Виктория Холт - It began in Vauxhall Gardens

"But ... that is blackmail^

She wanted to throw him off, to run away, never to see his face again. But he was holding her fast.

She thought of Sir Charles at Trevenning receiving a threatening letter and thinking that she had had a hand in it. And she had! She had been foolish to trust this man with her father's name.

She was bewildered and frightened. She was as terrified of Thorold Randall as she was of Archibald Lavender. Here was another of those monsters to disturb her dreams.

Be calm! she admonished herself. This man is dangerous. He is worse than the hypocrite Andrew Beddoes was; he is more than the philanderer that Archibald Lavender is; he is a blackmailer as well. All men are liars; all men are cheats. Oh God, what have I done?

Thorold was now speaking in the gentle voice she knew so well.

"So you see, my darling, you are wrong to put ugly words to this. It is reasonable. It is natural. All fathers give their daughters dowries if they have the money. And think how useful yours will be to us! You meet me to-morrow and I will have the letter ready then. I will show it to you and you will copy it. Then we will send it. You shall sign it with loving assurances. And then ... you will see how friendly he will be, how ready to help."

She did not answer him.

He went on to talk of their future, of the little house they would have, of how happy she would be when he had rescued her from servitude with the Lavenders.

He left her at the door of the house.

"Goodbye, my love, until to-morrow. Do not forget ... the same place in the Park. Our seat, eh? And do not worry. I understand what a forthright soul you are. I know you did not mean all the hard things you said. I understand you ... and you understand now, don't you? Don't you, my love?"

"I understand," said Melisande.

What shall I do now? she asked herself. What can I do? Whose advice could she ask ? There was Mrs. Chubb. Now how could simple Mrs. Chubb deal with a situation like this? The Gunters? Sarah? How could they help ?

There was no one to whom she could go. She must act by herself. Between now and to-morrow she must find some means of preventing Thorold Randall from getting into touch with her father.

Perhaps she could appeal again to his sense of decency ? But had he any sense of decency ? She did not think so. She could hear the words he had spoken this afternoon; she could not forget them. Perhaps she could reply to his threats with threats of her own. How? What? There had been threats this afternoon, and there was one thing which stood out among all others: If she would not write to her father, he would. That would be blackmail... simple blackmail. She would not endure it. She must think of a way.

Thoughts chased each other round and round in her head. She was subdued before the Gunters and Sarah. She did not want them to ask questions. She would have to take meals with them in the basement room as they had arranged, while the Lavenders were away. She was wondering whether she could go to Cornwall, see Sir Charles, explain to him what had happened, and beg him to advise her.

Perhaps she would do that if she could not make Thorold see reason to-morrow afternoon.

But to-morrow she would reason with him. There would still be time. He would do nothing until after their meeting. That thought made her feel calmer. There was a short breathing space.

After supper, eaten in the basement room where her lack of appetite gave rise to the Gunters' concern, she went up to Mrs. Lavender's room to make the black velvet flower. She was glad she had something definite to do. She tried to give all her attention to the black velvet petals. It was growing dark, so she lighted the lamp and drew the curtains.

While she was intent on her work the door opened suddenly.

Without looking up, she said: "Oh, Sarah, I lighted the lamp. It was so dark I could scarcely see."

"It is getting dark," said Mr. Lavender.

She stood up in alarm. He was standing by the door, his hat and cane in his hand, and he was smiling at her.

"You look startled, my dear," he said; and he laid the hat and cane on the tab.

The throbbing pulse in her throat made it difficult for her to find words. She stammered: "Oh ... I had no idea that you would be back to-night. Mrs. Lavender ..."

"Has not come back to-night. I had business in town to attend to."

"Oh ... I see. I'll move these things."

"There's no need to be in such a hurry."

"You will be wanting ..."

"To have a little talk with you," he said blandly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lavender, but I have not the time. I must be getting ..."

"Oh now," he said, "you don't want to run away. There's no need, is there, with Mrs. Lavender away."

She felt the waves of hysteria rising. Another time, she thought, I should know how to act. But it is too soon after this other matter. It's too incongruous ... too bewildering. I am going to laugh ... or cry.

She heard herself beginning to laugh.

"That's better," he said. "I flatter myself I arranged this very neatly."

"I have no doubt you arranged it neatly," she said on a rising note of laughter. "I must leave you now."

"Oh no. You must not be so stand-offish. You have been standoffish too long."

"Have I?" she said. "Have I?"

"Yes, far too long. Oh, I understand. You're a nice girl ... a very nice girl. But everything is safe, you see. Mrs. Lavender is in the country."

"I shall soon be safe in my room ... and you in yours."

She saw the ugly light in his eyes a second before he turned swiftly and locked the door. He put the key in his pocket.

She said: "Unlock the door, Mr. Lavender."

"I certainly shall not," he said. "Not yet... at least."

"If you do not, I shall call for help."

"No one would hear. The Gunters and Sarah never would. They're right down in the basement."

"You must have gone mad, Mr. Lavender."

"Well, you have been somewhat maddening, you know."

"I am also strong," she said. "I can bite and kick as well as scream."

He took a step towards her. "I, too, am strong," he said. "Oh come, don't play at this game of reluctance. I know your sort."

"You do not, Mr. Lavender. But I know yours. I loathe you. I despise you. I shall tell Mrs. Lavender how you have behaved."

"She would never believe you."

"But she must know what you are." She was very frightened. He was coming towards her, slowly, stealthily. "Give me the key!" she cried hysterically. "Give me the key!"

He was no longer smiling. She could see the animal lust in his face. She could also see his determination, and she was afraid as she had never before been in the whole of her life. She took a step backward and gripped the table behind her, and as she did so, her fingers touched the drawer. She remembered the pearl-handled pistol. In half a second she had opened the drawer.

She held the pistol firmly.

"Now," she said, "you will stand back."

He gasped and stood still where he was. "Put that down, you little fool!" he cried. "It's loaded."

"I know it is."

"Put it down. Put it down."

"Give me the key."

"Put that down, I said."

"And I said, 'Give me the key.' If you don't, I will shoot you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'll give you three seconds."

"By God," he said, "I believe you would. You look wild enough."

"I am wild enough. I am wild enough to kill men like you at this moment. Give me the key."

He brought it out of his pocket.

"Throw it. Here. I give you three seconds, remember."

He threw it, and she kept the pistol pointed at him while she picked it up.

Still covering him, she went to the door and cautiously opened it.

She ran up to the attic and, turning the key in the lock, leaned against the door, looking at the pistol in her hand.