The carrier was to take her belongings to the Castle, but Daisy elected to walk, to savor the opening of her new life.
Carrying a Gladstone bag with a few of her private possessions and wearing her best gray alpaca gown, Daisy set out to take up residence in her new home.
Amy Pomfret was waiting at the corner of the road. “Don’t forget me, Dais’, now you’re going to join the nobs,” said Amy, giving her a quick hug. Daisy hugged her back, but her treacherous mind was already registering that there was something, well… blowsy and common about Amy. She could not envisage her in the elegant surroundings of the Castle.
Without a single pang Daisy left her familiar surroundings behind and with a light step, set out on the golden road to Marsden Castle.
The Honorable Daisy Chatterton, oblivious of her shabby appearance, gave a condescending nod to the startled lodge keeper and walked briskly up the Castle drive. She could see it all. The lovely Countess would rush forward and hug her. The Earl would give his beautiful warm smile. Her room would be elegant with long windows overlooking the Park. Perhaps she would ride. The money from the sale of The Pines would furnish a new wardrobe and she and the Countess would sit in the evenings, their heads together, turning the pages of the fashion journals, while the Earl looked on and laughed indulgently.
The drive turned and there was the Castle, basking in the summer sun. Tinkling voices and tinkling cups echoed on the still air. Daisy was once again making her appearance at teatime.
She took a deep breath, grasped her bag firmly, and moved across the lawn. The women of the house party tacked elegantly back and forth around the tea table like galleons under full sail, with their lace and bows and enormous hats. A housemaid came flying toward Daisy, the streamers of her cap dancing behind her.
“What was you wanting, miss?” Shrewd eyes took in the best alpaca and the worn Gladstone bag.
“I have come to stay,” said Daisy haughtily.
“Then you’d better follow me. You’ve come the wrong way, miss.” Without waiting for a reply, the housemaid sailed off, leaving Daisy to trail behind. She led her to a doorway at the side of the Castle and up and up flights of uncarpeted stairs.
“Here’s your room,” she said opening a door and giving Daisy a little push. “And you’d best get ready and come down to the kitchens. We’re shorthanded.”
Then she flitted off before Daisy could reply and clattered back down the stairs.
Daisy looked slowly around her. Where was the elegant suite of rooms she had imagined? She was in a bare attic furnished simply with three cot beds and a hooked rug on the floor. The windows were dingy and barred.
It slowly dawned on her that she had been taken for a servant and all her newfound confidence began to ebb.
“I am the Honorable Daisy Chatterton,” she repeated over and over again. “My father is a lord. I will go downstairs and introduce myself. Because if I stay here, I will soon find myself waiting at table!”
Straightening her back and grasping her bag, she ran down the stairs and walked once again to the front of the Castle. Ignoring the footman’s yell of “Here, where do you think you’re going?” Daisy marched straight up to the Countess.
“I,” said Daisy in a very loud voice, “am the Honorable Daisy Chatterton.”
“Dear God,” said Angela, Countess of Nottenstone, faintly. “What on earth is it?” She fluttered her beautiful hands and appealed to the other guests.
The Earl smiled happily at Daisy, winked and then calmly proceeded to eat a large chocolate éclair.
“Chatterton’s gel,” said one of the young men, replying to the Countess’s question. “You know. Poor Old Neddie.”
“Oh!” said the Countess. “Neddie. Oh, yes, the poor old lamb wrote something about his daughter, didn’t he darling?”
The Earl gave a cream-filled grunt from behind his pastry.
“But what on earth happened to your clothes?” remarked the Countess sweetly. “Did poor old Neddie gamble your wardrobe away at Monte?”
“Oh, I say. Jolly good, that!” said a pimply young man. “Can just see old Neddie. Raise you one silk gown, what!” He roared with laughter at his own wit as the other guests joined in the joke.
“Put the handbag on numero cinq…”
“Stockings on the red…”
“Heard of losing one’s shirt, but I say…”
“Rien ne va plus…except a pair of my lady’s stays….”
“Oh, Jerry, really. Stays… how naughty. I believe the poor thing’s going to cry. Are you going to cry?”
Daisy stood in dumb misery surrounded by her laughing tormentors, her large eyes bright with unshed tears. The Earl lazily got to his feet. “Enough!” he cried. “Leave the child alone. Welcome to Marsden Castle. Curzon! I say, Curzon.
Take Miss Chatterton up to the Blue Room, right?”
“Wait a minute, Curzon,” said the Countess. “Darling, the Blue Room is one of our best and we are expecting Oxenden.”
“Oxenden would be honored to give Miss Chatterton his bedchamber any day of the week,” said a familiar mocking voice. The Duke of Oxenden pushed his way through the chattering group and picked up Daisy’s bag. “Lead the way, Curzon,” he said languidly. “Miss Chatterton looks tired and God knows, the inane wit I have just heard is enough to tire anyone.”
He held out his arm. Daisy put her arm in his with an unconscious natural grace which made the Countess narrow her eyes. As she walked into the Castle, the Countess’s tinkling voice followed her. “Well, darling, she’ll need to make herself useful you know. Poor relations always do.”
The Duke could see that Daisy was almost at breaking point. He murmured soothing platitudes as he led her through the great hall and up the enormous marble staircase after Curzon’s stiff back.
“Now here are your rooms, Miss Chatterton,” he said. “I feel you have had enough to bear at the moment. But I have just got back from France and I did see your father. Bring her to the library at six and I’ll have a talk with her, Curzon.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” said Curzon woodenly. He threw open the door of the Blue Room and stood aside to let Daisy enter.
The rooms were all that Daisy had dreamt of. Sunlight flooded through the long windows with extravagant disregard for the oriental rugs spread over the polished floors. The rooms were decorated in Wedgwood blue and white. There was a small sitting room and a large bedroom with an enormous cane-backed bed hung with a frivolous canopy of white lace. White lace curtains floated on the gentle breeze and massive bowls of white roses decorated the occasional tables.
Curzon, who had taken Daisy’s bag from the Duke, set it down and surveyed her sympathetically. “Would you like me to give you a bit of advice, miss?”
Daisy kept her back turned to him and said in a small, chilly voice, “That will be all, Curzon.”
Curzon bowed and then hesitated in the doorway. “I know what you’re going through, miss. If ever you need help, you know where to find me.” There was no reply and he closed the door quietly behind him.
Daisy sat down on a chair by the window and wept. She wept because people were so cruel and because her newfound pathetic snobbery had caused her to snub Curzon.
She sat there while the yellow sunlight faded to a rich gold. Then the little French clock on the mantel tinkled out five like a mocking echo of the Countess’s voice. Her trunks were still lying corded. She sprang to action and began searching through them desperately for something suitable to wear.
There was a faint scratch at the door of her sitting room and Curzon walked in. “Oh, Mr. Curzon, I am so sorry…” began Daisy and then her voice trailed away as she noticed a maid standing behind the butler.
“Plumber here will be your maid, miss. She will lay out your dress and arrange your hair.” Plumber folded her large hands over her apron and looked about her in disdain.
“Ah…a word with you outside, Plumber. Please excuse me, miss,” said Curzon drawing the maid out
side the room.
There were the brief sounds of a sharp altercation and then the door reopened and a much subdued and respectful maid stood there. Daisy was still too concerned over her own recent bad manners to Curzon to notice the change in the maid. Plumber had, in fact, been threatened with instant dismissal if she showed so much as an inkling of disrespect and, since Curzon was more of a power in her world than the Countess, she was positively falling over herself in an effort to be helpful.
For the next bewildering hour, Daisy learned the expertise of a really good lady’s maid. A faded blue silk gown was sent off to the laundry room to reappear half an hour later looking almost like new. Wielding the curling tongs, Plumber unloosened Daisy’s long hair from its braids and set to work to put Miss Chatterton’s hair up for the first time. Maids bustled in with lotions and scents, pins and pads. The pads were attached to the sides and the top of the head and her masses of heavy brown hair curled up over them. After a diminutive maid had stitched that offending length of whalebone back into its moorings, more pads were tucked into her stays at the bust and hips and her waist was lashed so tight, Daisy thought she would faint.
Another snap of Plumber’s magic fingers and a pair of high-heeled evening slippers were conjured up. “Height,” said Plumber severely, “is all the thing.”
The little clock tinkled six. There was only time for Daisy to catch a glimpse of the tall, beautiful girl that was miraculously herself in the glass, then her fan was put in her hand and Curzon was waiting at the door.
His wooden face creased in a benign smile. “Well, Miss Chatterton, don’t we look a picture!”
All poise lost, Daisy flew into his arms. “Oh, Mr. Curzon, I was so horrid to you. How can you forgive me?”
“There, there, lass,” said the butler. “We’ll have a talk tomorrow. Now don’t cry and spoil that lovely face. Come along, His Grace is waiting.
As they approached the library, Curzon whispered, “Don’t be put off by his manner, miss. He’s one of the best.”
Daisy smiled at him mistily and nodded. She was thinking only of the Earl and the fact that Curzon was talking about the Duke of Oxenden did not occur to her.
Curzon threw open the double doors. “The Honorable Daisy Chatterton,” he intoned and, holding her new hairstyle high, Daisy entered the room, tottering slightly on the unaccustomed height of the borrowed shoes.
The Duke uncoiled himself from the depths of an armchair and stood silently surveying the girl on the threshold. The library was dim, lit only by one lamp in the corner. Daisy’s delicate hourglass figure was silhouetted against the light from the hall, swaying slightly on her high heels. She moved forward into the room and stood timidly, in the center, her large eyes looking questioningly at the Duke.
“I knew your mother,” he said abruptly, motioning her to sit down. “She stood just where you are standing. I was just a schoolboy down from Eton but she treated me with grown-up courtesy. She had great charm.”
Daisy remained silent and the yellow, heavy-lidded eyes surveyed her curiously. “We met before,” he added gently.
Daisy flushed. She had been hoping that this terrifying aristocrat would have forgotten her school girl escapade.
She opened her mouth to thank him for rescuing her and then remembered he had merely been the Countess’s messenger and shut it again.
He continued to survey the silent girl. “You did not know of your father until your guardian’s death?”
She shook her head.
“He is well,” he said slowly. “I saw him last month in the South of France.”
“Could you give me his address, Your Grace?” asked Daisy. “I would like to write and…”
She stopped as the Duke shook his head. “It would not be any use. He is not a good correspondent and would not reply to your letters. He means to return to England soon.”
“Why did he leave? Is his health bad?”
“No, he is in perfect health,” replied the Duke.
How could he tell this fragile girl that her father had fled England after he had been found cheating at cards?
“But I don’t understand…” she began when a footman padded into the room.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” he said. “But my lady wishes to see Miss Chatterton immediately.”
“Then tell her ladyship that Miss Chatterton is at present engaged,” said the Duke acidly, but Daisy was immediately on her feet.
“I must go, Your Grace. It would be extremely rude of me to stay when my hostess wants me.”
“As you wish,” said the Duke indifferently, picking up a book.
“You should have stayed with His Grace,” said Curzon as soon as the door was closed. “My lady means mischief.”
“Oh, Curzon. I am sure you are mistaken. I’m sure she’s really ever so kind.”
“Don’t say reelly and don’t say ever so,” said Curzon reprovingly. “You’ll need to change your speech, miss, or you’ll have that lot making fun of you.”
Daisy was too preoccupied with this new worry about speech to question him further about the Countess.
The Countess was lying on a daybed wearing a filmy negligee which revealed more of her charms than Daisy or the townsfolk of Upper Featherington would have considered decent. Carefully averting her eyes, Daisy timidly ventured, “You wished to see me, my lady?”
The Countess widened her eyes at the new Daisy. “Turning into a swan already, are we?” she murmured. And then in a stronger tone, “You realize old Neddie is not exactly paying for your keep?”
Daisy hung her head.
“Exactly. So that makes you a kind of poor relation. And poor relations must help out, mustn’t they? Cut my toenails!”
“Pardon?” queried Daisy faintly.
“Are you deaf? I said to cut my toenails. There are the scissors and here is the foot. Understand?”
The Countess’s eyes were alight with malice.
Daisy could see no way out. She took up the proffered scissors and gingerly took hold of the Countess’s foot.
“What clammy little schoolgirl hands you have,” sneered the Countess. “And they’re red… just as red as your little nose is getting at the moment.” She suddenly kicked the kneeling Daisy on the chest and sent her flying across the room. “You cut me!” she screamed, her eyes dancing with spite.
“What the hell is going on here?” roared a masculine voice as the Earl strode into the room. “Up to your tricks again, Angela? You are to leave Daisy alone, d’ you hear me? This is her home and she will stay as an honored guest.
“Now come, my dear.” He put an arm around Daisy and lifted her gently to her feet. “Let me take you down to dinner. Little drink before-hand’s just what you need, eh?”
Daisy gazed worshipfully into his blue eyes. It was like drowning in a warm blue sea. She could feel the strength of his arm around her tiny waist and his heady masculine smell of bay rum and cigars.
“Oh, have some Madeira m’dear,” sneered the Countess. “Honestly, if you had mustachios, you’d twirl them.”
The Earl slammed the door on her furious face. “Old cat,” he laughed with his arm still around Daisy. “Let’s forget about her.”
Daisy laughed back, overcome with the heady excitement of having the Earl’s arm around her and hearing the elegant Countess described in such rude terms.
They entered the drawing room arm in arm. “Hey, you yobs!” roared the Earl. “What d’ye think of our little schoolgirl now?”
They all clustered around showering her with compliments as easily as they had showered her with insults. They’re like… like jellyfish, thought Daisy sadly. She had a sudden longing for the plain, honest, middle-class faces of the townspeople and their strong, sensible likes and dislikes. At least one knew where one stood.
But the Earl had decided to be her escort for the evening and under his laughter and teasing, Daisy began to blossom. She was a good actress and carefully copied the accents she heard around her. The eveni
ng floated past, mostly taken up by an enormous dinner of bewildering and exotic dishes.
Daisy’s head was reeling with the unaccustomed wine and unaccustomed flattery. Much to her shock, the forbidden game of baccarat was played after dinner and she felt too fuzzy to take in remarks about “A Chatterton actually not gambling.”
Then at two in the morning the whiskey and sodas were brought in with the chicken sandwiches, and Daisy realized she would soon be able to escape to bed.
She slowly edged toward the door and slipped into the hallway.
“Daisy Chatterton!”
A little whisper followed her as she gained the bottom step. She turned her head and her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch as she saw the Earl grinning mischievously. “Let’s run away, Daisy. Cackling, stupid lot. I’ll show you the gardens.”
Daisy looked at him with stars in her eyes and nodded. He took her arm in a comfortable grip and strolled with her out into the scented night. They crossed the moonlit lawns in silence and then the Earl stopped and turned to her.
“You know, I shouldn’t be out here with you, Daisy. But you’re such a terribly pretty girl.”
“But your wife is so beautiful,” breathed Daisy in surprise.
“She’s a witch!” he said savagely. “If only I could have met someone like you. Sweet and honest.”
Daisy drew back. “My lord! You go too far.”
“Much too far,” said a lazy voice behind them.
“What are you snoopin’ round the bushes for, Oxenden?” snapped the Earl.
The black and silver shadows hid the Duke’s face, but his voice was hard and cold. “I promised Miss Chatterton’s father to keep an eye on her. You should know better, my dear David, than to attempt to seduce schoolgirls in the shrubbery.”
The Earl’s face went white with anger. “My intentions toward Miss Chatterton are wholly honorable.” His head was thrown back in the moonlight, giving Daisy the full benefit of his chiseled profile. She thought her heart would break with sheer happiness. The man of her dreams loved her! He was not afraid to say so in front of this sneering, cold Duke.
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