Women have Hearts Page 2

  “Who is it?” Yvette enquired.

  “Madam wants to see you in her study, m’mselle,” one of the maids replied.

  She went away without waiting for an answer and they heard her heavy footsteps going down the passage.

  Yvette looked at Kelda.

  “The dragon will have received a letter as well and I bet she is drooling over it because Uncle Maximus has a title!”

  Mrs. Gladwin was a snob who fawned on the parents whose names appeared in Debrett’s Peerage and it was a joke that never ceased to amuse her pupils.

  Yvette was not smiling now.

  Instead she carried on,

  “You can be sure that the dragon will make me do exactly what Uncle Maximus wants.”

  “You had better go down the stairs and find out what she has to say,” Kelda said, “but you should wash your face first.”

  “Let her see it as it is,” Yvette replied. “I shall try and persuade her to write to my French relatives and protest at my being sent off to some outlandish place, although I doubt if she will do so.”

  “I think it very unlikely,” Kelda agreed, “and even if they do protest, they will not have any authority under the Law.”

  “Uncle Maximus has not taken any interest in me until now,” Yvette wailed. “He has not written to me at Christmas or even sent me a card. Why should he want me to live with him? Why this sudden interest?”

  “It does seem strange,” Kelda agreed. “Perhaps he feels lonely.”

  “Lonely? Uncle Maximus? According to Cousin Jacques, recluse though he may be, he always has a mistress.”

  Kelda looked shocked.

  “I cannot believe your cousin told you that!”

  “Not exactly,” Yvette admitted, “but he visited Uncle Maximus when he was on his way to Cape Town and he told his brother when he did not know that I was listening, that when he called on him, he had a glimpse of a beautiful woman.

  “‘Mind you.’ he added, ‘I have a suspicion that she was a métise.”

  Yvette wrinkled her brow.

  “What is a métise? I asked Aunt Jeanne-Marie, but she would not tell me.”

  Kelda knew it meant the offspring of a white Company employee and a local woman, but she was not going to explain that to Yvette.

  Instead she replied,

  “I will look it up in the dictionary and let you know.”

  “I have done that already, but it was not there, unless I had the spelling wrong.”

  “You must hurry to Madam,” Kelda insisted. “You know how cross she gets if one keeps her waiting.”

  “Why should I care if I am leaving?” Yvette retorted.

  Kelda was tidying her hair and then she found her another handkerchief.

  “I will wash these,” she said, picking up the two tearstained ones. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Nothing, nothing unless you can cast a spell on Uncle Maximus so he will fall dead!”

  She walked across the room and, as she reached the door, she stopped.

  “That is quite an idea. I believe there is lots of Black Magic in Africa. I shall try to find a witch doctor as soon as I get there and see if he can dispose of my uncle for me!”

  Kelda gave a little cry of horror.

  “That is a wicked thing to say! I know you will do nothing of the sort.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Yvette answered sharply and flounced down the passage.

  Kelda sighed and began automatically to tidy the room. She was sorry for Yvette. At the same time she wished that she had the opportunity of travelling to Senegal or anywhere else in the world as she had done so often when her father had been alive.

  She knew now that the one thing that had been harder to bear than anything else was the feeling of being so restricted and restrained first by the drab dark walls of the orphanage and then by the Seminary.

  When her father and mother were alive, they had never stayed for long in any one place.

  Even if her father had not been sent on an important expedition, he had travelled about England giving lectures at Universities and Kelda could remember twice going to Edinburgh.

  Their journeys had seldom been very comfortable, but it had been an excitement to be on the move.

  More than anything else it had been a thrill to be in a foreign country, to ride on the back of a camel or a stubborn mule or to sail in a small boat with a large sail up a river to places that could not be reached by any other means.

  ‘Oh, Papa, I miss you,’ Kelda said beneath her breath.

  She knew that the eight years since he had died had been a nightmare from which she half-believed she might still awake.

  To look back made her remember that, while Yvette was not yet eighteen and was going out into the world for the first time, she would be twenty-one in July.

  And Kelda supposed that her life would never alter from what it was at the moment.

  She often wondered to herself, if she left the Seminary, if she would be able to find other employment of a more congenial nature.

  Although she had often considered it, she thought it was unlikely and in a way she clung to Mrs. Gladwin because with her she was with girls who came from cultured families.

  It was not that they or Mrs. Gladwin considered her to be their equal. She continually reminded her that she came from an orphanage and was nothing but a ‘charity child’.

  At first Kelda had resented it, feeling that she must reply that her father was a gentleman and her mother a lady, even if they had very little money.

  Then she decided that such retorts only made the situation more difficult than it was at the moment.

  Mrs. Gladwin liked humiliating her because unlike the servants she could not leave nor would she answer back as the Governesses could do.

  She therefore taught herself to always control her feelings, to try not to listen when Mrs. Gladwin found fault incessantly and expected her to be eternally grateful for having a roof over her head and food to eat.

  She was certainly paid little enough for her services a quarter of what any of the servants received but she knew that if she was dissatisfied there was nothing she could do about it.

  Even these meagre wages were overdue and, because Kelda loathed having to ask for what she was owed and being told once again how grateful she should be for being where she was, she had not even mentioned the fact to her employer.

  She crossed the room to shut the wardrobe door and, as she did so, looking at the gowns hanging inside it, many of which Yvette had only worn two or three times.

  Kelda remembered how pretty her mother had always looked, despite the fact that she could never afford anything expensive.

  “It is not only what you spend,” she had said once, “it is having good taste and knowing what suits one’s real self.”

  ‘Perhaps if I had the chance,’ Kelda thought, ‘I too would have good taste.’

  She had only to look in the mirror to realise that the grey gown that she wore, which was made of coarse cotton, was unbecoming and appeared, as indeed she was, poverty-stricken.

  It was, of course, chosen by Mrs. Gladwin, who ever since she had come to the Seminary had insisted on repeating the same grey garments she had worn in the orphanage rather than buying her dresses of a brighter and more cheerful colour.

  “Please, Madam,” she had asked a year ago, “as I am having a new gown, could it be in blue or green?”

  “I consider both those colours quite unsuitable for your position,” Mrs. Gladwin replied acidly. “What is more, they would show the dirt.”

  “I wash my gowns every week,” Kelda countered quickly.

  “I should have thought that was unnecessarily often,” Mrs. Gladwin replied, determined to find fault. “And the uniform I choose for you is what I permit you to wear and there will be no arguments about it.”

  She was dismissed and as she left the study Kelda knew that it had been a forlorn hope anyway that she might be allowed to look more attracti
ve.

  Now, as she closed the wardrobe door, she thought of what she would buy if she could afford it. She was sure that blue and pale green would be becoming to her, as they had been to her mother.

  She had the same fair golden hair, the same large blue-grey eyes that were the colour of the morning mist and her skin was transparently clear, although she was pale and far too thin from overwork.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and turned away from it.

  What was the point of pretending? She would wear grey and the years ahead would be grey too.

  If Yvette only knew it, she was very lucky to be able to escape to Senegal or anywhere else in the world.

  There were innumerable duties that kept Kelda busy until supper time.

  One of the jobs that had been thought up for her by Mrs. Gladwin was that she should wait on the Mistresses who had supper in their own rooms.

  They took it in turns to supervise the pupils in the large dining room where everybody had to eat at luncheontime.

  The Mistresses insisted that in the evening those who were not on duty should be served in their own sitting room, where they could add to the school fare delicacies that had been purchased either by themselves or sent to them by relatives.

  At first Mrs. Gladwin had resisted such an innovation. Then when she found that there were no reasonable arguments she could use against it, she assuaged her pride by saying that the servants were too busy, but that Kelda could wait on the Mistresses, bringing their meals in from the kitchen and washing up afterwards.

  Kelda had not really minded for as a result she often enjoyed titbits that the Mistresses left, which was a change from the school meals that were repeated in monotonous rotation from week to week with no variations.

  Tonight, when she entered the staff room. it was to find an animated conversation taking place.

  “I said to her,” Miss Dawson, one of the older Mistresses, was declaiming, “‘I have no intention, Madam, of spending my holiday by travelling to some outlandish part of the world. I dislike the sea and always have and I have no plans for ever leaving these shores again’.”

  There was a burst of laughter as Kelda put the heavy tray down on a side table.

  “What did she say to that?”

  “She merely dismissed me and sent for Miss Jenkins.”

  “Did you accept her proposition?” someone asked. “Tell us, Jenky. We are all ears.”

  “Of course I did not,” Miss Jenkins, who was the sporty Games Mistress, replied. “I am spending all my holiday with my fiancé at his home. I would not give that up for a trip to Heaven and back again!”

  Again there was laughter as Kelda ladled out the soup and set it down on the table in front of each of the Mistresses.

  “Who did she try next?” someone questioned.

  “I think she has been through the lot of us,” Miss Dawson said. “I know Ashton told me before she went out this evening that she had refused and I think Miss Hart has said ‘no’.”

  “Madam is so keen on pleasing this Nobleman,” Miss Jenkins said, “that I cannot think why she does not go herself or alternatively she could send Kelda.”

  Kelda started at the sound of her own name and they all laughed.

  “As a matter of fact,” Miss Jenkins said, “I actually did.”

  “You didn’t!” Miss Dawson exclaimed. “You must have been feeling cheeky. We all know what she thinks of Kelda.”

  “She was furious. That is why I said it,” Miss Jenkins laughed. “She knows we are all aware that Kelda is the only one in this place whom she can treat in that highhanded manner, as if she was the great Penjandrum himself. None of us would stick it.”

  “That is true,” Miss Jenkins said. “I have often wondered, Kelda, why you don’t leave.”

  Kelda was bringing the last bowl of soup to the table and she smiled.

  “The answer to that is simple,” she said. “It is because I have nowhere else to go.”

  “And no money either, I suppose,” Miss Jenkins sniggered.

  “I have not been paid for six months,” Kelda replied, “and if I was I doubt if it would get me further than Piccadilly Circus.”

  They all laughed as if she had said something very funny.

  “I think it’s a crying shame,” Miss Jenkins said. “But never mind perhaps one day a rich uncle you’ve forgotten about will turn up and carry you off to Timbuktu. One never knows one’s luck.”

  “I can always go on hoping,” Kelda answered.

  She picked up the tray and went out of the room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Miss Dawson saying,

  “It’s a disgrace the way Madam treats that nice girl.”

  “That is what I think,” Miss Ashton said, “but there is nothing we can do about it and I suppose as a ‘charity child’ she is lucky to be here.”

  Kelda did not wait to hear any more. She hurried down towards the kitchen, feeling as if her feet echoed the same words,

  ‘Charity child! Charity child!’

  She felt as if they were branded on her and she would never be anything else however hard she tried. A ‘charity child’ everyone could trample over and for whom there was little hope now or in the future.

  *

  When she had finished washing up the Mistresses’ supper Kelda made a cup of cocoa and carried it upstairs to Yvette.

  It was strictly against the rules, but she thought that it might help the French girl to sleep, knowing that her unhappiness would doubtless keep her tossing and turning all through the night.

  She opened the door to find that Yvette was already undressed and sitting in front of the mirror with a sulky expression on her face.

  “I have brought you some cocoa,” Kelda said.

  “That is kind of you, Kelda,” Yvette tried to smile. “I could not eat any supper, I was too unhappy.”

  “Are you hungry? Shall I go downstairs and make you a sandwich?”

  “No, I don’t want anything to eat, but I will enjoy the cocoa. Did you put plenty of sugar in it?”

  “Three teaspoonfuls,” Kelda answered. “‘Hot and sweet’ was what my mother always prescribed when somebody has had a shock.”

  “It is certainly what I have had.”

  “What did Madam say to you?”

  “Only what you know already that I have to go and live with Uncle Maximus. He has instructed her to send me to him, as if I was a parcel, accompanied by one of the Mistresses from the school to see that I reach him without mishap.”

  “The Mistresses have all refused to go.”

  “I know that,” Yvette said. “Madam called me into the study after prayers to ask, ‘have you any relations in England who would accompany you to Dakar?’”

  “‘No, Madam,’ I replied, ‘and if I had, they would not take me. They all dislike my uncle as much as I do.’”

  Kelda gave a little laugh.

  “I am sure that Madam was shocked at your speaking like that.”

  “Horrified!” Yvette agreed. “She looked down that long nose of hers and said,

  “‘That is not the way to speak of your uncle, Yvette. I am sure that what he is doing is in your best interests.’

  “‘My best interests, Madam,’ I replied, ‘would be to live in France with the relations I love and who love me. I have no wish to go to Senegal and I have a very good mind to run away!’”

  Kelda laughed and it was a sound of pure enjoyment.

  “How brave of you! I don’t know how you dared to speak to her like that.”

  Yvette shrugged her shoulders in a typically French gesture.

  “She can do nothing to me now that is any worse than what Uncle Maximus is doing.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She gave me a long lecture on propriety and how I should not only damage myself but also the reputation of the school by speaking in such a ‘pert and unladylike fashion’.”

  Yvette deliberately imitated Mrs. Gladwin’s voice as she said th
e last phrase and both she and Kelda laughed again.

  “What did she say after that?” Kelda asked.

  “She went on until she ran out of breath. Then I said, ‘I am not surprised that none of the Mistresses will accompany me to Senegal and I most certainly have no wish to be buried alive there myself. If it is impossible for you to find anybody to accompany me, perhaps you could tell my uncle it would be best for me to stay here. Or, alternatively, let Kelda come with me. She, at least, as an explorer’s daughter, will not object to travelling into darkest Africa’.”

  Kelda gave a gasp.

  “That is what Miss Jenkins suggested. What did Madam reply?”

  “I did not wait to hear,” Yvette answered. “I went out of the room while she was still gasping for breath like a goldfish that has been left out of the water.”

  “She must have been furious!” Kelda said.

  There was a note in her voice that made Yvette say quickly,

  “Oh, Kelda, I hope I did not make her so angry that she takes it out on you.”

  “So do I,” Kelda nodded.

  She felt apprehensive, thinking that if two people had made the same suggestion it would infuriate Madam to the point where she would think of some unpleasant punishment for her.

  She changed the subject as it made her feel rather nervous and asked,

  “When do you go?”

  “Two days before the end of term. Madam would not let me leave if Uncle Maximus had not insisted that I should travel in some specific ship which stops at Dakar on its way to the Cape.”

  “It sounds very exciting!” Kelda exclaimed.

  “You know how I feel about it,” Yvette said in a forlorn voice. “I do wish that you could come with me. At least there would be someone human to talk to. If old Dawson had taken up Madam’s proposal, I think I should have died! You know what a bore she is at any time.”

  “I would love to come with you,” Kelda admitted, “but you know as well as I do that it would be like asking for the moon.”

  “I suppose so,” Yvette said despairingly. “But you say all the Mistresses have refused.”

  “They all said they had at supper,” Kelda replied, “including Miss Ashton, who is not in tonight.”