"A man who could not swim would be a fool to jump into such a sea. The only sensible thing to do was to run for help, and that is what he did."
"If a man could not swim; that's the point. But, my dear Melisande, Monsieur Leon could swim. He could swim very well."
"It is not true."
"It is true. I have seen him swimming."
"Where?"
"A mile or so along the shore ... in a very quiet cove."
"I don't believe you."
"I thought you wouldn't."
"So there is nothing more to say."
"Yes, there is. The next day I went to the cove again. It was just before midday. He was there again . . . swimming. This time I took the precaution of having one of the grooms with me. Jim Stannard. I have asked him to say nothing yet. But you can go along and ask him now. You'll hear what he has to say."
She looked at him incredulously, but a terrible fear was with her.
She said: "Of course I don't believe you."
"AndJimStannard?"
"I've no doubt you have bribed him to do your will."
With that she turned and left him.
She returned to the house and went straight to her room. Peg brought up her luncheon tray. She did not appear to see her, and Peg, ever curious, loitered.
"Is anything wrong, Mamazel?"
Melisande looked at her and did not speak. She had not heard her. She was thinking: Could it be true ? But how could I trust him ?
Could it be that the whole thing was planned? There was so much money involved. She thought of Leon and his plans for a new life. He could swim—so said Fermor. Then either he was a coward who had been afraid to attempt to save Raoul ... or he was a deliberate murderer.
Peg was watching her.
"Mamazel, you've had a shock. You'm frightened, Mamazel."
"I'm all right, Peg."
Peg stared at the carpet. Peg was fond of Mamazel. It frightened Peg when she thought of all the gossip that was going on in the servants' quarters. Seeing Mamazel in this state she couldn't keep quiet any longer.
"Mamazel," she said, "don't you marry him! Please, Mamazel, it would be wrong."
Melisande stood up and went over to Peg. She said: "Peg, what do you know ? If you know anything, you ought to tell me. You are my friend, Peg. You should not keep me in the dark."
"Mrs. Soady says as you ought to be kept in the dark. It's Mr. Meaker who ain't sure. He says he's going to see Sir Charles. To ask Sir Charles . . ."
"Peg, I have a right to know. Is it anything to do with . . ."
"It's to do with the French gentleman. Oh, Mamazel, you mustn't marry him. That's what everybody's saying . . . because . . . you see, Mamazel . . . we've seen him. I've seen him myself. Bet and me went one morning. Mr. Meaker, he's seen him and so's the footman. He was swimming in the sea in that quiet cove. . . . Mr. Meaker said that he might have had a chance to save the boy . . .
184 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
and ... he pretended he couldn't swim. We don't like it, Mamazel. We don't like it."
"So . . . many of you have seen. Why did I not see?"
"Well, they didn't tell you, Mamazel. They couldn't very well. But they'll all tell you now. There he was . . . swimming in the sea. And only a week or so since he said he couldn't. It's queer. It's frightening, Mamazel. Mrs. Soady's well nigh beside herself. She says foreigners b'ain't like we are. They do terrible things."
"Peg, I know you're my friend."
"We all are, Mamazel. We'd like to see you happy like. . . . And it's all fixed you should stay here ... we hope you won't marry him. Mr. Meaker says nothing can't be proved . . . but he hopes he goes away from here and us never hears no more of him. There'll be a good marriage for 'ee later on. There's as good fish in the sea as ever come out, so Mrs. Soady says. And the master 'ull see you have as good a wedding as Miss Caroline, shouldn't wonder . . . you being his own ... his daughter . . . same as Miss Caroline, only with a difference like. Mr. Meaker says they don't always make all that difference in the best families. I reckon Sir Charles will do something fine for 'ee. But don't 'ee marry that foreigner . . . after what has happened."
"Peg! Peg, what are you saying? / . . . I am Sir Charles's daughter?"
"Oh, 'tis a secret, I do know, but it must mean the master be fond of 'ee. That's why he have brought you here and set you above the servants like. No governess was ever treated like you have been, Mamazel. So now we do know, we don't mind like . . . being so fond of you."
This was too much to happen in a short hour. To know that Leon, who had declared he could not swim, could do so and might have saved Raoul's life; and to learn that Sir Charles was, in reality, her father.
She tried not to let Peg see how agitated she had become. She thanked Peg for her kindness in trying to comfort her. Then she turned to her tray and Peg went out.
She did not attempt to eat. She went straight to Sir Charles's study.
She knocked and was thankful to find that he had not yet gone to the dining-room.
He was startled by the way in which she stared at him.
She burst out: "I have just heard an extraordinary thing. Is it true that I am your daughter?"
She watched the colour drain away from his face. "Who told you that?"
"One of the maids,"
He repeated blankly: "One of the maids. Which one?"
"They all know, apparently. It seems that everyone knows . . . except myself.'*
"This is absurd."
"Then it is not true?"
She noticed that he hesitated and great sorrow filled her. She was his daughter and he was ashamed to acknowledge her. He was alarmed because his secret had been discovered.
Fermor she knew for a bad man; Leon, of whom she had been fond, was now proved to be a coward or worse; and Sir Charles, the man to whom she had looked with admiration, was weak and could not acknowledge his own daughter because he feared the damage to his reputation.
The nuns were right. The world of men was an evil one. No wonder they had retired from that world; no wonder they averted their eyes from men.
Now she felt that she too wanted to escape from all men, to shut herself in, to readjust her ideas. They all had feet of clay, every one of them, and she was not sure that Fermor—so blatantly wicked— was any worse than the others.
Sir Charles was recovering from his shock. She saw now that her fallen idol's one idea was to protect his reputation.
He said: "This is absurd and ridiculous. It must go no farther."
"You will have to deny it," she said, and there was a faint smile about her lips. "There is so much that makes a scandal," she went on fiercely, maliciously. "You came to the Convent, you brought me here. You have not treated me entirely as a servant, not entirely as a member of your family. This is a foolishness, a carelessness, and so there is scandal."
He did not see the scorn in her eyes. He was too concerned with his predicament. "To deny it," he said, "would be to admit such a thing could be. No. There is only one solution. You will have to go away from here at once."
"Yes," she said, "I thought that."
He came over to her. The old kindness showed in his face. He was oblivious of the disappointment that was edged with contempt in hers. "Don't worry. I will arrange something. I have friends. I will see that everything is conducted as ... it should be. I will see that you are well cared for." He smiled, rather cunningly, she feared. He went on: "This engagement of yours . . . and the death of the child ... I am afraid it is rather unfortunate."