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

Instinct flinched but stood firm. She's all right. Mrs. Chubb dismissed her suspicions. I'd trust a girl with a face like that. Obviously it was some brute of a man who, unchivalrous and unChubblike, had forced his attentions upon her. That explained everything. That was why she had run away.

"Unless," said Mrs. Chubb, "you had a very good recommendation from someone."

"I ... I understand. How does one start looking for such a post, Mrs. Chubb?"

"So that's what you're going to start doing?" Well, said Mrs. Chubb to herself, I do like honesty. Most would have pretended they wanted the room for ever. I told you so, said instinct. She's honest.

"I ... I want to. In fact ... I must . . . soon, of course."

"Well, sometimes they put notices in the papers . . . and sometimes one of the other servants recommends a friend ... or perhaps one lady will speak to another for a girl. It's done all ways."

"I shall have to start looking in the papers."

Mrs. Chubb made a decision. She said: "There's Our Ellen."

"Who is that?"

"Our Ellen. Our girl. Mr. Chubb's daughter and mine. She's in service ... in a grand house near the Park. She's got a good job, our Ellen has. She's housekeeper in one of the best houses, with a big staff under her. Now Ellen's got friends all over the place. If any lady was wanting a maid, Ellen would hear of it. Ellen's got her father's head for business. Ellen's doing well for herself."

"You think she would help me?"

"Ellen would do what her mother asked her to. Are you in any hurry?"

"Well, there will be my rent and board. I have only five or six pounds . . ."

"That's a fortune!" said Mrs. Chubb.

"It's all I have and I must find something before it goes."

"Ellen will be coming to see me next Wednesday afternoon. That's her day off, and home she comes to her mother. Never fails. We'll have a talk with Ellen."

"You are very good," said Melisande.

Mrs. Chubb saw the tears in the girl's eyes.

Poor dear! thought Mrs. Chubb. Poor pretty dear!

She determined that Ellen must set the poor pretty creature on her feet, not only for the sake of the girl herself, but for the honour of the Chubbs.

Little by little Mrs. Chubb gleaned as much of the story as Melisande felt she could tell her.

She heard of Melisande's life in the Convent and the father who had eventually decided to launch her in the world. Melisande mentioned no names at all. "I was first taken to his house where I had a post as companion to his daughter, but there was gossip. I was treated too well, and the servants guessed I was his daughter."

Mrs. Chubb nodded at that; she was well aware of the sagacity of servants and their unflagging interest in the affairs of their employers.

"So he sent me to a friend of his. A husband was chosen for me, but I could not accept him."

"It's a good thing," said Mrs. Chubb, "that I know the upper classes and what's right and wrong to them. Now if I was like my next door tenant . . . why, bless you, my dear, I'd be inclined to think it was something you'd made up."

258 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

Melisande did not attempt to describe the nature of Fenella's establishment; she felt it would be something Mrs. Chubb would never understand; nor did she tell of Fermor for, if there was one man in the whole world who lacked the chivalry of Mr. Chubb, that man was Fermor, and Melisande could not afford to lose the sympathy of her new friend—now her only one—by trying to explain that in spite of obvious villainies, she still hankered after him. How could Mrs. Chubb, who had been cherished by a saint, understand the fascinations of a man like Fermor? Mrs. Chubb might even withdraw her good opinion of Melisande if she tried to explain.

A few days after Melisande's arrival at the house, Ellen appeared.

Ellen was a big woman, plump and forceful. "She's got more of her father than me in her," said Mrs. Chubb admiringly.

Ellen, clearly accustomed to parental admiration, sat like a queen in state in the parlour, so that it seemed smaller and more overcrowded than usual. She talked of her own affairs for so long and in such details—speaking of the Lady and Him, and people with names like Rose, Emily, Jane and Mary, all of whom Mrs. Chubb seemed to know very well indeed, for she inquired feelingly after Mary's bad leg, Rose's flirtatiousness, Emily's headaches and Jane's slatternliness—that Melisande feared they would never begin discussing her affairs.

But Mrs. Chubb had not forgotten her.

"Now Miss St. Martin here, Ellen—she wants work, and we've been wondering what you could do for her."

Ellen paused in her flow of talk and turned her heavy body to study Melisande critically.

"She's foreign," said Mrs. Chubb, like a defending lawyer. "That ought to go some way, didn't it, Ellen ... for a lady's maid?"

"Oh . . . lady's maid!" said Ellen, and grimaced.

"She's a lady, and educated in a convent."

"Most of them's governesses," said Ellen. "But she's got more the look of a lady's maid than a governess."

"It's good of you to be interested," said Melisande. "Your mother has kindly said you would be, and that you know more than anyone in London when there are such vacancies."

Ellen smiled and waved her hand as though to deny such power, but in a perfunctory way necessitated by modesty rather than the need to admit the truth.

"If you should hear of something for me," went on Melisande, "lady's maid or governess, and could say a word for me, I should be so grateful."

"If there should be something going, you can be sure I'd hear of it, and I don't mind admitting that a word from Ellen Chubb would go a long way."

"You are most kind. Your mother has told me what power and knowledge is yours."

Mrs. Chubb was beaming; she did not know who pleased her more—her lodger-protegee, with her pretty face and charming ways, or her omnipotent, omniscient daughter.

They talked for half an hour of Melisande's qualifications, of her convent education, of her few months' companionship to a lady in the country where she had helped that lady dress and do her hair, had read to her and helped her with her clothes.

"But," said Mrs. Chubb, with winks and distortions of the face, "Miss St. Martin wants no reference made to that young lady."

The winks and distortions meant that there was a good reason for this which Ellen should hear when they were alone.

Ellen looked first grave, then confident. Grave because experience and references were two of the necessities when it came to the ticklish business of getting a job. However, so great was the power of Ellen Chubb that it might be possible—with this power working for Melisande—to dispense with what, in any other circumstances, would have been sheer necessities.

Ellen left the house that day on her mettle.

And, six weeks after Melisande's arrival at Mrs. Chubb's house, she was engaged as lady's maid to Mrs. Lavender.

TWO

Ihe Lavenders lived in a tall narrow house which overlooked Hyde Park.

It was not a large house, and more space seemed to have been allotted to the staircases than to the rooms. It was a dark house, and as soon as she entered it, Melisande felt that it was a poor exchange for the clean conviviality of Mrs. Chubb's cottage.

Mrs. Lavender, like the house, was tall and thin. She had a dark, brooding personality. Her hair was the vivid red of a young woman's; her face was an ageing one. It was a discontented, suspicious face. The interview she had with her did nothing to lift Melisande's spirits.