‘Well, may I have this one, instead?’
‘Of course – it doesn’t matter.’
His face flushed, then he said in a hurt voice, ‘Actually, it does matter to me, Lady Helena.’
I felt so guilty I said impulsively, ‘Please, do call me Helena, Pansy does.’ His sweet smile warmed his face, and he pulled me closer.
A week later Lance Benson proposed. He knelt before me in the drawing room, his eyes shining and hopeful. At last I muttered, ‘I’m sorry, but I ... oh Lance, I do like you so much, but…’
‘That’s a start, Helena.’ He reached for my hand.
I drew back quickly. ‘No, you see – there’s someone else.’ He dropped my fingers as though they were red hot. At last he said rather thickly, ‘That fellow you were dancing with the other evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘But, Helena, forgive me – but does he feel the same way about you?’
I could not answer. Finally I whispered, ‘That doesn’t make any difference, it’s how I feel, you see.’
‘Yes, I do see.’ He got slowly to his feet and stood looking down at me for a long time. Then he said, ‘Helena, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, send for me, wherever I am. I’ll always come, always.’
‘Thank you, Lance.’
He picked up his hat and gloves and left; I went upstairs and cried.
All through that summer it seemed as if every minute of each day was mapped out. I tried to do my singing exercises, but so often I was interrupted; Mother sent for me to go for another fitting at the dressmaker’s, or to make the interminable calls. In the morning I was just too tired, after coming back from a dance at the time when men in rubber boots were hosing down the streets ready for the new day.
I sang my aria and knew that it was no longer pure and true. In desperation I told Mother that I had promised I would go and see Miss Ling; with a bad grace she let me go out to Hammersmith one afternoon, where I poured out my troubles to my old governess. Miss Ling was reassuring: she told me that for the time being I must do as my mother wished, but then, at the end of the Season, perhaps I could go to the lady whom Frau Gehring had recommended in Manchester. I felt calmer as I travelled back to the West End and later Miss Ling wrote and suggested that if I was in London during the winter perhaps I would like to come and sing with her local music circle. I was grateful, and decided then and there that I would go if I possibly could.
I begged Mother to take me down to Eton on the Fourth of June; I longed to see the twins – and perhaps he would be there, visiting his nephew. But Mother insisted she had a previous engagement, and all I could secure were vague promises for next year. Next year! That was a lifetime away.
I cried tears of frustration when the twins’ next letter arrived: ‘Guess who ran down on the Fourth to see Stavey!! Serves you right, Big Sis, for neglecting your baby brothers!’ I screwed up the letter and rang for Liliane – it was time for my daily walk in the park.
My depression did not lift; the dusty leaves drooped on the trees and the grass was brown and dried up. I hated stuffy, dirty London – I wanted to go home. I walked slowly, eyes on the ground, and scarcely noticed at first when Liliane touched my elbow. Then she spoke, ‘Miladi – a gentleman – signalling to you.’ I raised my head and there he was – just a few yards away, coming straight towards me. I gaped at him for a moment, my mind in a whirl: the shock had taken my breath away. Once I understood I was so dizzy with ecstasy I clung to Liliane’s arm for support. Then my eyes focused on the elegant female figure beside him, and my joy vanished.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Helena. I hope you don’t mind my stopping you, but I thought you would like to know how those young rascals of brothers of yours are getting on – I spent some time with them on the Fourth. But first, introductions are in order – Moira my dear, may I present Lady Helena Girvan?’ Jealousy stabbed my heart as the cool grey eyes appraised me. I reached out a shaking hand to the spotless kid glove. He continued, ‘Lady Helena, my sister-in-law, Lady Staveley.’ My legs began to shake and I nearly sank to the gravel path in my relief.
Lady Staveley smiled. ‘I met your brothers last week – how very like them you are.’ I stammered a reply, and then managed to ask after her son. She gave a little frown. ‘Poor Arthur’s always been a touch delicate – his chest is weak, so he often has a cough.’
I thought of my strong healthy brothers and said quickly, ‘Oh, I am so sorry, how worrying for you.’ Her eyes warmed a moment. Then she pressed Lord Gerald’s arm. ‘Gerald, we mustn’t detain Lady Helena any longer – but I’m so glad to have met you, my dear.’ With a parting smile he was gone. I stood quite still, giddy with excitement; he had sought me out, he had introduced me to his sister-in-law! A small breeze rippled the green leaves above me and the sun shone in the glorious blue sky. I wanted to sing to the heavens of my love.
Liliane’s fractured accent brought me down to earth. ‘Miladi, you are going out to dinner tonight – it is time we return.’ Obediently I started to move towards the Albert Gate.
I haunted the area around the Albert Gate every afternoon for a week, but I never saw him there again.
Chapter Four
Town seemed to become hotter and hotter, and I felt more and more fagged, but at last in July London began to empty. The Eton and Harrow match at Lords, the Regatta at Henley, the Goodwood Races – all the signs of the ending of the Season came and went. In August, Mother, indefatigable as ever, moved on to Cowes, and finally I was allowed to go back to Cheshire with my brothers. Never had the park seemed lovelier and more peaceful; I felt like a fish which had for too long been flapping out of water, and had now been tossed back into its familiar lake.
The twins came with me to Manchester and we sought out Madame Goldman. Calm, almost phlegmatic, she was a patient teacher, and as we worked together my voice came steadily back under control. After three weeks I sang my aria for her and when I had finished she nodded. ‘Good, that is as Elsa would wish it.’ And suddenly I burst into tears and sobbed with relief. Madame Goldman patted my shoulder. ‘Silly girl, how could you expect to sing well when you stayed up until all hours in London – dancing in hot stuffy rooms which make your poor head ache? You will be wiser next year.’ I vowed to myself that I would.
Papa came back from shooting grouse in Yorkshire, Mother wrote to say she was moving on to Marienbad, and on the first of September the partridge season opened. Alice came up to act as hostess for the shooting party and brought her two boys – it was like old times to run up to the nursery and find Nanny ensconced in her battered wicker armchair.
Letty’s governess went on holiday and Letty announced she was going to join in the shoot. Alice argued with her but my younger sister was completely immovable – she said one of the underkeepers had been giving her lessons and the boys had gone out with the guns at twelve so she was jolly well going to do the same. Alice appealed to Papa, but he only said, ‘Oh, let her make a fool of herself if she wants to!’ So she stumped out to the butts, pigtailed and determined between the twins. When Alice and I arrived with the ladies at lunch Letty was in possession of quite a respectable bag. Alice’s lips tightened, but she said nothing – but later I heard a sharp squeal from behind the game cart and saw Alice flouncing back with a look of satisfaction on her face and a red-faced, defiant Letty in her wake.
‘Your daughter,’ Alice said very loudly to Papa, ‘was smoking a cigarette – in the company of the underkeepers!’ Her voice rose and she sounded exactly like Mother.
Papa went red and said to Letty quite firmly, ‘That’s not on, my girl, not on at all – if you want to shoot you must toe the line – otherwise I’ll send for your governess.’
Letty still looked mutinous, but she kept her mouth shut until Papa had walked away, then she turned to me, muttered ‘Whose daughter, anyway?’ and stalked off. Alice was right: Letty spent far too much time gossiping with the servants.
The twins went back to Eton for their last year, Mot
her returned to Hatton and Papa left for more shooting in Scotland. Guy bought me a new bay mare for my birthday; I christened her Melody and planned to take her out cub-hunting.
Lady Maud came up to Cheshire; she had taken a small house near Hareford and brought both her daughters with her: tall, square-shouldered Juno and small, giggly Julia. Juno was like her mother, she lived for hunting – whenever I had seen her in London she had been striding across parquet-floored ballrooms swinging her fan as if it were a riding crop, her face sulky and bored. But as soon as the cub-hunting season started she came alive again and we often rode out together in the mist or drizzle of the autumn morning. Lady Maud came out with us sometimes, and Papa’s old friend and neighbour Sam Killearn.
Mother talked ominously of taking me on visits, but I begged to stay for the November meets of the Cheshire Hunt; grudgingly she agreed, and left for Suffolk without me. As soon as she had gone, Letty announced that from now on she was going to ride astride. I told her she would look ridiculous, and never be able to keep her seat, but, being Letty, she took absolutely no notice. She had a fall at the opening meet, but that only made her more obstinate. She even boasted of how much more easily she had managed to remount with a cross saddle – ‘None of this hanging around for a man to put me up – or fiddling with lengthening the stirrups when the rest of the field’s racing ahead – much simpler.’
Juno said scornfully, ‘You’d never have come off in the first place if you’d had your knee wrapped round a leaping head.’
Letty tossed her plaits. ‘It won’t happen again.’ She limped out of the stables.
Juno shrugged. ‘Still, at least she’s got more spunk than my sister – Julia’s always whingeing at the odd bruise or a few splashes of mud. Come on, Helena, where’s this tea you offered me? I’m certainly ready for it.’
Conan came up to hunt for a few weeks; he stayed over at Sam Killearn’s. He told me one day that Mother had banned him from Hatton while I was there without her. He grinned. ‘She’s probably right not to trust us – you look very tempting in that habit, young Helena!’
I retorted angrily, ‘She need have no fears on my behalf.’
Conan was unabashed. He leant forward and whispered, ‘You were ready enough in the maze that evening.’
I turned Melody’s head quickly away as the hot shame engulfed me. I was different now.
Mother came back before Christmas and told me I was turning into a recluse, so she was drawing up a programme of visits for me. Accompanied by a mountain of luggage and a delighted Liliane, I set off. Every visit was a new ordeal, but towards the end of January I went down to the Bensons’ and Pansy asked me to stay on after the main party had left. She and her mother fluttered kindly round me and I felt at ease with them; I sang every evening after dinner and Lance came at the weekend and accompanied me; he seemed almost like one of my brothers. Guy ran down from Town to see me on the Sunday. Pansy hung on his every word and gazed up at him adoringly with her round blue eyes – and suddenly my longing to see Lord Gerald Prescott was so sharp that it hurt.
In February I did see him. Alice left Hugh in London and took me to stay at Melton with Sir John and Lady Eames. We were there for a fortnight so Papa sent down Melody and one of his own hunters for Alice, and I was thrilled at the thought of hunting with the prestigious Quorn.
We had two glorious runs, but I had to leave each one at lunchtime, so as not to over-tire Melody. Our host saw me looking enviously at the second horsemen arriving and offered to lend me an extra mount for the next meet. I accepted quickly.
We drove over to the next meet; the grooms had arrived before us. Melody whickered as she saw me and I spoke to her and stroked her velvet muzzle before I bent down to check that her girths had been tightened. Then the groom led her over to the block and held her head while I mounted.
The air was crisp and clear. I glanced through the fine silk mesh of my veil at the other riders – several of the ladies were wearing bowlers, Papa would have been shocked; he always insisted on our wearing top hats. And there was a noticeable wrinkle in Mrs Taunton’s skirt – just over her right knee; I glanced smugly down at my own immaculately smooth habit. Then, as the riders shifted, I spotted yet another too-short jacket over a too-large behind and shook my head in disapproval.
Alice came up beside me and followed my gaze. ‘I know – even in the Shires you see some sights. Papa may have his faults but he’s never skimped on our habits, I’m glad to say – nothing but the best Melton for his daughters. Hugh complains now, but I tell him I just am not prepared to look a fright on the hunting field, even if he is a struggling barrister. Oh, Hellie, look at the fit over those shoulders!’ She shook her head disapprovingly, then turned her eyes on me. ‘I must say, Helena, that Mother can bemoan the boyishness of your figure as much as she likes, but it means you look absolutely splendid on horseback – you’re quite the best-looking girl here today. Ah, there’s Jimmy.’ She clicked her tongue to her chestnut and moved away. I gazed after her, glowing with gratitude. A gentleman with his back to me reined in to let her pass – and as he leant to pat the neck of his horse I saw a clean-cut profile and the glint of a golden moustache. My breath caught in my throat – it was Lord Gerald.
But there was no time to think the hounds were moving off to the first draw. Silence fell as we waited beside the covert, then there was a sudden flash of tan, the huntsman sounded the “Gone Away” and we were off. I headed straight for the first fence. Melody was over it cleanly and easily and the hounds settled down to a steady pace on the scent. In the next field I spotted the hunt members moving towards the gate in the corner and followed quickly – then I was off and galloping across the pasture in front. It sloped away from me quite steeply but I leant back and gave Melody plenty of rein and took her straight down. We stretched out as soon as we reached the level again, and rode for the thorn fence at the bottom. A voice close behind me called: ‘Take care, there’s a blind ditch on the other side.’ I saw Lord Gerald fly over the thorn ahead of me and gave Melody a squeeze with my leg, then let her have her head. I felt her land a fraction short – her hind legs were in the ditch – I threw myself forward, and it was enough; we were off over the heavy ridge and furrow. The blood sang in my ears in tune with the pounding of Melody’s hooves. I was wild with exhilaration as we galloped across country.
The fox ran well but the hounds finally killed in the open, and I was there with the leaders. I closed my eyes as the huntsman’s knife flashed and the pack tore the rest of the small brown body to pieces. An amused voice said, ‘You can open them now, Lady Helena, it’s all over.’ It was Lord Gerald, with a smile on his mud-spattered face. As I blushed for my squeamishness he spoke again. ‘That’s a nice little mare you’ve got there – well trained.’
At last I found my voice. ‘Yes, she was a birthday present from Guy – my eldest brother.’
He smiled again, raised his topper and rode off. I felt as though the gates of heaven had opened for me. Then Alice appeared beside me, looking beautiful and irritated. ‘That idiot Jimmy Danesford claims he’s twisted his ankle – I might as well have brought Hugh to Melton with me – at least he can stay on a horse. Ah, thank goodness, the refreshments are here.’
I turned and saw that the second horsemen had arrived with flasks and sandwiches. I found Sir John’s groom and handed Melody over to him; then he bent to put me up on my borrowed horse, a rangy grey.
The grey stood placidly enough while we waited for the hounds to draw, but as soon as we moved off, I felt a shock of dismay as I realized I could not hold him – his mouth was so hard he took me just where he liked – all I could do was hang on. I jostled a red-faced man at a fence and only had time to shout, ‘Sorry!’ to his angry glare before my mount was off again, pounding tirelessly up a steep slope.
We ran over several fields without a check; I could not steer my horse towards the gates – he took the timber every time until unwittingly I found myself at the front, close behind the Mas
ter. I prayed for a really heavy ridge and furrow, but none came. Instead, as we reached open pasture the hounds bowled their fox over – and my hard-mouthed grey carried me straight into the middle of them! I was buffeted by a torrent of abuse from the Master as I fought for control amidst the snarling, yapping pack. I finally managed to haul my grey out of the melee, and now the damage was done he stopped dead under me so I had to sit, head bowed and crimson with shame, while the rest of the field streamed up to witness my humiliation. I knew Lord Gerald had been among the leaders; I could not look up. A tear of utter misery plopped on to my glove. I heard a rider come up beside me and glanced up, then looked hastily down again – it was Lord Gerald.
‘You’ll never hold him in an ordinary double bridle – you must tell the groom to put him in a segundo next time.’ I bit my lip, and to my horror a second betraying blob spread out on my glove. ‘Cheer up, Lady Helena – it could have been worse!’ I swallowed desperately, but I could not reply. He moved closer still and said, confidentially, ‘I’ll wager you’ve never headed the fox!’ Slowly I shook my head, and dared to raise my eyes. He was smiling. ‘You know I did, when I was about your age – it was over with the Pytchley, right at the start of the run – I thought the Master was going to burst a blood vessel, he was so furious with me! I didn’t know where to put myself – and Staveley, my brother, was out too that day and he laughed so much he had to dismount.’
I said slowly, ‘I suppose the twins would have done the same, if they’d been here and seen me.’ I felt a little warmer.
He grinned. ‘And it was worse for me, you know, because I’d just been gazetted to the Life Guards, so old Wroughton wound up his peroration with: “You call yourself a cavalryman – you’d do better riding the washerwoman’s mangle!”’
‘How awful for you,’ I breathed.
‘The whole field heard him, and when we embarked for South Africa, just a few months later, a crowd of friends came to see us off, and one of them cupped his hands round his mouth and bellowed out from the quay just as we were casting off: “Staveley, have you packed the washerwoman’s mangle for Prescott to ride?”’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘How I cursed them! Come along, the horses are getting cold – can you manage that brute now? I think your party are waiting for you.’
Song of Songs Page 12
