Читать книгу Lights, Laughter and a Lady - Barbara Cartland - Страница 3

Minella arrived in London and, although it had been a slow and rather tiring journey, she had been able to sleep part of the time.

She had so much to do packing up everything in The Manor that belonged to herself, her father and mother that the night before she left she had fallen into bed absolutely exhausted and too tired to be unhappy.

She had made a big bonfire in the garden of the things to be destroyed and had packed everything else into old-fashioned leather trunks that she had dragged down from the attic.

The nearest farmer, who had always been fond of her father, had been kind enough to say he would store anything she did not wish to take with her.

“They’ll be safe enough in the roof of one of my barns,” he said, “so don’t you go partin’ with anythin’ you wants to keep.”

“I only wish I could keep the house,” Minella replied impulsively.

“That be true and the village won’t be the same without his Lordship gallopin’ about, lookin’ as if he owned the world!”

Minella gave a little laugh.

It was a very apt description of her father and, however poor they had been, however many bills remained unpaid, her father had always seemed not only to look rich but to appear to believe that life was an amusing joke.

It was an attitude he transmitted to other people and she could understand why Connie had addressed him as the ‘Lord of Light and Laughter’.

It seemed strange in a way that she should have addressed him in so familiar a fashion, but then Minella felt that Connie had always been rather inclined to gush at people.

It was something that she knew her mother thought that a lady should not do and she had often talked to her about being restrained and self-controlled.

“It is best, dearest,” she had said in her soft voice, “to have a little reserve about your feelings, but at the same time to be warm, sympathetic and, of course, understanding.”

“It sounds rather complicated, Mama.”

“Not really,” her mother had answered, “and I want you to live up to your looks.”

Minella had been surprised and had not been quite certain what her mother meant.

Then she thought that once again, like her father, she was telling her that she looked like a lady and so must behave like one.

She knew that her mother’s family who lived in the North of Ireland were very proud and, although they did not have much money or possessions, they could trace their ancestry back to one of the Kings of Ireland.

“I wish you could be a Queen now, Mama.” Minella had said once when she was small.

Her mother had laughed and her father, who had been listening, said,

“She is a Queen! She is the Queen of my Heart and that is a more important position than that of Queen Victoria alone on the Throne of England!”

Minella had made up little stories for herself in which her mother was a Queen and she was a Princess.

She had thought that one day she would meet a handsome Prince, who would look very much like her father and they would be married and live happily ever afterwards.

But living in The Manor she saw no young men and the little she knew about them was confined to her father’s descriptions of the house parties that he had been invited to after her mother’s death.

He described the friends he met at Race Meetings where he invariably lost money and at the parties he enjoyed in London that for some reason he was surprisingly reticent about.

‘I suppose that I shall never have a chance of getting married,’ Minella thought, a little wistfully.

She knew that her mother had planned that somehow when she was eighteen she would contrive that she would go to some balls and if it was humanly possible be presented to the Queen at a Drawing Room in Buckingham Palace.

‘Now I shall just have to earn my living and forget about all that,’ Minella told herself firmly as she packed away her mother’s gowns.

Then she stopped.

Her mother’s clothes were far smarter and in far better condition than hers, even if they might be a little out of date.

Impulsively she took some of them from a huge weather-beaten trunk and then put them instead into the smaller one that she was taking with her to London.

There were two very pretty ballgowns that her mother had worn the last time her father had taken her to London for an exciting weekend after saying he could not bear the boredom of the country any longer.

Her mother had come back looking happy and relaxed and even much younger than she had for a long time.

“We had a wonderful time, darling,” she had said to Minella. “I am afraid we were very extravagant and Papa took me to dine out with his friends. We went to several theatres and even very daringly to a music hall!”

This meant very little to Minella, who had never been to a theatre, except once to see a pantomime in the nearest town at Christmas time.

She had, however, listened to everything that her mother had told her and had asked her innumerable questions.

“Did you go to the Gaiety Theatre, Mama?” she enquired, because she had heard her father talk about it.

“Yes, we went there,” her mother replied, “and the Gaiety Girls are really as lovely as Goddesses, just as everybody says they are.”

“Tell me about them, please, tell me about them,” Minella pleaded.

Her mother described how they had travelled to the theatre in a hansom cab.

“It was more thrilling than going in a brougham,” she related, “and we had a box, which again was very extravagant. It is difficult to explain how glamorous the theatre is and how exquisite the scenery and I have been humming the music ever since.”

“Did you enjoy it too, Papa?”

“Every moment,” her father replied, “but I can tell you there was nobody on the stage as beautiful as your mother, even though they looked as though they had floated down from Mount Olympus.”

Because everything they told her had stayed in Minella’s mind, she had said to her father once when they were out riding,

“Why are the Gaiety Girls more attractive than the actresses in other theatres, Papa?”

Her father thought for a moment.

Then he said,

“I do think because they have a grace and beauty and an aura of femininity that is every man’s ideal. When he sees them on the stage, they make him feel that he is very much a man. And that, my dear, is the story of Adam and Eve since the beginning of time.”

This was in fact incomprehensible to Minella but she knew her father well enough to be aware that he liked women to be very feminine, as her mother was.

He always made a point of correcting her if he thought that she was behaving in any other way.

“Don’t shout at me like that!” he had called sharply once when a boy had run across the road in front of her horse and Minella had shouted out to him to be more careful.

“I was afraid you might knock the silly child over,” she had said.

“You could have said the same thing in a much more pleasant manner.”

She had looked at her father in surprise and he had added,

“I want you to be perfect, my darling, just as your mother is, so that one day some lucky man will thank me for all the trouble I have taken over you.”

“You mean the man I shall marry?”

“Of course,” he had replied. “Who else? And make no mistake, whoever is your husband will have gained himself a sublime prize!”

“Suppose I fall in love with somebody who does not fall in love with me?”

“I think it unlikely and, if I find any young whippersnapper trifling with your affections, I will knock his head off!”

Her father had spoken fiercely and Minella had thought it thrilling to have a father who cared so much for her and was ready to fight like a Medieval Knight in her defence.

Now, she thought, her father was no longer here and she would have to look after herself.

As the train drew nearer and nearer to London, she began to think that she had made a mistake.

London was very large and frightening, and from the train she could see row upon row of houses stretching away into what seemed infinity.

‘I should have gone to Aunt Esther’s,’ she told herself.

Then logically she reasoned that if things did not work out in London as she hoped they would, there was always Aunt Esther waiting for her.

She had written a very tactful letter thanking Lady Banton for her kind invitation and saying that she had not yet made up her mind exactly what she would do but intended staying with friends for a few weeks.

She had known that her aunt would be curious, but, as she had given no address, there would be nothing she could do about it.

‘If Connie will not help me,’ Minella told herself, ‘then I must go and find some cheap respectable lodging house while I look around.’

She was sure that Connie would be able to recommend one and, if not, she thought the most sensible thing to do would be to go to the nearest Vicarage and ask the Vicar for help.

That was the sort of thing that one did in the country and, although it might be different in London, there would be Churches and if there were Churches there would be Vicarages and it therefore followed that there would be a Vicar and who else should one turn to in time of trouble?

‘I shall be all right,’ Minella assured herself.

Equally there was an uncomfortable fluttering feeling inside her breast that told her that she was very nervous.

The noise and confusion at the Station was an ordeal in itself, but an elderly porter took pity on her and asked if he could help her.

“I have two trunks in the van,” she said. “My name is Clinton-Wood.”

“I’ll get them for you, miss,” he said. “Now stand ’ere where I can find you again and don’t take no notice of anybody as speaks to you.”

He did not wait for her reply, but pushed his trolley towards the van and she thought it was a strange thing for him to say.

Who was likely to speak to her, she wondered.

Then she thought perhaps he was speaking of pickpockets who she had read about and so she held on tightly to the leather bag that had belonged to her mother.

It did not contain a great deal of money. She was too sensible for that and had put into the Bank most of the one hundred pounds that Mr. Mercer had given to her.

But she had to have enough to cover her expenses and she knew that every penny was of vital significance.

She therefore held her bag with two hands and waited until the porter returned with her trunks on his trolley.

“There you are, miss,” he said. “Now, what do you want to do?”

Minella took out the piece of paper from her handbag, which she had written Connie’s address down on.

“I wish to go there, please. Is it far?”

The porter read the address carefully.

“It’ll cost you a shillin’,” he said, “and you give the man twopence for hisself.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Minella replied. “I am afraid of making mistakes, as I have never been to London before.”

“That be just what I thought, you looks lost and frightened. Why didn’t you stay in the country where you belongs?”

“I have to find work.”

The porter was silent for a moment as he pushed his way through the crowds.

Then he asked her,

“’Ave you got someone to ’elp you?”

“I-I hope so.”

“Well, you’d better be careful,” he said. “I’ve got a daughter your age and I’m always a-worryin’ about her. London ain’t the right place for young pretty girls and that’s a fact!”

“But we have to eat!” Minella said. “And in my case that means I have to work.”

“Well, just you be extra careful of what you gets up to,” the porter went on, “and don’t do anythin’ your father wouldn’t approve of.”

“No, of course not,” Minella agreed.

He then found her an old rather dilapidated-looking Hackney carriage with a horse that seemed too tired to pull anything.

“This’ll be cheaper than one of them smarter ones,” he said as he heaved her trunks up beside the driver.

When he opened the door for Minella to climb in, she asked,

“Please, will you tell me what I should give you? I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“That’s all right,” the porter replied. “If you didn’t ask me, I’d ’ave expected thrupence for what I’ve done for you, but as it is, you keep it. You’re gonna need it yerself. Money soon goes in this ’ere place!”

“You are very kind,” Minella said. “Thank you very much for all you have done for me.”

She held out her hand and the porter shook it.

Then he said,

“Remember what I tells you and be a good girl!”

“Yes, of course,” Minella answered.

As the cabbie drove off, she waved at him and thought how kind he was.

Then she realised that she must look very young and countrified for the porter to be so protective towards her.

‘I hope Connie will not be ashamed of me,’ she murmured to herself.

She remembered how smart Connie had looked the last time she had come home and she thought it odd that her father had not told her that he had seen her when he was in London.

‘It was unlike Papa to be so secretive,’ she thought and then wondered if he had had any reason for it.

The cabbie seemed to drive for a very long way through crowded streets.

Looking out of the window, Minella was fascinated by the variety of vehicles she could see everywhere.

Most of all she found herself riveted by the smart carriages and the broughams drawn by two horses wearing, she was sure, bearing-reins, which she considered cruel.

They were driven by two men on the box wearing crested top hats and extremely smart liveries.

There were also the hansoms that her father had described to her so often, but which she had never seen before.

She laughed at their sloping fronts with the driver high up over the roof and their large wheels and she was surprised at the fast pace they could travel at.

It made her feel that London was as exciting as her father had always thought it to be.

She longed to be able to travel in a hansom, but she was sure that it would be incorrect for a lady to travel alone and that one should be accompanied by a very elegant man wearing a shining top hat slightly on the side of his head.

After they had driven quite a long way down very crowded streets in which there was so much to see that Minella kept looking excitedly from side to side, they turned into a much quieter street.

The carriage stopped outside a high rather ugly building with steps up to the front door and railings half-hiding the basement beneath it.

The cabbie climbed down to open the door for her.

“Shall I carry your trunks in, miss?” he asked.

“Will you wait one moment, please?” Minella asked. “I may not be able to stay here.”

“That’s all right,” he answered, “but don’t be long. I wants to be orf ’ome soon.”

“I will be as quick as I can,” Minella promised.

She ran up the steps and rang the bell, thinking that Connie lived in a very grand house.

It took some moments before the door was opened by a rather slovenly maid in a dirty apron and with her cap crooked on her untidy hair.

“Yus?” she asked in an uncompromising voice.

“Does Miss Connie Langford live here?” Minella enquired.

The maid jerked her thumb upwards.

“Second floor,” she said and without saying anything more she hurried down the narrow stairs that obviously led to the basement.

Surprised at such an abrupt reception, Minella climbed quickly up the stairs, passing the first floor where there were two doors, each having a card tacked onto it bearing a different name.

It was then she understood that this house contained flats and on the second floor must be the flat that Connie had thanked her father for.

When she reached it, there were two doors and she went to the first one and saw that it had a card containing a man’s name.

Then on the second, written in Connie’s own hand was the name she was seeking, Miss Connie Langford.

Now she felt more nervous than she had before but, realising that the cabby was waiting for her, she raised the small brass knocker that was above the card.

The noise she made did not sound very effective and, because she was afraid that Connie would not be at home, she waited for a moment and then knocked on the door again, this time more loudly.

Now she heard footsteps from within and a minute later the door opened and to her relief Connie stood there.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Then, as Minella stared at her for a moment, unable to speak, Connie exclaimed,

“Minella! It cannot be! What are you doing here?”

“I have come to ask you for your help, Connie.”

“My help? Why? Is your father with you?”

“Papa is – dead. Did you not – know?”

For a moment Connie stared at her as if she could hardly believe what she had heard.

Then she said,

“Dead – I just don’t believe it.”

“He died a few weeks ago from a – poisoned hand.”

“But he was – here in London – and I have never known him so – so – ”

Connie stopped.

“We cannot stand here talking about it,” she suggested. “Come on in.”

“I have come to London because I have to find work,” Minella said, “and my luggage is downstairs.”

For a moment Connie was silent.

And then she said,

“You had better tell the cabbie to leave it inside the front door.”

“Yes, of course.”

Minella did not wait to hear anything more, but hurried down the stairs as quickly as she could, feeling that by this time the cabbie would be growing impatient.

However, he lifted her trunks off his cab and carried them upstairs to dump them down just inside the hall on the linoleum, which, Minella noticed, needed cleaning.

While he was doing so, she took a shilling and four pennies out of her purse, thinking that she must give him an extra penny as he had waited so long.

He stared at the coins as if he was somewhat suspicious of them.

Then he asked her,

“Can you make it another tuppence?”

“Yes, of course,” Minella said. “You have been very kind.”

He took the two pennies from her and then looked up the stairs with what she thought was a disdainful glance before he said,

“If you will take me advice, which you won’t, you’ll find somewhere better to stay than this!”

Minella looked at him in surprise.

“What is wrong with it?”

She thought that he was about to say something, but then he changed his mind.

“You’re too young fur this sort of thing,” he said. “Go back to your mother, that’s where you oughta be, and forget London. It ain’t the place for the likes of you!”

He did not wait for her to answer, but clumped down the steps, climbed back on his box and drove off without looking at her again.

As he drove away, Minella gave a little sigh.

It seemed to her very strange that everybody in London seemed to think how young and foolish she was.

‘It must be my clothes,’ she told herself, but she knew that it would be impossible for her to afford any others.

She had thought when her father died that she should wear mourning, but apart from one black gown of her mother’s, which was too elaborate for her to wear in the country, she had nothing black.

After what Mr. Mercer had told her, she thought that it would be an extremely stupid extravagance to spend any of her precious money on clothes.

She was acutely conscious that a few of her father’s personal debts had still to be met sometime and she felt it would seem almost like cheating to buy something frivolous until they were all paid off.

She was therefore feeling worried as she climbed up again to the second floor but just as she reached the open door where Connie was waiting she remembered once again that, if she found herself in real trouble, she could always go to Aunt Esther!

She was stupid to let what the cabbie had said depress her.

“Come in,” Connie said, “and tell me everything from the very beginning. I can hardly credit it that you are here! And it is impossible to believe that your father is dead.”

There was something about the tone of her voice that Minella did not miss and she said,

“I just know how fond you were of him, Connie, even when you were a young girl and I suppose I should have written to you before I came to London.”

Connie did not say anything, but was leading the way into a small but very surprisingly furnished sitting room.

It was unlike any room Minella had ever seen before because it was so frilly and flouncy that it somehow seemed unreal.

A couch stood against one wall covered with cushions of various shapes and sizes, most of them frilled with lace or embroidered with sequins.

There were two armchairs, also filled with cushions, and the curtains, which were a deep pink, had long fringes and were caught back at the sides of the windows with huge bows of pink ribbon.

The carpet was a real riot of roses on a pale blue background, while the walls, instead of being covered with pictures, had posters proclaiming what shows were on at London theatres.

Minella had time only for one quick bewildered glance at it all before Connie made her sit down in a chair and then said in a serious tone,

“Have you really come here to find work?”

“I have to find some way of earning money,” Minella replied simply, “or else go to live with my Aunt Esther in Bath.”

“That would be the best thing for you to do.”

“Oh, no, Connie! You know Aunt Esther. You met her when we were children and I remember you saying how horrible she was because she had said that your hair looked as if it had been dyed.”

Connie laughed.

“Yes, I remember her. I suppose she was being prophetic. But after all, she is your aunt.”

“I know,” Minella said, “but that does not make it any better.”

Connie smiled.

“I understand your feelings, but tell me about your – father.”

Because it hurt to talk about it, Minella did not look at Connie as she told how her father had come back from London with an injured hand and how it had grown worse and worse until the poison spread through his body and killed him.

As she finished speaking, she looked at Connie and saw tears in her eyes.

“How could he – die?” Connie asked. “He was always so alive – always laughing and finding – everything such fun.”

“I know,” Minella agreed, “and now I have nothing and nobody in the world except for Aunt Esther.”

Connie rose and walked to the window to stand with her back to Minella.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

Minella made a helpless little gesture with her hands.

“I really don’t know, but I thought I would be able to find something in London, perhaps looking after children.”

Connie did not answer and after a moment Minella added a little nervously,