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

The room was on the upper floor of the two which comprised Mrs. Chubb's house. It contained a narrow bed, a chest of drawers on which was a swing mirror, a wash-hand-stand, and what Mrs. Chubb called 'appurtenances.'

Melisande asked the price. It seemed reasonable.

•Til take it," she said.

Mrs. Chubb's bright hazel eyes were questioning. "I suppose your trunk '11 be coming, Miss?"

"No . . ." said Melisande. "There is no trunk."

"You a foreign lady?"

"Yes ... in a way."

"Ah!" Mrs. Chubb nodded wisely, as though that explained everything. But it did not alter Mrs. Chubb's opinion of her new lodger, for she prided herself on making up her mind about people the instant she saw them, and nothing was going to change her opinion of her powers in that direction.

A bit of trouble, a love affair like as not, or running away from home? Well, well, Mrs. Chubb would see. Mrs. Chubb—again in her own opinion—had a sympathetic way with her, and there was nothing that overcame reserve like sympathy.

"When will you be moving in, Miss?"

"I'll stay now."

"Oh! Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? If you'll

forgive me saying so, Miss, you look as if you've had a bit of a shock."

"Yes," said Melisande, "I have indeed had a bit of a shock. Please, I should like the coffee."

"What about you coming in and having it in my parlour? Then we can talk about the ways of the house."

"Thank you."

The parlour was small and clean. It was rarely used. It was Mrs. Chubb's delight, and she never entered it without looking round with an air of proud possessiveness and a quick glance over her shoulder—if she was not alone—to see the effect of such splendour on others.

There was a blue carpet on the floor; there was a heavy mirror and a mantelpiece crowded with ornaments. There were two whatnots loaded with knick-knacks, every one of which had its significance for Mrs. Chubb. There were chairs and a sofa; and near the window was a table on which stood a fern similar to the one in the hall.

"There! Sit you down!" said Mrs. Chubb. "And I'll bring you the coffee."

Melisande looked round the room when she was alone, at the pictures—most of them in pastel shades depicting groups of plump young women and graceful men—and the daguerrotype showing two people looking rather self-conscious; as one of these was undoubtedly Mrs. Chubb, Melisande supposed the other to be Mr. Chubb.

But her mind was too full of what had happened to allow her to consider Mr. and Mrs. Chubb for long. She had found a haven— if only a temporary one—and she now felt that she had time to think of what she must do.

She must never see Fermor again. She could never be happy with him, for she would never forget Caroline's face as she had stood before her. If Caroline had killed herself, she, Melisande, was to blame. Murderess! Wenna's words would always be with her. She would hear them in her sleep, she fancied; they would break through into every happy moment.

She could not go back to Fenella's. She hated the house now. It seemed sinister with its rich furnishings and air of voluptuousness. She would not allow them to assess her as they had done, to set her up in the market place.

All love was drained from her; she could feel nothing but hatred and contempt; and she felt now that she hated herself most of all.

Mrs. Chubb came in with the coffee.

"There! You like the room?"

"Very much. That is a picture of you and your husband?"

"That's right. Me and the dear departed."

"I am sorry."

Mrs. Chubb wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. She looked at the picture and recited as she must have done so many times before: "A better man never lived. His only concern was to provide for me after he had gone."

There was a respectful silence. Then Mrs. Chubb released the corner of her apron and smiled brightly. "There! All right?"

"It is very good, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Mrs. Chubb's way of breaking down reserve was to talk about herself. Confidences were like gifts between nice people, she believed; they had to be exchanged.

"That was just before he died," she said nodding at the daguer-rotype. "It's two years come June since I buried him."

"I ... I see."

"A good man. We was in service together. That's how we met. But Mr. Chubb, he was the go-ahead sort. He wasn't going to stay in service all his life. Saved, he did. He had a legacy—he was thought the world of by the lady and gentleman—and he put it into two houses. He was a planner, he was. That's for you, Alice, he used to say, for after I'm gone. So he put the money into two houses—this one and the one next door. I get the next door's rent—and better tenants there never was. Mr. Chubb saw to that. And here I am with a roof over my head and taking a lodger to help things out. That's what Mr. Chubb did for me."

"You were very lucky."

"My luck came when I met Mr. Chubb. I say to young ladies who haven't got to the married state ... I always say: 'May you meet another like Mr. Chubb.' I say it to you now... that's if you haven't reached that state, Miss."

"No," said Melisande, "I haven't."

Mrs. Chubb was relieved. She didn't believe in trouble between husbands and wives.

"Feeling better now? You're looking it."

"Thank you, yes."

"And you'll not be having your things sent?"

"No. I have no things."

"Well, they're very nice, what you're wearing. But you'll want some things, won't you?"

"Perhaps I can buy them."

"Oh, I see. This shock like. . . . You've quarrelled with your people, have you? I'm not nosy. Mr. Chubb used to say: * Alice, Mrs. Chubb, my dear, you're one of the few women without a nose.' That was his joke. He was full of jokes. It's just to be prepared for callers . . . that's all, Miss."

256 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"I don't think there'll be any callers."

"All on your own, eh?"

"Yes. You . . . er . . . you have been in service, have you?"

Mrs. Chubb was smiling broadly. Here it came. Confidence for confidence. Sympathy had the same effect on reserve as hot water on a bottle stopper that wouldn't open.

"Head housemaid, and Mr. Chubb, he went from pantry boy, footman to butler. He was a man to rise in the world."

"Do you think I could be a lady's maid ... or companion?"

"No doubt about it, Miss. Being foreign . . . that's what they like lady's maids to be. Can you crimp the hair and do that sort of thing? I remember there was a foreign lady's maid in our last place. Such an outlandish name she had. And she did well for herself."

"You see, I shall have to earn a living."

Mrs. Chubb nodded. As a lady's maid she wouldn't be needing the room, would she? So she had only taken the room until she found a job. Mrs. Chubb was disappointed, but only mildly, for she liked what she called experiences as well as lodgers; and thanks to the wisdom of Mr. Chubb, she could rub along all right without letting her upstairs room. Moreover instinct had told her that she was going to like this girl, and instinct would not be disobeyed.

"Any experience, Miss? That's what they all want."

"Well, I have been a companion."

"They'll want references."

The girl turned pale. Oh dear, thought Mrs. Chubb. Been up to something!