It Began in Vauxhall Gardens

"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 starded, 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.

290 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

She heard herself begi

"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.

How did she live through that night ? She did not know. Desperately, behind the locked door of the attic, she tried to make plans. She was quite certain that she must not spend another night in this house. She must get away somewhere . . . anywhere.

But first she had to see Thorold. She had to prevent his blackmailing her father. That was the most important thing. He was the greater menace. Archibald Lavender was a lustful brute; she despised him and he terrified her; but Thorold Randall was a criminal, and moreover she had played into his hands. She was involved.

She took out the pearl-handled pistol. It was so small that it looked like a toy. What power! When she thought of how it had saved her, she murmured: "My friend!" And half laughing, half crying: "My dear little friend!"

She knew she could not sleep. She did not even undress. She lay on the bed, watching the door with the pistol in her hand.

She had never before lived through such a night.

But Archibald Lavender did not attempt to come to her room. He was afraid, Melisande knew, afraid of her determination and her dear little friend.