Mademoiselle At Arms (10 page)

Besides, no one could expect that a
jeune demoiselle
,
in a foreign land, might carry out quite alone the difficult task with which
she was faced. Not even, it seemed, this interfering
monsieur le major
. Although
she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. He was every bit as much a
pig as this Emile.

The image of Major Alderley came into her mind. She was
obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality
attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited
his figure, which was lean and powerful both. The picture in her mind altered
and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises
he had inflicted on her wrist. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. No, this
was not reasonable. A pig, yes, a little. But not so much a pig as
that
man.

A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s
ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. Decidedly this was
imbecile
.
But Melusine was a little inclined to like this side of the major. Although she
did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. A pity,
en
effet
, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. An unhappy little
sigh escaped her. He was a man
tout à fait capable
, this Gerald. In
truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her.

Melusine gave herself a little mental shake. But, no. Of what
was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Conquer the difficult situation in
which she found herself. Through no fault of her own. But through the fault of
that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her
birthright. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. And if this
soi-disant
Valade had already gone to Monsieur Charvill—

‘Very well,’ she said to Jack without turning round, ‘but now
is Wednesday. What does he do these three days?’

She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and
hear his report. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters
for the nuns. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here. What
had been happening all this time?

‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’

‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said.
‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it.’

Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a
questioning look in her face. ‘You have something more to tell me?’

Jack grinned. ‘Yes, miss.’ He reddened a little, and shuffled
his feet. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it
done me a bit of good.’

‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady.

‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington
might see me hanging about outside like. So Monday, when I see one of the maids
come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the
female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs.’

‘Madame la Comtesse,’ put in Melusine, for she had learned
much by pumping
le pére
Saint-Simon, who was acquainted with all the
French exiles. The Father did not know of course about her connection with the
Valades. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives.

‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets
to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party. Anyways, we
gets friendly and chats each day, and yesterday I mentions about that Mr
Charvill, and the maid ups and says that Frenchie and his missus is going out
of town to visit him.’

‘
Comment
? But already he has made this visit—in town.’

‘Just what I thought, miss. So I asks the maid a few
questions like, and it seems it ain’t Mister Charvill they’re going to visit
again, but General Charvill.’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his
face. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’

Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized
his wrist. ‘No, no, Jacques, you have done very right. But, when? When do they
go?’

‘Today, miss. That’s why I come to tell you.’

‘
Dieu du ciel
! But this is
catastrophe
.’

Kimble gaped at her and Melusine struggled to pull herself
out of the shock.

‘What can I do, miss?’

‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine. ‘I do not know if even I
can do anything now. Oh,
peste
, he will ruin all. If he succeeds there,
I do not know how I can prove myself.’

‘Melusine!’ came sharply from the doorway.

She turned quickly. The nun on the threshold was of middle
age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Martha
had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. She
came originally of country stock, and had been virtually in sole charge of
Melusine almost from the hour of her birth—a thankless task, as Melusine had
heard her bemoan countless times, with the rider that she had carried it out
with a conspicuous lack of success.

Melusine sighed with frustration. Why must her old nurse
discover her precisely at this moment?

‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman.
‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. Not alone with her, that’s sure.’

‘No, sister, I know that, but—’

‘You needn’t tell me. Go away now, there’s a good lad. Must
be plenty of work for you to do.’

‘But, sister, I—’

‘Get along!’

Melusine gave Jack a smile as he cast a worried look at her,
and nodded dismissal. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door,
but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said.

‘Now then, my girl, why the long face?’

Melusine had no hesitation in placing her trouble before her
old nurse, for it was Martha who had made her aware of her true history. She
owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else
thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue.

‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the
French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to
monsieur le baron
.’

‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun. ‘The general himself?’

‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe
that pig?’

‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha
begged. ‘Not at all ladylike.’

‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’

‘None of that. You’re a lady all right and tight, and nothing
anyone does can take that away from you.’

‘Yes, but if it is only we that know, it is of no use at all
to me.’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again.

‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just
have to accept it.’

‘But me, I am not very good with accepting,’ Melusine said
bitterly over her shoulder.

‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’
lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking
down into it. ‘All this gadding about. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up
to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what
besides, because I don’t want to know. I’d only have to do something about it,
and that I can’t. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think.’

Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as
she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. ‘She would say,
espéce
de diable
, this Melusine.’

‘And she’d be right,’ Martha said severely. ‘A devil is just
what you are. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question.’

Melusine shrugged. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is
entirely reasonable that it should be so.’

‘Aye, more’s the pity. But perhaps he was right not to tell
you the truth.’

‘How can you say so?’ protested Melusine.

‘Well, only look what’s come of it. You won’t settle and I’m
going mad.’ She shook her head. ‘I should never have told you.’

‘But, Marthe, you do not imagine that I would have taken the
veil like you, even if you have not told me. And to wish not is useless,
because you have told me from when I was a little girl.’

‘True enough,’ nodded Martha sadly. ‘Thought it was downright
wicked to keep you ignorant of your proper background. How was I to know what
would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the
veil.’

‘He said!’ Melusine uttered scornfully. ‘What a fate he finds
for me. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so.’

‘
Melusine
,’ shrieked the nun. ‘That’s wicked, that is.
You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will.’

‘Well, but Leonardo he was excessively useful to me, you
know,’ Melusine said airily. ‘Many things he taught me. Things that you and the
nuns would not think about for—’

She stopped, biting back the words “for a young girl”. If
Martha knew all, she would certainly die of shock.

‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and
helping him convalesce. And Mother trusted him. Italians. That’s Italians for
you.’

‘Pah! One little kiss,
voilá tout
.’

Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. ‘That little
kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it.’

Melusine did not forget. She had agonized over it for weeks. Moreoever,
it had cost her a whipping and several days’ imprisonment in her cell on bread
and water. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his
companionship. He had changed her life dramatically, and she had missed him
dreadfully.

‘Let me tell you,’ went on the nun severely, ‘it would have
been better for you if you had taken the veil.’

‘You think it would have been better for me to stay as a nun
and be killed like the Valades?’ said Melusine, brutally frank. ‘Or perhaps to
marry the
soi-disant
cousin that Emile portrays?’

That silenced Martha, for the Mother Abbess had sent her off
with Melusine to England not only for the sake of the girl herself, but to save
at least one of her nuns from the growing wrath of the populace of France. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection.

But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. ‘Cousin?
But I am a fool. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. If Emile can see him,
then so also can I.’

‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha
apprehensively.

‘You know what I am about,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. ‘To
go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. I wish nothing at all from them. And
by
monsieur le baron
, of a disposition entirely unforgiving, I do not
desire to be recognised in the least. Now I require it, only that I may stop
this pig from ruining all.
Alors
, one must steel oneself.’

Gerald Alderley stepped out of a house he had been visiting
in Hamilton Place and the door closed behind him. He stood on the top step for
a moment, lost in deep thought. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind
what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his
absorption.

He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way
down the street. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the
fashionable quarter of town. It had evidently seen better days before being
relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served
the less affluent inhabitants of London.

Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which
quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of
which he had just stepped. The door opened. A black-garbed young lad leapt out
and let down the steps. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a
familiar countenance was visible.

Of all the amazing coincidences. Though Gerald must suppose
it was inevitable she should eventually come here. But to choose this of all
moments. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to
town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.

Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him
immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. She
accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into
the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. Gerald saw her eyes change as
she recognised him.

‘Oh,
peste.
’

‘How do you do?’ Gerald said pleasantly, stepping from the
pillared portico and coming down the shallow stairway.

‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to
meet him. ‘Again you seek to interfere in my affairs?’

‘I did warn you I had every intention of doing so,’ said
Gerald. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the
Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair.’