Читать книгу An Innocent In Paris - Barbara Cartland - Страница 4

The Duchesse propped herself up on her pillows. Obviously the cachet faivre had begun to work and she looked slightly less exhausted.

“I think you had better start at the beginning of the story, Gardenia,” she said. “What has happened?”

Gardenia, who was deathly pale, clasped her hands together, striving for self-control and trying to keep her voice steady.

“We have been desperately poor since my father died,” she began in a low voice. “I often suggested to my mother that she should write to you and tell you about the circumstances that we found ourselves in. But she did not want to trouble you.”

The Duchesse gave a little cry.

“I never thought of it. How terrible of me! And I am so rich that I have had everything!” She put her hands to her eyes and went on in a voice that trembled with emotion, “You must forgive me. I am bitterly ashamed.”

“I did not want to upset you, Aunt Lily, but when my father was alive it was different. He was proud, very proud.”

The Duchesse then interposed,

“He resented my giving your mother very expensive presents. She told me once that he minded because he wanted so much to give her everything himself.”

“That was true,” Gardenia said in a low voice. “Yet it was not presents we needed but food.”

“I had never thought of that,” the Duchesse confessed. “When your father died and your mother wrote and told me, but I imagined it was only decent to wait for a while and then – yes, Gardenia, I admit it went out of my head.”

“We were in debt after my father died with doctors to pay, nurses and the chemist and all sorts of trades-people for the little delicacies that were all he could eat in the last months. We sold many items out of the house, silver and furniture. Of course, we did not get very much for them. Actually, we did not have very much to sell.”

“It is humiliating,” the Duchesse whispered. “How could I have been such a fool?”

“You could not have known. My mother would not let me write and tell you even though I did suggest it, not once but at least a dozen times.”

“If only I had known,” the Duchesse muttered.

“There was really no one we could turn to for help and you know that Papa’s family cut him off when he married Mama. He has never spoken to them nor seen any of them since.”

“That was not surprising,” the Duchesse said. “They were furious. I remember seeing some of the letters they wrote, but I suppose from their point of view it was beyond the pale to jilt your bride two days before your marriage simply because you had met someone who you had fallen in love with at first sight!”

“Mama used to tell me about it,” Gardenia replied. “She said that the moment she saw Papa she knew that he was the hero of all her dreams. Then he spoke to her and they both knew that this was something very different, something just so wonderful that they could only stand and stare at each other.”

“It is what every woman prays might happen to her,” the Duchesse said with a little sigh.

“I suppose there was nothing else they could do but run away. There was Papa engaged to Lord Melchester’s daughter and to be married in two days’ time – and Mama was just a nobody.”

“I would not say that,” the Duchesse reacted quickly. “Your grandfather was a country gentleman and a Captain in the Hussars when he was young. He did not have much money, but we were not poverty-stricken and so we considered ourselves as good as anyone else in the County of Herefordshire.”

“I am sorry,” Gardenia apologised with a smile. “I did not mean to be rude, Aunt Lily, but from the worldly point of view I would suppose it was a bad marriage, even though Papa was only a second son.”

“Your grandfather, Sir Gustus Weedon, was nothing but a stuck-up, pompous old snob,” the Duchesse said angrily. “He was determined to make your father suffer for having married

the woman he loved. He cut him off without a penny and blackguarded him, even insisting that many of his old friends cut him.”

“I don’t think Papa minded very much. He was so happy with Mama. At the very end of his life they used to hold hands and look into each other’s eyes and forget I even existed.”

“I suppose in a way I was almost jealous of Emily,” the Duchesse said reminiscently. “Many men have loved me and given me wealth, position and wonderful jewels, but I have never cared for one of them as your mother cared for your father.”

“That is why I know you will understand,” Gardenia said softly, “when I tell you that Mama really died of a broken heart. It sounds sentimental, but it is true. When Papa died, she just took no interest in anything anymore. She was quite convinced that when she died she would find him again. She wanted to die. When she was ill, because the house was so cold and we could not afford to buy coal, she did not try to recover. All the time I knew she was slipping away, eager to be with Papa and not really concerned about what happened to me.”

The Duchesse wiped the tears from her eyes.

“And what did happen to you, my poor Gardenia?”

“Mama died last Saturday. At the last moment, after being almost unconscious all day, she suddenly opened her eyes and smiled. She did not speak, she did not see me bending over her. It was just as though she was looking straight at Papa and was so glad to see him again.”

Gardenia’s voice broke and for a moment she could not go on.

Then with an effort she continued.

“The moment the news came out that Mama was dead, I received a letter from the firm which held the mortgage on the house, telling me that they wished to take possession as soon as possible. They were horrible people, always badgering and frightening us if we were a day late with the payments. I think they had had a prospective buyer for some time. Anyway they made it clear that I could not stay. I did not want to. As I had no money, it was humiliating to face the trades-people.”

“I shall pay them, of course,” the Duchesse promised, “every one of them.”

“I hoped you would say that,” Gardenia cried. “They have all been so kind, allowing us credit week after week and when Mama was so ill they sent her flowers and even left special invalid food in case it would help her.”

“I shall send them the money today,” the Duchesse asserted firmly. “My secretary will write out the cheques. Oh, child, if I had only known about all this. Why did you not write to me whatever your mother might say?”

“You must remember. Aunt Lily, I have not seen you for seven years and I think I have only seen you twice in my life. The first time was when I was born and I know it was due to you that I was christened ‘Gardenia’.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I had forgotten. I came to see your mother a few days after you were born, bringing with me a huge basket of gardenias from a London florist and when your mother saw them she laughed. ‘How like you, Lily,’ she said, ‘and I hope the baby is going to be as beautiful as you. We shall call her ‘Gardenia’.”

“My mother often told me of your gift,” Gardenia said, “and she laughed because it was absurdly extravagant and luxurious when she and my father were wondering how they were going to pay the doctor or the nurses, or for my layette, which was not a very elaborate one.”

“So that was the reason!” the Duchesse said in a stricken voice. “I did not understand. I had been rich for so long. Everything I wanted was always poured at my feet so that I had forgotten what it was to be poor. I was older than your mother and by the time she grew up I was already married and living in Paris. I suppose the contrast of our lives never struck me. Oh, Gardenia, how thoughtless I have been! But I loved Emily, I did really.”

“You must not distress yourself,” Gardenia urged her soothingly. “Mama never expected anything and she was so fond of you. She used to tell me how beautiful you were and how, when you went to Church when you were girls, everyone’s face turned towards you and that the male members of the choir could hardly sing for peeping at you over their hymn books.”

“And the Curate fell in love with me,” the Duchesse laughed. “He used to come round to tea and go crimson in the face every time I spoke to him. I used to try deliberately to make him blush because I was just finding out how much power I had over men. Oh dear, what a long time ago those days were.”

She looked across the bed at Gardenia and went on,

“At your age I was married. I had so wanted to get away from home. I also found Hugo Reinbard exceedingly attractive. I was not in love with him, but he fascinated me. My father warned me about him but I was not prepared to listen. What girl would have, when he offered me London and Paris and all I had at home was the village life and the Curate?”

“Mama used to say that you looked like an angel in your Wedding dress,” Gardenia said. “She often talked about you. I longed to see you and, when you came to visit us in June 1902, I thought she had not in any way exaggerated your loveliness. You were the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

The Duchesse smiled appreciatively at this compliment and then she put her hands to her face.

“Seven years ago and just look at me now. I have grown old, my face is lined. Oh, don’t bother to argue, my mirror tells me the truth. My beauty, Gardenia, is a thing of the past. But I will try and I shall go on trying, to recapture it. I have heard of a new discovery, something quite extraordinary the Hungarians have invented. It is a special treatment to – ”

The Duchesse stopped suddenly, the eagerness fading from her face.

“But I don’t want to talk about that for the moment. I want to discuss your position. You were right to come to me, absolutely right, dear child. There was no one else you could turn to and I think it was very brave of you to make the journey to Paris alone.”

“There was nothing else I could do. I suppose I ought to have waited and written to you, but since the men were waiting to take over the house, I sold what was left of the furniture to our friends in the village. There was not very much and I could not charge them a great deal as I owed most of them so much money. But I raised enough for my fare to Paris. Only just enough. I did not dare spend any of it even on sending you a telegram.”

“And you arrived last night. I could hardly believe it when Yvonne said that my niece was in the house.”

“It must have been a shock, but somehow I did not expect you to be giving a party. It was silly of me. I just thought I would arrive and I would explain what had happened and you would hopefully understand.”

“I do – I do understand, but now we have to make some plans. As I have said already, I don’t think you can stay here.”

“Not even for a little while?” Gardenia asked piteously. “I realise that I shall have to get a job. I have been thinking about it all the time I was travelling, but what can I do? I am not clever enough to be a Governess. My education was sketchy. I speak French, Mama insisted on that. I play the piano and I can paint a little. My arithmetic was always terrible and I never could spell.”

“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 she 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.”

“Yes, but think of the ingratitude of it. None of them are pleased with anything. It is like Marie, whom I took out for a while. She was always complaining, the caviar was not fresh, the champagne was corked, the seat uncomfortable and the orchids I gave her were the wrong colour! I was fed up and dropped her and now poor old Oswald has taken her on. He does not know what he is in for. I don’t mind girls costing money. After all what else is there really to spend it on? But I do expect them to show some sort of appreciation.”

“Poor Bertie. I cannot believe that all your efforts go unrewarded.”

“I suppose you will claim I am mean if I say I like value for my expenditure,” Bertram said, turning his head to smile at his cousin. “And I know you think I rush into affairs far too quickly. But the truth is, Vane, I just don’t have your flair for choosing the right woman. My ladybirds always seem disappointing once I get to know them, while yours will improve on acquaintance. If ever there was a high-stepper it’s Henriette.”

Lord Hartcourt made no answer and after a moment Bertram said plaintively,

“All right, Vane, I know that remark is not in good taste, but damn it all, a fellow has to talk to someone and who better than a relation?”

“Who indeed?” Lord Hartcourt answered. “Very well, Bertie, cultivate the little English sparrow, as you call her. You have my blessing. Despite my misgivings she may turn out to be amusing and worth the expense!”