So Fermor decided to end the waiting.
He went to Sir Charles's study.
Charles was nervous. He had expected a call from the young man. He wondered what he would have done in his place. He could never have married Millie, but Melisande was an educated young lady. He could see the temptation. Yet in his young days life had been easier. The conventions had been less rigid in the Georgian era than in that of Victoria.
"I have come to tell you, sir," said Fermor, "that my father is
128 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
urging me to return to London, and before I go I think we should have a definite date for the marriage. I know Caroline's mother has so recently died and that we are in mourning for her, but in view of the great distance between here and London and the rather special circumstances—our marriage was planned before the tragedy—I wonder whether you will agree that we might hurry on arrangements. Perhaps it would not be considered lacking in respect if the celebrations were quieter than was at first planned."
Charles looked at the young man. He is hard, he thought; harder than I was. He would not have fallen artlessly in love with a little mantua-maker.
Charles felt weary suddenly. It was for all these young people to live their own lives. Melisande must fight her own battles. It was foolish to blame himself, to feel he must shoulder all responsibility. To think as he had been thinking, was to blame or honour every father for what happened to his sons and daughters.
"Do as you think fit," he said. "As you say, these are special circumstances."
"Then," said Fermor, "let us have the wedding here at Christmas. Next week I shall return to London and be back in December."
Sir Charles agreed to this, and whei Fermor went out, he was smiling. He had put an end to the waiting.
Melisande wished to be alone.
Her charm had worked after all. Caroline was at last happy.
They were working on the garments for the poor when Caroline said: "Let us not read this morning. I am so excited. The date for my wedding is fixed."
Melisande bent closer over the flannel petticoat which she was stitching.
"It is to be Christmas Day," went on Caroline. "There is not much time. Why, it is less than two months ... six weeks. That is not very long. I want you to take a message to Pennifield this afternoon. Tell her she is to leave everything and come at once. She will be busy during the next few weeks. There is so much to do."
"Yes. There will be much to do."
"Fermor said it was absurd to wait longer. I fear people will talk. A wedding so soon after a funeral! But Fermor says these are special circumstances. To tell the truth I do not think he greatly
cares what people say. But our wedding was arranged before Mamma died."
"Yes," Melisande answered, "it is a special circumstance."
Caroline looked at Melisande with something like affection. She thought: After six weeks I shan't see her again. Poor girl! What will she do? I suppose she will go to some other house. But she is so pretty that she is bound to be all right. She might even find some man in a good position to marry her.
Caroline was in love with the world that morning.
Melisande continued to sew in silence.
She envies me, went on Caroline's thoughts. She was sure he was in love with her. She does not know him. He always looked at girls with a speculative eye, and she is nothing more to him than the parlourmaid he kissed when he was fifteen. As his wife she would have to curb her jealousy, to remind herself that such affairs were of little importance to him. Some men drank more than was good for them; Fermor probably did that too. Others gambled. He was doubtless a gambler. He liked women too. One must shut one's eyes to his faults, for with them went so much charm, with them went all that Caroline wanted from life.
Melisande was glad to escape from the sewing-room and Caroline's exuberant chatter. She was glad to escape to her room and glad that Peg brought her luncheon tray to her there.
"My dear life!" cried Peg. "You ain't got much of an appetite."
"I have not a hunger to-day, that is all," she explained.
As soon as possible she set out for the little cottage where Miss Pennifield lived with her sister. Perched on the cliffs it was a minute dwelling place with cob walls and tiny windows. The industrious Misses Pennifield had made the sloping garden a picture with wallflowers, sweet smelling cabbage roses and lavender. There were many cottages like this one in the neighbourhood. There was only one floor which was divided by partitions, made so that they did not reach the ceiling in order that the air might circulate. At the windows were dainty dimity curtains and the coconut matting on the floor was very clean and neatly darned in places. They had some pleasing pieces of furniture which had belonged to their grandparents. There was a buffette fixed high in the wall and as this had glass doors their precious china could be seen. There were two armchairs and a table at which they worked. On the mantelpiece over the tiny fireplace were brass candlesticks, relics of the days when their family had been better off; there were two china dogs and some pieces of brass. Their home was their delight and their apprehension; they were always terrified that they would not have enough money to keep all their possessions. In hard times they had already sold one or iwo of their treasures. It was a nightmare of both sisters that one
day they would grow too old to work and that they would lose their cherished home, bit by bit.
But there was no question of that to-day. The Mamazel had come to tell them of work.
Melisande sat at the table and listened to their twittering chatter.
"Well, there'll be dresses, I vow, and petticoats and all that a young lady would be wanting for her marriage. There b'ain't much time. Six weeks, did you say! Six weeks!"
Miss Janet Pennifield, who was not the expert seamstress that her sister was, and only helped on occasions, took in washing to help the family income. There seemed always to be clothes drying on the rocks and bushes at the back of the cottage.
Now she was brandishing a pair of Italian irons which she called 'Jinny Quicks' and used for ironing the frills on ladies' caps and the like.
"Well, I shall be able to bring home work, I don't doubt," said Miss Pennifield, "and you can give a hand, Janet. Oh, my life, 'tis soon to have a wedding after a funeral, but if Sir Charles consents, you may be sure 'tis right enough."
Melisande was aware that their merry chatter and their gaiety was tinged with relief. They had six weeks of hard work before them—six weeks of security.
"I should be scared if I be asked to do the wedding dress," said Miss Pennifield suddenly.
"You'll do it," said Janet. "You'm the best needlewoman this side of Tamar."
Miss Pennifield turned to Melisande: "You'll take a glass of Janet's elderberry."
"It is so kind, but I have much to do at the house."
"Oh, but Janet's elderberry ... 'tis of the best."
She knew that they would be hurt if she refused; she knew that she must compliment Janet and tell her that it was the best she had tasted and ask them not to tell Jane Pengelly, because many a glass of elderberry had she had at Jane's and she had on as many occasions assured her that it was the finest in the world.
"There!" said Miss Pennifield. "You try that. Just a thimbleful for me, my dear, while you'm about it."