68 The Magic of Love Page 5

  “And I suppose you intend to pay her!”

  “Yes, I will pay her myself,” the Comte said.

  Madame Boisset laughed and it was an ugly sound.

  “With your gaming wins, I suppose,” she sneered, “and what happens when you lose?”

  There was something so unpleasant, Melita thought, in the two people sparring with each other that she was not surprised to realise that Rose-Marie, who was standing beside her, was trembling.

  This was obviously something that had often happened before, she thought, and impulsively she bent down towards the child to whisper in her ear,

  “When I have unpacked, I have some things with me in my luggage which I know will please you.”

  She saw Rose-Marie’s eyes shine with excitement.

  “Things from across the sea?” she asked.

  Melita nodded.

  “From Paris?”

  “No, guess again.”

  “I know – London!”

  “That’s right,” Melita smiled.

  She tried to concentrate on Rose-Marie, but she could not help hearing Madame Boisset say scornfully to the Comte,

  “I thought you had left us. Your remarks on leaving were that you did not intend to come back.”

  “I have changed my mind,” the Comte said. “This is my home after all – and this is where I belong.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  Then Madame Boisset said in a very different tone of voice,

  “That is what I told you before, but you would not listen to me.”

  Deliberately, it seemed to Melita, the Comte looked away so that he would not see the expression in Madame’s eyes.

  Then he said to Rose-Marie,

  “Come, I am going to take you for a walk in the garden. I want you to show me the flowers by the fountain. They were in bud when we looked at them three days ago, but now they should be in bloom.”

  “I will show you! I will show you!” Rose-Marie cried excitedly.

  She took him by the hand and drew him towards the door.

  “It is time for Rose-Marie to go to bed,” Madame Boisset said, but there was not such a positive note in her voice as there had been before.

  “We will not be very long, Josephine,” the Comte said coldly.

  Then father and daughter had gone from the room and Melita could hear Rose-Marie chattering as they moved together down the passage.

  “What that child needs is discipline,” Madame Boisset said firmly, “and I suppose, Eugénie, you have been spoiling her as usual.”

  She looked at the table as if trying to find fault and said,

  “I have told the Head Chef to send her up a plain supper. This is much too elaborate for a child of her age.”

  “La petite m’mselle will not eat what she does not like, madame.”

  “Then she should be made to do so,” Madame Boisset said firmly, “and I hope, mademoiselle, you will see to it.”

  She gave Melita a look as if she thought it was very unlikely that she would see to anything and walked out of the room without another word.

  Melita looked at the black servant and found that Eugénie was smiling.

  “You come with me, m’mselle, and I show you your bedroom. I help you unpack, but I expect Jeanne has started already. The trunks arrived over an hour ago.”

  Eugénie was right in her assumption.

  When she showed Melita the room next door, they found that the bedroom seemed to be filled with trunks and there were two maids lifting out Melita’s gowns and personal possessions.

  “You bring lots with you,” Eugénie remarked.

  “I was coming a long way,” Melita replied, “and I could not leave my treasures behind me.”

  “We look after you, m’mselle, and make you happy in Martinique,” Eugénie declared.

  There was something sincere in the statement that made Melita smile.

  “I hope you will help me, Eugénie,” she replied, “I shall enjoy looking after Rose-Marie, but I shall need your assistance and you must tell me what time she gets up and when she has her meals. I have my own ideas, but I don’t wish to annoy Madame more than necessary.”

  “Madame!”

  There was a wealth of expression in the one word and Eugénie made a gesture with her hands, which told as surely as if she had spoken that it was impossible to please Madame whatever one did.

  ‘Why should she be so disagreeable?’ Melita wondered to herself. ‘And why should she and the Comte fight in such an undignified manner? And in front of the servants, too!’

  She knew that her mother would not have approved of such behaviour and she had seen already that it was extremely bad for Rose-Marie.

  She was quite certain that her post was not going to be an easy one and she wished that she did not feel so inexperienced and so inadequate.

  At the same time it was a comfort to know that the Comte would support her as he had said he would.

  She took off her bonnet and cloak and was relieved to find that the pretty voile gown she had made herself was not creased despite the long journey.

  After she had tidied her hair, she said to Eugénie,

  “What do you think I ought to do now?”

  “I think, m’mselle, you should go and join Monsieur le Comte and la petite m’mselle in the garden. When he is tired of playing with her, he will wish to hand her over to you. Then you and I will put her to bed.”

  “Thank you, Eugénie,” Melita replied.

  She went down the stairs where she found a door in the hall that led into the garden.

  She could hear Rose-Marie’s laughter and the Comte’s deep voice long before she saw them.

  Finally, she found that at the end of a green lawn, half-hidden by great bushes of flowering shrubs beyond, there was a most breathtaking view.

  She looked over the plantation to where perhaps a mile-and-a-half away there was the vivid blue of the sea and beyond it an indefinable horizon.

  She stood for a moment feeling it was impossible to go any further until the beauty of it was impressed on her memory.

  Then Rose-Marie appeared round the side of the bushes and flowering shrubs and saw her.

  “Mademoiselle!” she cried. “Come and see what Papa and I have found.”

  She took Melita by the hand and dragged her round a bush to where on the side of a small stream was sitting a very large green frog.

  The Comte looked up as Melita appeared and she saw his eyes rest on her bare head. She was glad she had tidied her hair and that it fell on each side of her face into natural ringlets.

  Because she had so much hair and it was so long, Melita arranged the rest in a bun at the back of her head.

  Somehow it made her neck seem longer and more delicate and gave her a grace and a poise that was not so obvious when she wore a bonnet.

  The Comte was looking at her and she would not have been a woman if she had not realised that there was a glint of admiration in his eyes.

  “It’s a frog, mademoiselle!” Rose-Marie exclaimed. “A very big frog! Papa says it might turn into a Fairy Prince!”

  “I think perhaps he is happier being a frog,” Melita answered, “and I expect he has a lot of baby frogs hidden somewhere, if we could find them.”

  “Oh, let’s find them!” Rose-Marie squealed excitedly, running a little way down the stream and peering under the stones.

  “What do you think of my daughter?” the Comte asked Melita.

  “She is very sweet!”

  “That is what I find, but I will not have her taught the wrong things or made to behave unnaturally.”

  Melita looked at him.

  “What do you mean by that, monsieur?” she asked curiously.

  The Comte hesitated for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “My wife was a quiet gentle person. Everyone in the house and on the estate wished to please her. They would do anything she asked of them. There was no need for anyone to be bullied into carrying o
ut her wishes.”

  He did not have to say who behaved in the way he disliked, Melita thought.

  “I want Rose-Marie to be like her mother.”

  “I will do my best,” Melita said. Then because she could not help it she added, “But it may not be – easy.”

  “I know that,” he answered, “but I am relying on you. Shall I say it more plainly? I have every confidence in you and I will support you in every way I can.”

  “Thank you,” Melita said, “but I don’t want to cause any – trouble.”

  “There will always be trouble here at Vesonne-des-Arbres while certain conditions exist,” the Comte answered. “But I want you to try to forget them and do what you think is right for Rose-Marie.”

  “I will try,” Melita promised.

  They were simple words and yet she almost felt as though they were as solemn as if she had made him a vow.

  She looked up at him, at his dark hair silhouetted against the blue of the sky and once again her eyes were held by his.

  Something indefinable passed between them, something that made Melita feel as if her heart was beating unaccountably quickly.

  It was hard to break away and yet she managed it.

  She moved across the green grass to find Rose-Marie searching amongst the stones.

  “There are no little frogs – none at all!” she said dismally.

  “We will come and look for them tomorrow,” Melita promised. “Now I think we should return to the house. Eugénie is waiting for us.”

  “Will Papa come too?” Rose-Marie enquired.

  Melita looked back.

  The Comte was standing where she had left him. His eyes were on her face and there was an expression in them that she dared not translate to herself.

  Chapter Three

  The sun was pouring in through the window of the schoolroom as Melita gave Rose-Marie her breakfast. There was a big bowl on the table containing many fruits she had not tasted before, including pawpaw.

  She had discovered with joy when she woke up this morning that from her bedroom window she had the same breathtaking view that she had seen from the garden the previous evening.

  The sea and the sky were azure blue and the green of the plantation was so vivid that she felt it could hardly be real.

  When they had finished breakfast, Rose-Marie said apprehensively,

  “Cousin Josephine said that we were going to do serious lessons this morning. Does that mean they will be very difficult?”

  Melita had the idea that Madame Boisset was deliberately putting Rose-Marie against her.

  She realised that because it had been the Comte’s idea that his daughter should have an English Governess, Madame had obviously been against it from the very outset.

  It had not improved matters when Melita had arrived in the Comte’s chaise looking so young and attractive, rather than the stern martinet with whom she had tried to frighten Rose-Marie.

  Now she smiled at the child beguilingly and said,

  “I have an idea. As this is my first morning here, you shall give me a lesson.”

  “How can I do that?” Rose-Marie asked.

  “Well, I think the first thing you must do is to show me round Vesonne-des-Arbres, explaining to me what all the buildings are for and helping me to explore the garden.”

  “I would like to do that,” Rose-Marie said giving a little skip of excitement, “but will that really, truly be a lesson?”

  “I think we could make it one,” Melita said, “if I told you what some of the things were called in English and you tried to remember them. For instance, do you know what Vesonne-des-Arbres means in English?”

  “Yes, I know that,” Rose-Marie said quickly. “Papa told me. It means ‘Vesonne of the Trees’.”

  “That is very good!” Melita said. “Now if you try to remember one or two more English words, you can tell Papa when you next see him how clever you have been.”

  Rose-Marie was obviously captivated with this idea and they set off in the sunshine hand in hand.

  There had been no sign of Madame Boisset this morning for which Melita was thankful. She hoped that she would not see them escaping from the house and probably send them back to the schoolroom.

  Rose-Marie wore a straw hat on her head tied under her chin with pink ribbons, but Melita fancied that she would look too smart in any of her bonnets.

  She therefore carried a sunshade to protect herself from the sun which she was sensible enough to realise was too strong for her fair skin.

  Rose-Marie took her first to the Chapel.

  Built of grey stone, it looked somewhat austere outside, but the Chancel was decorated with murals done, Melita thought, many years ago, and the altar with its six high candles was carved in wood and painted.

  There were flickering lights in front of the statues of Saints and the fragrance of incense.

  “Do you have a Service here every Sunday?” she asked.

  “The Priest comes from Basse Point to say mass on Sundays,” Rose-Marie replied, “but Cousin Josephine makes the slaves say prayers outside on the mound with her every evening at five o’clock.”

  “Every evening?” Melita asked in a surprised tone.

  Rose-Marie nodded.”

  “She says they have wicked black souls and need prayers more than other people.”

  Melita thought this was a typical sort of bigoted attitude she would expect Madame Boisset to adopt, but she was too wise to criticise her to Rose-Marie and only said gently,

  “I don’t think God minds what colour people are. He loves us all.”

  “He does not always love me,” Rose-Marie replied, “not when I am naughty.”

  “He does love you,” Melita insisted, “but He is just disappointed and a little sad when you are not as good as you should be.”

  Rose-Marie slipped her hand into Melita’s.

  “Shall I tell you a secret,” she asked. “You will not tell Cousin Josephine?”

  “No, of course not,” Melita said.

  “Then I think God is very frightening,” Rose-Marie confided. “He is always looking to see what we are doing and thinking we ought to be punished.”

  “That is not true,” Melita said. “I will read you a book I have brought with me from England which will tell you how much God cares for everyone, even little birds. If we do make mistakes, He forgives us and forgets about them.”

  “Is that true?” Rose-Marie asked.

  “I promise you it is absolutely true,” Melita answered, “for God is a kind and understanding Deity who is always there to help us if we are in trouble or danger.”

  She told Rose-Marie how when she was coming over from England, the storm was very bad and everyone had prayed because they thought the ship was going to the bottom of the ocean.

  Soon afterwards the wind had begun to die down and the sea was less tempestuous.

  “And God did that?” Rose-Marie asked.

  “Yes, I believe He did,” Melita answered her positively.

  She saw that this had evoked a new train of thought in the child, but she was too wise to go on with the subject and instead she said,

  “What have you to show me now?”

  “I want you to see my friend,” Rose-Marie said. “He is very clever and he makes me pretty dolls. I think he will have one for me now.”

  “Then let’s go and see it,” Melita suggested.

  She thought that Rose-Marie looked surreptitiously over her shoulder and she had the idea that perhaps this friend, whoever it might be, had not the whole-hearted approval of Madame Boisset.

  But her main objective was to gain Rose-Marie’s confidence and she said nothing as the child led her towards the slave quarters.

  The stone huts were built on either side of a green grass ride.

  There were fourteen of them identical in design and, as she had noticed when she arrived there were lots of very small children playing about outside.

  They were laughing and tumbling about wi
th each other, but the moment Melita appeared they became silent and sat still, even the smallest of them staring fearfully with large dark eyes.

  Rose-Marie led the way quickly to the third hut on the right hand side.

  There were no children outside this one. The door was open and, without knocking, she walked in.

  An old woman with a deeply lined face but with shrewd penetrating eyes came from a dark corner and Rose-Marie said to her imperiously,

  “I want to see Philippe please, Léonore!”

  “He outside, m’mselle Rose-Marie, other side of hut. He likes be quiet when he’s workin’.”

  “He is making me a doll?” Rose-Marie asked eagerly.

  “Yes, m’mselle.”

  “Then we will go and find him.”

  She turned and would have walked from the house, but Melita stopped.

  She was appalled at seeing how scanty the furniture was inside the building.

  There were a number of straw palliasses on the floor almost touching each other, two or three broken chairs, a table, and against one wall there was a very primitive stove and some heavy iron cooking utensils.

  It was all clean and yet, Melita thought, she had never imagined people could live in such poverty-stricken surroundings with no sign of anything individual or personal about them.

  “Good morning,” she said to Léonore. “I am Mademoiselle Cranleigh, the new Governess.”

  At the friendliness in her voice, the old woman smiled.

  “You come from across sea, m’mselle.”

  It was a statement of fact not a question.

  “Yes, from England,” Melita answered, “and I think that Martinique is very beautiful.”

  The woman nodded.

  “It good you come, very good!”

  Melita did not quite know what she meant, but there was a positive note in the woman’s voice that made it seem important.

  But when Melita would have replied, Rose-Marie pulled at her hand.

  “Come, mademoiselle! Come quickly!” she said. “I want to see Philippe.”

  Because she did not wish to disappoint the child, Melita allowed herself to be led from the hut and around the side of it to the back where they found a boy.

  He was about sixteen years old and had only one leg and was sitting on the ground with a crutch at his side and a pile of leaves in front of him.