It Began in Vauxhall Gardens

"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 We

276 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

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.

"This is an enchanted place!" cried Melisande.

"I believe you are enchanted," he answered. "I believe you are not of this world. None was ever so beautiful, Melisande. I must talk to you. You must talk to me. There is so much we have to say to one another."

"But there is so much to see here ... so much to do."

"What has happened to you this afternoon?"

"I have found I like being alive."

"Has that anything to do with me?"

"Yes . . . with you and other things."

"I don't want to share with others."

"But you must. There is the sunshine and this delightful place, for one thing."

"J brought you here."

"But you did not bring the sunshine. You took me to the Park, but . . ."

"It was the lady in the chair who has made you happy."

She said seriously: "Yes. You see I thought she was dead, and it made me sad to think it. Now I know she is alive and is cherished, and I am happy because of that."

"There is so much mystery about you, Melisande. Clear it away for me."

"What does the past matter? We are here and the sun is shining, and I have found that I am liking life. I do not care about Mrs. Lavender any more. She may be rude to me, throw her hairbrush at me . . . but I do not care. I am finding that life, which I did not think could be good, is good again." Her eyes were enormous and brilliant. "And something else. I believe this: That however bad life became for me, however sad I felt, I should be able to make happiness for myself and those who shared it with me."

"Melisande," he said gripping her arm, "you are an enchantress, I believe. You are not of this world. You are not human."

"I should like to think so. What if I could work spells . . . turn men into swine! That was Circe, I believe. Although I would not wish to turn men into swine. Why should I? I do not like swine."

"But you could turn them into whatever you wished them to be."

"That would be more sensible."

278 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"You might have turned the man they wished you to marry into someone more acceptable to you. Who were they, Melisande . . . your guardians ? Did you have a guardian ?"

"Yes, I had a guardian.'*

"I wish you would trust me. Anything you told me would be entirely between ourselves."

"I do trust you. But I ca

He was silent for a while; then he took her hand and said: "Dear Melisande, you must not think me impertinently curious."

"No, I do not. I too am curious. I want to know so much about the people I meet. I should like to hear more of you."

"But your background is so fascinating; mine is so ordinary. There is no mystery about my origins. I told you I was orphaned early, and I lived with an aunt and uncle who had their own family to consider. That is not very exciting . . . neither to live nor to talk about."

"Life is always exciting," she said. "Everything we do goes on and on and affects what others do. Consider that. My father met my mother in a place like this . . . just by chance, and because of that I sit here in such a place with you. In between, certain people did certain things, and each thing fits into a big picture, and because of each little thing, I am what I am."

He said: "Will you marry me, Melisande?"

She was astonished. She had known that she was attractive to him, but she had not wished to consider marriage, and because of that she had shut her mind to the idea.

Now she realized that she was not yet free from her nightmares. The idea of marriage frightened her. To think of it was to bring back memories of those men: Leon who had a guilty secret; Andrew Beddoes who had a mercenary motive, and Fermor who had not offered marriage at all.