She must never see Fermor again. She could never be happy with him, for she would never forget Caroline's face as she had stood before her. If Caroline had killed herself, she, Melisande, was to blame. Murderess! Wenna's words would always be with her. She would hear them in her sleep, she fancied; they would break through into every happy moment.
She could not go back to Fenella's. She hated the house now. It seemed sinister with its rich furnishings and air of voluptuousness. She would not allow them to assess her as they had done, to set her up in the market place.
All love was drained from her; she could feel nothing but hatred and contempt; and she felt now that she hated herself most of all.
Mrs. Chubb came in with the coffee.
"There! You like the room?"
"Very much. That is a picture of you and your husband?"
"That's right. Me and the dear departed."
"I am sorry."
Mrs. Chubb wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. She looked at the picture and recited as she must have done so many times before: "A better man never lived. His only concern was to provide for me after he had gone."
There was a respectful silence. Then Mrs. Chubb released the corner of her apron and smiled brightly. "There! All right?"
"It is very good, thank you."
"You're welcome."
Mrs. Chubb's way of breaking down reserve was to talk about herself. Confidences were like gifts between nice people, she believed; they had to be exchanged.
"That was just before he died," she said nodding at the daguer-rotype. "It's two years come June since I buried him."
"I ... I see."
"A good man. We was in service together. That's how we met. But Mr. Chubb, he was the go-ahead sort. He wasn't going to stay in service all his life. Saved, he did. He had a legacy—he was thought the world of by the lady and gentleman—and he put it into two houses. He was a planner, he was. That's for you, Alice, he used to say, for after I'm gone. So he put the money into two houses—this one and the one next door. I get the next door's rent—and better tenants there never was. Mr. Chubb saw to that. And here I am with a roof over my head and taking a lodger to help things out. That's what Mr. Chubb did for me."
"You were very lucky."
"My luck came when I met Mr. Chubb. I say to young ladies who haven't got to the married state ... I always say: 'May you meet another like Mr. Chubb.' I say it to you now... that's if you haven't reached that state, Miss."
"No," said Melisande, "I haven't."
Mrs. Chubb was relieved. She didn't believe in trouble between husbands and wives.
"Feeling better now? You're looking it."
"Thank you, yes."
"And you'll not be having your things sent?"
"No. I have no things."
"Well, they're very nice, what you're wearing. But you'll want some things, won't you?"
"Perhaps I can buy them."
"Oh, I see. This shock like. . . . You've quarrelled with your people, have you? I'm not nosy. Mr. Chubb used to say: * Alice, Mrs. Chubb, my dear, you're one of the few women without a nose.' That was his joke. He was full of jokes. It's just to be prepared for callers . . . that's all, Miss."
256 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
"I don't think there'll be any callers."
"All on your own, eh?"
"Yes. You . . . er . . . you have been in service, have you?"
Mrs. Chubb was smiling broadly. Here it came. Confidence for confidence. Sympathy had the same effect on reserve as hot water on a bottle stopper that wouldn't open.
"Head housemaid, and Mr. Chubb, he went from pantry boy, footman to butler. He was a man to rise in the world."
"Do you think I could be a lady's maid ... or companion?"
"No doubt about it, Miss. Being foreign . . . that's what they like lady's maids to be. Can you crimp the hair and do that sort of thing? I remember there was a foreign lady's maid in our last place. Such an outlandish name she had. And she did well for herself."
"You see, I shall have to earn a living."
Mrs. Chubb nodded. As a lady's maid she wouldn't be needing the room, would she? So she had only taken the room until she found a job. Mrs. Chubb was disappointed, but only mildly, for she liked what she called experiences as well as lodgers; and thanks to the wisdom of Mr. Chubb, she could rub along all right without letting her upstairs room. Moreover instinct had told her that she was going to like this girl, and instinct would not be disobeyed.
"Any experience, Miss? That's what they all want."
"Well, I have been a companion."
"They'll want references."
The girl turned pale. Oh dear, thought Mrs. Chubb. Been up to something!
Instinct flinched but stood firm. She's all right. Mrs. Chubb dismissed her suspicions. I'd trust a girl with a face like that. Obviously it was some brute of a man who, unchivalrous and unChubblike, had forced his attentions upon her. That explained everything. That was why she had run away.
"Unless," said Mrs. Chubb, "you had a very good recommendation from someone."
"I ... I understand. How does one start looking for such a post, Mrs. Chubb?"
"So that's what you're going to start doing?" Well, said Mrs. Chubb to herself, I do like honesty. Most would have pretended they wanted the room for ever. I told you so, said instinct. She's honest.
"I ... I want to. In fact ... I must . . . soon, of course."
"Well, sometimes they put notices in the papers . . . and sometimes one of the other servants recommends a friend ... or perhaps one lady will speak to another for a girl. It's done all ways."
"I shall have to start looking in the papers."
Mrs. Chubb made a decision. She said: "There's Our Ellen."
"Who is that?"
"Our Ellen. Our girl. Mr. Chubb's daughter and mine. She's in service ... in a grand house near the Park. She's got a good job, our Ellen has. She's housekeeper in one of the best houses, with a big staff under her. Now Ellen's got friends all over the place. If any lady was wanting a maid, Ellen would hear of it. Ellen's got her father's head for business. Ellen's doing well for herself."
"You think she would help me?"
"Ellen would do what her mother asked her to. Are you in any hurry?"
"Well, there will be my rent and board. I have only five or six pounds . . ."
"That's a fortune!" said Mrs. Chubb.
"It's all I have and I must find something before it goes."
"Ellen will be coming to see me next Wednesday afternoon. That's her day off, and home she comes to her mother. Never fails. We'll have a talk with Ellen."
"You are very good," said Melisande.
Mrs. Chubb saw the tears in the girl's eyes.
Poor dear! thought Mrs. Chubb. Poor pretty dear!
She determined that Ellen must set the poor pretty creature on her feet, not only for the sake of the girl herself, but for the honour of the Chubbs.
Little by little Mrs. Chubb gleaned as much of the story as Melisande felt she could tell her.
She heard of Melisande's life in the Convent and the father who had eventually decided to launch her in the world. Melisande mentioned no names at all. "I was first taken to his house where I had a post as companion to his daughter, but there was gossip. I was treated too well, and the servants guessed I was his daughter."