THE SILK.

VENDETTA.

Victoria Holt.

He was on the stairs a little ahead of me. Suddenly he turned and said: "Listen. Did you hear that?"

I stood very still listening and turned to stare back down into the dark chamber. "No, I can hear nothing," I said.

Then I heard him laugh. While my back was turned he had been mounting the stairs. He started to run up them and he was well ahead of me. I heard the key turn in the lock.

A terrible fear came over me.

I was alone . . . locked in the house of the dead.

Contents.

The Silk House.

The Engagement.

The Florentine Adventure.

Tragedy in the Forest.

The Salon.

Meetings in the Park.

Carsonne.

Blackmail.

The Reason Why.

The Silk House.

As I grew out of childhood it began to dawn on me that there was something rather mysterious about my presence in The Silk House. I did not quite belong and yet I felt a passionate attachment to the place. To me it was a source of wonder; I used to dream about all the things which had happened there and all the people who had lived in it over the centuries.

Of course, it had changed somewhat since those days. The Sallongers had changed it when Sir Francis's ancestor bought it just over a hundred years before. He it was who had renamed it The Silk House-a most incongruous name, even though there was a reason for it. I had seen some old papers which Philip Sallonger had shown me-for he shared my interest in the house-and in these the house was named as the King's Hunting Lodge. Which King? I wondered. Perhaps the wicked Rufus had come riding this way. It might have been William the Conqueror himself. Normans had loved their forests and revelled in their hunting. But that was probably going back in time a little too far.

There it proudly stood as though the trees had retreated to make room for it. There were gardens which must have been made in Tudor days. The walled one was evidence of this with red bricks enclosing the beds of herbs round the pond with the statue of Hermes poised over it as though ready for flight.

But the forest surrounded it and from the top windows one could see the magnificent trees-oak, beech and horse chestnut-so beautiful in the spring, so splendid in the summer, magnificent in the autumn with their variegated coloured leaves just before they fell making a carpet for our feet through which we loved to shuffle noisily; but none the less beautiful when the winter denuded them of their foliage and they made intriguing patterns against the grey and often stormy skies.

It was a big house and had been enlarged by the Sallongers when they came. They used it as a country residence. They also had a town house where Sir Francis spent most of his time and when he was not there he would be travelling through the country, for besides his headquarters in Spitalfields there were factories in Macclesfield and other parts of England. His grandfather had received his knighthood because he was one of the biggest silk manufacturers in the country and therefore an asset to society.

The ladies of the household would have preferred not to be in trade, but silk was more important to Sir Francis than anything else; and it was hoped that Charles and Philip would be the same when the time came for them to join their father in carrying on with the production of that most beautiful of all materials. So because of the family's fervour for the product which had enriched them, and with a complete disregard for historical association, the words The Silk House had been set up over the ancient gateway in big bronze letters.

I could not remember any place but The Silk House being my home. It was a strange position in which I found myself, and it surprised me that I did not question this earlier. I suppose children take most things for granted. They have to. They know of nothing else but that by which they are surrounded.

I was there in the nursery with Charles, Philip, Julia and Cassandra who was usually known as Cassie. It did not occur to me that I was like a cuckoo in the nest. Sir Francis and Lady Sallonger were Papa and Mama to them; to me they were Sir Francis and Lady Sallonger. Then there was Nanny-the autocrat of the nursery-who would often regard me with pursed lips from which would emerge a little puffing sound which indicated a critical state of mind. I was called simply Lenore- not Miss Lenore; the others were always Miss Julia and Miss Cassie. It was apparent in the attitude of Amy the nursery maid who always served me last at meals. I had the toys which Julia and Cassie discarded although at Christmas there would be a doll or something special of my own. Miss Everton, the governess, would sometimes look at me with an expression bordering on disdain; and she seemed to resent the fact that I could learn faster than Julia or Cassie. So I should have been warned.

Clarkson, the butler, ignored me; but then he ignored the other children, too. He was a very important gentleman who ruled below stairs with Mrs. Dillon, the cook. They were the aristocrats of the servants' hall where the observance of class distinction was more rigid than it was upstairs. Each of the servants was in a definite niche from which he or she could not emerge. Clarkson and Mrs. Dillon kept as stern a watch on protocol as I imagine would be in existence at the court of Queen Victoria. All the servants had their places at the table for meals- Clarkson at one end, Mrs. Dillon at the other. On the right hand side of Mrs. Dillon was Henry the footman. Miss Logan-Lady Sallonger's lady's maid, when she ate in the kitchen which she did not always do for she could have her meals taken up to her room-was on the other side of Clarkson. Grace, the parlourmaid, was next to Henry. Then there were May and Jenny, the housemaids, Amy the nursery maid and Carrie the tweeny. When Sir Francis came to The Silk House, Cobb, the coachman, joined them for meals, but he was mostly in London; and there he had his own mews cottage attached to the London home. There were several grooms but they had their quarters over the stables, which were quite extensive, for besides horses to ride, there was a gig and a dog cart. And of course Sir Francis's carriage was housed there when he came to The Silk House.

That was below stairs; and in that no-man's land between the upper and lower echelons of society, as though floating in limbo, was the governess, Miss Everton. I often thought she must be very lonely. She had her meals in her room-taken up grudgingly by one of the maids. Nanny, of course, ate in her own room adjoining the nursery; there she had a spirit stove on which she cooked a little, if she did not fancy the food served in the kitchen; and there always seemed to be a fire burning in the grate which had a hob for her kettle from which she brewed her many cups of tea.

I often thought about Miss Everton, particularly when I realized that I was in a similar position.

Julia was over a year older than I; the boys were several years our senior, the elder being Charles. They seemed very grand and grown up. Philip chiefly ignored us but Charles would bully us when the mood took him. Julia was inclined to be imperious; she was hot-tempered and now and then flew into uncontrollable rages. She and I quarrelled a good deal. Nanny would say: "Now Miss Julia. Now Lenore. Stop that. It's jangling on my nerves." Nanny was rather proud of her nerves. They always had to be considered.

Cassie was different. She was younger than either of us. I heard it said that she had given Lady Sallonger "a hard time when she came along" and that there could be no more. It was the reason for Cassie's affliction. I had heard the servants whispering about "instruments" when they eyed her in a manner which made me think of the rack and thumbscrews of the Inquisition. They were referring to Cassie's right leg, which had not grown as long as the left and as a result she limped. She was small and pale and pronounced "delicate." But she was of a gentle, loving disposition and her disability had not soured her in the least. She and I loved each other dearly. We used to read and sew together. We were both adept with the needle. I think my proficiency was due to Grand'mere.

Grand'mere was the most important person in my life. She was mine-the only one in the household to whom I really belonged. She and I were apart from the rest of the household. She liked me to have meals with the other children although I should have loved to have them with her; she liked me to go with them on their riding lessons; and particularly she wanted me to study with them. Grand'mere was a part of the mystery. She was my Grand'mere and not theirs.

She lived at the very top of the house in the big room which had been built by one of the Sallongers. It had big windows and the roof even was of glass to let the light in. Grand'mere needed the light. In that room she had her loom and sewing machine and there she worked through the days. Beside the machine were the dressmaker's dummies-like effigies of real people . . . three shapely ladies of various sizes, often clothed in exquisite garments. I had names for them: Emmeline was the small one, Lady Ingleby the middle size and the Duchess of Malfi was the largest. Bales of material came to the house from Spitalfields. Grand'mere used to draw the gowns first and then set about making them. I shall never forget the smell of those bales of materials. They had strange exotic names which I learned. As well as fine silks, satins and brocades there were lustrings, ala-modes, paduasoys, velvets and ducapes. I would often sit listening to the whir of the machine and watching Grand'mere's little black slipper working at the treadle.

"Hand me those scissors, ma petite," she would say. "Bring me the pins. Ah, what should I do without my little helper." Then I felt happy, "You work very hard, Grand'mere," I said to her one day.

"I am this lucky lady," she replied. She spoke a mixture of French and English which was different from the speech of anyone else. In the school room we did a kind of laboured French, announcing our possession of a pen or a dog or a cat and asking the way to the post office. Julia and Cassie had to struggle with it far more earnestly than I, who, because I lived so close to Grand'mere, could deliver the words with ease and a different accent from that of Miss Everton, which did not please her.

Grand'mere went on: "I am here in this beautiful house with my little one. I am happy. She is happy. She is growing into a lalented lady. Oh yes you are. It is here that you will get that which will make you get on in the world. This is the good life here, mon amour."

I loved the way she said mon amour. It reminded me that she loved me very dearly-more than anyone else did.

She never joined the rest of the household. It was only when she was making dresses for the family that she came down to the drawing room to see Lady Sallonger, which was because Lady Sallonger was too delicate to mount the stairs to be fitted.

Each afternoon Grand'mere took a walk in the gardens. I often joined her then and we would sit in the pond garden and talk. There was always plenty to talk about with Grand'mere. A great deal of it was about the materials and how they were woven and what sort of dresses would be most suitable for them. Grand'mere was at The Silk House to design dresses and to show how materials should be made up in the way most suitable for them. A kind of brake would arrive, drawn by two horses which had come the sixteen miles from Spitalfields to Epping Forest, and the bales would be carried up to the top of the house. I would dash up to examine them with Grand'mere.

She would grow ecstatic. She was very excitable. She would hold the materials to her cheek and sigh. Then she would drape them round me and clasp her hands in ecstasy, her bright brown eyes shining with enthusiasm. We looked forward to the arrival of the bales.

Grand'mere was quite an important person in the household. She made her own rules. I supposed she could have taken her meals with the family had she wished. But she was as autocratic in her way as Clarkson and Mrs. Dillon were in theirs.

Her meals were carried up to the top of the house and none of the housemaids dared show the slightest resentment, for Grand'mere had an air of great dignity and authority. Oh yes, she was certainly an important person in the household. She accepted these services in a different way from Miss Everton, who always felt she had to make sure that she received the deference due to her. Grand'mere just behaved as though there was no need to stress her importance for they all must be aware of it.

When I began to discover that I was different from the other children it was a great relief to remember that Grand'mere and I belonged together. On the rare occasions when Sir Francis came to The Silk House, he always visited Grand'mere. They talked about the materials, of course, and he discussed all sorts of things with her.

It was because of this that she was regarded with some awe by the rest of the household. The top rooms of the house were ours. There were four of them: the big light workroom; our bedrooms-two small rooms with narrow slits of windows and a communicating door between them; and a small sitting room.

The small rooms were part of the old house-the workroom, of course, having been added by a Sallonger.

"This is our domain," said Grand'mere. "Here we are in our little kingdom. This is yours and mine . . . and here we are kings in our little castle . . . but perhaps I say queens, eh?"

She was a small woman with masses of hair which had once been black and now had streaks of white in it. She wore it piled high on her head with a Spanish comb sparkling in it. She was very proud of her hair.

"The hair must always be . . . elegant," she said. "Even the finest satin and best silk in the whole world will give you little ... if there is no style in the hair." Her eyes were large; they sparkled with joy or blazed with indignation, or could go cold with contempt or light up with love. They betrayed each and every one of Grand'mere's moods. They were her great beauty, of course-they and her hair. She had long slender fingers, and I shall always remember their darting movements over patterns she had made as she cut out the dress materials on the big table in the workroom. She was so slight that sometimes I feared she would float away. I told her this and added: "What should I do if you did?"

Usually she laughed at my fancies but she did not laugh at that one. She was very serious.

"All will be well with you . . . always ... as it was with me. I could stand on these two feet. . . from the time I was a young girl. It is because there is something I can do well. That is what there must be. Something . . . anything . . . better than others . . . and there will always be a place for you in the world. You see, I fashion a work of art with a bale of cloth, a sewing machine and a pair of scissors. . . . Oh, but it is more than that. Anyone can work the treadle, anyone can cut. . . cut. . . cut. No, it is a little something . . . the inspiration . . . the little bit of genius which you bring to your trade. That is what counts. And if you have that . . . there will always be a place for you. You, my little one, will walk in my footsteps. I will show you the way. And then . . . whatever happens, you have nothing to fear. Always I will watch over you.''

I knew she would.

It was no hardship for me to learn from her. When the bales came in, she would make sketches and ask my opinion. When I drew a design myself she was delighted. She showed me where I had gone wrong and then put in a few deft touches; it was a design which was used in the end. "Lenore's gown," she called it. I always remembered it because it was made of a lovely shade of lavender. Afterwards Grand'mere told me that Sir Francis was very pleased. It was the right gown for the material.

When the dresses had been seen by Sir Francis and some of his managers, they were packed up and taken away. Then fresh bales arrived. There was a very exclusive salon in London where they were sold. This was another branch of the Sallonger silk empire.

I remember well the day when she talked to me and told me how we came to be living here at The Silk House.

I had gone to her perplexed. We had been riding for we had riding lessons every day. One of the grooms always took us. We had begun by riding round the paddock; there was a jump there, too.

Julia was a good horsewoman. I was quite good, too. Cassie could not get on with it. I think she was rather frightened of the horses although she had been given the mildest in the stables. I always kept my eyes on her when we cantered or galloped round the paddock and I think she took special comfort from this fact.

When we had finished riding, Julia said: "I smell something good cooking in the kitchen."

So we went there.

"You got mud on your boots?" demanded Mrs. Dillon.

"No we have not, Mrs. Dillion," retorted Julia.

'' Well, I'm glad of that because I don't want none of that mud in my kitchen, Miss Julia."

"The cakes smell good," said Julia.

"And so they should ... the goodness that's in them."

We all sat down at the table and looked at Mrs. Dillon ap-pealingly and with something like adoration at the batch of cakes which had just come out of the oven.

"All right then," said Mrs. Dillon grudgingly. "But that Miss Everton wouldn't like it. Nor Nanny neither . . . eating between meals indeed. You should wait for your proper tea time."

"That's hours away," said Julia. "That one for me."

"Miss Greedy-Guts, that's what you are," said Mrs. Dillon. "That's the biggest."

"A compliment to you, Mrs. Dillon," I reminded her.

"I don't want no compliments thank you, Lenore. I know what my cakes is ... and that is good. There. One for you, Miss Julia. One for you, Miss Cassie. And one for you, Lenore."

I noticed it then. Miss Julia. Miss Cassie . . . and Lenore.

I pondered on this for some time and chose the opportunity when I was sitting in the pond garden with Grand'mere. I asked why it was that I was never called Miss, but just plainly by my name like Grace or May or one of the servants.

Grand'mere was silent for a moment, then she said: ' 'These servants are very . . . how is it... aware. That is it. They are very aware of little things . . . like who should be called this or that. . . who should have this place or that. You are my granddaughter. That is not like being the daughter of Sir Francis and Lady Sallonger. Therefore people like Mrs. Dillon . . . they will say . . . 'Oh, no Miss for her!' "

"You mean I am in the same group as Grace or May?"

She pursed her lips, lifted her hands and swayed from side to side. She used her hands and shoulders a great deal in conversations which was very expressive.

"We are not going to worry ourselves with the ways of such as Mrs. Dillon. We smile. We say, Oh, so it is like that, is it? Very well. What is it going to mean to me not to be called Miss. What is Miss? It is just a nothing. You are as well without the Miss."

"Yes, but why, Grand'mere?"

"It is simple. You are not a daughter of the house, so you cannot have a Miss from Mrs. Dillon."

"When the Dallington girls come over to tea and to play with us, they are called Miss . . . and they are not daughters of the house. Are we servants here, Grand'mere?"

"We serve ... if that is servants. Perhaps. But we are here together . . . you and I... we live well. We are at peace. Why do we worry about a little Miss?"

"I only want to know, Grand'mere. What are we doing in this house which we are not of?"

She hesitated for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "We came here when you were eight months old. Such a lovely baby you were. I thought it good for you to come here. Here we could be together ... the Grand'mere and her little one. I thought we could be happy here and they promised that you should have the education ... the upbringing of a daughter of the house. But we did not talk of 'Miss.' So that is why it is not given you. Who wants to be Miss? You do not. Come, little one. There is more to life than the little word Miss."

"Tell me about our coming here. Why is it that I have no father... no mother?"

She sighed. "This has to come," she said as though to herself. ' 'Your mother was the most beautiful and lovely girl that ever lived. Her name was Marie Louise. She was my child, my little one, mon amour. We lived in the village of Villers-Mure. It was beautiful. The sun shone often and it was warm. Summer is summer in Villers-Mure. You wake up and you know the sun will be shining all through the day. Not as here . . . when it peeps out and goes away again and can't make up its mind."

"Do you want to be in Villers-Mure?"

She shook her head vehemently. "I want to be here. Here is where I now belong . . . and so do you, ma petite. This is where you will be happy . . . and one day you will not care whether they call you Miss or not.''

"I don't care now, Grand'mere. I only wanted to know."

"Villers-Mure is far away from here. It is right across the land of France and you know, do you not-for the good Miss Everton will have told you-that France is one big country . . . bigger than this little island. There are mountains and little towns and villages . . . and just over the border is Italy. The mulberries grow well there and that means . . . silk. These little worms who spin the silk for us love the mulberry leaves and where these grow well, there will be the silk."

' 'So you have always known about silk?''

' 'Villers-Mure is the home of the silk worm . . . and silk was our way of living. Without silk there would be no Villers-Mure. The St. Allengeres have always lived there and may it please the good God they always will. Let me tell you. The St. Allengeres live in a beautiful place. It is rather like this house . . . only there is no forest , . . but mountains. It is a grand house . . . the home of the St. Allengeres for centuries. There are lawns and flowers and trees and a river which runs through the grounds. All around are the little houses where the workmen live with their families. There is the big manufactory. It is beautiful. . . white with splashes of colour about the walls for the oleanders and the bougainvilleas grow well there. There are the murer-aies-the mulberry groves-and they have the best silk worms in the world. Theirs are the finest looms . . . better than anything they have in India or China . . . which perhaps are the homes of the silk. Some of the best silk in the world comes from Villers-Mure."

"And you lived there and you worked for these St. Allengeres?"

She nodded. "We had a pretty little house ... the best of them all. Flowers covered the walls. It was beautiful; and my daughter, my Marie Louise, was very happy. She was a girl who was made for happiness. She found laughter everywhere. She was beautiful. You have her eyes. They dance; they laugh; but they were never stormy as yours can be, my little one. They were darkest blue . . . like yours and her hair was almost black . . blacker than yours, soft and rippling. She was a beauty. She saw no evil in anything. She was unaware . . . and she died."

"How did she die?"

"She died when you were born. It happens sometimes. She should not have died. I would have cared for her as I have cared for you. I should have made the world a happy place for her. But she died . . . but she left me you . . . and that makes me happy."

"And my father?" I asked.