Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

A bit of trouble, a love affair like as not, or running away from home? Well, well, Mrs. Chubb would see. Mrs. Chubb—again in her own opinion—had a sympathetic way with her, and there was nothing that overcame reserve like sympathy.

"When will you be moving in, Miss?"

"I'll stay now."

"Oh! Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? If you'll

forgive me saying so, Miss, you look as if you've had a bit of a shock."

"Yes," said Melisande, "I have indeed had a bit of a shock. Please, I should like the coffee."

"What about you coming in and having it in my parlour? Then we can talk about the ways of the house."

"Thank you."

The parlour was small and clean. It was rarely used. It was Mrs. Chubb's delight, and she never entered it without looking round with an air of proud possessiveness and a quick glance over her shoulder—if she was not alone—to see the effect of such splendour on others.

There was a blue carpet on the floor; there was a heavy mirror and a mantelpiece crowded with ornaments. There were two whatnots loaded with knick-knacks, every one of which had its significance for Mrs. Chubb. There were chairs and a sofa; and near the window was a table on which stood a fern similar to the one in the hall.

"There! Sit you down!" said Mrs. Chubb. "And I'll bring you the coffee."

Melisande looked round the room when she was alone, at the pictures—most of them in pastel shades depicting groups of plump young women and graceful men—and the daguerrotype showing two people looking rather self-conscious; as one of these was undoubtedly Mrs. Chubb, Melisande supposed the other to be Mr. Chubb.

But her mind was too full of what had happened to allow her to consider Mr. and Mrs. Chubb for long. She had found a haven– if only a temporary one—and she now felt that she had time to think of what she must do.

She must never see Fermor again. She could never be happy with him, for she would never forget Caroline's face as she had stood before her. If Caroline had killed herself, she, Melisande, was to blame. Murderess! Wenna's words would always be with her. She would hear them in her sleep, she fancied; they would break through into every happy moment.

She could not go back to Fenella's. She hated the house now. It seemed sinister with its rich furnishings and air of voluptuousness. She would not allow them to assess her as they had done, to set her up in the market place.

All love was drained from her; she could feel nothing but hatred and contempt; and she felt now that she hated herself most of all.

Mrs. Chubb came in with the coffee.

"There! You like the room?"

"Very much. That is a picture of you and your husband?"

"That's right. Me and the dear departed."

"I am sorry."

Mrs. Chubb wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. She looked at the picture and recited as she must have done so many times before: "A better man never lived. His only concern was to provide for me after he had gone."

There was a respectful silence. Then Mrs. Chubb released the corner of her apron and smiled brightly. "There! All right?"

"It is very good, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Mrs. Chubb's way of breaking down reserve was to talk about herself. Confidences were like gifts between nice people, she believed; they had to be exchanged.

"That was just before he died," she said nodding at the daguer-rotype. "It's two years come June since I buried him."

"I ... I see."

"A good man. We was in service together. That's how we met. But Mr. Chubb, he was the go-ahead sort. He wasn't going to stay in service all his life. Saved, he did. He had a legacy—he was thought the world of by the lady and gentleman—and he put it into two houses. He was a planner, he was. That's for you, Alice, he used to say, for after I'm gone. So he put the money into two houses—this one and the one next door. I get the next door's rent—and better tenants there never was. Mr. Chubb saw to that. And here I am with a roof over my head and taking a lodger to help things out. That's what Mr. Chubb did for me."

"You were very lucky."

"My luck came when I met Mr. Chubb. I say to young ladies who haven't got to the married state ... I always say: 'May you meet another like Mr. Chubb.' I say it to you now... that's if you haven't reached that state, Miss."

"No," said Melisande, "I haven't."

Mrs. Chubb was relieved. She didn't believe in trouble between husbands and wives.

"Feeling better now? You're looking it."

"Thank you, yes."

"And you'll not be having your things sent?"

"No. I have no things."

"Well, they're very nice, what you're wearing. But you'll want some things, won't you?"

"Perhaps I can buy them."

"Oh, I see. This shock like. . . . You've quarrelled with your people, have you? I'm not nosy. Mr. Chubb used to say: * Alice, Mrs. Chubb, my dear, you're one of the few women without a nose.' That was his joke. He was full of jokes. It's just to be prepared for callers . . . that's all, Miss."

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"I don't think there'll be any callers."

"All on your own, eh?"

"Yes. You . . . er . . . you have been in service, have you?"

Mrs. Chubb was smiling broadly. Here it came. Confidence for confidence. Sympathy had the same effect on reserve as hot water on a bottle stopper that wouldn't open.

"Head housemaid, and Mr. Chubb, he went from pantry boy, footman to butler. He was a man to rise in the world."

"Do you think I could be a lady's maid ... or companion?"

"No doubt about it, Miss. Being foreign . . . that's what they like lady's maids to be. Can you crimp the hair and do that sort of thing? I remember there was a foreign lady's maid in our last place. Such an outlandish name she had. And she did well for herself."

"You see, I shall have to earn a living."

Mrs. Chubb nodded. As a lady's maid she wouldn't be needing the room, would she? So she had only taken the room until she found a job. Mrs. Chubb was disappointed, but only mildly, for she liked what she called experiences as well as lodgers; and thanks to the wisdom of Mr. Chubb, she could rub along all right without letting her upstairs room. Moreover instinct had told her that she was going to like this girl, and instinct would not be disobeyed.

"Any experience, Miss? That's what they all want."

"Well, I have been a companion."

"They'll want references."

The girl turned pale. Oh dear, thought Mrs. Chubb. Been up to something!

Instinct flinched but stood firm. She's all right. Mrs. Chubb dismissed her suspicions. I'd trust a girl with a face like that. Obviously it was some brute of a man who, unchivalrous and unChubblike, had forced his attentions upon her. That explained everything. That was why she had run away.

"Unless," said Mrs. Chubb, "you had a very good recommendation from someone."

"I ... I understand. How does one start looking for such a post, Mrs. Chubb?"

"So that's what you're going to start doing?" Well, said Mrs. Chubb to herself, I do like honesty. Most would have pretended they wanted the room for ever. I told you so, said instinct. She's honest.

"I ... I want to. In fact ... I must . . . soon, of course."

"Well, sometimes they put notices in the papers . . . and sometimes one of the other servants recommends a friend ... or perhaps one lady will speak to another for a girl. It's done all ways."

"I shall have to start looking in the papers."

Mrs. Chubb made a decision. She said: "There's Our Ellen."

"Who is that?"

"Our Ellen. Our girl. Mr. Chubb's daughter and mine. She's in service ... in a grand house near the Park. She's got a good job, our Ellen has. She's housekeeper in one of the best houses, with a big staff under her. Now Ellen's got friends all over the place. If any lady was wanting a maid, Ellen would hear of it. Ellen's got her father's head for business. Ellen's doing well for herself."

"You think she would help me?"

"Ellen would do what her mother asked her to. Are you in any hurry?"

"Well, there will be my rent and board. I have only five or six pounds . . ."

"That's a fortune!" said Mrs. Chubb.

"It's all I have and I must find something before it goes."

"Ellen will be coming to see me next Wednesday afternoon. That's her day off, and home she comes to her mother. Never fails. We'll have a talk with Ellen."

"You are very good," said Melisande.

Mrs. Chubb saw the tears in the girl's eyes.

Poor dear! thought Mrs. Chubb. Poor pretty dear!

She determined that Ellen must set the poor pretty creature on her feet, not only for the sake of the girl herself, but for the honour of the Chubbs.

Little by little Mrs. Chubb gleaned as much of the story as Melisande felt she could tell her.

She heard of Melisande's life in the Convent and the father who had eventually decided to launch her in the world. Melisande mentioned no names at all. "I was first taken to his house where I had a post as companion to his daughter, but there was gossip. I was treated too well, and the servants guessed I was his daughter."

Mrs. Chubb nodded at that; she was well aware of the sagacity of servants and their unflagging interest in the affairs of their employers.

"So he sent me to a friend of his. A husband was chosen for me, but I could not accept him."

"It's a good thing," said Mrs. Chubb, "that I know the upper classes and what's right and wrong to them. Now if I was like my next door tenant . . . why, bless you, my dear, I'd be inclined to think it was something you'd made up."

258 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

Melisande did not attempt to describe the nature of Fenella's establishment; she felt it would be something Mrs. Chubb would never understand; nor did she tell of Fermor for, if there was one man in the whole world who lacked the chivalry of Mr. Chubb, that man was Fermor, and Melisande could not afford to lose the sympathy of her new friend—now her only one—by trying to explain that in spite of obvious villainies, she still hankered after him. How could Mrs. Chubb, who had been cherished by a saint, understand the fascinations of a man like Fermor? Mrs. Chubb might even withdraw her good opinion of Melisande if she tried to explain.

A few days after Melisande's arrival at the house, Ellen appeared.

Ellen was a big woman, plump and forceful. "She's got more of her father than me in her," said Mrs. Chubb admiringly.

Ellen, clearly accustomed to parental admiration, sat like a queen in state in the parlour, so that it seemed smaller and more overcrowded than usual. She talked of her own affairs for so long and in such details—speaking of the Lady and Him, and people with names like Rose, Emily, Jane and Mary, all of whom Mrs. Chubb seemed to know very well indeed, for she inquired feelingly after Mary's bad leg, Rose's flirtatiousness, Emily's headaches and Jane's slatternliness—that Melisande feared they would never begin discussing her affairs.

But Mrs. Chubb had not forgotten her.

"Now Miss St. Martin here, Ellen—she wants work, and we've been wondering what you could do for her."

Ellen paused in her flow of talk and turned her heavy body to study Melisande critically.

"She's foreign," said Mrs. Chubb, like a defending lawyer. "That ought to go some way, didn't it, Ellen ... for a lady's maid?"

"Oh . . . lady's maid!" said Ellen, and grimaced.

"She's a lady, and educated in a convent."

"Most of them's governesses," said Ellen. "But she's got more the look of a lady's maid than a governess."

"It's good of you to be interested," said Melisande. "Your mother has kindly said you would be, and that you know more than anyone in London when there are such vacancies."

Ellen smiled and waved her hand as though to deny such power, but in a perfunctory way necessitated by modesty rather than the need to admit the truth.

"If you should hear of something for me," went on Melisande, "lady's maid or governess, and could say a word for me, I should be so grateful."

"If there should be something going, you can be sure I'd hear of it, and I don't mind admitting that a word from Ellen Chubb would go a long way."

"You are most kind. Your mother has told me what power and knowledge is yours."

Mrs. Chubb was beaming; she did not know who pleased her more—her lodger-protegee, with her pretty face and charming ways, or her omnipotent, omniscient daughter.

They talked for half an hour of Melisande's qualifications, of her convent education, of her few months' companionship to a lady in the country where she had helped that lady dress and do her hair, had read to her and helped her with her clothes.

"But," said Mrs. Chubb, with winks and distortions of the face, "Miss St. Martin wants no reference made to that young lady."

The winks and distortions meant that there was a good reason for this which Ellen should hear when they were alone.

Ellen looked first grave, then confident. Grave because experience and references were two of the necessities when it came to the ticklish business of getting a job. However, so great was the power of Ellen Chubb that it might be possible—with this power working for Melisande—to dispense with what, in any other circumstances, would have been sheer necessities.

Ellen left the house that day on her mettle.

And, six weeks after Melisande's arrival at Mrs. Chubb's house, she was engaged as lady's maid to Mrs. Lavender.

TWO

Ihe Lavenders lived in a tall narrow house which overlooked Hyde Park.

It was not a large house, and more space seemed to have been allotted to the staircases than to the rooms. It was a dark house, and as soon as she entered it, Melisande felt that it was a poor exchange for the clean conviviality of Mrs. Chubb's cottage.

Mrs. Lavender, like the house, was tall and thin. She had a dark, brooding personality. Her hair was the vivid red of a young woman's; her face was an ageing one. It was a discontented, suspicious face. The interview she had with her did nothing to lift Melisande's spirits.

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

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

2bO IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

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

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

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

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

"Say Madam when you address me."

"Not so young, Madam. Eighteen."

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

Melisande was silent.

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

"Thank you, Madam."

"You are French, I hear."

"I was brought up in France."

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

"Melisande."

"I shall call you Martin."

"Oh . . ."

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

"Yes. Thank you . . . Madam."

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

Melisande obeyed.

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

"Yes, thank you."

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

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

"Yes?" said Melisande.

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

"You are most kind."

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

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

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

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

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

"I start to-morrow," said Melisande.

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

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

Melisande laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

"Him?" asked Melisande.

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

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

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

They were serious suddenly, looking at Melisande with concern.

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

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

262 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

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

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

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

"Thank you," said Melisande.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Martin, you seem quite stupid. Don't you hear me? Are you dumb, blind and silly?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Do not stand there smiling and looking so pleased with yourself."

I? thought Melisande. Pleased with myself? I hate myself. I do not care what happens to me. Caroline may be dead, and if so . . . I have killed her.

Even in tragedy there was some good, she thought. How do ladies' maids endure serving such women as this unless they feel as I do . . . indifferent . . . not caring?

What a pity, she thought, that I was not the one who walked under the horse. That would have solved our problem.

Fermor? He would have been sad for a while... such a little while.

But when she made a flower for Mrs. Lavender's gown, the woman was pleased. She did not say so. She merely had the flower placed on her dress. She looked at it appreciatively. "You can make some more," was all she said. But for the next few days she did not complain so much. She was even communicative. She showed Melisande her jewels, which she kept in a small safe in her boudoir. She unbent when displaying them. She ought to keep them at the bank, she was told, but she could not bear to part with them. She liked to have them with her to try them on, even though she did not wear them all the time.

Melisande thought her appearance was always spoilt by too many jewels which, in conjunction with the red hair, made too startling a show. If the jewels had been worn sparingly with clothes less flamboyant, and her hair was its natural colour, providing Mrs. Lavender could acquire a more pleasant expression, she might suit her name. As it was that name seemed somewhat incongruous.