Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

It could not be Fermor. He would not leave Caroline on their wedding night. It was someone going downstairs for something. She must remember that there were many people in the house.

But it seemed to her that the footsteps paused outside her door.

She was trembling and tense, aware of immense relief because she had locked the door.

Then she saw something white lying on the carpet. The faint creaking of boards outside her door told her that whoever had come along the corridor had slipped that note under her door.

She got out of bed and picked it up. A little flower fell from it.

On the paper was scrawled in a bold hand which she knew at once must be his: "They say these flowers cure madness. They bring a state of calm reason. It is only a Christmas rose, but all flowers are the same inasmuch as they share the common fate of all things rare."

She wrapped up the flower in the paper and burned them in the candle flame.

He was callous and brutal. She was thankful that she could turn to L£on and never think of him again.

In the early hours of the next day, the storm began to rise. The rain lashed the windows and the wind moaned and howled about the house.

Melisande was unable to sleep for long; all through the hours of that morning she had dozed and been awakened by the gusts of wind that seemed to shake even Trevenning to its foundations.

Each time she woke it was as though in a panic. Afterwards she thought that the storm had been like a dramatic herald of tragedy.

When she rose from her bed and stood at the window, she could see the roaring raging sea tossing the foam in the air; she could see it frothing about the rocks that looked like angry black guards defending the land against the seething monster.

Everyone was sleepy after the revels of the preceding night. Sir Charles warned his guests that it would be unwise to go near the edge of the cliffs in such weather; in a wind like this one, people had been blown over and into the sea.

No one ventured out of doors, for all through the morning the rain was beating down; but in the afternoon it stopped, though the wind was as furious as ever.

Melisande was about to go out to meet Leon when Sir Charles intercepted her.

"Surely you are not going out in this?"

"Just a litde way."

"I shouldn't if I were you . . . unless it is very important."

"Well, I suppose it is not really important. It could wait until to-morrow."

He smiled at her in the wistful way he did when they were alone. "Then let it wait. The gusts are terrific on the cliffs. By to-morrow it may have calmed down. Our storms soon tire themselves out."

She thanked him and went back to her room. She stood for some time at the window watching the angry waves. The storm continued and it grew too late to think of going out that day. But how she wished next day that she had gone out to meet Leon. She could not help feeling then that had she gone everything might have turned out differently.

There was more merrymaking in the great hall and in the servants' hall that night, but Melisande joined neither party. She pleaded a headache and stayed in her room. She could not have borne to exchange words with Fermor at that time.

That night she slept well, being tired out; and when she awoke in the morning, the sun was shining and the fields and stubby fir trees were a glistening green; the sea was almost as calm as a lake—a pale blue-green.

When Peg brought her breakfast to the little room in which she had her meals, she knew at once that something had happened. Peg's face expressed that excitement which was in people's faces when they had exciting news to impart, whether the news was pleasant or unpleasant. But as Peg caught her eye she set her face into tragic lines, so Melisande knew that this was tragic news.

Peg burst out: "Oh, Mamazel, there be terrible news. One of the men has come straight back with it. Mrs. Soady said to prepare you gentle like."

"What is it, Peg?"

How long she seemed to take to speak, and why did Melisande immediately think of Fermor and Caroline. Peg's next words dispelled that picture which was forming. "It's the little boy . . . the little duke . . . the French duke."

"What, Peg?"

"A terrible accident. It were yesterday afternoon when the winds was so fierce. He was out with the Mounseer. They was on the jetty. 'Twas a foolish place to go when all do know it be special dangerous. He were blown into the sea."

"Both.* . .ofthem?"

"No, only the little one. He were lost... in the sea."

"And Monsieur de la Roche?"

"Well, he could do nothing, you see. It seems he b'ain't no swimmer. Not that he'd have had all that chance if he'd been as fine a life-saver as Jack Pengelly."

"But . . . tell me, Peg. Tell me everything."

"The little body was washed up in the night."

"Dead!"

"Couldn't be no other . . . seeing as he'd been in the sea nigh on ten hours."

"And . . ."

"The Mounseer . . . he's heart-broken, they do say. You see, the little 'un was blown over and he not being able to swim could only run for help. He got hold of Jack Pengelly and he dived in twice. 'Twere like a boiling cauldron, they do say. Mark Biddle went in too. 'Twere no good."

"I must go and see him."

"Mrs. Soady said she reckoned that's what you'd want to do."

Meiisande picked up her cloak and ran downstairs. She heard Mrs. Soady talking as she came into the servants' hall. Mrs. Soady was saying: "Well, that's what I heard, and 'twould seem to be so. Out on the jetty on an afternoon like that! And the little 'un going in and him just running for help. Of course, there's a fortune in it. So perhaps ..."

No! thought Meiisande. No! It's not true.

Mrs. Soady had abruptly stopped talking.

"So, my dear, you have heard the news?"

"Peg told me. You mustn't think ... He wouldn't . . ."

"Oh, 'twas a terrible tragedy. They do say the Mounseer be well nigh heart-broken. Where be going, Mamazel?"

"I'm going to see him. I must see him."

"William will take 'ee in the carriage. I be sure Sir Charles would not say no to that. Bet, you run and tell William."

"Thank you, Mrs. Soady."

"There, my dear, don't 'ee take on. 'Tis the sort of thing that do happen in these terrible storms. There's been many lost on that jetty. A snare it be, and should by rights be roped off on such days."

"What did you mean when you said there was a fortune in it?"

"My dear life! Did I say that? You must have misunderstood me. I just said what a bit of bad fortune, I reckon, and how the Mounseer was heart-broken at what have happened."

Meiisande stared before her. She thought: They will say cruel things about him. Even kind people like Mrs. Soady will believe those cruel things about him.

Mrs. Soady looked at Mr. Meaker and shook her head. There were times, thought Mrs. Soady, when silence was a virtue. Least said was soonest mended. She didn't like this. She didn't like it at all; and she had taken the little Mamazel under her wing and would protect her from the wickedness of the world.

176 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

Bet came in to say that the carriage was waiting, and hastily Melisande ran out to it.

The journey seemed to take hours. She pictured it all . . . the two of them battling against that violent wind. Had the boy asked to go out on to the jetty ? Or had Leon suggested it ? No, Leon would not suggest it. He would have been persuaded. If I had gone . . . if only I had been there, she thought, this might not have happened.

She looked through the carriage windows at the smugly smiling sea. It was like a monster who had had his fill, who had brought tragedy, and having shown his power was content to be still and gentle for a while. The houses looked fresh in the morning light. The well-washed tiles gleamed blue and green in the pale sunlight; the moisture still glistened about the pisky-pows.

When she reached the house, Mrs. Clark took her to Leon's room and left them there. "Comfort him," she whispered; "he's in a sad way."

So, Melisande went to him unceremoniously and, seeing his haggard face, held out her arms to him. He came to her and they embraced. Then he held her at arms' length.

"So you have heard."

"Oh, L£on . . . please . . . please don't look like that. It's terrible. But we'll grow away from it . . . together."

He shook his head. "I can never grow away from it."

"You will. Of course you will. It is because it is so near that it seems overwhelming."

"I was there, Melisande. I was there."

"I know. I have heard."

His face was dark and bitter. "What else have you heard?"

She caught her breath. "What else? Why, nothing. Just what has happened."

"You cannot hide it, Melisande, though it is like you to try. You know what they will say, what they are already saying. You have heard. I see it in your face."

"I have heard nothing," she lied.

"It's a brave lie. But you are brave. At the moment you are sorry for me. Pity overwhelms you. But the brave despise cowards, and you see one before you now."

She took him by the arm and looked up into his face. "It is terrible . . . doubly terrible because you were there. But there was nothing you could do, Leon. There was nothing else you could do but what you did."

"I could have plunged in," he said fiercely.

"But you cannot swim."

"I could have tried. Who knows? At such times men can make superhuman efforts, can't they? I might have saved him."

"You couldn't. You did the only thing possible. You brought Jack Pengelly to the spot. Jack knows the coast . . . knows the sea. He's a strong swimmer. He has saved lives before. What you did– though it might not have been dramatic—was the wise, the sensible thing."

"You are trying to comfort me."

"Of course I am trying to comfort you. What else could I do? You need comfort. You have lost a dearly beloved child."

He said ironically: "And gained a fortune."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth. You know the terms of my cousin's will. It seems they are general knowledge. Do you think I don't know from the way people look at me! Raoul is gone . . . and they are saying that I killed him."

"That's nonsense. Nobody shall say that. It's a stupid thing to say. Everybody knows how you cared for him, how you spoilt him with your devotion and your care."

"So that I allowed him to go on to the jetty . . . and to his death."

"He was so self-willed. He always did what he wanted. I can picture it . . . exactly as it happened. You said, Don't go; and he said, I will. I can picture it so clearly. I knew him and I know you, Leon. Leon, if we are going to be happy, there must be no bitterness."

"So we are going to be happy?"

"You asked me to marry you, remember, and I accepted. Do you wish to withdraw that proposal?"

He said quietly: "So . . . you would marry me now. You said we did not know each other very well. You said we must get to know each other before we married. I said we must do it quickly. This is the quickest way to improve our knowledge of each other. You have discovered a coward. I have not discovered anything. I always knew that you would be loyal to lost causes. You would give your allegiance to the weak who need you."

"No, Leon, no You are so unhappy. Of course you are unhappy. Do not let us add to that unhappiness."

"There will always be gossip about me, Melisande. Everywhere I go, those people who know me and my position will wonder. That is how it will be."

"We shall not let it bother us even if it is so."

"Melisande, I could only marry you if you believed in me."

"Of course I believe in you. No one who knew you and saw you with that boy could think for a moment that you could do a cruel thing. If anybody says it, it is because they are evil. . . ." She thought of Mrs. Soady then, and Mrs. Soady she knew well to be a kindly woman. She was shaken. Kindly people often loved to gossip.

But she was determined to hide these thoughts. She would not believe such ridiculous gossip. Now that she saw how he needed her, she was determined to marry him soon.

"You say that now," he said, "but if others say these things you might begin to believe them. I could not endure that."

Tenderness swept over her. She saw his weakness. There was that in him which would always look to what was bad in life, would always expect the worst. She must, even in this moment, compare him with Fermor. What would Fermor have done? Of course he would have been able to swim. He would have plunged in and saved the child. He would have had a crowd of spectators to applaud and admire. And if he had been unable to swim? If he had—like Leon– found himself in that dreadful position, he would have felt no need to fear. He would have somehow seen himself more than life-size. But it was the very difference between them which had made her turn to Leon.

She loved Leon, she assured herself; she loved him with a newly found tenderness; and because this terrible thing had happened to him she was going to share it with him.

Gently she talked to him, making plans for their future. She was going to take care of him. Soon they would go away from here– but not too soon. It must not seem as if he were running away. If it were true that people said evil things, he must face that evil; they would face it together.

She knew that she had brought a great comfort to him before she left him and the carriage took her back-to Trevenning.

Ten uneasy days followed.

It was known that Melisande was to marry Leon de la Roche. No one said anything derogatory in her presence regarding Leon, but she knew that the gossip was rife.

Mrs. Soady shook her head. She was not pleased with the engagement now. "Murder," she said to Mr. Meaker, "be like shenegrum; and there's nothing like shenegrum to give 'ee a taste for more shenegrum."

Mr. Meaker was grave too. He reckoned that money was often the motive for murder amongst the nobility. The poor had no money to make it worth while. But, said Mr. Meaker, the Mounseer would be rich now and, when a man got rich so quickly through

someone's death, you had to look about and into things; and looking about and into things made you start wondering.

No, they did not like the thought of MamazePs marriage at all. It made an exciting topic of conversation; it was the only topic of conversation. They delighted to talk of it; but they could not say they liked the thought of the marriage.

The whole neighbourhood was talking. A death. A Fortune. A man who couldn't swim. The two of them alone on the jetty ... the most dangerous spot they could find.

The nods, the grimaces, the furtive glances betrayed their thoughts to Melisande.

And one day the footman came into the servants' hall with an air of great excitement. He whispered to Mr. Meaker, and Mr. Meaker whispered to Mrs. Soady. All that day they whispered of what the footman had seen. The tension grew when Mr. Meaker on the very next day saw what the footman saw; and later others saw it too. ^ There were conferences round the table. What should be done? "Wait a bit," cautioned Mr. Meaker. So they waited. "But," said Mrs. Soady, "I shall not wait much longer."

Melisande had no idea of these secret matters, there was one thing every person in the servants' hall was agreed upon; the Mamazel was not to be told . . . yet. It was something which would have to be broken to her very gently.

Caroline was kind to Melisande, for she too had heard some of the rumours. This was a terrible thing of which Leon de la Roche was accused. Caroline was happy and she wished to see Melisande settled. She was greatly comforted to know that Melisande was betrothed to Leon. It was so suitable; such a neat ending to what had at one time threatened to be a frightening situation.

Preparations were going on for her journey to London. She would be delighted when they left. In the meantime she wanted to be as kind to Melisande as possible.

"I hope you will be happy," she told Melisande, "as happy as I am."

Melisande could not meet her eyes. She kept thinking of Fermor and Caroline together; and she thought of the note she had found under her door on the wedding night, and the Christmas rose which had come with it.

"We are so delighted about your engagement . . . Fermor and I. You looked strained, Melisande. Not worried by all this talk? My dear, people always talk. They're envious. Monsieur de la Roche will be a very rich man now. I am glad. It is so comforting not to have to worry about money."

"He would rather not be rich," said Melisande. "We would rather things were as . . . they were before."

"I am sure you feel like that. I know he was fond of the little boy . . . and you too. But don't worry about the cruel things people say, Melisande."

"You are very kind." Melisande felt the need to explain to someone. She went on hurriedly: "Raoul ... he was so self-willed. You see, he would say '/ want to do this!' and he would do it. Leon was too lenient with him. It was a difficult position. Leon did not wish him to go on to the jetty. But you see, Raoul had been so used to having his own way."

"I have heard he was a very self-willed little boy. But, Melisande, don't concern yourself with silly gossip. I would not if I were in your place. Suppose someone trumped up a silly story about Fermor. . . . I would not believe it."

Poor Caroline! thought Melisande. Poor Caroline and poor Leon! How cruel the world was to some people.

She hoped that Caroline would never be wise enough to understand what sort of a man she had married.

"We shall not concern ourselves with gossip," said Melisande. "As you say, it is folly. I shall see that we do not."

And at the end of those ten days Leon told her that he had to go to London on business. He expected to be away for a week or more.

Melisande was glad. It would be good for him to get away. In London no one would know what had happened.

After he had gone it was as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

Was she glad on her own account as well as on Leon's ?

It was three weeks after the wedding—a lovely day, a preview of spring, with the primroses already brightening the hedges; the birds were singing, believing that spring had already come.

The bride and bridegroom had not yet left for London. Their

departure had been delayed once or twice. Fermor had seemed in no hurry to go, and Caroline was eager to fall in with his slightest wish.

Melisande went out into the lanes to pick some of the early primroses. Absorbed in her task she did not immediately realize that she was being watched; but, looking up suddenly, she saw that she was near a gap in the hedge where there was a gate leading into a field. Fermor was leaning on the gate.

"Good morning!" he said.

"How long have you been there?" she demanded.

"What a greeting!" he mocked. "What does it matter?"

"I do not like to be watched when I do not know it."

"It was not more than two minutes. Am I forgiven? I saw you come here. You have avoided me constantly so that I have been obliged to creep up on you unawares ... as if you were a wild colt."

"I must be going," she said quickly.

"So soon?"

"I have much to attend to."

"Really? You cannot visit Monsieur, can you, now that he is away?"

She did not answer.

"So you really are going to marry him?"

She turned and was hurrying away when he leaped over the gate and caught her arm. "Don't do it, Melisande," he said. "Don't do it."

"Don't do what?"

"Marry a murderer."

Flushing scarlet she wrenched her arm away.

"You may hit me if you like," he said. "You think I deserve it, don't you?"

"I am afraid it would give you a great satisfaction to see me lose my temper, and I do not wish to satisfy you in any way."

"That's a pity, for I would do anything in the world to satisfy you. I think of you continually. That is why I risk your displeasure by begging you to have nothing to do with him."

"What do you know of Mm?"

"That he is a murderer."

"And I know that you are a liar. Do you think that anything you said would carry any weight with me?"

"You must forget your resentment. I could not marry you, Melisande. It was impossible. Don't be angry with the inevitable. But I must prevent your marrying him. Your life would be unsafe with such a man. I tell you he deliberately killed the boy."

"I do not want to hear any more."

"I knew you were headstrong. I knew that you were foolish. But I didn't know that you were a coward, afraid to face the truth."

"You forget. I clearly showed you that you are a coward."

"I did not accept that estimation of my character."

"Nor do I accept yours of mine. I don't believe anything you say. I don't trust you. You are cynical and brutal and I despise you."

"I would rather have your fiery scorn than the lukewarm pity which is all you have for him. The feelings you have for me are at least stronger. That is the hope I cling to."

"You are a fool as well as a brute then, if you would cling to any hope as far as I am concerned."

"Wait until I tell you what I know. Melisande, you've got to listen. This man was poor and now he will be rich. That's true ? You agree?"

"I have no wish to discuss this with you."

"You always run away when you are afraid."

"I am not afraid."

"Then listen to what I have to say, and prove it. I know exactly what happened on the jetty. The wind was howling and it had stopped raining. Everything was set fair for him. He said to the boy, 'Let's go for a walk,' and the boy agreed. They went out. 'Come on to the jetty,' he said, 'it'll be fun watching the waves from there.' The boy agreed. How should he know he was going to his death ? And then, how easy it was. ... A little push ... a little wringing of the hands . . . and then running for Jack Pengelly. What chance had the child in a sea like that!"

"You were there, I suppose. You saw it all."

"I was not there, but nevertheless I know what happened. If the boy fell in, what would be a man's natural reaction? He would at least attempt to rescue him surely."

"A man who could not swim would be a fool to jump into such a sea. The only sensible thing to do was to run for help, and that is what he did."

"If a man could not swim; that's the point. But, my dear Melisande, Monsieur Leon could swim. He could swim very well."

"It is not true."

"It is true. I have seen him swimming."

"Where?"

"A mile or so along the shore ... in a very quiet cove."

"I don't believe you."

"I thought you wouldn't."

"So there is nothing more to say."

"Yes, there is. The next day I went to the cove again. It was just before midday. He was there again . . . swimming. This time I took the precaution of having one of the grooms with me. Jim Stannard. I have asked him to say nothing yet. But you can go along and ask him now. You'll hear what he has to say."

She looked at him incredulously, but a terrible fear was with her.

She said: "Of course I don't believe you."

"AndJimStannard?"

"I've no doubt you have bribed him to do your will."

With that she turned and left him.

She returned to the house and went straight to her room. Peg brought up her luncheon tray. She did not appear to see her, and Peg, ever curious, loitered.

"Is anything wrong, Mamazel?"

Melisande looked at her and did not speak. She had not heard her. She was thinking: Could it be true ? But how could I trust him ?

Could it be that the whole thing was planned? There was so much money involved. She thought of Leon and his plans for a new life. He could swim—so said Fermor. Then either he was a coward who had been afraid to attempt to save Raoul ... or he was a deliberate murderer.

Peg was watching her.

"Mamazel, you've had a shock. You'm frightened, Mamazel."

"I'm all right, Peg."

Peg stared at the carpet. Peg was fond of Mamazel. It frightened Peg when she thought of all the gossip that was going on in the servants' quarters. Seeing Mamazel in this state she couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Mamazel," she said, "don't you marry him! Please, Mamazel, it would be wrong."

Melisande stood up and went over to Peg. She said: "Peg, what do you know ? If you know anything, you ought to tell me. You are my friend, Peg. You should not keep me in the dark."

"Mrs. Soady says as you ought to be kept in the dark. It's Mr. Meaker who ain't sure. He says he's going to see Sir Charles. To ask Sir Charles . . ."

"Peg, I have a right to know. Is it anything to do with . . ."

"It's to do with the French gentleman. Oh, Mamazel, you mustn't marry him. That's what everybody's saying . . . because . . . you see, Mamazel . . . we've seen him. I've seen him myself. Bet and me went one morning. Mr. Meaker, he's seen him and so's the footman. He was swimming in the sea in that quiet cove. . . . Mr. Meaker said that he might have had a chance to save the boy . . .

184 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

and ... he pretended he couldn't swim. We don't like it, Mamazel. We don't like it."

"So . . . many of you have seen. Why did I not see?"

"Well, they didn't tell you, Mamazel. They couldn't very well. But they'll all tell you now. There he was . . . swimming in the sea. And only a week or so since he said he couldn't. It's queer. It's frightening, Mamazel. Mrs. Soady's well nigh beside herself. She says foreigners b'ain't like we are. They do terrible things."

"Peg, I know you're my friend."

"We all are, Mamazel. We'd like to see you happy like. . . . And it's all fixed you should stay here ... we hope you won't marry him. Mr. Meaker says nothing can't be proved . . . but he hopes he goes away from here and us never hears no more of him. There'll be a good marriage for 'ee later on. There's as good fish in the sea as ever come out, so Mrs. Soady says. And the master 'ull see you have as good a wedding as Miss Caroline, shouldn't wonder . . . you being his own ... his daughter . . . same as Miss Caroline, only with a difference like. Mr. Meaker says they don't always make all that difference in the best families. I reckon Sir Charles will do something fine for 'ee. But don't 'ee marry that foreigner . . . after what has happened."

"Peg! Peg, what are you saying? / . . . I am Sir Charles's daughter?"

"Oh, 'tis a secret, I do know, but it must mean the master be fond of 'ee. That's why he have brought you here and set you above the servants like. No governess was ever treated like you have been, Mamazel. So now we do know, we don't mind like . . . being so fond of you."

This was too much to happen in a short hour. To know that Leon, who had declared he could not swim, could do so and might have saved Raoul's life; and to learn that Sir Charles was, in reality, her father.

She tried not to let Peg see how agitated she had become. She thanked Peg for her kindness in trying to comfort her. Then she turned to her tray and Peg went out.

She did not attempt to eat. She went straight to Sir Charles's study.

She knocked and was thankful to find that he had not yet gone to the dining-room.

He was startled by the way in which she stared at him.

She burst out: "I have just heard an extraordinary thing. Is it true that I am your daughter?"

She watched the colour drain away from his face. "Who told you that?"

"One of the maids,"

He repeated blankly: "One of the maids. Which one?"

"They all know, apparently. It seems that everyone knows . . . except myself.'*

"This is absurd."

"Then it is not true?"

She noticed that he hesitated and great sorrow filled her. She was his daughter and he was ashamed to acknowledge her. He was alarmed because his secret had been discovered.

Fermor she knew for a bad man; Leon, of whom she had been fond, was now proved to be a coward or worse; and Sir Charles, the man to whom she had looked with admiration, was weak and could not acknowledge his own daughter because he feared the damage to his reputation.

The nuns were right. The world of men was an evil one. No wonder they had retired from that world; no wonder they averted their eyes from men.

Now she felt that she too wanted to escape from all men, to shut herself in, to readjust her ideas. They all had feet of clay, every one of them, and she was not sure that Fermor—so blatantly wicked– was any worse than the others.

Sir Charles was recovering from his shock. She saw now that her fallen idol's one idea was to protect his reputation.

He said: "This is absurd and ridiculous. It must go no farther."

"You will have to deny it," she said, and there was a faint smile about her lips. "There is so much that makes a scandal," she went on fiercely, maliciously. "You came to the Convent, you brought me here. You have not treated me entirely as a servant, not entirely as a member of your family. This is a foolishness, a carelessness, and so there is scandal."

He did not see the scorn in her eyes. He was too concerned with his predicament. "To deny it," he said, "would be to admit such a thing could be. No. There is only one solution. You will have to go away from here at once."

"Yes," she said, "I thought that."

He came over to her. The old kindness showed in his face. He was oblivious of the disappointment that was edged with contempt in hers. "Don't worry. I will arrange something. I have friends. I will see that everything is conducted as ... it should be. I will see that you are well cared for." He smiled, rather cunningly, she feared. He went on: "This engagement of yours . . . and the death of the child ... I am afraid it is rather unfortunate."

She said: "So you have heard. ..."

"Mr. Holland has told me, and it has been confirmed by the servants, that Monsieur de la Roche was seen swimming only a short while after the accident, so . . ."

"I have heard," she said.

"So much scandal. So much gossip . . ." he said. "It is so unfortunate. And you?"

She cried out: "I want to go away. I want to go away from everything . . . everyone. I want to hide myself where no one can find me."

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I understand. You shall go away from here. I shall not tell . . . him where you are ... if that is your wish. It is as well for you to go away. You will want to think of so much, and it is always possible to see things clearer when one is a long way from them."

She smiled. "It is convenient . . . these two things together," she said.

He answered her: "I will arrange everything. You need have no fears of the future. I will see that you are well-cared for. You may leave everything to me."