Виктория Холт - It began in Vauxhall Gardens

Melisande.

She had explained everything to Caroline; and she had asked both her and Sir Charles in no circumstances to tell Leon where she was.

She knew then that she was afraid of seeing Leon, afraid that he would somehow appeal to her pity and—as so many people seemed to do—arrange her future for her. There was one thing which was very clear to her. She must escape from Leon. She wanted to escape from Leon more than anything.

Now she must make a clean break with the past.

She thought then how strange her life was. She had lived close to the nuns, knowing them intimately; each day was like another; and then suddenly she had been whisked away to an entirely new life. Now she must go to another new life, a completely fresh set of people. The various sections of other people's lives must surely overlap.

Only yesterday she had said goodbye to Mrs. Soady, Mr. Meaker and the other servants, Xo Caroline, Fermor and Sir Charles. They had all appeared sad to see her go; and she had a feeling that they were sure—as she was—that they would never meet again.

Sir Charles had called her to his study soon after that sad encounter when she had told him of the servants' gossip. He had been stern, remote, almost as though he disliked her. He told her of the arrangements he had made for her; she was to go to the house of a dressmaker and learn the trade. It would be very useful to her, and Madam Cardingly was a clever woman who would look after her and teach her many things besides.

She asked no questions. She showed no interest. She was wishing she could run away.

He had tried to give her money before her departure and she had haughtily refused it. Now she realized that that had been foolish. She should have taken it—surely he owed her that!—and launched out on her own.

He did prevail upon her to accept a little. "You may need it during the journey, you know."

"I have a little money which I have saved while I have been here."

He had smiled pleadingly. "Do please take this. I should be so glad if you would... ."

And she had softened and accepted.

The train had crept into the station and here she was in London.

She alighted and looked about her. A porter came to her assistance because she had stepped out of a first-class carriage. She saw the notice: "Porters are not allowed to carry for third-class passengers." She shivered. Here was a further reminder of the position of the poor.

"I am being met here," she told the porter.

He touched his cap and, as she was about to pass on, a little woman came hurrying towards her. She resembled a witch, thought Melisande, with her small wizened face and her darting eyes.

"Now you're Miss St. Martin, I'll bet," said the little woman, grinning at her; and her face was transformed into a friendly one by that eager grin.

"Yes."

"Then you're my pigeon. I'm Polly Kendrick come to meet you."

"Polly Kendrick! I have not heard of you."

"No, you're expecting Madam Cardingly. Madam don't go out much. I've come in her place."

"It is a goodness."

"Ah, you're foreign. Madam was telling me. An educated young lady from France. And pretty too. Screaming cats! You're going to make the young ladies look after their beaux!"

"The young ladies!"

"We've got lots of 'em. Here, don't want to stand about, do we? I've got Madam's carriage waiting for us. Here, you," she said to a porter, "bring the lady's baggage. Now, come on. All the way from Cornwall, eh? And travelling alone? Hope no one tried to kidnap you. That would be a lark ... before you got to Madam's, wouldn't it?"

Melisande was smiling; there was something about this woman to make her smile. The eager interest had made Melisande feel that she was wanted.

They got into the carriage and the driver whipped up the horse.

Polly Kendrick did not stop talking. "Now I can see you proper. My word, you're a beauty, you are! Madam's going to like that.

Madam's got a weakness for the pretty ones." Polly nudged her. "So have I. Madam says she likes 'em because they're a reflection of her own youth; they're what she was once. I like them—she says —because they're what I never was. There's Madam for you. Full of that sort of talk. Clever, Madam is. The cleverest I ever struck. None like her. Never was. Never will be. Madam will look after you. Madam 'ull see you're all right. Madam's going to love having you with us ... it's them others as is going to get their pretty noses put out of joint. It makes me laugh. Miss Genevra with her baby blue eyes; Miss Lucie with her curves... . They're going to meet a rival. But that's life for you. Can't have it all your own way, can you? Now, what is your first name?"

"Melisande."

"It's pretty... . Madam christened you. You can trust Madam to find the right name."

"Madam christened me?"

"Oh yes, Madam christened you all right." Polly nudged and bent closer. "This is a secret. Your father came to see Madam, and she had another lover, so he went out and met your mother. She was a little dressmaker and your father met her at Vauxhall where she was being pestered. Well, your father fell in love with her and they had a little love nest. Result: little you."

"I ... I see."

"Didn't you know? Screaming cats and fighting dogs! My tongue runs away with me. Never mind. Keep it dark I told. But I think, don't you, dearie, it's best to know. I've had a good life and it's all on account of keeping my eyes and ears open. Madam says that's all very well, but it's opening my mouth, as well as me ears and eyes, that'll get me into trouble. There's Madam for you."

"And Madam christened me?"

"Why yes, because when you was born and your poor dear mother died, your poor dear father didn't know which way to turn. So Madam named you Melisande and had you sent to a convent in France. There's Madam for you!"

"So Madam has been a sort of foster-mother ..."

"Madam's foster-mother to the world. God bless her. But what am I going to call you, dearie? I know, Melly. That's pretty, ain't it? Little French Melly. Why, dearie, your eyes are green ... real green. None of our young ladies has real green eyes. You'll be the first."

"Please tell me of these people. I have no idea where I'm going. It is a bewilderment. I know that I am to go to Madam Cardingly to learn the dressmaking—though I do not think I shall be very good at the work."

"You ... dressmaking! With them eyes!"

"With these hands, I thought."

"Oh! I'll tell Madam that. Madam will like that. She likes the sharp retort. The gentlemen like them too ... as long as they're not too sharp like. They're as good as other things ... some other things ..." Polly went off into laughter again. "No, I expect Madam will want a pretty girl like you to show off the dresses. That's what her goddesses do. Of course, she wasn't sure what you'd be like. If you'd been like me ..." The thought sent Polly off into more laughter. "Well then, you'd have had to work with your hands all right. But being like you are ... your face is all you'll need."

"I do not understand this."

"Well, seeing we're nearly there, there won't be time to tell you. Madam's waiting to see you. She won't thank me for keeping you from her. She said to take you straight to her when we came in. You're to drink tea with her. Madam's very fashionable. She drinks tea in the afternoons as well as after dinner."

The carriage had drawn up in a quiet Georgian square. As they alighted Melisande looked up at a tall house with six steps leading to the wide porch, on either side of which were pillars decorated with intricate carvings. There were balconies on the first and second floors and on these balconies were flower-boxes at this time full of evergreen plants.

The door was opened by a man in livery.

"One of our new young ladies, Bonson," said Polly with a wink.