“Being a Governess is a terrible life for anyone,” the Duchesse said. “Besides you are my niece.”
Yes, I know. But what else is there? A companion?”
“No woman should be a companion to another woman. You will have to get married, my child.”
Gardenia flushed.
“I hope,” she said a little hesitantly, “as, of course, all girls hope, that one day I shall fall in love. But, first with Papa so ill and then Mama, I have not had much chance of going out or of meeting any men.”
“Yes, you must get married,” the Duchesse insisted firmly. “The difficulty is how we are going to manage it.”
“Could I not stay here for just a little while?” Gardenia asked nervously. “I will not be a bother, Aunt Lily, and perhaps I could help you in the house in some way. I can sew and – ”
The Duchesse made a little gesture with her hands.
“My dear child, I have dozens of servants, dozens of them to do everything for me. But I want to find you a husband and – ”
She stopped and it seemed to Gardenia that there was an expression of embarrassment on her face.
“Oh dear!” the Duchesse exclaimed. “I don’t know what to say. I know of no one I can ask to chaperone you, no one who would accept a young girl on my recommendation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, of course you don’t. But there are problems. It is not that I don’t want you to stay with me, but it is a difficult situation.”
“If you are frightened that I would get in the way of your parties,” Gardenia suggested, “I would not come to them. I could hear how very gay it was last night, but when I wanted to come upstairs and tell you that I had arrived, Lord Hartcourt persuaded me that it would be a stupid thing to do.”
“Lord Hartcourt. Have you met him?”
“Yes, I was waiting in the hall and he and Comte André de – I have forgotten his name – spoke to me.”
She decided not to tell her aunt how the Comte had behaved.
“That must have been André de Grenelle. Did you tell them who you were?”
“I told Lord Hartcourt I was your niece. Was that wrong?”
“No. No, of course not,” the Duchesse answered. “Did he seem surprised?”
“Well, it was rather awkward,” Gardenia explained. “I fainted – I think it was because I had so little food on the journey, and he carried me into the sitting room.”
“That was kind of him. It is very unlike Lord Hartcourt to trouble with anyone. He is a very spoilt and rather difficult young man. When he comes to my parties, I have the feeling that he is looking down his nose at me.”
“Oh, Aunt Lily, how could he do that!” Gardenia exclaimed.
At the same time she had a feeling at the back of her mind that it was exactly what Lord Hartcourt would do.
“So he has seen you and André as well. That makes things rather difficult.”
“But why?” Gardenia asked.
“You would not understand,” the Duchesse said firmly. “Well, we shall have to make the best of it. But if I do let you stay here, Gardenia, you must promise me to do exactly as I tell you. If I tell you to go to bed at a certain time, you must go. If I tell you not to talk to certain people, you must obey me.”
“Of course I would. Oh, Aunt Lily, does that mean you are going to let me stay?”
“I don’t really see what else I can do,” she answered. Then she smiled. “Yes, dear child. It will be nice to have you and, thank God, although you are young, you are not such a beauty that you will entirely eclipse me!”
“Me a beauty!” Gardenia threw back her head and laughed. “Papa always claimed that I never lived up to my name and looked like a modest hedge-rose or a common English daisy, instead of anything as exotic as a gardenia!”
“Nevertheless you have possibilities, we will have to take you in hand and see what can be done. You cannot wear your hair in that old-fashioned untidy fashion and as for that dress, well, it must have come out of the Ark.”
“It is rather old,” Gardenia admitted.
“And you cannot wear black if you stay here with me. It is too depressing. It will make you look too much like a poor relation and that is enough to put any man off. No, Gardenia. If I am to find you a husband, you will have to have proper clothes and look, as everyone will expect you to, like my niece and doubtless, as I have no children, my heir.”
“Oh Aunt Lily! I should not expect anything like that,” Gardenia protested.
“My dear, it is not such an asset as it sounds. I may be a Duchesse and rich, but there are a number of people in Paris who will not be particularly effusive at meeting you for that very reason.”
“But surely, Aunt Lily, as a Duchesse, you must be terribly important and influential.”
The Duchesse looked at her out of the corners of her eyes, seemed about to speak and then changed her mind.
“We shall talk about things like that in good time,” she said. “At the moment we must be concerned with your appearance. I cannot even take you to see Monsieur Worth dressed as you are now.”
She touched a bell at her side and seconds later the door opened and the maid came in.
“Yvonne,” the Duchesse said, “my niece, Mamselle Gardenia, is going to stay with me. She will need clothes and a new hair style and many other things. As soon as I am dressed, I will take her to Worth’s, but I cannot take her looking like this.”
“Non, madame, c’est impossible!” Yvonne almost shouted.
“Very well, Yvonne, find something for her. Perhaps some of my old gowns that I wore when I was thinner can be altered, at least until I can buy her some new things.”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Lily!” Gardenia exclaimed, “not only for the clothes but for saying I can stay. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is for me. I was so frightened of being alone. When Mama died, I thought the end of the world had come but now, because I have you, it is different.”
“Because you have me,” she repeated in a strange voice.
Then she bent forward to let Gardenia kiss her cheek.
“Bless you, my child. I suppose things will work out one way or another.”
“I will do everything you tell me, everything, and I do hope that I shall be able to repay a little of your kindness.”
“That reminds me,” the Duchesse said. “Yvonne, take Mamselle to Monsieur Groise. She has some instructions to give him and please explain that they have my full authority.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” the maid said stiffly and rustled towards the door, obviously expecting Gardenia to follow her.
Gardenia walked a few paces and then looked back.
“Thank you, thank you, Aunt Lily,” she said. “I did not realise until this moment just how terrified I was that you might turn me away.”
“Run along, child. Everything is going to be all right,” the Duchesse assured her.
As the door closed behind Gardenia and Yvonne, the Duchesse lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes.
“Poor child,” she whispered aloud. “How can I ever explain to her? But undoubtedly she will find out sooner or later.”
In the meantime Gardenia, feeling elated, was following Yvonne down the staircase to the hall that she had entered so ignominiously the night before.
There appeared to be a whole army of servants working in the salon as they passed by it and there were cleaners on the stairs, brushing and scrubbing the carpet where food and drink must have been upset the night before.
There were also men and women in aprons polishing the marble hall and Gardenia could not help seeing that some of the pans contained broken pieces of a crystal-glass chandelier.
It seems strange, she thought, that Aunt Lily should give such rough parties but, as she had told herself last night, the French were a very excitable race and not dull and stolid like the English.
Yvonne led her across the hall to a room opposite the one that Lord Hartcourt had carried her into when s
he had fainted.
She knocked and a voice called out, “Entrez” and Yvonne opened the door to disclose a grey-haired middle-aged man sitting at a big desk with piles of papers stacked in front of him.
Yvonne conveyed the Duchesse’s instructions and obviously introduced her to Monsieur Groise, but she spoke so rapidly that Gardenia could not understand all that she said.
Monsieur Groise rose from the desk and held out his hand.
“Enchanté, mamselle,” he said in French and then went on in broken English, “The maid has explained to me that you have something you wish to do and it has her Grace’s approval.”
“It is a number of bills that have to be paid,” Gardenia said a little uncomfortably. She drew the list from the pocket of her black skirt. “I am afraid that there are rather a lot.”
“On the contrary,” Monsieur Groise contradicted, “it is a very small list. Are you quite sure that everyone is included?”
“I don’t think I have missed anyone, but, if I have, perhaps I could come and tell you later?”
“But, of course, mamselle,” he replied. “I am at your service. The cheques shall be sent off today. These people shall all be sent money orders which are cashable at the nearest Post Office. That will make it easy for them, will it not?”
“It will be very kind indeed. I am most grateful.”
“It is a pleasure, mamselle.”
“Thank you,” Gardenia smiled.
Yvonne was waiting for Gardenia at the door of the secretary’s room and she followed her out into the hall.
“We will now go upstairs, mamselle,” the maid said, but, as she spoke, Gardenia saw that the front door was being opened by a footman and she heard a voice that she knew only too well saying,
“Is Her Grace at home now? Will you please inform her Lord Hartcourt and Mr. Bertram Cunningham have called?”
“Her Grace is not at home to any visitors,” the footman responded in French.
Gardenia could now see Lord Hartcourt standing on the doorstep through the open door and, fearing that he could see her, she felt the only thing she could do was to go forward and greet him.
Shyly, with the colour rising in her face, she turned to the door and held out her hand.
“Good morning, Lord Hartcourt,” she began. “I feel I must thank you for your kindness to me last night.”
“I hope you are well this morning,” Lord Hartcourt said, taking off his top hat, “you must have been very tired after your journey.”
“I was indeed very tired,” Gardenia confessed.
“It is not surprising,” a voice interrupted and Gardenia turned to look at Lord Hartcourt’s companion. She saw a tall, very elegantly dressed, dark-haired young man with a small dark moustache and an engaging smile that made her instinctively feel that she should smile back.
“May I introduce my cousin, Bertram Cunningham?” Lord Hartcourt asked. “I am afraid in the circumstances of our encounter last night I was not privileged to learn your name.”
“I am Gardenia Weedon,” Gardenia said and she then felt the warm pressure of Bertram Cunningham’s hand on hers.
“I am so glad that it was an Englishman who was able to welcome you to Paris,” Bertram said. “My cousin was telling me how you arrived in the middle of the night. It must have been a dreadful experience not knowing Paris and having to find your way alone. I insisted that we should call and see how you are this morning. But I can see from looking at you that you are none the worse.”
“I am quite all right now, thank you,” Gardenia pointed out.
“Jolly good!” Bertram smiled.
Gardenia realised suddenly that he was still holding her hand and took it hastily away.
“My cousin and I now wondered if you would like to come and drive with us,” Bertram suggested. “I am just going to take my horses for a turn in the Bois de Boulogne and I feel sure that the air will do you good.”
Gardenia looked to where in the drive there was a very elegant dog cart in the very latest fashion, painted yellow and black with the tandem of black horses with plaited manes and tails.
“How lovely!” she exclaimed involuntarily. “How smart they look.”
“I am indeed very proud of them,” Bertram said. “All the same, if you prefer it, I have a motor car.”
“I much prefer horses,” Gardenia told him, “but I am afraid I cannot come for a drive today. Aunt Lily has planned to take me – ”
She was going to say where they were going, but changed her mind. “ – out with her.”
“You have seen your aunt?” Lord Hartcourt asked her.
Gardenia felt that again he was querying her reception and, recalling how greatly she had resented his advice the night before, she answered rather stiffly.
“Of course. I am glad to say Aunt Lily is delighted to see me. I am going to stay here with her.”
It seemed to her and she did not understand why, that on the last words Lord Hartcourt’s face altered.
It was almost but, of course, that was absurd, as if there was a look of disappointment in his eyes.
“How delightful for you,” he replied in a rather bored tone and turning to his cousin said, “Well, Bertie, if Miss Weedon will not come with us, we must be on our way.”
“Miss Weedon, I shall hope to see you again very shortly,” Bertram said. “As a matter of fact, I believe your aunt has invited me to a party tomorrow night. I promise you, nothing shall keep me away.”
“I shall be very glad to see you,” Gardenia answered. “Goodbye.”
Lord Hartcourt said nothing. It seemed to her that there was something almost aggressive in the manner that he clapped his hat on his head, walked resolutely down the steps in front of Bertram and climbed into the dogcart.
Bertram made to follow him and then turned back.
“Quite sure that you will not change your mind?” he said in a low voice to Gardenia. “I would like to be one of the first to show you Paris.”
“No. I cannot come today,” Gardenia replied, “and anyway, I should have to ask Aunt Lily first.”
“Come tomorrow,” Bertram pleaded. “I am sure that the Duchesse will not mind. I will fetch you about this time. Do you promise?”
“I cannot promise anything,” Gardenia replied, a little embarrassed by his insistence.
“But you must try and arrange it.”
And then, before she could answer, he had run down the steps and was climbing into the dog cart to take the reins in his hands.
As the tandem drove off, Bertram waved at the turn of the drive, but Lord Hartcourt sat looking straight ahead of him and he did not look back.
‘I think he is extremely disagreeable,’ Gardenia said to herself. ‘And I cannot think why but he seems to disapprove of me.’
As she followed Yvonne upstairs, she thought that she would ask the Duchesse if she could go driving with Mr. Bertram Cunningham the next day. It was not anything she would be allowed to do in England without a chaperone but obviously, as he had invited her, things must be different in Paris.
She had always heard that there was much more license in the gay City and so after all why should one need a chaperone to go driving in an open dogcart with a man who would be preoccupied with handling a tandem with skill? It might be different if he asked her to go out in his motor car.
Gardenia remembered that she had heard all sorts of stories about girls who were enticed away on long drives by a man owning a smart motor car and then, after they had refused his advances, had been obliged to walk home.
She somehow felt that Bertram Cunningham was not that type of man. He looked young and jolly and full of fun and, she thought rather wistfully, that it would be exciting to be with someone of her own age, to laugh and be gay and not have to worry about bills or where the next meal was to come from.
Yvonne was leading her up the stairs to the second floor. She passed her aunt’s bedroom and went to the end of the passage, where Yvonne opened the door of a room.
It was a large room and every wall was fitted with cupboards.
“This is Her Grace’s wardrobe,” Yvonne pronounced and started to open the doors to reveal more dresses than Gardenia imagined any woman would have in a lifetime let alone have collected all at one time.
*
Driving towards the Bois de Boulogne after negotiating the heavy traffic round the Arc de Triomphe, Bertram exclaimed,
“An attractive little thing indeed and not at all the sort of niece that one would expect the redoubtable Lily to possess.”
“You yourself told me she came from a decent family,” Lord Hartcourt reminded him.
“Well, that is what my father used to say,” Bertram replied. “What do you think Lily will do with the girl?”
“Apparently Miss Weedon has every intention of staying with her aunt. I learnt last night that she was a very determined young woman,” Lord Hartcourt commented drily.
“Determined?” Bertram exclaimed. “That little English sparrow? Why, she looks as if she has only just fallen out of the nest. I don’t think she is determined about anything. But she would be attractive if she was properly dressed.”
“I imagine the Duchesse will see to that,” Lord Hartcourt murmured.
“The whole thing seems a mystery,” Bertram continued. “This girl comes over, she looks innocent, yet Lily accepts her and apparently she is going to be one of the household. I should not be surprised if André is right and the whole thing is a new stunt. It all seems a bit fishy to me.”
“I expect there is a perfectly good explanation if we but knew it,” Lord Hartcourt said in a bored voice.
“Damn it all, Vane! You are never excited about anything,” Bertram complained. “It will rather amuse me to show the girl a bit of life in Paris. I am fed up with all the blasé collection at Maxim’s. Do you know, when Henry gave Yvette a good diamond bracelet last week, she handed it back to him and said the stones were not big enough.”
“Well, Henry can certainly afford big ones.”
An Innocent in Paris Page 5
