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

"You need have no fear, Mrs. Lavender," she said quietly but deliberately, "I did not intend to pour tea for myself. I quite understand that I was ordered to attend merely because a guest failed to appear. I have no more wish to drink tea with you than you have to see me do so."

Mrs. Lavender gasped. Melisande, with trembling hands, poured the tea and handed it round.

Both men were watching her, Mr. Lavender uneasily, Mr. Randall admiringly. In Mrs. Lavender's cheeks two spots of colour burned.

She was unsure how to act. Her first impulse was to tell Melisande to go and pack her bag; but she did not want to lose her. It gave such prestige, to employ a French maid; besides the girl was clever in her way and she would be useful on occasions like this, for she was undoubtedly as well-bred as Mrs. Lavender's guests. There was satisfaction in possessing such a maid.

She said: "Mr. Randall, we must forgive Martin. She is French, you know. That means she does not always understand our English ways."

"I am sure," said Mr. Lavender, "that Martin means no harm. I am quite sure of that."

Mr. Randall looked at her with admiration and pity.

"Well," said Mrs. Lavender, "we'll overlook your behaviour, Martin. You may pour yourself tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lavender, but I do not wish for it."

Again there was a brief silence. Melisande became aware that she was beginning to relish the situation. She had a feeling of glorious indifference to consequences. I shall be dismissed, she thought; and I do not care. There must be many employers in the world who are no worse than Mrs. Lavender, and surely some who are much better.

"She does not like our English customs," said Mrs. Lavender. "They say the French do not drink tea as we do."

"It is not the customs I do not like," said Melisande. "It is the

270 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"Martin," said Mrs. Lavender, her face now purple. "There is no need for you to remain."

"Then," said Melisande, "I will say good night."

Mr. Randall was at the door to open it for her.

She sailed through. She ran up the stairs to her attic. She locked the door, sat on the bed and laughed. She thought: How Genevra would have enjoyed that! Then a terrible longing came over her to be with Genevra again, to laugh with her, to exchange this sparsely furnished little attic for her luxurious apartments at Fenella's, to wear beautiful clothes, to chatter in Fenella's salon, and above all to see Fermor there.

Then she threw herself on to the bed and laughed until she cried.

But she must pull herself together. She got up and bathed her face. After the visitor had gone she would be needed to help her mistress prepare for bed. Mrs. Lavender should not have the pleasure of seeing that she had shed tears.

She would, of course, be given notice to leave. Very well, she would have to find herself something this time. And somehow she would make a new life for herself. She would live again.

Being alive again meant a return of pride, a return of hope. She indulged in day-dreams now, as she had when she was a child at the Convent.

She was Melisande to whom wonderful things must happen. She had been hurt and she had allowed that hurt to crush her. She remembered the little punishments at the Convent, which had seemed enormous at the time. She remembered the first time she had been sent to the sewing-room and kept there for three hours. It had seemed a lifetime. And in the same way now, a few weeks seemed a lifetime. But the gloom always passed and the brightness broke through ... as it would now.

She had several happy dreams, but none of them could be carried to a satisfactory conclusion. None could be complete in itself. One was that Sir Charles repented of his pride and came to claim her; he took her back to live in Cornwall. But how could she go on with that dream ? What of Caroline, his daughter ? Was Caroline alive ? Was Caroline dead? Then she dreamed that she was married to Fermor. But where was Caroline in that dream? Caroline must always be there; Caroline alive made their union impossible. Did

Caroline dead make it equally so? Sometimes she thought of L6on— not the Leon she remembered, tortured by a terrible tragedy, furtively looking about him as it seemed for the accusing eyes of those who believed him guilty of a callous deed, but a Leon who was a combination of himself, Fermor, and her new acquaintance Thorold Randall. Sometimes she dreamed that Fenella found her and took her back, and that in the salon she met a stranger; he was this new combination of Fermor, Leon and Thorold Randall.

She clung to these dreams. They represented hope. She took new pride in her appearance. She was so pretty, and it became pleasant once more to accept the little attentions which were the natural homage of beauty like hers, and which came from cab drivers, policemen and men in shops to which she went on errands for Mrs. Lavender. All that gave her confidence, new weapons with which to fight the Lavenders.

This was being alive again.

Strangely enough Mrs. Lavender made no reference to the litde scene which had taken place in the drawing-room. She had decided to overlook it and put it down to foreign temperament. Melisande knew then that Mrs. Lavender was by no means displeased with her work.

Two days after the whist party, on the occasion of her free afternoon, Melisande came out of the house to find Thorold Randall standing idly outside.

She was pleasantly startled. This was Melisande reborn, eager for excitement. Her green eyes sparkled.

"Why," he said, "it's Miss Martin."

"You want to see Mrs. Lavender ? She is resting. But Mr. Lavender is at home."

"I wish to see neither of them. But I was waiting for someone."

"Oh?"

"I should like to offer my condolences for the other night. I was distressed."

"I was not. I was glad."

"Glad to be treated as you were! A young lady like yourself?"

"A lady's maid, Mr. Randall. You forget that."

"I forget nothing. It is distressing to see a young lady like yourself treated in such a way."

"Then that is very good of you. I will thank you and say goodbye."

"Please don't say goodbye. May I walk a little way with you?"

"But you are waiting for someone."

"For you, of course."

"But how did you know I should be free?"

"A little careful enquiry."

She laughed. "Then it was doubly good. First to wait and tell me you are sorry. And second for taking so much trouble to do so."

As they walked along, he said: "There were unpleasant consequences? She er . . ."

"I am still her maid. She has said nothing of the incident. So you see you should not be so sorry for me. You will make me sorry for myself, and it is not good to pity oneself. If you are not pleased with life . . . then you must seek some means of changing it."

"It is not always possible to change it."

"Then one must make it possible."

"You are a strange young lady. I thought at first how quiet you were that evening . . . how meek."

"Crushed!" she cried. "Mrs. Lavender had her foot on my neck. That is what you thought. It was not so. I just did not care that night. Then suddenly ... I arise. I throw off the foot, and there I am, ready to fight for my dignities ... my rights to be treated not as a lady's maid but as a person."

"Why are you doing such work?"