It Began in Vauxhall Gardens - Plaidy Jean - Страница 28

"You see, Caro," said Fermor. "She is wiser than we are. She leaves no cup untasted in her thirst for knowledge."

John Collings said: "There's a lot of superstition about here, Mademoiselle St. Martin. Particularly among the servant class. You mustn't judge us all by them."

"As a matter of fact," said Fermor, "these Cornish are all superstitious . . . every one of them. You and I, Mademoiselle, do not belong here. I am as much a foreigner as you are. We may snap our fingers at the piskies. They daren't touch us."

He began to sing in a loud and tuneful tenor voice:

"On the banks of Allan Water, When the sweet spring time did fall, Was the miller's lovely daughter, Fairest of them all . . ."

And his merry eyes sought those of Melisande as he sang.

Caroline, setting her lips firmly, thought: Why does he? And before me! Doesn't he care at all? Is he clearly telling me that when we are married he will make no attempt to be faithful ?

She began to talk to John Collings. How much easier life might have been if she had been affianced to someone like John. He had not town ways, town manners; he did not possess the allure of Fermor; yet how much happier she might have been.

He was still singing and he had reached the end of the song as they came near the outskirts of Liskeard.

"On the banks of Allan Water, When the winter snow fell fast, Still was seen the miller's daughter, Chilling blew the blast. But the miller's lovely daughter, Both from cold and care was free, On the banks of Allan Water There a corpse lay she."

Melisande could not refrain from laughing at the mock pathos in his voice. "But it is so sad," she protested.

"And I cannot forgive myself for making you sad!" declared Fermor. "It is just a song. There is no miller's daughter, you know."

"But there are many millers' daughters," said Melisande. "The one in the song . . . she is just in a song . . . just in the mind of the song writer. But many have loved and died for love, and that song is of them."

Caroline said: "The girl was a fool in any ease. She should have known the soldier was false; she should not have believed in that winning tongue of his."

"But how could she know?" asked Melisande.

"One can tell."

"She could not."

"Then, as I say, she was a fool."

"In my opinion," said John Collings, "she might have waited until a more suitable time of the year. I mean to say . . . drowning herself when the snow was falling! Why could she not wait until the spring!"

"She was so unhappy. She did not wish to live until the spring," said Melisande. "That was a long time ahead. She was so sad that the snow was of no importance to her."

"What a controversy my little song has aroused!" said Fermor.

"When," put in Caroline, "it is intended as nothing more than a warning to foolish young women who listen to the honied tongues of deceivers!"

"All lovers have honied tongues," said Melisande.

"A provision of nature!" agreed Fermor. "Like a thrush's song or a peacock's tail."

"But how should a young woman judge between the true and the false?"

"If she cannot, she must take the consequences," said Caroline.

"I will sing you another song," declared Fermor, "to show you that it is not always the young women who must take care."

Immediately he began:

"There came seven gipsies on a day, Oh, but they sang bonny, O! And they sang so sweet and they sang so clear, Down came the earl's lady, O.

They gave to her the nutmeg, And they gave to her the ginger; But she gave to them a far better thing, The seven gold rings off her fingers."

He sang on, of how the earl came home to find that his lady had gone off with the gipsies; and with mock feeling sang of the earl's pleading and of the lady's refusal to return to him.

"The Earl of Cashan is lying sick; Not one hair I'm sorry; I'd rather have a kiss from his fair lady's lips Than all his gold and his money."

They were all laughing—even Caroline—as they came into the town.

"Three cheers for the lovelorn Earl of Cashan for chasing away the gloom of that corpse—the tiresome miller's daughter!" cried Fermor.

They went to a hostelry where the horses had a rest and a feed while they refreshed themselves before going to the horse market, for Fermor wished to look at horses and John Collings perhaps to buy.

They sat in the parlour with the sawdust on the floor, and a girl in a pretty mob-cap came to bring them tankards of Cornish ale. Hot pasties were served with the ale—fresh from the oven, savoury with onions.

"There seems to be merrymaking in the town to-day," said Fermor to the girl in the mob-cap, for she was a pretty girl, and Fermor would always have a word and a smile for a pretty girl, no matter how much he was taken with another.

"Well, sir," she said, "there's to be a flogging in the streets to-day. You'm here in time to see it. 'Tis old Tom Matthews. Caught red-handed, he were, stealing one of Farmer Tregertha's fowls. The whole town's turning out to see it done."

"What revelry!" cried Fermor. "Bring us some more of those pasties, please. They're good."

The girl bobbed a curtsy and went away.

"What does she mean?" asked Melisande.

John Collings said: "Oh, these people get excited about nothing. Just another felon, that's all."

"And he is to be flogged in the street?" asked Melisande.

"He stole a fowl and was caught," said Caroline.

"But ... to be flogged in the street . . . where all can see! It is a great indignity ... as well as a pain to the body."

"Well, let us hope it will teach him not to steal again," said Fermor.

"But in the streets . . . for people to see." Melisande shuddered. "To be beaten in private . . . that is bad. But in the streets ..."

"It is a warning to other people, Mademoiselle," said Caroline. "There are some people who have to be shown that if they steal they will have to take the consequences."

Melisande was silent, and when the maid brought fresh pasties she found that she had lost her appetite.

When they came out into the streets they were just in time to see

the dismal procession. The victim, stripped to the waist, was tied to the back of a cart which was slowly drawn through the streets. Behind him walked two men with whips; these men took it in turn to apply a stroke to the bleeding back of their victim.

Caroline, Fermor and John looked on with indifference; only Melisande turned shuddering away. Perhaps, she thought, he was hungry; perhaps his family was hungry. How can we know that he deserves such punishment?

She was as unhappy as she had been gay a short time before when riding along the misty road.

Fermor was beside her. He said: "What is it?"

She shook her head, but he came nearer, demanding an answer. She tried to explain, although she did not think he would see her point. "The hedges and the flowers and the mist . . . they are so beautiful. And this ... it is so ugly."

"Felons must be punished. If they were not they would not hesitate to steal the coats off our backs."

They rode away to the stables and, while Fermor and John were selecting a horse, Caroline said to Melisande: "You are too easily deceived, Mademoiselle St. Martin. You are too sorry for felons and . . . for millers' daughters. Stupid people and criminals have to suffer for their mistakes."