It Began in Vauxhall Gardens - Plaidy Jean - Страница 56

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to delight her; her life was as rich and colourful as her establishment.

In the bedroom there were many vases and statues—all presents from admirers—and every object was of high value. The painted ceiling was decorated with nymphs and gods similar to those already in evidence.

To Polly—child of the slums of St. Giles's—the house of Fenella Cardingly was an exotic palace over which Madam reigned as supreme Caliph; but Polly was the Grand Vizier of especial powers; and Fenella's life was not more full of pleasure and excitement than was Polly's.

Polly was small—no more than four feet eleven inches in height; she was so thin that she resembled a child, except that her face betrayed her age; her features were small and wizened, but her close-set darting eyes were so bright that they gave her a look of intelligence while they betrayed her overwhelming inquisitiveness. Beside Fenella, five feet nine inches, with her large bust and hips, dark hair —which Polly declared grew darker every year—large round brown eyes, jewelled and clad in colourful garments of fantastic design, Polly was an excellent foil. Polly Kendrick and Fenella Cardingly lived in their magnificent world, and neither of them could imagine what life would be like without the other.

Fenella's carriage had run over Polly one day; this had happened at the time when Fenella had been disastrously married, and before she had reigned in her own right in the social world she had made her own. In those days Fenella had been the wife of Ralph Cardingly, and it was not until he died that she had found her own personality and had created this world of excitement, extravagance and impudence of which she was the undisputed queen.

To the poor waif of the slums whose daily lot had been starvation and bestiality, Fenella had become goddess-mistress; and to Fenella the loyalty of this poor little woman had become very precious indeed. From the beginning they had played an important part in each other's lives. Polly had been saved from a life of misery; Fenella had been goaded to greater daring in order to shine more brightly in the eyes of her slave.

And what excitement Polly glimpsed through the love affairs of their young ladies! They were hers, she considered, as much as Fenella's. All lived fantastically in Fenella's temple, for Fenella had, with Polly's help, created a fantastic world about them.

Fenella grew rich. She sold lotions for the beautifying of women, and concoctions to restore virility to men. Any member of either sex could trust Fenella. They could come to her temple unseen and leave it, as she said, new men and women. That she had a dressmaking establishment in the upper rooms of her large house was well known. Her young ladies—the six goddesses of grace, as she

called them—wore the clothes designed in her workrooms when they mingled with her guests. They were all different types and she was constantly replacing them, for so many of her goddesses left her after a brief stay. Her temple was but a resting place, she was fond of saying.

She rarely went out nowadays, but when she did and she by chance saw a lovely girl in a shop, or even in the street, she would offer to take her in and train her. It was a great opportunity for those girls. To meet Fenella was to meet fortune. These girls who, had they not met Fenella, would have had little but poverty to look forward to, invariably found a protector when they were in Fenella's care and, if they were wise—and Fenella brought up her girls to be wise—they would learn how to protect themselves in readiness for that occasion when the protector no longer protected. There were other young ladies whose fathers paid considerable sums of money that Fenella might teach them poise, grace, and how to charm; and when these young ladies passed out of Fenella's charm school, which they would do by way of the entertainments she gave, they would invariably find the sort of husbands their parents wished for them.

It was typical of Fenella that she entwined the respectable with the not so respectable. She could be a duenna for young ladies of fortune whose parents had not the entry into society; and she could be procuress as regards her poorer beauties. She had her open dress salon and also her discreet trade in those commodities which people wished to buy in secret. In one of the rooms of this establishment was her Bed of Fertility. It cost a great deal of money to occupy the Bed of Fertility for one night. The room in which it was placed was very similar to that in which Fenella sat reading the letter. There were dais and rich curtains; and the tapestry which lined the walls depicted the progress of lovers through many stages. There were beautiful statues and pictures—all of lovers. Some, it was said, would pay the price of a night in that chamber merely to see the pictures. But, said Fenella, the bed was for the married who wished for children and had been disappointed in that respect. To sleep in it meant that almost certainly a child would be conceived. The motive behind Fenella's letting the apartment was a righteous one.

That was how it was in their domain over which she presided. Respectability by itself was dull; eroticism was revolting. But what a combination Fenella had to offer! Eroticism paraded side by side with respectability!

Now, watching her, Polly knew from Fenella's smile that something was about to happen. She waited patiently.

"Well," said Fenella, "why do you sit there?"

"Madam dear has had some news?"

"You will know soon enough."

"Oh ... so it's a new arrival."

"Who said so ?"

"Madam dear, you can't diddle Polly."

"You're an inquisitive old woman."

"Two years younger than yourself, Madam dear. So I wouldn't talk about old women if I was you."

"That's where you're wrong. You were born old; I was born to be eternally young."

"Don't you believe it, Madam dear. You look every bit of forty-five."

"Go away, you insect."

"First tell me what's in the letter?" begged Polly.

"Just to get rid of you then. Pour me some coffee."

"Cream, Madam dear? You're getting fatter, you know."

"I like my fat and I like my cream. Well, Polly, you shall know. We're to have a new young lady."

"Madam dear! When?"

"Soon, I think."

"And who is she?"

"A dear little bastard."

"Ah, one of them: 9

"You remember the Cornishman ?"

"Yes, I remember him."

"We owe him a duty, Polly. He came here one day hoping to stay the night. I was in love with someone then—I forget who, but that is not the point . . . except that he went away—the Cornishman, I mean—and became involved with a little seamstress. There was a child . . . this child."

Polly made delighted clicking noises with her tongue.

"So we're responsible, eh?"

"He is sending her here. Melisande St. Martin. He reminds me that I helped to christen her."

"It's a pretty name."

"She might have been Millie but for me. Heaven knows what she might have been but for me."

"She would never have been born but for you . . . according to you."

"I had her sent to a French convent. She is an educated young lady now."

"What are you going to do . . . find a nice husband for her ?"

"We'll do our best, Polly. That's why he is sending her to us. She's to come here to learn dressmaking. If she's pretty we'll soon get her married. If she is not . . . well then she can work in the sewing-rooms."

"That'll be seven of them. You never had seven before. I don't

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