An Innocent in Paris

by Barbara Cartland

  The woman was too used to the vagaries and peculiarities of the customers to argue or even to appear surprised.

  “You can go out this way, mamselle. No one will realise you have gone and you will find a Hackney carriage a little way down the road to the left.”

  Thank you,” Gardenia said. “You are very kind.”

  She gave the woman a five-franc note because it was all the change she had in her bag and the cloakroom attendant was profuse in her thanks.

  “I will say nothing, mamselle, be assured. Only when they will come to enquire why you have been so long will I tell them that you have gone.”

  “Thank you.”

  She walked out into the small dirty courtyard filled with empty wine cases, rubbish bins and stray cats. She walked quickly and purposefully into the street on the other side.

  It took her a few moments to find the cab rank. It was empty, but after she had waited only a few minutes an ancient carriage with an even more ancient horse arrived and so she climbed in and directed the cabman to drive to Mabillon House.

  Only when she was alone did she put her hands up to her eyes to fight back the tears. The shock had left her with a very sharp pain in her breast.

  It was almost as though someone had stabbed her there and she knew that it was exactly what, not Henriette, but Lord Hartcourt had done.

  How could she have been so foolish and quite so stupid, to think he meant anything else? It had never entered her head for one moment that, when he said he would take her away and look after her, he had not meant to marry her.

  She supposed her folly arose from the way she had been brought up to know that she was a lady and that in the world in which she and her parents lived, if a gentleman made love to a young girl, it would obviously end in an offer of marriage.

  She thought of Henriette and realised how pitifully inadequate she was to compete with such a gorgeous and glamorous creature.

  Henriette was right. It was most unlikely that she could hold Lord Hartcourt’s attention for any length of time and now humiliatingly she realised where he had been about to install her.

  The house he had spoken about was, of course, the one that was occupied at the moment by Henriette.

  Gardenia closed her eyes. It seemed to her that she sank down into the very depths of degradation.

  Then she remembered what Henriette had said about Aunt Lily. Could it be true?

  Was everyone tainted, dirty and evil in this City?

  Gardenia had an overwhelming impulse to run away, to go back to England, to pretend this whole journey had never happened and to find somewhere among her own people to live in decency and with self-respect.

  But she had no money, she had nothing. The clothes she wore had been bought for her by her aunt, a relation who could be called a foul name by a prostitute.

  Twice during the journey back to Mabillon House, Gardenia felt that she must faint. In the horror that possessed her and with Henriette’s words, which seemed to echo and re-echo in her ears, haunting her mind she recalled her conversations with the men she had met since she came to Paris and saw they had very different meanings from how in her innocence she had interpreted them.

  She understood now what Bertie had been hinting at and the Comte had tried to convey to her. She knew why men had leered at her at Mabillon House and why those who spoke to her in the Park had stared as if they mentally undressed her.

  ‘I must go away! I must go away!’ she whispered to herself and wondered despairingly where she could go and what she could do.

  The old and smelly Hackney carriage drew up at Mabillon House and a footman opened the door for her to step out

  “Pay the cabman, please,” she said and walked up the steps.

  She felt stronger now, ready to face her aunt and challenge her with what she had heard. She knew it was true, but she wanted her aunt to confirm it and to make sure that she was not making yet another mistake.

  Having been deceived once because she was so stupid, so inexperienced and knew so little of the world, she did not want to add to this chapter of stupidity.

  The Major Domo came hurrying into the hall.

  “Where is Her Grace?” she asked him and even to herself her voice sounded sharp.

  “Her Grace has not yet come downstairs,” the Major Domo replied. “The motor car has been ordered for one-forty-five.”

  He glanced at the clock.

  “It is only one-forty, mamselle.”

  “I will go up to her,” Gardenia said more to herself than to the Major Domo.

  Even as she put her hand on the balustrade, she heard a familiar voice at the door.

  “I wish to speak to Miss Weedon.”

  The footman opened the door wider and she saw Bertie standing there.

  “Gardenia, I must speak to you at once. It is of the utmost importance,” he breathed.

  “I am so sorry – ” Gardenia began, feeling that she disliked Bertie as well as he too had wished to despoil her innocence and drag her down to the level of Henriette and her like.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” he said almost roughly. “I told you this was important.”

  He took her arm and to her surprise dragged her almost forcibly into the small drawing room where Lord Hartcourt had taken her that very first night after she had fainted.

  He walked in, closed the door behind him and stood against it almost dramatically.

  “What is the matter?” Gardenia asked.

  She was impatient with him, irritated by anything that came between her and her aunt at this particular moment.

  “Listen, Gardenia, I have come here, when I should not have done, to warn you,” he said. “Your aunt is going to be arrested.”

  Gardenia stared at him as though he had taken leave of his senses.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Pierre Gozlin has been with the Sûreté since midnight last night. I am told that he has confessed that he has been selling French Military secrets to the Germans and then accepting payment from Baron von Knesebech.”

  “From the Baron?” Gardenia exclaimed. “But surely my aunt – ”

  “Your aunt is very deeply involved,” Bertie interrupted. “I have no reason to doubt my informants who have inside knowledge of exactly what has happened.”

  “The Baron – the Baron must save her!” Gardenia cried.

  “The Baron has already left Paris.”

  “Then Aunt Lily will have to face this alone – ”

  Bertie then chimed in,

  “Don’t you see, Gardenia, there is only one thing you can do. Get away, get out now at once. I am not worrying about your aunt, but you. I don’t want you to get mixed up in this because you have lived in the house. The Sûreté will never believe that you were not part of the whole damn spy ring.”

  Gardenia felt the blood drain away from her face.

  If Lord Hartcourt related how she had gone to his rooms at the Embassy, no one would believe her innocence.

  “What can we do? Where can we go?”

  “It does not matter, but you realise that your aunt’s money will be frozen until after the trial. She will be taken off to prison and I would not give tuppence for her chances of being exonerated. The French are very bitter against the Germans at present.”

  Gardenia drew in her breath.

  “Then I will take her away now,” she said. “We had best go to England.”

  “I thought you would say that!” Bertie exclaimed. “But no! That would be dangerous. They will expect you to go to England because you are English. Go to Monte Carlo, it is an independent State and you can board a ship from there.”

  He drew his watch out of the pocket of his waistcoat.

  “Not yet two o’clock. There is a train leaving the Gare de Lyon at two-forty-five. You can catch that.”

  ‘But it is impossible,’ Gardenia was going to say and then changed her mind. “We – will do it.”

  “Good girl. I thought that you would not fail,
” Bertie said. “And now I must go, you do understand? I have perhaps risked my whole career by coming here to warn you.”

  “I am grateful, deeply grateful,” Gardenia murmured.

  “Hurry,” Bertie implored her. “They may he here at any time. When the French start to act, they act swiftly.”

  He started to open the door for her to pass out. Gardenia stopped and looked at him.

  “Thank you, Bertie,” she said again. “You have been very kind.”

  She lifted her face and kissed him gently on the cheek, the kiss of a sister for a brother.

  He smiled down at her.

  “It is you I am worrying about,” he stressed in a low voice.

  She nodded and ran across the hall and up the stairs. She was panting when she reached the second floor, not only from the speed with which she had climbed the stairs but from the fear growing within her.

  She burst into her aunt’s bedroom without knocking.

  The Duchesse was sitting in front of the mirror, putting the last finishing touches to her toilette, which had just been completed by Yvonne and her two assistant lady’s maids.

  “Ah, there you are, dear child,” Aunt Lily said. “I was just going to send up to your room to see if you wished to come driving with me.”

  “I want to speak to you alone, Aunt Lily,” Gardenia said breathlessly.

  She glanced at the maids who started to leave the room.

  “Alone?” the Duchesse echoed, raising her eyebrows. “How charming you look today. Gardenia. That gown is a masterpiece. Only Monsieur Worth could have created anything so exquisitely young.”

  Gardenia was not listening. She was closing the door behind Yvonne, who passed her with a disagreeable face, obviously affronted at being sent away from the room.

  Gardenia closed the door and locked it.

  “Listen, Aunt Lily, we have to leave immediately.”

  What do you mean?” The Duchesse asked.

  “Pierre Gozlin was arrested last night and he has confessed everything.”

  There was no need to say anything more. She knew by the stricken look on her aunt’s face that Aunt Lily was well aware of the consequences of a confession from Pierre Gozlin.

  “We have to catch the two-forty-five,” Gardenia informed her.

  “To Monte Carlo?” the Duchesse asked.

  “Mr. Cunningham thinks that they will be watching the Ports and perhaps the Railway Stations and are expecting us to go to England.”

  “The Baron – I must tell the Baron!” the Duchesse cried.

  “He already knows,” Gardenia said bitterly. “He has left Paris and he did not trouble to warn you.”

  Her aunt put her hands up to her face with a gesture of utter despair.

  “There is no time to think about anything, we have to pack,” Gardenia urged. “I will call the maids. I will tell them that we are going to England. You understand? We are going to England because you have had bad news. Yvonne is to be told to pack everything else and you will let her know where to bring it later. Do you understand. Aunt Lily?”

  She walked over to her aunt and shook her by the arm. It seemed to her as though the older woman was taking in nothing.

  “Yes, I understand,” Aunt Lily said slowly in a muffled voice.

  Gardenia unlocked the door and went out into the passage.

  “Her Grace has had bad news,” she said to Yvonne. “We have to leave immediately to catch the train for England. Pack as much as you can.”

  Her last few words were spoken over her shoulder. She was already running up the next flight of stairs to her own room.

  She rang the bell for Jeanne, told her to pack her new dresses and then ran downstairs again, clutching her own passport, to find Monsieur Groise.

  “The Duchesse has to leave for England,” she said, wondering how often she would have to tell this particular lie. “Her Grace wants her passport and all the money that you have for the journey.”

  Monsieur Groise opened the drawer of his desk.

  “Her Grace lost a great deal of money the other night at the card table,” he said. “I was going to the Bank tomorrow morning. I am afraid we have very little at this moment in the house.”

  “Give me what you have,” Gardenia said.

  He handed her what seemed to her a thick wad of notes and she wondered how long it would have to last.

  She hurried upstairs again. Aunt Lily was sitting where she had left her, but Yvonne was packing.

  Gardenia glanced at the clock.

  “We have to leave in five minutes.”

  The Duchesse roused herself and gave a little despairing cry.

  “My jewels. We cannot go without my jewels.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Gardenia knew where the safe was in the anteroom to the Duchesse’s bedroom.

  She lifted down the heavy leather jewel case, which stood on the shelf above the safe and then she had to go back to her aunt for the key.

  It all took time and every nerve in her body was screaming out hurry, hurry, hurry! She unlocked the safe and then pulled it open. The heavy door swung back to reveal the specially made jewel cases all arranged on little tin shelves.

  Gardenia took them out one by one and started to place them in their right compartments in the jewel case. There did not seem to be very many.

  “Is this all?” she called through the open door.

  It was Yvonne who answered her, not her aunt.

  “I took her Grace’s emeralds and the sapphire set to Cartier yesterday. They were to be cleaned and sent back tomorrow.”

  Gardenia slammed the case shut.

  “We must go,” she said to her aunt.

  Unsteadily the Duchesse rose to her feet. It seemed to Gardenia as though her willpower had stopped and she could only do what she was told and would obey any order given to her.

  “Her Grace cannot travel like this,” she said to Yvonne.

  The maid hurried to the wardrobe and brought back a pale cream travelling coat made of thin gaberdine.

  “Perhaps Her Grace would take her sables over her arm in case it is chilly on the boat,” she suggested.

  “Yes, yes, of course, that is a good idea,” Gardenia agreed.

  She saw another coat there like the one that Aunt Lily was wearing.

  “I will take this one for myself,” she said. “It will be too big, but it does not matter.”

  Anything, she thought, to hide their grand dresses, so ridiculously smart and unsuitable for travelling.

  The bags were carried downstairs. It was two o’clock and Yvonne kept muttering about things that had been left behind.

  “Shoes for the blue dress, I am not certain I put them in.”

  “Never mind,” Gardenia answered. “You can send them on later.”

  She had no idea what Jeanne had put in her own box, it was the same shabby, worn trunk that she had arrived with in Paris.

  The trunks were on top of the motor car and now she helped Aunt Lily in and sat beside her.

  “The Gare du Nord,” she said in a loud voice and they were off, the servants standing in a little clump on the doorstep staring after them.

  Gardenia had meant to change from the car into a taxi at some convenient spot, now she realised that there was no time. Getting the trunks downstairs and saying ‘goodbye’ had all taken time. It was twenty minutes past two. They would have to hurry or they would miss the train.

  She picked up the speaking tube.

  “I have told you the wrong Station,” she said to the chauffeur. “Please drive to the Gare de Lyon.”

  “Very good, miss,” and she realised that he was not French but English. Aunt Lily had two chauffeurs, one called Arthur had been with her a long time. She had brought him over when she bought her first Rolls-Royce and he was the one driving them now.

  What was even more providential, there was no footman on the box. The Major Domo had murmured something when they were leaving about there not being time to
get one into uniform and he was hoping that her Grace would excuse it.

  It was providential too, Gardenia thought. Arthur could be trusted, Arthur was English.

  Moving from the back seat she sat on the smaller seat and opened the glass panel behind the chauffeur’s head.

  “Listen, Arthur,” she said in a low voice. “Drive quickly, it is essential that Her Grace should catch the two-forty-five train. She is going to Monte Carlo not to England. There is trouble, serious trouble and I want your help.”

  “Indeed, miss.”

  It was the slow, unsurprised unhurried voice of a good English servant.

  “Yes, Arthur. Very serious trouble. There are going to be questions. The French Police will be at Mabillon House perhaps when you return. You have been with her Grace a long time. Will you help her now?”

  “I’ll do anything in my power. She’s been a good Mistress to me.”

  “Then listen, Arthur. You have to swear, however hard they question you, that her Grace went to the Gare du Nord. I want them to think she has gone to England, do you understand? At any rate until we have reached Monte Carlo.”

  “I understand, miss.”

  There was a pause and then the man asked with a sort of apologetic note in his voice,

  “Is it something to do with that German Baron, miss?”

  Servants knew everything, Gardenia reflected.

  “Yes, Arthur, it is.”

  “I never did like him,” the chauffeur said, almost beneath his breath.

  “Then keep to your story,” Gardenia insisted. “All the servants in the house have been told that Her Grace has gone to England.”

  “They won’t get anythin’ out of me, miss. Don’t you worry a bit,” Arthur said stolidly.

  Gardenia had almost turned away and was about to close the connecting window when he added,

  “Tell you what, miss. I’ve got an idea. When I leave you here, I’ll drive to the Gare du Nord, hang round for a bit and hope one of those nosy parkers sees the motor car. You know what it is with Policemen, they’ve got eyes all over their heads.”

  “Yes, that is a good idea,” Gardenia nodded.

  She felt somehow comforted as she was being helped by one of her own countrymen.