been worn by her mother and her grandmother.

She was trying to think of the future and she could only think of the past, of seeing him in London when they were children, of his teasing contempt of her, of a housemaid's whispered words on a staircase, of Melisande. But she was foolish to brood on these things. He had scarcely looked at Melisande yesterday.

She had meant to tell him, when they had ridden out alone, of the friendship between Melisande and Leon de la Roche and how it seemed to be moving towards an inevitable conclusion. But she had been afraid, lest it should spoil the happiness of her wedding eve.

She could not lie in bed . . . waiting. She wanted the day to come; she wanted the ceremony to be over. For two weeks they were to stay in this house, for they had decided that there should be no honeymoon. That was a concession to convention which they had decided to make. Sir Charles had agreed that they might marry although a year had not elapsed since the death of Caroline's mother, but gaily to go off on a honeymoon was too flippant, too disrespectful. The matter had been talked over with several people, and all had agreed that the married pair should stay quietly at Trevenning for a few weeks, and then leave sedately for London.

Caroline had not cared about a honeymoon—all that mattered was that she and Fermor should marry—but now she realized she would have felt less apprehension if they could leave the house to-day . . . after the ceremony and the reception.

Yet she and Melisande had become friends, and she knew that Melisande was no scheming woman. She was an impulsive girl, eager to please—a friendly, charming girl. But how much happier Caroline would be if she could say goodbye to her. With Fermor's return her jealousy had come back.

But she must not invent unhappiness. She got out of bed and going to the dressing table put on the veil. She saw from the mirror that she was very pale and there were shadows of sleeplessness under her eyes. She scarcely looked like a happy bride. Yet everything for which she had hoped promised to be hers.

The door had opened and Wenna looked in.

"My dear life! Out of bed! What be doing? Why, my queen, you look so tired. Didn't 'ee sleep then? And trying that thing on. Don't 'ee know 'tis unlucky?"

"Wenna . . ."

Wenna ran forward and took Caroline in her arms.

164 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"I'm frightened, Wenna."

"What of, my little one? Tell Wenna what's frightening 'ee? It be he. I do know."

"No. It's the future, Wenna. Everything. Nerves, Wenna . . . wedding day nerves. They say people get them."

"It ain't too late, you know, my precious. If you do say the word . . ."

"No, Wenna, no! Never!"