Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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"I am also strong," she said. "I can bite and kick as well as scream."

He took a step towards her. "I, too, am strong," he said. "Oh come, don't play at this game of reluctance. I know your sort."

"You do not, Mr. Lavender. But I know yours. I loathe you. I despise you. I shall tell Mrs. Lavender how you have behaved."

"She would never believe you."

"But she must know what you are." She was very frightened. He was coming towards her, slowly, stealthily. "Give me the key!" she cried hysterically. "Give me the key!"

He was no longer smiling. She could see the animal lust in his face. She could also see his determination, and she was afraid as she had never before been in the whole of her life. She took a step backward and gripped the table behind her, and as she did so, her fingers touched the drawer. She remembered the pearl-handled pistol. In half a second she had opened the drawer.

She held the pistol firmly.

"Now," she said, "you will stand back."

He gasped and stood still where he was. "Put that down, you little fool!" he cried. "It's loaded."

"I know it is."

"Put it down. Put it down."

"Give me the key."

"Put that down, I said."

"And I said, 'Give me the key.' If you don't, I will shoot you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'll give you three seconds."

"By God," he said, "I believe you would. You look wild enough."

"I am wild enough. I am wild enough to kill men like you at this moment. Give me the key."

He brought it out of his pocket.

"Throw it. Here. I give you three seconds, remember."

He threw it, and she kept the pistol pointed at him while she picked it up.

Still covering him, she went to the door and cautiously opened it.

She ran up to the attic and, turning the key in the lock, leaned against the door, looking at the pistol in her hand.

How did she live through that night ? She did not know. Desperately, behind the locked door of the attic, she tried to make plans. She was quite certain that she must not spend another night in this house. She must get away somewhere . . . anywhere.

But first she had to see Thorold. She had to prevent his blackmailing her father. That was the most important thing. He was the greater menace. Archibald Lavender was a lustful brute; she despised him and he terrified her; but Thorold Randall was a criminal, and moreover she had played into his hands. She was involved.

She took out the pearl-handled pistol. It was so small that it looked like a toy. What power! When she thought of how it had saved her, she murmured: "My friend!" And half laughing, half crying: "My dear little friend!"

She knew she could not sleep. She did not even undress. She lay on the bed, watching the door with the pistol in her hand.

She had never before lived through such a night.

But Archibald Lavender did not attempt to come to her room. He was afraid, Melisande knew, afraid of her determination and her dear little friend.

Desperately she planned. She must meet Thorold and do everything in her power to prevent his writing to her father. She believed she could do that. She could not believe that Thorold was, at heart, a wicked man. The man she had agreed to marry was kind and considerate; it was because of those very qualities that she had agreed to marry him. But he was in debt, in difficulties, and because of that he had lost his head.

She would not marry him now. That would be quite impossible; but she would not believe that he was a real criminal. His plans had been made on the spur of the moment. They were not the result of deliberate scheming. She feared and hated all men. The nuns were right. But she believed that some men were weak rather than wicked.

After she had seen him, after she had made him see reason, made him swear that he would not write to her father, what then?

She thought of Fenella, friendly and kind and, above all, tolerant. Perhaps she would go to Fenella and try to explain why she had run away.

This seemed her only course.

At last morning came. She slipped the pistol into the pocket of her dress and cautiously unlocked the door.

There was no sound in the upper part of the house.

She went down to breakfast in the basement room. She tried to act normally; she was most anxious that the Gunters and Sarah should not know how disturbed she was. She could not talk of her fears, and they would not be able to prevent themselves asking questions if they guessed something was wrong.

"He must have come home last night," Mrs. Gunter said, as Melisande sat down at the table. "Come in very quiet, he did. Rang the bell this morning and asked for his breakfast. Sarah said he seemed in a bit of a paddy. Quarrelled with her, I reckon, and come home in a huff."

"Oh!" said Melisande.

"She'll be home this evening, so he said. We ought to make the most of to-day, eh?"

"Oh yes," said Melisande.

It was difficult to eat, but she managed to force down some of the food.

After breakfast she returned to her room and got her things together. There was not very much. After she had seen Thorold she would have to come back for them, slip quietly upstairs and out again.

She touched the pistol in her pocket; she would not let that out of her possession until she felt herself to be safe from Archibald Lavender.

He had gone out, the Gunters told her. He said he would not be back until evening.

But he might come back unexpectedly, thought Melisande. She had seen more than desire in his eyes; she had seen vindictiveness, the desire for revenge.

The long morning crept by. There was the midday meal to be endured.

"My word," said Mrs. Gunter, "you've got a poor appetite."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"That won't do, you know ... a growing girl like you. It's the thought of her coming back, is it?"

"It might be."

"Oh, you don't want to worry. You'll be all right. I reckon she's pleased with the work you do. Don't want to take too much notice of what she says. She couldn't say she was pleased, to save her life."

Melisande went to Mrs. Gunter and put her arms about her. "Oh, Mrs. Gunter," she said, "I shall always remember how kind you have been to me."

"Here! Here!" said Mrs. Gunter; and she thought: These foreigners! All up in the air—laughing one minute, crying the next. I don't know. You don't know where you are with 'em. She's nice though. I like her.

Melisande kissed Mrs. Gunter solemnly on each cheek.

"Well," said Mrs. Gunter. "Well! Well! You seem a bit upset, dear. Anyone would think you was going on a journey."

"It is just that I wish to say . . . thank you . . . and Mr. Gunter and Sarah who have made me so happy in this little room."

"Well, that is nice! We've liked having you here with us. We hope you'll be happy when you get married, and I'm sure you will, for a nicer gentleman there couldn't be, and you deserve him. That's what I said to Gunter: *A nicer gentleman I never set eyes on, and Miss Martin deserves every bit of her good fortune!' "

"Perhaps we all deserve whatever we get in this life," said Melisande.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's some of us not so lucky."

"I must go," said Melisande. "I have much to do. I just wished you to know that you have made me happy in your room."

"Well, you're welcome," said Mrs. Gunter. "See you later, dear."

Melisande did not answer that. She went up to her room. Her few possessions were already in the bag which she had bought, ready to be picked up. She pushed the bag under her bed.

She put on her cloak and bonnet and went out of the house to her appointment with Thorold in Hyde Park.

He was there first. She saw him pacing up and down as she approached.

"Melisande . . . how glad I am you've come!"

He seized both her hands; she withdrew them quickly.

"You thought I would break my promise?"

"You were a bit upset yesterday. Ah, I see you are feeling better to-day. You've thought about it, I know. You see the point."

"I see it all very clearly," she said. "Thorold, you are in difficulties and you are worried."

"That's so."

"And because of that you have thought of this thing. You were not serious yesterday. I know it."

"Now, look here, Melisande. You've been foolish. It's only right that your father should provide for you."

"And for you too?"

"Well, we're to be married. I'll be his son-in-law."

"You never shall!"

"I thought you were going to see sense."

"I do see sense. I see that, even after what you said to me yesterday, I am still a fool. I did not believe you could be as bad as you seemed."

"Oh, do stop this nonsense. Who's bad? Who's good? Was your father such an angel when he seduced that poor girl?"

"Stop it. What do you know of such things?"

"Don't be hysterical again, Melisande.. Let us sit down. Here is the letter I've drafted. I want you to copy it and send it to your father. Read it. It says you have met a man with whom you have fallen in love. You want to marry, and you are sure that he will help you now as he wished to do before."

She took the letter and without glancing at it tore it into pieces. She threw them over her shoulder and the breeze caught them and played with them. She stood up. She was aware of his face, ugly in anger.

"So that is all you have to say?"

"I shall never write to my father asking him for money," she said. "I shall never see you again after to-day. Goodbye."

He caught her by the arm and pulled her round to face him. His mouth was twitching, his eyes blazing. What a different man this was from the one she had thought she would marry!

"You are . . . offensive to me," she said. "Release me at once."

"Do you think I shall let you go like this?"

"You have no alternative."

"Do you think this is the end of the matter?"

"It shall be the end," she said.

"You're a fool. You and I could live in comfort for the rest of our lives. He is a rich man ... a very rich man. I have looked into that. He could give us a regular allowance. We need do nothing but enjoy life. And why shouldn't he? He would, you can be sure.

He'd pay any amount rather than it should be known that he's not all that people think him."

"So," she said, "you are telling me that you are a blackmailer."

"Why shouldn't he pay for his sins?"

As she studied his face it seemed to her that he was all evil, and that he was symbolic of Man.

She said quietly: "You will never write to my father. You will never blackmail him."

"Don't be silly. If you won't come in . . . well then, stay out. Do I need your help so much? You've told me all I want to know."

"No!" she cried. "Please . . . please don't do this. Please do not."

"What! Throw away a chance like this? You're mad. You're crazy."

She felt dizzy. She was aware of the shouts of the children a long way off. "Oh God," she prayed, "help me. Help me to stop him. He must not do this."

And ther she remembered the pistol. Impulsive as she ever had been, she thought of nothing now but the need to save her father from this man's persecution. The pistol had saved her from Archibald Lavender. Could it not save her father from Thorold Randall?

She took it out.

"Swear," she said very quietly and very determinedly, "that you will not attempt to get into touch with my father."

"You idiot!" he cried. "What's that! Don't be a fool, Melisande."

"Swear!" she cried hysterically. "Swear! Swear!"

"Don't be a fool. What is that thing? Do you think to frighten me with a child's toy? Melisande, I love you. We'll be happy together, and we'll live comfortably all our lives. Your father will see to that. And if you won't. . . well, you see, don't you, that I can get along without you. But I'd rather you were with me, darling. I'd rather you were with me and would be sensible."

"Swear," she cried. "Swear."

He had laid his hand on her arm.

"Do you think I'm as muddled-headed as you? I'd never give up a chance like this . . . never!"

She threw off his arm and raised the pistol. It was so easy because he was near.

There was a sharp crack as she pulled the trigger.

Thorold was lying on the ground, bleeding.

She stood there, still holding the pistol in her hand.

She heard voices; people were running towards her. Dazed and bewildered, she waited.

PART FIVE

THE CONDEMNED CELL

JLhey were watching, these strangers. They had brought her to this place, but they would not let her rest.

She had felt listless as they drove into the cobbled courtyard. There were two men, one on either side of her, watching, ready to seize her if she tried to escape.

They need not have feared. She had no intention of escaping, no desire to do so.

They put her into a room with strange women; some had frightened faces; others had cruel faces. All looked at her curiously, but she did not care.

There was straw on the floor; it was cold and there was a smell of sweat and unwashed bodies. At another time she would have felt nauseated; now she could only think: This is the end. My troubles are over.

She sat on the bench and stared at her hands in her lap.

Someone sidled up to her.

"What you in for, dearie ?"

There were others crowding round her.

She said: "I killed a man."

They were astonished. They fell away from her in shocked surprise.

She killed a man. She was a murderess.

They took her away to question her.

"You shot this man. Why?"

"Because I wished to."

"Was he your lover?"

"There had been talk of marriage."

"And he was trying to . . . break away? Was that it?"

"He was not trying to break away."

"But you shot him?"

"I shot him."

"For what reason?"

"Because it was better that he should die."

"Do you know that you have committed a capital offence?"

"Yes."

"Do you not want to say something in your defence?"

"No."

"You must want to make a statement."

"I made my statement. I shot him. It is better that he should die."

"You may not shoot a man just because you think he ought to die."

She was silent.

"Look here, we want to help you. You'll want to put up a defence."

"There is no defence. I shot him. I would do the same again. It was necessary that he should die."

She would say no more than that. She was waiting now . . . waiting for the end and the hangman's rope.

In the cell nobody molested her. 'The Queer One' they called her. She had shot a man in Hyde Park and wouldn't say why, except that she wanted him to die. She was certainly a queer one.

She would sit thinking and sometimes smile to herself.

It seemed such a short while ago that she was at the Convent; she had been alive only a short time. Eighteen years. It was not very long to have lived, to have been deceived, to have grown tired of life and to have committed murder.

Always with her were thoughts of the nun who had haunted her childhood. Now there seemed a significance in that haunting. Hers was a similar case. They would take her out and hang her outside Newgate Jail; men and women would come to see her hanged. They would say: "That is Melisande St. Martin, the girl from the Convent who shot a man." They would laugh perhaps and shout insults.

It was not such a cruel fate as that which had befallen the nun. She would not be walled in to die slowly. The noose would be put about her neck and she would pass on to a new life.

One of the warders came to her. He bent over and shook her by the arm.

"Come this way," he said. "You're wanted." , She rose mechanically. More questions then? It did not matter. She would not tell them why she had killed him. If she did, his death would have been in vain. No one should know that she was Sir Charles Trevenning's daughter and that she had killed to preserve his secret.

She followed the man through corridors, up staircases. She did not care where they took her; she did not care what they asked her. She would be firm in her decision to remain silent.

She was taken into a room and the door was locked behind her. A man rose. Her calm deserted her then. She put her hands to her eyes to brush away a vision which she did not believe to be real.

"Melisande!" Fermor came towards her; he had taken her hands; he was holding her against him.

All the numbness was deserting her now. She was becoming alive again. Life and Death seemed to be in that room—and Life was becoming attractive again.

"Why . . . why did you come?" she stammered.

"Why! Did you think I would not? As soon as I knew ... as soon as I heard. I have been looking for you . . . searching for you. Why did you run away . . . completely lose yourself?"

She threw back her heac and looked at him. Now she could do so without fear. She was lost. Death was already claiming her and Fermor belonged to life.

"I am glad ... so glad you came," she said.

"Certainly I came." His eyes flashed. She had forgotten the power of him. "We've got to get you out of this mess. We've got to get you out of this place."

"This is prison," she said. "This is where felons are put. How can you get me out of here? I shot a man."

"Why? Why? We must build up a defence. We're going to have the best possible people working on this. You don't think we're going to let. . . to let. . ."

"To let them hang me? You can't stop them, Fermor. I shot a man. I am a murderess."

"Why, Melisande? You! To kill! It's incredible. I don't believe it. It was self-defence. They cannot hang you for doing it in self-defence. We're going to have the best lawyers in England."

She smiled slowly. "Then you really love me, Fermor?"

He took her face in his hands and kissed it—not in the way she expected him to kiss, but tenderly as he had done once or twice in the past.

'Melisande . . . Melisande . . . why did this happen? How did

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this happen ? Why did you run away ? I searched everywhere. I was frantic. I was still searching ... all these months. At least through this I have found you."

"We found each other too late, Fermor. If we had known what would happen, perhaps we should have arranged our lives differently in the beginning. But why talk of that now? I am glad you came. I shall always remember it. When I am on the platform . . . and the people are round me watching me ... when my last moments are upon me I shall say: 'He came to me in the end. He cared enough for that. . . .' "

He shook her. "For Heaven's sake, stop! It shall never get to that. You are going to be free."

"It cannot be. I am guilty. I am a murderess. ... I thought I was when I saw Caroline carried away, but then I saw her in the Park and I knew that I was not. I did not know then that very soon I should be . . ."

"Don't!" he commanded. "You're hysterical. Now they won't give us long. I want to know everything. Then I shall send the best possible lawyer to you. I am going to get you out of this."

"But how can you?"

"Money can do a good deal."

"But not that ... not that."

"I shall spend everything I have on this if need be. And then . . . I shall find means of getting more."

"Oh Fermor," she said, "you were the best one. I didn't see it. You laughed at goodness, at virtue. You were the wicked one, I thought; but now I am not so sure."

"There's no time for such talk. Suffice it that I have found you, and now there'll be no more running away. I am going to get you out of this. I will. I swear it. Nothing shall stop me."

"Fermor, you make me wish . . . you make me want to live . . . and I was reconciled to dying."

"I won't have you speak such nonsense. You're not going to die. It was in self-defence. That's all you have to say. He was threatening you with the pistol and it went off. That is what you must say."

"But it was not so, Fermor. It is something of which I cannot tell you. I killed him. Deliberately I raised the pistol which I had taken from my employer's drawer. I lifted it and killed him because . . . because I wanted him to die."

"He had threatened you. He had threatened to kill you. It was self-defence."

"No, Fermor. No!"

"Listen, Melisande. There will be a trial. Everything that can be done, shall be done. There are ways—have no doubt of that—and I shall find them."

"Fermor," she said, "why? It is better that I should be here. What good is there in life?"

"This is madness! What good? You will be with me—that is the good which will come out of this, and I shall not be searching for you ceaselessly."

"And Caroline . . . your wife?"

"She is grieved. She blames herself in some way."

"She . . . she blames herself! How does she know? What does she know?"

"She knows what she reads in the papers."

"It is in the papers then?"

"People are talking about the mysterious shooting in Hyde Park. They are all saying that he was your lover, that he had promised you marriage and jilted you."

She laughed.

"Was it so? Was it so?"

"I can answer that. It was not so."

"What was it, Melisande? Tell me, darling. I must know the truth. We must know everything. We must be prepared for cross-examination. But do not be afraid. We will have the best men on our side. Everything that I can do shall be done, and, believe me, I can do a good deal. I have friends who will move Heaven and Earth. Melisande, do not be afraid. Tell me everything. I tell you, I can get you out of this. I can save you."

She said: "There is so much I want to know. I did not think I cared, but I do. Caroline ... is she very ill?"

"She was badly hurt. She walks with difficulty."

"Ah ... I did that."

"Nonsense! She did it herself."

"And you, Fermor... you and Caroline ? How is life between you ?"

"How can it be anything than what it is . . . what it always has been."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for others. Be sorry for yourself. You are in a terrible position, my darling. That is why you must be sensible . . . reasonable. We need all our wits if we are to bring this off. We'll do it, never fear. But it is not easy. We have to work at it with ail our might and strength, with every means at our disposal."

"You are so strong," she said.

"And here to* defend you ... to make up for everything ... to show you that I will always be there whenever you want me. Don't be afraid, Melisande. But you must be sensible . . . reasonable."

"Reasonable . . . sensible! They are always telling me that. It is because I am so unreasonable ... so far from sensible that things like this happen to me."

3°4 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"Now listen, my darling. You've been through an ordeal. At any moment now that door will open and you will be taken back to your cell. I am arranging that you shall have a cell to yourself. I am arranging everything in future. But now, for Heaven's sake, let us waste no more time. We must have our story ready . . . and it has to be fool-proof."

She was laughing again with that wild laughter which was near to tears.

"Oh, Fermor," she said, "you are not good, are you. You would cheat your wife . . . you would cheat justice, and yet ... I wish I could live ... if it could be with you."

"Don't laugh like that. Of course you're going to live. I shall send our man along to you and he will tell you what you must say . . . how to conduct yourself. Melisande, you will need all your calm, all your wits; and when you are being questioned by our enemies, you must remember that I am waiting. I shall be there. I shall be where you can see me, and when you look at me, my darling, you will know that I am waiting."

"Oh Fermor!" she said; and quite suddenly she began to weep, for life had ceased to be intolerable and she did not want to die.

Now she saw what she could have done. She could have left the pistol in the house; she could have gone to Fermor; she could have told him of her fears; and then she would not be here now.

She just lay in his arms, unable to speak, unable to think, unable' to do anything but weep for the pity of it; and as she wept, the warder came to tell Fermor that he must go.

Andrew Beddoes came to see her.

She was surprised that he should come. He looked neat and just as she remembered him; and yet that anxious expression was something she had never seen before.

He had married, he told her; he had made an excellent match; but he did not forget her. He had come to tell her that he was ready to take on her defence.

^'But why?" she asked. "Why should you do that?"

"Because I wish to do something for you. I have thought of you continually since I last saw you. And now that this has happened, I want to offer you my services."

She held out her hand to him.

"I misjudged you," she said. "I have made so many mistakes. But you must not make one now. You can do nothing for me. I am guilty. I killed this man and I shall have to take the consequences of my act."

"If you did it in self-defence there would be a term of imprisonment, but your youth . . . your beauty, would, I am sure, make a good impression on the judge and jury. Nobody could believe you guilty of a wanton crime. Believe me, we can hope for leniency. We can have the public with us. You'll be surprised what public support can do. Don't be afraid. We'll work this out together."

"I shall never forget that you came. I hope you will forgive the harsh things I said to you."

"There is nothing to forgive. Your ideals were higher than mine."

"I was so ignorant. I thought men and women were divided into sheep and wolves. I can see now that they are not. What a pity I had to learn such a little thing in such a violent way. But perhaps not. I shall pay for my knowledge with my life. But there will be no more trials, no more lessons of life to learn."

"Please don't talk like this. You must not be despondent. Your case is far from hopeless. Believe me, a young girl like you has a chance. I have made enquiries. Randall was something of an adventurer, it seems. We can bring in a good case against him, I am sure."

"Thank you. But I killed him, you know."

"Tell me the truth. Tell me everything, and we will decide what our case must be."

"Listen, Mr. Beddoes. I thank you for coming to see me. I shall never forget that you came to see me. There is nothing you can do. I had my own reasons for killing that man. I did it deliberately. I shall tell no one why I did it."

"If we are going to make a case ..."

"We are not. I shall go into the dock, and when they ask me if I am guilty or not guilty, I shall say guilty. I shall say I killed Thorold. Randall, and my reasons were my own."

"You must not do that."

"It is the truth and it is what I shall say."

"There must have been a good reason. Just tell me the reason. He threatened you? You were jilted by him?"

"No. It is not as simple as that. Goodbye, Mr. Beddoes. I know why you came. It is because you have a feeling, deep in your heart, that you are responsible for the position in which I now find myself. You offered me marriage, and it was because I was to have a dowry . . ."

"It was not only that. I was fond of you. I was delighted at the prospect of marrying you. . . ."

306 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"I believe you, Mr. Beddoes. And you have an uncomfortable feeling that, because of what you did, you may in some measure have contributed to what has happened to me. Please don't feel like that. It has nothing to do with you, believe me. You are exonerated. And one of my most cherished memories will be that you came here and offered your help. You have taught me a little more . . . something that I have taken a long time to learn, I am afraid. Thank you for coming, Mr. Beddoes, and do believe me when I say there is nothing you can do for me."

Reluctant and bewildered Andrew Beddoes went away.

There was yet another visitor.

It was no use trying to hide from the world now. All London . . . all England knew that Melisande St. Martin was a prisoner and that she was to face her trial for the murder of Thorold Randall.

So . . . was it surprising that Leon should find her?

He came to tell her that he had never forgotten her, that he had begged Sir Charles and others at Trevenning to tell him where she was. He had put notices in papers begging her to let him know where she was.

"At first I was hurt by your desertion," he said, "and I felt that, since you did not trust me, we were better apart, for I could never convince you of the truth. But after a while I wanted above all things to make you understand."

"The truth, Leon?"

"It was an accident, Melisande. I swear it was an accident. He was wilful; he would go out on that day. I warned him not to venture on to the jetty. But you know how headstrong he was. He never could forget that he was in a way the master; I was the paid companion. I shall always remember that moment of horror, the realization that I was powerless, that if I plunged in I could do nothing. All I could do was run for help . . . and that I did. After that I knew there would be no rest for me until I learned to swim. I wanted to be ready in case I should be in a similar position. I used to think that if I could save a person from drowning I would rid myself of the terrible feeling of guilt which obsessed me. That was why I had to learn . . . immediately. I could not bring myself to ask someone to teach me, so I went to the quietest cove and threw myself into the sea. I was determined to swim and ... I found it

easy enough. Every day I did that. Someone saw me, I suppose, told someone else . . . and soon many had seen me. They talked of me; they suspected me. . . . How they love a dramatic story, even if it is not true!"

"Leon, Leon, I misjudged you so. How you must despise me!"

"It was natural to distrust. And then . . . you did not love me, did you, Melisande ? Perhaps it would have been different if you had."

"I do not know. It is so hard to know. Leon, what tragic people we are, you and I!"

"And I talk of my troubles now! Do you know why I have come to see you? It is for this: I am going to save you. It must be possible. I am going to engage the best lawyers and we will fight this. And I will wait, Melisande, however long. You will know that I shall be waiting for you." He took her hands and kissed them. "Who knows, this may be a blessing in disguise, for through it I have found you."

"Leon, I shall not forget what you have said. I shall remember it on the morning I die."

"Don't speak of death like that."

"How did I speak of it?"

"Finally. As though it were settled."

"Leon, I believe it is settled."

"No, no! Anyone looking at you can see that you are no murderess."

"But I am. I shot him, Leon. I killed him."

"He had treated you badly. I have already been talking to a lawyer. We can appeal to the pity of the judge, of the jury and the public. He ill-treated you."