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she said humbly. “I am afraid that my clothes would not have been right ‒ at the party.”

      “You are in mourning now, of course, but the dress you are wearing, dear, is very old-fashioned if you will forgive my saying so.”

      “It was Mama’s,” Gardenia explained, “and I am afraid it is all I have.”

      “Well, I don’t suppose it matters,” the Duchesse said limply, “because you will not be staying, will you?”

      There was a moment’s silence, a moment in which the two women stared at each other.

      Then, with a little break in her voice, Gardenia said,

      “But, Aunt Lily, I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere, nowhere else to go!”

      CHAPTER THREE

      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

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