Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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"You . . . dressmaking! With them eyes!"
"With these hands, I thought."
"Oh! I'll tell Madam that. Madam will like that. She likes the sharp retort. The gentlemen like them too ... as long as they're not too sharp like. They're as good as other things . . . some other things . . ." Polly went off into laughter again. "No, I expect Madam will want a pretty girl like you to show off the dresses. That's what her goddesses do. Of course, she wasn't sure what you'd be like. If you'd been like me . . ." The thought sent Polly off into more laughter. "Well then, you'd have had to work with your hands all right. But being like you are . . . your face is all you'll need."
"I do not understand this."
"Well, seeing we're nearly there, there won't be time to tell you. Madam's waiting to see you. She won't thank me for keeping you from her. She said to take you straight to her when we came in. You're to drink tea with her. Madam's very fashionable. She drinks tea in the afternoons as well as after dinner."
The carriage had drawn up in a quiet Georgian square. As they alighted Melisande looked up at a tall house with six steps leading to the wide porch, on either side of which were pillars decorated with intricate carvings. There were balconies on the first and second floors and on these balconies were flower-boxes at this time full of evergreen plants.
The door was opened by a man in livery.
"One of our new young ladies, Bonson," said Polly with a wink.
Bonson bowed and gave Melisande a warm smile.
"Come on, dearie," said Polly, "Madam don't like to be kept waiting."
On the hall floor was a red carpet which swept up the wide staircase. At the turn of the staircase was a tall window with a window seat facing the next flight. Here there was a statue of a beautiful woman with long curly hair hanging over her shoulders.
"A gentleman said it reminded him of Madam," said Polly. "That's why she keeps it there. He gave it her, of course."
"It's lovely. Is she,as lovely as that?"
"In her time, dearie; none like her. Time passes. That's a sad thought for you beauties. When I think of time passing I can't help laughing. Time can't take much from me. What you never have you never miss, so they say. But you miss it all right; what you can't do is lose it."
They had left the great hall with the hanging candelabra, the mirrors and the fine pieces of furniture, and had mounted the stairs.
"Madam's a one for mirrors," whispered Polly. "Though not so much now as one time. Here we are."
She flung open a door.
"Madam," she cried. "She's here. Our seventh and the loveliest of the lot."
Melisande was aware of splendour, of more thick carpets, of heavy furniture, of statues and huge ornaments, of heavy velvet curtains. There was a perfume in the air; there was a great mirror on one side of the room which made it appear larger than it was. Between the velvet curtains she caught a glimpse of the balcony and beyond it, the green of the square.
Fenella Cardingly was stretched on a chaise longue, her large body covered by a blue silk wrap; this robe was open at the throat to show the beginning of a magnificent bust; a jewelled ornament of diamonds and sapphires held the cloth together. The black hair was elaborately dressed and there was flashing ornament on it. She held out a white hand, sparkling with gems, and said: "Welcome, my dear child! Welcome, little Melisande!"
Polly was pushing Melisande forward as though she were some treasure she had discovered and was eager to show.
"There," said Polly, "do you like her?"
"She's charming," said Fenella. "Kneel down dear, so that I can see you better."
Melisande felt as though she were kneeling to the Queen.
Fenella took her face in her hands and kissed her forehead.
"I hope you'll be happy, my dear."
"You are very kind," said Melisande.
"That's what we intend to be. And it's going to be a pleasure to have you. Polly, go and tell them to bring us some tea. I want to talk to Melisande for a little while."
Polly grimaced and hesitated. "Get along, you insect!" said Fenella.
Polly went out reluctantly.
"I expect she chattered during the ride from the station. Here, my dear, bring a chair and sit close to me so that we can have a chat."
Melisande obeyed.
"Are you surprised to find us as we are?"
"It is a great surprise. I thought it was to be a dressmaker's shop."
Fenella laughed. "So that's what he told you, eh? A dressmaker's shop."
"No, he did not tell me that. He said that I was to be with a dressmaker. I pictured the shop."
"Dresses are made in places other than shops, my dear. We call them salons. Why, you are pretty! You'll pay for dressing. You're going to do very well here."
"Thank you, Mrs. Cardingly."
"I am called Madam Fenella, dear. It is more suitable than Mrs. Cardingly. It is usually Madam for short. You look unhappy! Are
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you? Charles told me there had been a sad love affair in Cornwall."
Fenella waited. Then Melisande said: "I would rather not speak of it . . . if you do not mind."
"Of course you don't want to speak of it. That'll be later. Don't fret about that now. What did your father tell you about us?"
"My father? You mean Sir Charles? He did not admit that he was my father."
Fenella laughed. "That was like him. He was always afraid of criticism. There's reason in it. If you are as bold as I am, you ignore other people's opinions. If not, you bow to them."
"You know that he is my father then?"
"That is precisely the reason why he has sent you to me. He wants me to look after you."
"And you. . .?"
"My dear, I said I would do anything in my power for Charles, but now I have seen you I would add ... and for you. You are of great interest to me."
"I think I know why."
"Polly?"
"She talked to me."
"Trust Polly! I often threaten that one day I'll have her set on in a dark alley and have her tongue cut out. Don't look shocked, dear. I wouldn't do it really. But her tongue is an embarrassment to her as well as to me. Here we live in our own special little world. It is a happy world, and we are a happy family in it. We're a large family. You will soon meet my other girls. I have my little seamstresses and my goddesses. You'll be one of the goddesses. We mustn't strain those lovely eyes or prick those pretty fingers. Men don't like pricked fingers, dear, though it shows industry. But industry is not what most men are looking for—except of course the industrialists, and we don't receive many of that sort here."
"But if it is dresses I am to show, is it not the ladies who will see them?"
"There'll be ladies and gentlemen to look, dear; and the ladies always like dresses that the gentlemen look at longest—though, of course it is not really the dresses the men are looking at. That is something ladies never seem to understand. You'll do well here, I know."
"Please tell me what my duties are?"
"Chiefly to show the dresses. You shall help in the workroom too . . . but that is only if you have an aptitude."
"But shall I be of use ... if I am not good with the needle?"
"Sewing is a poorly paid trade, my dear. Showing dresses needs more skill."
"I am afraid I am not skilled at all."
"Stand up, my dear. Now walk across the room. That's right. Head erect. Genevra will teach you how to walk. You have natural grace and that is a good thing. There'll be a few tricks to learn."
"You mean, Madam, that I may earn my living by walking about!"
Fenella nodded.
"But that seems to me an easy way of earning the living."
"My dear child, often what appears to be the easiest way of earning a living brings in the biggest spoils. Look at me. I spend a good deal of time on this couch, but I earn a living. The best way to gain a living in this world is to let others earn it for you. That is what clever people do. That is what you may learn to do. Who knows!" Fenella laughed and stopped to say: "Here comes the tea."
It was wheeled in by Bonson.
"Will you pour, dear?" said Fenella. "Then we can be quite alone. Cream for me, please."
Melisande's hands were not too steady as she poured and passed the cup to Fenella.
Fenella was watching intently. What grace! What beauty! she thought. And even the dress is charming.
Fenella found young girls enchanting. Planning their future was like planning her own. They made her feel young again. And here was a charming girl, quite the most beautiful of all her beautiful girls, and what an interesting history! The daughter of a rather staid old Cornish gentleman, and the result of brief folly in his youth. It was romantic and amusing—two qualities which appealed to Fenella.
"You are bewildered," she said. "It is all so strange . . . and so different from what you expected. Never mind. That's a matter for rejoicing. Did you expect me to be a terrible old woman who would make you sew thousands of stitches every day and stand over you with a stick if you should fail ?"
"I was afraid. You see, I am not good at the sewing. Although I make very good flowers. I made this one on my dress."
"It's effective. That helps the dress. I can see you will be useful in our workrooms too. You are going to be very useful. You will be happy here, I know. I knew it as soon as I saw you. You remind me of what I was at your age. I was bigger, of course; and our colouring is different; but there is something about you. ... I want you to settle in . . . cosily. One of the girls will show you round. We entertain often, and now that I have met you I know that you will grace our evening parties. In the showroom you shall try on our dresses and we shall see what suits you. We shall dress you and you shall mingle with our guests. The result will be that many women will want to buy the gown that you are wearing. Worn by you these gowns will look so beautiful that they will not believe the beauty
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comes from you; they will think it is mainly due to the gown."
"It sounds as though this will not be real work."
"You'll see. You will find our menage a little different from Treven-ning, I don't doubt. If there is anything you don't understand, you must come to me. You will share a room with three other girls. I am sorry you can't have a room to yourself. This is a big house but we are a big family. Genevra, Lucie and Clotilde will be your room companions ... for the time being. Lucie will soon be going. She is to marry. Sooner or later they all marry. I can't keep my girls. Do you know anything about politics?"
"No ... or very little."
"Then you must learn more. You must learn about art, poetry and music. There is much conversation in my salon, and it is better for a girl to be intelligent and beautiful. She does better for herself. Genevra is a very beautiful girl, but she knows very little, and she will not or cannot learn . . . what I would have her learn; yet she has a natural cunning which she uses instead. She can look after herself."
"Do they know that I am . . . the unaccepted daughter of Sir Charles Trevenning?"
"They do not know his name, dear. It is wiser not to tell. You can never be sure into whose ears the information will fall. They'll know you're illegitimate. Clotilde is the illegitimate daughter of a lady of high rank. Her mother asked me to take her . . . much as your father did. Lucie is another ... although not so highly placed and the daughter of a gentleman and a village girl. She is to marry with her father's consent. We are delighted with Lucie. My girls find what they want in my establishment, and that is what I want."
"You are very kind, I can see."
"Oh, I have been fortunate. I like to share my good fortune. I teach my girls to be self-reliant. When I was a girl of your age I was married. I had a fortune and what I thought was a fine future. My husband was unfaithful to me and, worse still, he spent all my money."
"I cannot think why any women wish to marry."
"Most wish it, my dear; some because they are fools; others because they are wise. The fools long for a man to protect them; the wise long for a man whom they can govern. Petticoat government, my dear, is what I like to teach my girls; how to rule the world of men. The essence of the power which we wield is our secrecy. The only way to subdue masculine egoism is never to offend masculine vanity by letting it be known that you are in control. It is a simple method when dealing with simpletons. Half the world is made up of rulers; the other half, of slaves. You must decide to which half you are going to belong."
"This is all very strange to me. I have never heard anyone talk like this before."
"You have lived with nuns.*'
"And they hate men. They shut themselves away from them."
"I don't hate men; I like them. I understand them. In fact I'm very fond of them. But I never let my fondness blind me to their weakness. Consider us and consider them. We let them think we are vain. We are the ones who are continually peeping into mirrors, who are concerned about gowns and ornaments. Poor souls! They call that vanity when they feel they themselves are so perfect that they need little adornment. But you will learn. When you have finished tea I am going to ring for one of the girls to show you your room. They will help you to dress and, unless you feel too tired—or would rather not—you may come to the salon this evening. What clothes have you? Have you a suitable gown for evening wear?"
"I have one for special occasions. My ... Sir Charles bought it for me when we were in Paris."
"Is it as becoming as that one?"
"It is beautiful, but I have had few occasions to wear it."
"Let Genevra see it and she will tell you if it is suitable for the salon. If it is, and you wish to let them bring you down, you may come. But if you would prefer to stay in your room and rest after your journey, please do so. It will be necessary for you to be discreet in the salon. We will say that you are convent-bred, which is true, of course; you have come from the country because your family feel that you should not stay there where there are so few opportunities of meeting people. What do you know of literature ?"
"I have read Pilgrim's Progress and some of Jane Austin's novels while I was in the Convent. When I was in Cornwall I read Sartor Resartus and the Last Days of Pompeii"
Fenella grimaced. "No Byron?"
"No ... no Byron."
"You must be very quiet to-night ... if you come down. After all, you are French. You can pretend you don't understand if conversation gets beyond you. Genevra uses her impudence as a defence against her ignorance. At first you can pretend not to understand the language. To-morrow I shall set you a course of reading. I can see you are intelligent and will quickly learn. You should be able to discuss the works of Tennyson, Peacock, Macaulay, and this new man Dickens. As to politics we're predominantly Whig sympathizers here. Negro emancipation, Income Tax and the Chartists are matters of which, I suppose, you know very little?"
"Very little indeed, I'm afraid."
"Well, at the moment you will become delightfully French if these subjects turn up. I doubt whether many will feel equal to
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conducting a conversation in French on such subjects. I feel very strongly about the working conditions of women and children in the mines and factories. We have some old Tories who argue fiercely about that. You ask what your duties will be. You must keep up to date with current affairs. My young ladies must not only be beautiful; they must be entertaining. Now, my dear, I can see that I am bewildering you. I am going to ring for one of the girls to show you your room. She will show you the house and tell you all you need to know. Go and pull the bell-rope, will you?"
Melisande obeyed, and the summons was answered by a maid who was asked by Fenella to find either Miss Clotilde, Miss Lucie or Miss Genevra, and send her along.
In a short time there was a knock on the door and there entered one of the most beautiful girls Melisande had ever seen.
She was fair-haired and her eyes were a startling blue; she had a small piquant face and a slightly tiptilted nose; while she was slender there was a hint of the voluptuous in her figure; and there was about her an air of suppressed amusement.
"Ah!" said Fenella. "Genevra!"
"Yes, Madam?" The accent was unexpected; in it was the unmistakable tang of the London streets.
"Genevra, here is Melisande St. Martin who is going to be with us. I want you to look after her . . . show her round ... see that she is comfortable."
"Why yes, Madam." She smiled at Melisande.
"Take her along now, Genevra."
Melisande followed Genevra.
Polly came in as soon as Melisande had left.
Fenella smiled ironically. "Well?"
"Talk about a little beauty!" said Polly. "I bet she reminded you of what you were . . . like all the charmers do."
"No insolence now!"
"What are your plans for her?"
"He wants me to find the right sort of husband for her—a lawyer would be his choice."
"He don't look all that high, does he?" said Polly sarcastically.
"Don't forget he's a countryman. He's got a keen sense of the fitness of things. She's a girl of obscure birth, and therefore she's
suitable only for a professional gentleman—a barrister say. There'll be a nice dowry for her—a great attraction."
"And a nice picking for us, Madam dear?"
"We'll be paid for her board and lodging while she is here, and we'll be given a useful sum when we have delivered the husband."
"It beats me how you do it," said Polly admiringly. "No one but you could. Look at you! Nobody could call you a prude, Madam dear; and yet country gentlemen with nice ideas put their daughters into your charge. Young ladies from convents mix with harlots . . . for that Kate and Mary Jane are no less ..."
"Now, Polly, this is where you show your mediocrity. Moderation is always desirable. Put girls in a nunnery and you'll find some of them run away—and amok. Think—but how can you know of such things? But take it from me that in the nunneries there are women dreaming of lovers—and in the past there were orgies, positive orgies—simply because of repression. And in the brothels harlots sigh for the singing of anthems and the absolution of sins. No, no Polly, life is made up of too many ingredients to present a simple concoction. To savour it we must be wise ... we must relish all flavours. Look at me. I have had my lovers . . ."
"I'll say you have!" said Polly admiringly.
"I have had my lovers, and because I know men of all kinds in all their moods, I am more suited to look after the daughters of gentlemen than a Mother Superior who knows nothing of the world. We should temper austerity with voluptuousness, virtue with broadmindedness.''
"Now, Madam dear, I am not one of your circle with advanced views. I'm not a gentleman buying a powder to make the ladies love me, nor a lady wanting lotions to knock years off my age. I'm not a sterile old couple wanting a night in your magic bed."
"Be silent, you ugly old woman. What do you know of such things? How could you be a gentleman in search of virility! And let me tell you no amount of lotions would be of any use to you; and what would be the good of knocking years off your age! You were as repulsive at fourteen as you are at forty. As for a night in my magic bed—who in their right senses would want to perpetuate you?"
Polly sat down on the chaise longue, her eyes shining with affection and adoration.
Fenella smiled back at her.
They were completely delighted with the fascinating world which they had created. They were content with each other.
Melisande had been at the house in the square for a week. It was the most extraordinary week of her life; it was just what she needed to help her to forget her experiences in Cornwall. Nothing could have been more different from Trevenning than the house of Fenella Cardingly. It seemed that Fenella had said: "Such and such a thing is normal; therefore my house will do the opposite." That made an exciting if bewildering manage.
The room Melisande shared with the three girls was a large and airy one overlooking the square. It was on the third floor of the tall house; there were two other floors above it, as well as the attics where the servants had their sleeping quarters. In the room were four narrow beds with coloured sheets and counterpanes—greens and mauves. A long mirror was fixed on the wall, and there were others on the dressing tables. The chairs and commode were eighteenth century and elegant; the rugs of mauve and green. The room always smelt of mingling perfumes used by the young ladies who inhabited it.
These young ladies accepted Melisande as one of them. Their numbers, they said, were always being depleted and made up again. Few girls stayed with Madam long. They married or went away for other reasons. The girls laughed when they said 'other reasons.* They were continually laughing at something which was said.
Exciting and amusing things happened to these girls; indeed everything that happened to them seemed to be amusing and exciting. Melisande had never known there were such people. They had no modesty, it seemed. They would walk about the room wearing nothing but a pair of shoes and a necklace, admiring themselves in the long mirror or listening to the comments of the others.
In the Convent when one of them had taken a bath, Melisande remembered, they had been warned not to look at themselves. God and the saints were watching, they had been led to understand; and any sly peep would have been recorded against them. But these girls were frankly curious about themselves and others; and when Melisande told them of the Convent attitude to nudity they were amused and laughed heartily.
"Well," said Genevra, who never minced her words and was not quite a lady, "if old Sir Frances didn't like to look at me, he'd be the first man who didn't."
"Saint Francis," corrected Lucie, who, as the daughter of a wellborn man and a village girl, chose to remember the paternal parent rather than the other.
Genevra retorted: "Saints or Sirs, you can't trust any of them. I reckon those old nuns weren't worth looking at any way."
After those bewildering evenings, when Melisande mingled with Fenella's guests wearing dresses which had been selected for her, the girls would lie in their beds talking of the evening. They talked with a frankness which at first amazed Melisande. They were frank about themselves. Melisande learned that Genevra had known terrible poverty in her early days. Genevra made no secret of her beginnings. Her mother, as a girl, had worked in a factory from the early hours of the morning until late at night; she had been shaken out of her sleep of exhaustion to start work again, beaten as she was dragged along to the factory, for she was ready to fall asleep on her feet; she had stood at her work through long hours, brutally treated by the overseer who had given her two children—Genevra and Genevra's young brother.
One morning, in the attic which had been their home, Genevra had awakened to find her mother still in bed; she had shaken her and been unable to awaken her when she had realized with cold surprise that she was dead. Genevra could not feel sorrow. Her mother had ill-treated her. The overseer, who sometimes visited the attic had begun to notice the extraordinary beauty of Genevra. Genevra had no great horror of incest—nor even any knowledge of it as such—but she was terrified of the overseer. She was conscious of the sudden change of manner in a man from whom hitherto she had received nothing but blows.
She knew that her brother had been sold, when he was three, to a master of chimney sweeps. One thing Genevra would never forget as long as she lived was the piteous crying of her brother as he was taken away. She had seen him once afterwards—that was a year later—deformed, grimed with soot, and burned on his arms and legs. That was her brother—her little brother who to her had seemed so pretty when he was a year old and she was three. • "Something happened to me," said Genevra. "Don't ask me what. I only knew that whatever happened to me, I wasn't going to work in a factory."
But Genevra took her tragedy lightly. Her life was a gay one. Others suffered in this terrible world, yes; but not Genevra; and if Genevra did better than others it was not due to luck, it was due to Genevra and her own unbounded energy and superior powers.
She talked more than the others.
"When we were in the attic a lady used to come sometimes. She'd bring us soup and bread. We used to have to say after her:
'Though I am but poor and mean I will move the rich to love me If I'm modest neat and clean And submit when they reprove me.'
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"I never forgot that. I made up my mind I'd make the rich love me. There's a bit of sense in it, but like most things they tell you, you have to make it suit yourself.''
"You moved the rich to love you!" said Clotilde, and they laughed again.
"I'm clean, I'm sure," said Genevra. "Could you call me neat?"
"No," said Lucie. "Gaudy."
"And modest?"
"He whom we're thinking of wouldn't look for modesty. Do you submit when he reproves you?"
"But he reproves me for not submitting."
The 'rich' to whom they referred was a noble lord with a vast estate in the country. He had taken one look at Genevra and had found her enchanting; he had pursued her ever since. Genevra kept the little company informed of the progress of her love affair.
Before she met Fenella her name had been Jenny; but there were too many Jennys, said Fenella; and she christened her Genevra. Jenny had picked Fenella's pocket one day when Fenella had paid a visit to a mercer's shop. There had been Jenny near the entrance of the shop—a very hungry Jenny, pausing to look at the beautiful lady descending from her carriage and wondering whether there was a handkerchief she could quickly steal and take along to a man in the rookeries who would pay for such things. Jenny had been caught, but Fenella had intervened and had her brought to stand before her while she sat in the shop. Jenny, never at a loss for words, had poured the whole story into what her quick wits told her would be a sympathetic ear. Fenella heard of the overseer and his unwholesome advances, the brother crippled by his employers, and Jenny's present hunger.
Fenella had said they were to let her go and that she might present herself at the house in the square. Jenny had done this, had received a bath and delightful clothes to wear. Fenella had then changed her name to Genevra, and to Fenella Genevra gave her love and loyalty. To Fenella she owed all, including her friendship with the noble lord. She had persuaded the rich, in the forms of Fenella and the lord, to love her; and in the first place it had been due to being neither modest, neat nor clean, nor even submitting when reproved, for she had stood glowering at Fenella in the shop, until she realized that Fenella's intentions were kindly.
Lucie's story was different. She had been brought up quietly in the country with a governess. She had been two months with Fenella, and here she had been introduced to an earnest young man who would marry her.
Glotilde's story was different again. Clotilde was the daughter of a lady of high rank and her footman. She had been brought into the
lady's house and had spent part of her childhood there. Clotilde was lighthearted; she lacked Lucie's desire to stress her high-born streak, and Genevra's pressing need to set poverty behind her for ever. Clotilde fell in and out of love with speed; there was no restraint in Clotilde. Had she not been partly of noble birth, and had not regular sums of money been paid to Fenella by her mother, she would have joined Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane in their apartment from which only Genevra's special attractions and strength of character had saved her.
The segregation of those three was not complete. At certain times they all mingled freely, but the girls understood that they had come to Fenella in different ways. Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane adored Fenella. She had saved them, as Genevra said, from what was nearer a fate worse than death than some things she had heard so described. She had saved them from drudgery and starvation, from the appalling misery of the days of famine which made up those hungry forties. She had found them—one in a shop, one in a sewing-room, and another in the streets—poor thin scraps of female life; yet in them Fenella had seen that beauty which delighted her. So she had brought them into her house. She fed them; she gave them a little education; and they showed off her dresses. Fenella could not guarantee their marriage; marriage was not for such girls unless they were exceptional. Occasionally they entertained and were entertained by gentlemen, and that was very pleasant for the girls and the gentlemen. Fenella received benefits from such encounters, as did the parties concerned. It was an amicable arrangement and considered by them all far better than the starvation and drudgery which the factories and workshops had to offer. Fenella's girls grew plump and happy. Said Fenella: "Better to sell their virtue than their health. Better to sell what they have to sell to a lover than to an industrialist. They eat, sleep and live comfortably in my house, which is more than they could do by working in a factory."
Genevra belonged to their category, but Genevra had shown herself possessed of especial gifts. Genevra had the attention of a noble lord, and Fenella was amused and delighted to see how a cockney girl of only that little education which she had been able to give her, could score in the battle between the sexes.
For Melisande the days in Fenella's house had been pleasant, the evenings somewhat alarming.
Each day they would rise late after one of the maids had brought them cups of chocolate. They would lie in bed talking of the previous night's entertainment with their usual frankness. Afterwards they would read books which Fenella had chosen for them. Sometimes luncheon would be taken with Fenella, who would talk politics and literature or discuss the previous night's gathering. In the afternoon
