Our Lady of Pain by Marion Chesney Page A

same room as Daisy. She does snore.
    They each sat in silence, not wanting to wake the duchess.
    Oxford fell behind as they bowled out into the countryside. They were both warmly wrapped in carriage rugs, and soon Rose and Daisy were asleep as well.
    Rose awoke to find the carriage entering a drive through tall iron gates which had been opened by a lodge keeper. They drove slowly under trees. Thick woodland was on either side. Then they passed another lodge and drove through fields where sheep grazed, then under a stable arch and into a circular courtyard.
    Looking out at the house, Rose felt a pang of unease. It was a square Georgian building with a porticoed entrance but it was hardly a ducal residence. Was this lady really a duchess? But of course she must be. The mother superior knew her and an impostor would hardly give money to a convent.
    “Are we arrived?” The duchess straightened her hat, which had fallen over her eyes.
    “Is this your home?” asked Rose.
    “No, my dear, only a hunting box. My husband is having extensive building repairs done to our home on the other side of Oxford. I can’t stand hammering and dust, so I fled here. Come along.”
    Rose and Daisy stepped down from the motor. Rose decided to leave questions about why the duchess had rescued them until after they had bathed and changed. Her spirits suddenly plunged. She had so gaily assumed this was a rescue. She had believed somehow that Harry had engineered it. But what if the duchess had heard about them from someone in society and as a dogooder planned only to give them a few days’ holiday? Her father had sworn everyone to secrecy, but servants would gossip. And after Daisy’s outburst, Sister Agnes would be dreaming up some nasty punishment for both of them.
    She and Daisy were shown to pleasant high-ceilinged rooms. There was a housekeeper and maids to unpack their luggage and footmen to carry up baths. Oh, the bliss of hot water and scented soap. Hot water for baths had been forbidden in the convent.
    Then came an efficient lady’s maid to help them dress and arrange their hair.
    Daisy came tripping in and Rose exclaimed in dismay, “You cannot wear that blouse, Daisy. It’s indecent.”
    “It’s all the crack,” said Daisy sulkily. “Miss Friendly made it forme.”
    “I’m surprised at her. We must make a good impression.”
    Daisy was wearing a “pneumonia blouse,” a transparent confection of muslin and lace with next to no collar.
    Rose summoned the lady’s maid again and Daisy was finally attired in a white lace blouse with a pouched front and a highboned collar. Rose was wearing a blouse of batiste with a tailored skirt cut on the cross.
    She rang the bell and asked the footman who answered its summons to conduct them to the duchess.
    As they entered a sunny drawing room, two men got to their feet—Harry and Becket.
    “So it was you!” said Rose. “I am surprised my parents allowed this.”
    “They didn’t,” said Harry. “Lord and Lady Hadshire are in Monte Carlo. I approached Her Grace and she suggested this visit. We called on you yesterday and were met by a nun called Sister Agnes. She told us you were not allowed any visitors and she was so awful that I decided something must be done.”
    “Visit?” said Rose. “Do you mean we’ll have to go back to that awful place?”
    “Don’t worry,” said the duchess, who was sitting in a large armchair by the fire. “Stay as long as you like. I get bored without company, and yet society bores me as well. I hardly ever go to London.”
    Daisy rushed forward and knelt down by the duchess and seized one of her hands. “Thank you, oh, thank you,” she babbled. “I thought them penguins would be the death of me.”
    “There, now,” said the duchess, looking highly amused. “Don’t be too hard on the sisters. They really do good work. But of course, it must be quite frightful if one has not got a vocation. We shall take tea. Please rise, dear girl.”
    When