Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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2IO IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

they would take the air in the Park, riding there in Fenella's carriage or walking about on the gravel paths with Polly as their chaperone. There they often met gentlemen who had attended Fenella's social evenings. When they returned they would go to the dress salon and the dress they should wear that night would be selected for them. Then they would retire to their rooms and be helped to dress by two French maids—servants of Fenella's—who were immediately attracted by Melisande, gave her the best of their attention and delighted to talk French with her.

Melisande was recovering from the shocks she had received during those last days in Cornwall. Her natural high spirits had risen to the surface; she was adaptable and, just as she had quickly become the companion of Caroline, she was fast becoming the charming, vivacious and intelligent young woman Fenella intended she should be.

The nuns would have raised their hands in horror. Melisande herself wondered whether she was like a chameleon which took its colour from its background. Here she was, delighting in clothes, laughing with the girls, enjoying recounting her conquests as they did.

For, of course, they would not let her remain silent. They wheedled certain information from her although she had determined that these things should remain her secret. She had never been discreet at any time. Yet she did not tell them that Sir Charles was her father. She felt compelled to respect his desire for secrecy. But she told of Leon and of Fermor; and she felt that these girls, with what seemed to her their vast knowledge of the world, might help her to understand these two men.

"You must have had a lover," they insisted one morning as they lay in bed sipping their chocolate.

"I thought I was going to be married," she told them. "That was only a little while ago."

Genevra put down her cup of chocolate. "And you didn't tell us! What stopped it? Was he a duke or something?"

Lucie said: "Did his people stop it?"

But Clotilde merely waited patiently to hear.

Melisande then told the story of her meeting with Leon, his desire for freedom, the sudden death of little Raoul and the fortune Leon had consequently inherited.

Lucie cried: "A fortune? And you gave that up! You're not very clever, Melisande."

Genevra said: "You should have waited, Melly. You should have heard what he had to say."

Clotilde, her eyes looking—as they invariably did—as though she were brooding on intimacy with one of her lovers, said: "If you had

really loved him, you wouldn't have gone away without seeing him. There was someone else, wasn't there?"

Melisande was silent; but they all began to chant: "Was there? Was there?"

"I don't know."

"But you must know," insisted Clotilde. "Though," she added, "it might be that you only know now ."

And then Melisande told them of Fermor, of the wickedness of him and the charm of him, of the proposition he had made while he was betrothed to Caroline, of the Christmas rose he had slipped under her door with the note written on his wedding night.

"He is a rogue," said Lucie. "You were wise to have nothing to do with him."

"Was he really as handsome as you say?" asked Genevra.

Clotilde answered for Melisande. "Not quite. She saw him with the eyes of love. It makes a difference."

"Tell me," said Melisande, "what should I have done?"

"Waited to ask Leon for his explanation, of course," said Lucie.

"Married him and gone to the plantation in—wherever it was," said Genevra.

"You should not have run away from the one you loved," murmured Clotilde.

And after that they began to talk of Fermor and Leon as they talked of their own lovers.

"But it won't be long," promised Genevra, "before you have others to choose from."

The salon in which Fenella entertained her guests was brilliant that night. The girls—as they so often did—were to join the company after dinner. There they would mingle with the guests, wearing the most spectacular dresses of Fenella's designers. Fenella's beautiful girls ranked with the food and wine as one of the attractions of her evenings.

There was nothing to warn Melisande that this evening was to be any different from others. It was true that she was wearing a wonderful dress—the most beautiful and daring she had yet worn. It had been chosen for her on account of its colour which was emerald green; it was of silk-faille with a pointed bodice, and even her small waist had to be more tightly laced than usual that she might fit it;

the skirt was composed of masses of very fine black net through which ran a gold pattern, and this net covered the emerald green silk-faille; the bodice was very low-cut and her back, down to her waist, was bare apart from the flimsiest covering of black and gold net. The dress had been cut to accentuate every curve of the feminine form.

Genevra wore a similar dress in blue which matched her eyes. Lucie was demure in grey and Clotilde seductive in red. Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane would come down later if required.

As they went into the salon most of the guests turned to look at them. Fenella watched them from her throne-like chair. She could not make up her mind which dress she preferred—the green or the blue. It was strange that the green seemed simpler than the blue; or was it that each dress took something from the character of its wearer? Genevra was a girl in a thousand, pondered Fenella. It was just possible that she might marry her lord. But was she clever enough for that? It was a pity that Melisande had to be married to a barrister or someone of that stratum. She must select him soon and let him begin his courtship. Melisande must not know that it was arranged. There was a tilt to her chin which suggested that she might refuse to enter into such a relationship. No, the girl was simple and charming; she was a little bruised at the moment, and that would necessitate a careful approach. Genevra could safely look after herself. The slums of London produced hardier plants than did convents.

A young man was coming towards her. She did not recognize him; and she was certain that he had received no invitation from her to attend. Such intruders hardly ever annoyed her (although sometimes she feigned irritation, for boldness was a characteristic which she greatly admired) especially when they were as good-looking as this young man.

He was well over six feet in height. And what arrogance! What haughtiness! Yet there was a twinkle in the blue eyes. It was an impudent face but the arrogance was offset by the humour she saw in it. She warmed at once to the young man.

She held out her hand to him; he took it and put it to his lips. "Your humble servant !" he said.

She raised her strongly marked eyebrows. "I have not the pleasure, sir, I am very much afraid."

"You do not know me? But I know you. Who could be of London and fail to know its priestess of fashion and beauty?"

"Have done!" she said lightly. "And tell me on whose invitation you came here."

He put on an air of mock penitence. "Am I then unmasked so soon?"

"What have you to say for yourself?"

"What can the uninvited guest say except that he so longed for paradise that he determined to dash through any flaming swords that might attempt to keep him out."

"I can see," she said, "that you are a young man who knows how to make out a good case for himself. What is your name?"

"Holland," he said. "Is it too presumptuous for a man to visit his father's friends? My father has been a frequent visitor to your wonderful house."

"Bruce Holland," she said with a smile.

He bowed. "I am his son ... his only surviving son, Fermor Holland, at your service."

Fenella was beginning to enjoy herself. There was nothing she liked better than audacity, and she thought she was understanding why he was here, and longed to know if her surmise was correct. Her eyes went to a charming figure in a green dress.

"Fermor Holland," she repeated slowly. "Now I believe you recently became a husband."

He bowed to acknowledge that this was so.

"Have you brought your wife with you to-night?"

"Alas, she was unable to accompany me."

"Her good manners doubdess prevented her, since she was not invited."

"Doubtless," he agreed.

"Let me see ... she was the daughter of Sir Charles Trevenning... another of my friends, a dear Cornish squire."

"We are flattered that you are so interested in us, Ma'am."

"Ma'am!" she exclaimed. "That is for the Queen."

"You are a Queen," he said. "All-powerful, all-beautiful, Queen Fenella!"

"What a flatterer you are! You are not going to tell me that you came here to see me!"

"But I am."

"And whom else?"

"Whom else could the eyes perceive when they are dazzled by such surpassing beauty?"

"So you wish to renew your acquaintance with Mademoiselle St. Martin?"

He opened his eyes wide but he was speechless.

"I don't blame you," she went on. "She is charming. But she is not for you, my dear young man. You may stay this evening, but you must not come here again until I have consulted with your father-in-law. Now, go along, and remember ... I did not invite you here. You are here because you have committed the unpardonable sin of the uninvited guest. I do not see you. And you may not

214 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

stay long. I believe I should forbid you to speak to Mademoiselle St. Martin. But I know that would be useless."

"Then I have your permission to seek her?"

Fenella turned her head away. "I'll be no party to this. You are not here at my invitation. You are a graceless young man. I can see that. Your father was the same. And it is solely on his account that I am not having you turned out. Now, go along and remember . . . you must not stay long."

He bowed over her hand.

She watched him go, her eyes sparkling.

She thought: A charming young man! Amusing . . . exciting. There are not many like him nowadays ... for men are not what they used to be.

He was standing before Melisande, and she was thankful that she was not alone. She was with a young man who had partnered her during the evening, as well as with Genevra and her lord and Lucie and her barrister.

"You look as if youVe seen a ghost, Mademoiselle St. Martin," said Fermor.

"I... I had not expected to see you here," stammered Melisande. "I had no idea you knew Madam Cardingly."

"My father is an old friend of hers."

"Introductions needed," said Genevra in a whisper which could be heard by all.

Melisande tried to steady her emotions. She was excited, joyful and afraid. She knew in that moment why she had not seen Leon and asked for his explanation. It was because she was in love with Fermor.

She made the introductions. Genevra's eyes shone; Lucie lowered her lids over hers.

"I feel as though I know you well," said Genevra. "Melly has talked of you."

"I am doubly enchanted," he said. "It is so gratifying to be talked of."

"But how do you know what we have heard of you?" demanded Genevra.

"It must have been pleasant since you are so delighted to see me."

"It might be curiosity to see if you are as black as you've been

painted. Teddy," she said to her lord, "y° u should prepare to be jealous. I like this Mr. Holland."

Lucie and the barrister, Francis Grey, greeted him politely, and he was warm and friendly towards them as he was to Genevra and Teddy, but he showed a definite coolness towards Melisande's partner.

Melisande said: "And Caroline ... is she here?"

"She could not come."

"What a pity! Perhaps next time?"

"Who knows?"

He could not take his eyes from her. She seemed quite different from the Melisande he had known in Cornwall. She looked older than seventeen; in Cornwall she had looked younger than her age. He believed she would be more vulnerable in this atmosphere of sensuous luxury.

They made a charming group—the three young girls in their gay dresses, the four young men in their evening dress of the latest fashion. Fenella, watching them, saw the tension between Melisande and Fermor and shrugged her shoulders, thinking: Ah well, I shall soon find her an eligible husband.

Melisande's present partner was a pleasant enough young man, but his position was hardly secure. He was a Peelite in the government, and Peel was going to fall over the Corn Laws. Fenella must not delay. The serpent—such a handsome, charming serpent—had entered Eden.

The young Peelite was talking earnest politics now. "Of course Sir Robert was right. Of course he'll come back. I know that his action has split the Party but ..."

"How charming you look," Fermor whispered to Melisande. "What luck . . . finding you here!"

"Did Madam Cardingly invite you? She must have known . . ."

"No, she did not invite me. I discovered where you were and, as soon as I made the discovery, that was where I had to be. I did not wait to be invited. I came, I saw Madam Fenella, and do you know, I believe my charm has conquered her. Or perhaps it is my obvious devotion. Who was it said, 'All the world loves a lover' ? Shakespeare, I believe. He usually knew what he was talking about. Well, here I am."

She ignored him and answered the man who had been her escort before Fermor had arrived. "I don't think he can come back. The Tories will never allow that."

"A man such as Sir Robert can do the seemingly impossible."

"Where there's a will, there's a way,

So they say ... so they say ..." sang Genevra.

"You combine wisdom with charm," said Fermor, eyeing Genevra with an appreciation which set Teddy's moustache bristling.

"Perhaps," said Genevra, "it is better to be born wise than beautiful. Beauty needs such wise handling if it is to flourish."

"It flourishes in the richest soil," said Teddy, "just as flowers do."

"You see how wise Teddy is!" said Genevra.

The politician was growing peevish. Melisande said: "How will you be affected when Lord Russell takes over?"

"Sir Robert will soon be back in his old position," insisted the young man.

"Mademoiselle St. Martin," said Fermor, "may I take you in to supper?"

"It is not yet supper time."

"Then may I have a few words with you . . . alone? I bring important news. It is the sole reason for my being here."

She lifted her eyes to his face and he smiled boldly.

Genevra said: "Come along. We will disperse. Important news should not be allowed to wait. Come along, everyone. We will join you later when the important news has been imparted. I hope it's good news; is it?"

"I think so," said Fermor. "And I thank you for your tact which is almost as great as your wisdom and beauty."

Genevra made a mock curtsey and slipped her arm through that of Teddy who was clearly glad to be moving away from the arrogant man with the startlingly blue eyes. Lucie and Francis went with them; and the earnest politician had no help for it but to do likewise.

"Very clever, was it not?" said Fermor when they were alone.

"It is what I would have expected of you."

"I am glad you have such a high opinion of my cleverness."

"I suppose there is no news?"

"Why should you suppose that?"

"Because 1 have also learned to have a high sense of your duplicity."

"You have learned to speak English more fluently."

"I have learned a lot of things."

"I can see it. Soon your wisdom will equal that of the charming Genevra. Your beauty and charm already excel hers."

"Please ... I am not young any more."

"Have you grown so old?"

"One grows old Ipy experience . . . not by years."

"You've hardened."

"That is good. Do you not think so? I am like a fish who has grown a shell; I am like a hedgehog with his prickles."

"I never saw anyone less like a shellfish or a hedgehog."

"It is a metaphor ... or is it a simile?"

"I can think of more attractive ones to fit you."

"Please, what is it that you have to tell me?"

"That I love you."

"You said you had important news."

"What could be more important than that?"

"To you? Your marriage perhaps."

He flicked his fingers impatiently. "Is there somewhere where we can talk in private?"

"There is nowhere."

"What about the conservatory?"

"It is not for us."

"Why not?"

"You must understand I work here. I show dresses. This dress I wear does not belong to me. I wear it so that it shall be admired and ladies of wealth wish for one like it. I do not entertain my friends in the conservatory."

"Not if they are exalted guests of your employer?"

"I have no instructions regarding you."

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"To work ... to earn my living, of course."

"Work! You call this work. What are all these girls? Don't you know? Do you think I don't know?"

"We show dresses. Some work in the showrooms."

He laughed. "I thought you had grown up."

"Sir Charles sent me here," she said.

"Indeed! That you might follow in your mother's footsteps?"

She flushed hotly and turned away. He caught her arm.

"You must forgive me," he said. "Remember you love me for my frankness . . . among other things."

"I lave you! 93

"Of course. I'm not a saint. I explained that. I don't offer you marriage; nor do I murder little boys for their fortunes."

"Be silent!" she said in a low voice. "And go away. Don't come here again to torment me."

"Not to torment, but to please you ... to make you happy. Do you really not know what this place is?"

She looked at him in silence.

"What innocence!" he exclaimed. "Is it real or is it feigned?"

"I do not understand what you are talking about. What do you mean . . . about this place?"

"It is not a convent where holy nuns congregate, is it? How do the girls spend their time? On their knees asking for grace? Their methods are not those of nuns. You must know that. Oh, I am coarse and crude . . . but I know you will forgive me."

"You upset everything. I was happy here. I believe I could have been happy at Trevenning . . . but for you."

"You might have married your murderer. Would you have been happy, do you think? Like a sheep in a field . . . shut in . . . knowing no other world but that bounded by four hedges? And then he might have decided to murder you . . . having acquired the taste for murder. But you were not in love with him. If you were, why did you not wait for his return ? Why did you not give him a chance to explain ? Shall I tell you? It is because you do not love him. It is because you know there is only one man for you, and I am that man."

"What a pity there is not only one woman for you—and that woman your wife!"

"That would make life so simple, wouldn't it? But can we expect it to be so simple as that?"

"I believe Caroline does."

"Yes, you have grown up. You get angrier. You have a temper, Melisande, my pretty one. Guard it. Tempers are dangerous things. Do you remember when you leaped from your horse and snatched the branch from the boy who was torturing the madwoman? That was temper . . . righteous anger. You nearly had the mob on you then. But you didn't stop to consider. Or perhaps you knew that I was there to protect you. What would have happened if I had not been there to snatch you from the mob? I'll always be there, Melisande, when you need me. With a fiery temper like yours, that blazes into fury, you need a protector. Once more I offer myself."

"The offer is not accepted. It is supper time now. Goodbye."

"I am taking you in to supper."

"I am not here as a guest, you know."

"You should not be here at all. You should let me rescue you from the indignity of your position."

"To place me in a position of greater indignity! I see no indignity in my present position."

"That is because you are so innocent."

"I don't think Madam Cardingly knows what sort of man you are, or she would not allow you to come here."

"It is precisely because she knows the sort of man I am that she welcomes me here. Come, let us go in to supper."

At the supper table buffet they were joined by others, and Melisande was glad of this. The conversation was general. It ranged from politics—always a favourite topic at Fenella's gatherings—to literature. Melisande had quickly learned to be discreet and, if she could not profitably add to the interest of the discussion, she would keep silent. Fenella often said that it was better for a girl to be quiet than foolish.

One of the ladies of the party now admired Melisande's dress and wondered how it would look in claret colour. It was Melisande's

duty to discuss the claret-coloured dress the lady might wish to be made for her, to suggest slight alterations to suit a more mature figure than her own. Melisande was a success at her job and nothing delighted her more than to give advice which resulted in a sale. Then she could feel justified in her comfortable existence in this strange household.

The conversation was turned to the Poor. Everybody talked about the Poor nowadays. It was as though they had just discovered the Poor; although Fenella had been aware of them for so long, she had only recently managed to make them a subject of general interest. There were always, in every gathering, those who would cry: "But Christ said, 'The Poor ye have always with you' and that means there must always be poor. Why all this fuss about something which is natural and inevitable?" There were others who quoted The Song of the Shirt and Oliver Twist. These were now discussing The Cry of the Children and the new novel Coni.igsby by that Jew who was, it was said, about to lead the Tory protectionists.

Some of the more frivolous were discussing Fanny Kemble's latest performance; but Melisande remained quiet, not this time because she could not have joined in, but because of Fermor's presence.

He lifted his glass of champagne and drank to their future.

"I do not see what future you and I could have together unless ..." she began.

"Unless you come to your senses?" he finished for her. "My dear, you will. I promise you."

"Unless," she went on, "you reform your ways. Then perhaps I may meet you with Caroline."

"Reform . . . reform!" he sang out, "It is all reform. Everybody would reform everything these days. Are they not content with their Corn Laws? Must they start on human beings?"

She said quietly: "You don't think about other people at all, do you? You are the utter egoist. You see only a small world with Fermor Holland in the centre of it."

"Don't be deceived. We are all in the centre of our small worlds– even your learned friends here with their chitter-chatter of art and literature, of politics and reform. 'Listen to meV they are saying. 'Hear what / have to say!' I say that too, and because my song is a different one, that does not prove me to be any more self-centred than the next man."

"I wish you had not come here."

"Be honest. You are delighted that I have come."

She was silent for a while, and because he was smiling she said: "It is startling to see someone reappear from a life which one had thought left behind for ever."

"You always knew I'd come for you, didn't you? It'll always be like that, Melisande. I shall always be with you."

The champagne had made her eyes sparkle. She had drunk more than she was accustomed to. Was she a little tipsy? That was an unpardonable sin in Fenella's eyes. "Drink is a goodly thing," was one of her maxims. "One must drink to be sociable. One must acquire the art of drinking, which is to drink just enough. To drink too little is unfriendly; to drink too much is gross."

As a result of her heightened emotions Melisande was seeing everything with a new clarity. What was she doing here ? What sort of place was this to which her father had sent her ? Was it merely, as he said, to learn dressmaking? It was certainly not to learn dressmaking. It was to wear beautiful clothes, to attract admiration. Why? She caught sight of Daisy now. Daisy was wearing a pink dress, very decollete^ in which she looked like a full-blown rose. She was making an appointment with a thick-set man. In a little while they would slip away and Daisy would not be seen until next day. "Do you know what sort of place this is?" Fermor had asked.

Why did Fenella keep girls here? What was it all about? Was it the sort of place to which a conscientious father would send his daughter? Was Fenella Cardingly the kind benefactress she had made Melisande believe she was? What were those places called, where girls like Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane lived and worked? What was the label attached to the women who looked after such places, who arranged such meetings? Was this a high-class brothel? Was Madam Fenella a procuress? What was the ultimate purpose of sending a girl here ?

But it was this man who had put evil thoughts into her head. Fenella was good and kind. This was a happy place. Did she believe that, because she wished to believe it, because if she believed otherwise she would not know how to act ?

Nothing could make her alter her opinion of Fenella's kindness. She had come here, bruised and wounded, and Fenella's strange house had comforted her as she had not believed it was possible to be comforted.

Fermor took her glass from her and set it down. She stood up.

"Let us go back to the salon," he said.

He took her arm and gripped it fast. She found as they moved away, that she was glad of the support. They were alone in the corridor.

He said: "It is impossible to talk in that room with so many people about us. Can we not be together alone ... for five minutes?"

"Do you know," she said, and her voice sounded vague and not her own, "why I have been sent here?"

He nodded. "And I want you to leave here. It is not good for you to be here, in this kind of place."

"I do not understand you."

"Is it possible that you don't know?"

He had opened a door and looked inside. Finding Fenella's small sitting-room unoccupied, he drew her in. He shut the door and put his arms about her.

"I can't leave you here," he said passionately.

"If there is anything that is wrong in this place, you have brought it. Until now . . ."

"Did I bring the prostitutes, the Bed of Fertility? What is going on in this house now ... at this moment ? What mysteries should we discover if we were to look, I wonder?"

"But you said that Madam Cardingly is a friend of your father's .. . and she is also a friend of Sir Charles."

"My father is of his generation. I'm fond of him. I'm also like him. He would come here but he would not expect my mother or my sisters to do so. Sir Charles has sent you here to acquire a husband, I'll swear. Fenella's is the only market for bastards."

She twisted free. "Good night," she said.

He laughed, and caught her. "Having at last found this solitude, do you think I will lose it? The*home I would offer you is respectability itself compared with this place."

"I do not believe you."

"Let us stop quarrelling. Let us enjoy these few moments alone. Oh, Melisande, if I had known how strong was this passion I have for you, I would not have married Caroline."

She retorted angrily: "You say that, now that your marriage has taken place. It is safe to say it now."

"I mean it. I have thought of you constantly. And, you see, you can't hide your feelings from me. We were meant for each other. Don't let us deny it."

"But I will deny it... I will." Her voice shook. To her horror she found that she was crying.

He lifted her and carried her to a sofa. There he sat, holding her in his arms. Now he was gentle, tender; she wished he would not be so, for in such a mood he was irresistible.

They were silent for a while. All her denials, she knew, were of no use. She had betrayed herself. She sensed his triumph. She could only sit still with his arms about her, drying her eyes with his handkerchief.

"It might have been quite different," she said, "if you really mean that you love me enough to marry me."

"I do mean it," he said. "But what's done is done. Let us build with what is left to us."

"And Caroline?"

"Caroline need never know."

She stood up suddenly. "I must go," she said. "I shall be missed."

"What does it matter?"

"I am employed here to show this dress."

"From this moment no one employs you. My love, you are free."

"I feel that I shall never be free."

"We must settle this. Come away with me . . . to-night. Tomorrow I will find a house. There we shall be together . . . and nothing shall part us."

"You do not understand. I am saying goodbye."

His eyes glinted. "You change quickly. A moment ago you led me to believe ..."

"You led yourself to believe."

She ran out of the room. It was not easy to slip back into the salon unseen. Genevra and Lucie had noticed her entry. Genevra came to her and kept close to her for the rest of the evening. Genevra, the child of St. Giles's, felt protective towards the girl from the Convent.

Fenella drank a cup of chocolate before she slept. Polly brought it and sat on her bed watching her drink it. "You're worried, Madam dear," she said. "Rubbish!" said Fenella.

"Is it that couple in the Bed? They'll never get children. A hundred beds such as ours would be no use to them." Polly giggled. "Fifty guineas a night! One of these days someone will ask for his money back."

"It rarely fails, Polly. You know that very well." "It will to-night. And what if one of these reformers gets busy on you, ducky? What if they start talking about fraud?"

"Don't be silly, you insect. As if I can't look after all reformers." "Well, we have been in trouble at times, you know." "And got out of it. Now, Polly, three of the best men of law in this country are my very close friends. Politicians are my friends. Everybody who has any power is my friend. They would not wish any scandal to upset our little world of delights, would they? If there were a scandal about our Bed, they wouldn't be able to come here, would they? So there will be no scandal. It is not that which worries me.

"Oh, so there is something worrying you?" "I'd tell you if I could trust you to keep your mouth shut." "Don't worry. I'll find out for myself. Is it our little French Melly? I thought there was something strange about her after the party was over. She'd been crying too, and Genevra was looking after her as though she was Mary and the other her little lamb."

"A young man came here to-night. He's upset her. He mustn't come here again. He's up to no good."

"What about letting one of the others look after him? Kate's latest hasn't been after her quite so much lately. Every week his longing for our Katey grows weaker. Poor Katey, she's going to need a consolation prize."