"A house afire? That sounds dangerous."
He laughed, throwing back his quiff as he did so. She saw the flash of his teeth.
"Do you like it here?" he asked solicitously.
"Thank you. It is a kind enquiry."
"You're a charming girl—too pretty to be working for other women."
She was glad that the door leading to the bedroom had opened.
"Archie!" said Mrs. Lavender.
"My love!"
He went to her and embraced her. Melisande, glancing over her shoulder, saw that Mrs. Lavender's face had softened to that expression which Melisande had wished for it.
"You should have said you were coming home," said Mrs. Lavender.
"Thought I'd surprise you. Thought that's what you'd like. You wait till you see what I've brought for you."
"Really, Archie! You're an angel!"
"No, Mrs. L. You're the one who should be sprouting the wings."
Mrs. Lavender said: "You may go, Martin."
"Thank you," said Melisande, in great relief.
She noticed that Archibald Lavender did not give her a single glance as she hurried out.
She went to the small attic room which was hers and shut the door. She felt now as though she were waking out of her daze. What had she done? she asked herself. She had run away from Fenella's, and whatever Fenella was, she had been kind. In Fenella's house, for all its voluptuous mystery, there was a feeling of safety. Here . . . there was no safety. She knew that. She sensed danger . . . "like a house afire." She had little money. She knew that the notice Mr.
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Lavender had implied he would bestow on her would annoy Mrs. Lavender more than any incompetence. She was afraid suddenly, for it seemed that the world into which she had escaped was full of a hundred dangers from which Fenella had protected her.
She was only eighteen. It was so very young. Too much had happened in too short a time.
She longed to go back to Mrs. Chubb's, to live for ever in that cosy cottage. But how could she? To become a lodger there she needed money. Moreover Ellen had found this job, and Ellen and Mrs. Chubb would expect her to keep it.
She wanted .her bedroom at Fenella's; she wanted the light-hearted chatter of Genevra, the worldly wisdom of Clotilde, the oddly maternal solicitude of Polly and Fenella. She wanted Fermor.
She had run away because she was afraid; and now she was alone in a world full of new dangers.
She went down to Mrs. Gunter for comfort.
"So he's back," said Mrs. Gunter. "Now she'll be sweeter. I reckon he's brought her a lovely piece of jewellery. She'll be so pleased he's thought of her that she won't mind paying the bill when it comes. I bet he's telling her some tale about how he had to stay away on business and how he hated leaving her. Well, it pleases her and she likes to think that one day he's going to be a great business man with money of his own. Did you see him?"
"Yes, I did," said Melisande.
Mrs. Gunter looked at her sharply. "I can see you're a sensible girl," she said.
"I wish he had not come back."
"I daresay he said you were pretty and you and him would get on like a house afire."
"How did you know?"
"He's got his set pieces, and we've had pretty girls here before. I'll tell you something: He's a coward and dead scared of her." Mrs. Gunter pushed Melisande. "Just threaten him with her. That's what you'll have to do if he worries you."
Melisande went to Mrs. Gunter then and laying her head on her shoulder put her arms about her. "It was so pretty-like," said Mrs. Gunter later; "and then I saw she was crying quiet-like. She looked different after that. The quietness seemed to have gone out of her. When she stood back she was like a different person. I never saw her eyes flash so before. Beautiful they looked. And I thought: 'Hello! Here's a side we don't know about yet. I reckon Mr. L. will get slapped if he goes too far!' "
"Martin," said Mrs. Lavender, "do you play whist?"
"A little, Madam."
"Then you shall join us . . . after dinner. Mrs. Greenacre cannot be with us."
"Oh ..." began Melisande.
"You need not be afraid. We shall not expect you to dress. I shall explain to our guest who you are. Nothing will be expected of you but to play your hand."
"But . . ."
"You'll do as you're asked, of course."
Melisande went to her room to wash. She always locked the door whenever she went in. She had done so since Mr. Lavender had knocked one evening to ask how she was. He had fancied she looked tired, he had said. It had been difficult to keep him on the right side of the door; but she had done so with quiet dignity and great determination.
After that she always turned the key in the lock and, if there should be a knock, asked who was there before opening the door.
She washed thoughtfully and combed her hair.
She had been three weeks with the Lavenders; that meant it was nine weeks since that day when she had walked out of Fenella's house. She wondered whether they had tried to find her. Fenella would have been so hurt; so would Polly. As for her father, he would probably be glad, for now that she had run away she had solved his problem for him. He could not blame himself for what happened to an illegitimate daughter who spurned his care and refused to marry the very respectable young lawyer whom he had provided for her. Genevra ? Clotilde ? They would not care deeply. She had been but the companion of a few weeks in their eventful lives.
She had to forget what had happened. She had been reading the papers every day since the accident. Surely if Caroline had died she would have seen some notice to this effect. She had never asked Fermor where he and Caroline lived, but it should not be insuperably difficult to find out. But if she did and went to the house to enquire of the servants, she might meet Fermor or Caroline and that was what she must avoid.
She heard a carriage draw up outside the house. This would be to-night's guest. She went to the window and looked down. She could not see very clearly the person who stepped from the carriage, but she did see that it was a man who appeared to be about Mr. Lavender's age.
She was glad that she did not have to join them at dinner. She was indeed not looking forward to the evening at all. Mrs. Lavender would be rude to her, she was sure, and she was beginning to resent such treatment.
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Now, when the woman bullied her, retorts rose to her lips. Surely that was a sign that she was growing away from her nightmares and was feeling a stirring of interest in her new life.
She was wearing the black and green dress bought in Paris. It was less fashionable now, and she had worn it scarcely at all while she was at Fenella's. While she was at Mrs. Chubb's she had bought herself two cheap gowns for daily wear—one lilac colour, the other grey.
She combed her hair and parted it in the centre so that it fell in ringlets over her shoulders.
She was feeling nervous when the summons came for her to go to the drawing-room.
"This is my maid, Martin, Mr. Randall. I have sent for her to make a fourth at whist. So tiresome that Mrs. Greenacre could not come."
He rose and, taking Melisande's hand, bowed over it.
He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes; Melis-ande liked him at once because his smile was sympathetic with no hint of patronage in it.
"I am afraid," said Melisande, "that I shall be a poor player. I have played very little."
The young man—who now seemed younger than Mr. Lavender —smiled again. "I am sure Mr. Lavender and I will forgive you if you trump our aces . . . eh, Archibald?"
Archibald mumbled that he was not sure about that. He was very cautious under the eye of Mrs. Lavender; but, when he was sure she was not watching him, he smiled at Melisande in a manner to indicate that he did not mean what he said.
"You may put up the card table, Martin," said Mrs. Lavender.
Mr. Randall helped her to do this.
"There is
no need for you to trouble," said Mrs. Lavender. "I am sure Martin can manage."
"It is a pleasure," said Mr. Randall.
They sat round the table and the cards were dealt. Melisande blundered again and again. She had played very little at Trevenning and on those rare occasions when the cards had been brought out at Fenella's it was usually in order to tell fortunes, and when whist was played it was never seriously.
She apologized nervously. "I'm afraid Fm not very good . . ."
Mrs. Lavender said with a short laugh: "You are right there, Martin. I'm glad you're not my partner."
Mr. Randall, whose partner Melisande was, hurried to defend her. "I'm not at all sure that was not finesse, Mrs. Lavender. Not sure at all. You wait and see."
It was very good of him, Melisande thought; she was aware that
he was guiding her, seeking all the time to cover up her mistakes.
When Sarah brought in tea and biscuits for refreshment, which, Mrs. Lavender prided herself, was so fashionable, she told Melisande to pour out.
"Why," said Mrs. Lavender, scrutinizing the tray. "Sarah has brought four cups."
Melisande felt suddenly angry. It was because—she realized afterwards—Mr. Randall with his quiet consideration had restored her self-respect. Her spirits were reviving. She would not endure further insults. If necessary she would leave Mrs. Lavender and find someone else who needed a lady's maid.
"You need have no fear, Mrs. Lavender," she said quietly but deliberately, "I did not intend to pour tea for myself. I quite understand that I was ordered to attend merely because a guest failed to appear. I have no more wish to drink tea with you than you have to see me do so."
Mrs. Lavender gasped. Melisande, with trembling hands, poured the tea and handed it round.
Both men were watching her, Mr. Lavender uneasily, Mr. Randall admiringly. In Mrs. Lavender's cheeks two spots of colour burned.
She was unsure how to act. Her first impulse was to tell Melisande to go and pack her bag; but she did not want to lose her. It gave such prestige, to employ a French maid; besides the girl was clever in her way and she would be useful on occasions like this, for she was undoubtedly as well-bred as Mrs. Lavender's guests. There was satisfaction in possessing such a maid.
She said: "Mr. Randall, we must forgive Martin. She is French, you know. That means she does not always understand our English ways."
"I am sure," said Mr. Lavender, "that Martin means no harm. I am quite sure of that."
Mr. Randall looked at her with admiration and pity.
"Well," said Mrs. Lavender, "we'll overlook your behaviour, Martin. You may pour yourself tea."
"Thank you, Mrs. Lavender, but I do not wish for it."
Again there was a brief silence. Melisande became aware that she was beginning to relish the situation. She had a feeling of glorious indifference to consequences. I shall be dismissed, she thought; and I do not care. There must be many employers in the world who are no worse than Mrs. Lavender, and surely some who are much better.
"She does not like our English customs," said Mrs. Lavender. "They say the French do not drink tea as we do."
"It is not the customs I do not like," said Melisande. "It is the
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"Martin," said Mrs. Lavender, her face now purple. "There is no need for you to remain."
"Then," said Melisande, "I will say good night."
Mr. Randall was at the door to open it for her.
She sailed through. She ran up the stairs to her attic. She locked the door, sat on the bed and laughed. She thought: How Genevra would have enjoyed that! Then a terrible longing came over her to be with Genevra again, to laugh with her, to exchange this sparsely furnished little attic for her luxurious apartments at Fenella's, to wear beautiful clothes, to chatter in Fenella's salon, and above all to see Fermor there.
Then she threw herself on to the bed and laughed until she cried.
But she must pull herself together. She got up and bathed her face. After the visitor had gone she would be needed to help her mistress prepare for bed. Mrs. Lavender should not have the pleasure of seeing that she had shed tears.
She would, of course, be given notice to leave. Very well, she would have to find herself something this time. And somehow she would make a new life for herself. She would live again.
Being alive again meant a return of pride, a return of hope. She indulged in day-dreams now, as she had when she was a child at the Convent.
She was Melisande to whom wonderful things must happen. She had been hurt and she had allowed that hurt to crush her. She remembered the little punishments at the Convent, which had seemed enormous at the time. She remembered the first time she had been sent to the sewing-room and kept there for three hours. It had seemed a lifetime. And in the same way now, a few weeks seemed a lifetime. But the gloom always passed and the brightness broke through ... as it would now.
She had several happy dreams, but none of them could be carried to a satisfactory conclusion. None could be complete in itself. One was that Sir Charles repented of his pride and came to claim her; he took her back to live in Cornwall. But how could she go on with that dream ? What of Caroline, his daughter ? Was Caroline alive ? Was Caroline dead? Then she dreamed that she was married to Fermor. But where was Caroline in that dream? Caroline must always be there; Caroline alive made their union impossible. Did
Caroline dead make it equally so? Sometimes she thought of L6on— not the Leon she remembered, tortured by a terrible tragedy, furtively looking about him as it seemed for the accusing eyes of those who believed him guilty of a callous deed, but a Leon who was a combination of himself, Fermor, and her new acquaintance Thorold Randall. Sometimes she dreamed that Fenella found her and took her back, and that in the salon she met a stranger; he was this new combination of Fermor, Leon and Thorold Randall.
She clung to these dreams. They represented hope. She took new pride in her appearance. She was so pretty, and it became pleasant once more to accept the little attentions which were the natural homage of beauty like hers, and which came from cab drivers, policemen and men in shops to which she went on errands for Mrs. Lavender. All that gave her confidence, new weapons with which to fight the Lavenders.
This was being alive again.
Strangely enough Mrs. Lavender made no reference to the litde scene which had taken place in the drawing-room. She had decided to overlook it and put it down to foreign temperament. Melisande knew then that Mrs. Lavender was by no means displeased with her work.
Two days after the whist party, on the occasion of her free afternoon, Melisande came out of the house to find Thorold Randall standing idly outside.
She was pleasantly startled. This was Melisande reborn, eager for excitement. Her green eyes sparkled.
"Why," he said, "it's Miss Martin."
"You want to see Mrs. Lavender ? She is resting. But Mr. Lavender is at home."
"I wish to see neither of them. But I was waiting for someone."
"Oh?"
"I should like to offer my condolences for the other night. I was distressed."
"I was not. I was glad."
"Glad to be treated as you were! A young lady like yourself?"
"A lady's maid, Mr. Randall. You forget that."
"I forget nothing. It is distressing to see a young lady like yourself treated in such a way."
"Then that is very good of you. I will thank you and say goodbye."
"Please don't say goodbye. May I walk a little way with you?"
"But you are waiting for someone."
"For you, of course."
"But how did you know I should be free?"
"A little careful enquiry."
She laughed. "Then it was doubly good. First to wait and tell me you are sorry. And second for taking so much trouble to do so."
As they walked along, he said: "There were unpleasant consequences? She er . . ."
"I am still her maid. She has said not
hing of the incident. So you see you should not be so sorry for me. You will make me sorry for myself, and it is not good to pity oneself. If you are not pleased with life . . . then you must seek some means of changing it."
"It is not always possible to change it."
"Then one must make it possible."
"You are a strange young lady. I thought at first how quiet you were that evening . . . how meek."
"Crushed!" she cried. "Mrs. Lavender had her foot on my neck. That is what you thought. It was not so. I just did not care that night. Then suddenly ... I arise. I throw off the foot, and there I am, ready to fight for my dignities ... my rights to be treated not as a lady's maid but as a person."
"Why are you doing such work?"
"Why does one work? Perhaps there is a vocation, and that is one answer. Perhaps one wants to eat, and that is another. Tell me, Mr. Randall, do you work, and for which reason?"
"A little of both. I too must eat. My income is too small for my needs. I am in the Guards. You can call it a vocation."
"So you are a soldier! I must walk this way. I am going to visit a friend who lives near the Strand."
"Then I will walk that way too."
"So you wish to be a soldier and you wish to earn money. You are one of the lucky ones. You do the work you like and by doing it you earn money."
"I hadn't thought of it like that until now. Thanks for pointing it out, Miss Martin."
"My name is St. Martin. Mrs. Lavender calls me Martin because my Christian name is too long and unsuitable; and no lady's maid could be called 'Saint' by her employer."
"Miss St. Martin. And may I know your Christian name?"
"It is Melisande."
"It's beautiful and it suits you. Melisande St. Martin. We have a St. Martin in the regiment. I wonder if you are related to him. His people have an estate in Berkshire."
"Oh, no, no, no! St. Martin is not the name of my family. I was an orphan . . . left in a convent, you see. I think neither the name of my father nor my mother is St. Martin."
"I see. What a mysterious person you are! May I call you Melisande? Oh, believe me, that is not meant to be impertinent. It is
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