"My dear land! Fancy that! And you never saw your father?"
"No."
"Nor your mother?"
"No."
"But this guardian of yours . . . you had him. He was something, wasn't he?"
"Oh yes, he v/as something."
"Poor young lady! Did he come to see you often, this guardian?"
"No. He just arranged things for me."
"And I suppose he was a friend of our master's like?"
"I ... I don't know. I don't know very much."
" 'Twas queer like, to keep you in the dark."
Melisande was uncomfortable. She wanted the woman to go, for now she had an idea that with all her questions she was trying to trap her into betraying her kind benefactor. That was something which Melisande had decided she would never do. All her life she would remain grateful to him.
"I only know that I have been looked after . . . fed and educated; and now that I am old enough this post has been found for me."
"I reckon you must feel pretty curious about all this. I know I would. I reckon I wouldn't leave no stone unturned."
"I lived with children most of whom did not know their parents. Thank you. It was good of you to ask. Peg has been very good and helpful. I am enjoying a comfort here."
Wenna was not going to be dismissed as easily as that.
She said: "Ah, a pity you didn't come earlier than this. This was a happy house not so long ago when my mistress was alive."
"It was a great tragedy. I have heard of it."
"She was an angel. I'd looked after her most of my life."
"I am very sorry for you. It is a tragic."
"And then to die! She was always delicate. I knew she'd catch her death sitting out there in the cold. She ought to have had her wrap. I'll never forget it. She was like an ice-block when I went out to her. It need not have happened. That's the pity of it. I know it need not have happened." Melisande was conscious of the intensity of this woman, of the passionate anger within her. "Then," she went on slowly, "I suppose if it hadn't happened you wouldn't be here . . . would you? You wouldn't be in that nice comfortable bed with a fire in your grate. You'd be in that Convent where you'd been brought up. That's what would have happened if the mistress hadn't died."
Melisande was uncertain what to say. She had a wild fancy that the woman was accusing her of being in some obscure way to blame for the death of her mistress.
She stammered: "I suppose Miss Caroline would not have needed a companion if her mother had lived. She would have married very soon and ..."
"Yes, she would have married, and when she married I should have gone with her. I shall go with her when she marries."
"You are very fond of her," said Melisande.
The woman was silent. After a while she said: "Well, there's nothing you want. Everything's all right?"
"Yes, thank you."
She went out. Melisande lay back staring at the door.
What a strange woman! Melisande could not get rid of the fancy that she had not meant all she had said and that she had had some strange purpose in coming to her room.
She could not sleep for a long time, and then she would doze and awake startled to find herself looking towards the door. It was almost as though she expected it to open and Wenna to come in— for what purpose she did not know; she only knew that it made her uneasy.
The weeks began to pass—exciting, wonderful weeks for Melisande, filled with a hundred new experiences.
There was a new world to be explored.
It had been an exciting discovery to look from her windows and see the sea not more than a mile away. She had stood delightedly at her window on that first morning and looked out across the bay to the great strip of land which was like a battering ram flung out into the water; she saw the clouds gathered over the headland and because it was early morning and the sun was beginning to rise, those pink-tinted clouds made a coral-coloured sea.
She was then to live in a beautiful place, in a large luxurious house; she had to make the acquaintance of so many people. The house seemed full of servants and it needed all her gay carelessness of English convention to make their acquaintance. They were inclined to be aloof at first. They were deeply conscious of social layers. It was true she was not on the same shelf as the master and mistress, but neither did she belong on theirs. But Melisande inconsequentially did not see these differences. The servants were people; they lived in the same house as she did; she was eager to know them. First she charmed Mr. Meaker and the footman; and her delighted wonder in the pies and pasties of Mrs. Soady's making soon won her the regard of that excellent cook. The maids were amused and delighted with her; she was never haughty and she could be relied upon to give them her considerate help. The menservants thought her a real charmer and no mistake. She was undoubtedly a great success.
Her foreign ways delighted everyone. Her quaint speech amused while it gave listeners a sense of superiority which was pleasant. She would laugh with them. "Oh, I have said a funniness. Do tell me what you would have said." She would listen gravely and thank them charmingly. Oh, she was a caution all right, they all agreed; a charming caution. She must know this and that. She was full of energy and no matter was too insignificant for her attention.
If only she could have been so sure of her success in the drawing-room as in the servants' hall, Melisande would have been contented. But the family embarrassed her in some way or another.
Sir Charles had so many engagements that she saw very little of him. Caroline never seemed at ease in her presence. Caroline was the mistress and wished that to be clearly understood; but Melisande felt that the one thing Caroline would really have liked to ask her to do she could not, and that was to leave the house.
At the beginning Caroline said to Melisande: "I have never had a companion before. I have had governesses. I suppose a companion would be in the same class. My governesses always had their meals in the little room which adjoins the schoolroom. I think that is
where you had better have yours. You wouldn't wish to have them with the family, would you? Except perhaps on special occasions. I remember my governesses had luncheon with us once a week. That was so that Papa and Mamma could ask questions about my progress. Sometimes they wanted an extra woman for a dinner party. Then one of the governesses would be asked. But on all other occasions they had their meals in this little room. It's difficult. You see, you couldn't be expected to eat with the servants."
Melisande laughed aloud. "No? I would not mind. They are my very good friends. Mrs. Soady and Mr. Meaker ..."
Caroline's mouth tightened a little as it did when she found it necessary to repress the new companion.
"Most governesses would have been offended if they were asked to eat with the lower servants. And of course it would have been quite wrong. So I think it would be a good plan if you had your meals in that room. ..."
So Melisande ate her meals alone in the room. It was of no importance although she would have liked the company of Sir Charles and Mr. Holland or the servants. She was fond of company and it was good fun to laugh and chatter.
Caroline said on that first morning: "I don't know what Papa expected you to do. Lady Gover has a companion. She reads to Lady Gover every afternoon; but then Lady Gover is almost blind, and in any case I shouldn't want to be read to. She makes Lady Gover's clothes too. Of course, there's Pennifield . . . and Wenna does a lot of sewing for me."