Fragrant Flower Read Free Page A

menacing secret which he was afraid she might expose.
    It was this she knew, and the memory of her mother, which made them keep her out of sight of their social friends.
    They could not deny that she was their niece, but they told everyone that she was shy and retiring.
    “Azalea is not interested in parties or dances,” she heard her aunt say to a friend who had tentatively suggested she should be included in an invitation extended to her cousins.
    She longed to cry out that this was untrue, but she knew that to do so would only bring down her uncle’s wrath upon her and her position would remain exactly the same.
    But at least in Hong Kong she would be nearer to her beloved India. At least there would be sunshine, flowers and birds, and people would smile at her.
    “If you are going to be kind enough, Miss Azalea, to take the sandwiches along to the Library,” Mrs. Burrows said, interrupting Azalea’s thoughts, “there’s a decanter of whisky in the pantry. The General said we were not to put it out until the party was nearly over, otherwise the guests might drink it. You know, he likes to keep his whisky to himself!”
    “Yes, I know,” Azalea said, “and I will take it along too. I am sure Burrows is feeling the rheumatism in his legs by now and I do not want to give him any more to do.”
    “You’re real kind, Miss Azalea, that’s what you are! I don’t know how I’d have got through the dinner or the supper without your help.”
    That was true enough.
    Azalea, who had now become quite an experienced cook, was responsible for nearly all the supper dishes and half of those that had been served at dinner.
    “Well, I am glad it is over!” she said aloud as she picked up the plate of sandwiches neatly decorated with parsley. “I will have a cup of tea with you, Mrs. Burrows, when I get back.”
    “You deserve it, Miss Azalea,” Mrs. Burrows replied. Azalea went from the large, high-ceilinged kitchen with its flagged floor that was very tiring to stand on, along the passage to the pantry.
    Old Burrows had left the square-cut glass decanter filled with the General’s whisky on a side table.
    It was standing on a silver salver and Azalea put the sandwiches beside it and lifted the tray with both hands. She could hear in the distance the sound of the music coming from the big drawing room that had been cleared for the dancing.
    It was a large, attractive room with French windows opening out onto the garden which, as it was winter, were closed.
    But Azalea could imagine how attractive it could be during the summer when it was warm enough to walk from the gas-lit room into the fragrant garden which seemed to her to be on the very top of London.
    She could look from the windows down into the green valley which Constable had painted in many of his pictures. But it was in fact the garden which interested her because she knew the General’s father had been a famous gardener and after leaving the Army had spent his retirement in making it not only beautiful, but also famous among horticulturalists.
    He had managed to grow many new and exotic plants and flowers which had not been seen in England before, and which he had obtained from all over the world.
    It was his obsession with flowers which had made Colonel Osmund decree that his granddaughters should all be christened with the name of a flower.
    “It is typical,” Lady Osmund had said acidly, “that your mother should have chosen such a singularly inappropriate name for you.”
    Azalea longed to retort that she thought both ‘Violet’ and ‘Daisy’ were commonplace and rather dull, but she learnt after a few months of living with her aunt that it was very unwise to answer back.
    Her aunt did not beat her, although Azalea was quite certain that she would have liked to do so, but she had a habit of slapping and pinching which could be very painful.
    She was a large, overpowering woman, while Azalea was small and delicately made, and it was obvious who