It Began in Vauxhall Gardens - Plaidy Jean - Страница 22

• Предыдущая
• 22/94
• Следующая

"You forget that she is only a servant—although she's supposed to be a superior one."

He shrugged his shoulders; she sensed that he would have pursued the matter, but he was aware that she had noticed his interest in the girl.

Caroline had said that there should be an hour in the morning which they would devote to conversation in French,

During the first hour when this was in progress Fermor came into the library.

"You wanted me?" asked Caroline.

"No. I thought Pd take advantage of a little instruction myself. That is if Mademoiselle has no objection."

Melisande smiled warmly. Very ready, thought Caroline, to accept admiration. "There is no objection!" she cried. "There is only great welcome."

"Sit down then," said Caroline. "But do remember that nothing but French is to be spoken during this hour."

"Mon Dieu!" cried Fermor, lifting his shoulders in an attempt at suitable gesticulation.

Melisande laughed in great amusement, and there followed a torrent of French asking him if he had been in France, if so in what part, and if he had found any difficulty in making himself understood.

"Have pity!" he cried. "Have pity on a poor Englishman."

Caroline said sharply: "Really, Fermor, this is not what Papa intended."

"A thousand apologies." He began to answer Melisande's questions in French, so slowly and laboriously and with such an appalling accent—which Caroline was sure was greatly exaggerated—that Melisande could not understand until he had repeated some words several times. Then she would teach him how to say those words, and they would both laugh outrageously at his efforts.

Caroline watching them was tense with jealousy. She thought: It will always be like that. I shall never be able to trust him with an attractive woman. He'll never be different. He would not have thought of me if our parents had not arranged the marriage. He would have preferred someone like this girl—as he is preferring her now.

"Monsieur speaks very bad French," Melisande was saying with mock severity.

"It is time you took me in hand," he said in English. "Mademoiselle, it must not be only for an hour a day. You must talk to me often, for clearly I cannot go about the world in such ignorance."

How dare he! thought Caroline. He knows that I am watching, but he does not care!

"But French, Monsieur!" cried Melisande. "You have forgotten."

"Monsieur is very bad scholar, yes?" he said in broken English. "He deserves much punishment?"

"Fermor," said Caroline sharply, "Papa would say you are wasting time. He is most anxious for me to have French lessons. That is why Mademoiselle was engaged."

"I'll be good," he said, smiling from Melisande to Caroline. "I'll

sit, meek and mild, and speak only when spoken to . . . and then it shall be in French ... if I can manage it."

"It is only by speaking that you can improve," said Melisande. "You are very very bad, it is true, but I think you are eager to learn, and that is a very good thing."

"I am very eager," he said, putting his hand on his heart. "I am very eager to please you."

The hour progressed—for Caroline most unhappily. She was glad when she could stop the lesson.

"Shall we go for a ride?" she asked Fermor.

"The very thing! After all that brain work I need a little exercise."

"Come on then."

"What about Mademoiselle St. Martin?"

Caroline was aghast. How could he suggest such a thing! He was not treating her as a servant; he was behaving as though she were a guest in the house.

Melisande said: "Alas, I do not ride a horse. It was not taught me in the Convent."

He laughed. "I suppose not. I can't help laughing. I just had a picture of nuns on horseback ... in full gallop, black wings flapping. They'd look like prehistoric animals, wouldn't they? But I say, Mademoiselle Melisande, we can't allow this, you know. You can't ride! That's impossible! I mean of course, that we must put that right. Hunting is the noblest sport. Didn't you know that? You must ride. I'll teach you. You are teaching me to speak French. I'll teach you how to manage a horse."

"But that would be wonderful. I should like to be a rider. You are very good. I am filled with happiness."

"Then it's a bargain. Shake hands on it. When will you be ready for the first lesson?"

Caroline said quickly: "You forget, Fermor, you're going back to London next week."

"I'll stay a little longer. There's nothing I have to go back for. I'll wait until Mademoiselle Melisande is cantering round the paddock before I leave."

"I think," said Caroline, "that as Mademoiselle St. Martin is employed by my father, and you propose teaching her to ride on my father's horse, it might be advisable to ask his permission first."

"You are right, of course," said Fermor.

Caroline smiled faintly. "I'll ask him if he approves."

"I'll do the asking," said Fermor. "Perhaps to-morrow, Mademoiselle Melisande, you shall have your first lesson."

"Thank you, but I should not wish to if it were not the desire of Sir Charles and Miss Caroline."

"Leave it to me," he said. "I'll see to it."

Then smiling, he went out with Caroline, leaving her alone in the library caught up by her intermingling emotions, deciding that life in the outside world was more complicated than life in a convent.

As they rode out of the stable Fermor said: "What a bad temper you are in this morning!"

"I?"

"Certainly you. Weren't you rather rude to that poor girl?"

"I thought what I said was necessary.*'

"Necessary to hurt her feelings!"

"I wonder whether you would have been so solicitous of her feelings if she had had a squint and a hare lip."

"Would you have been so anxious to hurt her feelings if she had?"

"That is not the point."

"My dear Caroline, it is the point."

"You can't teach her to ride."

"Why not? I'm sure she'll make an excellent horsewoman."

"You forget she is only employed here."

"I may have forgotten, but you reminded me . . . remember . . . right there before her."

The tears filled her eyes. She said: "I can't help it. It makes me so unhappy to be . . . slighted . . . like that ... to be humiliated before a servant."

He could be very cold sometimes; he was cold now. He said: "It was you who humiliated yourself, treating her as you did."

He rode on in advance of her; she stared at his straight back and blinked away the tears. She thought: I am so unhappy. He does not love me. He never did. He will marry me because-, the marriage has been arranged. I would marry him if the whole world were against us.

They had reached the cliff path and she was glad that they had to pick their way carefully.

"We'll get down on to the beach," he said. "We'll have a gallop over the sand."

"All right," she answered.

She was thinking: Perhaps she'll be no good on a horse. Perhaps she'll have a violent fall . . . spoil her looks. She might even break her neck. That was a terrible thought and she was sorry she had had it. She did not mean to be unkind. If only her father had brought

her a poor middle-aged woman who needed kindness, how kind she would have been!

• Предыдущая
• 22/94
• Следующая