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

She was met at the door by a manservant whom she afterwards knew as Gunter. Gunter and his wife lived in the basement. Mrs. Gunter was cook-housekeeper, Mr. Gunter butler and handyman. There was one other servant—an elderly woman named Sarah.

Mrs. Lavender received Melisande in her dressing-room, which

2bO IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

she called her boudoir. It was an elaborate room lacking the taste displayed in Fenella's rooms yet somehow reminding Melisande of them. Mrs. Lavender's were fussy, whereas Fenella's had been grand. Mrs. Lavender herself wore a frilly neglige which did not suit her elderly face. She was lying back in an armchair when Melisande was shown in by Gunter.

Melisande stood uncertainly while Mrs. Lavender's eyes travelled over her.

"You are very young," said Mrs. Lavender.

"Oh no. . . . Not ... so young."

"Say Madam when you address me."

"Not so young, Madam. Eighteen."

That did not seem to please Mrs. Lavender. She said suspiciously: "I am told this is your first post."

Melisande was silent.

"It is not my custom to take servants without references. But I have heard from a friend's housekeeper that you are trustworthy and so am prepared to give you a trial."

"Thank you, Madam."

"You are French, I hear."

"I was brought up in France."

"What is your name . . . your Christian name?"

"Melisande."

"I shall call you Martin."

"Oh . . ."

"The wages will be ten pounds a year. This is your first post. I expect I shall have a good deal to teach you. As you will live in and have no expenses I consider I am being very generous."

"Yes. Thank you . . . Madam."

"Well then, you may start to-morrow. Pull the bell and Gunter will show you out."

Melisande obeyed.

Gunter was inclined to be sympathetic. As they were on the stairs he turned and winked at her. "Got it?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you."

He grimaced, as though he thought it might prove to be a mixed blessing.

He put his hands to his mouth and whispered through them: "Tartar!"

"Yes?" said Melisande.

"Oh . . . you're foreign. What about popping in to see Mrs. Gunter before you go?"

"You are most kind."

Mr. and Mrs. Gunter were pleased to entertain her in their basement room, and Mrs. Gunter in a burst of friendliness—or perhaps

compassion—brought out a bottle of her ginger wine that they might drink to the success of Melisande in her new home.

Melisande was touched by their friendliness and very glad of it, for it warmed the chilling atmosphere of the house. She supposed that, had she not still been feeling rather dazed and careless of what became of her, she would have been more depressed about her future. Yet, at this moment, nothing seemed very real to her, nothing seemed of any great importance. Caroline and Fermor, with Wenna an accusing figure in the background, haunted her by day and night.

"There," said Mrs. Gunter, who was many inches taller than her husband, considerably broader, and showed a protective attitude towards him, which she was now preparing to extend to Melisande, "you sit down, and Gunter'll get out the glasses."

The Gunters' room was furnished humbly. "Our own pieces," explained Mrs. Gunter. "We never move without our bit of home, and as I say to Gunter, what's nicer than a bit of home? So you're coming to work here, eh? Steady!" That was to Gunter who was filling the glasses too full. "Can't afford to spill our best ginger. It's not so easily come by."

"I start to-morrow," said Melisande.

"I wouldn't like to be in your shoes," said Gunter.

"I'd like to see you try to get into them!" said Mrs. Gunter, giving Melisande a push to stress the joke.

Melisande laughed.

The Gunters were a merry pair. Gunter now began to mince round the room. "And how would Madam like her hair done to-day, eh? A little curl here? A little curl there?"

"Looks like he's already been at the ginger," said Mrs. Gunter, with another push. "It goes to his head . . . and my legs."

"I think," said Melisande, "that I'm going to be very glad that you will be here with me."

"Well, that is a nice thing to say," said Mrs. Gunter. She added in a whisper: "She can't keep her maids."

"It's not so much her ... as him," said Gunter darkly.

"Him?" asked Melisande.

Mrs. Gunter looked evasive. "Oh, he's a lot younger than her . . . regular little dandy, he is. She thinks the world of him. 'Archibald, my dear!' " mimicked Mrs. Gunter.

Mr. Gunter pranced round the room and embraced his wife.

"Gunter'll be the death of me," said Mrs. Gunter.

They were serious suddenly, looking at Melisande with concern.

"What is it?" she asked. "You think I shall not do this job? You think I shall not give the satisfaction?"

"Well," said Mr. Gunter. "I'd say you will and I'd say you won't."

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"Give over!" said Mrs. Gunter sternly. "You see, Miss, she's a bit of a tartar. She's nearing sixty and she'll want you to make her look thirty. It can't be done. And every time she looks in the glass, she knows it. She's got the money. Now you'd say that when a woman marries, all she's got's her husband's. That's the law. Well, her father knew a thing or two about that and he got the money tied up in some way. Some sort of thing I don't understand. But it means the money can't go to Mr. Lavender. It comes to her . . . regular . . . to her, you see. Mr. Lavender can't lay his hands on it. It was a shock to him when he found out how he'd been bested. It works all right though, don't it, Gunter? It keeps him sweet and dancing attendance. Whereas ..."

"Whereas ..." said Mr. Gunter going off into laughter.

"If he got his hands on the money it might be quite a different story. As I say to Gunter, sixty can't mate with thirty and all go merry like. There's bound to be troubles. Sometimes she's not all that sweet, and who does she take it out on but us. And you, my dear, will be at her beck and call more than any of us. I think it right to warn you."

"Thank you," said Melisande.

"You don't seem very scared," said Mrs. Gunter.

"I did not expect that I should find it easy."

The Gunters looked at her sharply, and Melisande went on, with emotion: "I shall never forget your kindness. It is so good to meet kindness in this world."

Unable to reply in words to such a display of feeling, the Gunters looked shyly at each other as though to say: Foreign ways!

The verdict after she had left was that she was queer but nice. And talk about goodlooking! Far too goodlooking.

"My word," said Mrs. Gunter, "she's not going to like that."

"No," said Mr. Gunter, "but he is!"

Then they laughed but were soon serious. They were a good-hearted pair, and the beautiful young lady had aroused their compassion.

How did she manage to live through the days that followed? Only, thought Melisande, because of that numbness within her. Only because she thought: I do not care.

She did not hate the woman whose wish seemed to be to hurt and

humiliate her; she did not care. When Mrs. Lavender shouted at her: "Martin, you clumsy fool, you're pulling my hair. A lady's maid, you! You're here under false pretences. I don't mind telling you that if you go on like this you'll be out, neck and crop . . ." Melisande did not hear. She was thinking of Fermor, callous in that charmingly furnished hall; she was thinking of Caroline's white and tragic face. "Murderess! Murderess!" were the words she heard.