Виктория Холт - It began in Vauxhall Gardens

"It is so kind of you," murmured Mr. Randall. "Such hospitality ... to a stranger ..."

Mrs. Chubb went to the kitchen to fetch the refreshments she had prepared.

He was a gentleman. Trust her to know that. A handsome gentleman, too; and he could provide the right ending for her favourite lodger. Mrs. Chubb's instinct had always told her what was what; and right from the beginning it had told her Melisande was not cut out for servitude. Here was the answer; a handsome man who was already half in love with her and would very soon be completely so, who would offer her a devotion rivalled only by that which Mr.

Chubb had given his wife, and a great deal more in worldly goods besides, Mrs. Chubb was sure.

Mrs. Chubb felt like a fairy godmother. She had done this—she and Ellen between them.

Following that afternoon there were other meetings.

The Gunters knew of them, and they smiled delightedly. Sarah said it was lovely, and that it made her cry every time she thought of it. Mrs. Lavender was unaware of what was happening, because she was aware of little except her own affairs; but Mr. Lavender continued to watch his wife's lady's maid with an ever-increasing attention.

Thorold Randall had become a more frequent caller at the house; it seemed as if he had discovered a bond between himself and the Lavenders. He could compliment Mrs. Lavender as she liked to be complimented, and he was knowledgeable about Mr. Lavender's favourite topic—horses and their chances.

But always he was alert for the appearance of Melisande; and whenever he came to the house he found some means of speaking to her.

Melisande's half-day came round again. She knew that when she left the house she would find Thorold Randall waiting for her. She enjoyed his company; it seemed to her that he was growing more and more like that picture she had built up of that man who was a little like Fermor, a little like Leon, and a little like himself.

For instance, there were times when there seemed to be a certain boldness in him—and that was Fermor. At others he would talk of the lonely life he led, for he was an orphan and had been brought up by an aunt and uncle who had had little time to spare for him, and he would then remind her of Leon. And then he was himself— courteous, almost humble in his desire to please. She was very happy to have him as her friend.

He was waiting for her when she left the house.

"It's a lovely day," she said. "Let us walk in the Park."

She did not often walk there now. She remembered drives with Genevra, Clotilde and Lucie, and she could not enter the Park without fearing to meet them. Moreover young ladies did not walk in the Park alone—that was asking for trouble. But now she was no longer afraid; it was as though she were tempting adventure. If she met anyone from Fenella's house she would feel safe, for she was becoming firmly settled in her new life.

It was pleasant to walk along by the Serpentine chatting with Thorold. He took her arm and led the conversation—as he did so often—away from himself to her.

She said: "You are unusual. Most people wish to talk of their affairs, not to hear about those of other people."

"Perhaps when I am with others, I talk of myself. But you interest me so much ... far more than myself."

"Nobody is quite as interested in others as in themselves surely."

"Here is one who is so interested in another person that everything else now seems unimportant."

"Ah! You would flatter me. What is it you wish to know of me?"

"I should like to look into your mind and see everything that is there, to know your thoughts. What do you think of me, for instance ?"

"I think that you are most kind and courteous to me always, as you were from the beginning."

"Would you like to hear what I think of you?"

"No. It is enough that you give me your company on these half-days."

"It is not enough for me. Tell me why you are here?"

"It is because I like to be here."

"No, no. I mean, why a young lady like yourself is working for a woman like Mrs. Lavender."

"It is so simple. She needs a maid. I need to be a maid. That fits ... perfectly, you see."

"It does not fit."

Melisande had stood still where she was on the grass. Across the gravel path a woman was wheeling a bath chair and in the bath-chair was a young woman.

"What is it?" asked Thorold. "Someone you know?"

Melisande did not answer; she stared after the wheel chair. Neither the woman in the chair nor the one who was wheeling it turned her head to look in Melisande's direction.

"What is it?" insisted Thorold Randall. "What has happened?"

"It is ... someone I know," she said.

"Then ... don't you want to speak to her? Wouldn't she be glad to see you?"

"Oh no... . They would not be glad to see me. Oh, but I am so glad to see them."

"Come and sit down. You look shaken."

"Thank you."

They found a seat. He was watching her curiously, but she had forgotten him. She was thinking of Wenna pushing the bath-chair, of Caroline sitting there, wan, pale ... but alive.

So Caroline had escaped death. There was no more need for Melisande to hear that voice whispering to her: "Murderess! Murderess!" But although Caroline had survived she had to be pushed about in a bathchair. Why? Was she merely delicate and unable to walk far, or was she crippled?

Still ... she was not dead, and she had Fermor. As for Melisande, she must cease to think of them. She must banish Fermor from her mind for ever; she must leave him to Caroline.

She lifted her face to the sun and thought that it was a lovely day.

"They upset you ... those people?" said Thorold.

"No. Oh no! I was glad to see them. I thought she might be dead."

"The one in the chair?"

"Yes. There was an accident. I never heard the outcome."

"Great friends of yours?"

"I knew them well."

"And yet you did not speak to them. You did not enquire?"

"It is all over. It is a part of my life that is finished."

"I see."

"I feel gay. It makes me happy to have seen her and to know that she did not die. I feel that I want to laugh and sing, and that life is not so bad after all ... even for a lady's maid."

"You are wrapped in mystery. Tell me what you did before you came here."

"I was in a convent."

"You told me that."

"I was in the country for a long time, and then I left and I ... Well, they wanted me to marry someone and I did not want to. Then ... I came away. Shall we go from here? I would rather not be in the Park now. I would rather go where I have never been before."

"Just say where you want to go and I'll take you there."

She remembered that Polly had told her how her father and mother had met in a pleasure garden. She had only been to such a place once and she longed to do so again.

"To a pleasure garden," she said.

"Let us go to Cremorne then."

"I have never been there. I should greatly like to go."

"Then that is sufficient reason."

Melisande never forgot those hours she spent with Thorold Randall. It seemed to her then an enchanted afternoon. Spring was in the air and she felt happier than she had for a long time. Perhaps she mistook relief for happiness. She was gay, wildly, hilariously gay, for Caroline was alive. Caroline had suffered but she was Fermor's wife, and Melisande could not be sorry for Caroline now.

Thorold Randall could not keep his eyes from her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her laughter was merry, her wit quick. It was as though he found in her another person, even more delightful than the charming girl he had known hitherto.

They went into the American Bowling Saloor; they sat and listened to the Chinese orchestra; they explored the crystal grotto and the hermit's cave.