It Began in Vauxhall Gardens - Plaidy Jean - Страница 23

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She was more composed when they were on the beach, and she came level with him. He turned his head and seeing her thus was greatly relieved.

"Come on," he said; and they were off, past the great rocks in which were streaks of pink quartz and amethyst, sending the seagulls squawking out of their path.

He began to sing for very enjoyment.

"On Richmond Hill there lives a lass ..."

She heard his voice mingling with the drumming of hoofs on the sand.

Melisande had been in the house six weeks when the thought came to her: I must not stay here. I must go away.

She was panic-stricken at the thought, for where should she go? How could she be happy away from here ? If Caroline had wanted her she could have been happy; but Caroline showed her so clearly that she had no right to be here. The French lessons continued— they were more or less a command from Sir Charles—and they played duets on the piano, but this Caroline could do as well as she could and so, as far as music was concerned, Melisande could teach her nothing. They did a little embroidery together, but here again Caroline was so much more efficient with the needle. Sometimes in the evenings she would join in a game of whist, taking Miss Holland's place if that lady was too tired to play or was suffering from one of her frequent headaches. But even that had to be taught her, for she had never played the game before. She and Sir Charles would be partners on these occasions; she wished that Fermor would partner her. Sir Charles would admonish her gently: "Oh, Mademoiselle, that was rather impetuous playing. You see, had you waited I could have taken that trick ..." She had the impression that he wished to be indulgent but that he was afraid of seeming too eager to excuse her; whereas Fermor would come boldly in to her defence. Whist did not therefore ease the tension; and she often wondered what she had to offer for her board and lodging, for a place in this lovely mansion.

To her it seemed such an exciting place with its great hall which, she had heard, had done service as a ballroom, and in which, in the old days, the whole family including the servants had taken their

meals; she could have spent many interested hours in the galleries with the portraits of long dead Trevennings; there were parts of the house which had not changed since the days of Henry VIII; there was the magnificent carved staircase, and the large lofty rooms with their latticed windows and diamond-shaped panes, and those fascinating deep window seats. The servants* quarters were the most ancient; to descend to the great stone-floored kitchen with its huge fireplace and cloam oven, to see the cellars, the pantries, the butteries, was indeed to step back into the past.

There was so much that she had grown to love. She enjoyed rising early, leaping out of bed to stand at her window and watch the sun rise over the sea which seemed different every day. Sometimes it sparkled as though an extravagant god had scattered diamonds on its surface; sometimes it was overshadowed by mist, a creeping thing that seemed to be coming slowly onwards, but never came; she was excited to see it angry, lashing the rocks, contemptuously throwing up a broken spar, a mane of seaweed; to see it in a merry mood, tossing up the spume on the summit of its wave, catching it as a child catches a ball. She would look out across the sea to the Eddy-stone Lighthouse, like a slim pencil in the clear morning light, away towards Plymouth in the east and Looe Island in the west. It was a joy to ramble over the rocks, to stand alone watching the effortless flight of seagulls, to wander in the fields and lanes; she found great pleasure in walking down into the town and along by the quay, calling a greeting to the fishermen sitting at their cottage doors mending their nets, to walk out on the jetty and feel the salt sea air in her face; she liked to look back at the grey houses of the towns, the cottages on both sides of the river, some little more than huts, some much grander with their ornamental ridged tiles which she had learned were called the pisky-pows because they had been made so that the piskies might dance there during the night; and the piskies were friendly to those who gave them an alfresco ballroom.

There was so much to know, so much to learn; she was the friend of them all because they knew how anxious she was to be their friend. They would call her in to drink a little metheglin or mead, blackberry or gilliflower wine, to taste a piece of raisin cake, which they called fuggan—but that was for special occasions; there was always a piece of heavy cake or saffron cake for the young foreign lady at any time.

She had as many friends in West Looe as in East Looe. People were always glad to see her whom they called the little Mamazel. And although there were some in West Looe who would resent her friendship with the people who lived on the other side of the river, and some in East Looe who thought she owed allegiance to them— for the two towns liked to keep themselves apart—they forgave

in Mamazel that which would have seemed duplicity in others.

Melisande knew of these resentments but she pretended not to. She was not, for the sake of East Looe, going to cut from her list of friends that wonderful old woman, Grandmother Tremorney, any more than she would, for the sake of the West, give up her friendship with old Knacker Poldown. Old Knacker—and he was so small and wizened that it was easy to understand why he had been so named— with his talk of the mines and the adventures he had there until he retired and came to live on the east side in a grand house with a pisky-pow on the roof, was too good to miss; but so w r as old Lil Tremorney sitting outside her cottage, purring at her pipe, with her tales of the lovers she had had.

Melisande had so many friends and she could not bear to leave them. Only yesterday she had been called in to Mrs. Pengelly's to see the new baby and taste a bit of the kimbly which had been saved for friends. It was a delicious cake made especially for the child's christening and she was honoured to receive her share.

How could she give up such things ?

There was something else which she had to give up, and she had to admit to herself that it was what she would miss more than anything.

Fermor had been teaching her to ride for some weeks. Sir Charles had given his permission. He seemed secretly pleased and said he thought it was an excellent idea, and it was a good thing to let Fermor pay for his lessons in French. Fermor had declared that there must be a lesson every day, and he said he would not return to London until he had made Melisande into a proficient horsewoman.

He was kind and friendly, but she was becoming more and more conscious of an underlying wickedness within him.

One day during a riding lesson she realized that she could no longer shut her eyes to the danger of her position.

Her horse bolted suddenly and made straight for the cliff's edge. Immediately she was aware of the thudding of Fermor's horse's hoofs close behind her. In an instant he was between her and danger.

The horses were at a standstill, and for a few moments Melisande and Fermor remained stationary in breathless silence, with the scent of the sea and the heather in their nostrils, looking at each other. She was conscious of the deep feelings they aroused within each other.

Suddenly he became flippant. "Don't do that again," he said. "That horse is valuable."

She was still trembling. "It does not matter about me then?"

He came close and touched her arm. "You are more precious than all the horses in the world," he said in deep and solemn tones.

She was in no mood for more instruction that day. "We'll go back to the stables," he said. "You're shaken."

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